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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Aunt Jane of Kentucky, by Eliza Calvert Hall
+
+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: Aunt Jane of Kentucky
+
+Author: Eliza Calvert Hall
+
+Illustrator: Beulah Strong
+
+Release Date: September 30, 2008 [EBook #26728]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT JANE OF KENTUCKY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Suzanne Shell, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           [Illustration:]
+
+
+                              AUNT JANE
+
+                             OF KENTUCKY
+
+
+
+                        BY ELIZA CALVERT HALL
+
+                  Author of "The Land of Long Ago."
+
+
+                WITH FRONTISPIECE AND PAGE DECORATIONS
+
+                           BY BEULAH STRONG
+
+
+
+
+                          A. L. BURT COMPANY
+
+                      PUBLISHERS        NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+
+                     COPYRIGHT, 1898, 1899, 1900,
+
+                       BY JOHN BRISBANE WALKER.
+
+                           COPYRIGHT, 1904,
+
+                 BY COSMOPOLITAN PUBLISHING COMPANY.
+
+                           COPYRIGHT, 1907,
+
+                    BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+MY   MOTHER   AND   FATHER
+
+I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTERS
+
+
+                                                    PAGE
+   I.   SALLY ANN'S EXPERIENCE                       1
+
+  II.   THE NEW ORGAN                               29
+
+ III.   AUNT JANE'S ALBUM                           53
+
+  IV.   "SWEET DAY OF REST"                         83
+
+   V.   MILLY BAKER'S BOY                          105
+
+  VI.   THE BAPTIZING AT KITTLE CREEK              141
+
+ VII.   HOW SAM AMOS RODE IN THE TOURNAMENT        169
+
+VIII.   MARY ANDREWS' DINNER-PARTY                 193
+
+  IX.   THE GARDENS OF MEMORY                      247
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+     "There is not an existence about us but at first seems
+     colorless, dreary, lethargic: what can our soul have in
+     common with that of an elderly spinster, a slow-witted
+     plowman, a miser who worships his gold?... But ... the
+     emotion that lived and died in an old-fashioned country
+     parlor shall as mightily stir our heart, shall as unerringly
+     find its way to the deepest sources of life as the majestic
+     passion that ruled the life of a king and shed its
+     triumphant luster from the dazzling height of a
+     throne."--_Maeterlinck_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+SALLY ANN'S EXPERIENCE
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+
+"Come right in and set down. I was jest wishin' I had somebody to talk
+to. Take that chair right by the door so's you can get the breeze."
+
+And Aunt Jane beamed at me over her silver-rimmed spectacles and
+hitched her own chair a little to one side, in order to give me the
+full benefit of the wind that was blowing softly through the
+white-curtained window, and carrying into the room the heavenliest
+odors from a field of clover that lay in full bloom just across the
+road. For it was June in Kentucky, and clover and blue-grass were
+running sweet riot over the face of the earth.
+
+Aunt Jane and her room together always carried me back to a dead and
+gone generation. There was a rag carpet on the floor, of the
+"hit-or-miss" pattern; the chairs were ancient Shaker rockers, some
+with homely "shuck" bottoms, and each had a tidy of snowy thread or
+crochet cotton fastened primly over the back. The high bed and bureau
+and a shining mahogany table suggested an era of "plain living" far,
+far remote from the day of Turkish rugs and Japanese bric-a-brac, and
+Aunt Jane was in perfect correspondence with her environment. She wore
+a purple calico dress, rather short and scant; a gingham apron, with a
+capacious pocket, in which she always carried knitting or some other
+"handy work"; a white handkerchief was laid primly around the wrinkled
+throat and fastened with a pin containing a lock of gray hair; her cap
+was of black lace and lutestring ribbon, not one of the butterfly
+affairs that perch on the top of the puffs and frizzes of the modern
+old lady, but a substantial structure that covered her whole head and
+was tied securely under her chin. She talked in a sweet old treble
+with a little lisp, caused by the absence of teeth, and her laugh was
+as clear and joyous as a young girl's.
+
+"Yes, I'm a-piecin' quilts again," she said, snipping away at the bits
+of calico in her lap. "I did say I was done with that sort o' work;
+but this mornin' I was rummagin' around up in the garret, and I come
+across this bundle of pieces, and thinks I, 'I reckon it's intended
+for me to piece one more quilt before I die;' I must 'a' put 'em there
+thirty years ago and clean forgot 'em, and I've been settin' here all
+the evenin' cuttin' 'em and thinkin' about old times.
+
+"Jest feel o' that," she continued, tossing some scraps into my lap.
+"There ain't any such caliker nowadays. This ain't your five-cent
+stuff that fades in the first washin' and wears out in the second. A
+caliker dress was somethin' worth buyin' and worth makin' up in them
+days. That blue-flowered piece was a dress I got the spring before
+Abram died. When I put on mournin' it was as good as new, and I give
+it to sister Mary. That one with the green ground and white figger was
+my niece Rebecca's. She wore it for the first time to the County Fair
+the year I took the premium on my salt-risin' bread and sponge cake.
+This black-an'-white piece Sally Ann Flint give me. I ricollect 'twas
+in blackberry time, and I'd been out in the big pasture pickin' some
+for supper, and I stopped in at Sally Ann's for a drink o' water on my
+way back. She was cuttin' out this dress."
+
+Aunt Jane broke off with a little soprano laugh.
+
+"Did I ever tell you about Sally Ann's experience?" she said, as she
+laid two three-cornered pieces together and began to sew with her
+slender, nervous old fingers.
+
+To find Aunt Jane alone and in a reminiscent mood! This was
+delightful.
+
+"Do tell me," I said.
+
+Aunt Jane was silent for a few moments. She always made this pause
+before beginning a story, and there was something impressive about it.
+I used to think she was making an invocation to the goddess of Memory.
+
+"'Twas forty years ago," she began musingly, "and the way of it was
+this. Our church was considerably out o' fix. It needed a new roof.
+Some o' the winder lights was out, and the floor was as bare as your
+hand, and always had been. The men folks managed to git the roof
+shingled and the winders fixed, and us women in the Mite Society
+concluded we'd git a cyarpet. We'd been savin' up our money for some
+time, and we had about twelve dollars. I ricollect what a argument we
+had, for some of us wanted the cyarpet, and some wanted to give it to
+furrin missions, as we'd set out to do at first. Sally Ann was the one
+that settled it. She says at last--Sally Ann was in favor of the
+cyarpet--she says, 'Well, if any of the heathen fails to hear the
+gospel on account of our gittin' this cyarpet, they'll be saved
+anyhow, so Parson Page says. And if we send the money and they do hear
+the gospel, like as not they won't repent, and then they're certain to
+be damned. And it seems to me as long as we ain't sure what they'll
+do, we might as well keep the money and git the cyarpet. I never did
+see much sense anyhow,' says she, 'in givin' people a chance to damn
+theirselves.'
+
+"Well, we decided to take Sally Ann's advice, and we was talkin' about
+app'intin' a committee to go to town the follerin' Monday and pick out
+the cyarpet, when all at once 'Lizabeth Taylor--she was our
+treasurer--she spoke up, and says she, 'There ain't any use app'intin'
+that committee. The money's gone,' she says, sort o' short and quick.
+'I kept it in my top bureau drawer, and when I went for it yesterday,
+it was gone. I'll pay it back if I'm ever able, but I ain't able now.'
+And with that she got up and walked out o' the room, before any one
+could say a word, and we seen her goin' down the road lookin' straight
+before her and walkin' right fast.
+
+"And we--we set there and stared at each other in a sort o' dazed way.
+I could see that everybody was thinkin' the same thing, but nobody
+said a word, till our minister's wife--she was as good a woman as ever
+lived--she says, '_Judge not_.'
+
+"Them two words was jest like a sermon to us. Then Sally Ann spoke up
+and says: 'For the Lord's sake, don't let the men folks know anything
+about this. They're always sayin' that women ain't fit to handle
+money, and I for one don't want to give 'em any more ground to stand
+on than they've already got.'
+
+"So we agreed to say nothin' about it, and all of us kept our promise
+except Milly Amos. She had mighty little sense to begin with, and
+havin' been married only about two months, she'd about lost that
+little. So next mornin' I happened to meet Sam Amos, and he says to
+me, 'Aunt Jane, how much money have you women got to'rds the new
+cyarpet for the church?' I looked him square in the face, and I says,
+'Are you a member of the Ladies' Mite Society of Goshen church, Sam
+Amos? For if you are, you already know how much money we've got, and
+if you ain't, you've got no business knowin'. And, furthermore,' says
+I, 'there's some women that can't keep a secret and a promise, and
+some that can, and _I_ can.' And that settled _him_.
+
+"Well, 'Lizabeth never showed her face outside her door for more'n a
+month afterwards, and a more pitiful-lookin' creatur' you never saw
+than she was when she come out to prayer-meetin' the night Sally Ann
+give her experience. She set 'way back in the church, and she was as
+pale and peaked as if she had been through a siege of typhoid. I
+ricollect it all as if it had been yesterday. We sung 'Sweet Hour of
+Prayer,' and Parson Page prayed, and then called on the brethren to
+say anything they might feel called on to say concernin' their
+experience in the past week. Old Uncle Jim Matthews begun to clear his
+throat, and I knew, as well as I knew my name, he was fixin' to git up
+and tell how precious the Lord had been to his soul, jest like he'd
+been doin' every Wednesday night for twenty years. But before he got
+started, here come 'Lizabeth walkin' down the side aisle and stopped
+right in front o' the pulpit.
+
+"'I've somethin' to say,' she says. 'It's been on my mind till I can't
+stand it any longer. I've got to tell it, or I'll go crazy. It was me
+that took that cyarpet money. I only meant to borrow it. I thought
+sure I'd be able to pay it back before it was wanted. But things went
+wrong, and I ain't known a peaceful minute since, and never shall
+again, I reckon. I took it to pay my way up to Louisville, the time I
+got the news that Mary was dyin'.'
+
+"Mary was her daughter by her first husband, you see. 'I begged Jacob
+to give me the money to go on,' says she, 'and he wouldn't do it. I
+tried to give up and stay, but I jest couldn't. Mary was all I had in
+the world; and maybe you that has children can put yourself in my
+place, and know what it would be to hear your only child callin' to
+you from her death-bed, and you not able to go to her. I asked Jacob
+three times for the money,' she says, 'and when I found he wouldn't
+give it to me, I said to myself, "I'm goin' anyhow." I got down on my
+knees,' says she, 'and asked the Lord to show me a way, and I felt
+sure he would. As soon as Jacob had eat his breakfast and gone out on
+the farm, I dressed myself, and as I opened the top bureau drawer to
+get out my best collar, I saw the missionary money. It come right
+into my head,' says she, 'that maybe this was the answer to my prayer;
+maybe I could borrow this money, and pay it back some way or other
+before it was called for. I tried to put it out o' my head, but the
+thought kept comin' back; and when I went down into the sittin'-room
+to get Jacob's cyarpetbag to carry a few things in, I happened to look
+up at the mantelpiece and saw the brass candlesticks with prisms all
+'round 'em that used to belong to my mother; and all at once I seemed
+to see jest what the Lord intended for me to do.
+
+"'You know,' she says, 'I had a boarder summer before last--that lady
+from Louisville--and she wanted them candlesticks the worst kind, and
+offered me fifteen dollars for 'em. I wouldn't part with 'em then, but
+she said if ever I wanted to sell 'em, to let her know, and she left
+her name and address on a cyard. I went to the big Bible and got out
+the cyard, and I packed the candlesticks in the cyarpetbag, and put on
+my bonnet. When I opened the door I looked up the road, and the first
+thing I saw was Dave Crawford comin' along in his new buggy. I went
+out to the gate, and he drew up and asked me if I was goin' to town,
+and said he'd take me. It looked like the Lord was leadin' me all the
+time,' says she, 'but the way things turned out it must 'a' been
+Satan. I got to Mary just two hours before she died, and she looked up
+in my face and says, "Mother, I knew God wouldn't let me die till I'd
+seen you once more."'"
+
+Here Aunt Jane took off her glasses and wiped her eyes.
+
+"I can't tell this without cryin' to save my life," said she; "but
+'Lizabeth never shed a tear. She looked like she'd got past cryin',
+and she talked straight on as if she'd made up her mind to say jest so
+much, and she'd die if she didn't git to say it."
+
+"'As soon as the funeral was over,' says she, 'I set out to find the
+lady that wanted the candlesticks. She wasn't at home, but her niece
+was there, and said she'd heard her aunt speak of the candlesticks
+often; and she'd be home in a few days and would send me the money
+right off. I come home thinkin' it was all right, and I kept expectin'
+the money every day, but it never come till day before yesterday. I
+wrote three times about it, but I never got a word from her till
+Monday. She had just got home, she said, and hoped I hadn't been
+inconvenienced by the delay. She wrote a nice, polite letter and sent
+me a check for fifteen dollars, and here it is. I wanted to confess
+it all that day at the Mite Society, but somehow I couldn't till I had
+the money right in my hand to pay back. If the lady had only come back
+when her niece said she was comin', it would all have turned out
+right, but I reckon it's a judgment on me for meddling with the Lord's
+money. God only knows what I've suffered,' says she, 'but if I had to
+do it over again, I believe I'd do it. Mary was all the child I had in
+the world, and I had to see her once more before she died. I've been a
+member of this church for twenty years,' says she, 'but I reckon
+you'll have to turn me out now.'
+
+"The pore thing stood there tremblin' and holdin' out the check as if
+she expected somebody to come and take it. Old Silas Petty was
+glowerin' at her from under his eyebrows, and it put me in mind of the
+Pharisees and the woman they wanted to stone, and I ricollect
+thinkin', 'Oh, if the Lord Jesus would jest come in and take her
+part!' And while we all set there like a passel o' mutes, Sally Ann
+got up and marched down the middle aisle and stood right by 'Lizabeth.
+You know what funny thoughts people will have sometimes.
+
+"Well, I felt so relieved. It popped into my head all at once that we
+didn't need the Lord after all, Sally Ann would do jest as well. It
+seemed sort o' like sacrilege, but I couldn't help it.
+
+"Well, Sally Ann looked all around as composed as you please, and says
+she, 'I reckon if anybody's turned out o' this church on account o'
+that miserable little money, it'll be Jacob and not 'Lizabeth. A man
+that won't give his wife money to go to her dyin' child is too mean to
+stay in a Christian church anyhow; and I'd like to know how it is that
+a woman, that had eight hundred dollars when she married, has to go to
+her husband and git down on her knees and beg for what's her own.
+Where's that money 'Lizabeth had when she married you?' says she,
+turnin' round and lookin' Jacob in the face. 'Down in that ten-acre
+medder lot, ain't it?--and in that new barn you built last spring. A
+pretty elder you are, ain't you? Elders don't seem to have improved
+much since Susannah's times. If there ain't one sort o' meanness in
+'em it's another,' says she.
+
+"Goodness knows what she would 'a' said, but jest here old Deacon
+Petty rose up. And says he, 'Brethren,'--and he spread his arms out
+and waved 'em up and down like he was goin' to pray,--'brethren, this
+is awful! If this woman wants to give her religious experience, why,'
+says he, very kind and condescendin', 'of course she can do so. But
+when it comes to a _woman_ standin' up in the house of the Lord and
+revilin' an elder as this woman is doin', why, I tremble,' says he,
+'for the church of Christ. For don't the Apostle Paul say, "Let your
+women keep silence in the church"?'
+
+"As soon as he named the 'Postle Paul, Sally Ann give a kind of snort.
+Sally Ann was terrible free-spoken. And when Deacon Petty said that,
+she jest squared herself like she intended to stand there till
+judgment day, and says she, 'The 'Postle Paul has been dead ruther too
+long for me to be afraid of him. And I never heard of him app'intin'
+Deacon Petty to represent him in this church. If the 'Postle Paul
+don't like what I'm sayin', let him rise up from his grave in
+Corinthians or Ephesians, or wherever he's buried, and say so. I've
+got a message from the Lord to the men folks of this church, and I'm
+goin' to deliver it, Paul or no Paul,' says she. 'And as for you,
+Silas Petty, I ain't forgot the time I dropped in to see Maria one
+Saturday night and found her washin' out her flannel petticoat and
+dryin' it before the fire. And every time I've had to hear you lead in
+prayer since then I've said to myself, "Lord, how high can a man's
+prayers rise toward heaven when his wife ain't got but one flannel
+skirt to her name? No higher than the back of his pew, if you'll let
+me tell it." I knew jest how it was,' said Sally Ann, 'as well as if
+Maria'd told me. She'd been havin' the milk and butter money from the
+old roan cow she'd raised from a little heifer, and jest because feed
+was scarce, you'd sold her off before Maria had money enough to buy
+her winter flannels. I can give my experience, can I? Well, that's
+jest what I'm a-doin',' says she; 'and while I'm about it,' says she,
+'I'll give in some experience for 'Lizabeth and Maria and the rest of
+the women who, betwixt their husbands an' the 'Postle Paul, have about
+lost all the gumption and grit that the Lord started them out with. If
+the 'Postle Paul,' says she, 'has got anything to say about a woman
+workin' like a slave for twenty-five years and then havin' to set up
+an' wash out her clothes Saturday night, so's she can go to church
+clean Sunday mornin', I'd like to hear it. But don't you dare to say
+anything to me about keepin' silence in the church. There was times
+when Paul says he didn't know whether he had the Spirit of God or not,
+and I'm certain that when he wrote that text he wasn't any more
+inspired than you are, Silas Petty, when you tell Maria to shut her
+mouth.'
+
+"Job Taylor was settin' right in front of Deacon Petty, and I reckon
+he thought his time was comin' next; so he gets up, easy-like, with
+his red bandanna to his mouth, and starts out. But Sally Ann headed
+him off before he'd gone six steps, and says she, 'There ain't
+anything the matter with you, Job Taylor; you set right down and hear
+what I've got to say. I've knelt and stood through enough o' your
+long-winded prayers, and now it's my time to talk and yours to
+listen.'
+
+"And bless your life, if Job didn't set down as meek as Moses, and
+Sally Ann lit right into him. And says she, 'I reckon you're afraid
+I'll tell some o' your meanness, ain't you? And the only thing that
+stands in my way is that there's so much to tell I don't know where to
+begin. There ain't a woman in this church,' says she, 'that don't know
+how Marthy scrimped and worked and saved to buy her a new set o'
+furniture, and how you took the money with you when you went to
+Cincinnata, the spring before she died, and come back without the
+furniture. And when she asked you for the money, you told her that she
+and everything she had belonged to you, and that your mother's old
+furniture was good enough for anybody. It's my belief,' says she,
+'that's what killed Marthy. Women are dyin' every day, and the
+doctors will tell you it's some new-fangled disease or other, when, if
+the truth was known, it's nothin' but wantin' somethin' they can't
+git, and hopin' and waitin' for somethin' that never comes. I've
+watched 'em, and I know. The night before Marthy died she says to me,
+"Sally Ann," says she, "I could die a heap peacefuler if I jest knew
+the front room was fixed up right with a new set of furniture for the
+funeral."' And Sally Ann p'inted her finger right at Job and says she,
+'I said it then, and I say it now to your face, Job Taylor, you killed
+Marthy the same as if you'd taken her by the throat and choked the
+life out of her.'
+
+"Mary Embry, Job's sister-in-law, was settin' right behind me, and I
+heard her say, 'Amen!' as fervent as if somebody had been prayin'. Job
+set there, lookin' like a sheep-killin' dog, and Sally Ann went right
+on. 'I know,' says she, 'the law gives you the right to your wives'
+earnin's and everything they've got, down to the clothes on their
+backs; and I've always said there was some Kentucky law that was made
+for the express purpose of encouragin' men in their natural
+meanness,--a p'int in which the Lord knows they don't need no
+encouragin'. There's some men,' says she, 'that'll sneak behind the
+'Postle Paul when they're plannin' any meanness against their wives,
+and some that runs to the law, and you're one of the law kind. But
+mark my words,' says she, 'one of these days, you men who've been
+stealin' your wives' property and defraudin' 'em, and cheatin' 'em out
+o' their just dues, you'll have to stand before a Judge that cares
+mighty little for Kentucky law; and all the law and all the Scripture
+you can bring up won't save you from goin' where the rich man went.'
+
+"I can see Sally Ann right now," and Aunt Jane pushed her glasses up
+on her forehead, and looked with a dreamy, retrospective gaze through
+the doorway and beyond, where swaying elms and maples were whispering
+softly to each other as the breeze touched them. "She had on her old
+black poke-bonnet and some black yarn mitts, and she didn't come nigh
+up to Job's shoulder, but Job set and listened as if he jest _had to_.
+I heard Dave Crawford shufflin' his feet and clearin' his throat while
+Sally Ann was talkin' to Job. Dave's farm j'ined Sally Ann's, and they
+had a lawsuit once about the way a fence ought to run, and Sally Ann
+beat him. He always despised Sally Ann after that, and used to call
+her a 'he-woman.' Sally Ann heard the shufflin', and as soon as she
+got through with Job, she turned around to Dave, and says she: 'Do you
+think your hemmin' and scrapin' is goin' to stop me, Dave Crawford?
+You're one o' the men that makes me think that it's better to be a
+Kentucky horse than a Kentucky woman. Many's the time,' says she,
+'I've seen pore July with her head tied up, crawlin' around tryin' to
+cook for sixteen harvest hands, and you out in the stable cossetin' up
+a sick mare, and rubbin' down your three-year-olds to get 'em in trim
+for the fair. Of all the things that's hard to understand,' says she,
+'the hardest is a man that has more mercy on his horse than he has on
+his wife. July's found rest at last,' says she, 'out in the graveyard;
+and every time I pass your house I thank the Lord that you've got to
+pay a good price for your cookin' now, as there ain't a woman in the
+country fool enough to step into July's shoes.'
+
+"But, la!" said Aunt Jane, breaking off with her happy laugh,--the
+laugh of one who revels in rich memories,--"what's the use of me
+tellin' all this stuff? The long and the short of it is, that Sally
+Ann had her say about nearly every man in the church. She told how
+Mary Embry had to cut up her weddin' skirts to make clothes for her
+first baby; and how John Martin stopped Hannah one day when she was
+carryin' her mother a pound of butter, and made her go back and put
+the butter down in the cellar; and how Lije Davison used to make Ann
+pay him for every bit of chicken feed, and then take half the egg
+money because the chickens got into his garden; and how Abner Page
+give his wife twenty-five cents for spendin' money the time she went
+to visit her sister.
+
+"Sally Ann always was a masterful sort of woman, and that night it
+seemed like she was possessed. The way she talked made me think of the
+Day of Pentecost and the gift of tongues. And finally she got to the
+minister! I'd been wonderin' all along if she was goin' to let him
+off. She turned around to where he was settin' under the pulpit, and
+says she, 'Brother Page, you're a good man, but you ain't so good you
+couldn't be better. It was jest last week,' says she, 'that the women
+come around beggin' money to buy you a new suit of clothes to go to
+Presbytery in; and I told 'em if it was to get Mis' Page a new dress,
+I was ready to give; but not a dime was I goin' to give towards
+puttin' finery on a man's back. I'm tired o' seein' the ministers
+walk up into the pulpit in their slick black broadcloths, and their
+wives settin' down in the pew in an old black silk that's been turned
+upside down, wrong side out, and hind part before, and sponged, and
+pressed, and made over till you can't tell whether it's silk, or
+caliker, or what.'
+
+"Well, I reckon there was some o' the women that expected the roof to
+fall down on us when Sally Ann said that right to the minister. But it
+didn't fall, and Sally Ann went straight on. 'And when it comes to the
+perseverance of the saints and the decrees of God,' says she, 'there
+ain't many can preach a better sermon; but there's some of your
+sermons,' says she, 'that ain't fit for much but kindlin' fires.
+There's that one you preached last Sunday on the twenty-fourth verse
+of the fifth chapter of Ephesians. I reckon I've heard about a hundred
+and fifty sermons on that text, and I reckon I'll keep on hearin' 'em
+as long as there ain't anybody but men to do the preachin'. Anybody
+would think,' says she, 'that you preachers was struck blind every
+time you git through with the twenty-fourth verse, for I never heard a
+sermon on the twenty-fifth verse. I believe there's men in this church
+that thinks the fifth chapter of Ephesians hasn't got but twenty-four
+verses, and I'm goin' to read the rest of it to 'em for once anyhow.'
+
+"And if Sally Ann didn't walk right up into the pulpit same as if
+she'd been ordained, and read what Paul said about men lovin' their
+wives as Christ loved the church, and as they loved their own bodies.
+
+"'Now,' says she, 'if Brother Page can reconcile these texts with what
+Paul says about women submittin' and bein' subject, he's welcome to do
+it. But,' says she, 'if I had the preachin' to do, I wouldn't waste
+time reconcilin'. I'd jest say that when Paul told women to be subject
+to their husbands in everything, he wasn't inspired; and when he told
+men to love their wives as their own bodies, he was inspired; and I'd
+like to see the Presbytery that could silence me from preachin' as
+long as I wanted to preach. As for turnin' out o' the church,' says
+she, 'I'd like to know who's to do the turnin' out. When the disciples
+brought that woman to Christ there wasn't a man in the crowd fit to
+cast a stone at her; and if there's any man nowadays good enough to
+set in judgment on a woman, his name ain't on the rolls of Goshen
+church. If 'Lizabeth,' says she, 'had as much common sense as she's
+got conscience, she'd know that the matter o' that money didn't
+concern nobody but our Mite Society, and we women can settle it
+without any help from you deacons and elders.'
+
+"Well, I reckon Parson Page thought if he didn't head Sally Ann off
+some way or other she'd go on all night; so when she kind o' stopped
+for breath and shut up the big Bible, he grabbed a hymn-book and says:
+
+"'Let us sing "Blest be the Tie that Binds."'
+
+"He struck up the tune himself; and about the middle of the first
+verse Mis' Page got up and went over to where 'Lizabeth was standin',
+and give her the right hand of fellowship, and then Mis' Petty did the
+same; and first thing we knew we was all around her shakin' hands and
+huggin' her and cryin' over her. 'Twas a reg'lar love-feast; and we
+went home feelin' like we'd been through a big protracted meetin' and
+got religion over again.
+
+"'Twasn't more'n a week till 'Lizabeth was down with slow
+fever--nervous collapse, old Dr. Pendleton called it. We took turns
+nursin' her, and one day she looked up in my face and says, 'Jane, I
+know now what the mercy of the Lord is.'"
+
+Here Aunt Jane paused, and began to cut three-cornered pieces out of a
+time-stained square of flowered chintz. The quilt was to be of the
+wild-goose pattern. There was a drowsy hum from the bee-hive near the
+window, and the shadows were lengthening as sunset approached.
+
+"One queer thing about it," she resumed, "was that while Sally Ann was
+talkin', not one of us felt like laughin'. We set there as solemn as
+if parson was preachin' to us on 'lection and predestination. But
+whenever I think about it now, I laugh fit to kill. And I've thought
+many a time that Sally Ann's plain talk to them men done more good
+than all the sermons us women had had preached to us about bein'
+'shame-faced' and 'submittin'' ourselves to our husbands, for every
+one o' them women come out in new clothes that spring, and such a
+change as it made in some of 'em! I wouldn't be surprised if she did
+have a message to deliver, jest as she said. The Bible says an ass
+spoke up once and reproved a man, and I reckon if an ass can reprove a
+man, so can a woman. And it looks to me like men stand in need of
+reprovin' now as much as they did in Balaam's days.
+
+"Jacob died the follerin' fall, and 'Lizabeth got shed of her
+troubles. The triflin' scamp never married her for anything but her
+money.
+
+"Things is different from what they used to be," she went on, as she
+folded her pieces into a compact bundle and tied it with a piece of
+gray yarn. "My son-in-law was tellin' me last summer how a passel o'
+women kept goin' up to Frankfort and so pesterin' the Legislatur',
+that they had to change the laws to git rid of 'em. So married women
+now has all the property rights they want, and more'n some of 'em has
+sense to use, I reckon."
+
+"How about you and Uncle Abram?" I suggested. "Didn't Sally Ann say
+anything about you in her experience?"
+
+Aunt Jane's black eyes snapped with some of the fire of her long-past
+youth. "La! no, child," she said. "Abram never was that kind of a man,
+and I never was that kind of a woman. I ricollect as we was walkin'
+home that night Abram says, sort o' humble-like: 'Jane, hadn't you
+better git that brown merino you was lookin' at last County Court
+day?'
+
+"And I says, 'Don't you worry about that brown merino, Abram. It's
+a-lyin' in my bottom drawer right now. I told the storekeeper to cut
+it off jest as soon as your back was turned, and Mis' Simpson is goin'
+to make it next week.' And Abram he jest laughed, and says, 'Well,
+Jane, I never saw your beat.' You see, I never was any hand at
+'submittin'' myself to my husband, like some women. I've often
+wondered if Abram wouldn't 'a' been jest like Silas Petty if I'd been
+like Maria. I've noticed that whenever a woman's willin' to be imposed
+upon, there's always a man standin' 'round ready to do the imposin'. I
+never went to a law-book to find out what my rights was. I did my duty
+faithful to Abram, and when I wanted anything I went and got it, and
+Abram paid for it, and I can't see but what we got on jest as well as
+we'd 'a' done if I'd a-'submitted' myself."
+
+Longer and longer grew the shadows, and the faint tinkle of bells came
+in through the windows. The cows were beginning to come home. The
+spell of Aunt Jane's dramatic art was upon me. I began to feel that my
+own personality had somehow slipped away from me, and those dead
+people, evoked from their graves by an old woman's histrionism, seemed
+more real to me than my living, breathing self.
+
+"There now, I've talked you clean to death," she said with a happy
+laugh, as I rose to go. "But we've had a real nice time, and I'm glad
+you come."
+
+The sun was almost down as I walked slowly away. When I looked back,
+at the turn of the road, Aunt Jane was standing on the door-step,
+shading her eyes and peering across the level fields. I knew what it
+meant. Beyond the fields was a bit of woodland, and in one corner of
+that you might, if your eyesight was good, discern here and there a
+glimpse of white. It was the old burying-ground of Goshen church; and
+I knew by the strained attitude and intent gaze of the watcher in the
+door that somewhere in the sunlit space between Aunt Jane's door-step
+and the little country graveyard, the souls of the living and the dead
+were keeping a silent tryst.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE NEW ORGAN
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+"Gittin' a new organ is a mighty different thing nowadays from what it
+was when I was young," said Aunt Jane judicially, as she lifted a
+panful of yellow harvest apples from the table and began to peel them
+for dumplings.
+
+Potatoes, peas, and asparagus were bubbling on the stove, and the
+dumplings were in honor of the invited guest, who had begged the
+privilege of staying in the kitchen awhile. Aunt Jane was one of
+those rare housekeepers whose kitchens are more attractive than the
+parlors of other people.
+
+"And gittin' religion is different, too," she continued, propping her
+feet on the round of a chair for the greater comfort and convenience
+of her old knees. "Both of 'em is a heap easier than they used to be,
+and the organs is a heap better. I don't know whether the religion's
+any better or not. You know I went up to my daughter Mary Frances'
+last week, and the folks up there was havin' a big meetin' in the
+Tabernicle, and that's how come me to be thinkin' about organs.
+
+"The preacher was an evangelist, as they call him, Sam Joynes, from
+'way down South. In my day he'd 'a' been called the Rev. Samuel
+Joynes. Folks didn't call their preachers Tom, Dick, and Harry, and
+Jim and Sam, like they do now. I'd like to 'a' seen anybody callin'
+Parson Page 'Lem Page.' He was the Rev. Lemuel Page, and don't you
+forgit it. But things is different, as I said awhile ago, and even the
+little boys says 'Sam Joynes,' jest like he played marbles with 'em
+every day. I went to the Tabernicle three or four times; and of all
+the preachers that ever I heard, he certainly is the beatenest. Why,
+I ain't laughed so much since me and Abram went to Barnum's circus,
+the year before the war. He was preachin' one day about cleanliness
+bein' next to godliness, which it certainly is, and he says, 'You old
+skunk, you!' But, la! the worse names he called 'em the better they
+'peared to like it, and sinners was converted wholesale every time he
+preached. But there wasn't no goin' to the mourners' bench and
+mournin' for your sins and havin' people prayin' and cryin' over you.
+They jest set and laughed and grinned while he was gittin' off his
+jokes, and then they'd go up and shake hands with him, and there they
+was all saved and ready to be baptized and taken into the church."
+
+Just here the old yellow rooster fluttered up to the door-step and
+gave a hoarse, ominous crow.
+
+"There, now! You hear that?" said Aunt Jane, as she tossed him a
+golden peeling from her pan. "There's some folks that gives right up
+and looks for sickness or death or bad news every time a rooster crows
+in the door. But I never let such things bother me. The Bible says
+that nobody knows what a day may bring forth, and if I don't know, it
+ain't likely my old yeller rooster does.
+
+"What was I talkin' about? Oh, yes--the big meetin'. Well, I never was
+any hand to say that old ways is best, and I don't say so now. If you
+can convert a man by callin' him a polecat, why, call him one, of
+course. And mournin' ain't always a sign o' true repentance. They used
+to tell how Silas Petty mourned for forty days, and, as Sally Ann
+said, he had about as much religion as old Dan Tucker's Derby ram.
+
+"However, it was the organ I set out to tell about. It's jest like me
+to wander away from the p'int. Abram always said a text would have to
+be made like a postage stamp for me to stick to it. You see, they'd
+jest got a fine new organ at Mary Frances' church, and she was tellin'
+me how they paid for it. One man give five hundred dollars, and
+another give three hundred; then they collected four or five hundred
+amongst the other members, and give a lawn party and a strawberry
+festival and raised another hundred. It set me to thinkin' o' the time
+us women got the organ for Goshen church. It wasn't any light matter,
+for, besides the money it took us nearly three years to raise, there
+was the opposition. Come to think of it, we raised more opposition
+than we did money."
+
+And Aunt Jane laughed a blithe laugh and tossed another peeling to
+the yellow rooster, who had dropped the rôle of harbinger of evil and
+was posing as a humble suppliant.
+
+"An organ in them days, honey, was jest a wedge to split the church
+half in two. It was the new cyarpet that brought on the organ. You
+know how it is with yourself; you git a new dress, and then you've got
+to have a new bonnet, and then you can't wear your old shoes and
+gloves with a new dress and a new bonnet, and the first thing you know
+you've spent five times as much as you set out to spend. That's the
+way it was with us about the cyarpet and the organ and the pulpit
+chairs and the communion set.
+
+"Most o' the men folks was against the organ from the start, and Silas
+Petty was the foremost. Silas made a p'int of goin' against everything
+that women favored. Sally Ann used to say that if a woman was to come
+up to him and say, 'Le's go to heaven,' Silas would start off towards
+the other place right at once; he was jest that mulish and contrairy.
+He met Sally Ann one day, and says he, 'Jest give you women rope
+enough and you'll turn the house o' the Lord into a reg'lar toy-shop.'
+And Sally Ann she says, 'You'd better go home, Silas, and read the
+book of Exodus. If the Lord told Moses how to build the Tabernicle
+with the goats' skins and rams' skins and blue and purple and scarlet
+and fine linen and candlesticks with six branches, I reckon he won't
+object to a few yards o' cyarpetin' and a little organ in Goshen
+church.'
+
+"Sally Ann always had an answer ready, and I used to think she knew
+more about the Bible than Parson Page did himself.
+
+"Of course Uncle Jim Matthews didn't want the organ; he was afraid it
+might interfere with his singin'. Job Taylor always stood up for
+Silas, so he didn't want it; and Parson Page never opened his mouth
+one way or the other. He was one o' those men that tries to set on
+both sides o' the fence at once, and he'd set that way so long he was
+a mighty good hand at balancin' himself.
+
+"Us women didn't say much, but we made up our minds to have the organ.
+So we went to work in the Mite Society, and in less'n three years we
+had enough money to git it. I've often wondered how many pounds o'
+butter and how many baskets of eggs it took to raise that money. I
+reckon if they'd 'a' been piled up on top of each other they'd 'a'
+reached to the top o' the steeple. The women of Israel brought their
+ear-rings and bracelets to help build the Tabernicle, but we had jest
+our egg and butter money, and the second year, when the chicken
+cholery was so bad, our prospects looked mighty blue.
+
+"When I saw that big organ up at Danville, I couldn't help thinkin'
+about the little thing we worked so hard to git. 'Twasn't much
+bigger'n a washstand, and I reckon if I was to hear it now, I'd think
+it was mighty feeble and squeaky. But it sounded fine enough to us in
+them days, and, little as it was, it raised a disturbance for miles
+around.
+
+"When it come down from Louisville, Abram went to town with his
+two-horse wagon and brought it out and set it up in our parlor. My
+Jane had been takin' lessons in town all winter, so's to be able to
+play on it.
+
+"We had a right good choir for them days; the only trouble was that
+everybody wanted to be leader. That's a common failin' with church
+choirs, I've noticed. Milly Amos sung soprano, and my Jane was the
+alto; John Petty sung bass, and young Sam Crawford tenor; and as for
+Uncle Jim Matthews, he sung everything, and a plenty of it, too. Milly
+Amos used to say he was worse'n a flea. He'd start out on the bass,
+and first thing you knew he'd be singin' tenor with Sam Crawford; and
+by the time Sam was good and mad, he'd be off onto the alto or the
+soprano. He was one o' these meddlesome old creeturs that thinks the
+world never moved till they got into it, and they've got to help
+everybody out with whatever they happen to be doin'. You've heard o'
+children bein' born kickin'. Well, Uncle Jim must 'a' been born
+singin'. I've seen people that said they didn't like the idea o' goin'
+to heaven and standin' around a throne and singin' hymns for ever and
+ever; but you couldn't 'a' pleased Uncle Jim better than to set him
+down in jest that sort o' heaven. Wherever there was a chance to get
+in some singin', there you'd be sure to find Uncle Jim. Folks used to
+say he enjoyed a funeral a heap better than he did a weddin', 'cause
+he could sing at the funeral, and he couldn't at the weddin'; and Sam
+Crawford said he believed if Gabriel was to come down and blow his
+trumpet, Uncle Jim would git up and begin to sing.
+
+"It wouldn't 'a' been so bad if he'd had any sort of a voice; but he'd
+been singin' all his life and hollerin' at protracted meetin's ever
+since he got religion, till he'd sung and hollered all the music out
+of his voice, and there wasn't much left but the old creaky machinery.
+It used to make me think of an old rickety house with the blinds
+flappin' in the wind. It mortified us terrible to have any of the
+Methodists or Babtists come to our church. We was sort o' used to the
+old man's capers, but people that wasn't couldn't keep a straight face
+when the singin' begun, and it took more grace than any of us had to
+keep from gittin' mad when we seen people from another church laughin'
+at our choir.
+
+"The Babtists had a powerful protracted meetin' one winter. Uncle Jim
+was there to help with the singin', as a matter of course, and he
+begun to git mightily interested in Babtist doctrines. Used to go home
+with 'em after church and talk about Greek and Hebrew words till the
+clock struck twelve. And one communion Sunday he got up solemn as a
+owl and marched out o' church jest before the bread and wine was
+passed. Made out like he warn't sure he'd been rightly babtized. The
+choir was mightily tickled at the idea o' gittin' shed o' the old
+pest, and Sam Crawford went to him and told him he was on the right
+track and to go ahead, for the Babtists was undoubtedly correct, and
+if it wasn't for displeasin' his father and mother he'd jine 'em
+himself. And then--Sam never could let well enough alone--then he went
+to Bush Elrod, the Babtist tenor, and says he, 'I hear you're goin'
+to have a new member in your choir.' And Bush says, 'Well, if the old
+idiot ever jines this church, we'll hold his head under the water so
+long that he won't be able to spile good music agin.' And then he give
+Uncle Jim a hint o' how things was; and when Uncle Jim heard that the
+Presbyterians was anxious to git shed of him, he found out right away
+that all them Greek and Hebrew words meant sprinklin' and infant
+babtism. So he settled down to stay where he was, and hollered
+louder'n ever the next Sunday.
+
+"The old man was a good enough Christian, I reckon; but when it come
+to singin', he was a stumblin'-block and rock of offense to the whole
+church, and especially to the choir. The first thing Sally Ann said
+when she looked at the new organ was, 'Well, Jane, how do you reckon
+it's goin' to sound with Uncle Jim's voice?' and I laughed till I had
+to set down in a cheer.
+
+"Well, when the men folks found out that our organ had come, they
+begun to wake up. Abram had brought it out Tuesday, and Wednesday
+night, as soon as prayer-meetin' broke, Parson Page says, says he:
+'Brethren, there is a little business to be transacted. Please remain
+a few minutes longer.' And then, when we had set down again, he went
+on to say that the sisters had raised money and bought an organ, and
+there was some division of opinion among the brethren about usin' it,
+so he would like to have the matter discussed. He used a lot o' big
+words and talked mighty smooth, and I knew there was trouble ahead for
+us women.
+
+"Uncle Jim was the first one to speak. He was so anxious to begin, he
+could hardly wait for Parson Page to stop; and anybody would 'a'
+thought that he'd been up to heaven and talked with the Father and the
+Son and the Holy Ghost and all the angels, to hear him tell about the
+sort o' music there was in heaven, and the sort there ought to be on
+earth. 'Why, brethren,' says he, 'when John saw the heavens opened
+there wasn't no organs up there. God don't keer nothin',' says he,
+'about such new-fangled, worldly instruments. But when a lot o' sweet
+human voices git to praisin' him, why, the very angels stop singin' to
+listen.'
+
+"Milly Amos was right behind me, and she leaned over and says, 'Well,
+if the angels'd rather hear Uncle Jim's singin' than our organ,
+they've got mighty pore taste, that's all I've got to say.'
+
+"Silas Petty was the next one to git up, and says he: 'I never was in
+favor o' doin' things half-way, brethren; and if we've got to have the
+organ, why, we might as well have a monkey, too, and be done with it.
+For my part,' says he, 'I want to worship in the good old way my
+fathers and grandfathers worshiped in, and, unless my feelin's change
+very considerable, I shall have to withdraw from this church if any
+such Satan's music-box is set up in this holy place.'
+
+"And Sally Ann turned around and whispered to me, 'We ought to 'a' got
+that organ long ago, Jane.' I like to 'a' laughed right out, and I
+leaned over, and says I, 'Why don't you git up and talk for us, Sally
+Ann?' and she says: 'The spirit ain't moved me, Jane. I reckon it's
+too busy movin' Uncle Jim and Silas Petty.'
+
+"Jest then I looked around, and there was Abram standin' up. Well, you
+could 'a' knocked me over with a feather. Abram always was one o'
+those close-mouthed men. Never spoke if he could git around it any way
+whatever. Parson Page used to git after him every protracted meetin'
+about not leadin' in prayer and havin' family worship; but the spirit
+moved him that time sure, and there he was talkin' as glib as old
+Uncle Jim. And says he: 'Brethren, I'm not carin' much one way or
+another about this organ. I don't know how the angels feel about it,
+not havin' so much acquaintance with 'em as Uncle Jim has; but I do
+know enough about women to know that there ain't any use tryin' to
+stop 'em when they git their heads set on a thing, and I'm goin' to
+haul that organ over to-morrow mornin' and set it up for the choir to
+practise by Friday night. If I don't haul it over, Sally Ann and
+Jane'll tote it over between 'em, and if they can't put it into the
+church by the door, they'll hist a window and put it in that way. I
+reckon,' says he, 'I've got all the men against me in this matter, but
+then, I've got all the women on my side, and I reckon all the women
+and one man makes a pretty good majority, and so I'm goin' to haul the
+organ over to-morrow mornin'.'
+
+"I declare I felt real proud of Abram, and I told him so that night
+when we was goin' home together. Then Parson Page he says, 'It seems
+to me there is sound sense in what Brother Parish says, and I suggest
+that we allow the sisters to have their way and give the organ a
+trial; and if we find that it is hurtful to the interests of the
+church, it will be an easy matter to remove it.' And Milly Amos says
+to me, 'I see 'em gittin' that organ out if we once git it in.'
+
+"When the choir met Friday night, Milly come in all in a flurry, and
+says she: 'I hear Brother Gardner has gone to the 'Sociation down in
+Russellville, and all the Babtists are comin' to our church Sunday;
+and I want to show 'em what good music is this once, anyhow. Uncle Jim
+Matthews is laid up with rheumatism,' says she, 'and if that ain't a
+special providence I never saw one.' And Sam Crawford slapped his
+knee, and says he, 'Well, if the old man's rheumatism jest holds out
+over Sunday, them Babtists'll hear music sure.'
+
+"Then Milly went on to tell that she'd been up to Squire Elrod's, and
+Miss Penelope, the squire's niece from Louisville, had promised to
+sing a voluntary Sunday.
+
+"'Voluntary? What's that?' says Sam.
+
+"'Why,' says Milly, 'it's a hymn that the choir, or somebody in it,
+sings of their own accord, without the preacher givin' it out; just
+like your tomatoes come up in the spring, voluntary, without you
+plantin' the seed. That's the way they do in the city churches,' says
+she, 'and we are goin' to put on city style Sunday.'
+
+"Then they went to work and practised some new tunes for the hymns
+Parson Page had give 'em, so if Uncle Jim's rheumatism didn't hold
+out, he'd still have to hold his peace.
+
+"Well, Sunday come; but special providence was on Uncle Jim's side
+that time, and there he was as smilin' as a basket o' chips if he did
+have to walk with a cane. We'd had the church cleaned up as neat as a
+new pin. My Jane had put a bunch of honeysuckles and pinks on the
+organ, and everybody was dressed in their best. Miss Penelope was
+settin' at the organ with a bunch of roses in her hand, and the
+windows was all open, and you could see the trees wavin' in the wind
+and hear the birds singin' outside. I always did think that was the
+best part o' Sunday--that time jest before church begins."
+
+Aunt Jane's voice dropped. Her words came slowly; and into the story
+fell one of those "flashes of silence" to which she was as little
+given as the great historian. The pan of dumplings waited for the
+sprinkling of spice and sugar, while she stood motionless, looking
+afar off, though her gaze apparently stopped on the vacant whitewashed
+wall before her. No mind reader's art was needed to tell what scene
+her faded eyes beheld. There was the old church, with its battered
+furniture and high pulpit. For one brief moment the grave had yielded
+up its dead, and "the old familiar faces" looked out from every pew.
+We were very near together, Aunt Jane and I; but the breeze that
+fanned her brow was not the breeze I felt as I sat by her kitchen
+window. For her a wind was blowing across the plains of memory; and
+the honeysuckle odor it carried was not from the bush in the yard. It
+came, weighted with dreams, from the blossoms that her Jane had placed
+on the organ twenty-five years ago. A bob-white was calling in the
+meadow across the dusty road, and the echoes of the second bell had
+just died away. She and Abram were side by side in their accustomed
+place, and life lay like a watered garden in the peaceful stillness of
+the time "jest before church begins."
+
+The asparagus on the stove boiled over with a great spluttering, and
+Aunt Jane came back to "the eternal now."
+
+"Sakes alive!" she exclaimed, as she lifted the saucepan; "I must be
+gittin' old, to let things boil over this way while I'm studyin' about
+old times. I declare, I believe I've clean forgot what I was sayin'."
+
+"You were at church," I suggested, "and the singing was about to
+begin."
+
+"Sure enough! Well, all at once Miss Penelope laid her hands on the
+keys and begun to play and sing 'Nearer, My God, to Thee.' We'd heard
+that hymn all our lives at church and protracted meetin's and
+prayer-meetin's, but we didn't know how it could sound till Miss
+Penelope sung it all by herself that day with our new organ. I
+ricollect jest how she looked, pretty little thing that she was; and
+sometimes I can hear her voice jest as plain as I hear that robin out
+yonder in the ellum tree. Every word was jest like a bright new piece
+o' silver, and every note was jest like gold; and she was lookin' up
+through the winder at the trees and the sky like she was singin' to
+somebody we couldn't see. We clean forgot about the new organ and the
+Baptists; and I really believe we was feelin' nearer to God than we'd
+ever felt before. When she got through with the first verse, she
+played somethin' soft and sweet and begun again; and right in the
+middle of the first line--I declare, it's twenty-five years ago, but I
+git mad now when I think about it--right in the middle of the first
+line Uncle Jim jined in like an old squawkin' jay-bird, and sung like
+he was tryin' to drown out Miss Penelope and the new organ, too.
+
+"Everybody give a jump when he first started, and he'd got nearly
+through the verse before we took in what was happenin'. Even the
+Babtists jest looked surprised like the rest of us. But when Miss
+Penelope begun the third time and Uncle Jim jined in with his
+hollerin', I saw Bush Elrod grin, and that grin spread all over the
+Babtist crowd in no time. The Presbyterian young folks was gigglin'
+behind their fans, and Bush got to laughin' till he had to git up and
+leave the church. They said he went up the road to Sam Amos' pasture
+and laid down on the ground and rolled over and over and laughed till
+he couldn't laugh any more.
+
+"I was so mad I started to git up, though goodness knows what I could
+'a' done. Abram he grabbed my dress and says, 'Steady, Jane!' jest
+like he was talkin' to the old mare. The thing that made me maddest
+was Silas Petty a-leanin' back in his pew and smilin' as satisfied as
+if he'd seen the salvation of the Lord. I didn't mind the Babtists
+half as much as I did Silas.
+
+"The only person in the church that wasn't the least bit flustered was
+Miss Penelope. She was a Marshall on her mother's side, and I always
+said that nobody but a born lady could 'a' acted as she did. She sung
+right on as if everything was goin' exactly right and she'd been
+singin' hymns with Uncle Jim all her life. Two or three times when the
+old man kind o' lagged behind, it looked like she waited for him to
+ketch up, and when she got through and Uncle Jim was lumberin' on the
+last note, she folded her hands and set there lookin' out the winder
+where the sun was shinin' on the silver poplar trees, jest as peaceful
+as a angel, and the rest of us as mad as hornets. Milly Amos set back
+of Uncle Jim, and his red bandanna handkerchief was lyin' over his
+shoulders where he'd been shooin' the flies away. She told me the next
+day it was all she could do to keep from reachin' over and chokin' the
+old man off while Miss Penelope was singin'.
+
+"I said Miss Penelope was the only one that wasn't flustered. I ought
+to 'a' said Miss Penelope and Uncle Jim. The old creetur was jest that
+simple-minded he didn't know he'd done anything out o' the way, and he
+set there lookin' as pleased as a child, and thinkin', I reckon, how
+smart he'd been to help Miss Penelope out with the singin'.
+
+"The rest o' the hymns went off all right, and it did me good to see
+Uncle Jim's face when they struck up the new tunes. He tried to jine
+in, but he had to give it up and wait for the doxology.
+
+"Parson Page preached a powerful good sermon, but I don't reckon it
+did some of us much good, we was so put out about Uncle Jim spilin'
+our voluntary.
+
+"After meetin' broke and we was goin' home, me and Abram had to pass
+by Silas Petty's wagon. He was helpin' Maria in, and I don't know what
+she'd been sayin', but he says, 'It's a righteous judgment on you
+women, Maria, for profanin' the Lord's house with that there organ.'
+And, mad as I was, I had to laugh when I thought of old Uncle Jim
+Matthews executin' a judgment of the Lord. Uncle Jim never made more'n
+a half-way livin' at the carpenter's trade, and I reckon if the Lord
+had wanted anybody to help him execute a judgment, Uncle Jim would 'a'
+been the last man he'd 'a' thought of.
+
+"Of course the choir was madder'n ever at Uncle Jim; and when Milly
+Amos had fever that summer, she called Sam to her the day she was at
+her worst, and pulled his head down and whispered as feeble as a baby:
+'Don't let Uncle Jim sing at my funeral, Sam. I'll rise up out of my
+coffin if he does.' And Sam broke out a-laughin' and a-cryin' at the
+same time--he thought a heap o' Milly--and says he, 'Well, Milly, if
+it'll have that effect, Uncle Jim shall sing at the funeral, sure.'
+And Milly got to laughin', weak as she was, and in a few minutes she
+dropped off to sleep, and when she woke up the fever was gone, and she
+begun to git well from that day. I always believed that laugh was the
+turnin'-p'int. Instead of Uncle Jim singin' at her funeral, she sung
+at Uncle Jim's, and broke down and cried like a child for all the mean
+things she'd said about the pore old creetur's voice."
+
+The asparagus had been transferred to a china dish, and the browned
+butter was ready to pour over it. The potatoes were steaming
+themselves into mealy delicacy, and Aunt Jane peered into the stove
+where the dumplings were taking on a golden brown. Her story-telling
+evidently did not interfere with her culinary skill, and I said so.
+
+"La, child," she replied, dashing a pinch of "seasonin" into the peas,
+"when I git so old I can't do but one thing at a time, I'll try to die
+as soon as possible."
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+AUNT JANE'S ALBUM
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+They were a bizarre mass of color on the sweet spring landscape, those
+patchwork quilts, swaying in a long line under the elms and maples.
+The old orchard made a blossoming background for them, and farther off
+on the horizon rose the beauty of fresh verdure and purple mist on
+those low hills, or "knobs," that are to the heart of the Kentuckian
+as the Alps to the Swiss or the sea to the sailor.
+
+I opened the gate softly and paused for a moment between the
+blossoming lilacs that grew on each side of the path. The fragrance of
+the white and the purple blooms was like a resurrection-call over the
+graves of many a dead spring; and as I stood, shaken with thoughts as
+the flowers are with the winds, Aunt Jane came around from the back of
+the house, her black silk cape fluttering from her shoulders, and a
+calico sunbonnet hiding her features in its cavernous depth. She
+walked briskly to the clothes-line and began patting and smoothing the
+quilts where the breeze had disarranged them.
+
+"Aunt Jane," I called out, "are you having a fair all by yourself?"
+
+She turned quickly, pushing back the sunbonnet from her eyes.
+
+"Why, child," she said, with a happy laugh, "you come pretty nigh
+skeerin' me. No, I ain't havin' any fair; I'm jest givin' my quilts
+their spring airin'. Twice a year I put 'em out in the sun and wind;
+and this mornin' the air smelt so sweet, I thought it was a good
+chance to freshen 'em up for the summer. It's about time to take 'em
+in now."
+
+She began to fold the quilts and lay them over her arm, and I did the
+same. Back and forth we went from the clothes-line to the house, and
+from the house to the clothes-line, until the quilts were safely
+housed from the coming dewfall and piled on every available chair in
+the front room. I looked at them in sheer amazement. There seemed to
+be every pattern that the ingenuity of woman could devise and the
+industry of woman put together,--"four-patches," "nine-patches,"
+"log-cabins," "wild-goose chases," "rising suns," hexagons, diamonds,
+and only Aunt Jane knows what else. As for color, a Sandwich Islander
+would have danced with joy at the sight of those reds, purples,
+yellows, and greens.
+
+"Did you really make all these quilts, Aunt Jane?" I asked
+wonderingly.
+
+Aunt Jane's eyes sparkled with pride.
+
+"Every stitch of 'em, child," she said, "except the quiltin'. The
+neighbors used to come in and help some with that. I've heard folks
+say that piecin' quilts was nothin' but a waste o' time, but that
+ain't always so. They used to say that Sarah Jane Mitchell would set
+down right after breakfast and piece till it was time to git dinner,
+and then set and piece till she had to git supper, and then piece by
+candle-light till she fell asleep in her cheer.
+
+"I ricollect goin' over there one day, and Sarah Jane was gittin'
+dinner in a big hurry, for Sam had to go to town with some cattle,
+and there was a big basket o' quilt pieces in the middle o' the
+kitchen floor, and the house lookin' like a pigpen, and the children
+runnin' around half naked. And Sam he laughed, and says he, 'Aunt
+Jane, if we could wear quilts and eat quilts we'd be the richest
+people in the country.' Sam was the best-natured man that ever was, or
+he couldn't 'a' put up with Sarah Jane's shiftless ways. Hannah
+Crawford said she sent Sarah Jane a bundle o' caliker once by Sam, and
+Sam always declared he lost it. But Uncle Jim Matthews said he was
+ridin' along the road jest behind Sam, and he saw Sam throw it into
+the creek jest as he got on the bridge. I never blamed Sam a bit if he
+did.
+
+"But there never was any time wasted on my quilts, child. I can look
+at every one of 'em with a clear conscience. I did my work faithful;
+and then, when I might 'a' set and held my hands, I'd make a block or
+two o' patchwork, and before long I'd have enough to put together in a
+quilt. I went to piecin' as soon as I was old enough to hold a needle
+and a piece o' cloth, and one o' the first things I can remember was
+settin' on the back door-step sewin' my quilt pieces, and mother
+praisin' my stitches. Nowadays folks don't have to sew unless they
+want to, but when I was a child there warn't any sewin'-machines, and
+it was about as needful for folks to know how to sew as it was for 'em
+to know how to eat; and every child that was well raised could hem and
+run and backstitch and gether and overhand by the time she was nine
+years old. Why, I'd pieced four quilts by the time I was nineteen
+years old, and when me and Abram set up housekeepin' I had bedclothes
+enough for three beds.
+
+"I've had a heap o' comfort all my life makin' quilts, and now in my
+old age I wouldn't take a fortune for 'em. Set down here, child, where
+you can see out o' the winder and smell the lilacs, and we'll look at
+'em all. You see, some folks has albums to put folks' pictures in to
+remember 'em by, and some folks has a book and writes down the things
+that happen every day so they won't forgit 'em; but, honey, these
+quilts is my albums and my di'ries, and whenever the weather's bad and
+I can't git out to see folks, I jest spread out my quilts and look at
+'em and study over 'em, and it's jest like goin' back fifty or sixty
+years and livin' my life over agin.
+
+"There ain't nothin' like a piece o' caliker for bringin' back old
+times, child, unless it's a flower or a bunch o' thyme or a piece o'
+pennyroy'l--anything that smells sweet. Why, I can go out yonder in
+the yard and gether a bunch o' that purple lilac and jest shut my eyes
+and see faces I ain't seen for fifty years, and somethin' goes through
+me like a flash o' lightnin', and it seems like I'm young agin jest
+for that minute."
+
+Aunt Jane's hands were stroking lovingly a "nine-patch" that resembled
+the coat of many colors.
+
+"Now this quilt, honey," she said, "I made out o' the pieces o' my
+children's clothes, their little dresses and waists and aprons. Some
+of 'em's dead, and some of 'em's grown and married and a long way off
+from me, further off than the ones that's dead, I sometimes think. But
+when I set down and look at this quilt and think over the pieces, it
+seems like they all come back, and I can see 'em playin' around the
+floors and goin' in and out, and hear 'em cryin' and laughin' and
+callin' me jest like they used to do before they grew up to men and
+women, and before there was any little graves o' mine out in the old
+buryin'-ground over yonder."
+
+Wonderful imagination of motherhood that can bring childhood back from
+the dust of the grave and banish the wrinkles and gray hairs of age
+with no other talisman than a scrap of faded calico!
+
+The old woman's hands were moving tremulously over the surface of the
+quilt as if they touched the golden curls of the little dream children
+who had vanished from her hearth so many years ago. But there were no
+tears either in her eyes or in her voice. I had long noticed that Aunt
+Jane always smiled when she spoke of the people whom the world calls
+"dead," or the things it calls "lost" or "past." These words seemed to
+have for her higher and tenderer meanings than are placed on them by
+the sorrowful heart of humanity.
+
+But the moments were passing, and one could not dwell too long on any
+quilt, however well beloved. Aunt Jane rose briskly, folded up the one
+that lay across her knees, and whisked out another from the huge pile
+in an old splint-bottomed chair.
+
+"Here's a piece o' one o' Sally Ann's purple caliker dresses. Sally
+Ann always thought a heap o' purple caliker. Here's one o' Milly Amos'
+ginghams--that pink-and-white one. And that piece o' white with the
+rosebuds in it, that's Miss Penelope's. She give it to me the summer
+before she died. Bless her soul! That dress jest matched her face
+exactly. Somehow her and her clothes always looked alike, and her
+voice matched her face, too. One o' the things I'm lookin' forward
+to, child, is seein' Miss Penelope agin and hearin' her sing. Voices
+and faces is alike; there's some that you can't remember, and there's
+some you can't forgit. I've seen a heap o' people and heard a heap o'
+voices, but Miss Penelope's face was different from all the rest, and
+so was her voice. Why, if she said 'Good mornin'' to you, you'd hear
+that 'Good mornin' all day, and her singin'--I know there never was
+anything like it in this world. My grandchildren all laugh at me for
+thinkin' so much o' Miss Penelope's singin', but then they never heard
+her, and I have: that's the difference. My grandchild Henrietta was
+down here three or four years ago, and says she, 'Grandma, don't you
+want to go up to Louisville with me and hear Patti sing?' And says I,
+'Patty who, child?' Says I, 'If it was to hear Miss Penelope sing, I'd
+carry these old bones o' mine clear from here to New York. But there
+ain't anybody else I want to hear sing bad enough to go up to
+Louisville or anywhere else. And some o' these days,' says I, _'I'm
+goin' to hear Miss Penelope sing._'"
+
+Aunt Jane laughed blithely, and it was impossible not to laugh with
+her.
+
+"Honey," she said, in the next breath, lowering her voice and laying
+her finger on the rosebud piece, "honey, there's one thing I can't git
+over. Here's a piece o' Miss Penelope's dress, but _where's Miss
+Penelope_? Ain't it strange that a piece o' caliker'll outlast you and
+me? Don't it look like folks ought 'o hold on to their bodies as long
+as other folks holds on to a piece o' the dresses they used to wear?"
+
+Questions as old as the human heart and its human grief! Here is the
+glove, but where is the hand it held but yesterday? Here the jewel
+that she wore, but where is she?
+
+    "Where is the Pompadour now?
+    _This_ was the Pompadour's fan!"
+
+Strange that such things as gloves, jewels, fans, and dresses can
+outlast a woman's form.
+
+"Behold! I show you a mystery"--the mystery of mortality. And an eery
+feeling came over me as I entered into the old woman's mood and
+thought of the strong, vital bodies that had clothed themselves in
+those fabrics of purple and pink and white, and that now were dust and
+ashes lying in sad, neglected graves on farm and lonely roadside.
+There lay the quilt on our knees, and the gay scraps of calico seemed
+to mock us with their vivid colors. Aunt Jane's cheerful voice called
+me back from the tombs.
+
+"Here's a piece o' one o' my dresses," she said; "brown ground with a
+red ring in it. Abram picked it out. And here's another one, that
+light yeller ground with the vine runnin' through it. I never had so
+many caliker dresses that I didn't want one more, for in my day folks
+used to think a caliker dress was good enough to wear anywhere. Abram
+knew my failin', and two or three times a year he'd bring me a dress
+when he come from town. And the dresses he'd pick out always suited me
+better'n the ones I picked."
+
+"I ricollect I finished this quilt the summer before Mary Frances was
+born, and Sally Ann and Milly Amos and Maria Petty come over and give
+me a lift on the quiltin'. Here's Milly's work, here's Sally Ann's,
+and here's Maria's."
+
+I looked, but my inexperienced eye could see no difference in the
+handiwork of the three women. Aunt Jane saw my look of incredulity.
+
+"Now, child," she said, earnestly, "you think I'm foolin' you, but,
+la! there's jest as much difference in folks' sewin' as there is in
+their handwritin'. Milly made a fine stitch, but she couldn't keep on
+the line to save her life; Maria never could make a reg'lar stitch,
+some'd be long and some short, and Sally Ann's was reg'lar, but all of
+'em coarse. I can see 'em now stoopin' over the quiltin' frames--Milly
+talkin' as hard as she sewed, Sally Ann throwin' in a word now and
+then, and Maria never openin' her mouth except to ask for the thread
+or the chalk. I ricollect they come over after dinner, and we got the
+quilt out o' the frames long before sundown, and the next day I begun
+bindin' it, and I got the premium on it that year at the Fair.
+
+"I hardly ever showed a quilt at the Fair that I didn't take the
+premium, but here's one quilt that Sarah Jane Mitchell beat me on."
+
+And Aunt Jane dragged out a ponderous, red-lined affair, the very
+antithesis of the silken, down-filled comfortable that rests so
+lightly on the couch of the modern dame.
+
+"It makes me laugh jest to think o' that time, and how happy Sarah
+Jane was. It was way back yonder in the fifties. I ricollect we had a
+mighty fine Fair that year. The crops was all fine that season, and
+such apples and pears and grapes you never did see. The Floral Hall
+was full o' things, and the whole county turned out to go to the
+Fair. Abram and me got there the first day bright and early, and we
+was walkin' around the amp'itheater and lookin' at the townfolks and
+the sights, and we met Sally Ann. She stopped us, and says she, 'Sarah
+Jane Mitchell's got a quilt in the Floral Hall in competition with
+yours and Milly Amos'.' Says I, 'Is that all the competition there
+is?' And Sally Ann says, 'All that amounts to anything. There's one
+more, but it's about as bad a piece o' sewin' as Sarah Jane's, and
+that looks like it'd hardly hold together till the Fair's over. And,'
+says she, 'I don't believe there'll be any more. It looks like this
+was an off year on that particular kind o' quilt. I didn't get mine
+done,' says she, 'and neither did Maria Petty, and maybe it's a good
+thing after all.'
+
+"Well, I saw in a minute what Sally Ann was aimin' at. And I says to
+Abram, 'Abram, haven't you got somethin' to do with app'intin' the
+judges for the women's things?' And he says, 'Yes.' And I says, 'Well,
+you see to it that Sally Ann gits app'inted to help judge the caliker
+quilts.' And bless your soul, Abram got me and Sally Ann both
+app'inted. The other judge was Mis' Doctor Brigham, one o' the town
+ladies. We told her all about what we wanted to do, and she jest
+laughed and says, 'Well, if that ain't the kindest, nicest thing! Of
+course we'll do it.'
+
+"Seein' that I had a quilt there, I hadn't a bit o' business bein' a
+judge; but the first thing I did was to fold my quilt up and hide it
+under Maria Petty's big worsted quilt, and then we pinned the blue
+ribbon on Sarah Jane's and the red on Milly's. I'd fixed it all up
+with Milly, and she was jest as willin' as I was for Sarah Jane to
+have the premium. There was jest one thing I was afraid of: Milly was
+a good-hearted woman, but she never had much control over her tongue.
+And I says to her, says I: 'Milly, it's mighty good of you to give up
+your chance for the premium, but if Sarah Jane ever finds it out,
+that'll spoil everything. For,' says I, 'there ain't any kindness in
+doin' a person a favor and then tellin' everybody about it.' And Milly
+laughed, and says she: 'I know what you mean, Aunt Jane. It's mighty
+hard for me to keep from tellin' everything I know and some things I
+don't know, but,' says she, 'I'm never goin' to tell this, even to
+Sam.' And she kept her word, too. Every once in a while she'd come up
+to me and whisper, 'I ain't told it yet, Aunt Jane,' jest to see me
+laugh.
+
+"As soon as the doors was open, after we'd all got through judgin'
+and puttin' on the ribbons, Milly went and hunted Sarah Jane up and
+told her that her quilt had the blue ribbon. They said the pore thing
+like to 'a' fainted for joy. She turned right white, and had to lean
+up against the post for a while before she could git to the Floral
+Hall. I never shall forgit her face. It was worth a dozen premiums to
+me, and Milly, too. She jest stood lookin' at that quilt and the blue
+ribbon on it, and her eyes was full o' tears and her lips quiverin',
+and then she started off and brought the children in to look at
+'Mammy's quilt.' She met Sam on the way out, and says she: 'Sam, what
+do you reckon? My quilt took the premium.' And I believe in my soul
+Sam was as much pleased as Sarah Jane. He came saunterin' up, tryin'
+to look unconcerned, but anybody could see he was mighty well
+satisfied. It does a husband and wife a heap o' good to be proud of
+each other, and I reckon that was the first time Sam ever had cause to
+be proud o' pore Sarah Jane. It's my belief that he thought more o'
+Sarah Jane all the rest o' her life jest on account o' that premium.
+Me and Sally Ann helped her pick it out. She had her choice betwixt a
+butter-dish and a cup, and she took the cup. Folks used to laugh and
+say that that cup was the only thing in Sarah Jane's house that was
+kept clean and bright, and if it hadn't 'a' been solid silver, she'd
+'a' wore it all out rubbin' it up. Sarah Jane died o' pneumonia about
+three or four years after that, and the folks that nursed her said she
+wouldn't take a drink o' water or a dose o' medicine out o' any cup
+but that. There's some folks, child, that don't have to do anything
+but walk along and hold out their hands, and the premiums jest
+naturally fall into 'em; and there's others that work and strive the
+best they know how, and nothin' ever seems to come to 'em; and I
+reckon nobody but the Lord and Sarah Jane knows how much happiness she
+got out o' that cup. I'm thankful she had that much pleasure before
+she died."
+
+There was a quilt hanging over the foot of the bed that had about it a
+certain air of distinction. It was a solid mass of patchwork, composed
+of squares, parallelograms, and hexagons. The squares were of dark
+gray and red-brown, the hexagons were white, the parallelograms black
+and light gray. I felt sure that it had a history that set it apart
+from its ordinary fellows.
+
+"Where did you get the pattern, Aunt Jane?" I asked. "I never saw
+anything like it."
+
+The old lady's eyes sparkled, and she laughed with pure pleasure.
+
+"That's what everybody says," she exclaimed, jumping up and spreading
+the favored quilt over two laden chairs, where its merits became more
+apparent and striking. "There ain't another quilt like this in the
+State o' Kentucky, or the world, for that matter. My granddaughter
+Henrietta, Mary Frances' youngest child, brought me this pattern _from
+Europe_."
+
+She spoke the words as one might say, "from Paradise," or "from
+Olympus," or "from the Lost Atlantis." "Europe" was evidently a name
+to conjure with, a country of mystery and romance unspeakable. I had
+seen many things from many lands beyond the sea, but a quilt pattern
+from Europe! Here at last was something new under the sun. In what
+shop of London or Paris were quilt patterns kept on sale for the
+American tourist?
+
+"You see," said Aunt Jane, "Henrietta married a mighty rich man, and
+jest as good as he's rich, too, and they went to Europe on their
+bridal trip. When she come home she brought me the prettiest shawl you
+ever saw. She made me stand up and shut my eyes, and she put it on my
+shoulders and made me look in the lookin'-glass, and then she says,
+'I brought you a new quilt pattern, too, grandma, and I want you to
+piece one quilt by it and leave it to me when you die.' And then she
+told me about goin' to a town over yonder they call Florence, and how
+she went into a big church that was built hundreds o' years before I
+was born. And she said the floor was made o' little pieces o' colored
+stone, all laid together in a pattern, and they called it mosaic. And
+says I, 'Honey, has it got anything to do with Moses and his law?' You
+know the Commandments was called the Mosaic Law, and was all on tables
+o' stone. And Henrietta jest laughed, and says she: 'No, grandma; I
+don't believe it has. But,' says she, 'the minute I stepped on that
+pavement I thought about you, and I drew this pattern off on a piece
+o' paper and brought it all the way to Kentucky for you to make a
+quilt by.' Henrietta bought the worsted for me, for she said it had to
+be jest the colors o' that pavement over yonder, and I made it that
+very winter."
+
+Aunt Jane was regarding the quilt with worshipful eyes, and it really
+was an effective combination of color and form.
+
+"Many a time while I was piecin' that," she said, "I thought about
+the man that laid the pavement in that old church, and wondered what
+his name was, and how he looked, and what he'd think if he knew there
+was a old woman down here in Kentucky usin' his patterns to make a
+bedquilt."
+
+It was indeed a far cry from the Florentine artisan of centuries ago
+to this humble worker in calico and worsted, but between the two
+stretched a cord of sympathy that made them one--the eternal
+aspiration after beauty.
+
+"Honey," said Aunt Jane, suddenly, "did I ever show you my premiums?"
+
+And then, with pleasant excitement in her manner, she arose, fumbled
+in her deep pocket for an ancient bunch of keys, and unlocked a
+cupboard on one side of the fireplace. One by one she drew them out,
+unrolled the soft yellow tissue-paper that enfolded them, and ranged
+them in a stately line on the old cherry center-table--nineteen
+sterling silver cups and goblets. "Abram took some of 'em on his fine
+stock, and I took some of 'em on my quilts and salt-risin' bread and
+cakes," she said, impressively.
+
+To the artist his medals, to the soldier his cross of the Legion of
+Honor, and to Aunt Jane her silver cups. All the triumph of a humble
+life was symbolized in these shining things. They were simple and
+genuine as the days in which they were made. A few of them boasted a
+beaded edge or a golden lining, but no engraving or embossing marred
+their silver purity. On the bottom of each was the stamp: "John B.
+Akin, Danville, Ky." There they stood,
+
+    "Filled to the brim with precious memories,"--
+
+memories of the time when she and Abram had worked together in field
+or garden or home, and the County Fair brought to all a yearly
+opportunity to stand on the height of achievement and know somewhat
+the taste of Fame's enchanted cup.
+
+"There's one for every child and every grandchild," she said, quietly,
+as she began wrapping them in the silky paper, and storing them
+carefully away in the cupboard, there to rest until the day when
+children and grandchildren would claim their own, and the treasures of
+the dead would come forth from the darkness to stand as heirlooms on
+fashionable sideboards and damask-covered tables.
+
+"Did you ever think, child," she said, presently, "how much piecin' a
+quilt's like livin' a life? And as for sermons, why, they ain't no
+better sermon to me than a patchwork quilt, and the doctrines is right
+there a heap plainer'n they are in the catechism. Many a time I've set
+and listened to Parson Page preachin' about predestination and
+free-will, and I've said to myself, 'Well, I ain't never been through
+Centre College up at Danville, but if I could jest git up in the
+pulpit with one of my quilts, I could make it a heap plainer to folks
+than parson's makin' it with all his big words.' You see, you start
+out with jest so much caliker; you don't go to the store and pick it
+out and buy it, but the neighbors will give you a piece here and a
+piece there, and you'll have a piece left every time you cut out a
+dress, and you take jest what happens to come. And that's like
+predestination. But when it comes to the cuttin' out, why, you're free
+to choose your own pattern. You can give the same kind o' pieces to
+two persons, and one'll make a 'nine-patch' and one'll make a
+'wild-goose chase,' and there'll be two quilts made out o' the same
+kind o' pieces, and jest as different as they can be. And that is jest
+the way with livin'. The Lord sends us the pieces, but we can cut 'em
+out and put 'em together pretty much to suit ourselves, and there's a
+heap more in the cuttin' out and the sewin' than there is in the
+caliker. The same sort o' things comes into all lives, jest as the
+Apostle says, 'There hath no trouble taken you but is common to all
+men.'
+
+"The same trouble'll come into two people's lives, and one'll take it
+and make one thing out of it, and the other'll make somethin' entirely
+different. There was Mary Harris and Mandy Crawford. They both lost
+their husbands the same year; and Mandy set down and cried and worried
+and wondered what on earth she was goin' to do, and the farm went to
+wrack and the children turned out bad, and she had to live with her
+son-in-law in her old age. But Mary, she got up and went to work, and
+made everybody about her work, too; and she managed the farm better'n
+it ever had been managed before, and the boys all come up steady,
+hard-workin' men, and there wasn't a woman in the county better fixed
+up than Mary Harris. Things is predestined to come to us, honey, but
+we're jest as free as air to make what we please out of 'em. And when
+it comes to puttin' the pieces together, there's another time when
+we're free. You don't trust to luck for the caliker to put your quilt
+together with; you go to the store and pick it out yourself, any
+color you like. There's folks that always looks on the bright side and
+makes the best of everything, and that's like puttin' your quilt
+together with blue or pink or white or some other pretty color; and
+there's folks that never see anything but the dark side, and always
+lookin' for trouble, and treasurin' it up after they git it, and
+they're puttin' their lives together with black, jest like you would
+put a quilt together with some dark, ugly color. You can spoil the
+prettiest quilt pieces that ever was made jest by puttin' 'em together
+with the wrong color, and the best sort o' life is miserable if you
+don't look at things right and think about 'em right.
+
+"Then there's another thing. I've seen folks piece and piece, but when
+it come to puttin' the blocks together and quiltin' and linin' it,
+they'd give out; and that's like folks that do a little here and a
+little there, but their lives ain't of much use after all, any more'n
+a lot o' loose pieces o' patchwork. And then while you're livin' your
+life, it looks pretty much like a jumble o' quilt pieces before
+they're put together; but when you git through with it, or pretty nigh
+through, as I am now, you'll see the use and the purpose of everything
+in it. Everything'll be in its right place jest like the squares in
+this 'four-patch,' and one piece may be pretty and another one ugly,
+but it all looks right when you see it finished and joined together."
+
+Did I say that every pattern was represented? No, there was one
+notable omission. Not a single "crazy quilt" was there in the
+collection. I called Aunt Jane's attention to this lack.
+
+"Child," she said, "I used to say there wasn't anything I couldn't do
+if I made up my mind to it. But I hadn't seen a 'crazy quilt' then.
+The first one I ever seen was up at Danville at Mary Frances', and
+Henrietta says, 'Now, grandma, you've got to make a crazy quilt;
+you've made every other sort that ever was heard of.' And she brought
+me the pieces and showed me how to baste 'em on the square, and said
+she'd work the fancy stitches around 'em for me. Well, I set there all
+the mornin' tryin' to fix up that square, and the more I tried, the
+uglier and crookeder the thing looked. And finally I says: 'Here,
+child, take your pieces. If I was to make this the way you want me to,
+they'd be a crazy quilt and a crazy woman, too.'"
+
+Aunt Jane was laying the folded quilts in neat piles here and there
+about the room. There was a look of unspeakable satisfaction on her
+face--the look of the creator who sees his completed work and
+pronounces it good.
+
+"I've been a hard worker all my life," she said, seating herself and
+folding her hands restfully, "but 'most all my work has been the kind
+that 'perishes with the usin',' as the Bible says. That's the
+discouragin' thing about a woman's work. Milly Amos used to say that
+if a woman was to see all the dishes that she had to wash before she
+died, piled up before her in one pile, she'd lie down and die right
+then and there. I've always had the name o' bein' a good housekeeper,
+but when I'm dead and gone there ain't anybody goin' to think o' the
+floors I've swept, and the tables I've scrubbed, and the old clothes
+I've patched, and the stockin's I've darned. Abram might 'a'
+remembered it, but he ain't here. But when one o' my grandchildren or
+great-grandchildren sees one o' these quilts, they'll think about Aunt
+Jane, and, wherever I am then, I'll know I ain't forgotten.
+
+"I reckon everybody wants to leave somethin' behind that'll last after
+they're dead and gone. It don't look like it's worth while to live
+unless you can do that. The Bible says folks 'rest from their labors,
+and their works do follow them,' but that ain't so. They go, and
+maybe they do rest, but their works stay right here, unless they're
+the sort that don't outlast the usin'. Now, some folks has money to
+build monuments with--great, tall, marble pillars, with angels on top
+of 'em, like you see in Cave Hill and them big city buryin'-grounds.
+And some folks can build churches and schools and hospitals to keep
+folks in mind of 'em, but all the work I've got to leave behind me is
+jest these quilts, and sometimes, when I'm settin' here, workin' with
+my caliker and gingham pieces, I'll finish off a block, and I laugh
+and say to myself, 'Well, here's another stone for the monument.'
+
+"I reckon you think, child, that a caliker or a worsted quilt is a
+curious sort of a monument--'bout as perishable as the sweepin' and
+scrubbin' and mendin'. But if folks values things rightly, and knows
+how to take care of 'em, there ain't many things that'll last longer'n
+a quilt. Why, I've got a blue and white counterpane that my mother's
+mother spun and wove, and there ain't a sign o' givin' out in it yet.
+I'm goin' to will that to my granddaughter that lives in Danville,
+Mary Frances' oldest child. She was down here last summer, and I was
+lookin' over my things and packin' 'em away, and she happened to see
+that counterpane, and says she, 'Grandma, I want you to will me
+that.' And says I: 'What do you want with that old thing, honey? You
+know you wouldn't sleep under such a counterpane as that.' And says
+she, 'No, but I'd hang it up over my parlor door for a--"
+
+"Portière?" I suggested, as Aunt Jane hesitated for the unaccustomed
+word.
+
+"That's it, child. Somehow I can't ricollect these new-fangled words,
+any more'n I can understand these new-fangled ways. Who'd ever 'a'
+thought that folks'd go to stringin' up bed-coverin's in their doors?
+And says I to Janie, 'You can hang your great-grandmother's
+counterpane up in your parlor door if you want to, but,' says I,
+'don't you ever make a door-curtain out o' one o' my quilts.' But la!
+the way things turn around, if I was to come back fifty years from
+now, like as not I'd find 'em usin' my quilts for window-curtains or
+door-mats."
+
+We both laughed, and there rose in my mind a picture of a
+twentieth-century house decorated with Aunt Jane's "nine-patches" and
+"rising suns." How could the dear old woman know that the same
+esthetic sense that had drawn from their obscurity the white and blue
+counterpanes of colonial days would forever protect her loved quilts
+from such a desecration as she feared? As she lifted a pair of quilts
+from a chair near by, I caught sight of a pure white spread in
+striking contrast with the many-hued patchwork.
+
+"Where did you get that Marseilles spread, Aunt Jane?" I asked,
+pointing to it. Aunt Jane lifted it and laid it on my lap without a
+word. Evidently she thought that here was something that could speak
+for itself. It was two layers of snowy cotton cloth thinly lined with
+cotton, and elaborately quilted into a perfect imitation of a
+Marseilles counterpane. The pattern was a tracery of roses, buds, and
+leaves, very much conventionalized, but still recognizable for the
+things they were. The stitches were fairylike, and altogether it might
+have covered the bed of a queen.
+
+"I made every stitch o' that spread the year before me and Abram was
+married," she said. "I put it on my bed when we went to housekeepin';
+it was on the bed when Abram died, and when I die I want 'em to cover
+me with it." There was a life-history in the simple words. I thought
+of Desdemona and her bridal sheets, and I did not offer to help Aunt
+Jane as she folded this quilt.
+
+"I reckon you think," she resumed presently, "that I'm a mean, stingy
+old creetur not to give Janie the counterpane now, instead o' hoardin'
+it up, and all these quilts too, and keepin' folks waitin' for 'em
+till I die. But, honey, it ain't all selfishness. I'd give away my
+best dress or my best bonnet or an acre o' ground to anybody that
+needed 'em more'n I did; but these quilts--Why, it looks like my whole
+life was sewed up in 'em, and I ain't goin' to part with 'em while
+life lasts."
+
+There was a ring of passionate eagerness in the old voice, and she
+fell to putting away her treasures as if the suggestion of losing them
+had made her fearful of their safety.
+
+I looked again at the heap of quilts. An hour ago they had been
+patchwork, and nothing more. But now! The old woman's words had
+wrought a transformation in the homely mass of calico and silk and
+worsted. Patchwork? Ah, no! It was memory, imagination, history,
+biography, joy, sorrow, philosophy, religion, romance, realism, life,
+love, and death; and over all, like a halo, the love of the artist for
+his work and the soul's longing for earthly immortality.
+
+No wonder the wrinkled fingers smoothed them as reverently as we
+handle the garments of the dead.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+"SWEET DAY OF REST"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+I walked slowly down the "big road" that Sunday afternoon--slowly, as
+befitted the scene and the season; for who would hurry over the path
+that summer has prepared for the feet of earth's tired pilgrims? It
+was the middle of June, and Nature lay a vision of beauty in her
+vesture of flowers, leaves, and blossoming grasses. The sandy road was
+a pleasant walking-place; and if one tired of that, the short, thick
+grass on either side held a fairy path fragrant with pennyroyal, that
+most virtuous of herbs. A tall hedge of Osage orange bordered each
+side of the road, shading the traveler from the heat of the sun, and
+furnishing a nesting-place for numberless small birds that twittered
+and chirped their joy in life and love and June. Occasionally a gap in
+the foliage revealed the placid beauty of corn, oats, and clover,
+stretching in broad expanse to the distant purple woods, with here and
+there a field of the cloth of gold--the fast-ripening wheat that
+waited the hand of the mower. Not only is it the traveler's manifest
+duty to walk slowly in the midst of such surroundings, but he will do
+well if now and then he sits down and dreams.
+
+As I made the turn in the road and drew near Aunt Jane's house, I
+heard her voice, a high, sweet, quavering treble, like the notes of an
+ancient harpsichord. She was singing a hymn that suited the day and
+the hour:
+
+    "Welcome, sweet day of rest,
+      That saw the Lord arise,
+    Welcome to this reviving breast,
+      And these rejoicing eyes."
+
+Mingling with the song I could hear the creak of her old
+splint-bottomed chair as she rocked gently to and fro. Song and creak
+ceased at once when she caught sight of me, and before I had opened
+the gate she was hospitably placing another chair on the porch and
+smiling a welcome.
+
+"Come in, child, and set down," she exclaimed, moving the rocker so
+that I might have a good view of the bit of landscape that she knew I
+loved to look at.
+
+"Pennyroy'l! Now, child, how did you know I love to smell that?" She
+crushed the bunch in her withered hands, buried her face in it and sat
+for a moment with closed eyes. "Lord! Lord!" she exclaimed, with
+deep-drawn breath, "if I could jest tell how that makes me feel! I
+been smellin' pennyroy'l all my life, and now, when I get hold of a
+piece of it, sometimes it makes me feel like a little child, and then
+again it brings up the time when I was a gyirl, and if I was to keep
+on settin' here and rubbin' this pennyroy'l in my hands, I believe my
+whole life'd come back to me. Honey-suckles and pinks and roses ain't
+any sweeter to me. Me and old Uncle Harvey Dean was jest alike about
+pennyroy'l. Many a time I've seen Uncle Harvey searchin' around in the
+fence corners in the early part o' May to see if the pennyroy'l was up
+yet, and in pennyroy'l time you never saw the old man that he didn't
+have a bunch of it somewheres about him. Aunt Maria Dean used to say
+there was dried pennyroy'l in every pocket of his coat, and he used to
+put a big bunch of it on his piller at night. Sundays it looked like
+Uncle Harvey couldn't enjoy the preachin' and the singin' unless he
+had a sprig of it in his hand, and I ricollect once seein' him git up
+durin' the first prayer and tiptoe out o' church and come back with a
+handful o' pennyroy'l that he'd gethered across the road, and he'd set
+and smell it and look as pleased as a child with a piece o' candy."
+
+"Piercing sweet" the breath of the crushed wayside herb rose on the
+air. I had a distinct vision of Uncle Harvey Dean, and wondered if the
+fields of asphodel might not yield him some small harvest of his
+much-loved earthly plant, or if he might not be drawn earthward in
+"pennyroy'l time."
+
+"I was jest settin' here restin'," resumed Aunt Jane, "and thinkin'
+about Milly Amos. I reckon you heard me singin' fit to scare the crows
+as you come along. We used to call that Milly Amos' hymn, and I never
+can hear it without thinkin' o' Milly."
+
+"Why was it Milly Amos' hymn?" I asked.
+
+Aunt Jane laughed blithely.
+
+"La, child!" she said, "don't you ever git tired o' my yarns? Here it
+is Sunday, and you tryin' to git me started talkin'; and when I git
+started you know there ain't any tellin' when I'll stop. Come on and
+le's look at the gyarden; that's more fittin' for Sunday evenin' than
+tellin' yarns."
+
+So together we went into the garden and marveled happily over the
+growth of the tasseling corn, the extraordinarily long runners on the
+young strawberry plants, the size of the green tomatoes, and all the
+rest of the miracles that sunshine and rain had wrought since my last
+visit.
+
+The first man and the first woman were gardeners, and there is
+something wrong in any descendant of theirs who does not love a
+garden. He is lacking in a primal instinct. But Aunt Jane was in this
+respect a true daughter of Eve, a faithful co-worker with the
+sunshine, the winds, the rain, and all other forces of nature.
+
+"What do you reckon folks'd do," she inquired, "if it wasn't for
+plantin'-time and growin'-time and harvest-time? I've heard folks say
+they was tired o' livin', but as long as there's a gyarden to be
+planted and looked after there's somethin' to live for. And unless
+there's gyardens in heaven I'm pretty certain I ain't goin' to be
+satisfied there."
+
+But the charms of the garden could not divert me from the main theme,
+and when we were seated again on the front porch I returned to Milly
+Amos and her hymn.
+
+"You know," I said, "that there isn't any more harm in talking about a
+thing on Sunday than there is in thinking about it." And Aunt Jane
+yielded to the force of my logic.
+
+"I reckon you've heard me tell many a time about our choir," she
+began, smoothing out her black silk apron with fingers that evidently
+felt the need of knitting or some other form of familiar work. "John
+Petty was the bass, Sam Crawford the tenor, my Jane was the alto, and
+Milly Amos sung soprano. I reckon Milly might 'a' been called the
+leader of the choir; she was the sort o' woman that generally leads
+wherever she happens to be, and she had the strongest, finest voice in
+the whole congregation. All the parts appeared to depend on her, and
+it seemed like her voice jest carried the rest o' the voices along
+like one big river that takes up all the little rivers and carries 'em
+down to the ocean. I used to think about the difference between her
+voice and Miss Penelope's. Milly's was jest as clear and true as Miss
+Penelope's, and four or five times as strong, but I'd ruther hear one
+note o' Miss Penelope's than a whole song o' Milly's. Milly's was jest
+a voice, and Miss Penelope's was a voice and somethin' else besides,
+but what that somethin' was I never could say. However, Milly was the
+very one for a choir; she kind o' kept 'em all together and led 'em
+along, and we was mighty proud of our choir in them days. We always
+had a voluntary after we got our new organ, and I used to look forward
+to Sunday on account o' that voluntary. It used to sound so pretty to
+hear 'em begin singin' when everything was still and solemn, and I can
+never forgit the hymns they sung then--Sam and Milly and John and my
+Jane.
+
+"But there was one Sunday when Milly didn't sing. Her and Sam come in
+late, and I knew the minute I set eyes on Milly that somethin' was the
+matter. Generally she was smilin' and bowin' to people all around, but
+this time she walked in and set the children down, and then set down
+herself without even lookin' at anybody, to say nothin' o' smilin' or
+speakin'. Well, when half-past ten come, my Jane began to play
+'Welcome, sweet day of rest,' and all of 'em begun singin' except
+Milly. She set there with her mouth tight shut, and let the bass and
+tenor and alto have it all their own way. I thought maybe she was out
+o' breath from comin' in late and in a hurry, and I looked for her to
+jine in, but she jest set there, lookin' straight ahead of her; and
+when Sam passed her a hymn-book, she took hold of it and shut it up
+and let it drop in her lap. And there was the tenor and the bass and
+the alto doin' their best, and everybody laughin', or tryin' to keep
+from laughin'. I reckon if Uncle Jim Matthews had 'a' been there, he'd
+'a' took Milly's place and helped 'em out, but Uncle Jim'd been in his
+grave more'n two years. Sam looked like he'd go through the floor, he
+was so mortified, and he kept lookin' around at Milly as much as to
+say, 'Why don't you sing? Please sing, Milly,' but Milly never opened
+her mouth.
+
+"I'd about concluded Milly must have the sore throat or somethin' like
+that, but when the first hymn was give out, Milly started in and sung
+as loud as anybody; and when the doxology come around, Milly was on
+hand again, and everybody was settin' there wonderin' why on earth
+Milly hadn't sung in the voluntary. When church was out, I heard Sam
+invitin' Brother Hendricks to go home and take dinner with
+him--Brother Hendricks'd preached for us that day--and they all drove
+off together before I'd had time to speak to Milly.
+
+"But that week, when the Mite Society met, Milly was there bright and
+early; and when we'd all got fairly started with our sewin', and
+everybody was in a good-humor, Sally Ann says, says she: 'Milly, I
+want to know why you didn't sing in that voluntary Sunday. I reckon
+everybody here wants to know,' says she, 'but nobody but me's got the
+courage to ask you.'
+
+"And Milly's face got as red as a beet, and she burst out laughin',
+and says she: 'I declare, I'm ashamed to tell you all. I reckon Satan
+himself must 'a' been in me last Sunday. You know,' says she,'there's
+some days when everything goes wrong with a woman, and last Sunday was
+one o' them days. I got up early,' says she, 'and dressed the children
+and fed my chickens and strained the milk and washed up the milk
+things and got breakfast and washed the dishes and cleaned up the
+house and gethered the vegetables for dinner and washed the children's
+hands and faces and put their Sunday clothes on 'em, and jest as I was
+startin' to git myself ready for church,' says she, 'I happened to
+think that I hadn't skimmed the milk for the next day's churnin'. So
+I went down to the spring-house and did the skimmin', and jest as I
+picked up the cream-jar to put it up on that shelf Sam built for me,
+my foot slipped,' says she, 'and down I come and skinned my elbow on
+the rock step, and broke the jar all to smash and spilled the cream
+all over creation, and there I was--four pounds o' butter and a
+fifty-cent jar gone, and my spring-house in such a mess that I ain't
+through cleanin' it yet, and my right arm as stiff as a poker ever
+since.'
+
+"We all had to laugh at the way Milly told it; and Sally Ann says,
+'Well, that was enough to make a saint mad.' 'Yes,' says Milly, 'and
+you all know I'm far from bein' a saint. However,' says she, 'I picked
+up the pieces and washed up the worst o' the cream, and then I went to
+the house to git myself ready for church, and before I could git
+there, I heard Sam hollerin' for me to come and sew a button on his
+shirt; one of 'em had come off while he was tryin' to button it. And
+when I got out my work-basket, the children had been playin' with it,
+and there wasn't a needle in it, and my thimble was gone, and I had to
+hunt up the apron I was makin' for little Sam and git a needle off
+that, and I run the needle into my finger, not havin' any thimble,
+and got a blood spot on the bosom o' the shirt. Then,' says she,
+'before I could git my dress over my head, here come little Sam with
+his clothes all dirty where he'd fell down in the mud, and there I had
+him to dress again, and that made me madder still; and then, when I
+finally got out to the wagon,' says she, 'I rubbed my clean dress
+against the wheel, and that made me mad again; and the nearer we got
+to the church, the madder I was; and now,' says she, 'do you reckon
+after all I'd been through that mornin', and dinner ahead of me to
+git, and the children to look after all the evenin', do you reckon
+that I felt like settin' up there and singin' "Welcome, sweet day o'
+rest"?' Says she, 'I ain't seen any day o' rest since the day I
+married Sam, and I don't expect to see any till the day I die; and if
+Parson Page wants that hymn sung, let him git up a choir of old maids
+and old bachelors, for they're the only people that ever see any rest
+Sunday or any other day.'
+
+"We all laughed, and said we didn't blame Milly a bit for not singin'
+that hymn; and then Milly said: 'I reckon I might as well tell you all
+the whole story. By the time church was over,' says she, 'I'd kind o'
+cooled off, but when I heard Sam askin' Brother Hendricks to go home
+and take dinner with him, that made me mad again; for I knew that
+meant a big dinner for me to cook, and I made up my mind then and
+there that I wouldn't cook a blessed thing, company or no company.
+Sam'd killed chickens the night before,' says she, 'and they was all
+dressed and ready, down in the spring-house; and the vegetables was
+right there on the back porch, but I never touched 'em,' says she. 'I
+happened to have some cold ham and cold mutton on hand--not much of
+either one--and I sliced 'em and put the ham in one end o' the big
+meat-dish and the mutton in the other, with a big bare place between,
+so's everybody could see that there wasn't enough of either one to go
+'round; and then,' says she, 'I sliced up a loaf o' my salt-risin'
+bread and got out a bowl o' honey and a dish o' damson preserves, and
+then I went out on the porch and told Sam that dinner was ready.'
+
+"I never shall forgit how we all laughed when Milly was tellin' it.
+'You know, Aunt Jane,' says she, 'how quick a man gits up when you
+tell him dinner's ready. Well, Sam he jumps up, and says he, "Why,
+you're mighty smart to-day, Milly; I don't believe there's another
+woman in the county that could git a Sunday dinner this quick." And
+says he, "Walk out, Brother Hendricks, walk right out."'"
+
+Here Aunt Jane paused to laugh again at the long-past scene that her
+words called up.
+
+"Milly used to say that Sam's face changed quicker'n a flash o'
+lightnin' when he saw the table, and he dropped down in his cheer and
+forgot to ask Brother Hendricks to say grace. 'Why, Milly,' says he,
+'where's the dinner? Where's them chickens I killed last night, and
+the potatoes and corn and butter-beans?' And Milly jest looked him
+square in the face, and says she, 'The chickens are in the
+spring-house and the vegetables out on the back porch, and,' says she,
+'do you suppose I'm goin' to cook a hot dinner for you all on this
+"sweet day o' rest"?'"
+
+Aunt Jane stopped again to laugh.
+
+"That wasn't a polite way for anybody to talk at their own table," she
+resumed, "and some of us asked Milly what Brother Hendricks said. And
+Milly's face got as red as a beet again, and she says: 'Why, he
+behaved so nice, he made me feel right ashamed o' myself for actin' so
+mean. He jest reached over and helped himself to everything he could
+reach, and says he, "This dinner may not suit you, Brother Amos, but
+it's plenty good for me, and jest the kind I'm used to at home." Says
+he, "I'd rather eat a cold dinner any time than have a woman toilin'
+over a hot stove for me."' And when he said that, Milly up and told
+him why it was she didn't feel like gittin' a hot dinner, and why she
+didn't sing in the voluntary; and when she'd got through, he says,
+'Well, Sister Amos, if I'd been through all you have this mornin' and
+then had to git up and give out such a hymn as "Welcome, sweet day o'
+rest," I believe I'd be mad enough to pitch the hymn-book and the
+Bible at the deacons and the elders.' And then he turns around to Sam,
+and says he, 'Did you ever think, Brother Amos, that there ain't a
+pleasure men enjoy that women don't have to suffer for it?' And Milly
+said that made her feel meaner'n ever; and when supper-time come, she
+lit the fire and got the best hot supper she could--fried chicken and
+waffles and hot soda-biscuits and coffee and goodness knows what else.
+Now wasn't that jest like a woman, to give in after she'd had her own
+way for a while and could 'a' kept on havin' it? Abram used to say
+that women and runaway horses was jest alike; the best way to manage
+'em both was to give 'em the rein and let 'em go till they got tired,
+and they'll always stop before they do any mischief. Milly said that
+supper tickled Sam pretty near to death. Sam was always mighty proud
+o' Milly's cookin'.
+
+"So that's how we come to call that hymn Milly Amos' hymn, and as long
+as Milly lived folks'd look at her and laugh whenever the preacher
+give out 'Welcome, sweet day o' rest.'"
+
+The story was over. Aunt Jane folded her hands, and we both
+surrendered ourselves to happy silence. All the faint, sweet sounds
+that break the stillness of a Sunday in the country came to our ears
+in gentle symphony,--the lisp of the leaves, the chirp of young
+chickens lost in the mazes of billowy grass, and the rustle of the
+silver poplar that turned into a mass of molten silver whenever the
+breeze touched it.
+
+"When you've lived as long as I have, child," said Aunt Jane
+presently, "you'll feel that you've lived in two worlds. A short life
+don't see many changes, but in eighty years you can see old things
+passin' away and new ones comin' on to take their place, and when I
+look back at the way Sunday used to be kept and the way it's kept now,
+it's jest like bein' in another world. I hear folks talkin' about how
+wicked the world's growin' and wishin' they could go back to the old
+times, but it looks like to me there's jest as much kindness and
+goodness in folks nowadays as there was when I was young; and as for
+keepin' Sunday, why, I've noticed all my life that the folks that's
+strictest about that ain't always the best Christians, and I reckon
+there's been more foolishness preached and talked about keepin' the
+Sabbath day holy than about any other one thing.
+
+"I ricollect some fifty-odd years ago the town folks got to keepin'
+Sunday mighty strict. They hadn't had a preacher for a long time, and
+the church'd been takin' things easy, and finally they got a new
+preacher from down in Tennessee, and the first thing he did was to
+draw the lines around 'em close and tight about keepin' Sunday. Some
+o' the members had been in the habit o' havin' their wood chopped on
+Sunday. Well, as soon as the new preacher come, he said that Sunday
+wood-choppin' had to cease amongst his church-members or he'd have 'em
+up before the session. I ricollect old Judge Morgan swore he'd have
+his wood chopped any day that suited him. And he had a load o' wood
+carried down cellar, and the nigger man chopped all day long down in
+the cellar, and nobody ever would 'a' found it out, but pretty soon
+they got up a big revival that lasted three months and spread 'way out
+into the country, and bless your life, old Judge Morgan was one o'
+the first to be converted; and when he give in his experience, he told
+about the wood-choppin', and how he hoped to be forgiven for breakin'
+the Sabbath day.
+
+"Well, of course us people out in the country wouldn't be outdone by
+the town folks, so Parson Page got up and preached on the Fourth
+Commandment and all about that pore man that was stoned to death for
+pickin' up a few sticks on the seventh day. And Sam Amos, he says
+after meetin' broke, says he, 'It's my opinion that that man was a
+industrious, enterprisin' feller that was probably pickin' up
+kindlin'-wood to make his wife a fire, and,' says he, 'if they wanted
+to stone anybody to death they better 'a' picked out some lazy,
+triflin' feller that didn't have energy enough to work Sunday or any
+other day.' Sam always would have his say, and nothin' pleased him
+better'n to talk back to the preachers and git the better of 'em in a
+argument. I ricollect us women talked that sermon over at the Mite
+Society, and Maria Petty says: 'I don't know but what it's a wrong
+thing to say, but it looks to me like that Commandment wasn't intended
+for anybody but them Israelites. It was mighty easy for them to keep
+the Sabbath day holy, but,' says she, 'the Lord don't rain down manna
+in my yard. And,' says she, 'men can stop plowin' and plantin' on
+Sunday, but they don't stop eatin', and as long as men have to eat on
+Sunday, women'll have to work.'
+
+"And Sally Ann, she spoke up, and says she, 'That's so; and these very
+preachers that talk so much about keepin' the Sabbath day holy,
+they'll walk down out o' their pulpits and set down at some woman's
+table and eat fried chicken and hot biscuits and corn bread and five
+or six kinds o' vegetables, and never think about the work it took to
+git the dinner, to say nothin' o' the dish-washin' to come after.'
+
+"There's one thing, child, that I never told to anybody but Abram; I
+reckon it was wicked, and I ought to be ashamed to own it, but"--here
+her voice fell to a confessional key--"I never did like Sunday till I
+begun to git old. And the way Sunday used to be kept, it looks to me
+like nobody could 'a' been expected to like it but old folks and lazy
+folks. You see, I never was one o' these folks that's born tired. I
+loved to work. I never had need of any more rest than I got every
+night when I slept, and I woke up every mornin' ready for the day's
+work. I hear folks prayin' for rest and wishin' for rest, but, honey,
+all my prayer was, 'Lord, give me work, and strength enough to do
+it.' And when a person looks at all the things there is to be done in
+this world, they won't feel like restin' when they ain't tired.
+
+"Abram used to say he believed I tried to make work for myself Sunday
+and every other day; and I ricollect I used to be right glad when any
+o' the neighbors'd git sick on Sunday and send for me to help nurse
+'em. Nursing the sick was a work o' necessity, and mercy, too. And
+then, child, the Lord don't ever rest. The Bible says He rested on the
+seventh day when He got through makin' the world, and I reckon that
+was rest enough for Him. For, jest look; everything goes on Sundays
+jest the same as week-days. The grass grows, and the sun shines, and
+the wind blows, and He does it all."
+
+    "'For still the Lord is Lord of might;
+      In deeds, in deeds He takes delight,'"
+
+I said.
+
+"That's it," said Aunt Jane, delightedly. "There ain't any religion in
+restin' unless you're tired, and work's jest as holy in his sight as
+rest."
+
+Our faces were turned toward the western sky, where the sun was
+sinking behind the amethystine hills. The swallows were darting and
+twittering over our heads, a somber flock of blackbirds rose from a
+huge oak tree in the meadow across the road, and darkened the sky for
+a moment in their flight to the cedars that were their nightly resting
+place. Gradually the mist changed from amethyst to rose, and the
+poorest object shared in the transfiguration of the sunset hour.
+
+Is it unmeaning chance that sets man's days, his dusty, common days,
+between the glories of the rising and the setting sun, and his life,
+his dusty, common life, between the two solemnities of birth and
+death? Bounded by the splendors of the morning and evening skies, what
+glory of thought and deed should each day hold! What celestial dreams
+and vitalizing sleep should fill our nights! For why should day be
+more magnificent than life?
+
+As we watched in understanding silence, the enchantment slowly faded.
+The day of rest was over, a night of rest was at hand; and in the
+shadowy hour between the two hovered the benediction of that peace
+which "passeth all understanding."
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+MILLY BAKER'S BOY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+It was the last Monday in May, and a steady stream of wagons,
+carriages, and horseback riders had been pouring into town over the
+smooth, graveled pike.
+
+Aunt Jane stood on her front porch, looking around and above with
+evident delight. This was her gala Monday; and if any thoughts of the
+County Court days of happier years were in her mind, they were not
+permitted to mar her enjoyment of the present. There were no waters of
+Marah near her spring of remembrance.
+
+"Clear as a whistle!" she exclaimed, peering through the tendrils of a
+Virginia creeper at the sea of blue ether where fleecy white clouds
+were floating, driven eastward by the fresh spring wind. "Folks'll
+come home dry to-night; last time they was as wet as drowned rats.
+Yonder comes the Crawfords, and there's Jim Amos on horseback in front
+of 'em. How d'ye, Jim! And yonder comes Richard Elrod in his new
+carriage. Jest look at him! I do believe he grows younger and
+handsomer every day of his life."
+
+A sweet-faced woman sat beside him, and two pretty girls were in the
+seat behind them. Bowing courteously to the old woman on the
+door-step, Richard Elrod looked every inch a king of the soil and a
+perfect specimen of the gentleman farmer of Kentucky.
+
+"The richest man in the county," said Aunt Jane exultingly, as she
+followed the vanishing carriage with her keen gaze. "He went to the
+legislatur' last winter; the 'Hon. Richard Elrod' they call him now.
+And I can remember the time when he was jest Milly Baker's boy, and
+nothin' honorable about it, either."
+
+There was a suggestion of a story in the words and in the look in Aunt
+Jane's eyes. What wonder that the tides of thought flowed back into
+the channel of old times on a day like this, when every passing face
+was a challenge to memory? It needed but a hint to bring forth the
+recollections that the sight of Richard Elrod had stirred to life. The
+high-back rocker and the basket of knitting were transferred to the
+porch; and with the beauty and the music of a spring morning around us
+I listened to the story of Milly Baker's boy.
+
+"I hardly know jest where to begin," said Aunt Jane, wrinkling her
+forehead meditatively and adjusting her needles. "Tellin' a story is
+somethin' like windin' off a skein o' yarn. There's jest two ends to
+the skein, though, and if you can git hold o' the right one it's easy
+work. But there's so many ways o' beginning a story, and you never
+know which one leads straightest to the p'int. I wonder many a time
+how folks ever finds out where to begin when they set out to write a
+book. However, I reckon if I start with Dick Elrod I'll git through
+somehow or other.
+
+"You asked me jest now who Richard Elrod was. He was the son o' Dick
+Elrod, and Dick was the son of Richard Elrod, the old Squire. It's
+curious how you'll name two boys Richard, and one of 'em will always
+be called Richard and the other'll be called Dick. Nobody ever would
+'a' thought o' callin' Squire Elrod 'Dick,' he was Richard from the
+day he was born till the day he died. But his son was nothin' but Dick
+all his life; Richard didn't seem to fit him somehow. And I've noticed
+that you can tell what sort of a man a boy's goin' to make jest by
+knowin' whether folks calls him Richard or Dick. I ain't sayin' that
+every Richard is a good man and every Dick a bad one. All I mean is
+that there's as much difference betwixt a 'Dick' and a 'Richard' as
+there is betwixt a roastin' ear and a peck o' corn meal. Both of 'em's
+corn, and both of 'em may be good, but they ain't the same thing by a
+long jump. There's been a Richard in the Elrod family as far back as
+you could track 'em; all of 'em good, steady, God-fearin' men till
+Dick come along. He was an only child, and of course that made a bad
+matter worse.
+
+"There's some men that's born to git women into trouble, and Dick was
+one of 'em. Jest as handsome as a picture, and two years ahead o' his
+age when it come to size, and a way about him, from the time he put on
+pants, that showed jest what kind of a man he was cut out for. If the
+children was playin' 'Jinny, Put the Kittle on,' Dick would git
+kissed ten times to any other boy's once; and if it was 'Drop the
+Handkerchief,' every little gyirl in the ring'd be droppin' it behind
+Dick to git him to run after her, and that was the only time Dick ever
+did any runnin'. All he had to do was jest to sit still, and the
+gyirls did the runnin'. It was that way all his life; and folks used
+to say there was jest one woman in the world that Dick couldn't make a
+fool of, and that was his cousin Penelope, the old Squire's brother's
+child. She used to come down to the Squire's pretty near every summer,
+and when Dick saw how high and mighty she was, he begun to lay himself
+out to make her come down jest where the other women was, not because
+he keered anything for her,--such men never keer for anybody but
+theirselves,--he jest couldn't stand it to have a woman around unless
+she was throwin' herself at his head or at his feet. But he couldn't
+do anything with his cousin Penelope. She naturally despised him, and
+he hated her. Next to Miss Penelope, the only girl that appeared to be
+anything like a match for Dick was Annie Crawford, Old Man Bob
+Crawford's daughter. Old Man Bob was one o' the kind that thinks that
+the more children they've got the bigger men they are. Always made me
+think of Abraham and the rest o' the old patriarchs to see him come
+walkin' into church with them nine young ones at his heels, makin' so
+much racket you couldn't hear the sermon. He was mighty proud of his
+sons; but after Bob was born he wanted a daughter; and when they all
+kept turnin' out boys, he got crazier and crazier for a gyirl. Annie
+wasn't born till he was past sixty, and he like to 'a' lost his senses
+with joy. It was harvestin' time, and he jest stopped work and set on
+his front porch, and every time anybody passed by he'd holler, 'Well;
+neighbor, it's a gal this time!' If I'd 'a' been in Ann 'Liza's place,
+I'd 'a' gagged him. But la! she thought everything he did was all
+right. It got to be a reg'lar joke with the neighbors to ask Old Man
+Bob how many children he had, and he'd give a big laugh and say, 'Ten,
+neighbor, and all of 'em gals but nine.'
+
+"Well, of course Annie was bound to be spoiled, especially as her
+mother died when she was jest four years old. How Ann 'Liza ever stood
+Old Man Bob and them nine boys as long as she did was a mystery to
+everybody. Ann 'Liza had done her best to manage Annie, with Old Man
+Bob pullin' against her all the time, but after she died Annie took
+the place and everything and everybody on it. Old Man Bob had raised
+all his boys on spare-the-rod-and-spile-the-child principle, but when
+Annie come, he turned his back on Solomon and give out that Annie
+mustn't be crossed by anybody. Sam Amos asked him once how he come to
+change his mind so about raisin' children, and Old Man Bob said he was
+of the opinion that that text ought to read, 'Spare the rod and spile
+the boy'; that Solomon had too much regyard for women to want to whip
+a gal child. If ever there was an old idiot he was one; I mean Old Man
+Bob, not Solomon; though Solomon wasn't as wise as he might 'a' been
+in some things.
+
+"Well, Annie was a headstrong, high-tempered child to begin with; and
+havin' nobody to control her, she got to be the worst young one, I
+reckon, in the State o' Kentucky. I used to feel right sorry for her
+little brothers. They couldn't keep a top or a ball or marble or any
+plaything to save their lives. Annie would cry for 'em jest for pure
+meanness, and whatever it was that Annie cried for they had to give it
+up or git a whippin'. She'd break up their rabbit-traps and their
+bird-cages and the little wheelbarrers and wagons they'd make, and
+they didn't have any peace at home, pore little motherless things. I
+ricollect one day little Jim come runnin' over to my house draggin'
+his wagon loaded up with all his playthings, his little saw and hammer
+and some nails the cyarpenters had give him when Old Man Bob had his
+new stable built, and says he, 'Aunt Jane, please let me keep my tools
+over here. Annie says she's goin' to throw 'em in the well, and
+pappy'll make me give 'em to her if she cries for 'em.' Them tools
+stayed at my house till Jim outgrowed 'em, and he and Henry, the other
+little one, used to come and stay by the hour playin' with my Abram.
+
+"It was all Old Man Bob could do to git a housekeeper to stay with him
+when Annie got older. One spring she broke up all the hen nests and
+turkey nests on the farm, and they had to buy chickens all summer and
+turkeys all next winter. They used to tell how she stood and hollered
+for two hours one day because the housekeeper wouldn't let her put her
+hand into a kittle o' boilin' lye soap. It's my belief that she was
+all that kept Old Man Bob from marryin' again in less'n a year after
+Ann 'Liza died. He courted three or four widders and old maids round
+the neighborhood, but there wasn't one of 'em that anxious to marry
+that she'd take Old Man Bob with Annie thrown in. As soon as she got
+old enough, Old Man Bob carried her with him wherever he went. County
+Court days you'd see him goin' along on his big gray mare with Annie
+behind him, holdin' on to the sides of his coat with her little fat
+hands, her sunbonnet fallin' off and her curls blowin' all around her
+face,--like as not she hadn't had 'em combed for a week,--and in the
+evenin' about sunset here they'd come, Annie in front fast asleep, and
+Old Man Bob holdin' her on one arm and guidin' his horse with the
+other. Harvestin' times Annie'd be out in the field settin' on a shock
+o' wheat and orderin' the hands around same as if she was the
+overseer; and Old Man Bob'd jest stand back and shake his sides
+laughin' and say: 'That's right, honey. Make 'em move lively. If it
+wasn't for you, pappy couldn't git his harvestin' done.'
+
+"Every fall and spring he'd go to town to buy clothes for her, and
+people used to say the storekeepers laid in a extry stock jest for Old
+Man Bob, and charged him two or three prices for everything he bought.
+He'd walk into Tom Baker's store with his saddle-bags on his arm and
+holler out, 'Well, what you got to-day? Trot out your silks and your
+satins, and remember that the best ain't good enough for my little
+gal.'
+
+"When Annie was twelve years old he took her off to Bardstown to git
+her education. When he come to say good-bye to her, he cried and she
+cried, and it ended with him settin' down and stayin' three weeks in
+Bardstown, waitin' for Annie to git over her homesickness. Folks never
+did git through plaguin' him about goin' off to boardin' school, and
+as soon as Sam Crawford seen him he says, 'Well, Uncle Bob, when do
+you reckon you'll git your diploma?'
+
+"I never shall forgit the first time Annie come home to spend her
+Christmas. The neighbors didn't have any peace o' their lives for Old
+Man Bob tellin' 'em how Annie had growed, and how there wasn't a gal
+in the state that could hold a candle to her. And Sunday he come
+walkin' in church with Annie hangin' on to his arm jest as proud and
+happy as if he'd got a new wife.
+
+"Annie had improved wonderful. It wasn't jest her looks, for she
+always was as pretty as a picture, but she was as nice-mannered,
+well-behaved a gyirl as you'd want to see. There was jest as much
+difference betwixt her then and what she used to be as there is
+betwixt a tame fox and a wild one. Of course the wildness is all
+there, but it's kind o' covered up under a lot o' cute little tricks
+and ways; and that's the way it was with Annie. Squire Elrod's pew was
+jest across the aisle from Old Man Bob's, and I could see Dick
+watchin' her durin' church time. But Annie never looked one way nor
+the other. She set there with her hands folded and her eyes straight
+before her, and nobody ever would 'a' thought that she'd been ridin'
+horses bare-back and climbin' eight-rail fences ever since she could
+walk, mighty near.
+
+"When she come back from school in June it was the same thing over
+again, Old Man Bob braggin' on her and everybody sayin' how sweet and
+pretty she was. Dick began to wait on her right away, and before long
+folks was sayin' that they was made for each other, especially as
+their farms jined. That's a fool notion, but you can't git it out o'
+some people's heads.
+
+"Things went on this way for two or three years, Annie goin' and
+comin' and gittin' prettier all the time, and Dick waitin' on her
+whenever she was at home and carryin' on between times with every
+gyirl in the neighborhood. At last she come home for good, and Dick
+dropped all the others in a hurry and set out in earnest to git Annie.
+Folks said he was mightily in love, but accordin' to my way o'
+thinkin' there wasn't any love about it. The long and the short of it
+was that Annie knew how to manage him, and the other gyirls didn't.
+They was always right there in the neighborhood, and it don't help a
+woman to be always under a man's nose. But Annie was here and there
+and everywhere, visitin' in town and in Louisville and bringin' the
+town folks and the city folks home with her, and havin' dances and
+picnics, and doin' all she could to make Dick jealous. And then I
+always believed that Annie was jest as crazy about Dick as the rest o'
+the gyirls, but she had sense enough not to let him know it. It's
+human nature, you know, to want things that's hard to git. Why, if
+fleas and mosquitoes was sceerce, folks would go to huntin' 'em and
+makin' a big fuss over 'em. Annie made herself hard to git, and that's
+why Dick wanted her instead o' Harriet Amos, that was jest as good
+lookin' and better in every other way than Annie was. Everybody was
+sayin' what a blessed thing it was, and now Dick would give up his
+wild ways and settle down and be a comfort to the Squire in his old
+age.
+
+"Well, along in the spring, a year after Annie got through with
+school, Sally Ann come to me, and says she, 'Jane, I saw somethin'
+last night and it's been botherin' me ever since;' and she went on to
+say how she was goin' home about dusk, and how she'd seen Dick Elrod
+and little Milly Baker at the turn o' the lane that used to lead up to
+Milly's house. 'They was standin' under the wild cherry tree in the
+fence corner,' says she, 'and the elderberry bushes was so thick that
+I could jest see Dick's head and shoulders and the top of Milly's
+head, but they looked to be mighty close together, and Dick was
+stoopin' over and whisperin' somethin' to her.'
+
+"Well, that set me to thinkin', and I ricollected seein' Dick comin'
+down the lane one evenin' about sunset and at the same time I'd caught
+sight o' Milly walkin' away in the opposite direction. Our Mite
+Society met that day, and Sally Ann and me had it up, and we all
+talked it over. It come out that every woman there had seen the same
+things we'd been seein', but nobody said anything about it as long as
+they wasn't certain. 'Somethin' ought to be done,' says Sally Ann;
+'it'd be a shame to let that pore child go to destruction right before
+our eyes when a word might save her. She's fatherless, and pretty
+near motherless, too,' says she.
+
+"You see, the Bakers was tenants of old Squire Elrod's, and after
+Milly's father died o' consumption the old Squire jest let 'em live on
+the same as before. Mis' Elrod give 'em quiltin' and sewin' to do, and
+they had their little gyarden, and managed to git along well enough.
+Some folks called 'em pore white trash. They was pore enough, goodness
+knows, but they was clean and hard-workin', and that's two things that
+'trash' never is. I used to hear that Milly's mother come of a good
+family, but she'd married beneath herself and got down in the world
+like folks always do when they're cast off by their own people. Milly
+had come up like a wild rose in a fence corner, and she was jest the
+kind of a girl to be fooled by a man like Dick, handsome and smooth
+talkin', with all the ways and manners that take women in. Em'ly
+Crawford used to say it made her feel like a queen jest to see Dick
+take his hat off to her. If men's manners matched their hearts, honey,
+this'd be a heap easier world for women. But whenever you see a man
+that's got good manners and a bad heart, you may know there's trouble
+ahead for some woman.
+
+"Well, us women talked it over till dark come; and I reckon if we had
+app'inted a committee to look after Milly and Dick, somethin' might
+have been done. But everybody's business is nobody's business, and I
+thought Sally Ann would go to Milly and give her a word o' warnin',
+and Sally Ann thought I'd do it, and so it went, and nothin' was said
+or done at last; and before long it was all over the neighborhood that
+pore little Milly was in trouble."
+
+Aunt Jane paused, took off her glasses and wiped them carefully on a
+corner of her gingham apron.
+
+"Many's the time," she said slowly, "that I've laid awake till the
+chickens crowed, blamin' myself and wonderin' how far I was
+responsible for Milly's mishap. I've lived a long time since then, and
+I don't worry any more about such things. There's some things that's
+got to be; and when a person is all wore out tryin' to find out why
+this thing happened and why that thing didn't happen, he can jest
+throw himself back on the eternal decrees, and it's like layin' down
+on a good soft feather bed after you've done a hard day's work. The
+preachers'll tell you that every man is his brother's keeper, but
+'tain't so. I ain't my brother's keeper, nor my sister's, neither.
+There's jest one person I've got to keep, and that's myself.
+
+"The Bible says, 'A word spoken in due season, how good it is!' But
+when folks is in love there ain't any due season for speakin' warnin'
+words to 'em. There was Emmeline Amos: her father told her if she
+married Hal, he'd cut her name out o' the family Bible and leave her
+clear out o' his will. But that didn't hinder her. She went right on
+and married him, and lived to rue the day she did it. No, child,
+there's mighty little salvation by words for folks that's in love. I
+reckon if a word from me would 'a' saved Milly, the word would 'a'
+been given to me, and the season too, and as they wasn't, why I hadn't
+any call to blame myself.
+
+"Abram and Sam Crawford did try to talk to Old Man Bob; but, la! you
+might as well 'a' talked to the east wind. All he said was, 'If Annie
+wants Dick Elrod, Annie shall have him.' That's what he'd been sayin'
+ever since Annie was born. Nobody said anything to Annie, for she was
+the sort o' girl who didn't care whose feelin's was tramped on, if she
+jest had her own way.
+
+"So it went on, and the weddin' day was set, and nothin' was talked
+about but Annie's first-day dress and Annie's second-day dress, and
+how many ruffles she had on her petticoats, and what the lace on her
+nightgowns cost; and all the time there was pore Milly Baker cryin'
+her eyes out night and day, and us women gittin' up all our old baby
+clothes for Dick Elrod's unborn child."
+
+Aunt Jane dropped her knitting in her lap, and gazed across the fields
+as if she were seeking in the sunlit ether the faces of those who
+moved and spoke in her story. A farm wagon came lumbering through the
+stillness, and she gathered up the double thread of story and knitting
+and went on.
+
+"Annie always said she was goin' to have such a weddin' as the county
+never had seen, and she kept her word. Old Man Bob had the house fixed
+up inside and out. They sent up to Louisville for the cakes and
+things, and the weddin' cake was three feet high. There was a solid
+gold ring in it, and the bridesmaids cut for it; and every gyirl there
+had a slice o' the bride's cake to carry home to dream on that night.
+Annie's weddin' dress was white satin so heavy it stood alone, so they
+said. And Old Man Bob had the whole neighborhood laughin', tellin' how
+many heifers and steers it took to pay for the lace around the neck of
+it.
+
+"Annie and Dick was married in October about the time the leaves fell,
+and Milly's boy was born the last o' November. Lord! Lord! what a
+world this is! Old Man Bob wouldn't hear to Annie's leavin' him, so
+they stayed right on in the old home place. In them days folks didn't
+go a-lopin' all over creation as soon as they got married; they
+settled down to housekeepin' like sensible folks ought to do. Old Lady
+Elrod was as foolish over Dick as Old Man Bob was over Annie, and it
+was laid down beforehand that they was to spend half the time at Old
+Man Bob's and half the time at the Squire's, 'bout the worst thing
+they could 'a' done. The further a young couple can git from the old
+folks on both sides the better for everybody concerned. And besides,
+Annie wasn't the kind of a gyirl to git along with Dick's mother. A
+gyirl with the kind o' raisin' Annie'd had wasn't any fit
+daughter-in-law for a particular, high-steppin' woman like Old Lady
+Elrod.
+
+"There was some people that expected a heap o' Dick after he married,
+but I never did. If a man can't be faithful to a woman before he
+marries her, he ain't likely to be faithful after he marries her. And
+shore enough the shine wasn't off o' Annie's weddin' clothes before
+Dick was back to his old ways, drinkin' and carryin' on with the women
+same as ever, and the first thing we knew, him and Annie had a big
+quarrel, and Old Man Bob had ordered him off the place. However, they
+made it up and went over to the old Squire's to live, and things went
+on well enough till Annie's baby was born. Dick had set his heart on
+havin' a boy, but it turned out a girl, and as soon as they told him,
+he never even asked how Annie was, but jest went out to the stable and
+saddled his horse and galloped off, and nobody seen him for two days.
+He needn't 'a' took on so, for the pore little thing didn't live but a
+week. Annie had convulsions over Dick's leavin' her that way, and the
+doctor said that was what killed the child. Annie never was the same
+after this. She grieved for her child and lost her good looks, and
+when she lost them, she lost Dick. It wasn't long before Dick was
+livin' with his father, and she with hers. At last he went out West;
+and in less than three years Annie died; and a good thing she did, for
+a more soured, disappointed woman couldn't 'a' been found anywhere.
+
+"Well, all this time Milly Baker's baby was growin' in grace, you
+might say. And a finer child never was born. Milly had named him
+Richard, and nature had wrote his father's name all over him. He was
+the livin' image of Dick, all but the look in his eyes; that was
+Milly's. Milly worshiped him, and there was few children raised any
+carefuler and better than Milly Baker's boy; that was what we always
+called him. Milly was nothin' but a child herself when he was born,
+but all at once she appeared to turn to a woman; acted like one and
+looked like one. It ain't time, honey, that makes people old; it's
+experience. Some folks never git over bein' children, and some never
+has any childhood; and pore little Milly's was cut short by trouble.
+If she felt ashamed of herself or the child, nobody ever knew it. I
+never could tell whether it was lack of sense, or whether she jest
+looked at things different from the rest of us; but to see her walk in
+church holding little Richard by the hand, nobody ever would 'a'
+thought but what she was a lawful wife. No woman could 'a' behaved
+better'n she did, I'm bound to say. She got better lookin' all the
+time, but she was as steady and sober as if she'd been sixty years
+old. Parson Page said once that Milly Baker had more dignity than any
+woman, young or old, that he'd ever seen. It seems right queer to talk
+about dignity in a pore gyirl who'd made the misstep she'd made, but I
+reckon it was jest that that made us all come to treat her as if she
+was as good as anybody. People can set their own price on 'emselves,
+I've noticed; and if they keep it set, folks'll come up to it. Milly
+didn't seem to think that she had done anything wrong; and when she
+brought little Richard up for baptism there wasn't a dry eye in the
+church; and when she joined the church herself there wasn't anybody
+mean enough to say a word against it, not even Silas Petty.
+
+"Squire Elrod give her the cottage rent free after her mother died,
+and betwixt nursin' and doin' fine needlework she made a good livin'
+for herself and the boy.
+
+"Little Richard was a child worth workin' for from the start. Tall and
+straight as a saplin', and carried himself like he owned the earth,
+even when he was a little feller. It looked like all the good blood on
+both sides had come out in him, and there wasn't a smarter, handsomer
+boy in the county. The old Squire thought a heap of him, and nothin'
+but his pride kept him from ownin' the child outright and treatin' him
+like he was his own flesh and blood. Richard had an old head on young
+shoulders, though he was as full o' life as any boy; and by the time
+he was grown the old Squire trusted him with everything on the place
+and looked to him the same as if he'd been a settled man. After Old
+Lady Elrod died, he broke terrible fast, and folks used to say it was
+a pitiful sight to see him when he'd be watchin' Richard overseein'
+the hands and tendin' to things about the place. He'd lean on the
+fence, his hands tremblin' and his face workin', thinkin' about Dick
+and grievin' over him and wishin', I reckon, that Dick had been such a
+man as Milly's boy was.
+
+"All these years nobody ever heard from Dick. Once in a while
+somebody'd come from town and say they'd seen somebody that had seen
+somebody else, and that somebody had seen Dick way out in California
+or Lord knows where, and that was all the news that ever come back.
+We'd all jest about made up our minds that he was dead, when one
+mornin', along in corn-plantin' time, the news was brought and spread
+over the neighborhood in no time that Dick Elrod had come home and was
+lyin' at the p'int of death. I remembered hearin' a hack go by on the
+pike the night before, and wondered to myself what was up. I thought,
+maybe, it was a runaway couple or some such matter, but it was pore
+Dick comin' back to his father's house, like the Prodigal Son, after
+twenty years. It takes some folks a long time, child, to git tired of
+the swine and the husks.
+
+"Well, of course, it made a big commotion, and before we'd hardly
+taken it in, we heard that he'd sent for Milly, and her and Richard
+had gone together up to the big house.
+
+"Jane Ann Petty was keepin' house for the old Squire, and she told us
+afterwards how it all come about.
+
+"We had a young probationer preachin' for us that summer, and as soon
+as he heard about Dick, he goes up to the big house without bein' sent
+for to talk to him about his soul. I reckon he thought it'd be a
+feather in his cap if he could convert a hardened sinner like Dick.
+
+"Jane Ann said they took him into Dick's room, and he set down by the
+bed and begun to lay off the plan o' salvation jest like he was
+preachin' from the pulpit, and Dick listened and never took his eyes
+off his face. When he got through Dick says, says he:
+
+"'Do you mean to say that all I've got to do to keep out of hell and
+get into heaven is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ?' And Brother
+Jonas, he says:
+
+"'Yes, my dear brother, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou
+shalt be saved. The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from
+all sin."'
+
+"And they said Dick jest laughed a curious sort o' laugh and says he:
+
+"'It's a pretty God that'll make such a bargain as that!' And says he,
+'I was born bad, I've lived bad, and I'm dyin' bad; but I ain't a
+coward nor a sneak, and I'm goin' to hell for my sins like a man. Like
+a man, do you hear me?'
+
+"Jane Ann said the look in his eyes was awful; and the preacher turned
+white as a sheet. It was curious talk for a death-bed; but, when you
+come to think about it, it's reasonable enough. When a man's got hell
+in his heart, what good is it goin' to do him to git into heaven?"
+
+"What, indeed?" I echoed, thinking how delightful it was that Aunt
+Jane and Omar Khayyam should be of one mind on this subject.
+
+"When Dick said this the young preacher got up to go, but Dick called
+him back, and says he, 'I don't want any of your preachin' or prayin',
+but you stay here; there's another sort of a job for you to do.' And
+then he turned around to the old Squire and says, 'Send for Milly.'
+
+"When we all heard that Milly'd been sent for, the first thing we
+thought was, 'How on earth is Milly goin' to tell Richard all he's
+got to know?' I never used to think we was anything over and above the
+ordinary out in our neighborhood, but when I ricollect that Richard
+Elrod come up from a boy to a man without knowin' who his father was,
+it seems like we must 'a' known how to hold our tongues anyhow. There
+wasn't man, woman, or child that ever hinted to Milly Baker's boy that
+he wasn't like other children, and so it was natural for us to wonder
+how Milly was goin' to tell him. Well, it wasn't any of our business,
+and we never found out. All we ever did know was that Milly and
+Richard walked over to the big house together, and Richard held his
+head as high as ever.
+
+"They said that Dick give a start when Milly come into the room. I
+reckon he expected to see the same little girl he'd fooled twenty
+years back, and when she come walkin' in it jest took him by surprise.
+
+"'Why, Milly,' says he, 'is this you?'
+
+"And he held out his hand, and she walked over to the bed and laid her
+hand in his. Folks that was there say it was a strange sight for any
+one that remembered what them two used to be. Her so gentle and
+sweet-lookin', and him all wore out with bad livin' and wasted to a
+shadder of what he used to be.
+
+"I've seen the same thing, child, over and over again. Two people'll
+start out together, and after a while they'll git separated, or,
+maybe, they'll live together a lifetime, and when they git to the end
+o' fifteen or twenty or twenty-five years, one'll be jest where he was
+when they set out, and the other'll be 'way up and 'way on, and
+they're jest nothin' but strangers after all. That's the way it was
+with Milly and Dick. They'd been sweethearts, and there was the child;
+but the father'd gone his way and the mother'd gone hers, and now
+there was somethin' between 'em like that 'great gulf' the Bible tells
+about. Well, they said Dick looked up at Milly like a hungry man looks
+at bread, and at last he says:
+
+"'I'm goin' to make an honest woman of you, Milly.'
+
+"And Milly looked him in the eyes and said as gentle and easy as if
+she'd been talkin' to a sick child: 'I've always been an honest woman,
+Dick.'
+
+"This kind o' took him back again, but he says, right earnest and
+pitiful, 'I want to marry you, Milly; don't refuse me. I want to do
+one decent thing before I die. I've come all the way from California
+just for this. Surely you'll feel better if you are my lawful wife.'
+
+"And they said Milly thought a minute and then she says: 'I don't
+believe it makes any difference with me, Dick. I've been through the
+worst, and I'm used to it. But if it'll make it any easier for you,
+I'll marry you. And then there's my boy; maybe it will be better for
+him.'
+
+"'Where's the boy?' says Dick; 'I want to see him.'
+
+"So Milly went and called Richard in. And as soon as Dick saw him he
+raised up on his elbow, weak as he was, and hollered out so you could
+hear him in the next room.
+
+"'Why,' says he, 'it's myself! It's myself! Stand off there where I
+can see you, boy! Why, you're the man I ought to have been and
+couldn't be. These lyin' doctors,' says he, 'tell me that I haven't
+got a day to live, but I'm goin' to live another lifetime in you!'
+
+"And then he fell back, gaspin' for breath, and young Richard stood
+there in the middle o' the floor with his arms folded and his face
+lookin' like it was made of stone.
+
+"As soon as Dick could speak, they said he pulled Milly down and
+whispered something to her, and she went over to the chair where his
+clothes was hangin' and felt in the pocket of the vest and got a
+little pearl ring out. They said she shook like a leaf when she saw
+it. And Dick says: 'I took it away from you, Milly, twenty years ago,
+for fear you'd use it for evidence against me--scoundrel that I was;
+and now I'm goin' to put it on your finger again, and the parson shall
+marry us fair and square. I've got the license here under my pillow.'
+And Milly leaned over and lifted him and propped him up with the
+pillows, and the young parson said the ceremony over 'em, with Jane
+Ann and the old Squire for witnesses.
+
+"As soon as the parson got through, Dick says: 'Boy, won't you shake
+hands with your father? I wouldn't ask you before.' But Richard never
+stirred. And Milly got up and went to him and laid her hand on his arm
+and says: 'My son, come and speak to your father.' And he walked up
+and took Dick's pore wasted hand in his strong one, and the old Squire
+set there and sobbed like a child. Jane Ann said he held on to
+Richard's hand and looked at him for a long time, and then he reached
+under the pillow and brought out a paper, and says he: 'It's my will;
+open it after I'm gone. I've squandered a lot o' money out West, but
+there's a plenty left, and that minin' stock'll make you a rich man.
+It's all yours and your mother's. I wish it was more,' says he, 'for
+you're a son that a king'd be proud of.'
+
+"Them was about the last words he said. Dr. Pendleton said he wouldn't
+live through the night, and sure enough he begun to sink as soon as
+the young parson left, and he died the next mornin' about daybreak.
+Jane Ann said jest before he died he opened his eyes and mumbled
+somethin', and Milly seemed to know what he wanted, for she reached
+over and put Richard's hand on hers and Dick's, and he breathed his
+last jest that way.
+
+"Milly wouldn't let a soul touch the corpse, but her and Richard. She
+was a mighty good hand at layin' out the dead, and them two washed and
+shrouded the body and laid it in the coffin, and the next day at the
+funeral Milly walked on one side o' the old Squire and Richard on the
+other, and the old man leaned on Richard like he'd found a prop for
+his last days.
+
+"I ain't much of a hand to believe in signs, but there was one thing
+the day of the buryin' that I shall always ricollect. It had been
+rainin' off and on all day,--a soft, misty sort o' rain that's good
+for growin' things,--but while they were fillin' up the grave and
+smoothin' it off, the sun broke out over in the west, and when we
+turned around to leave the grave there was the brightest, prettiest
+rainbow you ever saw; and when Milly and Richard got into the old
+Squire's carriage and rode home with him, that rainbow was right in
+front of 'em all the way home. It didn't mean much for Milly and the
+Squire, but I couldn't help thinkin' it was a promise o' better things
+for Richard, and maybe a hope for pore Dick.
+
+"Milly didn't live long after this. They found her dead in her bed one
+mornin'. The doctor said it was heart disease; but it's my belief that
+she jest died because she thought she could do Richard a better turn
+by dyin' than livin'. She'd lived for him twenty years and seen him
+come into his rights, and I reckon she thought her work was done.
+Dyin' for people is a heap easier'n livin' for 'em, anyhow.
+
+"The old Squire didn't outlive Milly many years, and when he died
+Richard come into all the Elrod property. You've seen the Elrod place,
+ain't you, child? That white house with big pillars and porches in
+front of it. It's three miles further on the pike, and folks'll drive
+out there jest to look at it. I've heard 'em call it a 'colonial
+mansion,' or some such name as that. It was all run down when Richard
+come into possession of it, but now it's one o' the finest places in
+the whole state. That's the way it is with families: one generation'll
+tear down and another generation'll build up. Richard's buildin' up
+all that his father tore down, and I'm in hopes his work'll last for
+many a day."
+
+Aunt Jane's voice ceased, and there was a long silence. The full
+harvest of the story-telling was over; but sometimes there was an
+aftermath to Aunt Jane's tale, and for this I waited. I looked at the
+field opposite where the long, verdant rows gave promise of the autumn
+reaping, and my thoughts were busy tracing backward every link in the
+chain of circumstance that stretched between Milly Baker's boy of
+forty years ago and the handsome, prosperous man I had seen that
+morning. Ah, a goodly tale and a goodly ending! Aunt Jane spoke at
+last, and her words were an echo of my thought.
+
+"There's lots of satisfactory things in this world, child," she said,
+beaming at me over her spectacles with the smile of the optimist who
+is born, not made. "There's a satisfaction in roundin' off the toe of
+a stockin', like I'm doin' now, and knowin' that your work's goin' to
+keep somebody's feet warm next winter. There's a satisfaction in
+bakin' a nice, light batch o' bread for the children to eat up.
+There's a satisfaction in settin' on the porch in the cool o' the
+evenin' and thinkin' o' the good day's work behind you, and another
+good day that's comin' to-morrow. This world ain't a vale o' tears
+unless you make it so on purpose. But of all the satisfactions I ever
+experienced, the most satisfyin' is to see people git their just
+deserts right here in this world. I don't blame David for bein' out o'
+patience when he saw the wicked flourishin' like a green bay tree.
+
+"I never was any hand for puttin' things off, whether it's work or
+punishment; and I've never got my own consent to this way o' skeerin'
+people with a hell and wheedlin' 'em with a heaven way off yonder in
+the next world. I ain't as old as Methuselah, but I've lived long
+enough to find out a few things; and one of 'em is that if people
+don't die before their time, they'll git their heaven and their hell
+right here in this world. And whenever I feel like doubtin' the
+justice o' the Lord, I think o' Milly Baker's boy, and how he got
+everything that belonged to him, and he didn't have to die and go to
+heaven to git it either."
+
+    "'Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;
+      Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds
+          He all.'"
+
+I quoted the lines musingly, watching meanwhile their effect on Aunt
+Jane. Her eyes sparkled as her quick brain took in the meaning of the
+poet's words.
+
+"That's it!" she exclaimed,--"that's it! I don't mind waitin' myself
+and seein' other folks wait, too, a reasonable time, but I do like to
+see everybody, sooner or later, git the grist that rightly belongs to
+'em."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+THE BAPTIZING AT KITTLE CREEK
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+"There's a heap o' reasons for folks marryin'," said Aunt Jane,
+reflectively. "Some marries for love, some for money, some for a home;
+some marries jest to spite somebody else, and some, it looks like,
+marries for nothin' on earth but to have somebody always around to
+quarrel with about religion. That's the way it was with Marthy and
+Amos Matthews. I don't reckon you ever heard o' Marthy and Amos, did
+you, child? It's been many a year since I thought of 'em myself. But
+last Sunday evenin' I was over at Elnora Simpson's, and old Uncle Sam
+Simpson was there visitin'. Uncle Sam used to live in the neighborhood
+o' Goshen, but he moved up to Edmonson County way back yonder, I can't
+tell when, and every now and then he comes back to see his
+grandchildren. He's gittin' well on towards ninety, and I'm thinkin'
+this is about the last trip the old man'll make till he goes on his
+long journey. I was mighty glad to see him, and me and him set and
+talked about old times till the sun went down. What he didn't remember
+I did, and what I didn't remember he did; and when we got through
+talkin', Elnora--that's his grandson's wife--says, 'Well, Uncle Sam,
+if I could jest take down everything you and Aunt Jane said to-day,
+I'd have a pretty good history of everybody that ever lived in this
+county.'
+
+"Uncle Sam was the one that started the talk about Marthy and Amos.
+He'd been leanin' on his cane lookin' out o' the door at Elnora's
+twins playin' on the grass, and all at once he says, says he, 'Jane,
+do you ricollect the time they had the big babtizin' down at Kittle
+Creek?' And he got to laughin', and I got to laughin', and we set
+there and cackled like a pair o' old fools, and nobody but us two
+seein' anything funny about it."
+
+Aunt Jane's ready laugh began again at the mere remembrance of her
+former mirth. I kept discreetly silent, fearing to break the flow of
+reminiscence by some ill-timed question.
+
+"Nobody ever could see," she continued, "how it was that Amos Matthews
+and Marthy Crawford ever come to marry, unless it was jest as I said,
+to have somebody always handy to quarrel with about their religion;
+and I used to think sometimes that Marthy and Amos got more pleasure
+that way than most folks git out o' prayin' and singin' and listenin'
+to preachin'. Amos was the strictest sort of a Presbyterian, and
+Marthy was a Babtist, and to hear them two jawin' and arguin' and
+bringin' up Scripture texts about predestination and infant babtism
+and close communion and immersion was enough to make a person wish
+there wasn't such a thing as churches and doctrines. Brother Rice
+asked Sam Amos once if Marthy and Amos Matthews was Christians.
+Brother Rice had come to help Parson Page carry on a meetin', and he
+was tryin' to find out who was the sinners and who was the
+Christians. And Sam says, 'No; my Lord! It takes all o' Marthy's time
+to be a Babtist and all o' Amos' to be a Presbyterian. They ain't got
+time to be Christians.'
+
+"Some folks wondered how they ever got time to do any courtin', they
+was so busy wranglin' over babtism and election. And after Marthy had
+her weddin' clothes all made they come to a dead stop. Amos said he
+wouldn't feel like they was rightly married if they didn't have a
+Presbyterian minister to marry 'em, and Marthy said it wouldn't be
+marryin' to her if they didn't have a Babtist. I was over at Hannah
+Crawford's one day, and she says, says she, 'Jane, I've been savin' up
+my eggs and butter for a month to make Marthy's weddin' cake, and if
+her and Amos don't come to an understandin' soon, it'll all be a dead
+loss.' And Marthy says, 'Well, mother, I may not have any cake at my
+weddin', and I may not have any weddin', but one thing is certain: I'm
+not goin' to give up my principles.'
+
+"And Hannah sort o' groaned--she hadn't had any easy time with Miles
+Crawford--and says she, 'You pore foolish child! Principles ain't the
+only thing a woman has to give up when she gits married.'
+
+"I don't know whether they ever would 'a' come to an agreement if it
+hadn't been for Brother Morris. He was the Presidin' Elder from town,
+and a powerful hand for jokin' with folks. He happened to meet Amos
+one day about this time, and says he, 'Amos, I hear you and Miss
+Marthy can't decide betwixt Brother Page and Brother Gyardner. It'd be
+a pity,' says he, 'to have a good match sp'iled for such a little
+matter, and s'pose you compromise and have me to marry you.'
+
+"And Amos says, 'I don't know but what that's the best thing that
+could be done. I'll see Marthy and let you know.' And, bless your
+life, they was married a week from that day. I went over and helped
+Hannah with the cake, and Brother Morris said as pretty a ceremony
+over 'em as any Presbyterian or Babtist could 'a' said.
+
+"Well, the next Sunday everybody was on the lookout to see which
+church the bride and groom'd go to. Bush Elrod bet a dollar that
+Marthy'd have her way, and Sam Amos bet a dollar that they'd be at the
+Presbyterian church. Sam won the bet, and we was all right glad that
+Marthy'd had the grace to give up that one time, anyhow. Amos was
+powerful pleased havin' Marthy with him, and they sung out of the same
+hymn-book and looked real happy. It looked like they was startin' out
+right, and I thought to myself, 'Well, here's a good beginnin',
+anyhow.' But it happened to be communion Sunday, and of all the
+unlucky things that could 'a' happened for Marthy and Amos, that was
+about the unluckiest. I said then that if Parson Page had been a
+woman, he'd 'a' postponed that communion. But a man couldn't be
+expected to have much sense about such matters, so he goes ahead and
+gives out the hymn,
+
+    ''Twas on that dark and dreadful day;'
+
+and everybody in church was lookin' at Amos and Marthy and watchin' to
+see what she was goin' to do. While they was singin' the hymn the
+church-members got up and went forward to the front seats, and Amos
+went with 'em. That left Marthy all alone in the pew, and I couldn't
+help feelin' sorry for her. She tried to look unconcerned, but anybody
+could see she felt sort o' forsaken and left out, and folks all
+lookin', and some of 'em whisperin' and nudgin' each other. I knew
+jest exactly how Marthy felt. Abram said to me when we was on the way
+home that day, 'Jane, if I'd 'a' been in Amos' place, I believe I'd
+'a' set still with Marthy. Marthy'd come with him and it looks like
+he ought to 'a' stayed with her.' I reckon, though, that Amos thought
+he was doin' right, and maybe it's foolish in women to care about
+things like that. Sam Amos used to say that nobody but God Almighty,
+that made her, ever could tell what a woman wanted and what she didn't
+want; and I've thought many a time that since He made women, it's a
+pity He couldn't 'a' made men with a better understandin' o' women's
+ways.
+
+"Maybe if Amos'd set still that day, things would 'a' been different
+with him and Marthy all their lives, and then again, maybe it didn't
+make any difference. It's hard to tell jest what makes things go wrong
+in this world and what makes 'em go right. It's a mighty little thing
+for a man to git up and leave his wife settin' alone in a pew for a
+few minutes, but then there's mighty few things in this life that
+ain't little, till you git to follerin' 'em up and seein' what they
+come to."
+
+I thought of Pippa's song:
+
+    "Say not a small event! Why 'small'?
+    Costs it more pain that this, ye call
+    A great event, should come to pass,
+    Than that? Untwine me from the mass
+    Of deeds which make up life, one deed
+    Power shall fall short in or exceed!"
+
+And Aunt Jane went serenely on:
+
+"Anyhow, it wasn't long till Amos was goin' to his church and Marthy
+to hers, and they kept that up the rest of their lives. Still, they
+might 'a' got along well enough this way, for married folks don't have
+to think alike about everything, but they was eternally arguin' about
+their church doctrines. If Amos grumbled about the weather, Marthy'd
+say, 'Ain't everything predestined? Warn't this drought app'inted
+before the foundation of the world? What's the sense in grumblin' over
+the decrees of God?' And it got so that if Amos wanted to grumble over
+anything, he had to git away from home first, and that must 'a' been
+mighty wearin' on him; for, as a rule, a man never does any grumblin'
+except at home; but pore Amos didn't have that privilege. Sam Amos
+used to say--­Sam wasn't a church-member himself--that there was some
+advantages about bein' a Babtist after all; you did have to go under
+the water, but then you had the right to grumble. But if a man
+believed that everything was predestined before the foundations of the
+world, there wasn't any sense or reason in findin' fault with anything
+that happened. And he believed that he'd ruther jine the Babtist
+church than the Presbyterian, for he didn't see how he could carry on
+his farm without complainin' about the weather and the crops and
+things in general.
+
+"If Marthy and Amos'd been divided on anything but their churches, the
+children might 'a' brought 'em together; but every time a child was
+born matters got worse. Amos, of course, wanted 'em all babtized in
+infancy, and Marthy wanted 'em immersed when they j'ined the church,
+and so it went. Amos had his way about the first one, and I never
+shall forgit the day it was born. I went over to help wait on Marthy
+and the baby, and as soon as I got the little thing dressed, we called
+Amos in to see it. Now, Amos always took his religion mighty hard. It
+didn't seem to bring him any comfort or peace o' mind. I've heard
+people say they didn't see how Presbyterians ever could be happy; but
+la, child, it's jest as easy to be happy in one church as in another.
+It all depends on what doctrines you think the most about. Now you
+take election and justification and sanctification, and you can git
+plenty o' comfort out o' them. But Amos never seemed to think of
+anything but reprobation and eternal damnation. Them doctrines jest
+seemed to weigh on him night and day. He used to say many a time that
+he didn't know whether he had made his callin' and election sure or
+not, and I don't believe he thought that anybody else had made theirs
+sure, either. Abram used to say that Amos looked like he was carryin'
+the sins o' the world on his shoulders.
+
+"That day the baby was born I thought to myself, 'Well, here's
+somethin' that'll make Amos forgit about his callin' and election for
+once, anyhow;' and I wrapped the little feller up in his blanket and
+held him to the light, so his father could see him; and Amos looked at
+him like he was skeered, for a minute, and then he says, 'O Lord! I
+hope it ain't a reprobate.'
+
+"Now jest think of a man lookin' down into a little new-born baby's
+face and talkin' about reprobates!
+
+"Marthy heard what he said, and says she, 'Amos, are you goin' to have
+him babtized in infancy?'
+
+"'Why, yes,' says Amos, 'of course I am.'
+
+"And Marthy says, 'Well, hadn't you better wait until you find out
+whether he's a reprobate or not? If he's a reprobate, babtizin' ain't
+goin' to do him any good, and if he's elected he don't need to be
+babtized.'
+
+"And I says, 'For goodness' sake, Marthy, you and Amos let the
+doctrines alone, or you'll throw yourself into a fever.' And I pushed
+a rockin'-chair up by the bed and I says, 'Here, Amos, you set here by
+your wife, and both of you thank the Lord for givin' you such a fine
+child;' and I laid the baby in Amos' arms, and went out in the gyarden
+to look around and git some fresh air. I gethered a bunch o'
+honeysuckles to put on Marthy's table, and when I got back, Marthy and
+the baby was both asleep, and Amos looked as if he was beginnin' to
+have some little hopes of the child's salvation.
+
+"Marthy named him John; and Sam Amos said he reckoned it was for John
+the Babtist. But it wasn't; it was for Marthy's twin brother that died
+when he was jest three months old. Twins run in the Crawford family.
+Amos had him babtized in infancy jest like he said he would, and such
+a hollerin' and squallin' never was heard in Goshen church. The next
+day Sally Ann says to me, says she, 'That child must 'a' been a
+Babtist, Jane; for he didn't appear to favor infant babtism.'
+
+"Well, Marthy had her say-so about the next child--that one was a boy,
+too, and they named him Amos for his father--and young Amos wasn't
+babtized in infancy; he was 'laid aside for immersion,' as Sam Amos
+said. Then it was Amos' time to have his way, and so they went on till
+young Amos was about fifteen years old and Marthy got him converted
+and ready to be immersed. The Babtists had a big meetin' that spring,
+and there was a dozen or more converts to be babtized when it was
+over. We'd been havin' mighty pleasant weather that March; I ricollect
+me and Abram planted our potatoes the first week in March, and I would
+put in some peas. Abram said it was too early, and sure enough the
+frost got 'em when they was about two inches high. It turned off real
+cold about the last o' March; and when the day for the babtizin' come,
+there was a pretty keen east wind, and Kittle Creek was mighty high
+and muddy, owin' to the rains they'd had further up. There was some
+talk o' puttin' off the babtizin' till better weather, but Brother
+Gyardner, he says: 'The colder the water, the warmer your faith,
+brethren; Christ never put off any babtizin' on account of the
+weather.'
+
+"Sam Amos asked him if he didn't reckon there was some difference
+between the climate o' Kentucky and the climate o' Palestine. Sam was
+always a great hand to joke with the preachers. But the way things
+went that day the weather didn't make much difference anyhow to young
+Sam.
+
+"The whole neighborhood turned out Sunday evenin' and went over to
+Kittle Creek to see the big babtizin'. Marthy and Amos and all the
+children was there, and Marthy looked like she'd had a big streak o'
+good luck. Sam Amos says to me, 'Well, Aunt Jane, Marthy's waited a
+long time, but she'll have her innin's now.'
+
+"Bush Elrod was the first one to go under the water; and when two or
+three more had been babtized, it was young Amos' time. I saw Marthy
+pushin' him forward and beckonin' to Brother Gyardner like she
+couldn't wait any longer.
+
+"Nobody never did know exactly how it happened. Some folks said that
+young Amos wasn't overly anxious to go under the water that cold day,
+and he kind o' slipped behind his father when he saw Brother Gyardner
+comin' towards him; and some went so fur as to say that Brother
+Gyardner was in the habit o' takin' a little spirits after a babtizin'
+to keep from takin' cold, and that time he'd taken it beforehand, and
+didn't know exactly what he was about. Anyhow, the first thing we knew
+Brother Gyardner had hold o' Amos himself, leadin' him towards the
+water. Amos was a timid sort o' man, easy flustered, and it looked
+like he lost his wits and his tongue too. He was kind o' pullin' back
+and lookin' round in a skeered way, and Brother Gyardner he hollered
+out, 'Come right along, brother! I know jest how it is myself; the
+spirit is willin', but the flesh is weak.' The Babtists was shoutin'
+'Glory Hallelujah' and Uncle Jim Matthews begun to sing, 'On Jordan's
+stormy banks I stand,' and pretty near everybody j'ined in till you
+couldn't hear your ears. The rest of us was about as flustered as
+Amos. We knew in reason that Brother Gyardner was makin' a big
+mistake, but we jest stood there and let things go on, and no tellin'
+what might 'a' happened if it hadn't been for Sam Amos. Sam was a
+cool-headed man, and nothin' ever flustered him. As soon as he saw how
+things was goin' he set down on the bank and pulled off his boots; and
+jest as Brother Gyardner got into the middle o' the creek, here come
+Sam wadin' up behind 'em, and grabbed Amos by the shoulder and
+hollered out, 'You got the wrong man, parson! Here, Amos, take hold o'
+me.' And he give Amos a jerk that nearly made Brother Gyardner lose
+his footin', and him and Amos waded up to the shore and left Brother
+Gyardner standin' there in the middle o' the creek lookin' like he'd
+lost his job.
+
+"Well, that put a stop to the singin' and the shoutin', and the way
+folks laughed was scandalous. They had to walk Amos home in a hurry
+to git his wet clothes off, and Uncle Jim Matthews and Old Man Bob
+Crawford went with him to rub him down. Amos was subject to
+bronchitis, anyhow. Marthy went on ahead of 'em in the wagon to have
+hot water and blankets ready. I'll give Marthy that credit; she
+appeared to forgit all about the babtizin' when Amos come up so wet
+and shiverin'. Sam couldn't git his boots on over his wet socks, and
+as he'd walked over to the creek, Silas Petty had to take him home in
+his spring wagon. Brother Gyardner all this time was lookin' round for
+young Amos, but he wasn't to be found high nor low, and that set folks
+to laughin' again, and so many havin' to leave, the babtizin' was
+clean broke up. Milly come up jest as Sam was gittin' into Old Man
+Bob's wagon, and says she, 'Well, Sam, you've ruined your Sunday pants
+this time.' And Sam says, 'Pants nothin'. The rest o' you all can save
+your Sunday pants if you want to, but this here's a free country, and
+I ain't goin' to stand by and see a man babtized against his will
+while I'm able to save him.' And if Sam'd saved Amos' life, instead o'
+jest savin' him from babtism, Amos couldn't 'a' been gratefuler. When
+Sam broke his arm the follerin' summer, Amos went over and set up
+with him at night, and let his own wheat stand while he harvested
+Sam's.
+
+"Well, the next time the 'Sociation met, the Babtists had somethin'
+new to talk about. Old Brother Gyardner got up, and says he,
+'Brethren, there's a question that's been botherin' me for some time,
+and I'd like to hear it discussed and git it settled, if possible;'
+and says he, 'If a man should be babtized accidentally, and against
+his will, would he be a Babtist? or would he not?' And they begun to
+argue it, and they had it up and down, and some was of one opinion and
+some of another. Brother Gyardner said he was inclined to think that
+babtism made a man a Babtist, but old Brother Bascom said if a man
+wasn't a Babtist in his heart, all the water in the sea wouldn't make
+him one. And Brother Gyardner said that was knockin' the props clean
+from under the Babtist faith. 'For,' says he, 'if bein' a Babtist in
+the heart makes a man a Babtist, then babtism ain't necessary to
+salvation, and if babtism ain't necessary, what becomes o' the Babtist
+church?'
+
+"Somebody told Amos about the dispute they was havin' over his case,
+and Amos says, 'If them fool Babtists want that question settled, let
+'em come to me.' Says he, 'My father and mother was Presbyterians,
+and my grandfather and grandmother and great-grandfather and
+great-grandmother on both sides; I was sprinkled in infancy, and I
+j'ined the Presbyterian church as soon as I come to the age of
+accountability, and if you was to carry me over to Jerusalem and
+babtize me in the river Jordan itself, I'd still be a Presbyterian.'"
+
+Here Aunt Jane paused to laugh again. "There's some things, child,"
+she said, as she wiped her glasses, "that people'll laugh over and
+then forgit; and there's some things they never git over laughin'
+about. The Kittle Creek babtizin' was one o' that kind. Old Man Bob
+Crawford used to say he wouldn't 'a' took five hundred dollars for
+that babtizin'. Old Man Bob was the biggest laugher in the country;
+you could hear him for pretty near half a mile when he got in a
+laughin' way; and he used to say that whenever he felt like havin' a
+good laugh, all he had to do was to think of Amos and how he looked
+with Brother Gyardner leadin' him into the water, and the Babtists
+a-singin' over him. Bush Elrod was another one that never got over it.
+Every time he'd see Amos he'd begin to sing, 'On Jordan's stormy banks
+I stand,' and Amos couldn't git out o' the way quick enough.
+
+"Well, that's what made me and old Uncle Sam Simpson laugh so last
+Sunday. I don't reckon there's anything funny in it to folks that
+never seen it; but when old people git together and call up old times,
+they can see jest how folks looked and acted, and it's like livin' it
+all over again."
+
+"I don't believe you can see it any plainer than I do, Aunt Jane," I
+hastened to assure her. "It is all as clear to me as any picture I
+ever saw. It was in March, you say, and the wind was cool, but the sun
+was warm; and if you sat in a sheltered place you might almost think
+it was the last of April."
+
+"That's so, child. I remember me and Abram set under the bank on a
+rock that kind o' cut off the north wind, and it was real pleasant."
+
+"Then there must have been a purple haze on the hills; and, while the
+trees were still bare, there was a look about them as if the coming
+leaves were casting their shadows before. There were heaps of brown
+leaves from last year's autumn in the fence corners, and as you and
+Uncle Abram walked home, you looked under them to see if the violets
+were coming up, and found some tiny wood ferns."
+
+Aunt Jane dropped her knitting and leaned back in the high
+old-fashioned chair.
+
+"Why, child," she said in an awe-struck tone, "are you a
+fortune-teller?"
+
+"Not at all, Aunt Jane," I said, laughing at the dear old lady's
+consternation. "I am only a good guesser; and I wanted you to know
+that I not only see the things that you see and tell me, but some of
+the things that you see and don't tell me. Did Marthy ever get young
+Amos baptized?" I asked.
+
+"La, yes," laughed Aunt Jane. "They finished up the babtizin' two
+weeks after that. It was a nice, pleasant day, and young Amos went
+under the water all right; but mighty little good it did him after
+all. For as soon as he come of age, he married Matildy Harris (Matildy
+was a Methodist), and he got to goin' to church with his wife, and
+that was the last of his Babtist raisin'."
+
+Then we both were silent for a while, and I watched the gathering
+thunder-clouds in the west. A low rumble of thunder broke the
+stillness of the August afternoon. Aunt Jane looked up apprehensively.
+
+"There's goin' to be a storm betwixt now and sundown," she said, "but
+I reckon them young turkeys'll be safe under their mother's wings by
+that time."
+
+"Don't you think a wife ought to join her husband's church, Aunt
+Jane?" I asked with idle irrelevance to her remark.
+
+"Sometimes she ought and sometimes she oughtn't," replied Aunt Jane
+oracularly. "There ain't any rule about it. Everybody's got to be
+their own judge about such matters. If I'd 'a' been in Marthy's place,
+I wouldn't 'a' j'ined Amos' church, and if I'd been in Amos' place I
+wouldn't 'a' j'ined Marthy's church. So there it is."
+
+"But didn't you join Uncle Abram's church?" I asked, in a laudable
+endeavor to get at the root of the matter.
+
+"Yes, I did," said Aunt Jane stoutly; "but that's a mighty different
+thing. Of course, I went with Abram, and if I had it to do over again,
+I'd do it. You see the way of it was this: my folks was Campbellites,
+or Christians they'd ruther be called. It's curious how they don't
+like to be called Campbellites. Methodists don't mind bein' called
+Wesleyans, and Presbyterians don't git mad if you call 'em Calvinists,
+and I reckon Alexander Campbell was jest as good a man as Wesley and a
+sight better'n Calvin, but you can't make a Campbellite madder than to
+call him a Campbellite. However, as I was sayin', Alexander Campbell
+himself babtized my father and mother out here in Drake's Creek, and
+I was brought up to think that my church was _the_ Christian church,
+sure enough. But when me and Abram married, neither one of us was
+thinkin' much about churches. I used to tell Marthy that if a man'd
+come talkin' church to me, when he ought to been courtin' me, I'd 'a'
+told him to go on and marry a hymn-book or a catechism. I believe in
+religion jest as much as anybody, but a man that can't forgit his
+religion while he's courtin' a woman ain't worth havin'. That's my
+opinion. But as I was sayin', me and Abram had the church question to
+settle after we was married, and I don't believe either one of us
+thought about it till Sunday mornin' come. I ricollect it jest like it
+was yesterday. We was married in June, and you know how things always
+look about then. I've thought many a day, when I've been out in the
+gyarden workin' with my vegetables and getherin' my honeysuckles and
+roses, that if folks could jest live on and never git old and it'd
+stay June forever, that this world'd be heaven enough for anybody. And
+that's the way it was that Sunday mornin'. I ricollect I had on my
+'second-day' dress, the prettiest sort of a changeable silk, kind 'o
+dove color and pink, and I had a leghorn bonnet on with pink roses
+inside the brim, and black lace mitts on my hands. I stood up before
+the glass jest before I went out to the gate where Abram was, waitin'
+for me, and I looked as pretty as a pink, if I do say it. 'Self-praise
+goes but a little ways,' my mother used to tell me, when I was a
+gyirl; but I reckon there ain't any harm in an old woman like me
+tellin' how she looked when she was a bride more'n sixty years ago."
+
+And a faint color came into the wrinkled cheeks, while her clear, high
+laugh rang out. The outward symbols of youth and beauty were gone, but
+their unquenchable spirit lay warm under the ashes of nearly eight
+decades.
+
+"Well, I went out, and Abram helped me into the buggy and, instead o'
+goin' straight on to Goshen church, he turned around and drove out to
+my church. When we walked in I could see folks nudgin' each other and
+laughin', and when meetin' broke and we was fixin' to go home, Aunt
+Maria Taylor grabbed hold o' me and pulled me off to one side and says
+she, 'That's right, Jane, you're beginnin' in time. Jest break a man
+in at the start, and you won't have no trouble afterwards.' And I jest
+laughed in her face and went on to where Abram was waitin' for me. I
+was too happy to git mad that day. Well, the next Sunday, when we got
+into the buggy and Abram started to turn round, I took hold o' the
+reins and says I, 'It's my time to drive, Abram; you had your way last
+Sunday, and now I'm goin' to have mine.' And I snapped the whip over
+old Nell's back and drove right on to Goshen, and Abram jest set back
+and laughed fit to kill.
+
+"We went on that way for two or three months, folks sayin' that Abram
+and Jane Parrish couldn't go to the same church two Sundays straight
+along to save their lives, and everybody wonderin' which of us'd have
+their way in the long run. And me and Abram jest laughed in our
+sleeves and paid no attention to 'em; for there never was but one way
+for us, anyhow, and that wasn't Abram's way nor my way; it was jest
+_our_ way. There's lots of married folks, honey, and one of 'em's here
+and one of 'em's gone over yonder, and there's a long, deep grave
+between 'em; but they're a heap nearer to each other than two livin'
+people that stay in the same house, and eat at the same table, and
+sleep in the same bed, and all the time there's two great thick church
+walls between 'em and growin' thicker and higher every day. Sam Amos
+used to say that if religion made folks act like Marthy and Amos did,
+he believed he'd ruther have less religion or none at all. But, honey,
+when you see married folks quarrelin' over their churches, it ain't
+too much religion that's the cause o' the trouble, it's too little
+love. Jest ricollect that; if folks love each other right, religion
+ain't goin' to come between 'em.
+
+"Well, as soon as cold weather set in they started up a big revival at
+Goshen church. After the meetin' had been goin' on for three or four
+weeks, Parson Page give out one Sunday that the session would meet on
+the follerin' Thursday to examine all that had experienced a change o'
+heart and wanted to unite with the church. I never said a word to
+Abram, but Thursday evenin' while he was out on the farm mendin' some
+fences that the cattle had broke down, I harnessed old Nell to the
+buggy and drove out to Goshen. All the converts was there, and the
+session was questionin' and examinin' when I got in. When it come my
+turn, Parson Page begun askin' me if I'd made my callin' and election
+sure, and I come right out, and says I, 'I don't know much about
+callin' and election, Brother Page; I reckon I'm a Christian,' says I,
+'for I've been tryin' to do right by everybody ever since I was old
+enough to know the difference betwixt right and wrong; but, if the
+plain truth was told, I'm j'inin' this church jest because it's
+Abram's church, and I want to please him. And that's all the testimony
+I've got to give.' And Parson Page put his hand over his mouth to keep
+from laughin'--he was a young man then and hadn't been married long
+himself--and says he, 'That'll do, Sister Parrish; brethren, we'll
+pass on to the next candidate.' I left 'em examinin' Sam Crawford
+about his callin' and election, and I got home before Abram come to
+the house, and the next day when I walked up with the rest of 'em
+Abram was the only person in the church that was surprised. When
+they'd got through givin' us the right hand o' fellowship, and I went
+back to our pew, Abram took hold o' my hand and held on to it like he
+never would let go, and I knew I'd done the right thing and I never
+would regret it."
+
+There was a light on the old woman's face that made me turn my eyes
+away. Here was a personal revelation that should have satisfied the
+most exacting, but my vulgar curiosity cried out for further light on
+the past.
+
+"What would you have done," I asked, "if Uncle Abram hadn't turned the
+horse that Sunday morning--if he had gone straight on to Goshen?"
+
+Aunt Jane regarded me for a moment with a look of pitying allowance,
+such as one bestows on a child who doesn't know any better than to ask
+stupid questions.
+
+"Shuh, child," she said with careless brevity, "Abram couldn't 'a'
+done such a thing as that."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+HOW SAM AMOS RODE IN THE
+
+TOURNAMENT
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+"There's one thing I'd like mighty well to see again before I die,"
+said Aunt Jane, "and that is a good, old-fashioned fair. The apostle
+says we must 'press forward, forgetting the things that are behind,'
+but there's some things I've left behind that I can't never forget,
+and the fairs we had in my day is one of 'em."
+
+It was the quietest hour of an August afternoon--that time when one
+seems to have reached "the land where it is always afternoon"--and
+Aunt Jane and I were sitting on the back porch, shelling butter-beans
+for the next day's market. Before us lay the garden in the splendid
+fulness of late summer. Concord and Catawba grapes loaded the vines on
+the rickety old arbor; tomatoes were ripening in reckless plenty, to
+be given to the neighbors, or to lie in tempting rows on the
+window-sill of the kitchen and the shelves of the back porch; the
+second planting of cucumber vines ran in flowery luxuriance over the
+space allotted to them, and even encroached on the territory of the
+squashes and melons. Damsons hung purpling over the eaves of the
+house, and wasps and bees kept up a lively buzzing as they feasted on
+the windfalls of the old yellow peach tree near the garden gate.
+Nature had distributed her sunshine and showers with wise generosity
+that year, and neither in field nor in garden was there lack of any
+good thing. Perhaps it was this gracious abundance, presaging fine
+exhibits at the coming fair, that turned Aunt Jane's thoughts towards
+the fairs of her youth.
+
+"Folks nowadays don't seem to think much about fairs," she continued;
+"but when I was young a fair was something that the grown folks looked
+forward to jest like children look for Christmas. The women and the
+men, too, was gittin' ready for the fair all the year round, the women
+piecin' quilts and knittin' socks and weavin' carpets and puttin' up
+preserves and pickles, and the men raisin' fine stock; and when the
+fair come, it was worth goin' to, child, and worth rememberin' after
+you'd gone to it.
+
+"I hear folks talkin' about the fair every year, and I laugh to myself
+and I say, 'You folks don't know what a fair is.' And I set out there
+on my porch fair week and watch the buggies and wagons goin' by in the
+mornin' and comin' home at night, and I git right happy, thinkin'
+about the time when me and Abram and the children used to go over the
+same road to the fair, but a mighty different sort of fair from what
+they have nowadays. One thing is, honey, they have the fairs too soon.
+It never was intended for folks to go to fairs in hot weather, and
+here they've got to havin' 'em the first week in September, about the
+hottest, driest, dustiest time of the whole year. Nothin' looks pretty
+then, and it always makes me think o' folks when they've been wearin'
+their summer clothes for three months, and everything's all faded and
+dusty and drabbled. That's the way it generally is in September. But
+jest wait till two or three good rains come, and everything's washed
+clean and sweet, and the trees look like they'd got a new set o'
+leaves, and the grass comes out green and fresh like it does in the
+spring, and the nights and the mornin's feel cool, though it's hot
+enough in the middle o' the day; and maybe there'll come a touch of
+early frost, jest enough to turn the top leaves on the sugar maples.
+That's October, child, and that's the time for a fair.
+
+"Lord, the good times I've seen in them days! Startin' early and
+comin' home late, with the sun settin' in front of you, and by and by
+the moon comin' up behind you, and the wind blowin' cool out o' the
+woods on the side o' the road; the baby fast asleep in my arms, and
+the other children talkin' with each other about what they'd seen, and
+Abram drivin' slow over the rough places, and lookin' back every once
+in a while to see if we was all there. It's a curious thing, honey; I
+liked fairs as well as anybody, and I reckon I saw all there was to be
+seen, and heard everything there was to be heard every time I went to
+one. But now, when I git to callin' 'em up, it appears to me that the
+best part of it all, and the part I ricollect the plainest, was jest
+the goin' there and the comin' back home.
+
+"Abram knew I liked to stay till everything was over, and he'd git
+somebody to water and feed the stock, and then I never had any hot
+suppers to git while the fair lasted; so there wasn't anything to
+hurry me and Abram. I ricollect Maria Petty come up one day about
+five o'clock, jest as we was lookin' at the last race, and says she,
+'I'm about to drop, Jane; but I believe I'd ruther stay here and sleep
+on the floor o' the amp'itheater than to go home and cook a hot
+supper.' And I says, 'Don't cook a hot supper, then.' And says she,
+'Why, Silas wouldn't eat a piece o' cold bread at home to save his
+life or mine either.'
+
+"There's a heap o' women to be pitied, child," said Aunt Jane,
+dropping a handful of shelled beans into my pan with a cheerful
+clatter, "but, of all things, deliver me from livin' with a man that
+has to have hot bread three times a day. Milly Amos used to say that
+when she died she wanted a hot biscuit carved on her tombstone; and
+that if it wasn't for hot biscuits, there'd be a mighty small crop of
+widowers. Sam, you see, was another man that couldn't eat cold bread.
+But Sam had a right to his hot biscuits; for if Milly didn't feel like
+goin' into the kitchen, Sam'd go out and mix up his biscuits and bake
+'em himself. Sam's soda biscuits was as good as mine; and when it come
+to beaten biscuits, why nobody could equal Sam. Milly'd make up the
+dough as stiff as she could handle it, and Sam'd beat it till it was
+soft enough to roll out; and such biscuits I never expect to eat
+again--white and light as snow inside, and crisp as a cracker
+outside. Folks nowadays makes beaten biscuits by machinery, but they
+don't taste like the old-fashioned kind that was beat by hand.
+
+"And talkin' about biscuits, child, reminds me of the cookin' I used
+to do for the fairs. I don't reckon many women likes to remember the
+cookin' they've done. When folks git to rememberin', it looks like the
+only thing they want to call up is the pleasure they've had, the
+picnics and the weddin's and the tea-parties. But somehow the work
+I've done in my day is jest as precious to me as the play I've had. I
+hear young folks complainin' about havin' to work so hard, and I say
+to 'em, 'Child, when you git to be as old as I am, and can't work all
+you want to, you'll know there ain't any pleasure like good hard
+work.'
+
+"There's one thing that bothers me, child," and Aunt Jane's voice sank
+to a confidential key: "I've had a plenty o' fears in my life, but
+they've all passed over me; and now there's jest one thing I'm afraid
+of: that I'll live to be too old to work. It appears to me like I
+could stand anything but that. And if the time ever comes when I can't
+help myself, nor other folks either, I trust the Lord'll see fit to
+call me hence and give me a new body, and start me to work again
+right away.
+
+"But, as I was sayin', I always enjoyed cookin', and it's a pleasure
+to me to set and think about the hams I've b'iled and the salt-risin'
+bread I've baked and the old-fashioned pound-cake and sponge-cake and
+all the rest o' the things I used to take to the fair. Abram was
+always mighty proud o' my cookin', and we generally had a half a dozen
+or more o' the town folks to eat dinner with us every day o' the fair.
+Old Judge Grace and Dr. Brigham never failed to eat with us. The old
+judge'd say something about my salt-risin' bread every time I'd meet
+him in town. The first year my bread took the premium, Abram sent the
+premium loaf to him with the blue ribbon tied around it. After Abram
+died I stopped goin' to the fairs, and I don't know how many years
+it'd been since I set foot on the grounds. I hadn't an idea how
+things'd changed since my day till, year before last, Henrietta and
+her husband come down here from Danville. He'd come to show some
+blooded stock, and she come along with him to see me. And says she,
+'Grandma, you've got to go to the fair with me one day, anyhow;' and I
+went more to please her than to please myself.
+
+"I'm always contendin', child, that this world's growin' better and
+better all the time; but, Lord! Lord! that fair come pretty near
+upsettin' my faith. Why, in my day folks could take their children to
+the fair and turn 'em loose; and, if they had sense enough to keep
+from under the horses' feet, they was jest as safe at the fair as they
+was at a May meetin'. But, la! the sights I saw that day Henrietta
+took me to the fair! Every which way you'd look there was some sort of
+a trap for temptin' boys and leadin' 'em astray. Whisky and beer and
+all sorts o' gamblin' machines and pool sellin', and little boys no
+higher'n that smokin' little white cigyars, and offerin' to bet with
+each other on the races. And I says to Henrietta, 'Child, I don't call
+this a fair; why, it's jest nothin' but a gamblin' den and a whisky
+saloon. And,' says I, 'I know now what old Uncle Henry Matthews
+meant.' I'd asked the old man if he was goin' to show anything at the
+fair that year, and he said, 'No, Jane. Unless you've got somethin'
+for the town folks to bet on, it ain't worth while.'
+
+"But there was one thing I did enjoy that day, and that was the races.
+There's some folks thinks that racin' horses is a terrible sin; but I
+don't. It's the bettin' and the swearin' that goes with the racin'
+that's the sin. If folks'd behave as well as the horses behaves, a
+race'd be jest as religious as a Sunday-school picnic. There ain't a
+finer sight to me than a blooded horse goin' at a two-forty gait round
+a smooth track, and the sun a-shinin' and the flags a-wavin' and the
+wind blowin' and the folks cheerin' and hollerin'. So, when Henrietta
+said the races was goin' to begin, I says, says I, 'Here, child, take
+hold o' my arm and help me down these steps; I'm goin' to see one more
+race before I die.' And Henrietta helped me down, and we went over to
+the grand stand and got a good seat where I could see the horses when
+they come to the finish. I tell you, honey, it made me feel young
+again jest to see them horses coverin' the ground like they did. My
+father used to raise fine horses, and Abram used to say that when it
+come to knowin' a horse's p'ints, he'd back me against any man in
+Kentucky. I'll have to be a heap older'n I am now before I see the day
+when I wouldn't turn around and walk a good piece to look at a fine
+horse."
+
+And the old lady gave a laugh at this confession of weakness.
+
+"It was like old times to see the way them horses run. And when they
+come to the finish I was laughin' and hollerin' as much as anybody.
+And jest then somebody right behind me give a yell, and says he:
+
+"'Hurrah for old Kentucky! When it comes to fine horses and fine
+whisky and fine women, she can't be beat.'
+
+"Everybody begun to laugh, and a man right in front o' me says, 'It's
+that young feller from Lexin'ton. His father's one o' the biggest
+horsemen in the state. That's his horse that's jest won the race.' And
+I turned around to see, and there was a boy about the size o' my
+youngest grandchild up at Danville. His hat was set on the back of his
+head, and his hair was combed down over his eyes till he looked like
+he'd come out of a feeble-minded school. He had a little white cigyar
+in his mouth, and you could tell by his breath that he'd been
+drinkin'.
+
+"Now I ain't much of a hand for meddlin' with other folks' business,
+but I'd been readin' about the Salvation Army, and how they preach on
+the street; and it come into my head that here was a time for some
+Salvation work. And I says to him, says I, 'Son, there's another thing
+that Kentucky used to be hard to beat on, and that was fine men. But,'
+says I, 'betwixt the fine horses and the fine women and the fine
+whisky, some o' the men has got to be a mighty common lot.' Says I,
+'Holler as much as you please for that horse out there; he's worth
+hollerin' for. But,' says I, 'when a state's got to raisin' a better
+breed o' horses than she raises men, it ain't no time to be hollerin'
+"hurrah" for her.' Says I, 'You're your father's son, and yonder's
+your father's horse; now which do you reckon your father's proudest of
+to-day, his horse or his son?'
+
+"Well, folks begun to laugh again, and the boy looked like he wanted
+to say somethin' sassy, but he couldn't git his wits together enough
+to think up anything. And I says, says I, 'That horse never touched
+whisky or tobacco in his life; he's clean-blooded and clean-lived, and
+he'll live to a good old age; and, maybe, when he dies they'll bury
+him like a Christian, and put a monument up over him like they did
+over Ten Broeck. But you, why, you ain't hardly out o' your short
+pants, and you're fifty years old if you're a day. You'll bring your
+father's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave, and you'll go to your own
+grave a heap sooner'n you ought to, and nobody'll ever build a
+monument over you.'
+
+"There was three or four boys along with the Lexin'ton boy, and one of
+'em that appeared to have less whisky in him than the rest, he says,
+'Well, grandma, I reckon you're about right; we're a pretty bad lot.'
+And says he, 'Come on, boys, and let's git out o' this.' And off they
+went; and whether my preachin' ever did 'em any good I don't know, but
+I couldn't help sayin' what I did, and that's the last time I ever
+went to these new-fashioned fairs they're havin' nowadays. Fair time
+used to mean a heap to me, but now it don't mean anything but jest to
+put me in mind o' old times."
+
+Just then there was a sound of galloping hoofs on the pike, and loud
+"whoas" from a rider in distress. We started up with the eagerness of
+those whose lives have flowed too long in the channels of stillness
+and peace. Here was a possibility of adventure not to be lost for any
+consideration. Aunt Jane dropped her pan with a sharp clang; I
+gathered up my skirt with its measure of unshelled beans, and together
+we rushed to the front of the house.
+
+It was a "solitary horseman," wholly and ludicrously at the mercy of
+his steed, a mischievous young horse that had never felt the bridle
+and bit of a trainer.
+
+"It's that red-headed boy of Joe Crofton's," chuckled Aunt Jane.
+"Nobody'd ever think he was born in Kentucky; now, would they? Old Man
+Bob Crawford used to say that every country boy in this state was a
+sort o' half-brother to a horse. But that boy yonder ain't no kin to
+the filly he's tryin' to ride. There's good blood in that filly as
+sure's you're born. I can tell by the way she throws her head and uses
+her feet. She'll make a fine saddle-mare, if her master ever gets hold
+of her. Jest look yonder, will you?"
+
+The horse had come to a stand; she gave a sudden backward leap, raised
+herself on her hind legs, came down on all fours with a great clatter
+of hoofs, and began a circular dance over the smooth road. Round she
+went, stepping as daintily as a maiden at a May-day dance, while the
+rider clung to the reins, dug his bare heels into the glossy sides of
+his steed, and yelled "whoa," as if his salvation lay in that word.
+Then, as if just awakened to a sense of duty, the filly ceased her
+antics, tossed her head with a determined air, and broke into a brisk,
+clean gallop that would have delighted a skilled rider, but seemed to
+bring only fresh dismay to the soul of Joe Crofton's boy. His arms
+flapped dismally and hopelessly up and down; a gust of wind seized his
+ragged cap and tossed it impishly on one of the topmost boughs of the
+Osage-orange hedge; his protesting "whoa" voiced the hopelessness of
+one who resigns himself to the power of a dire fate, and he
+disappeared ingloriously in a cloud of summer dust. Whereupon we
+returned to the prosaic work of bean-shelling, with the feeling of
+those who have watched the curtain go down on the last scene of the
+comedy.
+
+"I declare to goodness," sighed Aunt Jane breathlessly, as she stooped
+to recover her pan, "I ain't laughed so much in I don't know when. It
+reminds me o' the time Sam Amos rode in the t'u'nament." And she began
+laughing again at some recollection in which I had no part.
+
+"Now, that's right curious, ain't it? When I set here talkin' about
+fairs, that boy comes by and makes me think o' how Sam rode at the
+fair that year they had the t'u'nament. I don't know how long it's
+been since I thought o' that ride, and maybe I never would 'a' thought
+of it again if that boy of Joe Crofton's hadn't put me in mind of it."
+
+I dropped my butter-beans for a moment and assumed a listening
+attitude, and without any further solicitation, and in the natural
+course of events, the story began.
+
+"You see the town folks was always gittin' up somethin' new for the
+fair, and that year I'm talkin' about it was a t'u'nament. All the
+Goshen folks that went to town the last County Court day before the
+fair come back with the news that there was goin' to be a t'u'nament
+the third day o' the fair. Everybody was sayin', 'What's that?' and
+nobody could answer 'em till Sam Crawford went to town one Saturday
+jest before the fair, and come back with the whole thing at his
+tongue's end. Sam heard that they was practisin' for the t'u'nament
+that evenin', and as he passed the fair grounds on his way home, he
+made a p'int of goin' in and seein' what they was about. He said there
+was twelve young men, and they was called knights; and they had a lot
+o' iron rings hung from the posts of the amp'itheater, and they'd tear
+around the ring like mad and try to stick a pole through every ring
+and carry it off with 'em, and the one that got the most rings got the
+blue ribbon. Sam said it took a good eye and a steady arm and a good
+seat to manage the thing, and he enjoyed watchin' 'em. 'But,' says he,
+'why they call the thing a t'u'nament is more'n I could make out. I
+stayed there a plumb hour, and I couldn't hear nor see anything that
+sounded or looked like a tune.'
+
+"Well, the third day o' the fair come, and we was all on hand to see
+the t'u'nament. It went off jest like Sam said. There was twelve
+knights, all dressed in black velvet, with gold and silver spangles,
+and they galloped around and tried to take off the rings on their long
+poles. When they got through with that, the knights they rode up to
+the judges with a wreath o' flowers on the ends o' their
+poles--lances, they called 'em--and every knight called out the name
+o' the lady that he thought the most of; and she come up to the stand,
+and they put the wreath on her head, and there was twelve pretty
+gyirls with flowers on their heads, and they was 'Queens of Love and
+Beauty.' It was a mighty pretty sight, I tell you; and the band was
+playin' 'Old Kentucky Home,' and everybody was hollerin' and throwin'
+up their hats. Then the knights galloped around the ring once and went
+out at the big gate, and come up and promenaded around the
+amp'itheater with the gyirls they had crowned. The knight that got the
+blue ribbon took off ten rings out o' the fifteen. He rode a mighty
+fine horse, and Sam Amos, he says, 'I believe in my soul if I'd 'a'
+been on that horse I could 'a' taken off every one o' them rings.' Sam
+was a mighty good rider, and Milly used to say that the only thing
+that'd make Sam enjoy ridin' more'n he did was for somebody to put up
+lookin'-glasses so he could see himself all along the road.
+
+"Well, the next thing on the program was the gentleman riders' ring.
+The premium was five dollars in gold for the best gentleman rider. We
+was waitin' for that to commence, when Uncle Jim Matthews come up, and
+says he, 'Sam, there's only one entry in this ring, and it's about to
+fall through.'
+
+"You see they had made a rule that year that there shouldn't be any
+premiums given unless there was some competition. And Uncle Jim says,
+'There's a young feller from Simpson County out there mighty anxious
+to ride. He come up here on purpose to git that premium. Suppose you
+ride ag'inst him and show him that Simpson can't beat Warren.' Sam
+laughed like he was mightily pleased, and says he, 'I don't care a rap
+for the premium, Uncle Jim, but, jest to oblige the man from Simpson,
+I'll ride. But,' says he, 'I ought to 'a' known it this mornin' so I
+could 'a' put on my Sunday clothes.' And Uncle Jim says, 'Never mind
+that; you set your horse straight and carry yourself jest so, and the
+judges won't look at your clothes.' 'How about the horse?' says Sam.
+'Why,' says Uncle Jim, 'there's a dozen or more good-lookin'
+saddle-horses out yonder outside the big gate, and you can have your
+pick.' So Sam started off, and the next thing him and the man from
+Simpson was trottin' around the ring. Us Goshen people kind o' kept
+together when we set down in the amp'itheater. Every time Sam'd go
+past us, we'd all holler 'hurrah!' for him. The Simpson man appeared
+to have a lot o' friends on the other side o' the amp'itheater, and
+they'd holler for him, and the town folks was divided up about even.
+
+"Both o' the men rode mighty well. They put their horses through all
+the gaits, rackin' and pacin' and lopin', and it looked like it was
+goin' to be a tie, when all at once the band struck up 'Dixie,' and
+Sam's horse broke into a gallop. Sam didn't mind that; he jest pushed
+his hat down on his head and took a firm seat, and seemed to enjoy it
+as much as anybody. But after he'd galloped around the ring two or
+three times, he tried to rein the horse in and get him down to a nice
+steady trot like the Simpson man was doin'. But, no, sir. That horse
+hadn't any idea of stoppin'. The harder the band played the faster he
+galloped; and Uncle Jim Matthews says, 'I reckon Sam's horse thinks
+it's another t'u'nament.' And Abram says, 'Goes like he'd been paid to
+gallop jest that way; don't he, Uncle Jim?'
+
+"But horses has a heap o' sense, child; and it looked to me like the
+horse knew he had Sam Amos, one o' the best riders in the county, on
+his back and he was jest playin' a little joke on him.
+
+"Well, of course when the judges seen that Sam'd lost control of his
+horse, they called the Simpson man up and tied the blue ribbon on him.
+And he took off his hat and waved it around, and then he trotted
+around the ring, and the Simpson folks hollered and threw up their
+hats. And all that time Sam's horse was tearin' around the ring jest
+as hard as he could go. Sam's hat was off, and I ricollect jest how
+his hair looked, blowin' back in the wind--Milly hadn't trimmed it for
+some time--and him gittin' madder and madder every minute. Of course
+us Goshen folks was mad, too, because Sam didn't git the blue ribbon;
+but we had to laugh, and the town folks and the Simpson folks they
+looked like they'd split their sides. Old Man Bob Crawford jest laid
+back on the benches and hollered and laughed till he got right purple
+in the face. And says he, 'This beats the Kittle Creek babtizin' all
+to pieces.'
+
+"Well, nobody knows how long that horse would 'a' kept on gallopin',
+for Sam couldn't stop him; but finally two o' the judges they stepped
+out and headed him off and took hold o' the bridle and led him out o'
+the ring. And Uncle Jim Matthews he jumps up, and says he, 'Let me out
+o' here. I want to see Sam when he gits off o' that horse.' Milly was
+settin' on the top seat considerably higher'n I was. And says she, 'I
+wouldn't care if I didn't see Sam for a week to come. Sam don't git
+mad often,' says she, 'but when he does, folks'd better keep out o'
+his way.'
+
+"Well, Uncle Jim started off, and the rest of us set still and waited;
+and pretty soon here come Sam lookin' mad enough to fight all
+creation, sure enough. Everybody was still laughin', but nobody said
+anything to Sam till up comes Old Man Bob Crawford with about two
+yards o' blue ribbon. He'd jumped over into the ring and got it from
+the judges as soon as he could quit laughin'. And says he, 'Sam, I
+have seen gracefuler riders, and riders that had more control over
+their horses, but,' says he, 'I never seen one yet that stuck on a
+horse faithfuler'n you did in that little t'u'nament o' yours jest
+now; and I'm goin' to tie this ribbon on you jest as a premium for
+stickin' on, when you might jest as easy 'a' fell off.' Well,
+everybody looked for Sam to double up his fist and knock Old Man Bob
+down, and he might 'a' done it, but Milly saw how things was goin',
+and she come hurryin' up. Milly was a mighty pretty woman, and always
+dressed herself neat and trim, but she'd been goin' around with little
+Sam in her arms, and her hair was fallin' down, and she looked like
+any woman'd look that'd carried a heavy baby all day and dragged her
+dress over a dusty floor. She come up, and says she, 'Well, Sam, ain't
+you goin' to crown me "Queen o' Love and Beauty"?' Folks used to say
+that Sam never was so mad that Milly couldn't make him laugh, and says
+he, 'You look like a queen o' love and beauty, don't you?' Of course
+that turned the laugh on Milly, and then Sam come around all right.
+And says he, 'Well, neighbors, I've made a fool o' myself, and no
+mistake; and you all can laugh as much as you want to;' and he took
+Old Man Bob's blue ribbon and tied it on little Sam's arm, and him and
+Milly walked off together as pleasant as you please. And that's how
+Sam Amos rode in the t'u'nament," said Aunt Jane conclusively, as she
+arose from her chair and shook a lapful of bean pods into a willow
+basket near by.
+
+"Is Sam Amos living yet?" I asked, in the hope of prolonging an
+o'er-short tale. A softened look came over Aunt Jane's face.
+
+"No, child," she said quietly, "Sam's oldest son is livin' yet, and
+his three daughters. They all moved out o' the Goshen neighborhood
+long ago. But Sam's been in his grave twenty years or more, and here I
+set laughin' about that ride o' his. Somehow or other I've outlived
+nearly all of 'em. And now when I git to callin' up old times, no
+matter where I start out, I'm pretty certain to end over in the old
+buryin'-ground yonder. But then," and she smiled brightly, "there's a
+plenty more to be told over on the other side."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+MARY ANDREWS' DINNER-PARTY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+"Well!" exclaimed Aunt Jane, as she surveyed her dinner-table, "looks
+like Mary Andrews' dinner-party, don't it? However, there's a plenty
+of it such as it is, and good enough what there is of it, as the old
+man said; so set down, child, and help yourself."
+
+A loaf of Aunt Jane's salt-rising bread, a plate of golden butter, a
+pitcher of Jersey milk, and a bowl of honey in the comb,--who would
+ask for more? And as I sat down I blessed the friendly rain that had
+kept me from going home.
+
+"But who was Mary Andrews? and what about her dinner-party?" I asked,
+as I buttered my bread.
+
+"Eat your dinner, child, and then we'll talk about Mary Andrews,"
+laughed Aunt Jane. "If I'd 'a' thought before I spoke, which I hardly
+ever do, I wouldn't 'a' mentioned Mary Andrews, for I know you won't
+let me see any rest till you know all about her."
+
+And Aunt Jane was quite right. A summer rain, and a story, too!
+
+"I reckon there's mighty few livin' that ricollect about Mary Andrews
+and her dinner-party," she said meditatively an hour later, when the
+dishes had been washed and we were seated in the old-fashioned parlor.
+
+"Mary Andrews' maiden name was Crawford. A first cousin of Sam
+Crawford she was. Her father was Jerry Crawford, a brother of Old Man
+Bob, and her mother was a Simpson. People used to say that the
+Crawfords and the Simpsons was like two mud-puddles with a ditch
+between, always runnin' together. I ricollect one year three Crawford
+sisters married three Simpson brothers. Mary was about my age, and
+she married Harvey Andrews a little over a year after me and Abram
+married, and there's few women I ever knew better and liked more than
+I did Mary Andrews.
+
+"I ricollect her weddin' nearly as well as I do my own. My Jane was
+jest a month old, and I had to ask mother to come over and stay with
+the baby while I went to the weddin'. I hadn't thought much about what
+I'd wear--I'd been so taken up with the baby--and I ricollect I went
+to the big chest o' drawers in the spare room and jerked out my
+weddin' dress, and says I to mother, 'There'll be two brides at the
+weddin'!'
+
+"But, bless your life, when I tried to make it meet around my waist,
+why, it lacked four or five inches of comin' together; and mother set
+and laughed fit to kill, and, says she, 'Jane, that dress was made for
+a young girl, and you'll never be a young girl again!' And I says,
+'Well, I may never fasten this dress around my waist again, but I
+don't know what's to hinder me from bein' a young girl all my life.'
+
+"I wish to goodness," she went on, "that I could ricollect what I wore
+to Mary Andrews' weddin'. I know I didn't wear my weddin' dress, and I
+know I went, but to save my life I can't call up the dress I had on.
+It ain't like me to forgit the clothes I used to wear, but I can't
+call it up. However, what I wore to Mary Andrews' weddin' ain't got
+anything to do with Mary Andrews' dinner-party."
+
+Aunt Jane paused and scratched her head reflectively with a knitting
+needle. Evidently she was loath to go on with her story till the
+memory of that wedding garment should return to her.
+
+"I was readin' the other day," she continued, "about somethin' they've
+got off yonder in Washington, some sort of bureau that tells folks
+what the weather'll be, and warns the ships about settin' off on a
+voyage when there's a storm ahead. And says I to myself, 'Do you
+reckon they'll ever git so smart that they can tell what sort o'
+weather there is ahead o' two people jest married and settin' out on
+the voyage that won't end till death parts 'em? and what sort o'
+weather they're goin' to have six months from the weddin' day?' The
+world's gittin' wiser every day, child, but there ain't nobody wise
+enough to tell what sort of a husband a man's goin' to make, nor what
+sort of a wife a woman's goin' to make, nor how a weddin' is goin' to
+turn out. I've watched folks marryin' for more'n seventy years, and I
+don't know much more about it than I did when I was a ten-year-old
+child. I've seen folks marry when it looked like certain destruction
+for both of 'em, and all at once they'd take a turn that'd surprise
+everybody, and things would come out all right with 'em. There was
+Wick Harris and Virginia Matthews. Wick was jest such a boy as Dick
+Elrod, and Virginia was another Annie Crawford. She'd never done a
+stitch o' sewin' nor cooked a meal o' victuals in her life, and I
+ricollect her mother sayin' she didn't know which she felt sorriest
+for, Wick or Virginia, and she wished to goodness there was a law to
+keep such folks from marryin'. But, bless your life! instead o' comin'
+to shipwreck like Dick and Annie, they settled down as steady as any
+old married couple you ever saw. Wick quit his drinkin' and gamblin',
+and Virginia, why, there wasn't a better housekeeper in the state nor
+a better mother'n she got to be.
+
+"And then I've seen 'em marry when everything looked bright ahead and
+everybody was certain it was a good thing for both of 'em, and it
+turned out that everybody was wrong. That's the way it was with Mary
+Andrews and Harvey. Nobody had a misgivin' about it. Mary was as happy
+as a lark, and Harvey looked like he couldn't wait for the weddin'
+day, and everybody said they was made for each other. To be sure,
+Harvey was 'most a stranger in the neighborhood, havin' moved in about
+a year and a half before, and we couldn't know him like we did the
+Goshen boys that'd been born and brought up there. But nobody could
+say a word against him. His family down in Tennessee, jest beyond the
+state line, was as good people as ever lived, and Harvey himself was
+industrious and steady, and as fine lookin' a man as you'd see in a
+week's journey. Everybody said they never saw a handsomer couple than
+Harvey and Mary Andrews.
+
+"Mary was a tall, proud-lookin' girl, always carried herself like a
+queen, and hadn't a favor to ask of anybody; and Harvey was half a
+head taller, and jest her opposite in color. She was dark and he was
+light. They was a fine sight standin' up before the preacher that day,
+and everybody was wishin' 'em good luck, though it looked like they
+had enough already; both of 'em young and healthy and happy and
+good-lookin', and Harvey didn't owe a cent on his farm, and Mary's
+father had furnished the house complete for her. The weddin' come off
+at four o'clock in the evenin', and we all stayed to supper, and after
+supper Harvey and Mary drove over to their new home. I ricollect how
+Mary looked back over her shoulder and laughed at us standin' on the
+steps and wavin' at her and hollerin' 'good-bye.'
+
+"It was the fashion in that day for all the neighbors to entertain a
+newly married couple. Some would invite 'em to dinner, and some to
+supper, and then the bride and groom would have to do the same for the
+neighbors, and then the honeymoon'd be over, and they'd settle down
+and go to work like ordinary folks. We had Harvey and Mary over to
+dinner, and they asked us to supper. I ricollect how nice the table
+looked with Mary's new blue and white china and some o' the
+old-fashioned silver that'd been in the family for generations. And
+the supper matched the table, for Mary wasn't the kind that expects
+company to satisfy their hunger by lookin' at china and silver. She
+was a fine cook like her mother before her. Amos and Marthy Matthews
+had been invited, too, and we had a real pleasant time laughin' and
+jokin' like folks always do about young married people. After supper
+we all went out on the porch, and Mary whispered to me and Marthy to
+come and see her china closet and pantry. You know how proud a young
+housekeeper is of such things. She showed us all through the back part
+o' the house, and we praised everything and told her it looked like
+old experienced housekeepin' instead of a bride's.
+
+"Well, when we went back to the dinin'-room on our way to the porch,
+if there wasn't Harvey bendin' over the table countin' the silver
+teaspoons! A man always looks out o' place doin' such things, and I
+saw Mary's face turn red to the roots of her hair. But nobody said
+anything, and we passed on through and left Harvey still countin'. It
+was a little thing, but I couldn't help thinkin' how queer it was for
+a man that hadn't been married two weeks to leave his company and go
+back to the table to count spoons, and I asked myself how I'd 'a' felt
+if I'd found Abram countin' spoons durin' the honeymoon.
+
+"Did you ever take a walk, child, some cloudy night when everything's
+covered up by the darkness, and all at once there'll be a flash o'
+lightnin' showin' up everything jest for a second? Well, that's the
+way it is with people's lives. Near as Harvey and Mary lived to me,
+and friendly as we were, I couldn't tell what was happenin' between
+'em. But every now and then, as the months went by, and the years, I'd
+see or hear somethin' that was like a flash of light in a dark place.
+Sometimes it was jest a look, but there's mighty little a look can't
+tell; and as for actions, you know they speak louder than words. I
+ricollect one Sunday Harvey and Mary was walkin' ahead o' me and
+Abram. There was a rough piece o' road jest in front of the church,
+and I heard Harvey say: 'Don't walk there, come over on the side where
+it's smooth.'
+
+"I reckon Mary thought that Harvey was thinkin' of her feet, for she
+stepped over to the side of the road right at once and says he, 'Don't
+you know them stones'll wear out your shoes quicker'n anything?' And,
+bless your life, if Mary didn't go right back to the middle of the
+road, and she took particular pains to walk on the stones as far as
+they went. It was a little thing, to be sure, but it showed that
+Harvey was thinkin' more of his wife's shoes than he was of her feet,
+and that ain't a little thing to a woman.
+
+"Then, again, there was the time when me and Abram was passin'
+Harvey's place one evenin', and a storm was comin' up, and we stopped
+in to keep from gittin' wet. Mary had been to town that day, and she
+had on her best dress. She was a woman that looked well in anything
+she put on. Plain clothes couldn't make her look plain, and she set
+off fine clothes as much as they set her off. Me and Abram took seats
+on the porch, and Mary went into the hall to git another chair. I
+heard the back hall door open and somebody come in, and then I heard
+Harvey's voice. Says he, 'Go up-stairs and take off that dress.' Says
+he, 'What's the use of wearin' out your best clothes here at home?'
+But before he got the last words out, Mary was on the porch with the
+chair in her hand, talkin' to us about her trip to town, and lookin'
+as unconcerned as if she hadn't heard or seen Harvey. That night I
+says to Abram, says I, 'Abram, did you ever have any cause to think
+that Harvey Andrews was a close man?'
+
+"Abram thought a minute, and, says he, 'Why, no; I can't say I ever
+did. What put such a notion into your head, Jane? Harvey looks after
+his own interests in a trade, but he's as liberal a giver as there is
+in Goshen church. Besides,' says Abram, 'who ever heard of a tall,
+personable man like Harvey bein' close? Stingy people's always dried
+up and shriveled lookin'.'
+
+"But I'd made up my mind what the trouble was between Harvey and Mary,
+and nothin' that Abram said could change it. I don't reckon any man
+knows how women feel about stinginess and closeness in their husbands.
+I believe most women'd rather live with a man that'd killed somebody
+than one that was stingy. And then Mary never was used to anything of
+that kind, for her father, old man Jerry Crawford, was one o' the
+freest-handed men in the county. It was 'Come in and make yourself at
+home' with everybody that darkened his door, and for a woman, raised
+like Mary was, havin' to live with a man like Harvey was about the
+hardest thing that could 'a' happened to her. However, she had the
+Crawford pride, and she carried her head high and laughed and smiled
+as much as ever; but there's a look that tells plain enough whether a
+woman's married to a man or whether she's jest tied to him and stayin'
+with him because she can't get free; and when Mary wasn't laughin' or
+smilin' I could tell by her face that she wasn't as happy as we all
+thought she was goin' to be the day she married Harvey."
+
+Aunt Jane paused a moment to pick up a dropped stitch.
+
+"It's a good thing you had your dinner, honey, before I started this
+yarn," she said, looking at me quizzically over her glasses, "for I'll
+be a long time bringin' you to the dinner-party. But I've got to tell
+you all this rigmarole first, so you'll understand what's comin'. If I
+was to tell you about the dinner-party first you'd get a wrong idea
+about Mary. That's how folks misjudges one another. They see people
+doin' things that ain't right, and they up and conclude they're bad
+people, when if they only knew somethin' about their lives, they'd
+understand how to make allowance for 'em. You've got to know a heap
+about people's lives, child, before you can judge 'em.
+
+"Well, along about this time, somewhere in the '60's, I reckon it must
+'a' been, there was a big excitement about politics. I can't somehow
+ricollect what it was all about, but they had speakin's everywhere,
+and the men couldn't talk about anything but politics from mornin'
+till night. Abram was goin' in to town every week to some meetin' or
+speakin'; and finally they had a big rally and a barbecue at Goshen.
+One of the speakers was Judge McGowan, from Tennessee, and he was a
+cousin of Harvey Andrews on his mother's side."
+
+Here Aunt Jane paused again.
+
+"I wish I could ricollect what it was all about," she said musingly.
+"Must 'a' been something mighty important, but it's slipped my memory,
+sure. I do ricollect, though, hearin' Sam Amos say to old Squire
+Bentham, 'What's the matter, anyhow? Ain't Kentucky politicians got
+enough gift o' gab, without sendin' down to Tennessee to git somebody
+to help you out?'
+
+"And the old Squire laughed fit to kill; and says he, 'It's all on
+your account, Sam. We heard you was against us, and we knew there
+wasn't an orator in Kentucky that could make you change your mind. So
+we've sent down to Tennessee for Judge McGowan, and we're relyin' on
+him to bring you over to our side.' And that like to 'a' tickled Sam
+to death.
+
+"Well, when Harvey heard his cousin was to be one o' the big men at
+the speakin', he was mighty proud, as anybody would 'a' been, and
+nothin' would do but he must have Judge McGowan to eat dinner at his
+house.
+
+"Some of the men objected to this, and said the speakers ought to eat
+at the barbecue. But Harvey said that blood was thicker than water
+with him, and no cousin o' his could come to Goshen and go away
+without eatin' a meal at his house. So it was fixed up that everybody
+else was to eat at the barbecue, and Harvey was to take Judge McGowan
+over to his house to a family dinner-party.
+
+"I dropped in to see Mary two or three days before the speakin', and
+when I was leavin', I said, 'Mary, if there's anything I can do to
+help you about your dinner-party, jest let me know.' And she said,
+'There ain't a thing to do; Harvey's been to town and bought
+everything he could think of in the way of groceries, and Jane Ann's
+comin' over to cook the dinner; but thank you, all the same.'
+
+"I thought Mary looked pleased and satisfied, and I says, 'Well, with
+everything to cook and Jane Ann to cook it, there won't be anything
+lackin' about that dinner.' And Mary laughed, and says she, 'You know
+I'm my father's own child.'
+
+"Old Jerry used to say, ''Tain't no visit unless you waller a bed and
+empty a plate.' They used tell it that Aunt Maria, the cook, never had
+a chance to clean up the kitchen between meals, and the neighbors all
+called Jerry's house the free tavern. I've heard folks laugh many a
+time over the children recitin' the Ten Commandments Sunday evenin's,
+and Jerry would holler at 'em when they got through and say:
+
+"'The 'leventh commandment for Kentuckians is, "Be not forgetful to
+entertain strangers," and never mind about 'em turnin' out to be
+angels. Plain folks is good enough for me.'
+
+"Here I am strayin' off from the dinner, jest like I always do when I
+set out to tell anything or go anywhere. Abram used to say that if I
+started to the spring-house, I'd go by way o' the front porch and the
+front yard and the back porch and the back yard and the flower gyarden
+and the vegetable gyarden to git there.
+
+"Well, the day come, and Judge McGowan made a fine speech, and Harvey
+carried him off in his new buggy, as proud as a peacock. I ricollect
+when I set down to my table that day I said to myself: 'I know Judge
+McGowan's havin' a dinner to-day that'll make him remember Kentucky as
+long as he lives.' And it wasn't till years afterwards that I heard
+the truth about that dinner. Jane Ann herself told me, and I don't
+believe she ever told anybody else. Jane Ann was crippled for a year
+or more before she died, and the neighbors had to do a good deal of
+nursin' and waitin' on her. I was makin' her a cup o' tea one day, and
+the kittle was bubblin' and singin', and she begun to laugh, and says
+she, 'Jane, do you hear that sparrer chirpin' in the peach tree there
+by the window?' Says she, 'I never hear a sparrer chirpin' and a
+kittle b'ilin', that I don't think o' the dinner Mary Andrews had the
+day Judge McGowan spoke at the big barbecue.' Says she, 'Mary's dead,
+and Harvey's dead, and I reckon there ain't any harm in speakin' of it
+now.' And then she told me the story I'm tellin' you.
+
+"She said she went over that mornin' bright and early, and there was
+Mary sittin' on the back porch, sewin'. The house was all cleaned up,
+and there was a big panful o' greens on the kitchen table, but not a
+sign of a company dinner anywhere in sight. Jane Ann said Mary spoke
+up as bright and pleasant as possible, and told her to set down and
+rest herself, and she went on sewin', and they talked about this and
+that for a while, and finally Jane Ann rolled up her sleeves, and says
+she, 'I'm a pretty fast worker, Mis' Andrews, but a company dinner
+ain't any small matter; don't you think it's time to begin work?'
+
+"And Mary jest smiled and said in her easy way, 'No, Jane Ann, there's
+not much to do. It won't take long for the greens to cook, and I want
+you to make some of your good corn bread to go with 'em.' And then she
+went on sewin' and talkin', and all Jane Ann could do was to set there
+and listen and wonder what it all meant.
+
+"Finally the clock struck eleven, and Mary rolled up her work, and
+says she, 'You'd better make up your fire now, Jane Ann, and I'll set
+the table. Harvey likes an early dinner.'
+
+"Jane Ann said she expected to see Mary get out the best china and
+silver and the finest tablecloth and napkins she had, but instead o'
+that she put on jest plain, everyday things. Everything was clean and
+nice, but it wasn't the way to set the table for a company dinner, and
+nobody knew that better than Mary Andrews.
+
+"Jane Ann said she saw a ham and plenty o' vegetables and eggs in the
+pantry, and she could hardly keep her hands off 'em, and she did
+smuggle some potatoes into the stove after she got her greens washed
+and her meal scalded. She said she knew somethin' was wrong, but all
+she could do was to hold her tongue and do her work. That was Jane
+Ann's way. When Mary got through settin' the table, she went up-stairs
+and put on her best dress. Trouble hadn't pulled her down a bit; and,
+if anything, she was handsomer than she was the day she married. I
+reckon it was her spirit that kept her from breakin' and growin' old
+before her time. Jane Ann said she come down-stairs, her eyes
+sparklin' like a girl's and a bright color in her cheeks, and she had
+on a flowered muslin dress, white ground with sprigs o' lilac all over
+it, and lace in the neck, and angel sleeves that showed off her arms,
+and her hair was twisted high up on her head, and a big
+tortoise-shell comb in it. Jane Ann said she looked as pretty as a
+picture; and jest as she come down the stairs, Harvey drove up with
+Judge McGowan, and Mary walked out to give him a welcome, while Harvey
+put away the buggy. Nobody had pleasanter ways than Mary Andrews. She
+always had somethin' to say, and it was always the right thing to be
+said, and in a minute her and the old judge was laughin' like they'd
+known each other all their lives, and he had the children on his knees
+trottin' 'em and tellin' 'em about his little girl and boy at home.
+
+"Jane Ann said her greens was about done and she started to put on the
+corn bread, but somethin' held her back. She knew corn bread and
+greens wasn't a fit dinner for a stranger that had been invited there,
+but of course she couldn't do anything without orders, and she was
+standin' over the stove waitin' and wonderin', when Harvey, man-like,
+walked in to see how dinner was gettin' on. Jane Ann said he looked at
+the pot o' greens and the pan of corn bread batter, and he went into
+the dinin'-room and saw the table all clean, but nothin' on it beyond
+the ordinary, and his face looked like a thunder-cloud. And jest then
+Mary come in all smilin', and the prettiest color in her cheeks, and
+Harvey wheeled around and says he, 'What does this mean? Where's the
+ham I told you to cook and all the rest o' the things I bought for
+this dinner?'
+
+"Jane Ann said the way he spoke and the look in his eyes would 'a'
+frightened most any woman but Mary; she wasn't the kind to be
+frightened. Jane Ann said she stood up straight, with her head thrown
+back and still smilin', and her voice was as clear and sweet as if
+she'd been sayin' somethin' pleasant. And she looked Harvey straight
+in the eyes, and says she, 'It means, Harvey, that what's good enough
+for us is good enough for your kin.' Jane Ann said that Harvey looked
+at her a second as if he didn't understand, and then he give a start
+as if he ricollected somethin', and it looked like all the blood in
+his body rushed to his face, and he lifted one hand and opened his
+mouth like he was goin' to speak. There they stood, lookin' at each
+other, and Jane Ann said she never saw such a look pass between
+husband and wife before or since. If either of 'em had dropped dead,
+she said, it wouldn't 'a' seemed strange.
+
+"Honey, I read a story once about two men that had quarreled, and one
+of 'em picked up a little rock and put it in his pocket, and for eight
+years he carried that rock, and once a year he'd turn it over. And at
+last, one day he met the man he hated, and he took out the rock he'd
+been carryin' so long, and threw it at him, and it struck him dead.
+Now I know as well as if Mary Andrews had told me, that Harvey had
+said them very same words to her years before, and she'd carried 'em
+in her heart, jest like the man carried the stone in his pocket,
+waitin' till she could throw 'em back at him and hurt him as much as
+he hurt her. It wasn't right nor Christian. But knowin' Mary Andrews
+as I did, I never had a word o' blame for her. There never was a
+better-hearted woman than Mary, and I always thought she must 'a' gone
+through a heap to make her say such a thing to Harvey.
+
+"Jane Ann said that when she worked at a place she always tried to be
+blind and deaf so far as family matters was concerned, and she knew
+that she had no business seein' or hearin' anything that went on
+between Harvey and Mary, but there they stood, facin' each other, and
+she could hear a sparrer chirpin' outside, and the tea-kittle b'ilin'
+on the stove, while she stood watchin' 'em, feelin' like she was
+charmed by a snake. She said the look in Mary's eyes and the way she
+smiled made her blood run cold. And Harvey couldn't stand it. He had
+to give in.
+
+"Jane Ann said his hand dropped, and he turned and walked out o' the
+house and down towards the barn. Mary watched him till he was out o'
+sight, and then she went back to the front porch, and the next minute
+she was laughin' and talkin' with Harvey's cousin as if nothin' had
+happened.
+
+"Well, for the next half hour Jane Ann said she made her two hands do
+the work of four, and when she put the dinner on the table it was
+nothin' to be ashamed of. She sliced some ham and fried it, and made
+coffee and soda biscuits, and poached some eggs; and when they set
+down to the table, and the old judge'd said grace, he looked around,
+and, says he: 'How did you know, cousin, that jowl and greens was my
+favorite dish?' And while they was eatin' the first course, Jane Ann
+made up pie-crust and had a blackberry pie ready by the time they was
+ready to eat it. The old judge was a plain man and a hearty eater, and
+everything pleased him.
+
+"When they first set down, Mary says, says she: 'You'll have to excuse
+Harvey, Cousin Samuel; he had some farm-work to attend to and won't be
+in for some little time.'
+
+"And the old judge bows and smiles across the table, and, says he, 'I
+hadn't missed Harvey, and ain't likely to miss him when I'm talkin' to
+Harvey's wife.'
+
+"Jane Ann said she never saw a meal pass off better, and when she
+looked at Mary jokin' and smilin' with the judge and waitin' on the
+children so kind and thoughtful, she could hardly believe it was the
+same woman that had stood there a few minutes before with that awful
+smile on her face and looked her husband in the eyes till she looked
+him down. She said she expected Harvey to step in any minute, and she
+kept things hot while she was washin' up the dishes. But two o'clock
+come and half-past two, and still no Harvey. And pretty soon here come
+Mary out to the kitchen, and says she:
+
+"'I'm goin' to drive the judge to town, Jane Ann. And when you get
+through cleanin' up, jest close the house, and your money's on the
+mantelpiece in the dinin'-room.' Then she went out in the direction of
+the stable, and in a few minutes come drivin' back in the buggy. Jane
+Ann said the horse couldn't 'a' been unharnessed at all. Her and the
+judge got in with the two children down in front, and they drove off
+to catch the four-o'clock train.
+
+"Jane Ann said she straightened everything up in the kitchen and
+dinin'-room, and shut up the house, and then she went out in the yard
+and walked down in the direction of the stable, and there was Harvey,
+standin' in the stable-yard. She said his face was turned away from
+her, and she was glad it was, for it scared her jest to look at his
+back. He was standin' as still as a statue, his arms hangin' down by
+his sides and both hands clenched, and it looked like he'd made up his
+mind to stand there till Judgment Day. Jane Ann said she wondered many
+a time how long he stayed there, and whether he ever did come to the
+house.
+
+"I ricollect how everybody was talkin' about the speakin' that day.
+Abram come home from the barbecue, and, says he, 'Jane, I haven't
+heard such a speech as that since the days of old Humphrey Marshall;
+and as for the barbecue, all it needed was Judge McGowan to set at the
+head o' the table. But then,' says he, 'I reckon it was natural for
+Harvey to want to take his cousin home with him.'
+
+"That was about four o'clock, and it wasn't more than two hours till
+we heard a horse gallopin' way up the pike. I'd jest washed the supper
+dishes, and me and Abram was out on the back porch, and I had the baby
+in my arms. There was somethin' in the sound o' the horse's hoofs
+that told me he was carryin' bad news, and I jumped up, and says I,
+'Abram, some awful thing has happened.' And he says, 'Jane, are you
+crazy?' I could hear the sound o' the gallopin' comin' nearer and
+nearer, and I rushed out to the front gate with Abram follerin' after
+me. We looked up the road, and there was Sam Amos gallopin' like mad
+on that young bay mare of his. The minute he saw us he hollered out to
+Abram: 'Git ready as quick as you can, and go to town! Harvey Andrews
+has had an apoplectic stroke, and I want you to bring the undertaker
+out here right away.'
+
+"I turned around to say, 'What did I tell you?' But before I could git
+the words out, Abram was off to saddle and bridle old Moll. That was
+always Abram's way. If there was anything to be done, he did it, and
+the talkin' and questionin' come afterwards.
+
+"Sam stopped at the gate and got off a minute to give his horse a
+breathin' spell. He said he was passin' Harvey's place about five
+o'clock and he heard a child screamin'. 'At first,' says he, 'I didn't
+pay any attention to it, I'm so used to hearin' children holler. But
+after I got past the house I kept hearin' the child, and somethin'
+told me to turn back and find out what was the matter. I went in,'
+said he, 'and follered the sound till I come to the stable-yard, and
+there was Harvey, lyin' on the ground stone dead, and Mary standin'
+over him lookin' like a crazy woman, and the children, pore little
+things, screamin' and cryin' and scared half to death.'
+
+"The horse and buggy was standin' there, and Mary must 'a' found the
+body when she come back from town.
+
+"'I got her and the children to the house,' says he; 'and then I
+started out to get some person to help me move the body, and, as luck
+would have it,' says he, 'I met the Crawford boys comin' from town,
+and between us we managed to get the corpse up to the house and laid
+it on the big settee in the front hall. And now,' says he, 'I'm goin'
+after Uncle Jim Matthews; and me and him and the Crawford boys'll lay
+the body out when the undertaker comes. And Marthy Matthews will have
+to come over and stay all night.
+
+"Says I, 'Sam, how is Mary bearin' it?'
+
+"He shook his head, and says he, 'The worst way in the world. She
+hasn't shed a tear nor spoke a word, and she don't seem to notice
+anything, not even the children. But,' says he, 'I can't stand here
+talkin'. There's a heap to be done yet, and Milly's lookin' for me
+now.'
+
+"And with that he got on his horse and rode off, and I went into the
+house to put the children to bed. Then I set down on the porch steps
+to wait for Abram. The sun was down by this time, and there was a new
+moon in the west, and it didn't seem like there could be any sorrow
+and sufferin' in such a quiet, happy, peaceful-lookin' world. But
+there was poor Mary not a mile away, and I set and grieved over her in
+her trouble jest like it had been my own. I didn't know what had
+happened that day between Harvey and Mary. But I knew that Harvey had
+been struck down in the prime o' life, and that Mary had found his
+dead body, and that was terrible enough. From what I'd seen o' their
+married life I knew that Mary's loss wasn't what mine would 'a' been
+if Abram had dropped dead that day instead o' Harvey, but a man and
+woman can't live together as husband and wife and father and mother
+without growin' to each other; and whatever Mary hadn't lost, she had
+lost the father of her children, and I couldn't sleep much that night
+for thinkin' of her.
+
+"The day of the funeral I went over to help Mary and get her dressed
+in her widow's clothes. She was actin' queer and dazed, and nothin'
+seemed to make much impression on her. I was fastenin' her crape
+collar on, and she says to me: 'I reckon you think it's strange I
+don't cry and take on like women do when they lose their husbands.
+But,' says she, 'you wouldn't blame me if you knew.'
+
+"And then she dropped her voice down to a whisper, and says she, 'You
+know I married Harvey Andrews. But after I married him, I found that
+there wasn't any such man. I haven't got any cause to cry, for the man
+I married ain't dead. He never was alive, and so, of course, he can't
+be dead.'
+
+"And then she began to laugh; and says she, 'I don't know which is the
+worst: to be sorry when you ought to be glad, or glad when you ought
+to be sorry.'
+
+"And I says, 'Hush, Mary, don't talk about it. I know what you mean,
+but other folks might not understand.'
+
+"Mary ain't the only one, child, that's married a man, and then found
+out that there _wasn't any such man_. I've looked at many a bride and
+groom standin' up before the preacher and makin' promises for a
+lifetime, and I've thought to myself, 'You pore things, you! All you
+know about each other is your names and your faces. You've got all
+the rest to find out, and nobody knows what you'll find out nor what
+you'll do when you find it out.'
+
+"Folks said it was the saddest funeral they ever went to. Harvey's
+people all lived down in Tennessee. His father and mother had died
+long ago, and he hadn't any near kin except a brother and a sister;
+and they lived too far off to come to the funeral in time. Abram said
+to me after we got home: 'Well, I never thought I'd help to lay a
+friend and neighbor in the ground and not a tear shed over him.'
+
+"If Mary had 'a' cried, we could 'a' cried with her. But she set at
+the head o' the coffin with her hands folded in her lap, and her mind
+seemed to be away off from the things that was happenin' around her. I
+don't believe she even heard the clods fallin' on the coffin; and when
+we started away from the grave Marthy Matthews leaned over and
+whispered to me: 'Jane, don't Mary remind you of somebody walkin' in
+her sleep?'
+
+"Mary's mother and sister hadn't been with her in her trouble, for
+they happened to be down in Logan visitin' a great-uncle. So Marthy
+and me settled it between us that she was to stay with Mary that
+night and I was to come over the next mornin'. You know how much
+there is to be done after a funeral. Well, bright and early I went
+over, and Marthy met me at the gate. She was goin' out as I was comin'
+in. Says she, 'Go right up-stairs; Mary's lookin' for you. She's more
+like herself this mornin'; and I'm thankful for that.'
+
+"The minute I stepped in the door I heard Mary's voice. She'd seen me
+comin' in the gate and called out to me to come up-stairs. She was in
+the front room, her room and Harvey's, and the closet and the bureau
+drawers was all open, and things scattered around every which way, and
+Mary was down on her knees in front of an old trunk, foldin' up
+Harvey's clothes and puttin' 'em away. Her hands was shakin', and
+there was a red spot on each of her cheeks, and she had a strange look
+out of her eyes.
+
+"I says to her, 'Why, Mary, you ain't fit to be doin' that work. You
+ought to be in bed restin'.' And says she, 'I can't rest till I get
+everything straightened out. Mother and sister Sally are comin',' says
+she, 'and I want to get everything in order before they get here.' And
+I says, 'Now, Mary, you lay down on the bed and I'll put these things
+away. You can watch me and tell me what to do, and I'll do it; but
+you've got to rest.' So I shook everything out and folded it up as
+nice as I could and laid it away in the trunk, while she watched me.
+And once she said, 'Don't have any wrinkles in 'em. Harvey was always
+mighty particular about his clothes.'
+
+"Next to layin' the body in the ground, child, this foldin' up dead
+folks' clothes and puttin' 'em away is one o' the hardest things
+people ever has to do. It's jest like when you've finished a book and
+shut it up and put it away on the shelf. I knew jest how Mary felt,
+when she said she couldn't rest till everything was put away. The life
+she'd lived with Harvey was over, and she was closin' up the book and
+puttin' it out of sight forever. Pore child! Pore child!
+
+"Well, when I got all o' Harvey's clothes put away, I washed out the
+empty drawers, lined 'em with clean paper and laid some o' little
+Harvey's clothes in 'em, and that seemed to please Mary. The father
+was gone, but there was his son to take his place. Then I shut it up
+tight, and Mary raised herself up out o' bed and says she, 'Take hold,
+Jane, I'm goin' to take this to the attic right now.' And take it we
+did, though the trunk was heavy and the stairs so steep and narrer we
+had to stop and rest on every step. We pushed the trunk way back
+under the eaves, and it may be standin' there yet for all I know.
+
+"When we got down-stairs, Mary drew a long breath like she'd got a big
+load off her mind, and says she, 'There's one more thing I want you to
+help me about, and then you can go home, Jane, and I'll go to bed and
+rest.' She took a key out of her pocket, and says she, 'Jane, this is
+the key to the little cabin out in the back yard. Harvey used to keep
+something in there, but what it was I never knew. As long as we lived
+together, I never saw inside of that cabin, but I'm goin' to see it
+now.'
+
+"The children started to foller us when we went out on the back porch,
+but Mary give 'em some playthings and told 'em to stay around in the
+front yard till we come back. Then we went over to the far corner of
+the back yard where the cabin was, under a big old sycamore tree. I
+ricollect how the key creaked when Mary turned it, and how hard the
+door was to open.
+
+"Mary started to go in first, and then she fell back, and says she, in
+a whisper, 'You go in first, Jane; I'm afraid.' So I went in first and
+Mary follered. For a minute we couldn't see a thing. There was two
+windows to the cabin, but they'd been boarded up from the outside,
+and there was jest one big crack at the top of one of the windows that
+let in a long streak of light, and you could see the dust dancin' in
+it. The door opened jest enough to let us in, and we both stood there
+peerin' around and tryin' to see what sort of a place we'd got into.
+The first thing I made out was a heap of old rusty iron. I started to
+take a step, and my foot struck against it. There was old bolts and
+screws and horseshoes and scraps of old cast iron and nails of every
+size, all laid together in a big heap. The place seemed to be full of
+somethin', but I couldn't see what it all was till my eyes got used to
+the darkness. There was a row of nails goin' all round the wall, and
+old clothes hangin' on every one of 'em. And down on the floor there
+was piles of old clothes, folded smooth and laid one on top o' the
+other jest like a washerwoman would fold 'em and pile 'em up. Harvey's
+old clothes and Mary's and the children's, things that any
+right-minded person would 'a' put in the rag-bag or given away to
+anybody that could make use of 'em; there they was, all hoarded up in
+that old room jest like they was of some value. And over in one corner
+was all the old worn-out tin things that you could think of: buckets
+and pans and milk-strainers and dippers and cups. And next to them
+was all the glass and china that'd been broken in the years Mary and
+Harvey'd been keepin' house. And there was a lot of old brooms,
+nothin' but stubs, tied together jest like new brooms in the store.
+And there was all the children's broken toys, dolls, and doll dresses,
+and even some glass marbles that little Harvey used to play with. The
+dust was lyin' thick and heavy over everything, and the spiderwebs
+looked like black strings hangin' from the ceilin'; but things of the
+same sort was all lyin' together jest like some woman had put the
+place in order.
+
+"You've heard tell of that bird, child, that gathers up all sorts o'
+rubbish and carries it off to its nest and hides it? Well, I thought
+about that bird; and the heap of old iron reminded me of a little
+boy's pocket when you turn it wrong side out at night, and the china
+and glass and doll-rags made me think of the playhouses I used to make
+under the trees when I was a little girl. I've seen many curious
+places, honey, but nothin' like that old cabin. The moldy smell
+reminded me of the grave; and when I looked at all the dusty, old
+plunder, the ragged clothes hangin' against the wall like so many
+ghosts, and then thought of the dead man that had put 'em there, I
+tell you it made my flesh creep.
+
+"Well, we stood there, me and Mary, strainin' our eyes tryin' to see
+into the dark corners, and all at once the meanin' of it come over me
+like a flash: _Harvey was a miser!_"
+
+Aunt Jane stopped, took off her glasses and polished them on the hem
+of her gingham apron. I sat holding my breath; but, all regardless of
+my suspense, she dropped the thread of the story and followed memory
+in one of her capricious backward flights.
+
+"I ricollect a sermon I heard when I was a gyirl," she said. "It ain't
+often, I reckon, that a sermon makes much impression on a gyirl's
+mind. But this wasn't any ordinary sermon or any ordinary preacher.
+Presbytery met in town that year, and all the big preachers in the
+state was there. Some of 'em come out and preached to the country
+churches, and old Dr. Samuel Chalmers Morse preached at Goshen. He was
+one o' the biggest men in the Presbytery, and I ricollect his looks as
+plain as I ricollect his sermon. Some preachers look jest like other
+men, and you can tell the minute you set eyes on 'em that they ain't
+any wiser or any better than common folks. But Dr. Morse wasn't that
+kind.
+
+"You know the Bible tells about people walkin' with God and talkin'
+with God. It says Enoch walked with God, and Adam talked with Him.
+Some folks might find that hard to believe, but it seems jest as
+natural to me. Why many a time I've been in my gyarden when the sun's
+gone down, and it ain't quite time for the moon to come up, and the
+dew's fallin' and the flowers smellin' sweet, and I've set down in the
+summer-house and looked up at the stars; and if I'd heard a voice from
+heaven it wouldn't 'a' been a bit stranger to me than the blowin' of
+the wind.
+
+"The minute I saw Dr. Morse I thought about Adam and Enoch, and I said
+to myself, 'He looks like a man that's walked with God and talked with
+God.'
+
+"I didn't look at the people's hats and bonnets that day half as much
+as I usually did, and part of that sermon stayed by me all my life. He
+preached about Nebuchadnezzar and the image he saw in his dream with
+the head of gold and the feet of clay. And he said that every human
+being was like that image; there was gold and there was clay in every
+one of us. Part of us was human and part was divine. Part of us was
+earthly like the clay, and part heavenly like the gold. And he said
+that in some folks you couldn't see anything but the clay, but that
+the gold was there, and if you looked long enough you'd find it. And
+some folks, he said, looked like they was all gold, but somewhere or
+other there was the clay, too, and nobody was so good but what he had
+his secret sins and open faults. And he said sin was jest another name
+for ignorance, and that Christ knew this when he prayed on the cross,
+'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.' He said
+everybody would do right, if they knew what was right to do, and that
+the thing for us to do was to look for the gold and not the clay in
+other folks. For the gold was the part that would never die, and the
+clay was jest the mortal part that we dropped when this mortal shall
+have put on immortality.
+
+"Child, that sermon's come home to me many a time when I've caught
+myself weighin' people in the balance and findin' 'em wantin'. That's
+what I'd been doin' all them years with pore Harvey. I'd seen things
+every once in a while that let in a little light on his life and
+Mary's, but the old cabin made it all plain as day, and it seemed like
+every piece o' rubbish in it rose up in judgment against me. I never
+felt like cryin' at Harvey's funeral, but when I stood there peerin'
+around, the tears burnt my eyes, and I says to myself, 'Clay and gold!
+Clay and gold!'
+
+"The same thought must 'a' struck Mary at the same minute it did me,
+for she fell on her knees moanin' and wringin' her hands and cryin':
+
+"'God forgive me! God forgive me! I see it all now. He couldn't help
+it, and I've been a hard woman, and God'll judge me as I judged
+Harvey.'
+
+"The look in her eyes and the sound of her voice skeered me, and I saw
+that the quicker I got her out o' the old cabin the better. I put my
+hand on her shoulder, and says I, 'Hush, Mary. Get up and come back to
+the house; but don't let the children hear you takin' on so. You might
+skeer little Harvey.'
+
+"She stopped a minute and stared at me, and then she caught hold o' my
+hand, and says she: 'No! no! the children mustn't ever know anything
+about it, and nobody must ever see the inside o' that awful place.
+Come, quick!' says she; and she got up from her knees and pulled me
+outside of the door and locked it and dropped the key in her apron
+pocket.
+
+"Little Harvey come runnin' up to her, and I was in hopes the sight of
+the child would bring her to herself, but she walked on as if she
+hadn't seen him; and as soon as she got up-stairs she fell down in a
+heap on the floor and went to wringin' her hands and beatin' her
+breast and cryin' without tears.
+
+"Honey, if you're done a wrong to a livin' person, you needn't set
+down and grieve over it. You can go right to the person and make it
+right or try to make it right. But when the one you've wronged is
+dead, and the grave lies between you, that's the sort o' grief that
+breaks hearts and makes people lose their minds. And that was what
+Mary Andrews had to bear when she opened the door o' that old cabin
+and saw into Harvey's nature, and felt that she had misjudged and
+condemned him.
+
+"I couldn't do anything for a long time, but jest sit by her and
+listen while she called Harvey back from the dead, and called on God
+to forgive her, and blamed herself for all that had ever gone wrong
+between 'em. But at last she wore herself out and had to stop, and
+says I, 'Mary, I don't know what's passed between you and Harvey--'
+And she broke in, and says she:
+
+"'No! no! you don't know, and nobody on this earth knows what I've
+been through. I used to feel like I was in an iron cage that got
+smaller and smaller every day, and I knew the day was comin' when it
+would shut in on me and crush me. But I wouldn't give in to Harvey, I
+wouldn't let him have his own way, and I fought him and hated him and
+despised him; and now I see he couldn't help it, and I feel like I'd
+been strikin' a crippled child.'
+
+"A crippled child! That was jest what pore Harvey was; but I knew it
+wasn't right for Mary to take all the blame on herself, and says I:
+
+"'Mary, if Harvey could keep other people from knowin' what he was,
+couldn't he have kept you from knowin' it, too? If he was free-handed
+to other people, what was to hinder him from bein' the same way to
+you?' Says I, 'If there's any blame in this matter it belongs as much
+to Harvey as it does to you. When you look at that old cabin,' says I,
+'you can't have any hard feelin's toward pore Harvey. You've forgiven
+him, and now,' says I, 'there's jest one more person you've got to
+forgive, and that's yourself,' says I. 'It's jest as wrong to be too
+hard on yourself as it is to be too hard on other folks.'
+
+"I never had thought o' that before, child, but I've thought of it
+many a time since and I know it's true. It ain't often you find a
+human bein' that's too hard on himself. Most of us is jest the other
+way. But Mary was one of that kind. I could see a change come over
+her face while I was talkin', and I've always believed them words was
+put in my mouth to give Mary the comfort and help she needed.
+
+"She grabbed hold o' my hand, and says she:
+
+"'Do you reckon I've got a right to forgive myself?' Says she, 'I know
+I'm not a mean woman by nature, but Harvey's ways wasn't my ways. He
+made me do things I didn't want to do and say things I didn't want to
+say, and I never was myself as long as I lived with him. But God knows
+I wouldn't 'a' been so hard on him if I'd only known,' says she. 'God
+may forgive me, but even if He does, it don't seem to me that I've got
+a right to forgive myself.'
+
+"And says I, 'Mary, if you don't forgive yourself you won't be able to
+keer for the children, and you haven't got any right to wrong the
+livin' by worryin' over the dead. And now,' says I, 'you lie down on
+this bed and shut your eyes and say to yourself, "Harvey's forgiven
+me, and God's forgiven me, and I forgive myself." Don't let another
+thought come into your head. Jest say it over and over till you go to
+sleep, and while you're sleepin', I'll look after the children.'
+
+"I didn't have much faith in my own remedy, but she minded me like a
+child mindin' its mother; and, sure enough, when I tiptoed up-stairs
+an hour or so after that, I found her fast asleep. Her mother and her
+sister Sally come while she was still sleepin', and I left for home,
+feelin' that she was in good hands.
+
+"That night about half-past nine o'clock I went outdoors and set down
+on the porch steps in the dark, as I always do jest before bedtime.
+That's been one o' my ways ever since I was a child. Abram used to say
+he had known me to forgit my prayers many a night, but he never knew
+me to forgit to go outdoors and look up at the sky. If there was a
+moon, or if the stars was shinin', I'd stay out and wander around in
+the gyarden till he'd come out after me; and if it was cloudy, I'd set
+there and feel safe in the darkness as in the light. I always have
+thought, honey, that we lose a heap by sleepin' all night. Well, I was
+sittin' there lookin' up at the stars, and all at once I saw a bright
+light over in the direction of Harvey Andrews' place. Our house was
+built on risin' ground, and we could see for a good ways around the
+country. I called Abram and asked him if he hadn't better saddle old
+Moll and ride over and see if he couldn't help whoever was in trouble.
+But he said it was most likely some o' the neighbors burnin' brush,
+and whatever it was it would be out before he could git to it. So we
+set there watchin' it and speculatin' about it till it died down, and
+then we went to bed.
+
+"The next mornin' I was out in the yard weedin' out a bed o' clove
+pinks, and Sam Amos come ridin' by on his big bay mare. I hollered to
+him and asked him if he knew where the fire was the night before. And
+says he, 'Yes, Aunt Jane; it was that old cabin on Harvey Andrews'
+place.' He said that Amos Matthews happened to be goin' by at the time
+and took down the fence-rails to keep it from spreadin', but that was
+all he could do. Sam said Amos told him there was somethin' mysterious
+about that fire. He said it must 'a' been started from the inside, for
+the flames didn't burst through the windows and roof till after he got
+there, and the whole inside was ablaze. But, when he tried to open the
+door, it was locked fast and tight. He said Mary and her mother and
+sister was all out in the yard, and Mary was standin' with her hands
+folded in front of her, lookin' at the burnin' house jest as calm as
+if it was her own fireplace. Amos asked her for the key to the cabin
+door, and she went to the back porch and took one off a nail, but it
+wouldn't fit the lock, and before she could get another to try, the
+roof was on fire and cavin' in. Amos told Sam the cabin appeared to be
+full of old plunder of all sorts, and you could smell burnt rags for a
+mile around.
+
+"Of course there was a good deal o' talk about the fire, and everybody
+said how curious it was that it could catch on the inside when the
+door was locked. I never said a word, not even to Abram, but I knew
+well enough who set the old cabin afire, and why the key Mary gave
+Amos wouldn't fit the lock. Harvey's clothes was packed away under the
+old garret; the old cabin was burned, and the ashes and rubbish hauled
+away, and there wasn't anything much left to remind Mary of the things
+she was tryin' to forget. That's the best way to do. When a thing's
+done and you can't undo it, there's no use in frettin' and worryin'
+yourself. Jest put it out o' your mind, and go on your way and git
+ready for the next trial that's comin' to you.
+
+"But Mary never seemed like herself after Harvey died, until little
+Harvey was taken with fever. That seemed to rouse her and bring her
+senses back, and she nursed him night and day. The little thing went
+down to the very gates of death, and everybody give up hope except
+the old doctor. He'd fight death off as long as there was breath in
+the body. The night the turnin' point was to come I set up with Mary.
+The child'd been moanin' and tossin', and his muscles was twitchin',
+and the fever jest as high as it could be. But about three o'clock he
+got quiet and about half-past three I leaned over and counted his
+breaths. He was breathin' slow and regular, and I touched his forehead
+and found it was wet, and the fever was goin' away. I went over to
+Mary, and says I, 'You go in the other room and lie down, Mary, the
+fever's broke, and Harvey's goin' to git well.' She stared at me like
+she couldn't take in what I was sayin'. Then her face begun to work
+like a person's in a convulsion, and she jumped up and rushed out o'
+the room, and the next minute she give a cry that I can hear yet. Then
+she begun to sob, and I knew she was cryin' tears at last, and I set
+by the child and cried with her.
+
+"She wasn't able to be up for two or three days, and every little
+while she'd burst out cryin'. Some folks said she was cryin' for joy
+about the child gittin' well; and some said she was cryin' the tears
+she ought to 'a' cried when Harvey was buried; but I knew she was
+cryin' over all the sorrows of her married life. She told me
+afterwards that she hadn't shed a tear for six or seven years. Says
+she, 'I used to cry my eyes out nearly over the way things went, and
+one day somethin' happened and I come near cryin'; but the children
+was around and I didn't want them to see me; so I says to myself, "I
+won't cry. What's the use wastin' tears over such things?" And from
+that day,' says she, 'I got as hard as a stone, and it looks like I
+was jest turnin' back to flesh and blood again.'
+
+"There's only two ways o' takin' trouble, child; you can laugh over it
+or you can cry over it. But you've got to do one or the other. The
+Lord made some folks that can laugh away their troubles, and he made
+tears for them that can't laugh, and human bein's can't harden
+themselves into stone.
+
+"I reckon, as Mary said, nobody on earth knew what she'd been through,
+livin' with a man like Harvey. If he'd been an out-and-out miser, it
+would 'a' been better for everybody concerned. But it looked like
+Nature started out to make him a miser and then sp'iled the job, so's
+he was neither one thing nor the other. The gold was there, and he
+showed that to outsiders; and the clay was there, and he showed that
+to Mary. And that's the strangest part of all to me. If he had enough
+sense not to want his neighbors to know his meanness, it looks like he
+ought to have had sense enough to hide it from his wife. A man ought
+to want his wife to think well of him whether anybody else does or
+not. You see, a woman can make out to live with a man and not love
+him, but she can't live with him and despise him. She's jest got to
+respect him. But there's some men that never have found that out. They
+think that because a woman stands up before a preacher and promises to
+love and honor him, that she's bound to do it, no matter what he does.
+And some women do. They're like dogs; they'll stick to a man no matter
+what he does. Some women never can see any faults in their husbands,
+and some sees the faults and covers 'em up and hides 'em from
+outsiders. But Mary wasn't that sort. She couldn't deceive herself,
+and nobody could deceive her; and when she found out Harvey's meanness
+she couldn't help despisin' him in her heart, jest like Michal
+despised David when she saw him playin' and dancin' before the Lord.
+
+"There's something I never have understood, and one of 'em is why such
+a woman as Mary should 'a' been permitted to marry a man like Harvey
+Andrews. It kind o' shakes my faith in Providence every time I think
+of it. But I reckon there was a reason for it, whether I can see it or
+not."
+
+Aunt Jane's voice ceased. She dropped her knitting in her lap and
+leaned back in the old easy-chair. Apparently she was looking at the
+dripping syringa bush near the window, but the look in her eyes told
+me that she had reached a page in the story that was not for my eyes
+or my ears, and I held inviolate the silence that had fallen between
+us.
+
+A low, far-off roll of thunder, the last note of the storm-music,
+roused her from her reverie.
+
+"Sakes alive, child!" she exclaimed, starting bolt upright. "Have I
+been sleepin' and dreamin' and you settin' here? Well, I got through
+with my story, anyhow, before I dropped off."
+
+"Surely that isn't all," I said, discontentedly. "What became of Mary
+Andrews after Harvey died?"
+
+Aunt Jane laughed blithely.
+
+"No, it ain't all. What's gittin' into me to leave off the endin' of a
+story? Mary was married young; and when Harvey died she had the best
+part of her life before her, and it was the best part, sure enough.
+About a year after she was left a widow she went up to Christian
+County to visit some of her cousins, and there she met the man she
+ought to 'a' married in the first place. I ain't any hand for second
+marriages. 'One man for one woman,' says I; but I've seen so many
+second marriages that was happier than any first ones that I never say
+anything against marryin' twice. Some folks are made for each other,
+but they make mistakes in the road and git lost, and don't git found
+till they've been through a heap o' tribulation, and, maybe, the
+biggest half o' their life's gone. But then, they've got all eternity
+before 'em, and there's time enough there to find all they've lost and
+more besides. But Mary found her portion o' happiness before it was
+too late. Elbert Madison was the man she married. He was an old
+bachelor, and a mighty well-to-do man, and they said every old maid
+and widow in Christian County had set her cap for him one time or
+another. But whenever folks said anything to him about marryin', he'd
+say, 'I'm waitin' for the Right Woman. She's somewhere in the world,
+and as soon as I find her I'm goin' to marry.'
+
+"It got to be a standin' joke with the neighbors and the family, and
+his brother used to say that Elbert believed in that 'Right Woman' the
+same as he believed in God.
+
+"They used to tell how one Christmas, Elbert's nieces had a lot o'
+young company from Louisville, and they had a big dance Christmas Eve.
+Elbert was there, and the minute he come into the room the oldest
+niece, she whispered, 'Here's Uncle Elbert; he's come to see if the
+Right Woman's at the ball.' And with that all them gyirls rushed up to
+Elbert and shook hands with him and pulled him into the middle o' the
+room under a big bunch o' mistletoe, and the prettiest and sassiest
+one of 'em, she took her dress between the tips of her fingers and
+spread it out and made a low bow, and says she, lookin' up into
+Elbert's face, says she:
+
+"'Mr. Madison, don't I look like the Right Woman?'
+
+"Everybody laughed and expected to see Elbert blush and act like he
+wanted to go through the floor. But instead o' that he looked at her
+serious and earnest, and at last he says: 'You do look a little like
+her, but you ain't her. You've got the color of her eyes,' says he,
+'but not the look of 'em. Her hair's dark like yours, but it don't
+curl quite as much, and she's taller than you are, but not quite so
+slim.'
+
+"They said the gyirls stopped laughin' and jest looked at each other,
+and one of 'em said:
+
+"'Well, did you ever?' And that was the last time they tried to tease
+Elbert. But Elbert's brother he turns to somebody standin' near him,
+and says he, 'Unless Elbert gets that "right-woman" foolishness out of
+his head and marries and settles down like other men, I believe he'll
+end his days in a lunatic asylum.'
+
+"But it all turned out the way Elbert said it would. The minute he saw
+Mary Andrews, he whispered to his sister-in-law, and says he, 'Sister
+Mary, do you see that dark-eyed woman over there by the door? Well,
+that's the woman I've been lookin' for all my life.'
+
+"He walked across the room and got introduced to her, and they said
+when him and Mary shook hands they looked each other in the eyes and
+laughed like two old friends that hadn't met for years.
+
+"Harvey hadn't been dead much over a year and Mary wanted to put off
+the weddin'. But Elbert said, 'No; I've waited for you a lifetime and
+I'm not goin' to wait any longer.' So they got married as soon as Mary
+could have her weddin' clothes made, and a happier couple you never
+saw. Elbert used to look at her and say:
+
+"'God made Eve for Adam, and he made you for me.'
+
+"And he didn't only love Mary, but he loved her children the same as
+if they'd been his own. A woman that's been another man's wife can
+easy enough find a man to love her, but to find one that'll love the
+other man's children, that's a different matter."
+
+One! two! three! four! chimed the old clock; and at the same moment
+out came the sun, sending long rays across the room. The rain had
+subsided to a gentle mist, and the clouds were rolling away before a
+south-west wind that carried with it fragrance from wet flowers and
+leaves and a world cleansed and renewed by a summer storm. We moved
+our chairs out on the porch to enjoy the clearing-off. There were
+health and strength in every breath of the cool, moist air, and for
+every sense but one a pleasure--odor, light, coolness, and the faint
+music of falling water from the roof and from the trees that sent down
+miniature showers whenever the wind stirred their branches.
+
+Aunt Jane drew a deep breath of satisfaction, and looked upward at the
+blue sky.
+
+"I don't mind how much it rains durin' the day," she said, "if it'll
+jest stop off before night and let the sun set clear. And that's the
+way with life, child. If everything ends right, we can forget all
+about the troubles we've had before. I reckon if Mary Andrews could
+'a' seen a few years ahead while she was havin' her trials with pore
+Harvey, she would 'a' borne 'em all with a better grace. But lookin'
+ahead is somethin' we ain't permitted to do. We've jest got to stand
+up under the present and trust for the time we can't see. And whether
+we trust or not, child, no matter how dark it is nor how long it stays
+dark, the sun's goin' to come out some time, and it's all goin' to be
+right at the last. You know what the Scripture says, 'At evening time
+it shall be light!'"
+
+Her faded eyes were turned reverently toward the glory of the western
+sky, but the light on her face was not all of the setting sun.
+
+"At evening time it shall be light!"
+
+Not of the day but of human life were these words spoken, and with
+Aunt Jane the prophecy had been fulfilled.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+THE GARDENS OF MEMORY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+Each of us has his own way of classifying humanity. To me, as a child,
+men and women fell naturally into two great divisions: those who had
+gardens and those who had only houses.
+
+Brick walls and pavements hemmed me in and robbed me of one of my
+birthrights; and to the fancy of childhood a garden was a paradise,
+and the people who had gardens were happy Adams and Eves walking in a
+golden mist of sunshine and showers, with green leaves and blue sky
+overhead, and blossoms springing at their feet; while those others,
+dispossessed of life's springs, summers, and autumns, appeared darkly
+entombed in shops and parlors where the year might as well have been a
+perpetual winter.
+
+As I grew older I learned that there was a small subclass composed of
+people who not only possessed gardens, but whose gardens possessed
+them, and it is the spots sown and tended by these that blossom
+eternally in one's remembrance as veritable vailimas--"gardens of
+dreams."
+
+In every one's mind there is a lonely space, almost abandoned of
+consciousness, the time between infancy and childhood. It is like that
+period when the earth was "without form, and void; and darkness was
+upon the face of the deep." Here, like lost stars floating in the
+firmament of mind, will be found two or three faint memories, remote
+and disconnected. With me one of these memories is of a garden. I was
+riding with my father along a pleasant country road. There were
+sunshine and a gentle wind, and white clouds in a blue sky. We stopped
+at a gate. My father opened it, and I walked up a grassy path to the
+ruins of a house. The chimney was still standing, but all the rest was
+a heap of blackened, half-burned rubbish which spring and summer were
+covering with wild vines and weeds, and around the ruins of the house
+lay the ruins of the garden. The honeysuckle, bereft of its trellis,
+wandered helplessly over the ground, and amid a rank growth of weeds
+sprang a host of yellow snapdragons. I remember the feeling of rapture
+that was mine at the thought that I had found a garden where flowers
+could be gathered without asking permission of any one. And as long as
+I live, the sight of a yellow snapdragon on a sunny day will bring
+back my father from his grave and make me a little child again
+gathering flowers in that deserted garden, which is seemingly in
+another world than this.
+
+A later memory than this is of a place that was scarcely more than a
+paved court lying between high brick walls. But because we children
+wanted a garden so much, we called it by that name; and here and there
+a little of Mother Earth's bosom, left uncovered, gave us some warrant
+for the misnomer. Yet the spot was not without its beauties, and a
+less exacting child might have found content within its boundaries.
+
+Here was the Indian peach tree, whose pink blossoms told us that
+spring had come. Its fruit in the late summer was like the pomegranate
+in its rich color, "blood-tinctured with a veined humanity;" and its
+friendly limbs held a swing in which we cleft the air like the birds.
+Yet even now the sight of an Indian peach brings melancholy thoughts.
+A yellow honeysuckle clambered over a wall. But this flower has no
+perfume, and a honeysuckle without perfume is a base pretender, to be
+cast out of the family of the real sweet-scented honeysuckle. There
+were two roses of similar quality, one that detestable mockery known
+as the burr-rose. I have for this flower the feeling of repulsion that
+one has for certain disagreeable human beings,--people with cold,
+clammy hands, for instance. I hated its feeble pink color, its rough
+calyx, and its odor always made me think of vast fields of snow, and
+icicles hanging from snow-covered roofs under leaden wintry skies.
+Unhappy mistake to call such a thing a rose, and plant it in a child's
+garden! The only place where it might fitly grow is by the side of the
+road that led Childe Roland to the Dark Tower: between the bit of
+"stubbed ground" and the marsh near to the "palsied oak," with its
+roots set in the "bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth."
+
+The other rose I recall with the same dislike, though it was pleasing
+to the eye. The bush was tall, and had the nature of a climber; for it
+drooped in a lackadaisical way, and had to be tied to a stout post. I
+think it could have stood upright, had it chosen to do so; and its
+drooping seemed only an ugly habit, without grace. The cream-white
+flowers grew in clusters, and the buds were really beautiful, but
+color and form are only the body of the rose; the soul, the real self,
+is the rose odor, and no rose-soul was incarnated in its petals. Again
+and again, deceived by its beauty, I would hold it close to my face to
+breathe its fragrance, and always its faint sickening-sweet odor
+brought me only disappointment and disgust. It was a Lamia among
+roses. Another peculiarity was that it had very few thorns, and those
+few were small and weak. Yet the thorn is as much a part of the true
+rose as its sweetness; and lacking the rose thorn and the rose
+perfume, what claim had it to the rose name? I never saw this false
+rose elsewhere than in the false garden, and because it grew there,
+and because it dishonored its royal family, I would not willingly meet
+it face to face again.
+
+We children cultivated sweet-scented geraniums in pots, but a flower
+in a pot was to me like a bird in a cage, and the fragrant geraniums
+gave me no more pleasure than did the scentless many-hued
+lady's-slippers that we planted in tiny borders, and the purple
+flowering beans and white blossoms of the madeira vines that grew on
+a tall trellis by the cistern's grassy mound. There was nothing here
+to satisfy my longing, and I turned hungrily to other gardens whose
+gates were open to me in those early days. In one of these was a vast
+bed of purple heartsease, flower of the beautiful name. Year after
+year they had blossomed and gone to seed till the harvest of flowers
+in their season was past gathering, and any child in the neighborhood
+was at liberty to pluck them by handfuls, while the wicked ones played
+at "chicken fighting" and littered the ground with decapitated bodies.
+There is no heartsease nowadays, only the magnificent pansy of which
+it was the modest forerunner. But one little cluster of dark, spicy
+blooms like those I used to gather in that old garden would be more to
+me than the most splendid pansy created by the florist's art.
+
+The lily of the valley calls to mind a garden, almost in the heart of
+town, where this flower went forth to possess the land and spread
+itself in so reckless a growth that at intervals it had to be uprooted
+to protect the landed rights of the rest of the community. Never were
+there such beds of lilies! And when they pierced the black loam with
+their long sheath-like leaves, and broke their alabaster boxes of
+perfume on the feet of spring, the most careless passer-by was forced
+to stay his steps for one ecstatic moment to look and to breathe, to
+forget and to remember. The shadow of the owner's house lay on this
+garden at the morning hour, and a tall brick building intercepted its
+share of the afternoon sunshine; but the love and care of the wrinkled
+old woman who tended it took the place of real sunshine, and
+everything planted here grew with a luxuriance not seen in sunnier and
+more favored spots. The mistress of the garden, when questioned as to
+this, would say it was because she gave her flowers to all who asked,
+and the God of gardens loved the cheerful giver and blessed her with
+an abundance of bud and blossom. The highest philosophy of human life
+she used in her management of this little plant world; for, burying
+the weeds at the roots of the flowers, the evil was made to minister
+to the good; and the nettle, the plantain and all their kind were
+transmuted by nature's fine chemistry into pinks, lilies, and roses.
+
+The purple splendor of the wisteria recalls the garden that I always
+entered with a fearful joy, for here a French gardener reigned
+absolute, and the flowers might be looked at, but not pulled. How
+different from those wild gardens of the neighboring woods where we
+children roamed at will, shouting rapturously over the finding of a
+bed of scentless blue violets or delicate anemones that withered and
+were thrown away before we reached home,--an allegory, alas! of our
+later lives.
+
+There was one garden that I coveted in those days as Ahab coveted his
+neighbor's vineyard. After many years, so many that my childish
+longing was almost forgotten, I had it, I and my children. Together we
+played under the bee-haunted lindens, and looked at the sunset through
+the scarlet and yellow leaves of the sugar maples, and I learned that
+"every desire is the prophecy of its own fulfilment;" and if the
+fulfilment is long delayed, it is only that it may be richer and
+deeper when it does come.
+
+All these were gardens of the South; but before childhood was over I
+watched the quick, luxuriant growth of flowers through the brief
+summer of a northern clime. The Canterbury-bell, so like a prim,
+pretty maiden, the dahlia, that stately dame always in court costume
+of gorgeous velvet, remind me of those well-kept beds where not a leaf
+or flower was allowed to grow awry; and in one ancient garden the
+imagination of a child found wings for many an airy flight. The town
+itself bore the name of the English nobleman, well known in
+Revolutionary days. Not far away his mansion sturdily defied the touch
+of time and decay, and admonished the men of a degenerate present to
+remember their glorious past. The house that sheltered me that summer
+was known in colonial days as the Black-Horse Tavern. Its walls had
+echoed to the tread of patriot and tory, who gathered here to drink a
+health to General Washington or to King George; and patriot, and tory,
+too, had trod the paths of the garden and plucked its flowers and its
+fruit in the times that tried men's souls. By the back gate grew a
+strawberry apple tree, and every morning the dewy grass held a night's
+windfall of the tiny red apples that were the reward of the child who
+rose earliest. A wonderful grafted tree that bore two kinds of fruit
+gave the place a touch of fairyland's magic, and no explanation of the
+process of grafting ever diminished the awe I felt when I stood under
+this tree and saw ripe spice apples growing on one limb and green
+winter pearmains on all the others. The pound sweeting, the
+spitzenberg, and many sister apples were there; and I stayed long
+enough to see them ripen into perfection. While they ripened I
+gathered the jewel-like clusters of red and white currants and a
+certain rare English gooseberry which English hands had brought from
+beyond the seas and planted here when the sign of the Black-Horse
+swung over the tavern door. The ordinary gooseberry is a plebeian
+fruit, but this one was more patrician than its name, and its name was
+"the King George." Twice as large as the common kind, translucent and
+yellowish white when fully ripe, and of an incomparable sweetness and
+flavor, it could have graced a king's table and held its own with the
+delicate strawberry or the regal grape. And then, best of all, it was
+a forbidden fruit, whereof we children ate by stealth, and solemnly
+declared that we had not eaten. Could the Garden of the Hesperides
+have held more charms?
+
+At the end of the long Dutch "stoop" I found the wands of the
+snowberry, whose tiny flowers have the odor and color of the trailing
+arbutus, and whose waxen berries reminded me of the crimson
+"buckberry" of Southern fields. Fuchsias and dark-red clove pinks grew
+in a peculiarly rich and sunny spot by the back fence, and over a pot
+of the musk-plant I used to hang as Isabella hung over her pot of
+basil. I had never seen it before, and have never seen it since, but
+by the witchery of perfume one of its yellow flowers, one of its soft
+pale green leaves could place me again in that garden of the old inn,
+a child walking among the ghosts and memories of a past century.
+
+In all these flowery closes there are rich aftermaths; but when Memory
+goes a-gleaning, she dwells longest on the evenings and mornings once
+spent in Aunt Jane's garden.
+
+"I don't reckon Solomon was thinkin' about flower gyardens when he
+said there was a time for all things," Aunt Jane was wont to say, "but
+anyhow it's so. You know the Bible says that the Lord God walked in
+the gyarden of Eden in 'the cool of the day,' and that's the best time
+for seein' flowers,--the cool of the mornin' and the cool of the
+evenin'. There's jest as much difference between a flower with the dew
+on it at sun-up and a flower in the middle o' the day as there is
+between a woman when she's fresh from a good night's sleep and when
+she's cookin' a twelve-o'clock dinner in a hot kitchen. You think them
+poppies are mighty pretty with the sun shinin' on 'em, but the poppy
+ain't a sun flower; it's a sunrise flower."
+
+And so I found them when I saw them in the faint light of a summer
+dawn, delicate and tremulous, like lovely apparitions of the night
+that an hour of sun will dispel. With other flowers the miracle of
+blossoming is performed so slowly that we have not time to watch its
+every stage. There is no precise moment when the rose leaves become a
+bud, or when the bud turns to a full-blown flower. But at dawn by a
+bed of poppies you may watch the birth of a flower as it slips from
+the calyx, casting it to the ground as a soul casts aside its outgrown
+body, and smoothing the wrinkles from its silken petals, it faces the
+day in serene beauty, though the night of death be but a few hours
+away.
+
+"And some evenin' when the moon's full and there's a dew fallin',"
+continued Aunt Jane, "that's the time to see roses, and to smell
+roses, too. And chrysanthemums, they're sundown flowers. You come into
+my gyarden about the first o' next November, child, some evenin' when
+the sun's goin' down, and you'll see the white ones lookin' like
+stars, and the yeller ones shinin' like big gold lamps in the dusk;
+and when the last light o' the sun strikes the red ones, they look
+like cups o' wine, and some of 'em turn to colors that there ain't any
+names for. Chrysanthemums jest match the red and yeller leaves on the
+trees, and the colors you see in the sky after the first frosts when
+the cold weather begins to set in. Yes, honey, there's a time and a
+season for everything; flowers, too, jest as Solomon said."
+
+An old garden is like an old life. Who plants from youth to age writes
+a record of the years in leaf and blossom, and the spot becomes as
+sacred as old wine, old books, and old friends. Here in the garden of
+Aunt Jane's planting I found that flowers were also memories; that
+reminiscences were folded in the petals of roses and lilies; that a
+rose's perfume might be a voice from a vanished summer; and even the
+snake gliding across our path might prove a messenger bearing a story
+of other days. Aunt Jane made a pass at it with her hoe, and laughed
+as the little creature disappeared on the other side of the fence.
+
+"I never see a striped snake," she said, "that I don't think o' Sam
+Amos and the time he saw snakes. It wasn't often we got a joke on Sam,
+but his t'u'nament and his snake kept us laughin' for many a day.
+
+"Sam was one o' them big, blunderin' men, always givin' Milly trouble,
+and havin' trouble himself, jest through pure keerlessness. He meant
+well; and Milly used to say that if what Sam did was even half as good
+as what Sam intended to do, there'd be one perfect man on God's
+earth. One of his keerless ways was scatterin' his clothes all over
+the house. Milly'd scold and fuss about it, but Sam got worse instead
+o' better up to the day he saw the snake, and after that Milly said
+there wasn't a more orderly man in the state. The way of it was this:
+Sam was raisin' an embankment 'round one of his ponds, and Uncle Jim
+Matthews and Amos Crawford was helpin' him. It was one Monday mornin',
+about the first of April, and the weather was warm and sunny, jest the
+kind to bring out snakes. I reckon there never was anybody hated a
+snake as much as Sam did. He'd been skeered by one when he was a
+child, and never got over it. He used to say there was jest two things
+he was afraid of: Milly and a snake. That mornin' Uncle Jim and Amos
+got to the pond before Sam did, and Uncle Jim hollered out, 'Well,
+Sam, we beat you this time.' Uncle Jim never got tired tellin' what
+happened next. He said Sam run up the embankment with his spade, and
+set it in the ground and put his foot on it to push it down. The next
+minute he give a yell that you could 'a' heard half a mile, slung the
+spade over in the middle o' the pond, jumped three feet in the air,
+and run down the embankment yellin' and kickin' and throwin' his arms
+about in every direction, and at last he fell down on the ground a
+good distance from the pond.
+
+"Amos and Uncle Jim was so taken by surprise at first that they jest
+stood still and looked. Amos says, says he: 'The man's gone crazy all
+at once.' Uncle Jim says: 'He's havin' a spell. His father and
+grandfather before him used to have them spells.'
+
+"They run up to him and found him shakin' like a leaf, the cold sweat
+streamin' out of every pore, and gaspin' and sayin', 'Take it away!
+Take it away!' and all the time he was throwin' out his left foot in
+every direction. Finally Uncle Jim grabbed hold of his foot and there
+was a red and black necktie stickin' out o' the leg of his pants. He
+pulled it out and says he: 'Why, Sam, what's your Sunday necktie doin'
+up your pants leg?'
+
+"They said Sam looked at it in a foolish sort o' way and then he fell
+back laughin' and cryin' at the same time, jest like a woman, and it
+was five minutes or more before they could stop him. Uncle Jim brought
+water and put on his head, and Amos fanned him with his hat, and at
+last they got him in such a fix that he could sit up and talk, and
+says he:
+
+"'I took off my necktie last night and slung it down on a chair where
+my everyday pants was layin'. When I put my foot in my pants this
+mornin' I must 'a' carried the necktie inside, and by the time I got
+to the pond it'd worked down, and I thought it was a black snake with
+red stripes.'
+
+"He started to git up, but his ankle was sprained, and Uncle Jim says:
+'No wonder, Sam; you jumped about six feet when you saw that snake
+crawlin' out o' your pants leg.'
+
+"And Sam says: 'Six feet? I know I jumped six hundred feet, Uncle
+Jim.'
+
+"Well, they got him to the house and told Milly about it, and she
+says: 'Well, Sam, I'm too sorry for you to laugh at you like Uncle
+Jim, but I must say this wouldn't 'a' happened if you'd folded up that
+necktie and put it away in the top drawer.'
+
+"Sam was settin' on the side of the bed rubbin' his ankle, and he give
+a groan and says he: 'Things has come to a fine pass in Kentucky when
+a sober, God-fearin' man like me has to put his necktie in the top
+drawer to keep from seein' snakes.'
+
+"I declare to goodness!" laughed Aunt Jane, as she laid down her
+trowel and pushed back her calico sunbonnet, "if I never heard
+anything funny again in this world, I could keep on laughin' till I
+died jest over things I ricollect. The trouble is there ain't always
+anybody around to laugh with me. Sam Amos ain't nothin' but a name to
+you, child, but to me he's jest as real as if he hadn't been dead
+these many years, and I can laugh over the things he used to do the
+same as if they happened yesterday."
+
+Only a name! And I had read it on a lichen-covered stone in the old
+burying-ground; but as I walked home through the twilight I would
+hardly have been startled if Sam Amos, in the pride of life, had come
+riding past me on his bay mare, or if Uncle Jim Matthews' voice of
+cheerful discord had mingled with the spring song of the frogs
+sounding from every marsh and pond.
+
+It was Aunt Jane's motto that wherever a weed would grow a flower
+would grow; and carrying out this principle of planting, her garden
+was continually extending its boundaries; and denizens of the garden
+proper were to be found in every nook and corner of her domain. In the
+spring you looked for grass only; and lo! starting up at your feet,
+like the unexpected joys of life, came the golden daffodil, the paler
+narcissus, the purple iris, and the red and yellow tulip, flourishing
+as bravely as in the soil of its native Holland; and for a few sunny
+weeks the front yard would be a great flower garden. Then blossom and
+leaf would fade, and you might walk all summer over the velvet grass,
+never knowing how much beauty and fragrance lay hidden in the darkness
+of the earth. But when I go back to Aunt Jane's garden, I pass through
+the front yard and the back yard between rows of lilac, syringas,
+calycanthus, and honeysuckle; I open the rickety gate, and find myself
+in a genuine old-fashioned garden, the homely, inclusive spot that
+welcomed all growing things to its hospitable bounds, type of the days
+when there were no impassable barriers of gold and caste between man
+and his brother man. In the middle of the garden stood a
+"summer-house," or arbor, whose crumbling timbers were knit together
+by interlacing branches of honeysuckle and running roses. The
+summer-house had four entrances, opening on four paths that divided
+the ground into quarter-sections occupied by vegetables and small
+fruits, and around these, like costly embroidery on the hem of a
+homespun garment, ran a wide border of flowers that blossomed from
+early April to late November, shifting from one beauty to another as
+each flower had its little day.
+
+There are flower-lovers who love some flowers and other flower-lovers
+who love all flowers. Aunt Jane was of the latter class. The commonest
+plant, striving in its own humble way to be sweet and beautiful, was
+sure of a place here, and the haughtiest aristocrat who sought
+admission had to lay aside all pride of place or birth and acknowledge
+her kinship with common humanity. The Bourbon rose could not hold
+aside her skirts from contact with the cabbage-rose; the lavender
+could not disdain the companionship of sage and thyme. All must live
+together in the concord of a perfect democracy. Then if the great
+Gardener bestowed rain and sunshine when they were needed, mid-summer
+days would show a glorious symphony of color around the gray
+farmhouse, and through the enchantment of bloom and fragrance flitted
+an old woman, whose dark eyes glowed with the joy of living, and the
+joy of remembering all life's other summers.
+
+To Aunt Jane every flower in the garden was a human thing with a life
+story, and close to the summer-house grew one historic rose, heroine
+of an old romance, to which I listened one day as we sat in the arbor,
+where hundreds of honeysuckle blooms were trumpeting their fragrance
+on the air.
+
+"Grandmother's rose, child, that's all the name it's got," she said,
+in answer to my question. "I reckon you think a fine-lookin' rose like
+that ought to have a fine-soundin' name. But I never saw anybody yet
+that knew enough about roses to tell what its right name is. Maybe
+when I'm dead and gone somebody'll tack a French name on to it, but as
+long as it grows in my gyarden it'll be jest grandmother's rose, and
+this is how it come by the name:
+
+"My grandfather and grandmother was amongst the first settlers of
+Kentucky. They come from the Old Dominion over the Wilderness Road way
+back yonder, goodness knows when. Did you ever think, child, how
+curious it was for them men to leave their homes and risk their own
+lives and the lives of their little children and their wives jest to
+git to a new country? It appears to me they must 'a' been led jest
+like Columbus was when he crossed the big ocean in his little ships. I
+reckon if the women and children had had their way about it, the bears
+and wildcats and Indians would be here yet. But a man goes where he
+pleases, and a woman's got to foller, and that's the way it was with
+grandfather and grandmother. I've heard mother say that grandmother
+cried for a week when she found she had to go, and every now and then
+she'd sob out, 'I wouldn't mind it so much if I could take my
+gyarden.' When they began packin' up their things, grandmother took up
+this rose and put it in an iron kittle and laid plenty of good rich
+earth around the roots. Grandfather said the load they had to carry
+was heavy enough without puttin' in any useless things. But
+grandmother says, says she: 'If you leave this rose behind, you can
+leave me, too.' So the kittle and the rose went. Four weeks they was
+on their way, and every time they come to a creek or a river or a
+spring, grandmother'd water her rose, and when they got to their
+journey's end, before they'd ever chopped a tree or laid a stone or
+broke ground, she cut the sod with an axe, and then she took
+grandfather's huntin' knife and dug a hole and planted her rose.
+Grandfather cut some limbs off a beech tree and drove 'em into the
+ground all around it to keep it from bein' tramped down, and when that
+was done, grandmother says: 'Now build the house so's this rose'll
+stand on the right-hand side o' the front walk. Maybe I won't die of
+homesickness if I can set on my front door-step and see one flower
+from my old Virginia gyarden.'
+
+"Well, grandmother didn't die of homesickness, nor the rose either.
+The transplantin' was good for both of 'em. She lived to be ninety
+years old, and when she died the house wouldn't hold the children and
+grandchildren and great-grandchildren that come to the funeral. And
+here's her rose growin' and bloomin' yet, like there wasn't any such
+things in the world as old age and death. And every spring I gether a
+basketful o' these pink roses and lay 'em on her grave over yonder in
+the old buryin'-ground.
+
+"Some folks has family china and family silver that they're mighty
+proud of. Martha Crawford used to have a big blue and white bowl that
+belonged to her great-grandmother, and she thought more o' that bowl
+than she did of everything else in the house. Milly Amos had a set o'
+spoons that'd been in her family for four generations and was too
+precious to use; and I've got my family rose, and it's jest as dear to
+me as china and silver are to other folks. I ricollect after father
+died and the estate had to be divided up, and sister Mary and brother
+Joe and the rest of 'em was layin' claim to the claw-footed mahogany
+table and the old secretary and mother's cherry sideboard and such
+things as that, and brother Joe turned around and says to me, says
+he:
+
+"'Is there anything you want, Jane? If there is, speak up and make it
+known.' And I says: 'The rest of you can take what you want of the
+furniture, and if there's anything left, that can be my part. If there
+ain't anything left, there'll be no quarrelin'; for there's jest one
+thing I want, and that's grandmother's rose.'
+
+"They all laughed, and sister Mary says, 'Ain't that jest like Jane?'
+and brother Joe says, says he:
+
+"'You shall have it, Jane, and further than that, I'll see to the
+transplantin'.'
+
+"That very evenin' he come over, and I showed him where I wanted the
+rose to stand. He dug 'way down into the clay--there's nothin' a rose
+likes better, child, than good red clay--and got a wheelbarrer load o'
+soil from the woods, and we put that in first and set the roots in it
+and packed 'em good and firm, first with woods' soil, then with clay,
+waterin' it all the time. When we got through, I says: 'Now, you
+pretty thing you, if you could come all the way from Virginia in a old
+iron kittle, you surely won't mind bein' moved from father's place to
+mine. Now you've got to live and bloom for me same as you did for
+mother.'
+
+"You needn't laugh, child. That rose knew jest what I said, and did
+jest what I told it to do. It looked like everything favored us, for
+it was early in the spring, things was beginnin' to put out leaves,
+and the next day was cloudy and cool. Then it began to rain, and
+rained for thirty-six hours right along. And when the sun come out,
+grandmother's rose come out, too. Not a leaf on it ever withered, and
+me and my children and my children's children have gethered flowers
+from it all these years. Folks say I'm foolish about it, and I reckon
+I am. I've outlived most o' the people I love, but I don't want to
+outlive this rose. We've both weathered many a hard winter, and two or
+three times it's been winter-killed clean to the ground, and I thought
+I'd lost it. Honey, it was like losin' a child. But there's never been
+a winter yet hard enough to kill the life in that rose's root, and I
+trust there never will be while I live, for spring wouldn't be spring
+to me without grandmother's rose."
+
+Tall, straight, and strong it stood, this oft transplanted pilgrim
+rose; and whether in bloom or clothed only in its rich green foliage,
+you saw at a glance that it was a flower of royal lineage. When spring
+covered it with buds and full blown blossoms of pink, the true rose
+color, it spoke of queens' gardens and kings' palaces, and every
+satiny petal was a palimpsest of song and legend. Its perfume was the
+attar-of-rose scent, like that of the roses of India. It satisfied and
+satiated with its rich potency. And breathing this odor and gazing
+into its deep wells of color, you had strange dreams of those other
+pilgrims who left home and friends, and journeyed through the perils
+of a trackless wilderness to plant still farther westward the rose of
+civilization.
+
+To Aunt Jane there were three epochs in a garden's life, "daffodil
+time," "rose time," and "chrysanthemum time"; and the blossoming of
+all other flowers would be chronicled under one of these periods, just
+as we say of historical events that they happened in the reign of this
+or that queen or empress. But this garden had all seasons for its own,
+and even in winter there was a deep pleasure in walking its paths and
+noting how bravely life struggled against death in the frozen bosom of
+the earth.
+
+I once asked her which flower she loved best. It was "daffodil time,"
+and every gold cup held nepenthe for the nightmare dream of winter.
+She glanced reprovingly at me over her spectacles.
+
+"It appears to me, child, you ought to know that without askin'," she
+said. "Did you ever see as many daffydils in one place before? No;
+and you never will. I've been plantin' that flower every spring for
+sixty years, and I've never got too many of 'em yet. I used to call
+'em Johnny-jump-ups, till Henrietta told me that their right name was
+daffydil. But Johnny-jump-up suits 'em best, for it kind o' tells how
+they come up in the spring. The hyacinths and tulips, they hang back
+till they know it'll be warm and comfortable outside, but these
+daffydils don't wait for anything. Before the snow's gone you'll see
+their leaves pushin' up through the cold ground, and the buds come
+hurryin' along tryin' to keep up with the leaves, jest like they knew
+that little children and old women like me was waitin' and longin' for
+'em. Why, I've seen these flowers bloomin' and the snow fallin' over
+'em in March, and they didn't mind it a bit. I got my start o'
+daffydils from mother's gyarden, and every fall I'd divide the roots
+up and scatter 'em out till I got the whole place pretty well
+sprinkled with 'em, but the biggest part of 'em come from the old
+Harris farm, three or four miles down the pike. Forty years ago that
+farm was sold, and the man that bought it tore things up scandalous.
+He called it remodelin', I ricollect, but it looked more like ruinin'
+to me. Old Lady Harris was like myself; she couldn't git enough of
+these yeller flowers. She had a double row of 'em all around her
+gyarden, and they'd even gone through the fence and come up in the
+cornfield, and who ever plowed that field had to be careful not to
+touch them daffydils.
+
+"Well, as soon as the new man got possession he begun plowin' up the
+gyarden, and one evenin' the news come to me that he was throwin' away
+Johnny-jump-ups by the wagon-load. I put on my sunbonnet and went out
+where Abram was at work in the field, and says I, 'Abram, you've got
+to stop plowin' and put the horse to the spring wagon and take me over
+to the old Harris place.' And Abram says, says he, 'Why, Jane, I'd
+like mighty well to finish this field before night, for it looks like
+it might rain to-morrow. Is it anything particular you want to go
+for?'
+
+"Says I, 'Yes; I never was so particular about anything in my life as
+I am about this. I hear they're plowin' up Old Lady Harris' gyarden
+and throwin' the flowers away, and I want to go over and git a
+wagon-load o' Johnny-jump-ups.'
+
+"Abram looked at me a minute like he thought I was losin' my senses,
+and then he burst out laughin', and says he: 'Jane, who ever heard of
+a farmer stoppin' plowin' to go after Johnny-jump-ups? And who ever
+heard of a farmer's wife askin' him to do such a thing?'
+
+"I walked up to the plow and begun to unfasten the trace chains, and
+says I: 'Business before pleasure, Abram. If it's goin' to rain
+to-morrow that's all the more reason why I ought to have my
+Johnny-jump-ups set out to-day. The plowin' can wait till we come
+back.'
+
+"Of course Abram give in when he saw how I wanted the flowers. But he
+broke out laughin' two or three times while he was hitchin' up and
+says he: 'Don't tell any o' the neighbors, Jane, that I stopped
+plowin' to go after a load of Johnny-jump-ups.'
+
+"When we got to the Harris place we found the Johnny-jump-ups lyin' in
+a gully by the side o' the road, a pitiful sight to anybody that loves
+flowers and understands their feelin's. We loaded up the wagon with
+the pore things, and as soon as we got home, Abram took his hoe and
+made a little trench all around the gyarden, and I set out the
+Johnny-jump-ups while Abram finished his plowin', and the next day the
+rain fell on Abram's cornfield and on my flowers.
+
+"Do you see that row o' daffydils over yonder by the front fence,
+child--all leaves and no blossoms?"
+
+I looked in the direction of her pointing finger and saw a long line
+of flowerless plants, standing like sad and silent guests at the
+festival of spring.
+
+"It's been six years since I set 'em out there," said Aunt Jane
+impressively, "and not a flower have they had in all that time. Some
+folks say it's because I moved 'em at the wrong time o' the year. But
+the same week I moved these I moved some from my yard to Elizabeth
+Crawford's, and Elizabeth's bloom every year, so it can't be that.
+Some folks said the place I had 'em in was too shady, and I put 'em
+right out there where the sun strikes on 'em till it sets, and still
+they won't bloom. It's my opinion, honey, that they're jest homesick.
+I believe if I was to take them daffydils back to Aunt Matilda's and
+plant 'em in the border where they used to grow, alongside o' the sage
+and lavender and thyme, that they'd go to bloomin' again jest like
+they used to. You know how the children of Israel pined and mourned
+when they was carried into captivity. Well, every time I look at my
+daffydils I think o' them homesick Israelites askin', 'How can we sing
+the songs o' Zion in a strange land?'
+
+"You needn't laugh, child. A flower is jest as human as you and me.
+Look at that vine yonder, takin' hold of everything that comes in its
+way like a little child learnin' to walk. And calycanthus buds, see
+how you've got to hold 'em in your hands and warm 'em before they'll
+give out their sweetness, jest like children that you've got to love
+and pet, before they'll let you git acquainted with 'em. You see that
+pink rose over by the fence?" pointing to a La France heavy with
+blossoms. "Well, that rose didn't do anything but put out leaves the
+first two years I had it. A bud might come once in a while, but it
+would blast before it was half open. And at last I says to it, says I,
+'What is it you want, honey? There's somethin' that don't please you,
+I know. Don't you like the place you're planted in, and the hollyhocks
+and lilies for neighbors?' And one day I took it up and set it between
+that white tea and another La France, and it went to bloomin' right
+away. It didn't like the neighborhood it was in, you see. And did you
+ever hear o' people disappearin' from their homes and never bein'
+found any more? Well, flowers can disappear the same way. The year
+before I was married there was a big bed o' pink chrysanthemums
+growin' under the dinin'-room windows at old Dr. Pendleton's. It
+wasn't a common magenta pink, it was as clear, pretty a pink as that
+La France rose. Well, I saw 'em that fall for the first time and the
+last. The next year there wasn't any, and when I asked where they'd
+gone to, nobody could tell anything about 'em. And ever since then
+I've been searchin' in every old gyarden in the county, but I've never
+found 'em, and I don't reckon I ever will.
+
+"And there's my roses! Just look at 'em! Every color a rose could be,
+and pretty near every kind there is. Wouldn't you think I'd be
+satisfied? But there's a rose I lost sixty years ago, and the
+ricollection o' that rose keeps me from bein' satisfied with all I've
+got. It grew in Old Lady Elrod's gyarden and nowhere else, and there
+ain't a rose here except grandmother's that I wouldn't give up forever
+if I could jest find that rose again.
+
+"I've tried many a time to tell folks about that rose, but I can't
+somehow get hold of the words. I reckon an old woman like me, with
+little or no learnin', couldn't be expected to tell how that rose
+looked, any more'n she could be expected to draw it and paint it. I
+can say it was yeller, but that word 'yeller' don't tell the color the
+rose was. I've got all the shades of yeller in my garden, but nothin'
+like the color o' that rose. It got deeper and deeper towards the
+middle, and lookin' at one of them roses half-opened was like lookin'
+down into a gold mine. The leaves crinkled and curled back towards the
+stem as fast as it opened, and the more it opened the prettier it was,
+like some women that grow better lookin' the older they grow,--Mary
+Andrews was one o'that kind,--and when it comes to tellin' you how it
+smelt, I'll jest have to stop. There never was anything like it for
+sweetness, and it was a different sweetness from any other rose God
+ever made.
+
+"I ricollect seein' Miss Penelope come in church one Sunday, dressed
+in white, with a black velvet gyirdle 'round her waist, and a bunch o'
+these roses, buds and half-blown ones and full-blown ones, fastened in
+the gyirdle, and that bunch o' yeller roses was song and sermon and
+prayer to me that day. I couldn't take my eyes off 'em; and I thought
+that if Christ had seen that rose growin' in the fields around
+Palestine, he wouldn't 'a' mentioned lilies when he said Solomon in
+all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
+
+"I always intended to ask for a slip of it, but I waited too long. It
+got lost one winter, and when I asked Old Lady Elrod about it she
+said, 'Mistress Parrish, I cannot tell you whence it came nor whither
+it went.' The old lady always used mighty pretty language.
+
+"Well, honey, them two lost flowers jest haunt me. They're like dead
+children. You know a house may be full o' livin' children, but if
+there's one dead, a mother'll see its face and hear its voice above
+all the others, and that's the way with my lost flowers. No matter how
+many roses and chrysanthemums I have, I keep seein' Old Lady Elrod's
+yeller roses danglin' from Miss Penelope's gyirdle, and that bed o'
+pink chrysanthemums under Dr. Pendleton's dinin'-room windows."
+
+"Each mortal has his Carcassonne!" Here was Aunt Jane's, but it was no
+matter for a tear or even a sigh. And I thought how the sting of life
+would lose its venom, if for every soul the unattainable were embodied
+in nothing more embittering than two exquisite lost flowers.
+
+One afternoon in early June I stood with Aunt Jane in her garden. It
+was the time of roses; and in the midst of their opulent bloom stood
+the tall white lilies, handmaidens to the queen. Here and there over
+the warm earth old-fashioned pinks spread their prayer-rugs, on which
+a worshiper might kneel and offer thanks for life and spring; and
+towering over all, rows of many-colored hollyhocks flamed and glowed
+in the light of the setting sun like the stained glass windows of
+some old cathedral.
+
+Across the flowery expanse Aunt Jane looked wistfully toward the
+evening skies, beyond whose stars and clouds we place that other world
+called heaven.
+
+"I'm like my grandmother, child," she said presently. "I know I've got
+to leave this country some day soon, and journey to another one, and
+the only thing I mind about it is givin' up my gyarden. When John
+looked into heaven he saw gold streets and gates of pearl, but he
+don't say anything about gyardens. I like what he says about no
+sorrer, nor cryin', nor pain, and God wipin' away all tears from their
+eyes. That's pure comfort. But if I could jest have Abram and the
+children again, and my old home and my old gyarden, I'd be willin' to
+give up the gold streets and glass sea and pearl gates."
+
+The loves of earth and the homes of earth! No apocalyptic vision can
+come between these and the earth-born human heart.
+
+Life is said to have begun in a garden; and if here was our lost
+paradise, may not the paradise we hope to gain through death be, to
+the lover of nature, another garden in a new earth, girdled by four
+soft-flowing rivers, and watered by mists that arise in the night to
+fall on the face of the sleeping world, where all we plant shall grow
+unblighted through winterless years, and they who inherit it go with
+white garments and shining faces, and say at morn and noon and eve:
+_My soul is like a watered garden?_
+
+[Illustration]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+
+Ask your dealer for a complete list of
+
+A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction.
+
+
+Abner Daniel. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Adventures of A Modest Man. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Adventures of Gerard. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Alisa Page. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Alternative, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Ancient Law, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
+
+Angel of Forgiveness, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Angel of Pain, The. By E. F. Benson.
+
+Annals of Ann, The. By Kate Trumble Sharber.
+
+Anna the Adventuress. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Ann Boyd. By Will N. Harben.
+
+As the Sparks Fly Upward. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
+
+At the Age of Eve. By Kate Trumble Sharber.
+
+At the Mercy of Tiberius. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+At the Moorings. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Awakening of Helen Richie, The. By Margaret Deland.
+
+
+Barrier, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Bar 20. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Bar-20 Days. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Battle Ground, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
+
+Beau Brocade. By Baroness Orczy.
+
+Beechy. By Bettina von Hutten.
+
+Bella Donna. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Beloved Vagabond, The. By William J. Locke.
+
+Ben Blair. By Will Lillibridge.
+
+Best Man, The. By Harold McGrath.
+
+Beth Norvell. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Betrayal, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Better Man, The. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
+
+Beulah. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
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+Bill Toppers, The. By Andre Castaigne.
+
+Blaze Derringer. By Eugene P. Lyle, Jr.
+
+Bob Hampton of Placer. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Bob, Son of Battle. By Alfred Ollivant.
+
+Brass Bowl, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Bronze Bell, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Butterfly Man, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+By Right of Purchase. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+
+Cab No. 44. By R. F. Foster.
+
+Calling of Dan Matthews, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Call of the Blood, The. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Cape Cod Stories. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Cap'n Erl. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Captain Warren's Wards. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Caravaners, The. By the author of "Elizabeth and Her German Garden."
+
+Cardigan. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Carlton Case, The. By Ellery H. Clark.
+
+Car of Destiny, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Carpet From Bagdad, The. By Harold McGrath.
+
+Cash Intrigue, The. By George Randolph Chester.
+
+Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine. By Frank S. Stockton.
+
+Castle by the Sea, The. By H. B. Marriot Watson.
+
+Challoners, The. By E. F. Benson.
+
+Chaperon, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+City of Six, The. By C. L. Canfield.
+
+Circle, The. By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of "The
+       Masquerader," "The Gambler.")
+
+Colonial Free Lance, A. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+
+Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington.
+
+Conspirators, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Cynthia of the Minute. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+
+Dan Merrithew. By Lawrence Perry.
+
+Day of the Dog, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Depot Master, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Derelicts. By William J. Locke.
+
+Diamond Master, The. By Jacques Futrelle.
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+Diamonds Cut Paste. By Agnes and Egerton Castle.
+
+Divine Fire, The. By May Sinclair.
+
+Dixie Hart. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Dr. David. By Marjorie Benton Cooke.
+
+
+Early Bird, The. By George Randolph Chester.
+
+Eleventh Hour, The. By David Potter.
+
+Elizabeth in Rugen. (By the author of "Elizabeth and Her German Garden.")
+
+Elusive Isabel. By Jacques Futrelle.
+
+Elusive Pimpernel, The. By Baroness Orczy.
+
+Enchanted Hat, The. By Harold McGrath.
+
+Excuse Me. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+
+54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough.
+
+Fighting Chance, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Flamsted Quarries. By Mary E. Waller.
+
+Flying Mercury, The. By Eleanor M. Ingram.
+
+For a Maiden Brave. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+
+Four Million, The. By O. Henry.
+
+Four Pool's Mystery, The. By Jean Webster.
+
+Fruitful Vine, The. By Robert Hichens.
+
+
+Ganton & Co. By Arthur J. Eddy.
+
+Gentleman of France, A. By Stanley Weyman.
+
+Gentleman, The. By Alfred Ollivant.
+
+Get-Rich-Quick-Wallingford. By George Randolph Chester.
+
+Gilbert Neal. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Girl and the Bill, The. By Bannister Merwin.
+
+Girl from His Town, The. By Marie Van Vorst.
+
+Girl Who Won, The. By Beth Ellis.
+
+Glory of Clementina, The. By William J. Locke.
+
+Glory of the Conquered, The. By Susan Glaspell.
+
+God's Good Man. By Marie Corelli.
+
+Going Some. By Rex Beach.
+
+Golden Web, The. By Anthony Partridge.
+
+Green Patch, The. By Bettina von Hutten.
+
+
+Happy Island (sequel to "Uncle William"). By Jennette Lee.
+
+Hearts and the Highway. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
+
+Held for Orders. By Frank H. Spearman.
+
+Hidden Water. By Dane Coolidge.
+
+Highway of Fate, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Homesteaders, The. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+
+Honor of the Big Snows, The. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Hopalong Cassidy. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Household of Peter, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+House of Mystery, The. By Will Irwin.
+
+House of the Lost Court, The. By C. N. Williamson.
+
+House of the Whispering Pines, The. By Anna Katherine Green.
+
+House on Cherry Street, The. By Amelia E. Barr.
+
+How Leslie Loved. By Anne Warner.
+
+Husbands of Edith, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+
+Idols. By William J. Locke.
+
+Illustrious Prince, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Imprudence of Prue, The. By Sophie Fisher.
+
+Inez. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
+
+Infelice. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Initials Only. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+In Defiance of the King. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+
+Indifference of Juliet, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+In the Service of the Princess. By Henry C. Rowland.
+
+Iron Woman, The. By Margaret Deland.
+
+Ishmael. (Illustrated.) By Mrs. Southworth.
+
+Island of Regeneration, The. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
+
+
+Jack Spurlock, Prodigal. By Horace Lorimer.
+
+Jane Cable. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Jeanne of the Marshes. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Jude the Obscure. By Thomas Hardy.
+
+
+Keith of the Border. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Key to the Unknown, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Kingdom of Earth, The. By Anthony Partridge.
+
+King Spruce. By Holman Day.
+
+
+Ladder of Swords, A. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Lady Betty Across the Water. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Lady Merton, Colonist. By Mrs. Humphrey Ward.
+
+Lady of Big Shanty, The. By Berkeley F. Smith.
+
+Langford of the Three Bars. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+
+Land of Long Ago, The. By Eliza Calvert Hall.
+
+Lane That Had No Turning, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Last Trail, The. By Zane Grey.
+
+Last Voyage of the Donna Isabel, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Leavenworth Case, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Lin McLean. By Owen Wister.
+
+Little Brown Jug at Kildare, The. By Meredith Nicholson.
+
+Loaded Dice. By Ellery H. Clarke.
+
+Lord Loveland Discovers America. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Lorimer of the Northwest. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Lorraine. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Lost Ambassador, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Love Under Fire. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Loves of Miss Anne, The. By S. R. Crockett.
+
+
+Macaria. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
+
+Mademoiselle Celeste. By Adele Ferguson Knight.
+
+Maid at Arms, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Maid of Old New York, A. By Amelia E. Barr.
+
+Maid of the Whispering Hills, The. By Vingie Roe.
+
+Maids of Paradise, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Making of Bobby Burnit, The. By George Randolph Chester.
+
+Mam' Linda. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Man Outside, The. By Wyndham Martyn.
+
+Man In the Brown Derby, The. By Wells Hastings.
+
+Marriage a la Mode. By Mrs. Humphrey Ward.
+
+Marriage of Theodora, The. By Molly Elliott Seawell.
+
+Marriage Under the Terror, A. By Patricia Wentworth.
+
+Master Mummer, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Masters of the Wheatlands. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Max. By Katherine Cecil Thurston.
+
+Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Millionaire Baby, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Missioner, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Miss Selina Lue. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
+
+Mistress of Brae Farm, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Money Moon, The. By Jeffery Farnol.
+
+Motor Maid, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Much Ado About Peter. By Jean Webster.
+
+Mr. Pratt. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+My Brother's Keeper. By Charles Tenny Jackson.
+
+My Friend the Chauffeur. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+My Lady Caprice (author of the "Broad Highway"). Jeffery Farnol.
+
+My Lady of Doubt. By Randall Parrish.
+
+My Lady of the North. By Randall Parrish.
+
+My Lady of the South. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Mystery Tales. By Edgar Allen Poe.
+
+
+Nancy Stair. By Elinor Macartney Lane.
+
+Ne'er-Do-Well, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+No Friend Like a Sister. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+
+Officer 666. By Barton W. Currie and Augustin McHugh.
+
+One Braver Thing. By Richard Dehan.
+
+Order No. 11. By Caroline Abbot Stanley.
+
+Orphan, The. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Out of the Primitive. By Robert Ames Bennett.
+
+
+Pam. By Bettina von Hutten.
+
+Pam Decides. By Bettina von Hutten.
+
+Pardners. By Rex Beach.
+
+Partners of the Tide. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Passage Perilous, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Passers By. By Anthony Partridge.
+
+Paternoster Ruby, The. By Charles Edmonds Walk.
+
+Patience of John Moreland, The. By Mary Dillon.
+
+Paul Anthony, Christian. By Hiram W. Hays.
+
+Phillip Steele. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Phra the Phoenician. By Edwin Lester Arnold.
+
+Plunderer, The. By Roy Norton.
+
+Pole Baker. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Politician, The. By Edith Huntington Mason.
+
+Polly of the Circus. By Margaret Mayo.
+
+Pool of Flame, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Poppy. By Cynthia Stockley.
+
+Power and the Glory, The. By Grace McGowan Cooke.
+
+Price of the Prairie, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Prince of Sinners, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Prince or Chauffeur. By Lawrence Perry.
+
+Princess Dehra, The. By John Reed Scott.
+
+Princess Passes, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Princess Virginia, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Prisoners of Chance. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Prodigal Son, The. By Hall Caine.
+
+Purple Parasol, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+
+Reconstructed Marriage, A. By Amelia Barr.
+
+Redemption of Kenneth Galt, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Red House on Rowan Street. By Roman Doubleday.
+
+Red Mouse, The. By William Hamilton Osborne.
+
+Red Pepper Burns. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Refugees, The. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The. By Anne Warner.
+
+Road to Providence, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
+
+Romance of a Plain Man, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
+
+Rose in the Ring, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Rose of Old Harpeth, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
+
+Rosa of the World. By Agnes and Egerton Castle.
+
+Round the Corner in Gay Street. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Routledge Rides Alone. By Will Livingston Comfort.
+
+Running Fight, The. By Wm. Hamilton Osborne.
+
+
+Seats of the Mighty, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Septimus. By William J. Locke.
+
+Set in Silver. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Self-Raised. (Illustrated.) By Mrs. Southworth.
+
+Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Sidney Carteret, Rancher. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Simon the Jester. By William J. Locke.
+
+Silver Blade, The. By Charles E. Walk.
+
+Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Sir Nigel. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Sir Richard Calmady. By Lucas Malet.
+
+Skyman, The. By Henry Ketchell Webster.
+
+Slim Princess, The. By George Ade.
+
+Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Spirit of the Border, The. By Zane Grey.
+
+Spirit Trail, The. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+
+Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Stanton Wins. By Eleanor M. Ingram.
+
+St. Elmo. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
+
+Stolen Singer, The. By Martha Bellinger.
+
+Stooping Lady, The. By Maurice Hewlett.
+
+Story of the Outlaw, The. By Emerson Hough.
+
+Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Strawberry Handkerchief, The. By Amelia E. Barr.
+
+Sunnyside of the Hill, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Sunset Trail, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+
+Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop. By Anne Warner.
+
+Sword of the Old Frontier, A. By Randall Parrish.
+
+
+Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Tennessee Shad, The. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thomas Hardy.
+
+Texican, The. By Dane Coolidge.
+
+That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Three Brothers, The. By Eden Phillpotts.
+
+Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+
+Thurston of Orchard Valley. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Title Market, The. By Emily Post.
+
+Torn Sails. A Tale of a Welsh Village. By Allen Raine.
+
+Trail of the Axe, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli.
+
+Two-Gun Man, The. By Charles Alden Seltzer.
+
+Two Vanrevels, The. By Booth Tarkington.
+
+
+Uncle William. By Jennette Lee.
+
+Up from Slavery. By Booker T. Washington.
+
+
+Vanity Box, The. By C. N. Williamson.
+
+Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Varmint, The. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Vigilante Girl, A. By Jerome Hart.
+
+Village of Vagabonds, A. By F. Berkeley Smith.
+
+Visioning, The. By Susan Glaspell.
+
+Voice of the People, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
+
+
+Wanted--A Chaperon. By Paul Leicester Ford.
+
+Wanted: A Matchmaker. By Paul Leicester Ford.
+
+Watchers of the Plains, The. Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Wayfarers, The. By Mary Stewart Cutting.
+
+Way of a Man, The. By Emerson Hough.
+
+Weavers, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge.
+
+White Sister, The. By Marion Crawford.
+
+Window at the White Cat, The. By Mary Roberts Rhinehart.
+
+Winning of Barbara Worth, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+With Juliet In England. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Woman Haters, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Woman in Question, The. By John Reed Scott.
+
+Woman In the Alcove, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+
+Yellow Circle, The. By Charles E. Walk.
+
+Yellow Letter, The. By William Johnston.
+
+Younger Set, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Newest Books in Popular Reprint Fiction
+
+Only Books of Superior Merit and Popularity are Published in this List
+
+
+THE WOOD-CARVER OF 'LYMPUS. By Mary E. Waller.
+
+     A strong tale of human loves and hopes set in a background
+     of the granite mountain-tops of remote New England.
+
+     Hugh Armstrong, the hero, is one of the pronouncedly high
+     class character delineations of a quarter century.
+
+
+THE REASON WHY. By Elinor Glyn.
+
+     A fine love story, the chief interest lies in the
+     personality of a beautiful girl whose uncle arranges a match
+     for her with a titled Englishman.
+
+
+THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS. By Harold MacGrath.
+
+     Courtlandt, the young American hero, is a typical MacGrath
+     creation. He is past thirty, without a wife, and so rich
+     that he cannot get rid of his money fast enough. No love
+     plot was ever more original.
+
+
+AUNT JANE OF KENTUCKY. By Eliza Calvert Hall.
+
+     This story is destined to make a strong appeal to every
+     human heart. Everyone is sure to love Aunt Jane and her
+     neighbors, her quilts and her flowers, her stories and her
+     quaint, tender philosophy.
+
+
+THE POSTMASTER. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+     "The Postmaster" has more pure fun in it than anything Mr.
+     Lincoln has written recently. The episode where the
+     Christian Science lady meets the nervous old gentleman in
+     the home of the spiritualist is uproarious.
+
+
+TRUTH DEXTER. By Sidney McCall.
+
+     The novel bears the unmistakable imprint of genius.... Truth
+     Dexter, the heroine, is one of the most lovable women in
+     fiction--pure, worshipful, worthy and thoroughly
+     womanly--the woman who makes a heaven of earth.
+
+
+THE BANDBOX. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+     "The Bandbox" is one of those delightful romances that you
+     read through to the end at a sitting, forgetful of time,
+     troubles, or tired feelings, and then breathe a sigh of
+     regret because there's no more.
+
+
+JAPONETTE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+     A Chambers' novel is always one of the literary events of
+     the year, and nothing more fascinating than "Japonette" has
+     been penned by this most gifted writer.
+
+
+THE WIND BEFORE THE DAWN. By Dell H. Munger.
+
+     The author has gone below the surface, seized upon the
+     spirit of the pioneers, and dramatized into her story their
+     love for the region and their stubborn faith in what held
+     them there. It is a good, human, realistic story, full of
+     real people and thrilling with the real pulses of life.
+
+
+MISS GIBBIE GAULT. By Kate Langley Bosher.
+
+     To read a book like this is like taking a sun-bath. No one
+     will finish the book without thanking the author for the
+     keen pleasure it has given, and the vision of something good
+     in human nature that it has brought before them.
+
+
+THE ONE-WAY TRAIL. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+     This is a wholesome story of life and love in Montana, with
+     real men and women, a strong plot and thrilling situations.
+     Intensely interesting from beginning to end.
+
+
+THE GUESTS OF HERCULES. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+     This is a story of the Riviera and Monte Carlo--and a clever
+     and rather complicated plot. The girl is particularly
+     unusual and piquant, the man more than ever loverlike and
+     fascinating.
+
+
+MOLLY McDONALD, A Tale of the Old Frontier. By Randall Parrish.
+
+     This is the story of a charming, whole-hearted girl, who
+     leaving an Eastern school joins her father at a military
+     post in Kansas during the Indian wars of 1868.
+
+
+TO M. L. G., OR ONE WHO PASSED.
+
+     This is a life-story written by a woman who had not dared to
+     risk telling it to the man she loved. She preferred to send
+     him away rather than to lose his respect; knowing her life
+     to have been so different from what he fancied it.
+
+
+For sale by most booksellers at the popular price of 50 cents.
+Published by the
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52 Duane Street, New York.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+AUNT JANE
+
+OF KENTUCKY
+
+By ELIZA CALVERT HALL
+
+
+With Aunt Jane a real personage has come into literature.
+
+In this dear old philosopher in homespun--with her patchwork quilts,
+which were her albums and diary, and in the midst of her garden, where
+each "flower was a human thing with a life-story"--we seem to renew
+acquaintance with a character which each of us has known and loved
+back in our own gardens of memory.
+
+Where so many have made caricatures of old-time country folk, Eliza
+Calvert Hall has caught at once the real charm, the real spirit, the
+real people, and the real joy of living which was theirs.
+
+
+ALSO BY THE SAME AUTHOR
+
+The Land of Long Ago
+
+     "The Land of Long Ago," in which reappears that famous
+     character, "Aunt Jane of Kentucky," is a delightful picture
+     of rural life in the Blue Grass country, showing the real
+     charm and spirit of the old time country folk--a book full
+     of sentiment and kindliness and high ideals. It cannot fail
+     to appeal to every reader by reason of its sunny humor, its
+     sweetness and sincerity, its entire fidelity to life. Aunt
+     Jane with her calm philosophy, her captivating stories, her
+     sweet, womanly ways, is a character that wins the reader at
+     once.
+
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY,
+
+Publishers,           New York
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Aunt Jane of Kentucky, by Eliza Calvert Hall
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT JANE OF KENTUCKY ***
+
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Aunt Jane of Kentucky, by Eliza Calvert Hall
+    </title>
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Aunt Jane of Kentucky, by Eliza Calvert Hall
+
+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: Aunt Jane of Kentucky
+
+Author: Eliza Calvert Hall
+
+Illustrator: Beulah Strong
+
+Release Date: September 30, 2008 [EBook #26728]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT JANE OF KENTUCKY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Suzanne Shell, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/dustjacket.jpg" width="600" height="895" alt="Dust Jacket"  />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="743" alt="Cover Page"  />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="500" height="828" alt="Frontispiece"  />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/title_page.jpg" width="500" height="834" alt="Title Page"  />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h1>AUNT JANE<br />
+OF KENTUCKY</h1>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>BY ELIZA CALVERT HALL</h2>
+
+<h4>Author of "The Land of Long Ago."</h4>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;">
+<img src="images/seal.jpg" width="150" height="147" alt="Seal"  />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h4><span class="smcap">With Frontispiece and Page Decorations</span></h4>
+<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> BEULAH STRONG</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>A. L. BURT COMPANY</h3>
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">Publishers</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">New York</span></h4>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1898, 1899, 1900,<br />
+<span class="smcap">By John Brisbane Walker</span>.</h5>
+
+<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1904,<br />
+<span class="smcap">By Cosmopolitan Publishing Company</span>.</h5>
+
+<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1907,<br />
+<span class="smcap">By Little, Brown, and Company</span>.
+</h5>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h4>
+TO</h4>
+
+<h3>MY&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;MOTHER&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;AND&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;FATHER</h3>
+<h4><span class="smcap">I Dedicate this Book</span></h4>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/toc.jpg" alt="Table of Contents" width="500" height="759" /></div>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTERS" id="CHAPTERS"></a>CHAPTERS</h2>
+
+
+
+<table summary="Contents">
+<tr><td></td>
+  <td></td>
+  <td></td><td class="tocpg f1">PAGE</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">I.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#I">Sally Ann's Experience</a></span></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">II.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#II">The New Organ</a></span></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">III.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#III">Aunt Jane's Album</a></span></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">IV.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#IV">"<span class="smcap">Sweet Day of Rest</span>"</a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">V.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#V">Milly Baker's Boy</a></span></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">VI.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#VI">The Baptizing at Kittle Creek</a></span></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">VII.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#VII">How Sam Amos Rode in the Tournament</a></span></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">VIII.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#VIII">Mary Andrews' Dinner-Party</a></span></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">IX.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#IX">The Gardens of Memory</a></span></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"There is not an existence about us but at first seems
+colorless, dreary, lethargic: what can our soul have in
+common with that of an elderly spinster, a slow-witted
+plowman, a miser who worships his gold?... But ... the
+emotion that lived and died in an old-fashioned country
+parlor shall as mightily stir our heart, shall as unerringly
+find its way to the deepest sources of life as the majestic
+passion that ruled the life of a king and shed its
+triumphant luster from the dazzling height of a
+throne."&mdash;<i>Maeterlinck</i>.</p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2>
+
+<h2>SALLY ANN'S EXPERIENCE</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="600" height="465" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_c.jpg" alt="C" width="67" height="50" /></div>
+<p>ome right in and set down. I was jest wishin' I had somebody to talk
+to. Take that chair right by the door so's you can get the breeze."</p>
+
+<p>And Aunt Jane beamed at me over her silver-rimmed spectacles and
+hitched her own chair a little to one side, in order to give me the
+full benefit of the wind that was blowing softly through the
+white-curtained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> window, and carrying into the room the heavenliest
+odors from a field of clover that lay in full bloom just across the
+road. For it was June in Kentucky, and clover and blue-grass were
+running sweet riot over the face of the earth.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane and her room together always carried me back to a dead and
+gone generation. There was a rag carpet on the floor, of the
+"hit-or-miss" pattern; the chairs were ancient Shaker rockers, some
+with homely "shuck" bottoms, and each had a tidy of snowy thread or
+crochet cotton fastened primly over the back. The high bed and bureau
+and a shining mahogany table suggested an era of "plain living" far,
+far remote from the day of Turkish rugs and Japanese bric-a-brac, and
+Aunt Jane was in perfect correspondence with her environment. She wore
+a purple calico dress, rather short and scant; a gingham apron, with a
+capacious pocket, in which she always carried knitting or some other
+"handy work"; a white handkerchief was laid primly around the wrinkled
+throat and fastened with a pin containing a lock of gray hair; her cap
+was of black lace and lutestring ribbon, not one of the butterfly
+affairs that perch on the top of the puffs and frizzes of the modern
+old lady, but a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> substantial structure that covered her whole head and
+was tied securely under her chin. She talked in a sweet old treble
+with a little lisp, caused by the absence of teeth, and her laugh was
+as clear and joyous as a young girl's.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'm a-piecin' quilts again," she said, snipping away at the bits
+of calico in her lap. "I did say I was done with that sort o' work;
+but this mornin' I was rummagin' around up in the garret, and I come
+across this bundle of pieces, and thinks I, 'I reckon it's intended
+for me to piece one more quilt before I die;' I must 'a' put 'em there
+thirty years ago and clean forgot 'em, and I've been settin' here all
+the evenin' cuttin' 'em and thinkin' about old times.</p>
+
+<p>"Jest feel o' that," she continued, tossing some scraps into my lap.
+"There ain't any such caliker nowadays. This ain't your five-cent
+stuff that fades in the first washin' and wears out in the second. A
+caliker dress was somethin' worth buyin' and worth makin' up in them
+days. That blue-flowered piece was a dress I got the spring before
+Abram died. When I put on mournin' it was as good as new, and I give
+it to sister Mary. That one with the green ground and white figger was
+my niece Rebecca's. She wore it for the first time to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> the County Fair
+the year I took the premium on my salt-risin' bread and sponge cake.
+This black-an'-white piece Sally Ann Flint give me. I ricollect 'twas
+in blackberry time, and I'd been out in the big pasture pickin' some
+for supper, and I stopped in at Sally Ann's for a drink o' water on my
+way back. She was cuttin' out this dress."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane broke off with a little soprano laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Did I ever tell you about Sally Ann's experience?" she said, as she
+laid two three-cornered pieces together and began to sew with her
+slender, nervous old fingers.</p>
+
+<p>To find Aunt Jane alone and in a reminiscent mood! This was
+delightful.</p>
+
+<p>"Do tell me," I said.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane was silent for a few moments. She always made this pause
+before beginning a story, and there was something impressive about it.
+I used to think she was making an invocation to the goddess of Memory.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twas forty years ago," she began musingly, "and the way of it was
+this. Our church was considerably out o' fix. It needed a new roof.
+Some o' the winder lights was out, and the floor was as bare as your
+hand, and always had been. The men folks managed to git<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> the roof
+shingled and the winders fixed, and us women in the Mite Society
+concluded we'd git a cyarpet. We'd been savin' up our money for some
+time, and we had about twelve dollars. I ricollect what a argument we
+had, for some of us wanted the cyarpet, and some wanted to give it to
+furrin missions, as we'd set out to do at first. Sally Ann was the one
+that settled it. She says at last&mdash;Sally Ann was in favor of the
+cyarpet&mdash;she says, 'Well, if any of the heathen fails to hear the
+gospel on account of our gittin' this cyarpet, they'll be saved
+anyhow, so Parson Page says. And if we send the money and they do hear
+the gospel, like as not they won't repent, and then they're certain to
+be damned. And it seems to me as long as we ain't sure what they'll
+do, we might as well keep the money and git the cyarpet. I never did
+see much sense anyhow,' says she, 'in givin' people a chance to damn
+theirselves.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we decided to take Sally Ann's advice, and we was talkin' about
+app'intin' a committee to go to town the follerin' Monday and pick out
+the cyarpet, when all at once 'Lizabeth Taylor&mdash;she was our
+treasurer&mdash;she spoke up, and says she, 'There ain't any use app'intin'
+that committee. The money's gone,' she says, sort o' short and quick.
+'I kept it in my top<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> bureau drawer, and when I went for it yesterday,
+it was gone. I'll pay it back if I'm ever able, but I ain't able now.'
+And with that she got up and walked out o' the room, before any one
+could say a word, and we seen her goin' down the road lookin' straight
+before her and walkin' right fast.</p>
+
+<p>"And we&mdash;we set there and stared at each other in a sort o' dazed way.
+I could see that everybody was thinkin' the same thing, but nobody
+said a word, till our minister's wife&mdash;she was as good a woman as ever
+lived&mdash;she says, '<i>Judge not</i>.'</p>
+
+<p>"Them two words was jest like a sermon to us. Then Sally Ann spoke up
+and says: 'For the Lord's sake, don't let the men folks know anything
+about this. They're always sayin' that women ain't fit to handle
+money, and I for one don't want to give 'em any more ground to stand
+on than they've already got.'</p>
+
+<p>"So we agreed to say nothin' about it, and all of us kept our promise
+except Milly Amos. She had mighty little sense to begin with, and
+havin' been married only about two months, she'd about lost that
+little. So next mornin' I happened to meet Sam Amos, and he says to
+me, 'Aunt Jane, how much money have you women got to'rds the new
+cyarpet for the church?' I looked him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> square in the face, and I says,
+'Are you a member of the Ladies' Mite Society of Goshen church, Sam
+Amos? For if you are, you already know how much money we've got, and
+if you ain't, you've got no business knowin'. And, furthermore,' says
+I, 'there's some women that can't keep a secret and a promise, and
+some that can, and <i>I</i> can.' And that settled <i>him</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, 'Lizabeth never showed her face outside her door for more'n a
+month afterwards, and a more pitiful-lookin' creatur' you never saw
+than she was when she come out to prayer-meetin' the night Sally Ann
+give her experience. She set 'way back in the church, and she was as
+pale and peaked as if she had been through a siege of typhoid. I
+ricollect it all as if it had been yesterday. We sung 'Sweet Hour of
+Prayer,' and Parson Page prayed, and then called on the brethren to
+say anything they might feel called on to say concernin' their
+experience in the past week. Old Uncle Jim Matthews begun to clear his
+throat, and I knew, as well as I knew my name, he was fixin' to git up
+and tell how precious the Lord had been to his soul, jest like he'd
+been doin' every Wednesday night for twenty years. But before he got
+started, here come 'Lizabeth walkin' down the side aisle and stopped
+right in front o' the pulpit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"'I've somethin' to say,' she says. 'It's been on my mind till I can't
+stand it any longer. I've got to tell it, or I'll go crazy. It was me
+that took that cyarpet money. I only meant to borrow it. I thought
+sure I'd be able to pay it back before it was wanted. But things went
+wrong, and I ain't known a peaceful minute since, and never shall
+again, I reckon. I took it to pay my way up to Louisville, the time I
+got the news that Mary was dyin'.'</p>
+
+<p>"Mary was her daughter by her first husband, you see. 'I begged Jacob
+to give me the money to go on,' says she, 'and he wouldn't do it. I
+tried to give up and stay, but I jest couldn't. Mary was all I had in
+the world; and maybe you that has children can put yourself in my
+place, and know what it would be to hear your only child callin' to
+you from her death-bed, and you not able to go to her. I asked Jacob
+three times for the money,' she says, 'and when I found he wouldn't
+give it to me, I said to myself, "I'm goin' anyhow." I got down on my
+knees,' says she, 'and asked the Lord to show me a way, and I felt
+sure he would. As soon as Jacob had eat his breakfast and gone out on
+the farm, I dressed myself, and as I opened the top bureau drawer to
+get out my best collar, I saw the missionary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> money. It come right
+into my head,' says she, 'that maybe this was the answer to my prayer;
+maybe I could borrow this money, and pay it back some way or other
+before it was called for. I tried to put it out o' my head, but the
+thought kept comin' back; and when I went down into the sittin'-room
+to get Jacob's cyarpetbag to carry a few things in, I happened to look
+up at the mantelpiece and saw the brass candlesticks with prisms all
+'round 'em that used to belong to my mother; and all at once I seemed
+to see jest what the Lord intended for me to do.</p>
+
+<p>"'You know,' she says, 'I had a boarder summer before last&mdash;that lady
+from Louisville&mdash;and she wanted them candlesticks the worst kind, and
+offered me fifteen dollars for 'em. I wouldn't part with 'em then, but
+she said if ever I wanted to sell 'em, to let her know, and she left
+her name and address on a cyard. I went to the big Bible and got out
+the cyard, and I packed the candlesticks in the cyarpetbag, and put on
+my bonnet. When I opened the door I looked up the road, and the first
+thing I saw was Dave Crawford comin' along in his new buggy. I went
+out to the gate, and he drew up and asked me if I was goin' to town,
+and said he'd take me. It looked like the Lord was leadin' me all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+time,' says she, 'but the way things turned out it must 'a' been
+Satan. I got to Mary just two hours before she died, and she looked up
+in my face and says, "Mother, I knew God wouldn't let me die till I'd
+seen you once more."'"</p>
+
+<p>Here Aunt Jane took off her glasses and wiped her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't tell this without cryin' to save my life," said she; "but
+'Lizabeth never shed a tear. She looked like she'd got past cryin',
+and she talked straight on as if she'd made up her mind to say jest so
+much, and she'd die if she didn't git to say it."</p>
+
+<p>"'As soon as the funeral was over,' says she, 'I set out to find the
+lady that wanted the candlesticks. She wasn't at home, but her niece
+was there, and said she'd heard her aunt speak of the candlesticks
+often; and she'd be home in a few days and would send me the money
+right off. I come home thinkin' it was all right, and I kept expectin'
+the money every day, but it never come till day before yesterday. I
+wrote three times about it, but I never got a word from her till
+Monday. She had just got home, she said, and hoped I hadn't been
+inconvenienced by the delay. She wrote a nice, polite letter and sent
+me a check for fifteen dollars, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> here it is. I wanted to confess
+it all that day at the Mite Society, but somehow I couldn't till I had
+the money right in my hand to pay back. If the lady had only come back
+when her niece said she was comin', it would all have turned out
+right, but I reckon it's a judgment on me for meddling with the Lord's
+money. God only knows what I've suffered,' says she, 'but if I had to
+do it over again, I believe I'd do it. Mary was all the child I had in
+the world, and I had to see her once more before she died. I've been a
+member of this church for twenty years,' says she, 'but I reckon
+you'll have to turn me out now.'</p>
+
+<p>"The pore thing stood there tremblin' and holdin' out the check as if
+she expected somebody to come and take it. Old Silas Petty was
+glowerin' at her from under his eyebrows, and it put me in mind of the
+Pharisees and the woman they wanted to stone, and I ricollect
+thinkin', 'Oh, if the Lord Jesus would jest come in and take her
+part!' And while we all set there like a passel o' mutes, Sally Ann
+got up and marched down the middle aisle and stood right by 'Lizabeth.
+You know what funny thoughts people will have sometimes.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I felt so relieved. It popped into my head all at once that we
+didn't need the Lord after all, Sally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> Ann would do jest as well. It
+seemed sort o' like sacrilege, but I couldn't help it.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Sally Ann looked all around as composed as you please, and says
+she, 'I reckon if anybody's turned out o' this church on account o'
+that miserable little money, it'll be Jacob and not 'Lizabeth. A man
+that won't give his wife money to go to her dyin' child is too mean to
+stay in a Christian church anyhow; and I'd like to know how it is that
+a woman, that had eight hundred dollars when she married, has to go to
+her husband and git down on her knees and beg for what's her own.
+Where's that money 'Lizabeth had when she married you?' says she,
+turnin' round and lookin' Jacob in the face. 'Down in that ten-acre
+medder lot, ain't it?&mdash;and in that new barn you built last spring. A
+pretty elder you are, ain't you? Elders don't seem to have improved
+much since Susannah's times. If there ain't one sort o' meanness in
+'em it's another,' says she.</p>
+
+<p>"Goodness knows what she would 'a' said, but jest here old Deacon
+Petty rose up. And says he, 'Brethren,'&mdash;and he spread his arms out
+and waved 'em up and down like he was goin' to pray,&mdash;'brethren, this
+is awful! If this woman wants to give her religious experience,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> why,'
+says he, very kind and condescendin', 'of course she can do so. But
+when it comes to a <i>woman</i> standin' up in the house of the Lord and
+revilin' an elder as this woman is doin', why, I tremble,' says he,
+'for the church of Christ. For don't the Apostle Paul say, "Let your
+women keep silence in the church"?'</p>
+
+<p>"As soon as he named the 'Postle Paul, Sally Ann give a kind of snort.
+Sally Ann was terrible free-spoken. And when Deacon Petty said that,
+she jest squared herself like she intended to stand there till
+judgment day, and says she, 'The 'Postle Paul has been dead ruther too
+long for me to be afraid of him. And I never heard of him app'intin'
+Deacon Petty to represent him in this church. If the 'Postle Paul
+don't like what I'm sayin', let him rise up from his grave in
+Corinthians or Ephesians, or wherever he's buried, and say so. I've
+got a message from the Lord to the men folks of this church, and I'm
+goin' to deliver it, Paul or no Paul,' says she. 'And as for you,
+Silas Petty, I ain't forgot the time I dropped in to see Maria one
+Saturday night and found her washin' out her flannel petticoat and
+dryin' it before the fire. And every time I've had to hear you lead in
+prayer since then I've said to myself, "Lord, how high can a man's
+prayers rise toward heaven when his wife<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> ain't got but one flannel
+skirt to her name? No higher than the back of his pew, if you'll let
+me tell it." I knew jest how it was,' said Sally Ann, 'as well as if
+Maria'd told me. She'd been havin' the milk and butter money from the
+old roan cow she'd raised from a little heifer, and jest because feed
+was scarce, you'd sold her off before Maria had money enough to buy
+her winter flannels. I can give my experience, can I? Well, that's
+jest what I'm a-doin',' says she; 'and while I'm about it,' says she,
+'I'll give in some experience for 'Lizabeth and Maria and the rest of
+the women who, betwixt their husbands an' the 'Postle Paul, have about
+lost all the gumption and grit that the Lord started them out with. If
+the 'Postle Paul,' says she, 'has got anything to say about a woman
+workin' like a slave for twenty-five years and then havin' to set up
+an' wash out her clothes Saturday night, so's she can go to church
+clean Sunday mornin', I'd like to hear it. But don't you dare to say
+anything to me about keepin' silence in the church. There was times
+when Paul says he didn't know whether he had the Spirit of God or not,
+and I'm certain that when he wrote that text he wasn't any more
+inspired than you are, Silas Petty, when you tell Maria to shut her
+mouth.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Job Taylor was settin' right in front of Deacon Petty, and I reckon
+he thought his time was comin' next; so he gets up, easy-like, with
+his red bandanna to his mouth, and starts out. But Sally Ann headed
+him off before he'd gone six steps, and says she, 'There ain't
+anything the matter with you, Job Taylor; you set right down and hear
+what I've got to say. I've knelt and stood through enough o' your
+long-winded prayers, and now it's my time to talk and yours to
+listen.'</p>
+
+<p>"And bless your life, if Job didn't set down as meek as Moses, and
+Sally Ann lit right into him. And says she, 'I reckon you're afraid
+I'll tell some o' your meanness, ain't you? And the only thing that
+stands in my way is that there's so much to tell I don't know where to
+begin. There ain't a woman in this church,' says she, 'that don't know
+how Marthy scrimped and worked and saved to buy her a new set o'
+furniture, and how you took the money with you when you went to
+Cincinnata, the spring before she died, and come back without the
+furniture. And when she asked you for the money, you told her that she
+and everything she had belonged to you, and that your mother's old
+furniture was good enough for anybody. It's my belief,' says she,
+'that's what killed Marthy. Women are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> dyin' every day, and the
+doctors will tell you it's some new-fangled disease or other, when, if
+the truth was known, it's nothin' but wantin' somethin' they can't
+git, and hopin' and waitin' for somethin' that never comes. I've
+watched 'em, and I know. The night before Marthy died she says to me,
+"Sally Ann," says she, "I could die a heap peacefuler if I jest knew
+the front room was fixed up right with a new set of furniture for the
+funeral."' And Sally Ann p'inted her finger right at Job and says she,
+'I said it then, and I say it now to your face, Job Taylor, you killed
+Marthy the same as if you'd taken her by the throat and choked the
+life out of her.'</p>
+
+<p>"Mary Embry, Job's sister-in-law, was settin' right behind me, and I
+heard her say, 'Amen!' as fervent as if somebody had been prayin'. Job
+set there, lookin' like a sheep-killin' dog, and Sally Ann went right
+on. 'I know,' says she, 'the law gives you the right to your wives'
+earnin's and everything they've got, down to the clothes on their
+backs; and I've always said there was some Kentucky law that was made
+for the express purpose of encouragin' men in their natural
+meanness,&mdash;a p'int in which the Lord knows they don't need no
+encouragin'. There's some men,' says she, 'that'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> sneak behind the
+'Postle Paul when they're plannin' any meanness against their wives,
+and some that runs to the law, and you're one of the law kind. But
+mark my words,' says she, 'one of these days, you men who've been
+stealin' your wives' property and defraudin' 'em, and cheatin' 'em out
+o' their just dues, you'll have to stand before a Judge that cares
+mighty little for Kentucky law; and all the law and all the Scripture
+you can bring up won't save you from goin' where the rich man went.'</p>
+
+<p>"I can see Sally Ann right now," and Aunt Jane pushed her glasses up
+on her forehead, and looked with a dreamy, retrospective gaze through
+the doorway and beyond, where swaying elms and maples were whispering
+softly to each other as the breeze touched them. "She had on her old
+black poke-bonnet and some black yarn mitts, and she didn't come nigh
+up to Job's shoulder, but Job set and listened as if he jest <i>had to</i>.
+I heard Dave Crawford shufflin' his feet and clearin' his throat while
+Sally Ann was talkin' to Job. Dave's farm j'ined Sally Ann's, and they
+had a lawsuit once about the way a fence ought to run, and Sally Ann
+beat him. He always despised Sally Ann after that, and used to call
+her a 'he-woman.' Sally Ann heard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> the shufflin', and as soon as she
+got through with Job, she turned around to Dave, and says she: 'Do you
+think your hemmin' and scrapin' is goin' to stop me, Dave Crawford?
+You're one o' the men that makes me think that it's better to be a
+Kentucky horse than a Kentucky woman. Many's the time,' says she,
+'I've seen pore July with her head tied up, crawlin' around tryin' to
+cook for sixteen harvest hands, and you out in the stable cossetin' up
+a sick mare, and rubbin' down your three-year-olds to get 'em in trim
+for the fair. Of all the things that's hard to understand,' says she,
+'the hardest is a man that has more mercy on his horse than he has on
+his wife. July's found rest at last,' says she, 'out in the graveyard;
+and every time I pass your house I thank the Lord that you've got to
+pay a good price for your cookin' now, as there ain't a woman in the
+country fool enough to step into July's shoes.'</p>
+
+<p>"But, la!" said Aunt Jane, breaking off with her happy laugh,&mdash;the
+laugh of one who revels in rich memories,&mdash;"what's the use of me
+tellin' all this stuff? The long and the short of it is, that Sally
+Ann had her say about nearly every man in the church. She told how
+Mary Embry had to cut up her weddin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> skirts to make clothes for her
+first baby; and how John Martin stopped Hannah one day when she was
+carryin' her mother a pound of butter, and made her go back and put
+the butter down in the cellar; and how Lije Davison used to make Ann
+pay him for every bit of chicken feed, and then take half the egg
+money because the chickens got into his garden; and how Abner Page
+give his wife twenty-five cents for spendin' money the time she went
+to visit her sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Sally Ann always was a masterful sort of woman, and that night it
+seemed like she was possessed. The way she talked made me think of the
+Day of Pentecost and the gift of tongues. And finally she got to the
+minister! I'd been wonderin' all along if she was goin' to let him
+off. She turned around to where he was settin' under the pulpit, and
+says she, 'Brother Page, you're a good man, but you ain't so good you
+couldn't be better. It was jest last week,' says she, 'that the women
+come around beggin' money to buy you a new suit of clothes to go to
+Presbytery in; and I told 'em if it was to get Mis' Page a new dress,
+I was ready to give; but not a dime was I goin' to give towards
+puttin' finery on a man's back. I'm tired o'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> seein' the ministers
+walk up into the pulpit in their slick black broadcloths, and their
+wives settin' down in the pew in an old black silk that's been turned
+upside down, wrong side out, and hind part before, and sponged, and
+pressed, and made over till you can't tell whether it's silk, or
+caliker, or what.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I reckon there was some o' the women that expected the roof to
+fall down on us when Sally Ann said that right to the minister. But it
+didn't fall, and Sally Ann went straight on. 'And when it comes to the
+perseverance of the saints and the decrees of God,' says she, 'there
+ain't many can preach a better sermon; but there's some of your
+sermons,' says she, 'that ain't fit for much but kindlin' fires.
+There's that one you preached last Sunday on the twenty-fourth verse
+of the fifth chapter of Ephesians. I reckon I've heard about a hundred
+and fifty sermons on that text, and I reckon I'll keep on hearin' 'em
+as long as there ain't anybody but men to do the preachin'. Anybody
+would think,' says she, 'that you preachers was struck blind every
+time you git through with the twenty-fourth verse, for I never heard a
+sermon on the twenty-fifth verse. I believe there's men in this church
+that thinks the fifth chapter of Ephesians hasn't got but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> twenty-four
+verses, and I'm goin' to read the rest of it to 'em for once anyhow.'</p>
+
+<p>"And if Sally Ann didn't walk right up into the pulpit same as if
+she'd been ordained, and read what Paul said about men lovin' their
+wives as Christ loved the church, and as they loved their own bodies.</p>
+
+<p>"'Now,' says she, 'if Brother Page can reconcile these texts with what
+Paul says about women submittin' and bein' subject, he's welcome to do
+it. But,' says she, 'if I had the preachin' to do, I wouldn't waste
+time reconcilin'. I'd jest say that when Paul told women to be subject
+to their husbands in everything, he wasn't inspired; and when he told
+men to love their wives as their own bodies, he was inspired; and I'd
+like to see the Presbytery that could silence me from preachin' as
+long as I wanted to preach. As for turnin' out o' the church,' says
+she, 'I'd like to know who's to do the turnin' out. When the disciples
+brought that woman to Christ there wasn't a man in the crowd fit to
+cast a stone at her; and if there's any man nowadays good enough to
+set in judgment on a woman, his name ain't on the rolls of Goshen
+church. If 'Lizabeth,' says she, 'had as much common sense as she's
+got conscience, she'd know that the matter o' that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> money didn't
+concern nobody but our Mite Society, and we women can settle it
+without any help from you deacons and elders.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I reckon Parson Page thought if he didn't head Sally Ann off
+some way or other she'd go on all night; so when she kind o' stopped
+for breath and shut up the big Bible, he grabbed a hymn-book and says:</p>
+
+<p>"'Let us sing "Blest be the Tie that Binds."'</p>
+
+<p>"He struck up the tune himself; and about the middle of the first
+verse Mis' Page got up and went over to where 'Lizabeth was standin',
+and give her the right hand of fellowship, and then Mis' Petty did the
+same; and first thing we knew we was all around her shakin' hands and
+huggin' her and cryin' over her. 'Twas a reg'lar love-feast; and we
+went home feelin' like we'd been through a big protracted meetin' and
+got religion over again.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twasn't more'n a week till 'Lizabeth was down with slow
+fever&mdash;nervous collapse, old Dr. Pendleton called it. We took turns
+nursin' her, and one day she looked up in my face and says, 'Jane, I
+know now what the mercy of the Lord is.'"</p>
+
+<p>Here Aunt Jane paused, and began to cut three-cornered pieces out of a
+time-stained square of flowered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> chintz. The quilt was to be of the
+wild-goose pattern. There was a drowsy hum from the bee-hive near the
+window, and the shadows were lengthening as sunset approached.</p>
+
+<p>"One queer thing about it," she resumed, "was that while Sally Ann was
+talkin', not one of us felt like laughin'. We set there as solemn as
+if parson was preachin' to us on 'lection and predestination. But
+whenever I think about it now, I laugh fit to kill. And I've thought
+many a time that Sally Ann's plain talk to them men done more good
+than all the sermons us women had had preached to us about bein'
+'shame-faced' and 'submittin'' ourselves to our husbands, for every
+one o' them women come out in new clothes that spring, and such a
+change as it made in some of 'em! I wouldn't be surprised if she did
+have a message to deliver, jest as she said. The Bible says an ass
+spoke up once and reproved a man, and I reckon if an ass can reprove a
+man, so can a woman. And it looks to me like men stand in need of
+reprovin' now as much as they did in Balaam's days.</p>
+
+<p>"Jacob died the follerin' fall, and 'Lizabeth got shed of her
+troubles. The triflin' scamp never married her for anything but her
+money.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Things is different from what they used to be," she went on, as she
+folded her pieces into a compact bundle and tied it with a piece of
+gray yarn. "My son-in-law was tellin' me last summer how a passel o'
+women kept goin' up to Frankfort and so pesterin' the Legislatur',
+that they had to change the laws to git rid of 'em. So married women
+now has all the property rights they want, and more'n some of 'em has
+sense to use, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"How about you and Uncle Abram?" I suggested. "Didn't Sally Ann say
+anything about you in her experience?"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane's black eyes snapped with some of the fire of her long-past
+youth. "La! no, child," she said. "Abram never was that kind of a man,
+and I never was that kind of a woman. I ricollect as we was walkin'
+home that night Abram says, sort o' humble-like: 'Jane, hadn't you
+better git that brown merino you was lookin' at last County Court
+day?'</p>
+
+<p>"And I says, 'Don't you worry about that brown merino, Abram. It's
+a-lyin' in my bottom drawer right now. I told the storekeeper to cut
+it off jest as soon as your back was turned, and Mis' Simpson is goin'
+to make it next week.' And Abram he jest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> laughed, and says, 'Well,
+Jane, I never saw your beat.' You see, I never was any hand at
+'submittin'' myself to my husband, like some women. I've often
+wondered if Abram wouldn't 'a' been jest like Silas Petty if I'd been
+like Maria. I've noticed that whenever a woman's willin' to be imposed
+upon, there's always a man standin' 'round ready to do the imposin'. I
+never went to a law-book to find out what my rights was. I did my duty
+faithful to Abram, and when I wanted anything I went and got it, and
+Abram paid for it, and I can't see but what we got on jest as well as
+we'd 'a' done if I'd a-'submitted' myself."</p>
+
+<p>Longer and longer grew the shadows, and the faint tinkle of bells came
+in through the windows. The cows were beginning to come home. The
+spell of Aunt Jane's dramatic art was upon me. I began to feel that my
+own personality had somehow slipped away from me, and those dead
+people, evoked from their graves by an old woman's histrionism, seemed
+more real to me than my living, breathing self.</p>
+
+<p>"There now, I've talked you clean to death," she said with a happy
+laugh, as I rose to go. "But we've had a real nice time, and I'm glad
+you come."</p>
+
+<p>The sun was almost down as I walked slowly away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> When I looked back,
+at the turn of the road, Aunt Jane was standing on the door-step,
+shading her eyes and peering across the level fields. I knew what it
+meant. Beyond the fields was a bit of woodland, and in one corner of
+that you might, if your eyesight was good, discern here and there a
+glimpse of white. It was the old burying-ground of Goshen church; and
+I knew by the strained attitude and intent gaze of the watcher in the
+door that somewhere in the sunlit space between Aunt Jane's door-step
+and the little country graveyard, the souls of the living and the dead
+were keeping a silent tryst.</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2>
+
+<h2>THE NEW ORGAN</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/image_003.jpg" width="600" height="508" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_g.jpg" alt="G" width="71" height="50" /></div>
+<p>ittin' a new organ is a mighty different thing nowadays from what it
+was when I was young," said Aunt Jane judicially, as she lifted a
+panful of yellow harvest apples from the table and began to peel them
+for dumplings.</p>
+
+<p>Potatoes, peas, and asparagus were bubbling on the stove, and the
+dumplings were in honor of the invited guest, who had begged the
+privilege of staying in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> kitchen awhile. Aunt Jane was one of
+those rare housekeepers whose kitchens are more attractive than the
+parlors of other people.</p>
+
+<p>"And gittin' religion is different, too," she continued, propping her
+feet on the round of a chair for the greater comfort and convenience
+of her old knees. "Both of 'em is a heap easier than they used to be,
+and the organs is a heap better. I don't know whether the religion's
+any better or not. You know I went up to my daughter Mary Frances'
+last week, and the folks up there was havin' a big meetin' in the
+Tabernicle, and that's how come me to be thinkin' about organs.</p>
+
+<p>"The preacher was an evangelist, as they call him, Sam Joynes, from
+'way down South. In my day he'd 'a' been called the Rev. Samuel
+Joynes. Folks didn't call their preachers Tom, Dick, and Harry, and
+Jim and Sam, like they do now. I'd like to 'a' seen anybody callin'
+Parson Page 'Lem Page.' He was the Rev. Lemuel Page, and don't you
+forgit it. But things is different, as I said awhile ago, and even the
+little boys says 'Sam Joynes,' jest like he played marbles with 'em
+every day. I went to the Tabernicle three or four times; and of all
+the preachers that ever I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> heard, he certainly is the beatenest. Why,
+I ain't laughed so much since me and Abram went to Barnum's circus,
+the year before the war. He was preachin' one day about cleanliness
+bein' next to godliness, which it certainly is, and he says, 'You old
+skunk, you!' But, la! the worse names he called 'em the better they
+'peared to like it, and sinners was converted wholesale every time he
+preached. But there wasn't no goin' to the mourners' bench and
+mournin' for your sins and havin' people prayin' and cryin' over you.
+They jest set and laughed and grinned while he was gittin' off his
+jokes, and then they'd go up and shake hands with him, and there they
+was all saved and ready to be baptized and taken into the church."</p>
+
+<p>Just here the old yellow rooster fluttered up to the door-step and
+gave a hoarse, ominous crow.</p>
+
+<p>"There, now! You hear that?" said Aunt Jane, as she tossed him a
+golden peeling from her pan. "There's some folks that gives right up
+and looks for sickness or death or bad news every time a rooster crows
+in the door. But I never let such things bother me. The Bible says
+that nobody knows what a day may bring forth, and if I don't know, it
+ain't likely my old yeller rooster does.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What was I talkin' about? Oh, yes&mdash;the big meetin'. Well, I never was
+any hand to say that old ways is best, and I don't say so now. If you
+can convert a man by callin' him a polecat, why, call him one, of
+course. And mournin' ain't always a sign o' true repentance. They used
+to tell how Silas Petty mourned for forty days, and, as Sally Ann
+said, he had about as much religion as old Dan Tucker's Derby ram.</p>
+
+<p>"However, it was the organ I set out to tell about. It's jest like me
+to wander away from the p'int. Abram always said a text would have to
+be made like a postage stamp for me to stick to it. You see, they'd
+jest got a fine new organ at Mary Frances' church, and she was tellin'
+me how they paid for it. One man give five hundred dollars, and
+another give three hundred; then they collected four or five hundred
+amongst the other members, and give a lawn party and a strawberry
+festival and raised another hundred. It set me to thinkin' o' the time
+us women got the organ for Goshen church. It wasn't any light matter,
+for, besides the money it took us nearly three years to raise, there
+was the opposition. Come to think of it, we raised more opposition
+than we did money."</p>
+
+<p>And Aunt Jane laughed a blithe laugh and tossed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> another peeling to
+the yellow rooster, who had dropped the r&ocirc;le of harbinger of evil and
+was posing as a humble suppliant.</p>
+
+<p>"An organ in them days, honey, was jest a wedge to split the church
+half in two. It was the new cyarpet that brought on the organ. You
+know how it is with yourself; you git a new dress, and then you've got
+to have a new bonnet, and then you can't wear your old shoes and
+gloves with a new dress and a new bonnet, and the first thing you know
+you've spent five times as much as you set out to spend. That's the
+way it was with us about the cyarpet and the organ and the pulpit
+chairs and the communion set.</p>
+
+<p>"Most o' the men folks was against the organ from the start, and Silas
+Petty was the foremost. Silas made a p'int of goin' against everything
+that women favored. Sally Ann used to say that if a woman was to come
+up to him and say, 'Le's go to heaven,' Silas would start off towards
+the other place right at once; he was jest that mulish and contrairy.
+He met Sally Ann one day, and says he, 'Jest give you women rope
+enough and you'll turn the house o' the Lord into a reg'lar toy-shop.'
+And Sally Ann she says, 'You'd better go home, Silas, and read the
+book of Exodus. If the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> Lord told Moses how to build the Tabernicle
+with the goats' skins and rams' skins and blue and purple and scarlet
+and fine linen and candlesticks with six branches, I reckon he won't
+object to a few yards o' cyarpetin' and a little organ in Goshen
+church.'</p>
+
+<p>"Sally Ann always had an answer ready, and I used to think she knew
+more about the Bible than Parson Page did himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course Uncle Jim Matthews didn't want the organ; he was afraid it
+might interfere with his singin'. Job Taylor always stood up for
+Silas, so he didn't want it; and Parson Page never opened his mouth
+one way or the other. He was one o' those men that tries to set on
+both sides o' the fence at once, and he'd set that way so long he was
+a mighty good hand at balancin' himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Us women didn't say much, but we made up our minds to have the organ.
+So we went to work in the Mite Society, and in less'n three years we
+had enough money to git it. I've often wondered how many pounds o'
+butter and how many baskets of eggs it took to raise that money. I
+reckon if they'd 'a' been piled up on top of each other they'd 'a'
+reached to the top o' the steeple. The women of Israel brought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> their
+ear-rings and bracelets to help build the Tabernicle, but we had jest
+our egg and butter money, and the second year, when the chicken
+cholery was so bad, our prospects looked mighty blue.</p>
+
+<p>"When I saw that big organ up at Danville, I couldn't help thinkin'
+about the little thing we worked so hard to git. 'Twasn't much
+bigger'n a washstand, and I reckon if I was to hear it now, I'd think
+it was mighty feeble and squeaky. But it sounded fine enough to us in
+them days, and, little as it was, it raised a disturbance for miles
+around.</p>
+
+<p>"When it come down from Louisville, Abram went to town with his
+two-horse wagon and brought it out and set it up in our parlor. My
+Jane had been takin' lessons in town all winter, so's to be able to
+play on it.</p>
+
+<p>"We had a right good choir for them days; the only trouble was that
+everybody wanted to be leader. That's a common failin' with church
+choirs, I've noticed. Milly Amos sung soprano, and my Jane was the
+alto; John Petty sung bass, and young Sam Crawford tenor; and as for
+Uncle Jim Matthews, he sung everything, and a plenty of it, too. Milly
+Amos used to say he was worse'n a flea. He'd start out on the bass,
+and first thing you knew he'd be singin' tenor with Sam<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> Crawford; and
+by the time Sam was good and mad, he'd be off onto the alto or the
+soprano. He was one o' these meddlesome old creeturs that thinks the
+world never moved till they got into it, and they've got to help
+everybody out with whatever they happen to be doin'. You've heard o'
+children bein' born kickin'. Well, Uncle Jim must 'a' been born
+singin'. I've seen people that said they didn't like the idea o' goin'
+to heaven and standin' around a throne and singin' hymns for ever and
+ever; but you couldn't 'a' pleased Uncle Jim better than to set him
+down in jest that sort o' heaven. Wherever there was a chance to get
+in some singin', there you'd be sure to find Uncle Jim. Folks used to
+say he enjoyed a funeral a heap better than he did a weddin', 'cause
+he could sing at the funeral, and he couldn't at the weddin'; and Sam
+Crawford said he believed if Gabriel was to come down and blow his
+trumpet, Uncle Jim would git up and begin to sing.</p>
+
+<p>"It wouldn't 'a' been so bad if he'd had any sort of a voice; but he'd
+been singin' all his life and hollerin' at protracted meetin's ever
+since he got religion, till he'd sung and hollered all the music out
+of his voice, and there wasn't much left but the old creaky machinery.
+It used to make me think of an old rickety<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> house with the blinds
+flappin' in the wind. It mortified us terrible to have any of the
+Methodists or Babtists come to our church. We was sort o' used to the
+old man's capers, but people that wasn't couldn't keep a straight face
+when the singin' begun, and it took more grace than any of us had to
+keep from gittin' mad when we seen people from another church laughin'
+at our choir.</p>
+
+<p>"The Babtists had a powerful protracted meetin' one winter. Uncle Jim
+was there to help with the singin', as a matter of course, and he
+begun to git mightily interested in Babtist doctrines. Used to go home
+with 'em after church and talk about Greek and Hebrew words till the
+clock struck twelve. And one communion Sunday he got up solemn as a
+owl and marched out o' church jest before the bread and wine was
+passed. Made out like he warn't sure he'd been rightly babtized. The
+choir was mightily tickled at the idea o' gittin' shed o' the old
+pest, and Sam Crawford went to him and told him he was on the right
+track and to go ahead, for the Babtists was undoubtedly correct, and
+if it wasn't for displeasin' his father and mother he'd jine 'em
+himself. And then&mdash;Sam never could let well enough alone&mdash;then he went
+to Bush<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> Elrod, the Babtist tenor, and says he, 'I hear you're goin'
+to have a new member in your choir.' And Bush says, 'Well, if the old
+idiot ever jines this church, we'll hold his head under the water so
+long that he won't be able to spile good music agin.' And then he give
+Uncle Jim a hint o' how things was; and when Uncle Jim heard that the
+Presbyterians was anxious to git shed of him, he found out right away
+that all them Greek and Hebrew words meant sprinklin' and infant
+babtism. So he settled down to stay where he was, and hollered
+louder'n ever the next Sunday.</p>
+
+<p>"The old man was a good enough Christian, I reckon; but when it come
+to singin', he was a stumblin'-block and rock of offense to the whole
+church, and especially to the choir. The first thing Sally Ann said
+when she looked at the new organ was, 'Well, Jane, how do you reckon
+it's goin' to sound with Uncle Jim's voice?' and I laughed till I had
+to set down in a cheer.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, when the men folks found out that our organ had come, they
+begun to wake up. Abram had brought it out Tuesday, and Wednesday
+night, as soon as prayer-meetin' broke, Parson Page says, says he:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+'Brethren, there is a little business to be transacted. Please remain
+a few minutes longer.' And then, when we had set down again, he went
+on to say that the sisters had raised money and bought an organ, and
+there was some division of opinion among the brethren about usin' it,
+so he would like to have the matter discussed. He used a lot o' big
+words and talked mighty smooth, and I knew there was trouble ahead for
+us women.</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Jim was the first one to speak. He was so anxious to begin, he
+could hardly wait for Parson Page to stop; and anybody would 'a'
+thought that he'd been up to heaven and talked with the Father and the
+Son and the Holy Ghost and all the angels, to hear him tell about the
+sort o' music there was in heaven, and the sort there ought to be on
+earth. 'Why, brethren,' says he, 'when John saw the heavens opened
+there wasn't no organs up there. God don't keer nothin',' says he,
+'about such new-fangled, worldly instruments. But when a lot o' sweet
+human voices git to praisin' him, why, the very angels stop singin' to
+listen.'</p>
+
+<p>"Milly Amos was right behind me, and she leaned over and says, 'Well,
+if the angels'd rather hear Uncle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> Jim's singin' than our organ,
+they've got mighty pore taste, that's all I've got to say.'</p>
+
+<p>"Silas Petty was the next one to git up, and says he: 'I never was in
+favor o' doin' things half-way, brethren; and if we've got to have the
+organ, why, we might as well have a monkey, too, and be done with it.
+For my part,' says he, 'I want to worship in the good old way my
+fathers and grandfathers worshiped in, and, unless my feelin's change
+very considerable, I shall have to withdraw from this church if any
+such Satan's music-box is set up in this holy place.'</p>
+
+<p>"And Sally Ann turned around and whispered to me, 'We ought to 'a' got
+that organ long ago, Jane.' I like to 'a' laughed right out, and I
+leaned over, and says I, 'Why don't you git up and talk for us, Sally
+Ann?' and she says: 'The spirit ain't moved me, Jane. I reckon it's
+too busy movin' Uncle Jim and Silas Petty.'</p>
+
+<p>"Jest then I looked around, and there was Abram standin' up. Well, you
+could 'a' knocked me over with a feather. Abram always was one o'
+those close-mouthed men. Never spoke if he could git around it any way
+whatever. Parson Page used to git after him every protracted meetin'
+about not leadin' in prayer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> and havin' family worship; but the spirit
+moved him that time sure, and there he was talkin' as glib as old
+Uncle Jim. And says he: 'Brethren, I'm not carin' much one way or
+another about this organ. I don't know how the angels feel about it,
+not havin' so much acquaintance with 'em as Uncle Jim has; but I do
+know enough about women to know that there ain't any use tryin' to
+stop 'em when they git their heads set on a thing, and I'm goin' to
+haul that organ over to-morrow mornin' and set it up for the choir to
+practise by Friday night. If I don't haul it over, Sally Ann and
+Jane'll tote it over between 'em, and if they can't put it into the
+church by the door, they'll hist a window and put it in that way. I
+reckon,' says he, 'I've got all the men against me in this matter, but
+then, I've got all the women on my side, and I reckon all the women
+and one man makes a pretty good majority, and so I'm goin' to haul the
+organ over to-morrow mornin'.'</p>
+
+<p>"I declare I felt real proud of Abram, and I told him so that night
+when we was goin' home together. Then Parson Page he says, 'It seems
+to me there is sound sense in what Brother Parish says, and I suggest
+that we allow the sisters to have their way and give the organ a
+trial; and if we find that it is hurtful to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> interests of the
+church, it will be an easy matter to remove it.' And Milly Amos says
+to me, 'I see 'em gittin' that organ out if we once git it in.'</p>
+
+<p>"When the choir met Friday night, Milly come in all in a flurry, and
+says she: 'I hear Brother Gardner has gone to the 'Sociation down in
+Russellville, and all the Babtists are comin' to our church Sunday;
+and I want to show 'em what good music is this once, anyhow. Uncle Jim
+Matthews is laid up with rheumatism,' says she, 'and if that ain't a
+special providence I never saw one.' And Sam Crawford slapped his
+knee, and says he, 'Well, if the old man's rheumatism jest holds out
+over Sunday, them Babtists'll hear music sure.'</p>
+
+<p>"Then Milly went on to tell that she'd been up to Squire Elrod's, and
+Miss Penelope, the squire's niece from Louisville, had promised to
+sing a voluntary Sunday.</p>
+
+<p>"'Voluntary? What's that?' says Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"'Why,' says Milly, 'it's a hymn that the choir, or somebody in it,
+sings of their own accord, without the preacher givin' it out; just
+like your tomatoes come up in the spring, voluntary, without you
+plantin' the seed. That's the way they do in the city churches,' says
+she, 'and we are goin' to put on city style Sunday.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Then they went to work and practised some new tunes for the hymns
+Parson Page had give 'em, so if Uncle Jim's rheumatism didn't hold
+out, he'd still have to hold his peace.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Sunday come; but special providence was on Uncle Jim's side
+that time, and there he was as smilin' as a basket o' chips if he did
+have to walk with a cane. We'd had the church cleaned up as neat as a
+new pin. My Jane had put a bunch of honeysuckles and pinks on the
+organ, and everybody was dressed in their best. Miss Penelope was
+settin' at the organ with a bunch of roses in her hand, and the
+windows was all open, and you could see the trees wavin' in the wind
+and hear the birds singin' outside. I always did think that was the
+best part o' Sunday&mdash;that time jest before church begins."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane's voice dropped. Her words came slowly; and into the story
+fell one of those "flashes of silence" to which she was as little
+given as the great historian. The pan of dumplings waited for the
+sprinkling of spice and sugar, while she stood motionless, looking
+afar off, though her gaze apparently stopped on the vacant whitewashed
+wall before her. No mind reader's art was needed to tell what scene
+her faded eyes beheld.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> There was the old church, with its battered
+furniture and high pulpit. For one brief moment the grave had yielded
+up its dead, and "the old familiar faces" looked out from every pew.
+We were very near together, Aunt Jane and I; but the breeze that
+fanned her brow was not the breeze I felt as I sat by her kitchen
+window. For her a wind was blowing across the plains of memory; and
+the honeysuckle odor it carried was not from the bush in the yard. It
+came, weighted with dreams, from the blossoms that her Jane had placed
+on the organ twenty-five years ago. A bob-white was calling in the
+meadow across the dusty road, and the echoes of the second bell had
+just died away. She and Abram were side by side in their accustomed
+place, and life lay like a watered garden in the peaceful stillness of
+the time "jest before church begins."</p>
+
+<p>The asparagus on the stove boiled over with a great spluttering, and
+Aunt Jane came back to "the eternal now."</p>
+
+<p>"Sakes alive!" she exclaimed, as she lifted the saucepan; "I must be
+gittin' old, to let things boil over this way while I'm studyin' about
+old times. I declare, I believe I've clean forgot what I was sayin'."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You were at church," I suggested, "and the singing was about to
+begin."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure enough! Well, all at once Miss Penelope laid her hands on the
+keys and begun to play and sing 'Nearer, My God, to Thee.' We'd heard
+that hymn all our lives at church and protracted meetin's and
+prayer-meetin's, but we didn't know how it could sound till Miss
+Penelope sung it all by herself that day with our new organ. I
+ricollect jest how she looked, pretty little thing that she was; and
+sometimes I can hear her voice jest as plain as I hear that robin out
+yonder in the ellum tree. Every word was jest like a bright new piece
+o' silver, and every note was jest like gold; and she was lookin' up
+through the winder at the trees and the sky like she was singin' to
+somebody we couldn't see. We clean forgot about the new organ and the
+Baptists; and I really believe we was feelin' nearer to God than we'd
+ever felt before. When she got through with the first verse, she
+played somethin' soft and sweet and begun again; and right in the
+middle of the first line&mdash;I declare, it's twenty-five years ago, but I
+git mad now when I think about it&mdash;right in the middle of the first
+line Uncle Jim jined in like an old squawkin' jay-bird, and sung like
+he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> tryin' to drown out Miss Penelope and the new organ, too.</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody give a jump when he first started, and he'd got nearly
+through the verse before we took in what was happenin'. Even the
+Babtists jest looked surprised like the rest of us. But when Miss
+Penelope begun the third time and Uncle Jim jined in with his
+hollerin', I saw Bush Elrod grin, and that grin spread all over the
+Babtist crowd in no time. The Presbyterian young folks was gigglin'
+behind their fans, and Bush got to laughin' till he had to git up and
+leave the church. They said he went up the road to Sam Amos' pasture
+and laid down on the ground and rolled over and over and laughed till
+he couldn't laugh any more.</p>
+
+<p>"I was so mad I started to git up, though goodness knows what I could
+'a' done. Abram he grabbed my dress and says, 'Steady, Jane!' jest
+like he was talkin' to the old mare. The thing that made me maddest
+was Silas Petty a-leanin' back in his pew and smilin' as satisfied as
+if he'd seen the salvation of the Lord. I didn't mind the Babtists
+half as much as I did Silas.</p>
+
+<p>"The only person in the church that wasn't the least bit flustered was
+Miss Penelope. She was a Marshall on her mother's side, and I always
+said that nobody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> but a born lady could 'a' acted as she did. She sung
+right on as if everything was goin' exactly right and she'd been
+singin' hymns with Uncle Jim all her life. Two or three times when the
+old man kind o' lagged behind, it looked like she waited for him to
+ketch up, and when she got through and Uncle Jim was lumberin' on the
+last note, she folded her hands and set there lookin' out the winder
+where the sun was shinin' on the silver poplar trees, jest as peaceful
+as a angel, and the rest of us as mad as hornets. Milly Amos set back
+of Uncle Jim, and his red bandanna handkerchief was lyin' over his
+shoulders where he'd been shooin' the flies away. She told me the next
+day it was all she could do to keep from reachin' over and chokin' the
+old man off while Miss Penelope was singin'.</p>
+
+<p>"I said Miss Penelope was the only one that wasn't flustered. I ought
+to 'a' said Miss Penelope and Uncle Jim. The old creetur was jest that
+simple-minded he didn't know he'd done anything out o' the way, and he
+set there lookin' as pleased as a child, and thinkin', I reckon, how
+smart he'd been to help Miss Penelope out with the singin'.</p>
+
+<p>"The rest o' the hymns went off all right, and it did me good to see
+Uncle Jim's face when they struck up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> the new tunes. He tried to jine
+in, but he had to give it up and wait for the doxology.</p>
+
+<p>"Parson Page preached a powerful good sermon, but I don't reckon it
+did some of us much good, we was so put out about Uncle Jim spilin'
+our voluntary.</p>
+
+<p>"After meetin' broke and we was goin' home, me and Abram had to pass
+by Silas Petty's wagon. He was helpin' Maria in, and I don't know what
+she'd been sayin', but he says, 'It's a righteous judgment on you
+women, Maria, for profanin' the Lord's house with that there organ.'
+And, mad as I was, I had to laugh when I thought of old Uncle Jim
+Matthews executin' a judgment of the Lord. Uncle Jim never made more'n
+a half-way livin' at the carpenter's trade, and I reckon if the Lord
+had wanted anybody to help him execute a judgment, Uncle Jim would 'a'
+been the last man he'd 'a' thought of.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course the choir was madder'n ever at Uncle Jim; and when Milly
+Amos had fever that summer, she called Sam to her the day she was at
+her worst, and pulled his head down and whispered as feeble as a baby:
+'Don't let Uncle Jim sing at my funeral, Sam. I'll rise up out of my
+coffin if he does.' And Sam broke out a-laughin' and a-cryin' at the
+same time&mdash;he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> thought a heap o' Milly&mdash;and says he, 'Well, Milly, if
+it'll have that effect, Uncle Jim shall sing at the funeral, sure.'
+And Milly got to laughin', weak as she was, and in a few minutes she
+dropped off to sleep, and when she woke up the fever was gone, and she
+begun to git well from that day. I always believed that laugh was the
+turnin'-p'int. Instead of Uncle Jim singin' at her funeral, she sung
+at Uncle Jim's, and broke down and cried like a child for all the mean
+things she'd said about the pore old creetur's voice."</p>
+
+<p>The asparagus had been transferred to a china dish, and the browned
+butter was ready to pour over it. The potatoes were steaming
+themselves into mealy delicacy, and Aunt Jane peered into the stove
+where the dumplings were taking on a golden brown. Her story-telling
+evidently did not interfere with her culinary skill, and I said so.</p>
+
+<p>"La, child," she replied, dashing a pinch of "seasonin" into the peas,
+"when I git so old I can't do but one thing at a time, I'll try to die
+as soon as possible."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2>
+
+<h2>AUNT JANE'S ALBUM</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/image_004.jpg" width="600" height="426" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div>
+<p>hey were a bizarre mass of color on the sweet spring landscape, those
+patchwork quilts, swaying in a long line under the elms and maples.
+The old orchard made a blossoming background for them, and farther off
+on the horizon rose the beauty of fresh verdure and purple mist on
+those low hills, or "knobs," that are to the heart of the Kentuckian
+as the Alps to the Swiss or the sea to the sailor.</p>
+
+<p>I opened the gate softly and paused for a moment between the
+blossoming lilacs that grew on each side of the path. The fragrance of
+the white and the purple<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> blooms was like a resurrection-call over the
+graves of many a dead spring; and as I stood, shaken with thoughts as
+the flowers are with the winds, Aunt Jane came around from the back of
+the house, her black silk cape fluttering from her shoulders, and a
+calico sunbonnet hiding her features in its cavernous depth. She
+walked briskly to the clothes-line and began patting and smoothing the
+quilts where the breeze had disarranged them.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Jane," I called out, "are you having a fair all by yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>She turned quickly, pushing back the sunbonnet from her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, child," she said, with a happy laugh, "you come pretty nigh
+skeerin' me. No, I ain't havin' any fair; I'm jest givin' my quilts
+their spring airin'. Twice a year I put 'em out in the sun and wind;
+and this mornin' the air smelt so sweet, I thought it was a good
+chance to freshen 'em up for the summer. It's about time to take 'em
+in now."</p>
+
+<p>She began to fold the quilts and lay them over her arm, and I did the
+same. Back and forth we went from the clothes-line to the house, and
+from the house to the clothes-line, until the quilts were safely
+housed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> from the coming dewfall and piled on every available chair in
+the front room. I looked at them in sheer amazement. There seemed to
+be every pattern that the ingenuity of woman could devise and the
+industry of woman put together,&mdash;"four-patches," "nine-patches,"
+"log-cabins," "wild-goose chases," "rising suns," hexagons, diamonds,
+and only Aunt Jane knows what else. As for color, a Sandwich Islander
+would have danced with joy at the sight of those reds, purples,
+yellows, and greens.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you really make all these quilts, Aunt Jane?" I asked
+wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane's eyes sparkled with pride.</p>
+
+<p>"Every stitch of 'em, child," she said, "except the quiltin'. The
+neighbors used to come in and help some with that. I've heard folks
+say that piecin' quilts was nothin' but a waste o' time, but that
+ain't always so. They used to say that Sarah Jane Mitchell would set
+down right after breakfast and piece till it was time to git dinner,
+and then set and piece till she had to git supper, and then piece by
+candle-light till she fell asleep in her cheer.</p>
+
+<p>"I ricollect goin' over there one day, and Sarah Jane was gittin'
+dinner in a big hurry, for Sam had to go to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> town with some cattle,
+and there was a big basket o' quilt pieces in the middle o' the
+kitchen floor, and the house lookin' like a pigpen, and the children
+runnin' around half naked. And Sam he laughed, and says he, 'Aunt
+Jane, if we could wear quilts and eat quilts we'd be the richest
+people in the country.' Sam was the best-natured man that ever was, or
+he couldn't 'a' put up with Sarah Jane's shiftless ways. Hannah
+Crawford said she sent Sarah Jane a bundle o' caliker once by Sam, and
+Sam always declared he lost it. But Uncle Jim Matthews said he was
+ridin' along the road jest behind Sam, and he saw Sam throw it into
+the creek jest as he got on the bridge. I never blamed Sam a bit if he
+did.</p>
+
+<p>"But there never was any time wasted on my quilts, child. I can look
+at every one of 'em with a clear conscience. I did my work faithful;
+and then, when I might 'a' set and held my hands, I'd make a block or
+two o' patchwork, and before long I'd have enough to put together in a
+quilt. I went to piecin' as soon as I was old enough to hold a needle
+and a piece o' cloth, and one o' the first things I can remember was
+settin' on the back door-step sewin' my quilt pieces, and mother
+praisin' my stitches. Nowadays folks don't have to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> sew unless they
+want to, but when I was a child there warn't any sewin'-machines, and
+it was about as needful for folks to know how to sew as it was for 'em
+to know how to eat; and every child that was well raised could hem and
+run and backstitch and gether and overhand by the time she was nine
+years old. Why, I'd pieced four quilts by the time I was nineteen
+years old, and when me and Abram set up housekeepin' I had bedclothes
+enough for three beds.</p>
+
+<p>"I've had a heap o' comfort all my life makin' quilts, and now in my
+old age I wouldn't take a fortune for 'em. Set down here, child, where
+you can see out o' the winder and smell the lilacs, and we'll look at
+'em all. You see, some folks has albums to put folks' pictures in to
+remember 'em by, and some folks has a book and writes down the things
+that happen every day so they won't forgit 'em; but, honey, these
+quilts is my albums and my di'ries, and whenever the weather's bad and
+I can't git out to see folks, I jest spread out my quilts and look at
+'em and study over 'em, and it's jest like goin' back fifty or sixty
+years and livin' my life over agin.</p>
+
+<p>"There ain't nothin' like a piece o' caliker for bringin' back old
+times, child, unless it's a flower or a bunch o'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> thyme or a piece o'
+pennyroy'l&mdash;anything that smells sweet. Why, I can go out yonder in
+the yard and gether a bunch o' that purple lilac and jest shut my eyes
+and see faces I ain't seen for fifty years, and somethin' goes through
+me like a flash o' lightnin', and it seems like I'm young agin jest
+for that minute."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane's hands were stroking lovingly a "nine-patch" that resembled
+the coat of many colors.</p>
+
+<p>"Now this quilt, honey," she said, "I made out o' the pieces o' my
+children's clothes, their little dresses and waists and aprons. Some
+of 'em's dead, and some of 'em's grown and married and a long way off
+from me, further off than the ones that's dead, I sometimes think. But
+when I set down and look at this quilt and think over the pieces, it
+seems like they all come back, and I can see 'em playin' around the
+floors and goin' in and out, and hear 'em cryin' and laughin' and
+callin' me jest like they used to do before they grew up to men and
+women, and before there was any little graves o' mine out in the old
+buryin'-ground over yonder."</p>
+
+<p>Wonderful imagination of motherhood that can bring childhood back from
+the dust of the grave and banish the wrinkles and gray hairs of age
+with no other talisman than a scrap of faded calico!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The old woman's hands were moving tremulously over the surface of the
+quilt as if they touched the golden curls of the little dream children
+who had vanished from her hearth so many years ago. But there were no
+tears either in her eyes or in her voice. I had long noticed that Aunt
+Jane always smiled when she spoke of the people whom the world calls
+"dead," or the things it calls "lost" or "past." These words seemed to
+have for her higher and tenderer meanings than are placed on them by
+the sorrowful heart of humanity.</p>
+
+<p>But the moments were passing, and one could not dwell too long on any
+quilt, however well beloved. Aunt Jane rose briskly, folded up the one
+that lay across her knees, and whisked out another from the huge pile
+in an old splint-bottomed chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a piece o' one o' Sally Ann's purple caliker dresses. Sally
+Ann always thought a heap o' purple caliker. Here's one o' Milly Amos'
+ginghams&mdash;that pink-and-white one. And that piece o' white with the
+rosebuds in it, that's Miss Penelope's. She give it to me the summer
+before she died. Bless her soul! That dress jest matched her face
+exactly. Somehow her and her clothes always looked alike, and her
+voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> matched her face, too. One o' the things I'm lookin' forward
+to, child, is seein' Miss Penelope agin and hearin' her sing. Voices
+and faces is alike; there's some that you can't remember, and there's
+some you can't forgit. I've seen a heap o' people and heard a heap o'
+voices, but Miss Penelope's face was different from all the rest, and
+so was her voice. Why, if she said 'Good mornin'' to you, you'd hear
+that 'Good mornin' all day, and her singin'&mdash;I know there never was
+anything like it in this world. My grandchildren all laugh at me for
+thinkin' so much o' Miss Penelope's singin', but then they never heard
+her, and I have: that's the difference. My grandchild Henrietta was
+down here three or four years ago, and says she, 'Grandma, don't you
+want to go up to Louisville with me and hear Patti sing?' And says I,
+'Patty who, child?' Says I, 'If it was to hear Miss Penelope sing, I'd
+carry these old bones o' mine clear from here to New York. But there
+ain't anybody else I want to hear sing bad enough to go up to
+Louisville or anywhere else. And some o' these days,' says I, <i>'I'm
+goin' to hear Miss Penelope sing.</i>'"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane laughed blithely, and it was impossible not to laugh with
+her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Honey," she said, in the next breath, lowering her voice and laying
+her finger on the rosebud piece, "honey, there's one thing I can't git
+over. Here's a piece o' Miss Penelope's dress, but <i>where's Miss
+Penelope</i>? Ain't it strange that a piece o' caliker'll outlast you and
+me? Don't it look like folks ought 'o hold on to their bodies as long
+as other folks holds on to a piece o' the dresses they used to wear?"</p>
+
+<p>Questions as old as the human heart and its human grief! Here is the
+glove, but where is the hand it held but yesterday? Here the jewel
+that she wore, but where is she?</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Where is the Pompadour now?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>This</i> was the Pompadour's fan!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Strange that such things as gloves, jewels, fans, and dresses can
+outlast a woman's form.</p>
+
+<p>"Behold! I show you a mystery"&mdash;the mystery of mortality. And an eery
+feeling came over me as I entered into the old woman's mood and
+thought of the strong, vital bodies that had clothed themselves in
+those fabrics of purple and pink and white, and that now were dust and
+ashes lying in sad, neglected graves on farm and lonely roadside.
+There lay the quilt on our knees, and the gay scraps of calico seemed
+to mock us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> with their vivid colors. Aunt Jane's cheerful voice called
+me back from the tombs.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a piece o' one o' my dresses," she said; "brown ground with a
+red ring in it. Abram picked it out. And here's another one, that
+light yeller ground with the vine runnin' through it. I never had so
+many caliker dresses that I didn't want one more, for in my day folks
+used to think a caliker dress was good enough to wear anywhere. Abram
+knew my failin', and two or three times a year he'd bring me a dress
+when he come from town. And the dresses he'd pick out always suited me
+better'n the ones I picked."</p>
+
+<p>"I ricollect I finished this quilt the summer before Mary Frances was
+born, and Sally Ann and Milly Amos and Maria Petty come over and give
+me a lift on the quiltin'. Here's Milly's work, here's Sally Ann's,
+and here's Maria's."</p>
+
+<p>I looked, but my inexperienced eye could see no difference in the
+handiwork of the three women. Aunt Jane saw my look of incredulity.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, child," she said, earnestly, "you think I'm foolin' you, but,
+la! there's jest as much difference in folks' sewin' as there is in
+their handwritin'. Milly made a fine stitch, but she couldn't keep on
+the line to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> save her life; Maria never could make a reg'lar stitch,
+some'd be long and some short, and Sally Ann's was reg'lar, but all of
+'em coarse. I can see 'em now stoopin' over the quiltin' frames&mdash;Milly
+talkin' as hard as she sewed, Sally Ann throwin' in a word now and
+then, and Maria never openin' her mouth except to ask for the thread
+or the chalk. I ricollect they come over after dinner, and we got the
+quilt out o' the frames long before sundown, and the next day I begun
+bindin' it, and I got the premium on it that year at the Fair.</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly ever showed a quilt at the Fair that I didn't take the
+premium, but here's one quilt that Sarah Jane Mitchell beat me on."</p>
+
+<p>And Aunt Jane dragged out a ponderous, red-lined affair, the very
+antithesis of the silken, down-filled comfortable that rests so
+lightly on the couch of the modern dame.</p>
+
+<p>"It makes me laugh jest to think o' that time, and how happy Sarah
+Jane was. It was way back yonder in the fifties. I ricollect we had a
+mighty fine Fair that year. The crops was all fine that season, and
+such apples and pears and grapes you never did see. The Floral Hall
+was full o' things, and the whole county<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> turned out to go to the
+Fair. Abram and me got there the first day bright and early, and we
+was walkin' around the amp'itheater and lookin' at the townfolks and
+the sights, and we met Sally Ann. She stopped us, and says she, 'Sarah
+Jane Mitchell's got a quilt in the Floral Hall in competition with
+yours and Milly Amos'.' Says I, 'Is that all the competition there
+is?' And Sally Ann says, 'All that amounts to anything. There's one
+more, but it's about as bad a piece o' sewin' as Sarah Jane's, and
+that looks like it'd hardly hold together till the Fair's over. And,'
+says she, 'I don't believe there'll be any more. It looks like this
+was an off year on that particular kind o' quilt. I didn't get mine
+done,' says she, 'and neither did Maria Petty, and maybe it's a good
+thing after all.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I saw in a minute what Sally Ann was aimin' at. And I says to
+Abram, 'Abram, haven't you got somethin' to do with app'intin' the
+judges for the women's things?' And he says, 'Yes.' And I says, 'Well,
+you see to it that Sally Ann gits app'inted to help judge the caliker
+quilts.' And bless your soul, Abram got me and Sally Ann both
+app'inted. The other judge was Mis' Doctor Brigham, one o' the town
+ladies. We told her all about what we wanted to do,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> and she jest
+laughed and says, 'Well, if that ain't the kindest, nicest thing! Of
+course we'll do it.'</p>
+
+<p>"Seein' that I had a quilt there, I hadn't a bit o' business bein' a
+judge; but the first thing I did was to fold my quilt up and hide it
+under Maria Petty's big worsted quilt, and then we pinned the blue
+ribbon on Sarah Jane's and the red on Milly's. I'd fixed it all up
+with Milly, and she was jest as willin' as I was for Sarah Jane to
+have the premium. There was jest one thing I was afraid of: Milly was
+a good-hearted woman, but she never had much control over her tongue.
+And I says to her, says I: 'Milly, it's mighty good of you to give up
+your chance for the premium, but if Sarah Jane ever finds it out,
+that'll spoil everything. For,' says I, 'there ain't any kindness in
+doin' a person a favor and then tellin' everybody about it.' And Milly
+laughed, and says she: 'I know what you mean, Aunt Jane. It's mighty
+hard for me to keep from tellin' everything I know and some things I
+don't know, but,' says she, 'I'm never goin' to tell this, even to
+Sam.' And she kept her word, too. Every once in a while she'd come up
+to me and whisper, 'I ain't told it yet, Aunt Jane,' jest to see me
+laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"As soon as the doors was open, after we'd all got<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> through judgin'
+and puttin' on the ribbons, Milly went and hunted Sarah Jane up and
+told her that her quilt had the blue ribbon. They said the pore thing
+like to 'a' fainted for joy. She turned right white, and had to lean
+up against the post for a while before she could git to the Floral
+Hall. I never shall forgit her face. It was worth a dozen premiums to
+me, and Milly, too. She jest stood lookin' at that quilt and the blue
+ribbon on it, and her eyes was full o' tears and her lips quiverin',
+and then she started off and brought the children in to look at
+'Mammy's quilt.' She met Sam on the way out, and says she: 'Sam, what
+do you reckon? My quilt took the premium.' And I believe in my soul
+Sam was as much pleased as Sarah Jane. He came saunterin' up, tryin'
+to look unconcerned, but anybody could see he was mighty well
+satisfied. It does a husband and wife a heap o' good to be proud of
+each other, and I reckon that was the first time Sam ever had cause to
+be proud o' pore Sarah Jane. It's my belief that he thought more o'
+Sarah Jane all the rest o' her life jest on account o' that premium.
+Me and Sally Ann helped her pick it out. She had her choice betwixt a
+butter-dish and a cup, and she took the cup. Folks used to laugh and
+say that that cup<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> was the only thing in Sarah Jane's house that was
+kept clean and bright, and if it hadn't 'a' been solid silver, she'd
+'a' wore it all out rubbin' it up. Sarah Jane died o' pneumonia about
+three or four years after that, and the folks that nursed her said she
+wouldn't take a drink o' water or a dose o' medicine out o' any cup
+but that. There's some folks, child, that don't have to do anything
+but walk along and hold out their hands, and the premiums jest
+naturally fall into 'em; and there's others that work and strive the
+best they know how, and nothin' ever seems to come to 'em; and I
+reckon nobody but the Lord and Sarah Jane knows how much happiness she
+got out o' that cup. I'm thankful she had that much pleasure before
+she died."</p>
+
+<p>There was a quilt hanging over the foot of the bed that had about it a
+certain air of distinction. It was a solid mass of patchwork, composed
+of squares, parallelograms, and hexagons. The squares were of dark
+gray and red-brown, the hexagons were white, the parallelograms black
+and light gray. I felt sure that it had a history that set it apart
+from its ordinary fellows.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you get the pattern, Aunt Jane?" I asked. "I never saw
+anything like it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The old lady's eyes sparkled, and she laughed with pure pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"That's what everybody says," she exclaimed, jumping up and spreading
+the favored quilt over two laden chairs, where its merits became more
+apparent and striking. "There ain't another quilt like this in the
+State o' Kentucky, or the world, for that matter. My granddaughter
+Henrietta, Mary Frances' youngest child, brought me this pattern <i>from
+Europe</i>."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke the words as one might say, "from Paradise," or "from
+Olympus," or "from the Lost Atlantis." "Europe" was evidently a name
+to conjure with, a country of mystery and romance unspeakable. I had
+seen many things from many lands beyond the sea, but a quilt pattern
+from Europe! Here at last was something new under the sun. In what
+shop of London or Paris were quilt patterns kept on sale for the
+American tourist?</p>
+
+<p>"You see," said Aunt Jane, "Henrietta married a mighty rich man, and
+jest as good as he's rich, too, and they went to Europe on their
+bridal trip. When she come home she brought me the prettiest shawl you
+ever saw. She made me stand up and shut my eyes, and she put it on my
+shoulders and made me look in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> the lookin'-glass, and then she says,
+'I brought you a new quilt pattern, too, grandma, and I want you to
+piece one quilt by it and leave it to me when you die.' And then she
+told me about goin' to a town over yonder they call Florence, and how
+she went into a big church that was built hundreds o' years before I
+was born. And she said the floor was made o' little pieces o' colored
+stone, all laid together in a pattern, and they called it mosaic. And
+says I, 'Honey, has it got anything to do with Moses and his law?' You
+know the Commandments was called the Mosaic Law, and was all on tables
+o' stone. And Henrietta jest laughed, and says she: 'No, grandma; I
+don't believe it has. But,' says she, 'the minute I stepped on that
+pavement I thought about you, and I drew this pattern off on a piece
+o' paper and brought it all the way to Kentucky for you to make a
+quilt by.' Henrietta bought the worsted for me, for she said it had to
+be jest the colors o' that pavement over yonder, and I made it that
+very winter."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane was regarding the quilt with worshipful eyes, and it really
+was an effective combination of color and form.</p>
+
+<p>"Many a time while I was piecin' that," she said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> "I thought about
+the man that laid the pavement in that old church, and wondered what
+his name was, and how he looked, and what he'd think if he knew there
+was a old woman down here in Kentucky usin' his patterns to make a
+bedquilt."</p>
+
+<p>It was indeed a far cry from the Florentine artisan of centuries ago
+to this humble worker in calico and worsted, but between the two
+stretched a cord of sympathy that made them one&mdash;the eternal
+aspiration after beauty.</p>
+
+<p>"Honey," said Aunt Jane, suddenly, "did I ever show you my premiums?"</p>
+
+<p>And then, with pleasant excitement in her manner, she arose, fumbled
+in her deep pocket for an ancient bunch of keys, and unlocked a
+cupboard on one side of the fireplace. One by one she drew them out,
+unrolled the soft yellow tissue-paper that enfolded them, and ranged
+them in a stately line on the old cherry center-table&mdash;nineteen
+sterling silver cups and goblets. "Abram took some of 'em on his fine
+stock, and I took some of 'em on my quilts and salt-risin' bread and
+cakes," she said, impressively.</p>
+
+<p>To the artist his medals, to the soldier his cross of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> the Legion of
+Honor, and to Aunt Jane her silver cups. All the triumph of a humble
+life was symbolized in these shining things. They were simple and
+genuine as the days in which they were made. A few of them boasted a
+beaded edge or a golden lining, but no engraving or embossing marred
+their silver purity. On the bottom of each was the stamp: "John B.
+Akin, Danville, Ky." There they stood,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Filled to the brim with precious memories,"&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>memories of the time when she and Abram had worked together in field
+or garden or home, and the County Fair brought to all a yearly
+opportunity to stand on the height of achievement and know somewhat
+the taste of Fame's enchanted cup.</p>
+
+<p>"There's one for every child and every grandchild," she said, quietly,
+as she began wrapping them in the silky paper, and storing them
+carefully away in the cupboard, there to rest until the day when
+children and grandchildren would claim their own, and the treasures of
+the dead would come forth from the darkness to stand as heirlooms on
+fashionable sideboards and damask-covered tables.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever think, child," she said, presently,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> "how much piecin' a
+quilt's like livin' a life? And as for sermons, why, they ain't no
+better sermon to me than a patchwork quilt, and the doctrines is right
+there a heap plainer'n they are in the catechism. Many a time I've set
+and listened to Parson Page preachin' about predestination and
+free-will, and I've said to myself, 'Well, I ain't never been through
+Centre College up at Danville, but if I could jest git up in the
+pulpit with one of my quilts, I could make it a heap plainer to folks
+than parson's makin' it with all his big words.' You see, you start
+out with jest so much caliker; you don't go to the store and pick it
+out and buy it, but the neighbors will give you a piece here and a
+piece there, and you'll have a piece left every time you cut out a
+dress, and you take jest what happens to come. And that's like
+predestination. But when it comes to the cuttin' out, why, you're free
+to choose your own pattern. You can give the same kind o' pieces to
+two persons, and one'll make a 'nine-patch' and one'll make a
+'wild-goose chase,' and there'll be two quilts made out o' the same
+kind o' pieces, and jest as different as they can be. And that is jest
+the way with livin'. The Lord sends us the pieces, but we can cut 'em
+out and put 'em together pretty much to suit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> ourselves, and there's a
+heap more in the cuttin' out and the sewin' than there is in the
+caliker. The same sort o' things comes into all lives, jest as the
+Apostle says, 'There hath no trouble taken you but is common to all
+men.'</p>
+
+<p>"The same trouble'll come into two people's lives, and one'll take it
+and make one thing out of it, and the other'll make somethin' entirely
+different. There was Mary Harris and Mandy Crawford. They both lost
+their husbands the same year; and Mandy set down and cried and worried
+and wondered what on earth she was goin' to do, and the farm went to
+wrack and the children turned out bad, and she had to live with her
+son-in-law in her old age. But Mary, she got up and went to work, and
+made everybody about her work, too; and she managed the farm better'n
+it ever had been managed before, and the boys all come up steady,
+hard-workin' men, and there wasn't a woman in the county better fixed
+up than Mary Harris. Things is predestined to come to us, honey, but
+we're jest as free as air to make what we please out of 'em. And when
+it comes to puttin' the pieces together, there's another time when
+we're free. You don't trust to luck for the caliker to put your quilt
+together with; you go to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> store and pick it out yourself, any
+color you like. There's folks that always looks on the bright side and
+makes the best of everything, and that's like puttin' your quilt
+together with blue or pink or white or some other pretty color; and
+there's folks that never see anything but the dark side, and always
+lookin' for trouble, and treasurin' it up after they git it, and
+they're puttin' their lives together with black, jest like you would
+put a quilt together with some dark, ugly color. You can spoil the
+prettiest quilt pieces that ever was made jest by puttin' 'em together
+with the wrong color, and the best sort o' life is miserable if you
+don't look at things right and think about 'em right.</p>
+
+<p>"Then there's another thing. I've seen folks piece and piece, but when
+it come to puttin' the blocks together and quiltin' and linin' it,
+they'd give out; and that's like folks that do a little here and a
+little there, but their lives ain't of much use after all, any more'n
+a lot o' loose pieces o' patchwork. And then while you're livin' your
+life, it looks pretty much like a jumble o' quilt pieces before
+they're put together; but when you git through with it, or pretty nigh
+through, as I am now, you'll see the use and the purpose of everything
+in it. Everything'll be in its right place jest like the squares<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> in
+this 'four-patch,' and one piece may be pretty and another one ugly,
+but it all looks right when you see it finished and joined together."</p>
+
+<p>Did I say that every pattern was represented? No, there was one
+notable omission. Not a single "crazy quilt" was there in the
+collection. I called Aunt Jane's attention to this lack.</p>
+
+<p>"Child," she said, "I used to say there wasn't anything I couldn't do
+if I made up my mind to it. But I hadn't seen a 'crazy quilt' then.
+The first one I ever seen was up at Danville at Mary Frances', and
+Henrietta says, 'Now, grandma, you've got to make a crazy quilt;
+you've made every other sort that ever was heard of.' And she brought
+me the pieces and showed me how to baste 'em on the square, and said
+she'd work the fancy stitches around 'em for me. Well, I set there all
+the mornin' tryin' to fix up that square, and the more I tried, the
+uglier and crookeder the thing looked. And finally I says: 'Here,
+child, take your pieces. If I was to make this the way you want me to,
+they'd be a crazy quilt and a crazy woman, too.'"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane was laying the folded quilts in neat piles here and there
+about the room. There was a look of unspeakable satisfaction on her
+face&mdash;the look of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> creator who sees his completed work and
+pronounces it good.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been a hard worker all my life," she said, seating herself and
+folding her hands restfully, "but 'most all my work has been the kind
+that 'perishes with the usin',' as the Bible says. That's the
+discouragin' thing about a woman's work. Milly Amos used to say that
+if a woman was to see all the dishes that she had to wash before she
+died, piled up before her in one pile, she'd lie down and die right
+then and there. I've always had the name o' bein' a good housekeeper,
+but when I'm dead and gone there ain't anybody goin' to think o' the
+floors I've swept, and the tables I've scrubbed, and the old clothes
+I've patched, and the stockin's I've darned. Abram might 'a'
+remembered it, but he ain't here. But when one o' my grandchildren or
+great-grandchildren sees one o' these quilts, they'll think about Aunt
+Jane, and, wherever I am then, I'll know I ain't forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon everybody wants to leave somethin' behind that'll last after
+they're dead and gone. It don't look like it's worth while to live
+unless you can do that. The Bible says folks 'rest from their labors,
+and their works do follow them,' but that ain't so. They go, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+maybe they do rest, but their works stay right here, unless they're
+the sort that don't outlast the usin'. Now, some folks has money to
+build monuments with&mdash;great, tall, marble pillars, with angels on top
+of 'em, like you see in Cave Hill and them big city buryin'-grounds.
+And some folks can build churches and schools and hospitals to keep
+folks in mind of 'em, but all the work I've got to leave behind me is
+jest these quilts, and sometimes, when I'm settin' here, workin' with
+my caliker and gingham pieces, I'll finish off a block, and I laugh
+and say to myself, 'Well, here's another stone for the monument.'</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon you think, child, that a caliker or a worsted quilt is a
+curious sort of a monument&mdash;'bout as perishable as the sweepin' and
+scrubbin' and mendin'. But if folks values things rightly, and knows
+how to take care of 'em, there ain't many things that'll last longer'n
+a quilt. Why, I've got a blue and white counterpane that my mother's
+mother spun and wove, and there ain't a sign o' givin' out in it yet.
+I'm goin' to will that to my granddaughter that lives in Danville,
+Mary Frances' oldest child. She was down here last summer, and I was
+lookin' over my things and packin' 'em away, and she happened to see
+that counterpane,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> and says she, 'Grandma, I want you to will me
+that.' And says I: 'What do you want with that old thing, honey? You
+know you wouldn't sleep under such a counterpane as that.' And says
+she, 'No, but I'd hang it up over my parlor door for a&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Porti&egrave;re?" I suggested, as Aunt Jane hesitated for the unaccustomed
+word.</p>
+
+<p>"That's it, child. Somehow I can't ricollect these new-fangled words,
+any more'n I can understand these new-fangled ways. Who'd ever 'a'
+thought that folks'd go to stringin' up bed-coverin's in their doors?
+And says I to Janie, 'You can hang your great-grandmother's
+counterpane up in your parlor door if you want to, but,' says I,
+'don't you ever make a door-curtain out o' one o' my quilts.' But la!
+the way things turn around, if I was to come back fifty years from
+now, like as not I'd find 'em usin' my quilts for window-curtains or
+door-mats."</p>
+
+<p>We both laughed, and there rose in my mind a picture of a
+twentieth-century house decorated with Aunt Jane's "nine-patches" and
+"rising suns." How could the dear old woman know that the same
+esthetic sense that had drawn from their obscurity the white and blue
+counterpanes of colonial days would forever protect her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> loved quilts
+from such a desecration as she feared? As she lifted a pair of quilts
+from a chair near by, I caught sight of a pure white spread in
+striking contrast with the many-hued patchwork.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you get that Marseilles spread, Aunt Jane?" I asked,
+pointing to it. Aunt Jane lifted it and laid it on my lap without a
+word. Evidently she thought that here was something that could speak
+for itself. It was two layers of snowy cotton cloth thinly lined with
+cotton, and elaborately quilted into a perfect imitation of a
+Marseilles counterpane. The pattern was a tracery of roses, buds, and
+leaves, very much conventionalized, but still recognizable for the
+things they were. The stitches were fairylike, and altogether it might
+have covered the bed of a queen.</p>
+
+<p>"I made every stitch o' that spread the year before me and Abram was
+married," she said. "I put it on my bed when we went to housekeepin';
+it was on the bed when Abram died, and when I die I want 'em to cover
+me with it." There was a life-history in the simple words. I thought
+of Desdemona and her bridal sheets, and I did not offer to help Aunt
+Jane as she folded this quilt.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon you think," she resumed presently, "that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> I'm a mean, stingy
+old creetur not to give Janie the counterpane now, instead o' hoardin'
+it up, and all these quilts too, and keepin' folks waitin' for 'em
+till I die. But, honey, it ain't all selfishness. I'd give away my
+best dress or my best bonnet or an acre o' ground to anybody that
+needed 'em more'n I did; but these quilts&mdash;Why, it looks like my whole
+life was sewed up in 'em, and I ain't goin' to part with 'em while
+life lasts."</p>
+
+<p>There was a ring of passionate eagerness in the old voice, and she
+fell to putting away her treasures as if the suggestion of losing them
+had made her fearful of their safety.</p>
+
+<p>I looked again at the heap of quilts. An hour ago they had been
+patchwork, and nothing more. But now! The old woman's words had
+wrought a transformation in the homely mass of calico and silk and
+worsted. Patchwork? Ah, no! It was memory, imagination, history,
+biography, joy, sorrow, philosophy, religion, romance, realism, life,
+love, and death; and over all, like a halo, the love of the artist for
+his work and the soul's longing for earthly immortality.</p>
+
+<p>No wonder the wrinkled fingers smoothed them as reverently as we
+handle the garments of the dead.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2>
+
+<h2>"SWEET DAY OF REST"</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/image_005.jpg" width="600" height="383" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="37" height="50" /></div>
+<p>&nbsp;walked slowly down the "big road" that Sunday afternoon&mdash;slowly, as
+befitted the scene and the season; for who would hurry over the path
+that summer has prepared for the feet of earth's tired pilgrims? It
+was the middle of June, and Nature lay a vision of beauty in her
+vesture of flowers, leaves, and blossoming grasses. The sandy road was
+a pleasant walking-place; and if one tired of that, the short, thick<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+grass on either side held a fairy path fragrant with pennyroyal, that
+most virtuous of herbs. A tall hedge of Osage orange bordered each
+side of the road, shading the traveler from the heat of the sun, and
+furnishing a nesting-place for numberless small birds that twittered
+and chirped their joy in life and love and June. Occasionally a gap in
+the foliage revealed the placid beauty of corn, oats, and clover,
+stretching in broad expanse to the distant purple woods, with here and
+there a field of the cloth of gold&mdash;the fast-ripening wheat that
+waited the hand of the mower. Not only is it the traveler's manifest
+duty to walk slowly in the midst of such surroundings, but he will do
+well if now and then he sits down and dreams.</p>
+
+<p>As I made the turn in the road and drew near Aunt Jane's house, I
+heard her voice, a high, sweet, quavering treble, like the notes of an
+ancient harpsichord. She was singing a hymn that suited the day and
+the hour:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Welcome, sweet day of rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That saw the Lord arise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Welcome to this reviving breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And these rejoicing eyes."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Mingling with the song I could hear the creak of her old
+splint-bottomed chair as she rocked gently to and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> fro. Song and creak
+ceased at once when she caught sight of me, and before I had opened
+the gate she was hospitably placing another chair on the porch and
+smiling a welcome.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in, child, and set down," she exclaimed, moving the rocker so
+that I might have a good view of the bit of landscape that she knew I
+loved to look at.</p>
+
+<p>"Pennyroy'l! Now, child, how did you know I love to smell that?" She
+crushed the bunch in her withered hands, buried her face in it and sat
+for a moment with closed eyes. "Lord! Lord!" she exclaimed, with
+deep-drawn breath, "if I could jest tell how that makes me feel! I
+been smellin' pennyroy'l all my life, and now, when I get hold of a
+piece of it, sometimes it makes me feel like a little child, and then
+again it brings up the time when I was a gyirl, and if I was to keep
+on settin' here and rubbin' this pennyroy'l in my hands, I believe my
+whole life'd come back to me. Honey-suckles and pinks and roses ain't
+any sweeter to me. Me and old Uncle Harvey Dean was jest alike about
+pennyroy'l. Many a time I've seen Uncle Harvey searchin' around in the
+fence corners in the early part o' May to see if the pennyroy'l was up
+yet, and in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> pennyroy'l time you never saw the old man that he didn't
+have a bunch of it somewheres about him. Aunt Maria Dean used to say
+there was dried pennyroy'l in every pocket of his coat, and he used to
+put a big bunch of it on his piller at night. Sundays it looked like
+Uncle Harvey couldn't enjoy the preachin' and the singin' unless he
+had a sprig of it in his hand, and I ricollect once seein' him git up
+durin' the first prayer and tiptoe out o' church and come back with a
+handful o' pennyroy'l that he'd gethered across the road, and he'd set
+and smell it and look as pleased as a child with a piece o' candy."</p>
+
+<p>"Piercing sweet" the breath of the crushed wayside herb rose on the
+air. I had a distinct vision of Uncle Harvey Dean, and wondered if the
+fields of asphodel might not yield him some small harvest of his
+much-loved earthly plant, or if he might not be drawn earthward in
+"pennyroy'l time."</p>
+
+<p>"I was jest settin' here restin'," resumed Aunt Jane, "and thinkin'
+about Milly Amos. I reckon you heard me singin' fit to scare the crows
+as you come along. We used to call that Milly Amos' hymn, and I never
+can hear it without thinkin' o' Milly."</p>
+
+<p>"Why was it Milly Amos' hymn?" I asked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane laughed blithely.</p>
+
+<p>"La, child!" she said, "don't you ever git tired o' my yarns? Here it
+is Sunday, and you tryin' to git me started talkin'; and when I git
+started you know there ain't any tellin' when I'll stop. Come on and
+le's look at the gyarden; that's more fittin' for Sunday evenin' than
+tellin' yarns."</p>
+
+<p>So together we went into the garden and marveled happily over the
+growth of the tasseling corn, the extraordinarily long runners on the
+young strawberry plants, the size of the green tomatoes, and all the
+rest of the miracles that sunshine and rain had wrought since my last
+visit.</p>
+
+<p>The first man and the first woman were gardeners, and there is
+something wrong in any descendant of theirs who does not love a
+garden. He is lacking in a primal instinct. But Aunt Jane was in this
+respect a true daughter of Eve, a faithful co-worker with the
+sunshine, the winds, the rain, and all other forces of nature.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you reckon folks'd do," she inquired, "if it wasn't for
+plantin'-time and growin'-time and harvest-time? I've heard folks say
+they was tired o' livin', but as long as there's a gyarden to be
+planted and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> looked after there's somethin' to live for. And unless
+there's gyardens in heaven I'm pretty certain I ain't goin' to be
+satisfied there."</p>
+
+<p>But the charms of the garden could not divert me from the main theme,
+and when we were seated again on the front porch I returned to Milly
+Amos and her hymn.</p>
+
+<p>"You know," I said, "that there isn't any more harm in talking about a
+thing on Sunday than there is in thinking about it." And Aunt Jane
+yielded to the force of my logic.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon you've heard me tell many a time about our choir," she
+began, smoothing out her black silk apron with fingers that evidently
+felt the need of knitting or some other form of familiar work. "John
+Petty was the bass, Sam Crawford the tenor, my Jane was the alto, and
+Milly Amos sung soprano. I reckon Milly might 'a' been called the
+leader of the choir; she was the sort o' woman that generally leads
+wherever she happens to be, and she had the strongest, finest voice in
+the whole congregation. All the parts appeared to depend on her, and
+it seemed like her voice jest carried the rest o' the voices along
+like one big river that takes up all the little rivers and carries 'em
+down to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> ocean. I used to think about the difference between her
+voice and Miss Penelope's. Milly's was jest as clear and true as Miss
+Penelope's, and four or five times as strong, but I'd ruther hear one
+note o' Miss Penelope's than a whole song o' Milly's. Milly's was jest
+a voice, and Miss Penelope's was a voice and somethin' else besides,
+but what that somethin' was I never could say. However, Milly was the
+very one for a choir; she kind o' kept 'em all together and led 'em
+along, and we was mighty proud of our choir in them days. We always
+had a voluntary after we got our new organ, and I used to look forward
+to Sunday on account o' that voluntary. It used to sound so pretty to
+hear 'em begin singin' when everything was still and solemn, and I can
+never forgit the hymns they sung then&mdash;Sam and Milly and John and my
+Jane.</p>
+
+<p>"But there was one Sunday when Milly didn't sing. Her and Sam come in
+late, and I knew the minute I set eyes on Milly that somethin' was the
+matter. Generally she was smilin' and bowin' to people all around, but
+this time she walked in and set the children down, and then set down
+herself without even lookin' at anybody, to say nothin' o' smilin' or
+speakin'. Well, when half-past ten come, my Jane began to play
+'Welcome,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> sweet day of rest,' and all of 'em begun singin' except
+Milly. She set there with her mouth tight shut, and let the bass and
+tenor and alto have it all their own way. I thought maybe she was out
+o' breath from comin' in late and in a hurry, and I looked for her to
+jine in, but she jest set there, lookin' straight ahead of her; and
+when Sam passed her a hymn-book, she took hold of it and shut it up
+and let it drop in her lap. And there was the tenor and the bass and
+the alto doin' their best, and everybody laughin', or tryin' to keep
+from laughin'. I reckon if Uncle Jim Matthews had 'a' been there, he'd
+'a' took Milly's place and helped 'em out, but Uncle Jim'd been in his
+grave more'n two years. Sam looked like he'd go through the floor, he
+was so mortified, and he kept lookin' around at Milly as much as to
+say, 'Why don't you sing? Please sing, Milly,' but Milly never opened
+her mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd about concluded Milly must have the sore throat or somethin' like
+that, but when the first hymn was give out, Milly started in and sung
+as loud as anybody; and when the doxology come around, Milly was on
+hand again, and everybody was settin' there wonderin' why on earth
+Milly hadn't sung in the voluntary. When church was out, I heard Sam
+invitin' Brother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> Hendricks to go home and take dinner with
+him&mdash;Brother Hendricks'd preached for us that day&mdash;and they all drove
+off together before I'd had time to speak to Milly.</p>
+
+<p>"But that week, when the Mite Society met, Milly was there bright and
+early; and when we'd all got fairly started with our sewin', and
+everybody was in a good-humor, Sally Ann says, says she: 'Milly, I
+want to know why you didn't sing in that voluntary Sunday. I reckon
+everybody here wants to know,' says she, 'but nobody but me's got the
+courage to ask you.'</p>
+
+<p>"And Milly's face got as red as a beet, and she burst out laughin',
+and says she: 'I declare, I'm ashamed to tell you all. I reckon Satan
+himself must 'a' been in me last Sunday. You know,' says she,'there's
+some days when everything goes wrong with a woman, and last Sunday was
+one o' them days. I got up early,' says she, 'and dressed the children
+and fed my chickens and strained the milk and washed up the milk
+things and got breakfast and washed the dishes and cleaned up the
+house and gethered the vegetables for dinner and washed the children's
+hands and faces and put their Sunday clothes on 'em, and jest as I was
+startin' to git myself ready for church,' says she, 'I happened to
+think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> that I hadn't skimmed the milk for the next day's churnin'. So
+I went down to the spring-house and did the skimmin', and jest as I
+picked up the cream-jar to put it up on that shelf Sam built for me,
+my foot slipped,' says she, 'and down I come and skinned my elbow on
+the rock step, and broke the jar all to smash and spilled the cream
+all over creation, and there I was&mdash;four pounds o' butter and a
+fifty-cent jar gone, and my spring-house in such a mess that I ain't
+through cleanin' it yet, and my right arm as stiff as a poker ever
+since.'</p>
+
+<p>"We all had to laugh at the way Milly told it; and Sally Ann says,
+'Well, that was enough to make a saint mad.' 'Yes,' says Milly, 'and
+you all know I'm far from bein' a saint. However,' says she, 'I picked
+up the pieces and washed up the worst o' the cream, and then I went to
+the house to git myself ready for church, and before I could git
+there, I heard Sam hollerin' for me to come and sew a button on his
+shirt; one of 'em had come off while he was tryin' to button it. And
+when I got out my work-basket, the children had been playin' with it,
+and there wasn't a needle in it, and my thimble was gone, and I had to
+hunt up the apron I was makin' for little Sam and git a needle off
+that, and I run<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> the needle into my finger, not havin' any thimble,
+and got a blood spot on the bosom o' the shirt. Then,' says she,
+'before I could git my dress over my head, here come little Sam with
+his clothes all dirty where he'd fell down in the mud, and there I had
+him to dress again, and that made me madder still; and then, when I
+finally got out to the wagon,' says she, 'I rubbed my clean dress
+against the wheel, and that made me mad again; and the nearer we got
+to the church, the madder I was; and now,' says she, 'do you reckon
+after all I'd been through that mornin', and dinner ahead of me to
+git, and the children to look after all the evenin', do you reckon
+that I felt like settin' up there and singin' "Welcome, sweet day o'
+rest"?' Says she, 'I ain't seen any day o' rest since the day I
+married Sam, and I don't expect to see any till the day I die; and if
+Parson Page wants that hymn sung, let him git up a choir of old maids
+and old bachelors, for they're the only people that ever see any rest
+Sunday or any other day.'</p>
+
+<p>"We all laughed, and said we didn't blame Milly a bit for not singin'
+that hymn; and then Milly said: 'I reckon I might as well tell you all
+the whole story. By the time church was over,' says she, 'I'd kind o'
+cooled off, but when I heard Sam askin' Brother Hendricks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> to go home
+and take dinner with him, that made me mad again; for I knew that
+meant a big dinner for me to cook, and I made up my mind then and
+there that I wouldn't cook a blessed thing, company or no company.
+Sam'd killed chickens the night before,' says she, 'and they was all
+dressed and ready, down in the spring-house; and the vegetables was
+right there on the back porch, but I never touched 'em,' says she. 'I
+happened to have some cold ham and cold mutton on hand&mdash;not much of
+either one&mdash;and I sliced 'em and put the ham in one end o' the big
+meat-dish and the mutton in the other, with a big bare place between,
+so's everybody could see that there wasn't enough of either one to go
+'round; and then,' says she, 'I sliced up a loaf o' my salt-risin'
+bread and got out a bowl o' honey and a dish o' damson preserves, and
+then I went out on the porch and told Sam that dinner was ready.'</p>
+
+<p>"I never shall forgit how we all laughed when Milly was tellin' it.
+'You know, Aunt Jane,' says she, 'how quick a man gits up when you
+tell him dinner's ready. Well, Sam he jumps up, and says he, "Why,
+you're mighty smart to-day, Milly; I don't believe there's another
+woman in the county that could git a Sunday<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> dinner this quick." And
+says he, "Walk out, Brother Hendricks, walk right out."'"</p>
+
+<p>Here Aunt Jane paused to laugh again at the long-past scene that her
+words called up.</p>
+
+<p>"Milly used to say that Sam's face changed quicker'n a flash o'
+lightnin' when he saw the table, and he dropped down in his cheer and
+forgot to ask Brother Hendricks to say grace. 'Why, Milly,' says he,
+'where's the dinner? Where's them chickens I killed last night, and
+the potatoes and corn and butter-beans?' And Milly jest looked him
+square in the face, and says she, 'The chickens are in the
+spring-house and the vegetables out on the back porch, and,' says she,
+'do you suppose I'm goin' to cook a hot dinner for you all on this
+"sweet day o' rest"?'"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane stopped again to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"That wasn't a polite way for anybody to talk at their own table," she
+resumed, "and some of us asked Milly what Brother Hendricks said. And
+Milly's face got as red as a beet again, and she says: 'Why, he
+behaved so nice, he made me feel right ashamed o' myself for actin' so
+mean. He jest reached over and helped himself to everything he could
+reach, and says he, "This dinner may not suit you, Brother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> Amos, but
+it's plenty good for me, and jest the kind I'm used to at home." Says
+he, "I'd rather eat a cold dinner any time than have a woman toilin'
+over a hot stove for me."' And when he said that, Milly up and told
+him why it was she didn't feel like gittin' a hot dinner, and why she
+didn't sing in the voluntary; and when she'd got through, he says,
+'Well, Sister Amos, if I'd been through all you have this mornin' and
+then had to git up and give out such a hymn as "Welcome, sweet day o'
+rest," I believe I'd be mad enough to pitch the hymn-book and the
+Bible at the deacons and the elders.' And then he turns around to Sam,
+and says he, 'Did you ever think, Brother Amos, that there ain't a
+pleasure men enjoy that women don't have to suffer for it?' And Milly
+said that made her feel meaner'n ever; and when supper-time come, she
+lit the fire and got the best hot supper she could&mdash;fried chicken and
+waffles and hot soda-biscuits and coffee and goodness knows what else.
+Now wasn't that jest like a woman, to give in after she'd had her own
+way for a while and could 'a' kept on havin' it? Abram used to say
+that women and runaway horses was jest alike; the best way to manage
+'em both was to give 'em the rein and let 'em go till they got tired,
+and they'll always stop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> before they do any mischief. Milly said that
+supper tickled Sam pretty near to death. Sam was always mighty proud
+o' Milly's cookin'.</p>
+
+<p>"So that's how we come to call that hymn Milly Amos' hymn, and as long
+as Milly lived folks'd look at her and laugh whenever the preacher
+give out 'Welcome, sweet day o' rest.'"</p>
+
+<p>The story was over. Aunt Jane folded her hands, and we both
+surrendered ourselves to happy silence. All the faint, sweet sounds
+that break the stillness of a Sunday in the country came to our ears
+in gentle symphony,&mdash;the lisp of the leaves, the chirp of young
+chickens lost in the mazes of billowy grass, and the rustle of the
+silver poplar that turned into a mass of molten silver whenever the
+breeze touched it.</p>
+
+<p>"When you've lived as long as I have, child," said Aunt Jane
+presently, "you'll feel that you've lived in two worlds. A short life
+don't see many changes, but in eighty years you can see old things
+passin' away and new ones comin' on to take their place, and when I
+look back at the way Sunday used to be kept and the way it's kept now,
+it's jest like bein' in another world. I hear folks talkin' about how
+wicked the world's growin' and wishin' they could go back to the old
+times, but it looks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> like to me there's jest as much kindness and
+goodness in folks nowadays as there was when I was young; and as for
+keepin' Sunday, why, I've noticed all my life that the folks that's
+strictest about that ain't always the best Christians, and I reckon
+there's been more foolishness preached and talked about keepin' the
+Sabbath day holy than about any other one thing.</p>
+
+<p>"I ricollect some fifty-odd years ago the town folks got to keepin'
+Sunday mighty strict. They hadn't had a preacher for a long time, and
+the church'd been takin' things easy, and finally they got a new
+preacher from down in Tennessee, and the first thing he did was to
+draw the lines around 'em close and tight about keepin' Sunday. Some
+o' the members had been in the habit o' havin' their wood chopped on
+Sunday. Well, as soon as the new preacher come, he said that Sunday
+wood-choppin' had to cease amongst his church-members or he'd have 'em
+up before the session. I ricollect old Judge Morgan swore he'd have
+his wood chopped any day that suited him. And he had a load o' wood
+carried down cellar, and the nigger man chopped all day long down in
+the cellar, and nobody ever would 'a' found it out, but pretty soon
+they got up a big revival that lasted three months and spread 'way out
+into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> country, and bless your life, old Judge Morgan was one o'
+the first to be converted; and when he give in his experience, he told
+about the wood-choppin', and how he hoped to be forgiven for breakin'
+the Sabbath day.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, of course us people out in the country wouldn't be outdone by
+the town folks, so Parson Page got up and preached on the Fourth
+Commandment and all about that pore man that was stoned to death for
+pickin' up a few sticks on the seventh day. And Sam Amos, he says
+after meetin' broke, says he, 'It's my opinion that that man was a
+industrious, enterprisin' feller that was probably pickin' up
+kindlin'-wood to make his wife a fire, and,' says he, 'if they wanted
+to stone anybody to death they better 'a' picked out some lazy,
+triflin' feller that didn't have energy enough to work Sunday or any
+other day.' Sam always would have his say, and nothin' pleased him
+better'n to talk back to the preachers and git the better of 'em in a
+argument. I ricollect us women talked that sermon over at the Mite
+Society, and Maria Petty says: 'I don't know but what it's a wrong
+thing to say, but it looks to me like that Commandment wasn't intended
+for anybody but them Israelites. It was mighty easy for them to keep
+the Sabbath day holy, but,' says she, 'the Lord<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> don't rain down manna
+in my yard. And,' says she, 'men can stop plowin' and plantin' on
+Sunday, but they don't stop eatin', and as long as men have to eat on
+Sunday, women'll have to work.'</p>
+
+<p>"And Sally Ann, she spoke up, and says she, 'That's so; and these very
+preachers that talk so much about keepin' the Sabbath day holy,
+they'll walk down out o' their pulpits and set down at some woman's
+table and eat fried chicken and hot biscuits and corn bread and five
+or six kinds o' vegetables, and never think about the work it took to
+git the dinner, to say nothin' o' the dish-washin' to come after.'</p>
+
+<p>"There's one thing, child, that I never told to anybody but Abram; I
+reckon it was wicked, and I ought to be ashamed to own it, but"&mdash;here
+her voice fell to a confessional key&mdash;"I never did like Sunday till I
+begun to git old. And the way Sunday used to be kept, it looks to me
+like nobody could 'a' been expected to like it but old folks and lazy
+folks. You see, I never was one o' these folks that's born tired. I
+loved to work. I never had need of any more rest than I got every
+night when I slept, and I woke up every mornin' ready for the day's
+work. I hear folks prayin' for rest and wishin' for rest, but, honey,
+all my prayer was,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> 'Lord, give me work, and strength enough to do
+it.' And when a person looks at all the things there is to be done in
+this world, they won't feel like restin' when they ain't tired.</p>
+
+<p>"Abram used to say he believed I tried to make work for myself Sunday
+and every other day; and I ricollect I used to be right glad when any
+o' the neighbors'd git sick on Sunday and send for me to help nurse
+'em. Nursing the sick was a work o' necessity, and mercy, too. And
+then, child, the Lord don't ever rest. The Bible says He rested on the
+seventh day when He got through makin' the world, and I reckon that
+was rest enough for Him. For, jest look; everything goes on Sundays
+jest the same as week-days. The grass grows, and the sun shines, and
+the wind blows, and He does it all."</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"'For still the Lord is Lord of might;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In deeds, in deeds He takes delight,'"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>I said.</p>
+
+<p>"That's it," said Aunt Jane, delightedly. "There ain't any religion in
+restin' unless you're tired, and work's jest as holy in his sight as
+rest."</p>
+
+<p>Our faces were turned toward the western sky, where the sun was
+sinking behind the amethystine hills.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> The swallows were darting and
+twittering over our heads, a somber flock of blackbirds rose from a
+huge oak tree in the meadow across the road, and darkened the sky for
+a moment in their flight to the cedars that were their nightly resting
+place. Gradually the mist changed from amethyst to rose, and the
+poorest object shared in the transfiguration of the sunset hour.</p>
+
+<p>Is it unmeaning chance that sets man's days, his dusty, common days,
+between the glories of the rising and the setting sun, and his life,
+his dusty, common life, between the two solemnities of birth and
+death? Bounded by the splendors of the morning and evening skies, what
+glory of thought and deed should each day hold! What celestial dreams
+and vitalizing sleep should fill our nights! For why should day be
+more magnificent than life?</p>
+
+<p>As we watched in understanding silence, the enchantment slowly faded.
+The day of rest was over, a night of rest was at hand; and in the
+shadowy hour between the two hovered the benediction of that peace
+which "passeth all understanding."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2>
+
+<h2>MILLY BAKER'S BOY</h2>
+
+<div style="width: 600px;">
+<img class="figcenter"  src="images/image_006_01.jpg" width="600" height="392" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+<img class="figleft1"  src="images/image_006_02.jpg" width="180" height="161" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="f2">I</span>t was the last Monday in May, and a steady stream of wagons,
+carriages, and horseback riders had been pouring into town over the
+smooth, graveled pike.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane stood on her front porch, looking around and above with
+evident delight. This was her gala Monday; and if any thoughts of the
+County Court days of happier years were in her mind, they were not
+permitted to mar her enjoyment of the present. There were no waters of
+Marah near her spring of remembrance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Clear as a whistle!" she exclaimed, peering through the tendrils of a
+Virginia creeper at the sea of blue ether where fleecy white clouds
+were floating, driven eastward by the fresh spring wind. "Folks'll
+come home dry to-night; last time they was as wet as drowned rats.
+Yonder comes the Crawfords, and there's Jim Amos on horseback in front
+of 'em. How d'ye, Jim! And yonder comes Richard Elrod in his new
+carriage. Jest look at him! I do believe he grows younger and
+handsomer every day of his life."</p>
+
+<p>A sweet-faced woman sat beside him, and two pretty girls were in the
+seat behind them. Bowing courteously to the old woman on the
+door-step, Richard Elrod looked every inch a king of the soil and a
+perfect specimen of the gentleman farmer of Kentucky.</p>
+
+<p>"The richest man in the county," said Aunt Jane exultingly, as she
+followed the vanishing carriage with her keen gaze. "He went to the
+legislatur' last winter; the 'Hon. Richard Elrod' they call him now.
+And I can remember the time when he was jest Milly Baker's boy, and
+nothin' honorable about it, either."</p>
+
+<p>There was a suggestion of a story in the words and in the look in Aunt
+Jane's eyes. What wonder that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> the tides of thought flowed back into
+the channel of old times on a day like this, when every passing face
+was a challenge to memory? It needed but a hint to bring forth the
+recollections that the sight of Richard Elrod had stirred to life. The
+high-back rocker and the basket of knitting were transferred to the
+porch; and with the beauty and the music of a spring morning around us
+I listened to the story of Milly Baker's boy.</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly know jest where to begin," said Aunt Jane, wrinkling her
+forehead meditatively and adjusting her needles. "Tellin' a story is
+somethin' like windin' off a skein o' yarn. There's jest two ends to
+the skein, though, and if you can git hold o' the right one it's easy
+work. But there's so many ways o' beginning a story, and you never
+know which one leads straightest to the p'int. I wonder many a time
+how folks ever finds out where to begin when they set out to write a
+book. However, I reckon if I start with Dick Elrod I'll git through
+somehow or other.</p>
+
+<p>"You asked me jest now who Richard Elrod was. He was the son o' Dick
+Elrod, and Dick was the son of Richard Elrod, the old Squire. It's
+curious how you'll name two boys Richard, and one of 'em will always
+be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> called Richard and the other'll be called Dick. Nobody ever would
+'a' thought o' callin' Squire Elrod 'Dick,' he was Richard from the
+day he was born till the day he died. But his son was nothin' but Dick
+all his life; Richard didn't seem to fit him somehow. And I've noticed
+that you can tell what sort of a man a boy's goin' to make jest by
+knowin' whether folks calls him Richard or Dick. I ain't sayin' that
+every Richard is a good man and every Dick a bad one. All I mean is
+that there's as much difference betwixt a 'Dick' and a 'Richard' as
+there is betwixt a roastin' ear and a peck o' corn meal. Both of 'em's
+corn, and both of 'em may be good, but they ain't the same thing by a
+long jump. There's been a Richard in the Elrod family as far back as
+you could track 'em; all of 'em good, steady, God-fearin' men till
+Dick come along. He was an only child, and of course that made a bad
+matter worse.</p>
+
+<p>"There's some men that's born to git women into trouble, and Dick was
+one of 'em. Jest as handsome as a picture, and two years ahead o' his
+age when it come to size, and a way about him, from the time he put on
+pants, that showed jest what kind of a man he was cut out for. If the
+children was playin' 'Jinny, Put the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> Kittle on,' Dick would git
+kissed ten times to any other boy's once; and if it was 'Drop the
+Handkerchief,' every little gyirl in the ring'd be droppin' it behind
+Dick to git him to run after her, and that was the only time Dick ever
+did any runnin'. All he had to do was jest to sit still, and the
+gyirls did the runnin'. It was that way all his life; and folks used
+to say there was jest one woman in the world that Dick couldn't make a
+fool of, and that was his cousin Penelope, the old Squire's brother's
+child. She used to come down to the Squire's pretty near every summer,
+and when Dick saw how high and mighty she was, he begun to lay himself
+out to make her come down jest where the other women was, not because
+he keered anything for her,&mdash;such men never keer for anybody but
+theirselves,&mdash;he jest couldn't stand it to have a woman around unless
+she was throwin' herself at his head or at his feet. But he couldn't
+do anything with his cousin Penelope. She naturally despised him, and
+he hated her. Next to Miss Penelope, the only girl that appeared to be
+anything like a match for Dick was Annie Crawford, Old Man Bob
+Crawford's daughter. Old Man Bob was one o' the kind that thinks that
+the more children they've got the bigger men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> they are. Always made me
+think of Abraham and the rest o' the old patriarchs to see him come
+walkin' into church with them nine young ones at his heels, makin' so
+much racket you couldn't hear the sermon. He was mighty proud of his
+sons; but after Bob was born he wanted a daughter; and when they all
+kept turnin' out boys, he got crazier and crazier for a gyirl. Annie
+wasn't born till he was past sixty, and he like to 'a' lost his senses
+with joy. It was harvestin' time, and he jest stopped work and set on
+his front porch, and every time anybody passed by he'd holler, 'Well;
+neighbor, it's a gal this time!' If I'd 'a' been in Ann 'Liza's place,
+I'd 'a' gagged him. But la! she thought everything he did was all
+right. It got to be a reg'lar joke with the neighbors to ask Old Man
+Bob how many children he had, and he'd give a big laugh and say, 'Ten,
+neighbor, and all of 'em gals but nine.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, of course Annie was bound to be spoiled, especially as her
+mother died when she was jest four years old. How Ann 'Liza ever stood
+Old Man Bob and them nine boys as long as she did was a mystery to
+everybody. Ann 'Liza had done her best to manage Annie, with Old Man
+Bob pullin' against her all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> time, but after she died Annie took
+the place and everything and everybody on it. Old Man Bob had raised
+all his boys on spare-the-rod-and-spile-the-child principle, but when
+Annie come, he turned his back on Solomon and give out that Annie
+mustn't be crossed by anybody. Sam Amos asked him once how he come to
+change his mind so about raisin' children, and Old Man Bob said he was
+of the opinion that that text ought to read, 'Spare the rod and spile
+the boy'; that Solomon had too much regyard for women to want to whip
+a gal child. If ever there was an old idiot he was one; I mean Old Man
+Bob, not Solomon; though Solomon wasn't as wise as he might 'a' been
+in some things.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Annie was a headstrong, high-tempered child to begin with; and
+havin' nobody to control her, she got to be the worst young one, I
+reckon, in the State o' Kentucky. I used to feel right sorry for her
+little brothers. They couldn't keep a top or a ball or marble or any
+plaything to save their lives. Annie would cry for 'em jest for pure
+meanness, and whatever it was that Annie cried for they had to give it
+up or git a whippin'. She'd break up their rabbit-traps and their
+bird-cages and the little wheelbarrers and wagons<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> they'd make, and
+they didn't have any peace at home, pore little motherless things. I
+ricollect one day little Jim come runnin' over to my house draggin'
+his wagon loaded up with all his playthings, his little saw and hammer
+and some nails the cyarpenters had give him when Old Man Bob had his
+new stable built, and says he, 'Aunt Jane, please let me keep my tools
+over here. Annie says she's goin' to throw 'em in the well, and
+pappy'll make me give 'em to her if she cries for 'em.' Them tools
+stayed at my house till Jim outgrowed 'em, and he and Henry, the other
+little one, used to come and stay by the hour playin' with my Abram.</p>
+
+<p>"It was all Old Man Bob could do to git a housekeeper to stay with him
+when Annie got older. One spring she broke up all the hen nests and
+turkey nests on the farm, and they had to buy chickens all summer and
+turkeys all next winter. They used to tell how she stood and hollered
+for two hours one day because the housekeeper wouldn't let her put her
+hand into a kittle o' boilin' lye soap. It's my belief that she was
+all that kept Old Man Bob from marryin' again in less'n a year after
+Ann 'Liza died. He courted three or four widders and old maids round
+the neighborhood, but there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> wasn't one of 'em that anxious to marry
+that she'd take Old Man Bob with Annie thrown in. As soon as she got
+old enough, Old Man Bob carried her with him wherever he went. County
+Court days you'd see him goin' along on his big gray mare with Annie
+behind him, holdin' on to the sides of his coat with her little fat
+hands, her sunbonnet fallin' off and her curls blowin' all around her
+face,&mdash;like as not she hadn't had 'em combed for a week,&mdash;and in the
+evenin' about sunset here they'd come, Annie in front fast asleep, and
+Old Man Bob holdin' her on one arm and guidin' his horse with the
+other. Harvestin' times Annie'd be out in the field settin' on a shock
+o' wheat and orderin' the hands around same as if she was the
+overseer; and Old Man Bob'd jest stand back and shake his sides
+laughin' and say: 'That's right, honey. Make 'em move lively. If it
+wasn't for you, pappy couldn't git his harvestin' done.'</p>
+
+<p>"Every fall and spring he'd go to town to buy clothes for her, and
+people used to say the storekeepers laid in a extry stock jest for Old
+Man Bob, and charged him two or three prices for everything he bought.
+He'd walk into Tom Baker's store with his saddle-bags on his arm and
+holler out, 'Well, what you got to-day?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> Trot out your silks and your
+satins, and remember that the best ain't good enough for my little
+gal.'</p>
+
+<p>"When Annie was twelve years old he took her off to Bardstown to git
+her education. When he come to say good-bye to her, he cried and she
+cried, and it ended with him settin' down and stayin' three weeks in
+Bardstown, waitin' for Annie to git over her homesickness. Folks never
+did git through plaguin' him about goin' off to boardin' school, and
+as soon as Sam Crawford seen him he says, 'Well, Uncle Bob, when do
+you reckon you'll git your diploma?'</p>
+
+<p>"I never shall forgit the first time Annie come home to spend her
+Christmas. The neighbors didn't have any peace o' their lives for Old
+Man Bob tellin' 'em how Annie had growed, and how there wasn't a gal
+in the state that could hold a candle to her. And Sunday he come
+walkin' in church with Annie hangin' on to his arm jest as proud and
+happy as if he'd got a new wife.</p>
+
+<p>"Annie had improved wonderful. It wasn't jest her looks, for she
+always was as pretty as a picture, but she was as nice-mannered,
+well-behaved a gyirl as you'd want to see. There was jest as much
+difference betwixt her then and what she used to be as there is
+betwixt a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> tame fox and a wild one. Of course the wildness is all
+there, but it's kind o' covered up under a lot o' cute little tricks
+and ways; and that's the way it was with Annie. Squire Elrod's pew was
+jest across the aisle from Old Man Bob's, and I could see Dick
+watchin' her durin' church time. But Annie never looked one way nor
+the other. She set there with her hands folded and her eyes straight
+before her, and nobody ever would 'a' thought that she'd been ridin'
+horses bare-back and climbin' eight-rail fences ever since she could
+walk, mighty near.</p>
+
+<p>"When she come back from school in June it was the same thing over
+again, Old Man Bob braggin' on her and everybody sayin' how sweet and
+pretty she was. Dick began to wait on her right away, and before long
+folks was sayin' that they was made for each other, especially as
+their farms jined. That's a fool notion, but you can't git it out o'
+some people's heads.</p>
+
+<p>"Things went on this way for two or three years, Annie goin' and
+comin' and gittin' prettier all the time, and Dick waitin' on her
+whenever she was at home and carryin' on between times with every
+gyirl in the neighborhood. At last she come home for good, and Dick<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
+dropped all the others in a hurry and set out in earnest to git Annie.
+Folks said he was mightily in love, but accordin' to my way o'
+thinkin' there wasn't any love about it. The long and the short of it
+was that Annie knew how to manage him, and the other gyirls didn't.
+They was always right there in the neighborhood, and it don't help a
+woman to be always under a man's nose. But Annie was here and there
+and everywhere, visitin' in town and in Louisville and bringin' the
+town folks and the city folks home with her, and havin' dances and
+picnics, and doin' all she could to make Dick jealous. And then I
+always believed that Annie was jest as crazy about Dick as the rest o'
+the gyirls, but she had sense enough not to let him know it. It's
+human nature, you know, to want things that's hard to git. Why, if
+fleas and mosquitoes was sceerce, folks would go to huntin' 'em and
+makin' a big fuss over 'em. Annie made herself hard to git, and that's
+why Dick wanted her instead o' Harriet Amos, that was jest as good
+lookin' and better in every other way than Annie was. Everybody was
+sayin' what a blessed thing it was, and now Dick would give up his
+wild ways and settle down and be a comfort to the Squire in his old
+age.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, along in the spring, a year after Annie got through with
+school, Sally Ann come to me, and says she, 'Jane, I saw somethin'
+last night and it's been botherin' me ever since;' and she went on to
+say how she was goin' home about dusk, and how she'd seen Dick Elrod
+and little Milly Baker at the turn o' the lane that used to lead up to
+Milly's house. 'They was standin' under the wild cherry tree in the
+fence corner,' says she, 'and the elderberry bushes was so thick that
+I could jest see Dick's head and shoulders and the top of Milly's
+head, but they looked to be mighty close together, and Dick was
+stoopin' over and whisperin' somethin' to her.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that set me to thinkin', and I ricollected seein' Dick comin'
+down the lane one evenin' about sunset and at the same time I'd caught
+sight o' Milly walkin' away in the opposite direction. Our Mite
+Society met that day, and Sally Ann and me had it up, and we all
+talked it over. It come out that every woman there had seen the same
+things we'd been seein', but nobody said anything about it as long as
+they wasn't certain. 'Somethin' ought to be done,' says Sally Ann;
+'it'd be a shame to let that pore child go to destruction right before
+our eyes when a word might save her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> She's fatherless, and pretty
+near motherless, too,' says she.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, the Bakers was tenants of old Squire Elrod's, and after
+Milly's father died o' consumption the old Squire jest let 'em live on
+the same as before. Mis' Elrod give 'em quiltin' and sewin' to do, and
+they had their little gyarden, and managed to git along well enough.
+Some folks called 'em pore white trash. They was pore enough, goodness
+knows, but they was clean and hard-workin', and that's two things that
+'trash' never is. I used to hear that Milly's mother come of a good
+family, but she'd married beneath herself and got down in the world
+like folks always do when they're cast off by their own people. Milly
+had come up like a wild rose in a fence corner, and she was jest the
+kind of a girl to be fooled by a man like Dick, handsome and smooth
+talkin', with all the ways and manners that take women in. Em'ly
+Crawford used to say it made her feel like a queen jest to see Dick
+take his hat off to her. If men's manners matched their hearts, honey,
+this'd be a heap easier world for women. But whenever you see a man
+that's got good manners and a bad heart, you may know there's trouble
+ahead for some woman.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, us women talked it over till dark come; and I reckon if we had
+app'inted a committee to look after Milly and Dick, somethin' might
+have been done. But everybody's business is nobody's business, and I
+thought Sally Ann would go to Milly and give her a word o' warnin',
+and Sally Ann thought I'd do it, and so it went, and nothin' was said
+or done at last; and before long it was all over the neighborhood that
+pore little Milly was in trouble."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane paused, took off her glasses and wiped them carefully on a
+corner of her gingham apron.</p>
+
+<p>"Many's the time," she said slowly, "that I've laid awake till the
+chickens crowed, blamin' myself and wonderin' how far I was
+responsible for Milly's mishap. I've lived a long time since then, and
+I don't worry any more about such things. There's some things that's
+got to be; and when a person is all wore out tryin' to find out why
+this thing happened and why that thing didn't happen, he can jest
+throw himself back on the eternal decrees, and it's like layin' down
+on a good soft feather bed after you've done a hard day's work. The
+preachers'll tell you that every man is his brother's keeper, but
+'tain't so. I ain't my brother's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> keeper, nor my sister's, neither.
+There's jest one person I've got to keep, and that's myself.</p>
+
+<p>"The Bible says, 'A word spoken in due season, how good it is!' But
+when folks is in love there ain't any due season for speakin' warnin'
+words to 'em. There was Emmeline Amos: her father told her if she
+married Hal, he'd cut her name out o' the family Bible and leave her
+clear out o' his will. But that didn't hinder her. She went right on
+and married him, and lived to rue the day she did it. No, child,
+there's mighty little salvation by words for folks that's in love. I
+reckon if a word from me would 'a' saved Milly, the word would 'a'
+been given to me, and the season too, and as they wasn't, why I hadn't
+any call to blame myself.</p>
+
+<p>"Abram and Sam Crawford did try to talk to Old Man Bob; but, la! you
+might as well 'a' talked to the east wind. All he said was, 'If Annie
+wants Dick Elrod, Annie shall have him.' That's what he'd been sayin'
+ever since Annie was born. Nobody said anything to Annie, for she was
+the sort o' girl who didn't care whose feelin's was tramped on, if she
+jest had her own way.</p>
+
+<p>"So it went on, and the weddin' day was set, and nothin' was talked
+about but Annie's first-day dress<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> and Annie's second-day dress, and
+how many ruffles she had on her petticoats, and what the lace on her
+nightgowns cost; and all the time there was pore Milly Baker cryin'
+her eyes out night and day, and us women gittin' up all our old baby
+clothes for Dick Elrod's unborn child."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane dropped her knitting in her lap, and gazed across the fields
+as if she were seeking in the sunlit ether the faces of those who
+moved and spoke in her story. A farm wagon came lumbering through the
+stillness, and she gathered up the double thread of story and knitting
+and went on.</p>
+
+<p>"Annie always said she was goin' to have such a weddin' as the county
+never had seen, and she kept her word. Old Man Bob had the house fixed
+up inside and out. They sent up to Louisville for the cakes and
+things, and the weddin' cake was three feet high. There was a solid
+gold ring in it, and the bridesmaids cut for it; and every gyirl there
+had a slice o' the bride's cake to carry home to dream on that night.
+Annie's weddin' dress was white satin so heavy it stood alone, so they
+said. And Old Man Bob had the whole neighborhood laughin', tellin' how
+many heifers and steers it took to pay for the lace around the neck of
+it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Annie and Dick was married in October about the time the leaves fell,
+and Milly's boy was born the last o' November. Lord! Lord! what a
+world this is! Old Man Bob wouldn't hear to Annie's leavin' him, so
+they stayed right on in the old home place. In them days folks didn't
+go a-lopin' all over creation as soon as they got married; they
+settled down to housekeepin' like sensible folks ought to do. Old Lady
+Elrod was as foolish over Dick as Old Man Bob was over Annie, and it
+was laid down beforehand that they was to spend half the time at Old
+Man Bob's and half the time at the Squire's, 'bout the worst thing
+they could 'a' done. The further a young couple can git from the old
+folks on both sides the better for everybody concerned. And besides,
+Annie wasn't the kind of a gyirl to git along with Dick's mother. A
+gyirl with the kind o' raisin' Annie'd had wasn't any fit
+daughter-in-law for a particular, high-steppin' woman like Old Lady
+Elrod.</p>
+
+<p>"There was some people that expected a heap o' Dick after he married,
+but I never did. If a man can't be faithful to a woman before he
+marries her, he ain't likely to be faithful after he marries her. And
+shore enough the shine wasn't off o' Annie's weddin' clothes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> before
+Dick was back to his old ways, drinkin' and carryin' on with the women
+same as ever, and the first thing we knew, him and Annie had a big
+quarrel, and Old Man Bob had ordered him off the place. However, they
+made it up and went over to the old Squire's to live, and things went
+on well enough till Annie's baby was born. Dick had set his heart on
+havin' a boy, but it turned out a girl, and as soon as they told him,
+he never even asked how Annie was, but jest went out to the stable and
+saddled his horse and galloped off, and nobody seen him for two days.
+He needn't 'a' took on so, for the pore little thing didn't live but a
+week. Annie had convulsions over Dick's leavin' her that way, and the
+doctor said that was what killed the child. Annie never was the same
+after this. She grieved for her child and lost her good looks, and
+when she lost them, she lost Dick. It wasn't long before Dick was
+livin' with his father, and she with hers. At last he went out West;
+and in less than three years Annie died; and a good thing she did, for
+a more soured, disappointed woman couldn't 'a' been found anywhere.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, all this time Milly Baker's baby was growin' in grace, you
+might say. And a finer child never was born. Milly had named him
+Richard, and nature had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> wrote his father's name all over him. He was
+the livin' image of Dick, all but the look in his eyes; that was
+Milly's. Milly worshiped him, and there was few children raised any
+carefuler and better than Milly Baker's boy; that was what we always
+called him. Milly was nothin' but a child herself when he was born,
+but all at once she appeared to turn to a woman; acted like one and
+looked like one. It ain't time, honey, that makes people old; it's
+experience. Some folks never git over bein' children, and some never
+has any childhood; and pore little Milly's was cut short by trouble.
+If she felt ashamed of herself or the child, nobody ever knew it. I
+never could tell whether it was lack of sense, or whether she jest
+looked at things different from the rest of us; but to see her walk in
+church holding little Richard by the hand, nobody ever would 'a'
+thought but what she was a lawful wife. No woman could 'a' behaved
+better'n she did, I'm bound to say. She got better lookin' all the
+time, but she was as steady and sober as if she'd been sixty years
+old. Parson Page said once that Milly Baker had more dignity than any
+woman, young or old, that he'd ever seen. It seems right queer to talk
+about dignity in a pore gyirl who'd made the misstep she'd made, but I
+reckon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> it was jest that that made us all come to treat her as if she
+was as good as anybody. People can set their own price on 'emselves,
+I've noticed; and if they keep it set, folks'll come up to it. Milly
+didn't seem to think that she had done anything wrong; and when she
+brought little Richard up for baptism there wasn't a dry eye in the
+church; and when she joined the church herself there wasn't anybody
+mean enough to say a word against it, not even Silas Petty.</p>
+
+<p>"Squire Elrod give her the cottage rent free after her mother died,
+and betwixt nursin' and doin' fine needlework she made a good livin'
+for herself and the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Little Richard was a child worth workin' for from the start. Tall and
+straight as a saplin', and carried himself like he owned the earth,
+even when he was a little feller. It looked like all the good blood on
+both sides had come out in him, and there wasn't a smarter, handsomer
+boy in the county. The old Squire thought a heap of him, and nothin'
+but his pride kept him from ownin' the child outright and treatin' him
+like he was his own flesh and blood. Richard had an old head on young
+shoulders, though he was as full o' life as any boy; and by the time
+he was grown the old Squire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> trusted him with everything on the place
+and looked to him the same as if he'd been a settled man. After Old
+Lady Elrod died, he broke terrible fast, and folks used to say it was
+a pitiful sight to see him when he'd be watchin' Richard overseein'
+the hands and tendin' to things about the place. He'd lean on the
+fence, his hands tremblin' and his face workin', thinkin' about Dick
+and grievin' over him and wishin', I reckon, that Dick had been such a
+man as Milly's boy was.</p>
+
+<p>"All these years nobody ever heard from Dick. Once in a while
+somebody'd come from town and say they'd seen somebody that had seen
+somebody else, and that somebody had seen Dick way out in California
+or Lord knows where, and that was all the news that ever come back.
+We'd all jest about made up our minds that he was dead, when one
+mornin', along in corn-plantin' time, the news was brought and spread
+over the neighborhood in no time that Dick Elrod had come home and was
+lyin' at the p'int of death. I remembered hearin' a hack go by on the
+pike the night before, and wondered to myself what was up. I thought,
+maybe, it was a runaway couple or some such matter, but it was pore
+Dick comin' back to his father's house, like the Prodigal Son, after
+twenty years. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> takes some folks a long time, child, to git tired of
+the swine and the husks.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, of course, it made a big commotion, and before we'd hardly
+taken it in, we heard that he'd sent for Milly, and her and Richard
+had gone together up to the big house.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann Petty was keepin' house for the old Squire, and she told us
+afterwards how it all come about.</p>
+
+<p>"We had a young probationer preachin' for us that summer, and as soon
+as he heard about Dick, he goes up to the big house without bein' sent
+for to talk to him about his soul. I reckon he thought it'd be a
+feather in his cap if he could convert a hardened sinner like Dick.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said they took him into Dick's room, and he set down by the
+bed and begun to lay off the plan o' salvation jest like he was
+preachin' from the pulpit, and Dick listened and never took his eyes
+off his face. When he got through Dick says, says he:</p>
+
+<p>"'Do you mean to say that all I've got to do to keep out of hell and
+get into heaven is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ?' And Brother
+Jonas, he says:</p>
+
+<p>"'Yes, my dear brother, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou
+shalt be saved. The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from
+all sin."'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"And they said Dick jest laughed a curious sort o' laugh and says he:</p>
+
+<p>"'It's a pretty God that'll make such a bargain as that!' And says he,
+'I was born bad, I've lived bad, and I'm dyin' bad; but I ain't a
+coward nor a sneak, and I'm goin' to hell for my sins like a man. Like
+a man, do you hear me?'</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said the look in his eyes was awful; and the preacher turned
+white as a sheet. It was curious talk for a death-bed; but, when you
+come to think about it, it's reasonable enough. When a man's got hell
+in his heart, what good is it goin' to do him to git into heaven?"</p>
+
+<p>"What, indeed?" I echoed, thinking how delightful it was that Aunt
+Jane and Omar Khayyam should be of one mind on this subject.</p>
+
+<p>"When Dick said this the young preacher got up to go, but Dick called
+him back, and says he, 'I don't want any of your preachin' or prayin',
+but you stay here; there's another sort of a job for you to do.' And
+then he turned around to the old Squire and says, 'Send for Milly.'</p>
+
+<p>"When we all heard that Milly'd been sent for, the first thing we
+thought was, 'How on earth is Milly goin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> to tell Richard all he's
+got to know?' I never used to think we was anything over and above the
+ordinary out in our neighborhood, but when I ricollect that Richard
+Elrod come up from a boy to a man without knowin' who his father was,
+it seems like we must 'a' known how to hold our tongues anyhow. There
+wasn't man, woman, or child that ever hinted to Milly Baker's boy that
+he wasn't like other children, and so it was natural for us to wonder
+how Milly was goin' to tell him. Well, it wasn't any of our business,
+and we never found out. All we ever did know was that Milly and
+Richard walked over to the big house together, and Richard held his
+head as high as ever.</p>
+
+<p>"They said that Dick give a start when Milly come into the room. I
+reckon he expected to see the same little girl he'd fooled twenty
+years back, and when she come walkin' in it jest took him by surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"'Why, Milly,' says he, 'is this you?'</p>
+
+<p>"And he held out his hand, and she walked over to the bed and laid her
+hand in his. Folks that was there say it was a strange sight for any
+one that remembered what them two used to be. Her so gentle and
+sweet-lookin', and him all wore out with bad livin' and wasted to a
+shadder of what he used to be.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I've seen the same thing, child, over and over again. Two people'll
+start out together, and after a while they'll git separated, or,
+maybe, they'll live together a lifetime, and when they git to the end
+o' fifteen or twenty or twenty-five years, one'll be jest where he was
+when they set out, and the other'll be 'way up and 'way on, and
+they're jest nothin' but strangers after all. That's the way it was
+with Milly and Dick. They'd been sweethearts, and there was the child;
+but the father'd gone his way and the mother'd gone hers, and now
+there was somethin' between 'em like that 'great gulf' the Bible tells
+about. Well, they said Dick looked up at Milly like a hungry man looks
+at bread, and at last he says:</p>
+
+<p>"'I'm goin' to make an honest woman of you, Milly.'</p>
+
+<p>"And Milly looked him in the eyes and said as gentle and easy as if
+she'd been talkin' to a sick child: 'I've always been an honest woman,
+Dick.'</p>
+
+<p>"This kind o' took him back again, but he says, right earnest and
+pitiful, 'I want to marry you, Milly; don't refuse me. I want to do
+one decent thing before I die. I've come all the way from California
+just for this. Surely you'll feel better if you are my lawful wife.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"And they said Milly thought a minute and then she says: 'I don't
+believe it makes any difference with me, Dick. I've been through the
+worst, and I'm used to it. But if it'll make it any easier for you,
+I'll marry you. And then there's my boy; maybe it will be better for
+him.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Where's the boy?' says Dick; 'I want to see him.'</p>
+
+<p>"So Milly went and called Richard in. And as soon as Dick saw him he
+raised up on his elbow, weak as he was, and hollered out so you could
+hear him in the next room.</p>
+
+<p>"'Why,' says he, 'it's myself! It's myself! Stand off there where I
+can see you, boy! Why, you're the man I ought to have been and
+couldn't be. These lyin' doctors,' says he, 'tell me that I haven't
+got a day to live, but I'm goin' to live another lifetime in you!'</p>
+
+<p>"And then he fell back, gaspin' for breath, and young Richard stood
+there in the middle o' the floor with his arms folded and his face
+lookin' like it was made of stone.</p>
+
+<p>"As soon as Dick could speak, they said he pulled Milly down and
+whispered something to her, and she went over to the chair where his
+clothes was hangin' and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> felt in the pocket of the vest and got a
+little pearl ring out. They said she shook like a leaf when she saw
+it. And Dick says: 'I took it away from you, Milly, twenty years ago,
+for fear you'd use it for evidence against me&mdash;scoundrel that I was;
+and now I'm goin' to put it on your finger again, and the parson shall
+marry us fair and square. I've got the license here under my pillow.'
+And Milly leaned over and lifted him and propped him up with the
+pillows, and the young parson said the ceremony over 'em, with Jane
+Ann and the old Squire for witnesses.</p>
+
+<p>"As soon as the parson got through, Dick says: 'Boy, won't you shake
+hands with your father? I wouldn't ask you before.' But Richard never
+stirred. And Milly got up and went to him and laid her hand on his arm
+and says: 'My son, come and speak to your father.' And he walked up
+and took Dick's pore wasted hand in his strong one, and the old Squire
+set there and sobbed like a child. Jane Ann said he held on to
+Richard's hand and looked at him for a long time, and then he reached
+under the pillow and brought out a paper, and says he: 'It's my will;
+open it after I'm gone. I've squandered a lot o' money out West, but
+there's a plenty left, and that minin' stock'll make you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> a rich man.
+It's all yours and your mother's. I wish it was more,' says he, 'for
+you're a son that a king'd be proud of.'</p>
+
+<p>"Them was about the last words he said. Dr. Pendleton said he wouldn't
+live through the night, and sure enough he begun to sink as soon as
+the young parson left, and he died the next mornin' about daybreak.
+Jane Ann said jest before he died he opened his eyes and mumbled
+somethin', and Milly seemed to know what he wanted, for she reached
+over and put Richard's hand on hers and Dick's, and he breathed his
+last jest that way.</p>
+
+<p>"Milly wouldn't let a soul touch the corpse, but her and Richard. She
+was a mighty good hand at layin' out the dead, and them two washed and
+shrouded the body and laid it in the coffin, and the next day at the
+funeral Milly walked on one side o' the old Squire and Richard on the
+other, and the old man leaned on Richard like he'd found a prop for
+his last days.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't much of a hand to believe in signs, but there was one thing
+the day of the buryin' that I shall always ricollect. It had been
+rainin' off and on all day,&mdash;a soft, misty sort o' rain that's good
+for growin' things,&mdash;but while they were fillin' up the grave and
+smoothin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> it off, the sun broke out over in the west, and when we
+turned around to leave the grave there was the brightest, prettiest
+rainbow you ever saw; and when Milly and Richard got into the old
+Squire's carriage and rode home with him, that rainbow was right in
+front of 'em all the way home. It didn't mean much for Milly and the
+Squire, but I couldn't help thinkin' it was a promise o' better things
+for Richard, and maybe a hope for pore Dick.</p>
+
+<p>"Milly didn't live long after this. They found her dead in her bed one
+mornin'. The doctor said it was heart disease; but it's my belief that
+she jest died because she thought she could do Richard a better turn
+by dyin' than livin'. She'd lived for him twenty years and seen him
+come into his rights, and I reckon she thought her work was done.
+Dyin' for people is a heap easier'n livin' for 'em, anyhow.</p>
+
+<p>"The old Squire didn't outlive Milly many years, and when he died
+Richard come into all the Elrod property. You've seen the Elrod place,
+ain't you, child? That white house with big pillars and porches in
+front of it. It's three miles further on the pike, and folks'll drive
+out there jest to look at it. I've heard 'em call it a 'colonial
+mansion,' or some such name as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> that. It was all run down when Richard
+come into possession of it, but now it's one o' the finest places in
+the whole state. That's the way it is with families: one generation'll
+tear down and another generation'll build up. Richard's buildin' up
+all that his father tore down, and I'm in hopes his work'll last for
+many a day."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane's voice ceased, and there was a long silence. The full
+harvest of the story-telling was over; but sometimes there was an
+aftermath to Aunt Jane's tale, and for this I waited. I looked at the
+field opposite where the long, verdant rows gave promise of the autumn
+reaping, and my thoughts were busy tracing backward every link in the
+chain of circumstance that stretched between Milly Baker's boy of
+forty years ago and the handsome, prosperous man I had seen that
+morning. Ah, a goodly tale and a goodly ending! Aunt Jane spoke at
+last, and her words were an echo of my thought.</p>
+
+<p>"There's lots of satisfactory things in this world, child," she said,
+beaming at me over her spectacles with the smile of the optimist who
+is born, not made. "There's a satisfaction in roundin' off the toe of
+a stockin', like I'm doin' now, and knowin' that your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> work's goin' to
+keep somebody's feet warm next winter. There's a satisfaction in
+bakin' a nice, light batch o' bread for the children to eat up.
+There's a satisfaction in settin' on the porch in the cool o' the
+evenin' and thinkin' o' the good day's work behind you, and another
+good day that's comin' to-morrow. This world ain't a vale o' tears
+unless you make it so on purpose. But of all the satisfactions I ever
+experienced, the most satisfyin' is to see people git their just
+deserts right here in this world. I don't blame David for bein' out o'
+patience when he saw the wicked flourishin' like a green bay tree.</p>
+
+<p>"I never was any hand for puttin' things off, whether it's work or
+punishment; and I've never got my own consent to this way o' skeerin'
+people with a hell and wheedlin' 'em with a heaven way off yonder in
+the next world. I ain't as old as Methuselah, but I've lived long
+enough to find out a few things; and one of 'em is that if people
+don't die before their time, they'll git their heaven and their hell
+right here in this world. And whenever I feel like doubtin' the
+justice o' the Lord, I think o' Milly Baker's boy, and how he got
+everything that belonged to him, and he didn't have to die and go to
+heaven to git it either."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"'Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.'"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>I quoted the lines musingly, watching meanwhile their effect on Aunt
+Jane. Her eyes sparkled as her quick brain took in the meaning of the
+poet's words.</p>
+
+<p>"That's it!" she exclaimed,&mdash;"that's it! I don't mind waitin' myself
+and seein' other folks wait, too, a reasonable time, but I do like to
+see everybody, sooner or later, git the grist that rightly belongs to
+'em."</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/image_007.jpg" width="500" height="308" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2>
+
+<h2>THE BAPTIZING AT KITTLE CREEK</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/image_008.jpg" width="600" height="565" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t1.jpg" alt="T" width="71" height="50" /></div>
+<p>here's a heap o' reasons for folks marryin'," said Aunt Jane,
+reflectively. "Some marries for love, some for money, some for a home;
+some marries jest to spite somebody else, and some, it looks like,
+marries for nothin' on earth but to have somebody always around to
+quarrel with about religion. That's the way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> it was with Marthy and
+Amos Matthews. I don't reckon you ever heard o' Marthy and Amos, did
+you, child? It's been many a year since I thought of 'em myself. But
+last Sunday evenin' I was over at Elnora Simpson's, and old Uncle Sam
+Simpson was there visitin'. Uncle Sam used to live in the neighborhood
+o' Goshen, but he moved up to Edmonson County way back yonder, I can't
+tell when, and every now and then he comes back to see his
+grandchildren. He's gittin' well on towards ninety, and I'm thinkin'
+this is about the last trip the old man'll make till he goes on his
+long journey. I was mighty glad to see him, and me and him set and
+talked about old times till the sun went down. What he didn't remember
+I did, and what I didn't remember he did; and when we got through
+talkin', Elnora&mdash;that's his grandson's wife&mdash;says, 'Well, Uncle Sam,
+if I could jest take down everything you and Aunt Jane said to-day,
+I'd have a pretty good history of everybody that ever lived in this
+county.'</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Sam was the one that started the talk about Marthy and Amos.
+He'd been leanin' on his cane lookin' out o' the door at Elnora's
+twins playin' on the grass, and all at once he says, says he, 'Jane,
+do you ricollect the time they had the big babtizin' down at Kittle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
+Creek?' And he got to laughin', and I got to laughin', and we set
+there and cackled like a pair o' old fools, and nobody but us two
+seein' anything funny about it."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane's ready laugh began again at the mere remembrance of her
+former mirth. I kept discreetly silent, fearing to break the flow of
+reminiscence by some ill-timed question.</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody ever could see," she continued, "how it was that Amos Matthews
+and Marthy Crawford ever come to marry, unless it was jest as I said,
+to have somebody always handy to quarrel with about their religion;
+and I used to think sometimes that Marthy and Amos got more pleasure
+that way than most folks git out o' prayin' and singin' and listenin'
+to preachin'. Amos was the strictest sort of a Presbyterian, and
+Marthy was a Babtist, and to hear them two jawin' and arguin' and
+bringin' up Scripture texts about predestination and infant babtism
+and close communion and immersion was enough to make a person wish
+there wasn't such a thing as churches and doctrines. Brother Rice
+asked Sam Amos once if Marthy and Amos Matthews was Christians.
+Brother Rice had come to help Parson Page carry on a meetin', and he
+was tryin' to find out who was the sinners and who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> was the
+Christians. And Sam says, 'No; my Lord! It takes all o' Marthy's time
+to be a Babtist and all o' Amos' to be a Presbyterian. They ain't got
+time to be Christians.'</p>
+
+<p>"Some folks wondered how they ever got time to do any courtin', they
+was so busy wranglin' over babtism and election. And after Marthy had
+her weddin' clothes all made they come to a dead stop. Amos said he
+wouldn't feel like they was rightly married if they didn't have a
+Presbyterian minister to marry 'em, and Marthy said it wouldn't be
+marryin' to her if they didn't have a Babtist. I was over at Hannah
+Crawford's one day, and she says, says she, 'Jane, I've been savin' up
+my eggs and butter for a month to make Marthy's weddin' cake, and if
+her and Amos don't come to an understandin' soon, it'll all be a dead
+loss.' And Marthy says, 'Well, mother, I may not have any cake at my
+weddin', and I may not have any weddin', but one thing is certain: I'm
+not goin' to give up my principles.'</p>
+
+<p>"And Hannah sort o' groaned&mdash;she hadn't had any easy time with Miles
+Crawford&mdash;and says she, 'You pore foolish child! Principles ain't the
+only thing a woman has to give up when she gits married.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I don't know whether they ever would 'a' come to an agreement if it
+hadn't been for Brother Morris. He was the Presidin' Elder from town,
+and a powerful hand for jokin' with folks. He happened to meet Amos
+one day about this time, and says he, 'Amos, I hear you and Miss
+Marthy can't decide betwixt Brother Page and Brother Gyardner. It'd be
+a pity,' says he, 'to have a good match sp'iled for such a little
+matter, and s'pose you compromise and have me to marry you.'</p>
+
+<p>"And Amos says, 'I don't know but what that's the best thing that
+could be done. I'll see Marthy and let you know.' And, bless your
+life, they was married a week from that day. I went over and helped
+Hannah with the cake, and Brother Morris said as pretty a ceremony
+over 'em as any Presbyterian or Babtist could 'a' said.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the next Sunday everybody was on the lookout to see which
+church the bride and groom'd go to. Bush Elrod bet a dollar that
+Marthy'd have her way, and Sam Amos bet a dollar that they'd be at the
+Presbyterian church. Sam won the bet, and we was all right glad that
+Marthy'd had the grace to give up that one time, anyhow. Amos was
+powerful pleased havin' Marthy with him, and they sung out of the same
+hymn-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>book and looked real happy. It looked like they was startin' out
+right, and I thought to myself, 'Well, here's a good beginnin',
+anyhow.' But it happened to be communion Sunday, and of all the
+unlucky things that could 'a' happened for Marthy and Amos, that was
+about the unluckiest. I said then that if Parson Page had been a
+woman, he'd 'a' postponed that communion. But a man couldn't be
+expected to have much sense about such matters, so he goes ahead and
+gives out the hymn,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">''Twas on that dark and dreadful day;'<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>and everybody in church was lookin' at Amos and Marthy and watchin' to
+see what she was goin' to do. While they was singin' the hymn the
+church-members got up and went forward to the front seats, and Amos
+went with 'em. That left Marthy all alone in the pew, and I couldn't
+help feelin' sorry for her. She tried to look unconcerned, but anybody
+could see she felt sort o' forsaken and left out, and folks all
+lookin', and some of 'em whisperin' and nudgin' each other. I knew
+jest exactly how Marthy felt. Abram said to me when we was on the way
+home that day, 'Jane, if I'd 'a' been in Amos' place, I believe I'd
+'a' set still with Marthy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> Marthy'd come with him and it looks like
+he ought to 'a' stayed with her.' I reckon, though, that Amos thought
+he was doin' right, and maybe it's foolish in women to care about
+things like that. Sam Amos used to say that nobody but God Almighty,
+that made her, ever could tell what a woman wanted and what she didn't
+want; and I've thought many a time that since He made women, it's a
+pity He couldn't 'a' made men with a better understandin' o' women's
+ways.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe if Amos'd set still that day, things would 'a' been different
+with him and Marthy all their lives, and then again, maybe it didn't
+make any difference. It's hard to tell jest what makes things go wrong
+in this world and what makes 'em go right. It's a mighty little thing
+for a man to git up and leave his wife settin' alone in a pew for a
+few minutes, but then there's mighty few things in this life that
+ain't little, till you git to follerin' 'em up and seein' what they
+come to."</p>
+
+<p>I thought of Pippa's song:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Say not a small event! Why 'small'?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Costs it more pain that this, ye call<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A great event, should come to pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than that? Untwine me from the mass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of deeds which make up life, one deed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Power shall fall short in or exceed!"<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<p>And Aunt Jane went serenely on:</p>
+
+<p>"Anyhow, it wasn't long till Amos was goin' to his church and Marthy
+to hers, and they kept that up the rest of their lives. Still, they
+might 'a' got along well enough this way, for married folks don't have
+to think alike about everything, but they was eternally arguin' about
+their church doctrines. If Amos grumbled about the weather, Marthy'd
+say, 'Ain't everything predestined? Warn't this drought app'inted
+before the foundation of the world? What's the sense in grumblin' over
+the decrees of God?' And it got so that if Amos wanted to grumble over
+anything, he had to git away from home first, and that must 'a' been
+mighty wearin' on him; for, as a rule, a man never does any grumblin'
+except at home; but pore Amos didn't have that privilege. Sam Amos
+used to say&mdash;&shy;Sam wasn't a church-member himself&mdash;that there was some
+advantages about bein' a Babtist after all; you did have to go under
+the water, but then you had the right to grumble. But if a man
+believed that everything was predestined before the foundations of the
+world, there wasn't any sense or reason in findin' fault with anything
+that happened. And he believed that he'd ruther jine the Babtist
+church than the Presbyterian, for he didn't see how he could <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>carry on
+his farm without complainin' about the weather and the crops and
+things in general.</p>
+
+<p>"If Marthy and Amos'd been divided on anything but their churches, the
+children might 'a' brought 'em together; but every time a child was
+born matters got worse. Amos, of course, wanted 'em all babtized in
+infancy, and Marthy wanted 'em immersed when they j'ined the church,
+and so it went. Amos had his way about the first one, and I never
+shall forgit the day it was born. I went over to help wait on Marthy
+and the baby, and as soon as I got the little thing dressed, we called
+Amos in to see it. Now, Amos always took his religion mighty hard. It
+didn't seem to bring him any comfort or peace o' mind. I've heard
+people say they didn't see how Presbyterians ever could be happy; but
+la, child, it's jest as easy to be happy in one church as in another.
+It all depends on what doctrines you think the most about. Now you
+take election and justification and sanctification, and you can git
+plenty o' comfort out o' them. But Amos never seemed to think of
+anything but reprobation and eternal damnation. Them doctrines jest
+seemed to weigh on him night and day. He used to say many a time that
+he didn't know whether he had made his callin' and election sure or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
+not, and I don't believe he thought that anybody else had made theirs
+sure, either. Abram used to say that Amos looked like he was carryin'
+the sins o' the world on his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"That day the baby was born I thought to myself, 'Well, here's
+somethin' that'll make Amos forgit about his callin' and election for
+once, anyhow;' and I wrapped the little feller up in his blanket and
+held him to the light, so his father could see him; and Amos looked at
+him like he was skeered, for a minute, and then he says, 'O Lord! I
+hope it ain't a reprobate.'</p>
+
+<p>"Now jest think of a man lookin' down into a little new-born baby's
+face and talkin' about reprobates!</p>
+
+<p>"Marthy heard what he said, and says she, 'Amos, are you goin' to have
+him babtized in infancy?'</p>
+
+<p>"'Why, yes,' says Amos, 'of course I am.'</p>
+
+<p>"And Marthy says, 'Well, hadn't you better wait until you find out
+whether he's a reprobate or not? If he's a reprobate, babtizin' ain't
+goin' to do him any good, and if he's elected he don't need to be
+babtized.'</p>
+
+<p>"And I says, 'For goodness' sake, Marthy, you and Amos let the
+doctrines alone, or you'll throw yourself into a fever.' And I pushed
+a rockin'-chair up by the bed and I says, 'Here, Amos, you set here by
+your wife,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> and both of you thank the Lord for givin' you such a fine
+child;' and I laid the baby in Amos' arms, and went out in the gyarden
+to look around and git some fresh air. I gethered a bunch o'
+honeysuckles to put on Marthy's table, and when I got back, Marthy and
+the baby was both asleep, and Amos looked as if he was beginnin' to
+have some little hopes of the child's salvation.</p>
+
+<p>"Marthy named him John; and Sam Amos said he reckoned it was for John
+the Babtist. But it wasn't; it was for Marthy's twin brother that died
+when he was jest three months old. Twins run in the Crawford family.
+Amos had him babtized in infancy jest like he said he would, and such
+a hollerin' and squallin' never was heard in Goshen church. The next
+day Sally Ann says to me, says she, 'That child must 'a' been a
+Babtist, Jane; for he didn't appear to favor infant babtism.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Marthy had her say-so about the next child&mdash;that one was a boy,
+too, and they named him Amos for his father&mdash;and young Amos wasn't
+babtized in infancy; he was 'laid aside for immersion,' as Sam Amos
+said. Then it was Amos' time to have his way, and so they went on till
+young Amos was about fifteen years<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> old and Marthy got him converted
+and ready to be immersed. The Babtists had a big meetin' that spring,
+and there was a dozen or more converts to be babtized when it was
+over. We'd been havin' mighty pleasant weather that March; I ricollect
+me and Abram planted our potatoes the first week in March, and I would
+put in some peas. Abram said it was too early, and sure enough the
+frost got 'em when they was about two inches high. It turned off real
+cold about the last o' March; and when the day for the babtizin' come,
+there was a pretty keen east wind, and Kittle Creek was mighty high
+and muddy, owin' to the rains they'd had further up. There was some
+talk o' puttin' off the babtizin' till better weather, but Brother
+Gyardner, he says: 'The colder the water, the warmer your faith,
+brethren; Christ never put off any babtizin' on account of the
+weather.'</p>
+
+<p>"Sam Amos asked him if he didn't reckon there was some difference
+between the climate o' Kentucky and the climate o' Palestine. Sam was
+always a great hand to joke with the preachers. But the way things
+went that day the weather didn't make much difference anyhow to young
+Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"The whole neighborhood turned out Sunday evenin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> and went over to
+Kittle Creek to see the big babtizin'. Marthy and Amos and all the
+children was there, and Marthy looked like she'd had a big streak o'
+good luck. Sam Amos says to me, 'Well, Aunt Jane, Marthy's waited a
+long time, but she'll have her innin's now.'</p>
+
+<p>"Bush Elrod was the first one to go under the water; and when two or
+three more had been babtized, it was young Amos' time. I saw Marthy
+pushin' him forward and beckonin' to Brother Gyardner like she
+couldn't wait any longer.</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody never did know exactly how it happened. Some folks said that
+young Amos wasn't overly anxious to go under the water that cold day,
+and he kind o' slipped behind his father when he saw Brother Gyardner
+comin' towards him; and some went so fur as to say that Brother
+Gyardner was in the habit o' takin' a little spirits after a babtizin'
+to keep from takin' cold, and that time he'd taken it beforehand, and
+didn't know exactly what he was about. Anyhow, the first thing we knew
+Brother Gyardner had hold o' Amos himself, leadin' him towards the
+water. Amos was a timid sort o' man, easy flustered, and it looked
+like he lost his wits and his tongue too. He was kind o' pullin' back
+and lookin' round in a skeered way, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> Brother Gyardner he hollered
+out, 'Come right along, brother! I know jest how it is myself; the
+spirit is willin', but the flesh is weak.' The Babtists was shoutin'
+'Glory Hallelujah' and Uncle Jim Matthews begun to sing, 'On Jordan's
+stormy banks I stand,' and pretty near everybody j'ined in till you
+couldn't hear your ears. The rest of us was about as flustered as
+Amos. We knew in reason that Brother Gyardner was makin' a big
+mistake, but we jest stood there and let things go on, and no tellin'
+what might 'a' happened if it hadn't been for Sam Amos. Sam was a
+cool-headed man, and nothin' ever flustered him. As soon as he saw how
+things was goin' he set down on the bank and pulled off his boots; and
+jest as Brother Gyardner got into the middle o' the creek, here come
+Sam wadin' up behind 'em, and grabbed Amos by the shoulder and
+hollered out, 'You got the wrong man, parson! Here, Amos, take hold o'
+me.' And he give Amos a jerk that nearly made Brother Gyardner lose
+his footin', and him and Amos waded up to the shore and left Brother
+Gyardner standin' there in the middle o' the creek lookin' like he'd
+lost his job.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that put a stop to the singin' and the shoutin', and the way
+folks laughed was scandalous. They had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> to walk Amos home in a hurry
+to git his wet clothes off, and Uncle Jim Matthews and Old Man Bob
+Crawford went with him to rub him down. Amos was subject to
+bronchitis, anyhow. Marthy went on ahead of 'em in the wagon to have
+hot water and blankets ready. I'll give Marthy that credit; she
+appeared to forgit all about the babtizin' when Amos come up so wet
+and shiverin'. Sam couldn't git his boots on over his wet socks, and
+as he'd walked over to the creek, Silas Petty had to take him home in
+his spring wagon. Brother Gyardner all this time was lookin' round for
+young Amos, but he wasn't to be found high nor low, and that set folks
+to laughin' again, and so many havin' to leave, the babtizin' was
+clean broke up. Milly come up jest as Sam was gittin' into Old Man
+Bob's wagon, and says she, 'Well, Sam, you've ruined your Sunday pants
+this time.' And Sam says, 'Pants nothin'. The rest o' you all can save
+your Sunday pants if you want to, but this here's a free country, and
+I ain't goin' to stand by and see a man babtized against his will
+while I'm able to save him.' And if Sam'd saved Amos' life, instead o'
+jest savin' him from babtism, Amos couldn't 'a' been gratefuler. When
+Sam broke his arm the follerin' summer, Amos went over and set up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
+with him at night, and let his own wheat stand while he harvested
+Sam's.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the next time the 'Sociation met, the Babtists had somethin'
+new to talk about. Old Brother Gyardner got up, and says he,
+'Brethren, there's a question that's been botherin' me for some time,
+and I'd like to hear it discussed and git it settled, if possible;'
+and says he, 'If a man should be babtized accidentally, and against
+his will, would he be a Babtist? or would he not?' And they begun to
+argue it, and they had it up and down, and some was of one opinion and
+some of another. Brother Gyardner said he was inclined to think that
+babtism made a man a Babtist, but old Brother Bascom said if a man
+wasn't a Babtist in his heart, all the water in the sea wouldn't make
+him one. And Brother Gyardner said that was knockin' the props clean
+from under the Babtist faith. 'For,' says he, 'if bein' a Babtist in
+the heart makes a man a Babtist, then babtism ain't necessary to
+salvation, and if babtism ain't necessary, what becomes o' the Babtist
+church?'</p>
+
+<p>"Somebody told Amos about the dispute they was havin' over his case,
+and Amos says, 'If them fool Babtists want that question settled, let
+'em come to me.' Says he, 'My father and mother was Presbyterians,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
+and my grandfather and grandmother and great-grandfather and
+great-grandmother on both sides; I was sprinkled in infancy, and I
+j'ined the Presbyterian church as soon as I come to the age of
+accountability, and if you was to carry me over to Jerusalem and
+babtize me in the river Jordan itself, I'd still be a Presbyterian.'"</p>
+
+<p>Here Aunt Jane paused to laugh again. "There's some things, child,"
+she said, as she wiped her glasses, "that people'll laugh over and
+then forgit; and there's some things they never git over laughin'
+about. The Kittle Creek babtizin' was one o' that kind. Old Man Bob
+Crawford used to say he wouldn't 'a' took five hundred dollars for
+that babtizin'. Old Man Bob was the biggest laugher in the country;
+you could hear him for pretty near half a mile when he got in a
+laughin' way; and he used to say that whenever he felt like havin' a
+good laugh, all he had to do was to think of Amos and how he looked
+with Brother Gyardner leadin' him into the water, and the Babtists
+a-singin' over him. Bush Elrod was another one that never got over it.
+Every time he'd see Amos he'd begin to sing, 'On Jordan's stormy banks
+I stand,' and Amos couldn't git out o' the way quick enough.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that's what made me and old Uncle Sam<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> Simpson laugh so last
+Sunday. I don't reckon there's anything funny in it to folks that
+never seen it; but when old people git together and call up old times,
+they can see jest how folks looked and acted, and it's like livin' it
+all over again."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe you can see it any plainer than I do, Aunt Jane," I
+hastened to assure her. "It is all as clear to me as any picture I
+ever saw. It was in March, you say, and the wind was cool, but the sun
+was warm; and if you sat in a sheltered place you might almost think
+it was the last of April."</p>
+
+<p>"That's so, child. I remember me and Abram set under the bank on a
+rock that kind o' cut off the north wind, and it was real pleasant."</p>
+
+<p>"Then there must have been a purple haze on the hills; and, while the
+trees were still bare, there was a look about them as if the coming
+leaves were casting their shadows before. There were heaps of brown
+leaves from last year's autumn in the fence corners, and as you and
+Uncle Abram walked home, you looked under them to see if the violets
+were coming up, and found some tiny wood ferns."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane dropped her knitting and leaned back in the high
+old-fashioned chair.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why, child," she said in an awe-struck tone, "are you a
+fortune-teller?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all, Aunt Jane," I said, laughing at the dear old lady's
+consternation. "I am only a good guesser; and I wanted you to know
+that I not only see the things that you see and tell me, but some of
+the things that you see and don't tell me. Did Marthy ever get young
+Amos baptized?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"La, yes," laughed Aunt Jane. "They finished up the babtizin' two
+weeks after that. It was a nice, pleasant day, and young Amos went
+under the water all right; but mighty little good it did him after
+all. For as soon as he come of age, he married Matildy Harris (Matildy
+was a Methodist), and he got to goin' to church with his wife, and
+that was the last of his Babtist raisin'."</p>
+
+<p>Then we both were silent for a while, and I watched the gathering
+thunder-clouds in the west. A low rumble of thunder broke the
+stillness of the August afternoon. Aunt Jane looked up apprehensively.</p>
+
+<p>"There's goin' to be a storm betwixt now and sundown," she said, "but
+I reckon them young turkeys'll be safe under their mother's wings by
+that time."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think a wife ought to join her husband's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> church, Aunt
+Jane?" I asked with idle irrelevance to her remark.</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes she ought and sometimes she oughtn't," replied Aunt Jane
+oracularly. "There ain't any rule about it. Everybody's got to be
+their own judge about such matters. If I'd 'a' been in Marthy's place,
+I wouldn't 'a' j'ined Amos' church, and if I'd been in Amos' place I
+wouldn't 'a' j'ined Marthy's church. So there it is."</p>
+
+<p>"But didn't you join Uncle Abram's church?" I asked, in a laudable
+endeavor to get at the root of the matter.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I did," said Aunt Jane stoutly; "but that's a mighty different
+thing. Of course, I went with Abram, and if I had it to do over again,
+I'd do it. You see the way of it was this: my folks was Campbellites,
+or Christians they'd ruther be called. It's curious how they don't
+like to be called Campbellites. Methodists don't mind bein' called
+Wesleyans, and Presbyterians don't git mad if you call 'em Calvinists,
+and I reckon Alexander Campbell was jest as good a man as Wesley and a
+sight better'n Calvin, but you can't make a Campbellite madder than to
+call him a Campbellite. However, as I was sayin', Alexander Campbell
+himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> babtized my father and mother out here in Drake's Creek, and
+I was brought up to think that my church was <i>the</i> Christian church,
+sure enough. But when me and Abram married, neither one of us was
+thinkin' much about churches. I used to tell Marthy that if a man'd
+come talkin' church to me, when he ought to been courtin' me, I'd 'a'
+told him to go on and marry a hymn-book or a catechism. I believe in
+religion jest as much as anybody, but a man that can't forgit his
+religion while he's courtin' a woman ain't worth havin'. That's my
+opinion. But as I was sayin', me and Abram had the church question to
+settle after we was married, and I don't believe either one of us
+thought about it till Sunday mornin' come. I ricollect it jest like it
+was yesterday. We was married in June, and you know how things always
+look about then. I've thought many a day, when I've been out in the
+gyarden workin' with my vegetables and getherin' my honeysuckles and
+roses, that if folks could jest live on and never git old and it'd
+stay June forever, that this world'd be heaven enough for anybody. And
+that's the way it was that Sunday mornin'. I ricollect I had on my
+'second-day' dress, the prettiest sort of a changeable silk, kind 'o
+dove color and pink, and I had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> leghorn bonnet on with pink roses
+inside the brim, and black lace mitts on my hands. I stood up before
+the glass jest before I went out to the gate where Abram was, waitin'
+for me, and I looked as pretty as a pink, if I do say it. 'Self-praise
+goes but a little ways,' my mother used to tell me, when I was a
+gyirl; but I reckon there ain't any harm in an old woman like me
+tellin' how she looked when she was a bride more'n sixty years ago."</p>
+
+<p>And a faint color came into the wrinkled cheeks, while her clear, high
+laugh rang out. The outward symbols of youth and beauty were gone, but
+their unquenchable spirit lay warm under the ashes of nearly eight
+decades.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I went out, and Abram helped me into the buggy and, instead o'
+goin' straight on to Goshen church, he turned around and drove out to
+my church. When we walked in I could see folks nudgin' each other and
+laughin', and when meetin' broke and we was fixin' to go home, Aunt
+Maria Taylor grabbed hold o' me and pulled me off to one side and says
+she, 'That's right, Jane, you're beginnin' in time. Jest break a man
+in at the start, and you won't have no trouble afterwards.' And I jest
+laughed in her face and went on to where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> Abram was waitin' for me. I
+was too happy to git mad that day. Well, the next Sunday, when we got
+into the buggy and Abram started to turn round, I took hold o' the
+reins and says I, 'It's my time to drive, Abram; you had your way last
+Sunday, and now I'm goin' to have mine.' And I snapped the whip over
+old Nell's back and drove right on to Goshen, and Abram jest set back
+and laughed fit to kill.</p>
+
+<p>"We went on that way for two or three months, folks sayin' that Abram
+and Jane Parrish couldn't go to the same church two Sundays straight
+along to save their lives, and everybody wonderin' which of us'd have
+their way in the long run. And me and Abram jest laughed in our
+sleeves and paid no attention to 'em; for there never was but one way
+for us, anyhow, and that wasn't Abram's way nor my way; it was jest
+<i>our</i> way. There's lots of married folks, honey, and one of 'em's here
+and one of 'em's gone over yonder, and there's a long, deep grave
+between 'em; but they're a heap nearer to each other than two livin'
+people that stay in the same house, and eat at the same table, and
+sleep in the same bed, and all the time there's two great thick church
+walls between 'em and growin' thicker and higher every day. Sam Amos
+used to say that if religion made folks act like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> Marthy and Amos did,
+he believed he'd ruther have less religion or none at all. But, honey,
+when you see married folks quarrelin' over their churches, it ain't
+too much religion that's the cause o' the trouble, it's too little
+love. Jest ricollect that; if folks love each other right, religion
+ain't goin' to come between 'em.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, as soon as cold weather set in they started up a big revival at
+Goshen church. After the meetin' had been goin' on for three or four
+weeks, Parson Page give out one Sunday that the session would meet on
+the follerin' Thursday to examine all that had experienced a change o'
+heart and wanted to unite with the church. I never said a word to
+Abram, but Thursday evenin' while he was out on the farm mendin' some
+fences that the cattle had broke down, I harnessed old Nell to the
+buggy and drove out to Goshen. All the converts was there, and the
+session was questionin' and examinin' when I got in. When it come my
+turn, Parson Page begun askin' me if I'd made my callin' and election
+sure, and I come right out, and says I, 'I don't know much about
+callin' and election, Brother Page; I reckon I'm a Christian,' says I,
+'for I've been tryin' to do right by everybody ever since I was old
+enough to know the difference betwixt right and wrong; but, if the
+plain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> truth was told, I'm j'inin' this church jest because it's
+Abram's church, and I want to please him. And that's all the testimony
+I've got to give.' And Parson Page put his hand over his mouth to keep
+from laughin'&mdash;he was a young man then and hadn't been married long
+himself&mdash;and says he, 'That'll do, Sister Parrish; brethren, we'll
+pass on to the next candidate.' I left 'em examinin' Sam Crawford
+about his callin' and election, and I got home before Abram come to
+the house, and the next day when I walked up with the rest of 'em
+Abram was the only person in the church that was surprised. When
+they'd got through givin' us the right hand o' fellowship, and I went
+back to our pew, Abram took hold o' my hand and held on to it like he
+never would let go, and I knew I'd done the right thing and I never
+would regret it."</p>
+
+<p>There was a light on the old woman's face that made me turn my eyes
+away. Here was a personal revelation that should have satisfied the
+most exacting, but my vulgar curiosity cried out for further light on
+the past.</p>
+
+<p>"What would you have done," I asked, "if Uncle Abram hadn't turned the
+horse that Sunday morning&mdash;if he had gone straight on to Goshen?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane regarded me for a moment with a look of pitying allowance,
+such as one bestows on a child who doesn't know any better than to ask
+stupid questions.</p>
+
+<p>"Shuh, child," she said with careless brevity, "Abram couldn't 'a'
+done such a thing as that."</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/image_009.jpg" width="500" height="305" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2>
+
+<h2>HOW SAM AMOS RODE IN THE<br />
+
+TOURNAMENT</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/image_010.jpg" width="600" height="332" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t1.jpg" alt="I" width="71" height="50" /></div>
+<p>here's one thing I'd like mighty well to see again before I die,"
+said Aunt Jane, "and that is a good, old-fashioned fair. The apostle
+says we must 'press forward, forgetting the things that are behind,'
+but there's some things I've left behind that I can't never forget,
+and the fairs we had in my day is one of 'em."</p>
+
+<p>It was the quietest hour of an August afternoon&mdash;that time when one
+seems to have reached "the land where it is always afternoon"&mdash;and
+Aunt Jane and I were sitting on the back porch, shelling butter-beans
+for the next day's market. Before us lay the garden in the splendid
+fulness of late summer. Concord and Catawba grapes loaded the vines on
+the rickety old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> arbor; tomatoes were ripening in reckless plenty, to
+be given to the neighbors, or to lie in tempting rows on the
+window-sill of the kitchen and the shelves of the back porch; the
+second planting of cucumber vines ran in flowery luxuriance over the
+space allotted to them, and even encroached on the territory of the
+squashes and melons. Damsons hung purpling over the eaves of the
+house, and wasps and bees kept up a lively buzzing as they feasted on
+the windfalls of the old yellow peach tree near the garden gate.
+Nature had distributed her sunshine and showers with wise generosity
+that year, and neither in field nor in garden was there lack of any
+good thing. Perhaps it was this gracious abundance, presaging fine
+exhibits at the coming fair, that turned Aunt Jane's thoughts towards
+the fairs of her youth.</p>
+
+<p>"Folks nowadays don't seem to think much about fairs," she continued;
+"but when I was young a fair was something that the grown folks looked
+forward to jest like children look for Christmas. The women and the
+men, too, was gittin' ready for the fair all the year round, the women
+piecin' quilts and knittin' socks and weavin' carpets and puttin' up
+preserves and pickles, and the men raisin' fine stock; and when the
+fair come,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> it was worth goin' to, child, and worth rememberin' after
+you'd gone to it.</p>
+
+<p>"I hear folks talkin' about the fair every year, and I laugh to myself
+and I say, 'You folks don't know what a fair is.' And I set out there
+on my porch fair week and watch the buggies and wagons goin' by in the
+mornin' and comin' home at night, and I git right happy, thinkin'
+about the time when me and Abram and the children used to go over the
+same road to the fair, but a mighty different sort of fair from what
+they have nowadays. One thing is, honey, they have the fairs too soon.
+It never was intended for folks to go to fairs in hot weather, and
+here they've got to havin' 'em the first week in September, about the
+hottest, driest, dustiest time of the whole year. Nothin' looks pretty
+then, and it always makes me think o' folks when they've been wearin'
+their summer clothes for three months, and everything's all faded and
+dusty and drabbled. That's the way it generally is in September. But
+jest wait till two or three good rains come, and everything's washed
+clean and sweet, and the trees look like they'd got a new set o'
+leaves, and the grass comes out green and fresh like it does in the
+spring, and the nights and the mornin's feel cool, though it's hot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
+enough in the middle o' the day; and maybe there'll come a touch of
+early frost, jest enough to turn the top leaves on the sugar maples.
+That's October, child, and that's the time for a fair.</p>
+
+<p>"Lord, the good times I've seen in them days! Startin' early and
+comin' home late, with the sun settin' in front of you, and by and by
+the moon comin' up behind you, and the wind blowin' cool out o' the
+woods on the side o' the road; the baby fast asleep in my arms, and
+the other children talkin' with each other about what they'd seen, and
+Abram drivin' slow over the rough places, and lookin' back every once
+in a while to see if we was all there. It's a curious thing, honey; I
+liked fairs as well as anybody, and I reckon I saw all there was to be
+seen, and heard everything there was to be heard every time I went to
+one. But now, when I git to callin' 'em up, it appears to me that the
+best part of it all, and the part I ricollect the plainest, was jest
+the goin' there and the comin' back home.</p>
+
+<p>"Abram knew I liked to stay till everything was over, and he'd git
+somebody to water and feed the stock, and then I never had any hot
+suppers to git while the fair lasted; so there wasn't anything to
+hurry me and Abram. I ricollect Maria Petty come up one day about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
+five o'clock, jest as we was lookin' at the last race, and says she,
+'I'm about to drop, Jane; but I believe I'd ruther stay here and sleep
+on the floor o' the amp'itheater than to go home and cook a hot
+supper.' And I says, 'Don't cook a hot supper, then.' And says she,
+'Why, Silas wouldn't eat a piece o' cold bread at home to save his
+life or mine either.'</p>
+
+<p>"There's a heap o' women to be pitied, child," said Aunt Jane,
+dropping a handful of shelled beans into my pan with a cheerful
+clatter, "but, of all things, deliver me from livin' with a man that
+has to have hot bread three times a day. Milly Amos used to say that
+when she died she wanted a hot biscuit carved on her tombstone; and
+that if it wasn't for hot biscuits, there'd be a mighty small crop of
+widowers. Sam, you see, was another man that couldn't eat cold bread.
+But Sam had a right to his hot biscuits; for if Milly didn't feel like
+goin' into the kitchen, Sam'd go out and mix up his biscuits and bake
+'em himself. Sam's soda biscuits was as good as mine; and when it come
+to beaten biscuits, why nobody could equal Sam. Milly'd make up the
+dough as stiff as she could handle it, and Sam'd beat it till it was
+soft enough to roll out; and such biscuits I never expect to eat
+again&mdash;white and light as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> snow inside, and crisp as a cracker
+outside. Folks nowadays makes beaten biscuits by machinery, but they
+don't taste like the old-fashioned kind that was beat by hand.</p>
+
+<p>"And talkin' about biscuits, child, reminds me of the cookin' I used
+to do for the fairs. I don't reckon many women likes to remember the
+cookin' they've done. When folks git to rememberin', it looks like the
+only thing they want to call up is the pleasure they've had, the
+picnics and the weddin's and the tea-parties. But somehow the work
+I've done in my day is jest as precious to me as the play I've had. I
+hear young folks complainin' about havin' to work so hard, and I say
+to 'em, 'Child, when you git to be as old as I am, and can't work all
+you want to, you'll know there ain't any pleasure like good hard
+work.'</p>
+
+<p>"There's one thing that bothers me, child," and Aunt Jane's voice sank
+to a confidential key: "I've had a plenty o' fears in my life, but
+they've all passed over me; and now there's jest one thing I'm afraid
+of: that I'll live to be too old to work. It appears to me like I
+could stand anything but that. And if the time ever comes when I can't
+help myself, nor other folks either, I trust the Lord'll see fit to
+call me hence and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> give me a new body, and start me to work again
+right away.</p>
+
+<p>"But, as I was sayin', I always enjoyed cookin', and it's a pleasure
+to me to set and think about the hams I've b'iled and the salt-risin'
+bread I've baked and the old-fashioned pound-cake and sponge-cake and
+all the rest o' the things I used to take to the fair. Abram was
+always mighty proud o' my cookin', and we generally had a half a dozen
+or more o' the town folks to eat dinner with us every day o' the fair.
+Old Judge Grace and Dr. Brigham never failed to eat with us. The old
+judge'd say something about my salt-risin' bread every time I'd meet
+him in town. The first year my bread took the premium, Abram sent the
+premium loaf to him with the blue ribbon tied around it. After Abram
+died I stopped goin' to the fairs, and I don't know how many years
+it'd been since I set foot on the grounds. I hadn't an idea how
+things'd changed since my day till, year before last, Henrietta and
+her husband come down here from Danville. He'd come to show some
+blooded stock, and she come along with him to see me. And says she,
+'Grandma, you've got to go to the fair with me one day, anyhow;' and I
+went more to please her than to please myself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'm always contendin', child, that this world's growin' better and
+better all the time; but, Lord! Lord! that fair come pretty near
+upsettin' my faith. Why, in my day folks could take their children to
+the fair and turn 'em loose; and, if they had sense enough to keep
+from under the horses' feet, they was jest as safe at the fair as they
+was at a May meetin'. But, la! the sights I saw that day Henrietta
+took me to the fair! Every which way you'd look there was some sort of
+a trap for temptin' boys and leadin' 'em astray. Whisky and beer and
+all sorts o' gamblin' machines and pool sellin', and little boys no
+higher'n that smokin' little white cigyars, and offerin' to bet with
+each other on the races. And I says to Henrietta, 'Child, I don't call
+this a fair; why, it's jest nothin' but a gamblin' den and a whisky
+saloon. And,' says I, 'I know now what old Uncle Henry Matthews
+meant.' I'd asked the old man if he was goin' to show anything at the
+fair that year, and he said, 'No, Jane. Unless you've got somethin'
+for the town folks to bet on, it ain't worth while.'</p>
+
+<p>"But there was one thing I did enjoy that day, and that was the races.
+There's some folks thinks that racin' horses is a terrible sin; but I
+don't. It's the bettin' and the swearin' that goes with the racin'
+that's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> the sin. If folks'd behave as well as the horses behaves, a
+race'd be jest as religious as a Sunday-school picnic. There ain't a
+finer sight to me than a blooded horse goin' at a two-forty gait round
+a smooth track, and the sun a-shinin' and the flags a-wavin' and the
+wind blowin' and the folks cheerin' and hollerin'. So, when Henrietta
+said the races was goin' to begin, I says, says I, 'Here, child, take
+hold o' my arm and help me down these steps; I'm goin' to see one more
+race before I die.' And Henrietta helped me down, and we went over to
+the grand stand and got a good seat where I could see the horses when
+they come to the finish. I tell you, honey, it made me feel young
+again jest to see them horses coverin' the ground like they did. My
+father used to raise fine horses, and Abram used to say that when it
+come to knowin' a horse's p'ints, he'd back me against any man in
+Kentucky. I'll have to be a heap older'n I am now before I see the day
+when I wouldn't turn around and walk a good piece to look at a fine
+horse."</p>
+
+<p>And the old lady gave a laugh at this confession of weakness.</p>
+
+<p>"It was like old times to see the way them horses run. And when they
+come to the finish I was laughin' and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> hollerin' as much as anybody.
+And jest then somebody right behind me give a yell, and says he:</p>
+
+<p>"'Hurrah for old Kentucky! When it comes to fine horses and fine
+whisky and fine women, she can't be beat.'</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody begun to laugh, and a man right in front o' me says, 'It's
+that young feller from Lexin'ton. His father's one o' the biggest
+horsemen in the state. That's his horse that's jest won the race.' And
+I turned around to see, and there was a boy about the size o' my
+youngest grandchild up at Danville. His hat was set on the back of his
+head, and his hair was combed down over his eyes till he looked like
+he'd come out of a feeble-minded school. He had a little white cigyar
+in his mouth, and you could tell by his breath that he'd been
+drinkin'.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I ain't much of a hand for meddlin' with other folks' business,
+but I'd been readin' about the Salvation Army, and how they preach on
+the street; and it come into my head that here was a time for some
+Salvation work. And I says to him, says I, 'Son, there's another thing
+that Kentucky used to be hard to beat on, and that was fine men. But,'
+says I, 'betwixt the fine horses and the fine women and the fine
+whisky, some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> o' the men has got to be a mighty common lot.' Says I,
+'Holler as much as you please for that horse out there; he's worth
+hollerin' for. But,' says I, 'when a state's got to raisin' a better
+breed o' horses than she raises men, it ain't no time to be hollerin'
+"hurrah" for her.' Says I, 'You're your father's son, and yonder's
+your father's horse; now which do you reckon your father's proudest of
+to-day, his horse or his son?'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, folks begun to laugh again, and the boy looked like he wanted
+to say somethin' sassy, but he couldn't git his wits together enough
+to think up anything. And I says, says I, 'That horse never touched
+whisky or tobacco in his life; he's clean-blooded and clean-lived, and
+he'll live to a good old age; and, maybe, when he dies they'll bury
+him like a Christian, and put a monument up over him like they did
+over Ten Broeck. But you, why, you ain't hardly out o' your short
+pants, and you're fifty years old if you're a day. You'll bring your
+father's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave, and you'll go to your own
+grave a heap sooner'n you ought to, and nobody'll ever build a
+monument over you.'</p>
+
+<p>"There was three or four boys along with the Lexin'ton boy, and one of
+'em that appeared to have less whisky in him than the rest, he says,
+'Well, grandma,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> I reckon you're about right; we're a pretty bad lot.'
+And says he, 'Come on, boys, and let's git out o' this.' And off they
+went; and whether my preachin' ever did 'em any good I don't know, but
+I couldn't help sayin' what I did, and that's the last time I ever
+went to these new-fashioned fairs they're havin' nowadays. Fair time
+used to mean a heap to me, but now it don't mean anything but jest to
+put me in mind o' old times."</p>
+
+<p>Just then there was a sound of galloping hoofs on the pike, and loud
+"whoas" from a rider in distress. We started up with the eagerness of
+those whose lives have flowed too long in the channels of stillness
+and peace. Here was a possibility of adventure not to be lost for any
+consideration. Aunt Jane dropped her pan with a sharp clang; I
+gathered up my skirt with its measure of unshelled beans, and together
+we rushed to the front of the house.</p>
+
+<p>It was a "solitary horseman," wholly and ludicrously at the mercy of
+his steed, a mischievous young horse that had never felt the bridle
+and bit of a trainer.</p>
+
+<p>"It's that red-headed boy of Joe Crofton's," chuckled Aunt Jane.
+"Nobody'd ever think he was born in Kentucky; now, would they? Old Man
+Bob Crawford used to say that every country boy in this state<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> was a
+sort o' half-brother to a horse. But that boy yonder ain't no kin to
+the filly he's tryin' to ride. There's good blood in that filly as
+sure's you're born. I can tell by the way she throws her head and uses
+her feet. She'll make a fine saddle-mare, if her master ever gets hold
+of her. Jest look yonder, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>The horse had come to a stand; she gave a sudden backward leap, raised
+herself on her hind legs, came down on all fours with a great clatter
+of hoofs, and began a circular dance over the smooth road. Round she
+went, stepping as daintily as a maiden at a May-day dance, while the
+rider clung to the reins, dug his bare heels into the glossy sides of
+his steed, and yelled "whoa," as if his salvation lay in that word.
+Then, as if just awakened to a sense of duty, the filly ceased her
+antics, tossed her head with a determined air, and broke into a brisk,
+clean gallop that would have delighted a skilled rider, but seemed to
+bring only fresh dismay to the soul of Joe Crofton's boy. His arms
+flapped dismally and hopelessly up and down; a gust of wind seized his
+ragged cap and tossed it impishly on one of the topmost boughs of the
+Osage-orange hedge; his protesting "whoa" voiced the hopelessness of
+one who resigns himself to the power of a dire fate, and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
+disappeared ingloriously in a cloud of summer dust. Whereupon we
+returned to the prosaic work of bean-shelling, with the feeling of
+those who have watched the curtain go down on the last scene of the
+comedy.</p>
+
+<p>"I declare to goodness," sighed Aunt Jane breathlessly, as she stooped
+to recover her pan, "I ain't laughed so much in I don't know when. It
+reminds me o' the time Sam Amos rode in the t'u'nament." And she began
+laughing again at some recollection in which I had no part.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, that's right curious, ain't it? When I set here talkin' about
+fairs, that boy comes by and makes me think o' how Sam rode at the
+fair that year they had the t'u'nament. I don't know how long it's
+been since I thought o' that ride, and maybe I never would 'a' thought
+of it again if that boy of Joe Crofton's hadn't put me in mind of it."</p>
+
+<p>I dropped my butter-beans for a moment and assumed a listening
+attitude, and without any further solicitation, and in the natural
+course of events, the story began.</p>
+
+<p>"You see the town folks was always gittin' up somethin' new for the
+fair, and that year I'm talkin' about it was a t'u'nament. All the
+Goshen folks that went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> to town the last County Court day before the
+fair come back with the news that there was goin' to be a t'u'nament
+the third day o' the fair. Everybody was sayin', 'What's that?' and
+nobody could answer 'em till Sam Crawford went to town one Saturday
+jest before the fair, and come back with the whole thing at his
+tongue's end. Sam heard that they was practisin' for the t'u'nament
+that evenin', and as he passed the fair grounds on his way home, he
+made a p'int of goin' in and seein' what they was about. He said there
+was twelve young men, and they was called knights; and they had a lot
+o' iron rings hung from the posts of the amp'itheater, and they'd tear
+around the ring like mad and try to stick a pole through every ring
+and carry it off with 'em, and the one that got the most rings got the
+blue ribbon. Sam said it took a good eye and a steady arm and a good
+seat to manage the thing, and he enjoyed watchin' 'em. 'But,' says he,
+'why they call the thing a t'u'nament is more'n I could make out. I
+stayed there a plumb hour, and I couldn't hear nor see anything that
+sounded or looked like a tune.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the third day o' the fair come, and we was all on hand to see
+the t'u'nament. It went off jest like Sam said. There was twelve
+knights, all dressed in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> black velvet, with gold and silver spangles,
+and they galloped around and tried to take off the rings on their long
+poles. When they got through with that, the knights they rode up to
+the judges with a wreath o' flowers on the ends o' their
+poles&mdash;lances, they called 'em&mdash;and every knight called out the name
+o' the lady that he thought the most of; and she come up to the stand,
+and they put the wreath on her head, and there was twelve pretty
+gyirls with flowers on their heads, and they was 'Queens of Love and
+Beauty.' It was a mighty pretty sight, I tell you; and the band was
+playin' 'Old Kentucky Home,' and everybody was hollerin' and throwin'
+up their hats. Then the knights galloped around the ring once and went
+out at the big gate, and come up and promenaded around the
+amp'itheater with the gyirls they had crowned. The knight that got the
+blue ribbon took off ten rings out o' the fifteen. He rode a mighty
+fine horse, and Sam Amos, he says, 'I believe in my soul if I'd 'a'
+been on that horse I could 'a' taken off every one o' them rings.' Sam
+was a mighty good rider, and Milly used to say that the only thing
+that'd make Sam enjoy ridin' more'n he did was for somebody to put up
+lookin'-glasses so he could see himself all along the road.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, the next thing on the program was the gentleman riders' ring.
+The premium was five dollars in gold for the best gentleman rider. We
+was waitin' for that to commence, when Uncle Jim Matthews come up, and
+says he, 'Sam, there's only one entry in this ring, and it's about to
+fall through.'</p>
+
+<p>"You see they had made a rule that year that there shouldn't be any
+premiums given unless there was some competition. And Uncle Jim says,
+'There's a young feller from Simpson County out there mighty anxious
+to ride. He come up here on purpose to git that premium. Suppose you
+ride ag'inst him and show him that Simpson can't beat Warren.' Sam
+laughed like he was mightily pleased, and says he, 'I don't care a rap
+for the premium, Uncle Jim, but, jest to oblige the man from Simpson,
+I'll ride. But,' says he, 'I ought to 'a' known it this mornin' so I
+could 'a' put on my Sunday clothes.' And Uncle Jim says, 'Never mind
+that; you set your horse straight and carry yourself jest so, and the
+judges won't look at your clothes.' 'How about the horse?' says Sam.
+'Why,' says Uncle Jim, 'there's a dozen or more good-lookin'
+saddle-horses out yonder outside the big gate, and you can have your
+pick.' So Sam started off, and the next thing him and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> the man from
+Simpson was trottin' around the ring. Us Goshen people kind o' kept
+together when we set down in the amp'itheater. Every time Sam'd go
+past us, we'd all holler 'hurrah!' for him. The Simpson man appeared
+to have a lot o' friends on the other side o' the amp'itheater, and
+they'd holler for him, and the town folks was divided up about even.</p>
+
+<p>"Both o' the men rode mighty well. They put their horses through all
+the gaits, rackin' and pacin' and lopin', and it looked like it was
+goin' to be a tie, when all at once the band struck up 'Dixie,' and
+Sam's horse broke into a gallop. Sam didn't mind that; he jest pushed
+his hat down on his head and took a firm seat, and seemed to enjoy it
+as much as anybody. But after he'd galloped around the ring two or
+three times, he tried to rein the horse in and get him down to a nice
+steady trot like the Simpson man was doin'. But, no, sir. That horse
+hadn't any idea of stoppin'. The harder the band played the faster he
+galloped; and Uncle Jim Matthews says, 'I reckon Sam's horse thinks
+it's another t'u'nament.' And Abram says, 'Goes like he'd been paid to
+gallop jest that way; don't he, Uncle Jim?'</p>
+
+<p>"But horses has a heap o' sense, child; and it looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> to me like the
+horse knew he had Sam Amos, one o' the best riders in the county, on
+his back and he was jest playin' a little joke on him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, of course when the judges seen that Sam'd lost control of his
+horse, they called the Simpson man up and tied the blue ribbon on him.
+And he took off his hat and waved it around, and then he trotted
+around the ring, and the Simpson folks hollered and threw up their
+hats. And all that time Sam's horse was tearin' around the ring jest
+as hard as he could go. Sam's hat was off, and I ricollect jest how
+his hair looked, blowin' back in the wind&mdash;Milly hadn't trimmed it for
+some time&mdash;and him gittin' madder and madder every minute. Of course
+us Goshen folks was mad, too, because Sam didn't git the blue ribbon;
+but we had to laugh, and the town folks and the Simpson folks they
+looked like they'd split their sides. Old Man Bob Crawford jest laid
+back on the benches and hollered and laughed till he got right purple
+in the face. And says he, 'This beats the Kittle Creek babtizin' all
+to pieces.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, nobody knows how long that horse would 'a' kept on gallopin',
+for Sam couldn't stop him; but finally two o' the judges they stepped
+out and headed him off and took hold o' the bridle and led him out o'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
+the ring. And Uncle Jim Matthews he jumps up, and says he, 'Let me out
+o' here. I want to see Sam when he gits off o' that horse.' Milly was
+settin' on the top seat considerably higher'n I was. And says she, 'I
+wouldn't care if I didn't see Sam for a week to come. Sam don't git
+mad often,' says she, 'but when he does, folks'd better keep out o'
+his way.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Uncle Jim started off, and the rest of us set still and waited;
+and pretty soon here come Sam lookin' mad enough to fight all
+creation, sure enough. Everybody was still laughin', but nobody said
+anything to Sam till up comes Old Man Bob Crawford with about two
+yards o' blue ribbon. He'd jumped over into the ring and got it from
+the judges as soon as he could quit laughin'. And says he, 'Sam, I
+have seen gracefuler riders, and riders that had more control over
+their horses, but,' says he, 'I never seen one yet that stuck on a
+horse faithfuler'n you did in that little t'u'nament o' yours jest
+now; and I'm goin' to tie this ribbon on you jest as a premium for
+stickin' on, when you might jest as easy 'a' fell off.' Well,
+everybody looked for Sam to double up his fist and knock Old Man Bob
+down, and he might 'a' done it, but Milly saw how things was goin',
+and she come hurryin' up. Milly was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> a mighty pretty woman, and always
+dressed herself neat and trim, but she'd been goin' around with little
+Sam in her arms, and her hair was fallin' down, and she looked like
+any woman'd look that'd carried a heavy baby all day and dragged her
+dress over a dusty floor. She come up, and says she, 'Well, Sam, ain't
+you goin' to crown me "Queen o' Love and Beauty"?' Folks used to say
+that Sam never was so mad that Milly couldn't make him laugh, and says
+he, 'You look like a queen o' love and beauty, don't you?' Of course
+that turned the laugh on Milly, and then Sam come around all right.
+And says he, 'Well, neighbors, I've made a fool o' myself, and no
+mistake; and you all can laugh as much as you want to;' and he took
+Old Man Bob's blue ribbon and tied it on little Sam's arm, and him and
+Milly walked off together as pleasant as you please. And that's how
+Sam Amos rode in the t'u'nament," said Aunt Jane conclusively, as she
+arose from her chair and shook a lapful of bean pods into a willow
+basket near by.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Sam Amos living yet?" I asked, in the hope of prolonging an
+o'er-short tale. A softened look came over Aunt Jane's face.</p>
+
+<p>"No, child," she said quietly, "Sam's oldest son is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> livin' yet, and
+his three daughters. They all moved out o' the Goshen neighborhood
+long ago. But Sam's been in his grave twenty years or more, and here I
+set laughin' about that ride o' his. Somehow or other I've outlived
+nearly all of 'em. And now when I git to callin' up old times, no
+matter where I start out, I'm pretty certain to end over in the old
+buryin'-ground yonder. But then," and she smiled brightly, "there's a
+plenty more to be told over on the other side."</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/image_011.jpg" width="500" height="239" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2>
+
+<h2>MARY ANDREWS' DINNER-PARTY</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/image_012.jpg" width="600" height="567" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="104" height="50" /></div>
+<p>ell!" exclaimed Aunt Jane, as she surveyed her dinner-table, "looks
+like Mary Andrews' dinner-party, don't it? However, there's a plenty
+of it such as it is, and good enough what there is of it, as the old
+man said; so set down, child, and help yourself."</p>
+
+<p>A loaf of Aunt Jane's salt-rising bread, a plate of golden butter, a
+pitcher of Jersey milk, and a bowl of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> honey in the comb,&mdash;who would
+ask for more? And as I sat down I blessed the friendly rain that had
+kept me from going home.</p>
+
+<p>"But who was Mary Andrews? and what about her dinner-party?" I asked,
+as I buttered my bread.</p>
+
+<p>"Eat your dinner, child, and then we'll talk about Mary Andrews,"
+laughed Aunt Jane. "If I'd 'a' thought before I spoke, which I hardly
+ever do, I wouldn't 'a' mentioned Mary Andrews, for I know you won't
+let me see any rest till you know all about her."</p>
+
+<p>And Aunt Jane was quite right. A summer rain, and a story, too!</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon there's mighty few livin' that ricollect about Mary Andrews
+and her dinner-party," she said meditatively an hour later, when the
+dishes had been washed and we were seated in the old-fashioned parlor.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary Andrews' maiden name was Crawford. A first cousin of Sam
+Crawford she was. Her father was Jerry Crawford, a brother of Old Man
+Bob, and her mother was a Simpson. People used to say that the
+Crawfords and the Simpsons was like two mud-puddles with a ditch
+between, always runnin' together. I ricollect one year three Crawford
+sisters married three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> Simpson brothers. Mary was about my age, and
+she married Harvey Andrews a little over a year after me and Abram
+married, and there's few women I ever knew better and liked more than
+I did Mary Andrews.</p>
+
+<p>"I ricollect her weddin' nearly as well as I do my own. My Jane was
+jest a month old, and I had to ask mother to come over and stay with
+the baby while I went to the weddin'. I hadn't thought much about what
+I'd wear&mdash;I'd been so taken up with the baby&mdash;and I ricollect I went
+to the big chest o' drawers in the spare room and jerked out my
+weddin' dress, and says I to mother, 'There'll be two brides at the
+weddin'!'</p>
+
+<p>"But, bless your life, when I tried to make it meet around my waist,
+why, it lacked four or five inches of comin' together; and mother set
+and laughed fit to kill, and, says she, 'Jane, that dress was made for
+a young girl, and you'll never be a young girl again!' And I says,
+'Well, I may never fasten this dress around my waist again, but I
+don't know what's to hinder me from bein' a young girl all my life.'</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to goodness," she went on, "that I could ricollect what I wore
+to Mary Andrews' weddin'. I know I didn't wear my weddin' dress, and I
+know I went, but to save my life I can't call up the dress I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> on.
+It ain't like me to forgit the clothes I used to wear, but I can't
+call it up. However, what I wore to Mary Andrews' weddin' ain't got
+anything to do with Mary Andrews' dinner-party."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane paused and scratched her head reflectively with a knitting
+needle. Evidently she was loath to go on with her story till the
+memory of that wedding garment should return to her.</p>
+
+<p>"I was readin' the other day," she continued, "about somethin' they've
+got off yonder in Washington, some sort of bureau that tells folks
+what the weather'll be, and warns the ships about settin' off on a
+voyage when there's a storm ahead. And says I to myself, 'Do you
+reckon they'll ever git so smart that they can tell what sort o'
+weather there is ahead o' two people jest married and settin' out on
+the voyage that won't end till death parts 'em? and what sort o'
+weather they're goin' to have six months from the weddin' day?' The
+world's gittin' wiser every day, child, but there ain't nobody wise
+enough to tell what sort of a husband a man's goin' to make, nor what
+sort of a wife a woman's goin' to make, nor how a weddin' is goin' to
+turn out. I've watched folks marryin' for more'n seventy years, and I
+don't know much more about it than I did when I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> a ten-year-old
+child. I've seen folks marry when it looked like certain destruction
+for both of 'em, and all at once they'd take a turn that'd surprise
+everybody, and things would come out all right with 'em. There was
+Wick Harris and Virginia Matthews. Wick was jest such a boy as Dick
+Elrod, and Virginia was another Annie Crawford. She'd never done a
+stitch o' sewin' nor cooked a meal o' victuals in her life, and I
+ricollect her mother sayin' she didn't know which she felt sorriest
+for, Wick or Virginia, and she wished to goodness there was a law to
+keep such folks from marryin'. But, bless your life! instead o' comin'
+to shipwreck like Dick and Annie, they settled down as steady as any
+old married couple you ever saw. Wick quit his drinkin' and gamblin',
+and Virginia, why, there wasn't a better housekeeper in the state nor
+a better mother'n she got to be.</p>
+
+<p>"And then I've seen 'em marry when everything looked bright ahead and
+everybody was certain it was a good thing for both of 'em, and it
+turned out that everybody was wrong. That's the way it was with Mary
+Andrews and Harvey. Nobody had a misgivin' about it. Mary was as happy
+as a lark, and Harvey looked like he couldn't wait for the weddin'
+day, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> everybody said they was made for each other. To be sure,
+Harvey was 'most a stranger in the neighborhood, havin' moved in about
+a year and a half before, and we couldn't know him like we did the
+Goshen boys that'd been born and brought up there. But nobody could
+say a word against him. His family down in Tennessee, jest beyond the
+state line, was as good people as ever lived, and Harvey himself was
+industrious and steady, and as fine lookin' a man as you'd see in a
+week's journey. Everybody said they never saw a handsomer couple than
+Harvey and Mary Andrews.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary was a tall, proud-lookin' girl, always carried herself like a
+queen, and hadn't a favor to ask of anybody; and Harvey was half a
+head taller, and jest her opposite in color. She was dark and he was
+light. They was a fine sight standin' up before the preacher that day,
+and everybody was wishin' 'em good luck, though it looked like they
+had enough already; both of 'em young and healthy and happy and
+good-lookin', and Harvey didn't owe a cent on his farm, and Mary's
+father had furnished the house complete for her. The weddin' come off
+at four o'clock in the evenin', and we all stayed to supper, and after
+supper Harvey and Mary drove over to their new home. I ricollect how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
+Mary looked back over her shoulder and laughed at us standin' on the
+steps and wavin' at her and hollerin' 'good-bye.'</p>
+
+<p>"It was the fashion in that day for all the neighbors to entertain a
+newly married couple. Some would invite 'em to dinner, and some to
+supper, and then the bride and groom would have to do the same for the
+neighbors, and then the honeymoon'd be over, and they'd settle down
+and go to work like ordinary folks. We had Harvey and Mary over to
+dinner, and they asked us to supper. I ricollect how nice the table
+looked with Mary's new blue and white china and some o' the
+old-fashioned silver that'd been in the family for generations. And
+the supper matched the table, for Mary wasn't the kind that expects
+company to satisfy their hunger by lookin' at china and silver. She
+was a fine cook like her mother before her. Amos and Marthy Matthews
+had been invited, too, and we had a real pleasant time laughin' and
+jokin' like folks always do about young married people. After supper
+we all went out on the porch, and Mary whispered to me and Marthy to
+come and see her china closet and pantry. You know how proud a young
+housekeeper is of such things. She showed us all through the back part
+o' the house,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> and we praised everything and told her it looked like
+old experienced housekeepin' instead of a bride's.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, when we went back to the dinin'-room on our way to the porch,
+if there wasn't Harvey bendin' over the table countin' the silver
+teaspoons! A man always looks out o' place doin' such things, and I
+saw Mary's face turn red to the roots of her hair. But nobody said
+anything, and we passed on through and left Harvey still countin'. It
+was a little thing, but I couldn't help thinkin' how queer it was for
+a man that hadn't been married two weeks to leave his company and go
+back to the table to count spoons, and I asked myself how I'd 'a' felt
+if I'd found Abram countin' spoons durin' the honeymoon.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever take a walk, child, some cloudy night when everything's
+covered up by the darkness, and all at once there'll be a flash o'
+lightnin' showin' up everything jest for a second? Well, that's the
+way it is with people's lives. Near as Harvey and Mary lived to me,
+and friendly as we were, I couldn't tell what was happenin' between
+'em. But every now and then, as the months went by, and the years, I'd
+see or hear somethin' that was like a flash of light in a dark place.
+Sometimes it was jest a look, but there's mighty little a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> look can't
+tell; and as for actions, you know they speak louder than words. I
+ricollect one Sunday Harvey and Mary was walkin' ahead o' me and
+Abram. There was a rough piece o' road jest in front of the church,
+and I heard Harvey say: 'Don't walk there, come over on the side where
+it's smooth.'</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon Mary thought that Harvey was thinkin' of her feet, for she
+stepped over to the side of the road right at once and says he, 'Don't
+you know them stones'll wear out your shoes quicker'n anything?' And,
+bless your life, if Mary didn't go right back to the middle of the
+road, and she took particular pains to walk on the stones as far as
+they went. It was a little thing, to be sure, but it showed that
+Harvey was thinkin' more of his wife's shoes than he was of her feet,
+and that ain't a little thing to a woman.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, again, there was the time when me and Abram was passin'
+Harvey's place one evenin', and a storm was comin' up, and we stopped
+in to keep from gittin' wet. Mary had been to town that day, and she
+had on her best dress. She was a woman that looked well in anything
+she put on. Plain clothes couldn't make her look plain, and she set
+off fine clothes as much as they set her off. Me and Abram took seats
+on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> the porch, and Mary went into the hall to git another chair. I
+heard the back hall door open and somebody come in, and then I heard
+Harvey's voice. Says he, 'Go up-stairs and take off that dress.' Says
+he, 'What's the use of wearin' out your best clothes here at home?'
+But before he got the last words out, Mary was on the porch with the
+chair in her hand, talkin' to us about her trip to town, and lookin'
+as unconcerned as if she hadn't heard or seen Harvey. That night I
+says to Abram, says I, 'Abram, did you ever have any cause to think
+that Harvey Andrews was a close man?'</p>
+
+<p>"Abram thought a minute, and, says he, 'Why, no; I can't say I ever
+did. What put such a notion into your head, Jane? Harvey looks after
+his own interests in a trade, but he's as liberal a giver as there is
+in Goshen church. Besides,' says Abram, 'who ever heard of a tall,
+personable man like Harvey bein' close? Stingy people's always dried
+up and shriveled lookin'.'</p>
+
+<p>"But I'd made up my mind what the trouble was between Harvey and Mary,
+and nothin' that Abram said could change it. I don't reckon any man
+knows how women feel about stinginess and closeness in their husbands.
+I believe most women'd rather live with a man that'd killed somebody
+than one that was stingy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> And then Mary never was used to anything of
+that kind, for her father, old man Jerry Crawford, was one o' the
+freest-handed men in the county. It was 'Come in and make yourself at
+home' with everybody that darkened his door, and for a woman, raised
+like Mary was, havin' to live with a man like Harvey was about the
+hardest thing that could 'a' happened to her. However, she had the
+Crawford pride, and she carried her head high and laughed and smiled
+as much as ever; but there's a look that tells plain enough whether a
+woman's married to a man or whether she's jest tied to him and stayin'
+with him because she can't get free; and when Mary wasn't laughin' or
+smilin' I could tell by her face that she wasn't as happy as we all
+thought she was goin' to be the day she married Harvey."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane paused a moment to pick up a dropped stitch.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a good thing you had your dinner, honey, before I started this
+yarn," she said, looking at me quizzically over her glasses, "for I'll
+be a long time bringin' you to the dinner-party. But I've got to tell
+you all this rigmarole first, so you'll understand what's comin'. If I
+was to tell you about the dinner-party first you'd get a wrong idea
+about Mary. That's how folks misjudges<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> one another. They see people
+doin' things that ain't right, and they up and conclude they're bad
+people, when if they only knew somethin' about their lives, they'd
+understand how to make allowance for 'em. You've got to know a heap
+about people's lives, child, before you can judge 'em.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, along about this time, somewhere in the '60's, I reckon it must
+'a' been, there was a big excitement about politics. I can't somehow
+ricollect what it was all about, but they had speakin's everywhere,
+and the men couldn't talk about anything but politics from mornin'
+till night. Abram was goin' in to town every week to some meetin' or
+speakin'; and finally they had a big rally and a barbecue at Goshen.
+One of the speakers was Judge McGowan, from Tennessee, and he was a
+cousin of Harvey Andrews on his mother's side."</p>
+
+<p>Here Aunt Jane paused again.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could ricollect what it was all about," she said musingly.
+"Must 'a' been something mighty important, but it's slipped my memory,
+sure. I do ricollect, though, hearin' Sam Amos say to old Squire
+Bentham, 'What's the matter, anyhow? Ain't Kentucky politicians got
+enough gift o' gab, without sendin' down to Tennessee to git somebody
+to help you out?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"And the old Squire laughed fit to kill; and says he, 'It's all on
+your account, Sam. We heard you was against us, and we knew there
+wasn't an orator in Kentucky that could make you change your mind. So
+we've sent down to Tennessee for Judge McGowan, and we're relyin' on
+him to bring you over to our side.' And that like to 'a' tickled Sam
+to death.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, when Harvey heard his cousin was to be one o' the big men at
+the speakin', he was mighty proud, as anybody would 'a' been, and
+nothin' would do but he must have Judge McGowan to eat dinner at his
+house.</p>
+
+<p>"Some of the men objected to this, and said the speakers ought to eat
+at the barbecue. But Harvey said that blood was thicker than water
+with him, and no cousin o' his could come to Goshen and go away
+without eatin' a meal at his house. So it was fixed up that everybody
+else was to eat at the barbecue, and Harvey was to take Judge McGowan
+over to his house to a family dinner-party.</p>
+
+<p>"I dropped in to see Mary two or three days before the speakin', and
+when I was leavin', I said, 'Mary, if there's anything I can do to
+help you about your dinner-party, jest let me know.' And she said,
+'There ain't a thing to do; Harvey's been to town and bought
+everything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> he could think of in the way of groceries, and Jane Ann's
+comin' over to cook the dinner; but thank you, all the same.'</p>
+
+<p>"I thought Mary looked pleased and satisfied, and I says, 'Well, with
+everything to cook and Jane Ann to cook it, there won't be anything
+lackin' about that dinner.' And Mary laughed, and says she, 'You know
+I'm my father's own child.'</p>
+
+<p>"Old Jerry used to say, ''Tain't no visit unless you waller a bed and
+empty a plate.' They used tell it that Aunt Maria, the cook, never had
+a chance to clean up the kitchen between meals, and the neighbors all
+called Jerry's house the free tavern. I've heard folks laugh many a
+time over the children recitin' the Ten Commandments Sunday evenin's,
+and Jerry would holler at 'em when they got through and say:</p>
+
+<p>"'The 'leventh commandment for Kentuckians is, "Be not forgetful to
+entertain strangers," and never mind about 'em turnin' out to be
+angels. Plain folks is good enough for me.'</p>
+
+<p>"Here I am strayin' off from the dinner, jest like I always do when I
+set out to tell anything or go anywhere. Abram used to say that if I
+started to the spring-house, I'd go by way o' the front porch and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
+front yard and the back porch and the back yard and the flower gyarden
+and the vegetable gyarden to git there.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the day come, and Judge McGowan made a fine speech, and Harvey
+carried him off in his new buggy, as proud as a peacock. I ricollect
+when I set down to my table that day I said to myself: 'I know Judge
+McGowan's havin' a dinner to-day that'll make him remember Kentucky as
+long as he lives.' And it wasn't till years afterwards that I heard
+the truth about that dinner. Jane Ann herself told me, and I don't
+believe she ever told anybody else. Jane Ann was crippled for a year
+or more before she died, and the neighbors had to do a good deal of
+nursin' and waitin' on her. I was makin' her a cup o' tea one day, and
+the kittle was bubblin' and singin', and she begun to laugh, and says
+she, 'Jane, do you hear that sparrer chirpin' in the peach tree there
+by the window?' Says she, 'I never hear a sparrer chirpin' and a
+kittle b'ilin', that I don't think o' the dinner Mary Andrews had the
+day Judge McGowan spoke at the big barbecue.' Says she, 'Mary's dead,
+and Harvey's dead, and I reckon there ain't any harm in speakin' of it
+now.' And then she told me the story I'm tellin' you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She said she went over that mornin' bright and early, and there was
+Mary sittin' on the back porch, sewin'. The house was all cleaned up,
+and there was a big panful o' greens on the kitchen table, but not a
+sign of a company dinner anywhere in sight. Jane Ann said Mary spoke
+up as bright and pleasant as possible, and told her to set down and
+rest herself, and she went on sewin', and they talked about this and
+that for a while, and finally Jane Ann rolled up her sleeves, and says
+she, 'I'm a pretty fast worker, Mis' Andrews, but a company dinner
+ain't any small matter; don't you think it's time to begin work?'</p>
+
+<p>"And Mary jest smiled and said in her easy way, 'No, Jane Ann, there's
+not much to do. It won't take long for the greens to cook, and I want
+you to make some of your good corn bread to go with 'em.' And then she
+went on sewin' and talkin', and all Jane Ann could do was to set there
+and listen and wonder what it all meant.</p>
+
+<p>"Finally the clock struck eleven, and Mary rolled up her work, and
+says she, 'You'd better make up your fire now, Jane Ann, and I'll set
+the table. Harvey likes an early dinner.'</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said she expected to see Mary get out the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> best china and
+silver and the finest tablecloth and napkins she had, but instead o'
+that she put on jest plain, everyday things. Everything was clean and
+nice, but it wasn't the way to set the table for a company dinner, and
+nobody knew that better than Mary Andrews.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said she saw a ham and plenty o' vegetables and eggs in the
+pantry, and she could hardly keep her hands off 'em, and she did
+smuggle some potatoes into the stove after she got her greens washed
+and her meal scalded. She said she knew somethin' was wrong, but all
+she could do was to hold her tongue and do her work. That was Jane
+Ann's way. When Mary got through settin' the table, she went up-stairs
+and put on her best dress. Trouble hadn't pulled her down a bit; and,
+if anything, she was handsomer than she was the day she married. I
+reckon it was her spirit that kept her from breakin' and growin' old
+before her time. Jane Ann said she come down-stairs, her eyes
+sparklin' like a girl's and a bright color in her cheeks, and she had
+on a flowered muslin dress, white ground with sprigs o' lilac all over
+it, and lace in the neck, and angel sleeves that showed off her arms,
+and her hair was twisted high up on her head, and a big
+tortoise-shell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> comb in it. Jane Ann said she looked as pretty as a
+picture; and jest as she come down the stairs, Harvey drove up with
+Judge McGowan, and Mary walked out to give him a welcome, while Harvey
+put away the buggy. Nobody had pleasanter ways than Mary Andrews. She
+always had somethin' to say, and it was always the right thing to be
+said, and in a minute her and the old judge was laughin' like they'd
+known each other all their lives, and he had the children on his knees
+trottin' 'em and tellin' 'em about his little girl and boy at home.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said her greens was about done and she started to put on the
+corn bread, but somethin' held her back. She knew corn bread and
+greens wasn't a fit dinner for a stranger that had been invited there,
+but of course she couldn't do anything without orders, and she was
+standin' over the stove waitin' and wonderin', when Harvey, man-like,
+walked in to see how dinner was gettin' on. Jane Ann said he looked at
+the pot o' greens and the pan of corn bread batter, and he went into
+the dinin'-room and saw the table all clean, but nothin' on it beyond
+the ordinary, and his face looked like a thunder-cloud. And jest then
+Mary come in all smilin', and the prettiest color in her cheeks, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
+Harvey wheeled around and says he, 'What does this mean? Where's the
+ham I told you to cook and all the rest o' the things I bought for
+this dinner?'</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said the way he spoke and the look in his eyes would 'a'
+frightened most any woman but Mary; she wasn't the kind to be
+frightened. Jane Ann said she stood up straight, with her head thrown
+back and still smilin', and her voice was as clear and sweet as if
+she'd been sayin' somethin' pleasant. And she looked Harvey straight
+in the eyes, and says she, 'It means, Harvey, that what's good enough
+for us is good enough for your kin.' Jane Ann said that Harvey looked
+at her a second as if he didn't understand, and then he give a start
+as if he ricollected somethin', and it looked like all the blood in
+his body rushed to his face, and he lifted one hand and opened his
+mouth like he was goin' to speak. There they stood, lookin' at each
+other, and Jane Ann said she never saw such a look pass between
+husband and wife before or since. If either of 'em had dropped dead,
+she said, it wouldn't 'a' seemed strange.</p>
+
+<p>"Honey, I read a story once about two men that had quarreled, and one
+of 'em picked up a little rock and put it in his pocket, and for eight
+years he carried that rock, and once a year he'd turn it over. And at
+last,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> one day he met the man he hated, and he took out the rock he'd
+been carryin' so long, and threw it at him, and it struck him dead.
+Now I know as well as if Mary Andrews had told me, that Harvey had
+said them very same words to her years before, and she'd carried 'em
+in her heart, jest like the man carried the stone in his pocket,
+waitin' till she could throw 'em back at him and hurt him as much as
+he hurt her. It wasn't right nor Christian. But knowin' Mary Andrews
+as I did, I never had a word o' blame for her. There never was a
+better-hearted woman than Mary, and I always thought she must 'a' gone
+through a heap to make her say such a thing to Harvey.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said that when she worked at a place she always tried to be
+blind and deaf so far as family matters was concerned, and she knew
+that she had no business seein' or hearin' anything that went on
+between Harvey and Mary, but there they stood, facin' each other, and
+she could hear a sparrer chirpin' outside, and the tea-kittle b'ilin'
+on the stove, while she stood watchin' 'em, feelin' like she was
+charmed by a snake. She said the look in Mary's eyes and the way she
+smiled made her blood run cold. And Harvey couldn't stand it. He had
+to give in.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said his hand dropped, and he turned and walked out o' the
+house and down towards the barn. Mary watched him till he was out o'
+sight, and then she went back to the front porch, and the next minute
+she was laughin' and talkin' with Harvey's cousin as if nothin' had
+happened.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, for the next half hour Jane Ann said she made her two hands do
+the work of four, and when she put the dinner on the table it was
+nothin' to be ashamed of. She sliced some ham and fried it, and made
+coffee and soda biscuits, and poached some eggs; and when they set
+down to the table, and the old judge'd said grace, he looked around,
+and, says he: 'How did you know, cousin, that jowl and greens was my
+favorite dish?' And while they was eatin' the first course, Jane Ann
+made up pie-crust and had a blackberry pie ready by the time they was
+ready to eat it. The old judge was a plain man and a hearty eater, and
+everything pleased him.</p>
+
+<p>"When they first set down, Mary says, says she: 'You'll have to excuse
+Harvey, Cousin Samuel; he had some farm-work to attend to and won't be
+in for some little time.'</p>
+
+<p>"And the old judge bows and smiles across the table,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> and, says he, 'I
+hadn't missed Harvey, and ain't likely to miss him when I'm talkin' to
+Harvey's wife.'</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said she never saw a meal pass off better, and when she
+looked at Mary jokin' and smilin' with the judge and waitin' on the
+children so kind and thoughtful, she could hardly believe it was the
+same woman that had stood there a few minutes before with that awful
+smile on her face and looked her husband in the eyes till she looked
+him down. She said she expected Harvey to step in any minute, and she
+kept things hot while she was washin' up the dishes. But two o'clock
+come and half-past two, and still no Harvey. And pretty soon here come
+Mary out to the kitchen, and says she:</p>
+
+<p>"'I'm goin' to drive the judge to town, Jane Ann. And when you get
+through cleanin' up, jest close the house, and your money's on the
+mantelpiece in the dinin'-room.' Then she went out in the direction of
+the stable, and in a few minutes come drivin' back in the buggy. Jane
+Ann said the horse couldn't 'a' been unharnessed at all. Her and the
+judge got in with the two children down in front, and they drove off
+to catch the four-o'clock train.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Ann said she straightened everything up in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> the kitchen and
+dinin'-room, and shut up the house, and then she went out in the yard
+and walked down in the direction of the stable, and there was Harvey,
+standin' in the stable-yard. She said his face was turned away from
+her, and she was glad it was, for it scared her jest to look at his
+back. He was standin' as still as a statue, his arms hangin' down by
+his sides and both hands clenched, and it looked like he'd made up his
+mind to stand there till Judgment Day. Jane Ann said she wondered many
+a time how long he stayed there, and whether he ever did come to the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>"I ricollect how everybody was talkin' about the speakin' that day.
+Abram come home from the barbecue, and, says he, 'Jane, I haven't
+heard such a speech as that since the days of old Humphrey Marshall;
+and as for the barbecue, all it needed was Judge McGowan to set at the
+head o' the table. But then,' says he, 'I reckon it was natural for
+Harvey to want to take his cousin home with him.'</p>
+
+<p>"That was about four o'clock, and it wasn't more than two hours till
+we heard a horse gallopin' way up the pike. I'd jest washed the supper
+dishes, and me and Abram was out on the back porch, and I had the baby
+in my arms. There was somethin' in the sound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> o' the horse's hoofs
+that told me he was carryin' bad news, and I jumped up, and says I,
+'Abram, some awful thing has happened.' And he says, 'Jane, are you
+crazy?' I could hear the sound o' the gallopin' comin' nearer and
+nearer, and I rushed out to the front gate with Abram follerin' after
+me. We looked up the road, and there was Sam Amos gallopin' like mad
+on that young bay mare of his. The minute he saw us he hollered out to
+Abram: 'Git ready as quick as you can, and go to town! Harvey Andrews
+has had an apoplectic stroke, and I want you to bring the undertaker
+out here right away.'</p>
+
+<p>"I turned around to say, 'What did I tell you?' But before I could git
+the words out, Abram was off to saddle and bridle old Moll. That was
+always Abram's way. If there was anything to be done, he did it, and
+the talkin' and questionin' come afterwards.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam stopped at the gate and got off a minute to give his horse a
+breathin' spell. He said he was passin' Harvey's place about five
+o'clock and he heard a child screamin'. 'At first,' says he, 'I didn't
+pay any attention to it, I'm so used to hearin' children holler. But
+after I got past the house I kept hearin' the child, and somethin'
+told me to turn back and find out what was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> the matter. I went in,'
+said he, 'and follered the sound till I come to the stable-yard, and
+there was Harvey, lyin' on the ground stone dead, and Mary standin'
+over him lookin' like a crazy woman, and the children, pore little
+things, screamin' and cryin' and scared half to death.'</p>
+
+<p>"The horse and buggy was standin' there, and Mary must 'a' found the
+body when she come back from town.</p>
+
+<p>"'I got her and the children to the house,' says he; 'and then I
+started out to get some person to help me move the body, and, as luck
+would have it,' says he, 'I met the Crawford boys comin' from town,
+and between us we managed to get the corpse up to the house and laid
+it on the big settee in the front hall. And now,' says he, 'I'm goin'
+after Uncle Jim Matthews; and me and him and the Crawford boys'll lay
+the body out when the undertaker comes. And Marthy Matthews will have
+to come over and stay all night.</p>
+
+<p>"Says I, 'Sam, how is Mary bearin' it?'</p>
+
+<p>"He shook his head, and says he, 'The worst way in the world. She
+hasn't shed a tear nor spoke a word, and she don't seem to notice
+anything, not even the children. But,' says he, 'I can't stand here<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
+talkin'. There's a heap to be done yet, and Milly's lookin' for me
+now.'</p>
+
+<p>"And with that he got on his horse and rode off, and I went into the
+house to put the children to bed. Then I set down on the porch steps
+to wait for Abram. The sun was down by this time, and there was a new
+moon in the west, and it didn't seem like there could be any sorrow
+and sufferin' in such a quiet, happy, peaceful-lookin' world. But
+there was poor Mary not a mile away, and I set and grieved over her in
+her trouble jest like it had been my own. I didn't know what had
+happened that day between Harvey and Mary. But I knew that Harvey had
+been struck down in the prime o' life, and that Mary had found his
+dead body, and that was terrible enough. From what I'd seen o' their
+married life I knew that Mary's loss wasn't what mine would 'a' been
+if Abram had dropped dead that day instead o' Harvey, but a man and
+woman can't live together as husband and wife and father and mother
+without growin' to each other; and whatever Mary hadn't lost, she had
+lost the father of her children, and I couldn't sleep much that night
+for thinkin' of her.</p>
+
+<p>"The day of the funeral I went over to help Mary and get her dressed
+in her widow's clothes. She was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> actin' queer and dazed, and nothin'
+seemed to make much impression on her. I was fastenin' her crape
+collar on, and she says to me: 'I reckon you think it's strange I
+don't cry and take on like women do when they lose their husbands.
+But,' says she, 'you wouldn't blame me if you knew.'</p>
+
+<p>"And then she dropped her voice down to a whisper, and says she, 'You
+know I married Harvey Andrews. But after I married him, I found that
+there wasn't any such man. I haven't got any cause to cry, for the man
+I married ain't dead. He never was alive, and so, of course, he can't
+be dead.'</p>
+
+<p>"And then she began to laugh; and says she, 'I don't know which is the
+worst: to be sorry when you ought to be glad, or glad when you ought
+to be sorry.'</p>
+
+<p>"And I says, 'Hush, Mary, don't talk about it. I know what you mean,
+but other folks might not understand.'</p>
+
+<p>"Mary ain't the only one, child, that's married a man, and then found
+out that there <i>wasn't any such man</i>. I've looked at many a bride and
+groom standin' up before the preacher and makin' promises for a
+lifetime, and I've thought to myself, 'You pore things, you! All you
+know about each other is your names<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> and your faces. You've got all
+the rest to find out, and nobody knows what you'll find out nor what
+you'll do when you find it out.'</p>
+
+<p>"Folks said it was the saddest funeral they ever went to. Harvey's
+people all lived down in Tennessee. His father and mother had died
+long ago, and he hadn't any near kin except a brother and a sister;
+and they lived too far off to come to the funeral in time. Abram said
+to me after we got home: 'Well, I never thought I'd help to lay a
+friend and neighbor in the ground and not a tear shed over him.'</p>
+
+<p>"If Mary had 'a' cried, we could 'a' cried with her. But she set at
+the head o' the coffin with her hands folded in her lap, and her mind
+seemed to be away off from the things that was happenin' around her. I
+don't believe she even heard the clods fallin' on the coffin; and when
+we started away from the grave Marthy Matthews leaned over and
+whispered to me: 'Jane, don't Mary remind you of somebody walkin' in
+her sleep?'</p>
+
+<p>"Mary's mother and sister hadn't been with her in her trouble, for
+they happened to be down in Logan visitin' a great-uncle. So Marthy
+and me settled it between us that she was to stay with Mary that
+night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> and I was to come over the next mornin'. You know how much
+there is to be done after a funeral. Well, bright and early I went
+over, and Marthy met me at the gate. She was goin' out as I was comin'
+in. Says she, 'Go right up-stairs; Mary's lookin' for you. She's more
+like herself this mornin'; and I'm thankful for that.'</p>
+
+<p>"The minute I stepped in the door I heard Mary's voice. She'd seen me
+comin' in the gate and called out to me to come up-stairs. She was in
+the front room, her room and Harvey's, and the closet and the bureau
+drawers was all open, and things scattered around every which way, and
+Mary was down on her knees in front of an old trunk, foldin' up
+Harvey's clothes and puttin' 'em away. Her hands was shakin', and
+there was a red spot on each of her cheeks, and she had a strange look
+out of her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I says to her, 'Why, Mary, you ain't fit to be doin' that work. You
+ought to be in bed restin'.' And says she, 'I can't rest till I get
+everything straightened out. Mother and sister Sally are comin',' says
+she, 'and I want to get everything in order before they get here.' And
+I says, 'Now, Mary, you lay down on the bed and I'll put these things
+away. You can watch me and tell me what to do, and I'll do it; but
+you've got to rest.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> So I shook everything out and folded it up as
+nice as I could and laid it away in the trunk, while she watched me.
+And once she said, 'Don't have any wrinkles in 'em. Harvey was always
+mighty particular about his clothes.'</p>
+
+<p>"Next to layin' the body in the ground, child, this foldin' up dead
+folks' clothes and puttin' 'em away is one o' the hardest things
+people ever has to do. It's jest like when you've finished a book and
+shut it up and put it away on the shelf. I knew jest how Mary felt,
+when she said she couldn't rest till everything was put away. The life
+she'd lived with Harvey was over, and she was closin' up the book and
+puttin' it out of sight forever. Pore child! Pore child!</p>
+
+<p>"Well, when I got all o' Harvey's clothes put away, I washed out the
+empty drawers, lined 'em with clean paper and laid some o' little
+Harvey's clothes in 'em, and that seemed to please Mary. The father
+was gone, but there was his son to take his place. Then I shut it up
+tight, and Mary raised herself up out o' bed and says she, 'Take hold,
+Jane, I'm goin' to take this to the attic right now.' And take it we
+did, though the trunk was heavy and the stairs so steep and narrer we
+had to stop and rest on every step. We pushed the trunk way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> back
+under the eaves, and it may be standin' there yet for all I know.</p>
+
+<p>"When we got down-stairs, Mary drew a long breath like she'd got a big
+load off her mind, and says she, 'There's one more thing I want you to
+help me about, and then you can go home, Jane, and I'll go to bed and
+rest.' She took a key out of her pocket, and says she, 'Jane, this is
+the key to the little cabin out in the back yard. Harvey used to keep
+something in there, but what it was I never knew. As long as we lived
+together, I never saw inside of that cabin, but I'm goin' to see it
+now.'</p>
+
+<p>"The children started to foller us when we went out on the back porch,
+but Mary give 'em some playthings and told 'em to stay around in the
+front yard till we come back. Then we went over to the far corner of
+the back yard where the cabin was, under a big old sycamore tree. I
+ricollect how the key creaked when Mary turned it, and how hard the
+door was to open.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary started to go in first, and then she fell back, and says she, in
+a whisper, 'You go in first, Jane; I'm afraid.' So I went in first and
+Mary follered. For a minute we couldn't see a thing. There was two
+windows to the cabin, but they'd been boarded up from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> the outside,
+and there was jest one big crack at the top of one of the windows that
+let in a long streak of light, and you could see the dust dancin' in
+it. The door opened jest enough to let us in, and we both stood there
+peerin' around and tryin' to see what sort of a place we'd got into.
+The first thing I made out was a heap of old rusty iron. I started to
+take a step, and my foot struck against it. There was old bolts and
+screws and horseshoes and scraps of old cast iron and nails of every
+size, all laid together in a big heap. The place seemed to be full of
+somethin', but I couldn't see what it all was till my eyes got used to
+the darkness. There was a row of nails goin' all round the wall, and
+old clothes hangin' on every one of 'em. And down on the floor there
+was piles of old clothes, folded smooth and laid one on top o' the
+other jest like a washerwoman would fold 'em and pile 'em up. Harvey's
+old clothes and Mary's and the children's, things that any
+right-minded person would 'a' put in the rag-bag or given away to
+anybody that could make use of 'em; there they was, all hoarded up in
+that old room jest like they was of some value. And over in one corner
+was all the old worn-out tin things that you could think of: buckets
+and pans and milk-strainers and dippers and cups.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> And next to them
+was all the glass and china that'd been broken in the years Mary and
+Harvey'd been keepin' house. And there was a lot of old brooms,
+nothin' but stubs, tied together jest like new brooms in the store.
+And there was all the children's broken toys, dolls, and doll dresses,
+and even some glass marbles that little Harvey used to play with. The
+dust was lyin' thick and heavy over everything, and the spiderwebs
+looked like black strings hangin' from the ceilin'; but things of the
+same sort was all lyin' together jest like some woman had put the
+place in order.</p>
+
+<p>"You've heard tell of that bird, child, that gathers up all sorts o'
+rubbish and carries it off to its nest and hides it? Well, I thought
+about that bird; and the heap of old iron reminded me of a little
+boy's pocket when you turn it wrong side out at night, and the china
+and glass and doll-rags made me think of the playhouses I used to make
+under the trees when I was a little girl. I've seen many curious
+places, honey, but nothin' like that old cabin. The moldy smell
+reminded me of the grave; and when I looked at all the dusty, old
+plunder, the ragged clothes hangin' against the wall like so many
+ghosts, and then thought of the dead man that had put 'em there, I
+tell you it made my flesh creep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, we stood there, me and Mary, strainin' our eyes tryin' to see
+into the dark corners, and all at once the meanin' of it come over me
+like a flash: <i>Harvey was a miser!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane stopped, took off her glasses and polished them on the hem
+of her gingham apron. I sat holding my breath; but, all regardless of
+my suspense, she dropped the thread of the story and followed memory
+in one of her capricious backward flights.</p>
+
+<p>"I ricollect a sermon I heard when I was a gyirl," she said. "It ain't
+often, I reckon, that a sermon makes much impression on a gyirl's
+mind. But this wasn't any ordinary sermon or any ordinary preacher.
+Presbytery met in town that year, and all the big preachers in the
+state was there. Some of 'em come out and preached to the country
+churches, and old Dr. Samuel Chalmers Morse preached at Goshen. He was
+one o' the biggest men in the Presbytery, and I ricollect his looks as
+plain as I ricollect his sermon. Some preachers look jest like other
+men, and you can tell the minute you set eyes on 'em that they ain't
+any wiser or any better than common folks. But Dr. Morse wasn't that
+kind.</p>
+
+<p>"You know the Bible tells about people walkin' with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> God and talkin'
+with God. It says Enoch walked with God, and Adam talked with Him.
+Some folks might find that hard to believe, but it seems jest as
+natural to me. Why many a time I've been in my gyarden when the sun's
+gone down, and it ain't quite time for the moon to come up, and the
+dew's fallin' and the flowers smellin' sweet, and I've set down in the
+summer-house and looked up at the stars; and if I'd heard a voice from
+heaven it wouldn't 'a' been a bit stranger to me than the blowin' of
+the wind.</p>
+
+<p>"The minute I saw Dr. Morse I thought about Adam and Enoch, and I said
+to myself, 'He looks like a man that's walked with God and talked with
+God.'</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't look at the people's hats and bonnets that day half as much
+as I usually did, and part of that sermon stayed by me all my life. He
+preached about Nebuchadnezzar and the image he saw in his dream with
+the head of gold and the feet of clay. And he said that every human
+being was like that image; there was gold and there was clay in every
+one of us. Part of us was human and part was divine. Part of us was
+earthly like the clay, and part heavenly like the gold.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> And he said
+that in some folks you couldn't see anything but the clay, but that
+the gold was there, and if you looked long enough you'd find it. And
+some folks, he said, looked like they was all gold, but somewhere or
+other there was the clay, too, and nobody was so good but what he had
+his secret sins and open faults. And he said sin was jest another name
+for ignorance, and that Christ knew this when he prayed on the cross,
+'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.' He said
+everybody would do right, if they knew what was right to do, and that
+the thing for us to do was to look for the gold and not the clay in
+other folks. For the gold was the part that would never die, and the
+clay was jest the mortal part that we dropped when this mortal shall
+have put on immortality.</p>
+
+<p>"Child, that sermon's come home to me many a time when I've caught
+myself weighin' people in the balance and findin' 'em wantin'. That's
+what I'd been doin' all them years with pore Harvey. I'd seen things
+every once in a while that let in a little light on his life and
+Mary's, but the old cabin made it all plain as day, and it seemed like
+every piece o' rubbish in it rose up in judgment against me. I never
+felt like cryin' at Harvey's funeral, but when I stood there peerin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
+around, the tears burnt my eyes, and I says to myself, 'Clay and gold!
+Clay and gold!'</p>
+
+<p>"The same thought must 'a' struck Mary at the same minute it did me,
+for she fell on her knees moanin' and wringin' her hands and cryin':</p>
+
+<p>"'God forgive me! God forgive me! I see it all now. He couldn't help
+it, and I've been a hard woman, and God'll judge me as I judged
+Harvey.'</p>
+
+<p>"The look in her eyes and the sound of her voice skeered me, and I saw
+that the quicker I got her out o' the old cabin the better. I put my
+hand on her shoulder, and says I, 'Hush, Mary. Get up and come back to
+the house; but don't let the children hear you takin' on so. You might
+skeer little Harvey.'</p>
+
+<p>"She stopped a minute and stared at me, and then she caught hold o' my
+hand, and says she: 'No! no! the children mustn't ever know anything
+about it, and nobody must ever see the inside o' that awful place.
+Come, quick!' says she; and she got up from her knees and pulled me
+outside of the door and locked it and dropped the key in her apron
+pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Little Harvey come runnin' up to her, and I was in hopes the sight of
+the child would bring her to herself, but she walked on as if she
+hadn't seen him; and as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> soon as she got up-stairs she fell down in a
+heap on the floor and went to wringin' her hands and beatin' her
+breast and cryin' without tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Honey, if you're done a wrong to a livin' person, you needn't set
+down and grieve over it. You can go right to the person and make it
+right or try to make it right. But when the one you've wronged is
+dead, and the grave lies between you, that's the sort o' grief that
+breaks hearts and makes people lose their minds. And that was what
+Mary Andrews had to bear when she opened the door o' that old cabin
+and saw into Harvey's nature, and felt that she had misjudged and
+condemned him.</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't do anything for a long time, but jest sit by her and
+listen while she called Harvey back from the dead, and called on God
+to forgive her, and blamed herself for all that had ever gone wrong
+between 'em. But at last she wore herself out and had to stop, and
+says I, 'Mary, I don't know what's passed between you and Harvey&mdash;'
+And she broke in, and says she:</p>
+
+<p>"'No! no! you don't know, and nobody on this earth knows what I've
+been through. I used to feel like I was in an iron cage that got
+smaller and smaller every day, and I knew the day was comin' when it
+would shut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> in on me and crush me. But I wouldn't give in to Harvey, I
+wouldn't let him have his own way, and I fought him and hated him and
+despised him; and now I see he couldn't help it, and I feel like I'd
+been strikin' a crippled child.'</p>
+
+<p>"A crippled child! That was jest what pore Harvey was; but I knew it
+wasn't right for Mary to take all the blame on herself, and says I:</p>
+
+<p>"'Mary, if Harvey could keep other people from knowin' what he was,
+couldn't he have kept you from knowin' it, too? If he was free-handed
+to other people, what was to hinder him from bein' the same way to
+you?' Says I, 'If there's any blame in this matter it belongs as much
+to Harvey as it does to you. When you look at that old cabin,' says I,
+'you can't have any hard feelin's toward pore Harvey. You've forgiven
+him, and now,' says I, 'there's jest one more person you've got to
+forgive, and that's yourself,' says I. 'It's jest as wrong to be too
+hard on yourself as it is to be too hard on other folks.'</p>
+
+<p>"I never had thought o' that before, child, but I've thought of it
+many a time since and I know it's true. It ain't often you find a
+human bein' that's too hard on himself. Most of us is jest the other
+way. But Mary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> was one of that kind. I could see a change come over
+her face while I was talkin', and I've always believed them words was
+put in my mouth to give Mary the comfort and help she needed.</p>
+
+<p>"She grabbed hold o' my hand, and says she:</p>
+
+<p>"'Do you reckon I've got a right to forgive myself?' Says she, 'I know
+I'm not a mean woman by nature, but Harvey's ways wasn't my ways. He
+made me do things I didn't want to do and say things I didn't want to
+say, and I never was myself as long as I lived with him. But God knows
+I wouldn't 'a' been so hard on him if I'd only known,' says she. 'God
+may forgive me, but even if He does, it don't seem to me that I've got
+a right to forgive myself.'</p>
+
+<p>"And says I, 'Mary, if you don't forgive yourself you won't be able to
+keer for the children, and you haven't got any right to wrong the
+livin' by worryin' over the dead. And now,' says I, 'you lie down on
+this bed and shut your eyes and say to yourself, "Harvey's forgiven
+me, and God's forgiven me, and I forgive myself." Don't let another
+thought come into your head. Jest say it over and over till you go to
+sleep, and while you're sleepin', I'll look after the children.'</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't have much faith in my own remedy, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> she minded me like a
+child mindin' its mother; and, sure enough, when I tiptoed up-stairs
+an hour or so after that, I found her fast asleep. Her mother and her
+sister Sally come while she was still sleepin', and I left for home,
+feelin' that she was in good hands.</p>
+
+<p>"That night about half-past nine o'clock I went outdoors and set down
+on the porch steps in the dark, as I always do jest before bedtime.
+That's been one o' my ways ever since I was a child. Abram used to say
+he had known me to forgit my prayers many a night, but he never knew
+me to forgit to go outdoors and look up at the sky. If there was a
+moon, or if the stars was shinin', I'd stay out and wander around in
+the gyarden till he'd come out after me; and if it was cloudy, I'd set
+there and feel safe in the darkness as in the light. I always have
+thought, honey, that we lose a heap by sleepin' all night. Well, I was
+sittin' there lookin' up at the stars, and all at once I saw a bright
+light over in the direction of Harvey Andrews' place. Our house was
+built on risin' ground, and we could see for a good ways around the
+country. I called Abram and asked him if he hadn't better saddle old
+Moll and ride over and see if he couldn't help whoever was in trouble.
+But he said it was most likely some o' the neighbors<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> burnin' brush,
+and whatever it was it would be out before he could git to it. So we
+set there watchin' it and speculatin' about it till it died down, and
+then we went to bed.</p>
+
+<p>"The next mornin' I was out in the yard weedin' out a bed o' clove
+pinks, and Sam Amos come ridin' by on his big bay mare. I hollered to
+him and asked him if he knew where the fire was the night before. And
+says he, 'Yes, Aunt Jane; it was that old cabin on Harvey Andrews'
+place.' He said that Amos Matthews happened to be goin' by at the time
+and took down the fence-rails to keep it from spreadin', but that was
+all he could do. Sam said Amos told him there was somethin' mysterious
+about that fire. He said it must 'a' been started from the inside, for
+the flames didn't burst through the windows and roof till after he got
+there, and the whole inside was ablaze. But, when he tried to open the
+door, it was locked fast and tight. He said Mary and her mother and
+sister was all out in the yard, and Mary was standin' with her hands
+folded in front of her, lookin' at the burnin' house jest as calm as
+if it was her own fireplace. Amos asked her for the key to the cabin
+door, and she went to the back porch and took one off a nail, but it
+wouldn't fit the lock, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> before she could get another to try, the
+roof was on fire and cavin' in. Amos told Sam the cabin appeared to be
+full of old plunder of all sorts, and you could smell burnt rags for a
+mile around.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course there was a good deal o' talk about the fire, and everybody
+said how curious it was that it could catch on the inside when the
+door was locked. I never said a word, not even to Abram, but I knew
+well enough who set the old cabin afire, and why the key Mary gave
+Amos wouldn't fit the lock. Harvey's clothes was packed away under the
+old garret; the old cabin was burned, and the ashes and rubbish hauled
+away, and there wasn't anything much left to remind Mary of the things
+she was tryin' to forget. That's the best way to do. When a thing's
+done and you can't undo it, there's no use in frettin' and worryin'
+yourself. Jest put it out o' your mind, and go on your way and git
+ready for the next trial that's comin' to you.</p>
+
+<p>"But Mary never seemed like herself after Harvey died, until little
+Harvey was taken with fever. That seemed to rouse her and bring her
+senses back, and she nursed him night and day. The little thing went
+down to the very gates of death, and everybody give up hope<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> except
+the old doctor. He'd fight death off as long as there was breath in
+the body. The night the turnin' point was to come I set up with Mary.
+The child'd been moanin' and tossin', and his muscles was twitchin',
+and the fever jest as high as it could be. But about three o'clock he
+got quiet and about half-past three I leaned over and counted his
+breaths. He was breathin' slow and regular, and I touched his forehead
+and found it was wet, and the fever was goin' away. I went over to
+Mary, and says I, 'You go in the other room and lie down, Mary, the
+fever's broke, and Harvey's goin' to git well.' She stared at me like
+she couldn't take in what I was sayin'. Then her face begun to work
+like a person's in a convulsion, and she jumped up and rushed out o'
+the room, and the next minute she give a cry that I can hear yet. Then
+she begun to sob, and I knew she was cryin' tears at last, and I set
+by the child and cried with her.</p>
+
+<p>"She wasn't able to be up for two or three days, and every little
+while she'd burst out cryin'. Some folks said she was cryin' for joy
+about the child gittin' well; and some said she was cryin' the tears
+she ought to 'a' cried when Harvey was buried; but I knew she was
+cryin' over all the sorrows of her married life. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> told me
+afterwards that she hadn't shed a tear for six or seven years. Says
+she, 'I used to cry my eyes out nearly over the way things went, and
+one day somethin' happened and I come near cryin'; but the children
+was around and I didn't want them to see me; so I says to myself, "I
+won't cry. What's the use wastin' tears over such things?" And from
+that day,' says she, 'I got as hard as a stone, and it looks like I
+was jest turnin' back to flesh and blood again.'</p>
+
+<p>"There's only two ways o' takin' trouble, child; you can laugh over it
+or you can cry over it. But you've got to do one or the other. The
+Lord made some folks that can laugh away their troubles, and he made
+tears for them that can't laugh, and human bein's can't harden
+themselves into stone.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon, as Mary said, nobody on earth knew what she'd been through,
+livin' with a man like Harvey. If he'd been an out-and-out miser, it
+would 'a' been better for everybody concerned. But it looked like
+Nature started out to make him a miser and then sp'iled the job, so's
+he was neither one thing nor the other. The gold was there, and he
+showed that to outsiders; and the clay was there, and he showed that
+to Mary. And that's the strangest part of all to me. If he had enough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
+sense not to want his neighbors to know his meanness, it looks like he
+ought to have had sense enough to hide it from his wife. A man ought
+to want his wife to think well of him whether anybody else does or
+not. You see, a woman can make out to live with a man and not love
+him, but she can't live with him and despise him. She's jest got to
+respect him. But there's some men that never have found that out. They
+think that because a woman stands up before a preacher and promises to
+love and honor him, that she's bound to do it, no matter what he does.
+And some women do. They're like dogs; they'll stick to a man no matter
+what he does. Some women never can see any faults in their husbands,
+and some sees the faults and covers 'em up and hides 'em from
+outsiders. But Mary wasn't that sort. She couldn't deceive herself,
+and nobody could deceive her; and when she found out Harvey's meanness
+she couldn't help despisin' him in her heart, jest like Michal
+despised David when she saw him playin' and dancin' before the Lord.</p>
+
+<p>"There's something I never have understood, and one of 'em is why such
+a woman as Mary should 'a' been permitted to marry a man like Harvey
+Andrews. It kind o' shakes my faith in Providence every time I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> think
+of it. But I reckon there was a reason for it, whether I can see it or
+not."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane's voice ceased. She dropped her knitting in her lap and
+leaned back in the old easy-chair. Apparently she was looking at the
+dripping syringa bush near the window, but the look in her eyes told
+me that she had reached a page in the story that was not for my eyes
+or my ears, and I held inviolate the silence that had fallen between
+us.</p>
+
+<p>A low, far-off roll of thunder, the last note of the storm-music,
+roused her from her reverie.</p>
+
+<p>"Sakes alive, child!" she exclaimed, starting bolt upright. "Have I
+been sleepin' and dreamin' and you settin' here? Well, I got through
+with my story, anyhow, before I dropped off."</p>
+
+<p>"Surely that isn't all," I said, discontentedly. "What became of Mary
+Andrews after Harvey died?"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane laughed blithely.</p>
+
+<p>"No, it ain't all. What's gittin' into me to leave off the endin' of a
+story? Mary was married young; and when Harvey died she had the best
+part of her life before her, and it was the best part, sure enough.
+About a year after she was left a widow she went up to Christian
+County to visit some of her cousins, and there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> she met the man she
+ought to 'a' married in the first place. I ain't any hand for second
+marriages. 'One man for one woman,' says I; but I've seen so many
+second marriages that was happier than any first ones that I never say
+anything against marryin' twice. Some folks are made for each other,
+but they make mistakes in the road and git lost, and don't git found
+till they've been through a heap o' tribulation, and, maybe, the
+biggest half o' their life's gone. But then, they've got all eternity
+before 'em, and there's time enough there to find all they've lost and
+more besides. But Mary found her portion o' happiness before it was
+too late. Elbert Madison was the man she married. He was an old
+bachelor, and a mighty well-to-do man, and they said every old maid
+and widow in Christian County had set her cap for him one time or
+another. But whenever folks said anything to him about marryin', he'd
+say, 'I'm waitin' for the Right Woman. She's somewhere in the world,
+and as soon as I find her I'm goin' to marry.'</p>
+
+<p>"It got to be a standin' joke with the neighbors and the family, and
+his brother used to say that Elbert believed in that 'Right Woman' the
+same as he believed in God.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"They used to tell how one Christmas, Elbert's nieces had a lot o'
+young company from Louisville, and they had a big dance Christmas Eve.
+Elbert was there, and the minute he come into the room the oldest
+niece, she whispered, 'Here's Uncle Elbert; he's come to see if the
+Right Woman's at the ball.' And with that all them gyirls rushed up to
+Elbert and shook hands with him and pulled him into the middle o' the
+room under a big bunch o' mistletoe, and the prettiest and sassiest
+one of 'em, she took her dress between the tips of her fingers and
+spread it out and made a low bow, and says she, lookin' up into
+Elbert's face, says she:</p>
+
+<p>"'Mr. Madison, don't I look like the Right Woman?'</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody laughed and expected to see Elbert blush and act like he
+wanted to go through the floor. But instead o' that he looked at her
+serious and earnest, and at last he says: 'You do look a little like
+her, but you ain't her. You've got the color of her eyes,' says he,
+'but not the look of 'em. Her hair's dark like yours, but it don't
+curl quite as much, and she's taller than you are, but not quite so
+slim.'</p>
+
+<p>"They said the gyirls stopped laughin' and jest looked at each other,
+and one of 'em said:</p>
+
+<p>"'Well, did you ever?' And that was the last time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> they tried to tease
+Elbert. But Elbert's brother he turns to somebody standin' near him,
+and says he, 'Unless Elbert gets that "right-woman" foolishness out of
+his head and marries and settles down like other men, I believe he'll
+end his days in a lunatic asylum.'</p>
+
+<p>"But it all turned out the way Elbert said it would. The minute he saw
+Mary Andrews, he whispered to his sister-in-law, and says he, 'Sister
+Mary, do you see that dark-eyed woman over there by the door? Well,
+that's the woman I've been lookin' for all my life.'</p>
+
+<p>"He walked across the room and got introduced to her, and they said
+when him and Mary shook hands they looked each other in the eyes and
+laughed like two old friends that hadn't met for years.</p>
+
+<p>"Harvey hadn't been dead much over a year and Mary wanted to put off
+the weddin'. But Elbert said, 'No; I've waited for you a lifetime and
+I'm not goin' to wait any longer.' So they got married as soon as Mary
+could have her weddin' clothes made, and a happier couple you never
+saw. Elbert used to look at her and say:</p>
+
+<p>"'God made Eve for Adam, and he made you for me.'</p>
+
+<p>"And he didn't only love Mary, but he loved her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> children the same as
+if they'd been his own. A woman that's been another man's wife can
+easy enough find a man to love her, but to find one that'll love the
+other man's children, that's a different matter."</p>
+
+<p>One! two! three! four! chimed the old clock; and at the same moment
+out came the sun, sending long rays across the room. The rain had
+subsided to a gentle mist, and the clouds were rolling away before a
+south-west wind that carried with it fragrance from wet flowers and
+leaves and a world cleansed and renewed by a summer storm. We moved
+our chairs out on the porch to enjoy the clearing-off. There were
+health and strength in every breath of the cool, moist air, and for
+every sense but one a pleasure&mdash;odor, light, coolness, and the faint
+music of falling water from the roof and from the trees that sent down
+miniature showers whenever the wind stirred their branches.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jane drew a deep breath of satisfaction, and looked upward at the
+blue sky.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mind how much it rains durin' the day," she said, "if it'll
+jest stop off before night and let the sun set clear. And that's the
+way with life, child. If everything ends right, we can forget all
+about the troubles we've had before. I reckon if Mary Andrews<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> could
+'a' seen a few years ahead while she was havin' her trials with pore
+Harvey, she would 'a' borne 'em all with a better grace. But lookin'
+ahead is somethin' we ain't permitted to do. We've jest got to stand
+up under the present and trust for the time we can't see. And whether
+we trust or not, child, no matter how dark it is nor how long it stays
+dark, the sun's goin' to come out some time, and it's all goin' to be
+right at the last. You know what the Scripture says, 'At evening time
+it shall be light!'"</p>
+
+<p>Her faded eyes were turned reverently toward the glory of the western
+sky, but the light on her face was not all of the setting sun.</p>
+
+<p>"At evening time it shall be light!"</p>
+
+<p>Not of the day but of human life were these words spoken, and with
+Aunt Jane the prophecy had been fulfilled.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2>
+
+<h2>THE GARDENS OF MEMORY</h2>
+
+<div style="width: 600px;">
+<img class="figcenter" src="images/image_013_01.jpg" width="600" height="375" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+<img class="figleft1" src="images/image_013_02.jpg" width="230" height="123" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="f2">E</span>ach of us has his own way of classifying humanity. To me, as a child,
+men and women fell naturally into two great divisions: those who had
+gardens and those who had only houses.</p>
+
+<p>Brick walls and pavements hemmed me in and robbed me of one of my
+birthrights; and to the fancy of childhood a garden was a paradise,
+and the people who had gardens were happy Adams and Eves walking in a
+golden mist of sunshine and showers, with green leaves and blue sky
+overhead, and blossoms springing at their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> feet; while those others,
+dispossessed of life's springs, summers, and autumns, appeared darkly
+entombed in shops and parlors where the year might as well have been a
+perpetual winter.</p>
+
+<p>As I grew older I learned that there was a small subclass composed of
+people who not only possessed gardens, but whose gardens possessed
+them, and it is the spots sown and tended by these that blossom
+eternally in one's remembrance as veritable vailimas&mdash;"gardens of
+dreams."</p>
+
+<p>In every one's mind there is a lonely space, almost abandoned of
+consciousness, the time between infancy and childhood. It is like that
+period when the earth was "without form, and void; and darkness was
+upon the face of the deep." Here, like lost stars floating in the
+firmament of mind, will be found two or three faint memories, remote
+and disconnected. With me one of these memories is of a garden. I was
+riding with my father along a pleasant country road. There were
+sunshine and a gentle wind, and white clouds in a blue sky. We stopped
+at a gate. My father opened it, and I walked up a grassy path to the
+ruins of a house. The chimney was still standing, but all the rest was
+a heap of blackened, half-burned rubbish which spring and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> summer were
+covering with wild vines and weeds, and around the ruins of the house
+lay the ruins of the garden. The honeysuckle, bereft of its trellis,
+wandered helplessly over the ground, and amid a rank growth of weeds
+sprang a host of yellow snapdragons. I remember the feeling of rapture
+that was mine at the thought that I had found a garden where flowers
+could be gathered without asking permission of any one. And as long as
+I live, the sight of a yellow snapdragon on a sunny day will bring
+back my father from his grave and make me a little child again
+gathering flowers in that deserted garden, which is seemingly in
+another world than this.</p>
+
+<p>A later memory than this is of a place that was scarcely more than a
+paved court lying between high brick walls. But because we children
+wanted a garden so much, we called it by that name; and here and there
+a little of Mother Earth's bosom, left uncovered, gave us some warrant
+for the misnomer. Yet the spot was not without its beauties, and a
+less exacting child might have found content within its boundaries.</p>
+
+<p>Here was the Indian peach tree, whose pink blossoms told us that
+spring had come. Its fruit in the late summer was like the pomegranate
+in its rich color, "blood-tinctured with a veined humanity;" and its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
+friendly limbs held a swing in which we cleft the air like the birds.
+Yet even now the sight of an Indian peach brings melancholy thoughts.
+A yellow honeysuckle clambered over a wall. But this flower has no
+perfume, and a honeysuckle without perfume is a base pretender, to be
+cast out of the family of the real sweet-scented honeysuckle. There
+were two roses of similar quality, one that detestable mockery known
+as the burr-rose. I have for this flower the feeling of repulsion that
+one has for certain disagreeable human beings,&mdash;people with cold,
+clammy hands, for instance. I hated its feeble pink color, its rough
+calyx, and its odor always made me think of vast fields of snow, and
+icicles hanging from snow-covered roofs under leaden wintry skies.
+Unhappy mistake to call such a thing a rose, and plant it in a child's
+garden! The only place where it might fitly grow is by the side of the
+road that led Childe Roland to the Dark Tower: between the bit of
+"stubbed ground" and the marsh near to the "palsied oak," with its
+roots set in the "bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth."</p>
+
+<p>The other rose I recall with the same dislike, though it was pleasing
+to the eye. The bush was tall, and had the nature of a climber; for it
+drooped in a lackadaisical<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> way, and had to be tied to a stout post. I
+think it could have stood upright, had it chosen to do so; and its
+drooping seemed only an ugly habit, without grace. The cream-white
+flowers grew in clusters, and the buds were really beautiful, but
+color and form are only the body of the rose; the soul, the real self,
+is the rose odor, and no rose-soul was incarnated in its petals. Again
+and again, deceived by its beauty, I would hold it close to my face to
+breathe its fragrance, and always its faint sickening-sweet odor
+brought me only disappointment and disgust. It was a Lamia among
+roses. Another peculiarity was that it had very few thorns, and those
+few were small and weak. Yet the thorn is as much a part of the true
+rose as its sweetness; and lacking the rose thorn and the rose
+perfume, what claim had it to the rose name? I never saw this false
+rose elsewhere than in the false garden, and because it grew there,
+and because it dishonored its royal family, I would not willingly meet
+it face to face again.</p>
+
+<p>We children cultivated sweet-scented geraniums in pots, but a flower
+in a pot was to me like a bird in a cage, and the fragrant geraniums
+gave me no more pleasure than did the scentless many-hued
+lady's-slippers that we planted in tiny borders, and the purple
+flowering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> beans and white blossoms of the madeira vines that grew on
+a tall trellis by the cistern's grassy mound. There was nothing here
+to satisfy my longing, and I turned hungrily to other gardens whose
+gates were open to me in those early days. In one of these was a vast
+bed of purple heartsease, flower of the beautiful name. Year after
+year they had blossomed and gone to seed till the harvest of flowers
+in their season was past gathering, and any child in the neighborhood
+was at liberty to pluck them by handfuls, while the wicked ones played
+at "chicken fighting" and littered the ground with decapitated bodies.
+There is no heartsease nowadays, only the magnificent pansy of which
+it was the modest forerunner. But one little cluster of dark, spicy
+blooms like those I used to gather in that old garden would be more to
+me than the most splendid pansy created by the florist's art.</p>
+
+<p>The lily of the valley calls to mind a garden, almost in the heart of
+town, where this flower went forth to possess the land and spread
+itself in so reckless a growth that at intervals it had to be uprooted
+to protect the landed rights of the rest of the community. Never were
+there such beds of lilies! And when they pierced the black loam with
+their long sheath-like leaves, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> broke their alabaster boxes of
+perfume on the feet of spring, the most careless passer-by was forced
+to stay his steps for one ecstatic moment to look and to breathe, to
+forget and to remember. The shadow of the owner's house lay on this
+garden at the morning hour, and a tall brick building intercepted its
+share of the afternoon sunshine; but the love and care of the wrinkled
+old woman who tended it took the place of real sunshine, and
+everything planted here grew with a luxuriance not seen in sunnier and
+more favored spots. The mistress of the garden, when questioned as to
+this, would say it was because she gave her flowers to all who asked,
+and the God of gardens loved the cheerful giver and blessed her with
+an abundance of bud and blossom. The highest philosophy of human life
+she used in her management of this little plant world; for, burying
+the weeds at the roots of the flowers, the evil was made to minister
+to the good; and the nettle, the plantain and all their kind were
+transmuted by nature's fine chemistry into pinks, lilies, and roses.</p>
+
+<p>The purple splendor of the wisteria recalls the garden that I always
+entered with a fearful joy, for here a French gardener reigned
+absolute, and the flowers might be looked at, but not pulled. How
+different from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> those wild gardens of the neighboring woods where we
+children roamed at will, shouting rapturously over the finding of a
+bed of scentless blue violets or delicate anemones that withered and
+were thrown away before we reached home,&mdash;an allegory, alas! of our
+later lives.</p>
+
+<p>There was one garden that I coveted in those days as Ahab coveted his
+neighbor's vineyard. After many years, so many that my childish
+longing was almost forgotten, I had it, I and my children. Together we
+played under the bee-haunted lindens, and looked at the sunset through
+the scarlet and yellow leaves of the sugar maples, and I learned that
+"every desire is the prophecy of its own fulfilment;" and if the
+fulfilment is long delayed, it is only that it may be richer and
+deeper when it does come.</p>
+
+<p>All these were gardens of the South; but before childhood was over I
+watched the quick, luxuriant growth of flowers through the brief
+summer of a northern clime. The Canterbury-bell, so like a prim,
+pretty maiden, the dahlia, that stately dame always in court costume
+of gorgeous velvet, remind me of those well-kept beds where not a leaf
+or flower was allowed to grow awry; and in one ancient garden the
+imagination of a child found wings for many an airy flight. The town
+itself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> bore the name of the English nobleman, well known in
+Revolutionary days. Not far away his mansion sturdily defied the touch
+of time and decay, and admonished the men of a degenerate present to
+remember their glorious past. The house that sheltered me that summer
+was known in colonial days as the Black-Horse Tavern. Its walls had
+echoed to the tread of patriot and tory, who gathered here to drink a
+health to General Washington or to King George; and patriot, and tory,
+too, had trod the paths of the garden and plucked its flowers and its
+fruit in the times that tried men's souls. By the back gate grew a
+strawberry apple tree, and every morning the dewy grass held a night's
+windfall of the tiny red apples that were the reward of the child who
+rose earliest. A wonderful grafted tree that bore two kinds of fruit
+gave the place a touch of fairyland's magic, and no explanation of the
+process of grafting ever diminished the awe I felt when I stood under
+this tree and saw ripe spice apples growing on one limb and green
+winter pearmains on all the others. The pound sweeting, the
+spitzenberg, and many sister apples were there; and I stayed long
+enough to see them ripen into perfection. While they ripened I
+gathered the jewel-like clusters of red and white currants and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
+certain rare English gooseberry which English hands had brought from
+beyond the seas and planted here when the sign of the Black-Horse
+swung over the tavern door. The ordinary gooseberry is a plebeian
+fruit, but this one was more patrician than its name, and its name was
+"the King George." Twice as large as the common kind, translucent and
+yellowish white when fully ripe, and of an incomparable sweetness and
+flavor, it could have graced a king's table and held its own with the
+delicate strawberry or the regal grape. And then, best of all, it was
+a forbidden fruit, whereof we children ate by stealth, and solemnly
+declared that we had not eaten. Could the Garden of the Hesperides
+have held more charms?</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the long Dutch "stoop" I found the wands of the
+snowberry, whose tiny flowers have the odor and color of the trailing
+arbutus, and whose waxen berries reminded me of the crimson
+"buckberry" of Southern fields. Fuchsias and dark-red clove pinks grew
+in a peculiarly rich and sunny spot by the back fence, and over a pot
+of the musk-plant I used to hang as Isabella hung over her pot of
+basil. I had never seen it before, and have never seen it since, but
+by the witchery of perfume one of its yellow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> flowers, one of its soft
+pale green leaves could place me again in that garden of the old inn,
+a child walking among the ghosts and memories of a past century.</p>
+
+<p>In all these flowery closes there are rich aftermaths; but when Memory
+goes a-gleaning, she dwells longest on the evenings and mornings once
+spent in Aunt Jane's garden.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't reckon Solomon was thinkin' about flower gyardens when he
+said there was a time for all things," Aunt Jane was wont to say, "but
+anyhow it's so. You know the Bible says that the Lord God walked in
+the gyarden of Eden in 'the cool of the day,' and that's the best time
+for seein' flowers,&mdash;the cool of the mornin' and the cool of the
+evenin'. There's jest as much difference between a flower with the dew
+on it at sun-up and a flower in the middle o' the day as there is
+between a woman when she's fresh from a good night's sleep and when
+she's cookin' a twelve-o'clock dinner in a hot kitchen. You think them
+poppies are mighty pretty with the sun shinin' on 'em, but the poppy
+ain't a sun flower; it's a sunrise flower."</p>
+
+<p>And so I found them when I saw them in the faint light of a summer
+dawn, delicate and tremulous, like lovely apparitions of the night
+that an hour of sun will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> dispel. With other flowers the miracle of
+blossoming is performed so slowly that we have not time to watch its
+every stage. There is no precise moment when the rose leaves become a
+bud, or when the bud turns to a full-blown flower. But at dawn by a
+bed of poppies you may watch the birth of a flower as it slips from
+the calyx, casting it to the ground as a soul casts aside its outgrown
+body, and smoothing the wrinkles from its silken petals, it faces the
+day in serene beauty, though the night of death be but a few hours
+away.</p>
+
+<p>"And some evenin' when the moon's full and there's a dew fallin',"
+continued Aunt Jane, "that's the time to see roses, and to smell
+roses, too. And chrysanthemums, they're sundown flowers. You come into
+my gyarden about the first o' next November, child, some evenin' when
+the sun's goin' down, and you'll see the white ones lookin' like
+stars, and the yeller ones shinin' like big gold lamps in the dusk;
+and when the last light o' the sun strikes the red ones, they look
+like cups o' wine, and some of 'em turn to colors that there ain't any
+names for. Chrysanthemums jest match the red and yeller leaves on the
+trees, and the colors you see in the sky after the first frosts when
+the cold weather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> begins to set in. Yes, honey, there's a time and a
+season for everything; flowers, too, jest as Solomon said."</p>
+
+<p>An old garden is like an old life. Who plants from youth to age writes
+a record of the years in leaf and blossom, and the spot becomes as
+sacred as old wine, old books, and old friends. Here in the garden of
+Aunt Jane's planting I found that flowers were also memories; that
+reminiscences were folded in the petals of roses and lilies; that a
+rose's perfume might be a voice from a vanished summer; and even the
+snake gliding across our path might prove a messenger bearing a story
+of other days. Aunt Jane made a pass at it with her hoe, and laughed
+as the little creature disappeared on the other side of the fence.</p>
+
+<p>"I never see a striped snake," she said, "that I don't think o' Sam
+Amos and the time he saw snakes. It wasn't often we got a joke on Sam,
+but his t'u'nament and his snake kept us laughin' for many a day.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam was one o' them big, blunderin' men, always givin' Milly trouble,
+and havin' trouble himself, jest through pure keerlessness. He meant
+well; and Milly used to say that if what Sam did was even half as good
+as what Sam intended to do, there'd be one perfect man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> on God's
+earth. One of his keerless ways was scatterin' his clothes all over
+the house. Milly'd scold and fuss about it, but Sam got worse instead
+o' better up to the day he saw the snake, and after that Milly said
+there wasn't a more orderly man in the state. The way of it was this:
+Sam was raisin' an embankment 'round one of his ponds, and Uncle Jim
+Matthews and Amos Crawford was helpin' him. It was one Monday mornin',
+about the first of April, and the weather was warm and sunny, jest the
+kind to bring out snakes. I reckon there never was anybody hated a
+snake as much as Sam did. He'd been skeered by one when he was a
+child, and never got over it. He used to say there was jest two things
+he was afraid of: Milly and a snake. That mornin' Uncle Jim and Amos
+got to the pond before Sam did, and Uncle Jim hollered out, 'Well,
+Sam, we beat you this time.' Uncle Jim never got tired tellin' what
+happened next. He said Sam run up the embankment with his spade, and
+set it in the ground and put his foot on it to push it down. The next
+minute he give a yell that you could 'a' heard half a mile, slung the
+spade over in the middle o' the pond, jumped three feet in the air,
+and run down the embankment yellin' and kickin' and throwin' his arms
+about in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> every direction, and at last he fell down on the ground a
+good distance from the pond.</p>
+
+<p>"Amos and Uncle Jim was so taken by surprise at first that they jest
+stood still and looked. Amos says, says he: 'The man's gone crazy all
+at once.' Uncle Jim says: 'He's havin' a spell. His father and
+grandfather before him used to have them spells.'</p>
+
+<p>"They run up to him and found him shakin' like a leaf, the cold sweat
+streamin' out of every pore, and gaspin' and sayin', 'Take it away!
+Take it away!' and all the time he was throwin' out his left foot in
+every direction. Finally Uncle Jim grabbed hold of his foot and there
+was a red and black necktie stickin' out o' the leg of his pants. He
+pulled it out and says he: 'Why, Sam, what's your Sunday necktie doin'
+up your pants leg?'</p>
+
+<p>"They said Sam looked at it in a foolish sort o' way and then he fell
+back laughin' and cryin' at the same time, jest like a woman, and it
+was five minutes or more before they could stop him. Uncle Jim brought
+water and put on his head, and Amos fanned him with his hat, and at
+last they got him in such a fix that he could sit up and talk, and
+says he:</p>
+
+<p>"'I took off my necktie last night and slung it down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> on a chair where
+my everyday pants was layin'. When I put my foot in my pants this
+mornin' I must 'a' carried the necktie inside, and by the time I got
+to the pond it'd worked down, and I thought it was a black snake with
+red stripes.'</p>
+
+<p>"He started to git up, but his ankle was sprained, and Uncle Jim says:
+'No wonder, Sam; you jumped about six feet when you saw that snake
+crawlin' out o' your pants leg.'</p>
+
+<p>"And Sam says: 'Six feet? I know I jumped six hundred feet, Uncle
+Jim.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, they got him to the house and told Milly about it, and she
+says: 'Well, Sam, I'm too sorry for you to laugh at you like Uncle
+Jim, but I must say this wouldn't 'a' happened if you'd folded up that
+necktie and put it away in the top drawer.'</p>
+
+<p>"Sam was settin' on the side of the bed rubbin' his ankle, and he give
+a groan and says he: 'Things has come to a fine pass in Kentucky when
+a sober, God-fearin' man like me has to put his necktie in the top
+drawer to keep from seein' snakes.'</p>
+
+<p>"I declare to goodness!" laughed Aunt Jane, as she laid down her
+trowel and pushed back her calico sunbonnet, "if I never heard
+anything funny again in this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> world, I could keep on laughin' till I
+died jest over things I ricollect. The trouble is there ain't always
+anybody around to laugh with me. Sam Amos ain't nothin' but a name to
+you, child, but to me he's jest as real as if he hadn't been dead
+these many years, and I can laugh over the things he used to do the
+same as if they happened yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>Only a name! And I had read it on a lichen-covered stone in the old
+burying-ground; but as I walked home through the twilight I would
+hardly have been startled if Sam Amos, in the pride of life, had come
+riding past me on his bay mare, or if Uncle Jim Matthews' voice of
+cheerful discord had mingled with the spring song of the frogs
+sounding from every marsh and pond.</p>
+
+<p>It was Aunt Jane's motto that wherever a weed would grow a flower
+would grow; and carrying out this principle of planting, her garden
+was continually extending its boundaries; and denizens of the garden
+proper were to be found in every nook and corner of her domain. In the
+spring you looked for grass only; and lo! starting up at your feet,
+like the unexpected joys of life, came the golden daffodil, the paler
+narcissus, the purple iris, and the red and yellow tulip, flourishing
+as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> bravely as in the soil of its native Holland; and for a few sunny
+weeks the front yard would be a great flower garden. Then blossom and
+leaf would fade, and you might walk all summer over the velvet grass,
+never knowing how much beauty and fragrance lay hidden in the darkness
+of the earth. But when I go back to Aunt Jane's garden, I pass through
+the front yard and the back yard between rows of lilac, syringas,
+calycanthus, and honeysuckle; I open the rickety gate, and find myself
+in a genuine old-fashioned garden, the homely, inclusive spot that
+welcomed all growing things to its hospitable bounds, type of the days
+when there were no impassable barriers of gold and caste between man
+and his brother man. In the middle of the garden stood a
+"summer-house," or arbor, whose crumbling timbers were knit together
+by interlacing branches of honeysuckle and running roses. The
+summer-house had four entrances, opening on four paths that divided
+the ground into quarter-sections occupied by vegetables and small
+fruits, and around these, like costly embroidery on the hem of a
+homespun garment, ran a wide border of flowers that blossomed from
+early April to late November, shifting from one beauty to another as
+each flower had its little day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There are flower-lovers who love some flowers and other flower-lovers
+who love all flowers. Aunt Jane was of the latter class. The commonest
+plant, striving in its own humble way to be sweet and beautiful, was
+sure of a place here, and the haughtiest aristocrat who sought
+admission had to lay aside all pride of place or birth and acknowledge
+her kinship with common humanity. The Bourbon rose could not hold
+aside her skirts from contact with the cabbage-rose; the lavender
+could not disdain the companionship of sage and thyme. All must live
+together in the concord of a perfect democracy. Then if the great
+Gardener bestowed rain and sunshine when they were needed, mid-summer
+days would show a glorious symphony of color around the gray
+farmhouse, and through the enchantment of bloom and fragrance flitted
+an old woman, whose dark eyes glowed with the joy of living, and the
+joy of remembering all life's other summers.</p>
+
+<p>To Aunt Jane every flower in the garden was a human thing with a life
+story, and close to the summer-house grew one historic rose, heroine
+of an old romance, to which I listened one day as we sat in the arbor,
+where hundreds of honeysuckle blooms were trumpeting their fragrance
+on the air.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Grandmother's rose, child, that's all the name it's got," she said,
+in answer to my question. "I reckon you think a fine-lookin' rose like
+that ought to have a fine-soundin' name. But I never saw anybody yet
+that knew enough about roses to tell what its right name is. Maybe
+when I'm dead and gone somebody'll tack a French name on to it, but as
+long as it grows in my gyarden it'll be jest grandmother's rose, and
+this is how it come by the name:</p>
+
+<p>"My grandfather and grandmother was amongst the first settlers of
+Kentucky. They come from the Old Dominion over the Wilderness Road way
+back yonder, goodness knows when. Did you ever think, child, how
+curious it was for them men to leave their homes and risk their own
+lives and the lives of their little children and their wives jest to
+git to a new country? It appears to me they must 'a' been led jest
+like Columbus was when he crossed the big ocean in his little ships. I
+reckon if the women and children had had their way about it, the bears
+and wildcats and Indians would be here yet. But a man goes where he
+pleases, and a woman's got to foller, and that's the way it was with
+grandfather and grandmother. I've heard mother say that grandmother
+cried for a week when she found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> she had to go, and every now and then
+she'd sob out, 'I wouldn't mind it so much if I could take my
+gyarden.' When they began packin' up their things, grandmother took up
+this rose and put it in an iron kittle and laid plenty of good rich
+earth around the roots. Grandfather said the load they had to carry
+was heavy enough without puttin' in any useless things. But
+grandmother says, says she: 'If you leave this rose behind, you can
+leave me, too.' So the kittle and the rose went. Four weeks they was
+on their way, and every time they come to a creek or a river or a
+spring, grandmother'd water her rose, and when they got to their
+journey's end, before they'd ever chopped a tree or laid a stone or
+broke ground, she cut the sod with an axe, and then she took
+grandfather's huntin' knife and dug a hole and planted her rose.
+Grandfather cut some limbs off a beech tree and drove 'em into the
+ground all around it to keep it from bein' tramped down, and when that
+was done, grandmother says: 'Now build the house so's this rose'll
+stand on the right-hand side o' the front walk. Maybe I won't die of
+homesickness if I can set on my front door-step and see one flower
+from my old Virginia gyarden.'</p>
+
+<p>"Well, grandmother didn't die of homesickness, nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> the rose either.
+The transplantin' was good for both of 'em. She lived to be ninety
+years old, and when she died the house wouldn't hold the children and
+grandchildren and great-grandchildren that come to the funeral. And
+here's her rose growin' and bloomin' yet, like there wasn't any such
+things in the world as old age and death. And every spring I gether a
+basketful o' these pink roses and lay 'em on her grave over yonder in
+the old buryin'-ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Some folks has family china and family silver that they're mighty
+proud of. Martha Crawford used to have a big blue and white bowl that
+belonged to her great-grandmother, and she thought more o' that bowl
+than she did of everything else in the house. Milly Amos had a set o'
+spoons that'd been in her family for four generations and was too
+precious to use; and I've got my family rose, and it's jest as dear to
+me as china and silver are to other folks. I ricollect after father
+died and the estate had to be divided up, and sister Mary and brother
+Joe and the rest of 'em was layin' claim to the claw-footed mahogany
+table and the old secretary and mother's cherry sideboard and such
+things as that, and brother Joe turned around and says to me, says
+he:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"'Is there anything you want, Jane? If there is, speak up and make it
+known.' And I says: 'The rest of you can take what you want of the
+furniture, and if there's anything left, that can be my part. If there
+ain't anything left, there'll be no quarrelin'; for there's jest one
+thing I want, and that's grandmother's rose.'</p>
+
+<p>"They all laughed, and sister Mary says, 'Ain't that jest like Jane?'
+and brother Joe says, says he:</p>
+
+<p>"'You shall have it, Jane, and further than that, I'll see to the
+transplantin'.'</p>
+
+<p>"That very evenin' he come over, and I showed him where I wanted the
+rose to stand. He dug 'way down into the clay&mdash;there's nothin' a rose
+likes better, child, than good red clay&mdash;and got a wheelbarrer load o'
+soil from the woods, and we put that in first and set the roots in it
+and packed 'em good and firm, first with woods' soil, then with clay,
+waterin' it all the time. When we got through, I says: 'Now, you
+pretty thing you, if you could come all the way from Virginia in a old
+iron kittle, you surely won't mind bein' moved from father's place to
+mine. Now you've got to live and bloom for me same as you did for
+mother.'</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't laugh, child. That rose knew jest what I said, and did
+jest what I told it to do. It looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> like everything favored us, for
+it was early in the spring, things was beginnin' to put out leaves,
+and the next day was cloudy and cool. Then it began to rain, and
+rained for thirty-six hours right along. And when the sun come out,
+grandmother's rose come out, too. Not a leaf on it ever withered, and
+me and my children and my children's children have gethered flowers
+from it all these years. Folks say I'm foolish about it, and I reckon
+I am. I've outlived most o' the people I love, but I don't want to
+outlive this rose. We've both weathered many a hard winter, and two or
+three times it's been winter-killed clean to the ground, and I thought
+I'd lost it. Honey, it was like losin' a child. But there's never been
+a winter yet hard enough to kill the life in that rose's root, and I
+trust there never will be while I live, for spring wouldn't be spring
+to me without grandmother's rose."</p>
+
+<p>Tall, straight, and strong it stood, this oft transplanted pilgrim
+rose; and whether in bloom or clothed only in its rich green foliage,
+you saw at a glance that it was a flower of royal lineage. When spring
+covered it with buds and full blown blossoms of pink, the true rose
+color, it spoke of queens' gardens and kings' palaces, and every
+satiny petal was a palimpsest of song<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> and legend. Its perfume was the
+attar-of-rose scent, like that of the roses of India. It satisfied and
+satiated with its rich potency. And breathing this odor and gazing
+into its deep wells of color, you had strange dreams of those other
+pilgrims who left home and friends, and journeyed through the perils
+of a trackless wilderness to plant still farther westward the rose of
+civilization.</p>
+
+<p>To Aunt Jane there were three epochs in a garden's life, "daffodil
+time," "rose time," and "chrysanthemum time"; and the blossoming of
+all other flowers would be chronicled under one of these periods, just
+as we say of historical events that they happened in the reign of this
+or that queen or empress. But this garden had all seasons for its own,
+and even in winter there was a deep pleasure in walking its paths and
+noting how bravely life struggled against death in the frozen bosom of
+the earth.</p>
+
+<p>I once asked her which flower she loved best. It was "daffodil time,"
+and every gold cup held nepenthe for the nightmare dream of winter.
+She glanced reprovingly at me over her spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>"It appears to me, child, you ought to know that without askin'," she
+said. "Did you ever see as many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> daffydils in one place before? No;
+and you never will. I've been plantin' that flower every spring for
+sixty years, and I've never got too many of 'em yet. I used to call
+'em Johnny-jump-ups, till Henrietta told me that their right name was
+daffydil. But Johnny-jump-up suits 'em best, for it kind o' tells how
+they come up in the spring. The hyacinths and tulips, they hang back
+till they know it'll be warm and comfortable outside, but these
+daffydils don't wait for anything. Before the snow's gone you'll see
+their leaves pushin' up through the cold ground, and the buds come
+hurryin' along tryin' to keep up with the leaves, jest like they knew
+that little children and old women like me was waitin' and longin' for
+'em. Why, I've seen these flowers bloomin' and the snow fallin' over
+'em in March, and they didn't mind it a bit. I got my start o'
+daffydils from mother's gyarden, and every fall I'd divide the roots
+up and scatter 'em out till I got the whole place pretty well
+sprinkled with 'em, but the biggest part of 'em come from the old
+Harris farm, three or four miles down the pike. Forty years ago that
+farm was sold, and the man that bought it tore things up scandalous.
+He called it remodelin', I ricollect, but it looked more like ruinin'
+to me. Old Lady Harris was like myself;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> she couldn't git enough of
+these yeller flowers. She had a double row of 'em all around her
+gyarden, and they'd even gone through the fence and come up in the
+cornfield, and who ever plowed that field had to be careful not to
+touch them daffydils.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, as soon as the new man got possession he begun plowin' up the
+gyarden, and one evenin' the news come to me that he was throwin' away
+Johnny-jump-ups by the wagon-load. I put on my sunbonnet and went out
+where Abram was at work in the field, and says I, 'Abram, you've got
+to stop plowin' and put the horse to the spring wagon and take me over
+to the old Harris place.' And Abram says, says he, 'Why, Jane, I'd
+like mighty well to finish this field before night, for it looks like
+it might rain to-morrow. Is it anything particular you want to go
+for?'</p>
+
+<p>"Says I, 'Yes; I never was so particular about anything in my life as
+I am about this. I hear they're plowin' up Old Lady Harris' gyarden
+and throwin' the flowers away, and I want to go over and git a
+wagon-load o' Johnny-jump-ups.'</p>
+
+<p>"Abram looked at me a minute like he thought I was losin' my senses,
+and then he burst out laughin', and says he: 'Jane, who ever heard of
+a farmer stoppin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> plowin' to go after Johnny-jump-ups? And who ever
+heard of a farmer's wife askin' him to do such a thing?'</p>
+
+<p>"I walked up to the plow and begun to unfasten the trace chains, and
+says I: 'Business before pleasure, Abram. If it's goin' to rain
+to-morrow that's all the more reason why I ought to have my
+Johnny-jump-ups set out to-day. The plowin' can wait till we come
+back.'</p>
+
+<p>"Of course Abram give in when he saw how I wanted the flowers. But he
+broke out laughin' two or three times while he was hitchin' up and
+says he: 'Don't tell any o' the neighbors, Jane, that I stopped
+plowin' to go after a load of Johnny-jump-ups.'</p>
+
+<p>"When we got to the Harris place we found the Johnny-jump-ups lyin' in
+a gully by the side o' the road, a pitiful sight to anybody that loves
+flowers and understands their feelin's. We loaded up the wagon with
+the pore things, and as soon as we got home, Abram took his hoe and
+made a little trench all around the gyarden, and I set out the
+Johnny-jump-ups while Abram finished his plowin', and the next day the
+rain fell on Abram's cornfield and on my flowers.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you see that row o' daffydils over yonder by the front fence,
+child&mdash;all leaves and no blossoms?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I looked in the direction of her pointing finger and saw a long line
+of flowerless plants, standing like sad and silent guests at the
+festival of spring.</p>
+
+<p>"It's been six years since I set 'em out there," said Aunt Jane
+impressively, "and not a flower have they had in all that time. Some
+folks say it's because I moved 'em at the wrong time o' the year. But
+the same week I moved these I moved some from my yard to Elizabeth
+Crawford's, and Elizabeth's bloom every year, so it can't be that.
+Some folks said the place I had 'em in was too shady, and I put 'em
+right out there where the sun strikes on 'em till it sets, and still
+they won't bloom. It's my opinion, honey, that they're jest homesick.
+I believe if I was to take them daffydils back to Aunt Matilda's and
+plant 'em in the border where they used to grow, alongside o' the sage
+and lavender and thyme, that they'd go to bloomin' again jest like
+they used to. You know how the children of Israel pined and mourned
+when they was carried into captivity. Well, every time I look at my
+daffydils I think o' them homesick Israelites askin', 'How can we sing
+the songs o' Zion in a strange land?'</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't laugh, child. A flower is jest as human as you and me.
+Look at that vine yonder,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> takin' hold of everything that comes in its
+way like a little child learnin' to walk. And calycanthus buds, see
+how you've got to hold 'em in your hands and warm 'em before they'll
+give out their sweetness, jest like children that you've got to love
+and pet, before they'll let you git acquainted with 'em. You see that
+pink rose over by the fence?" pointing to a La France heavy with
+blossoms. "Well, that rose didn't do anything but put out leaves the
+first two years I had it. A bud might come once in a while, but it
+would blast before it was half open. And at last I says to it, says I,
+'What is it you want, honey? There's somethin' that don't please you,
+I know. Don't you like the place you're planted in, and the hollyhocks
+and lilies for neighbors?' And one day I took it up and set it between
+that white tea and another La France, and it went to bloomin' right
+away. It didn't like the neighborhood it was in, you see. And did you
+ever hear o' people disappearin' from their homes and never bein'
+found any more? Well, flowers can disappear the same way. The year
+before I was married there was a big bed o' pink chrysanthemums
+growin' under the dinin'-room windows at old Dr. Pendleton's. It
+wasn't a common magenta pink, it was as clear, pretty a pink as that
+La France rose. Well, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> saw 'em that fall for the first time and the
+last. The next year there wasn't any, and when I asked where they'd
+gone to, nobody could tell anything about 'em. And ever since then
+I've been searchin' in every old gyarden in the county, but I've never
+found 'em, and I don't reckon I ever will.</p>
+
+<p>"And there's my roses! Just look at 'em! Every color a rose could be,
+and pretty near every kind there is. Wouldn't you think I'd be
+satisfied? But there's a rose I lost sixty years ago, and the
+ricollection o' that rose keeps me from bein' satisfied with all I've
+got. It grew in Old Lady Elrod's gyarden and nowhere else, and there
+ain't a rose here except grandmother's that I wouldn't give up forever
+if I could jest find that rose again.</p>
+
+<p>"I've tried many a time to tell folks about that rose, but I can't
+somehow get hold of the words. I reckon an old woman like me, with
+little or no learnin', couldn't be expected to tell how that rose
+looked, any more'n she could be expected to draw it and paint it. I
+can say it was yeller, but that word 'yeller' don't tell the color the
+rose was. I've got all the shades of yeller in my garden, but nothin'
+like the color o' that rose. It got deeper and deeper towards the
+middle, and lookin' at one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> them roses half-opened was like lookin'
+down into a gold mine. The leaves crinkled and curled back towards the
+stem as fast as it opened, and the more it opened the prettier it was,
+like some women that grow better lookin' the older they grow,&mdash;Mary
+Andrews was one o'that kind,&mdash;and when it comes to tellin' you how it
+smelt, I'll jest have to stop. There never was anything like it for
+sweetness, and it was a different sweetness from any other rose God
+ever made.</p>
+
+<p>"I ricollect seein' Miss Penelope come in church one Sunday, dressed
+in white, with a black velvet gyirdle 'round her waist, and a bunch o'
+these roses, buds and half-blown ones and full-blown ones, fastened in
+the gyirdle, and that bunch o' yeller roses was song and sermon and
+prayer to me that day. I couldn't take my eyes off 'em; and I thought
+that if Christ had seen that rose growin' in the fields around
+Palestine, he wouldn't 'a' mentioned lilies when he said Solomon in
+all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.</p>
+
+<p>"I always intended to ask for a slip of it, but I waited too long. It
+got lost one winter, and when I asked Old Lady Elrod about it she
+said, 'Mistress Parrish, I cannot tell you whence it came nor whither
+it went.' The old lady always used mighty pretty language.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, honey, them two lost flowers jest haunt me. They're like dead
+children. You know a house may be full o' livin' children, but if
+there's one dead, a mother'll see its face and hear its voice above
+all the others, and that's the way with my lost flowers. No matter how
+many roses and chrysanthemums I have, I keep seein' Old Lady Elrod's
+yeller roses danglin' from Miss Penelope's gyirdle, and that bed o'
+pink chrysanthemums under Dr. Pendleton's dinin'-room windows."</p>
+
+<p>"Each mortal has his Carcassonne!" Here was Aunt Jane's, but it was no
+matter for a tear or even a sigh. And I thought how the sting of life
+would lose its venom, if for every soul the unattainable were embodied
+in nothing more embittering than two exquisite lost flowers.</p>
+
+<p>One afternoon in early June I stood with Aunt Jane in her garden. It
+was the time of roses; and in the midst of their opulent bloom stood
+the tall white lilies, handmaidens to the queen. Here and there over
+the warm earth old-fashioned pinks spread their prayer-rugs, on which
+a worshiper might kneel and offer thanks for life and spring; and
+towering over all, rows of many-colored hollyhocks flamed and glowed
+in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> light of the setting sun like the stained glass windows of
+some old cathedral.</p>
+
+<p>Across the flowery expanse Aunt Jane looked wistfully toward the
+evening skies, beyond whose stars and clouds we place that other world
+called heaven.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm like my grandmother, child," she said presently. "I know I've got
+to leave this country some day soon, and journey to another one, and
+the only thing I mind about it is givin' up my gyarden. When John
+looked into heaven he saw gold streets and gates of pearl, but he
+don't say anything about gyardens. I like what he says about no
+sorrer, nor cryin', nor pain, and God wipin' away all tears from their
+eyes. That's pure comfort. But if I could jest have Abram and the
+children again, and my old home and my old gyarden, I'd be willin' to
+give up the gold streets and glass sea and pearl gates."</p>
+
+<p>The loves of earth and the homes of earth! No apocalyptic vision can
+come between these and the earth-born human heart.</p>
+
+<p>Life is said to have begun in a garden; and if here was our lost
+paradise, may not the paradise we hope to gain through death be, to
+the lover of nature, another garden in a new earth, girdled by four
+soft-flowing rivers, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> watered by mists that arise in the night to
+fall on the face of the sleeping world, where all we plant shall grow
+unblighted through winterless years, and they who inherit it go with
+white garments and shining faces, and say at morn and noon and eve:
+<i>My soul is like a watered garden?</i></p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/image_014.jpg" width="500" height="328" alt="Decorative Image"  />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>Popular Copyright Books</h2>
+
+<h3>AT MODERATE PRICES</h3>
+
+
+<h4>Ask your dealer for a complete list of<br />
+
+A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction.</h4>
+
+
+
+<ul>
+<li><b>Abner Daniel.</b> By Will N. Harben.</li>
+
+<li><b>Adventures of A Modest Man.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</li>
+
+<li><b>Adventures of Gerard.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Alisa Page.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</li>
+
+<li><b>Alternative, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</li>
+
+<li><b>Ancient Law, The.</b> By Ellen Glasgow.</li>
+
+<li><b>Angel of Forgiveness, The.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.</li>
+
+<li><b>Angel of Pain, The.</b> By E. F. Benson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Annals of Ann, The.</b> By Kate Trumble Sharber.</li>
+
+<li><b>Anna the Adventuress.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</li>
+
+<li><b>Ann Boyd.</b> By Will N. Harben.</li>
+
+<li><b>As the Sparks Fly Upward.</b> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.</li>
+
+<li><b>At the Age of Eve.</b> By Kate Trumble Sharber.</li>
+
+<li><b>At the Mercy of Tiberius.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</li>
+
+<li><b>At the Moorings.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.</li>
+
+<li><b>Awakening of Helen Richie, The.</b> By Margaret Deland.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Barrier, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</li>
+
+<li><b>Bar 20.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</li>
+
+<li><b>Bar-20 Days.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</li>
+
+<li><b>Battle Ground, The.</b> By Ellen Glasgow.</li>
+
+<li><b>Beau Brocade.</b> By Baroness Orczy.</li>
+
+<li><b>Beechy.</b> By Bettina von Hutten.</li>
+
+<li><b>Bella Donna.</b> By Robert Hichens.</li>
+
+<li><b>Beloved Vagabond, The.</b> By William J. Locke.</li>
+
+<li><b>Ben Blair.</b> By Will Lillibridge.</li>
+
+<li><b>Best Man, The.</b> By Harold McGrath.</li>
+
+<li><b>Beth Norvell.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>Betrayal, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</li>
+
+<li><b>Better Man, The.</b> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.</li>
+
+<li><b>Beulah.</b> (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.</li>
+
+<li><b>Bill Toppers, The.</b> By Andre Castaigne.</li>
+
+<li><b>Blaze Derringer.</b> By Eugene P. Lyle, Jr.</li>
+
+<li><b>Bob Hampton of Placer.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>Bob, Son of Battle.</b> By Alfred Ollivant.</li>
+
+<li><b>Brass Bowl, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</li>
+
+<li><b>Bronze Bell, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</li>
+
+<li><b>Butterfly Man, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</li>
+
+<li><b>By Right of Purchase.</b> By Harold Bindloss.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Cab No. 44.</b> By R. F. Foster.</li>
+
+<li><b>Calling of Dan Matthews, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</li>
+
+<li><b>Call of the Blood, The.</b> By Robert Hichens.</li>
+
+<li><b>Cape Cod Stories.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</li>
+
+<li><b>Cap'n Erl.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</li>
+
+<li><b>Captain Warren's Wards.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</li>
+
+<li><b>Caravaners, The.</b> By the author of "Elizabeth and Her German Garden."</li>
+
+<li><b>Cardigan.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</li>
+
+<li><b>Carlton Case, The.</b> By Ellery H. Clark.</li>
+
+<li><b>Car of Destiny, The.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Carpet From Bagdad, The.</b> By Harold McGrath.</li>
+
+<li><b>Cash Intrigue, The.</b> By George Randolph Chester.</li>
+
+<li><b>Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine.</b> By Frank S. Stockton.</li>
+
+<li><b>Castle by the Sea, The.</b> By H. B. Marriot Watson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Challoners, The.</b> By E. F. Benson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Chaperon, The.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>City of Six, The.</b> By C. L. Canfield.</li>
+
+<li><b>Circle, The.</b> By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of "The Masquerader," "The Gambler.")</li>
+
+<li><b>Colonial Free Lance, A.</b> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.</li>
+
+<li><b>Conquest of Canaan, The.</b> By Booth Tarkington.</li>
+
+<li><b>Conspirators, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</li>
+
+<li><b>Cynthia of the Minute.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Dan Merrithew.</b> By Lawrence Perry.</li>
+
+<li><b>Day of the Dog, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</li>
+
+<li><b>Depot Master, The.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</li>
+
+<li><b>Derelicts.</b> By William J. Locke.</li>
+
+<li><b>Diamond Master, The.</b> By Jacques Futrelle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Diamonds Cut Paste.</b> By Agnes and Egerton Castle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Divine Fire, The.</b> By May Sinclair.</li>
+
+<li><b>Dixie Hart.</b> By Will N. Harben.</li>
+
+<li><b>Dr. David.</b> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Early Bird, The.</b> By George Randolph Chester.</li>
+
+<li><b>Eleventh Hour, The.</b> By David Potter.</li>
+
+<li><b>Elizabeth in Rugen.</b> (By the author of "Elizabeth and Her German Garden.")</li>
+
+<li><b>Elusive Isabel.</b> By Jacques Futrelle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Elusive Pimpernel, The.</b> By Baroness Orczy.</li>
+
+<li><b>Enchanted Hat, The.</b> By Harold McGrath.</li>
+
+<li><b>Excuse Me.</b> By Rupert Hughes.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>54-40 or Fight.</b> By Emerson Hough.</li>
+
+<li><b>Fighting Chance, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</li>
+
+<li><b>Flamsted Quarries.</b> By Mary E. Waller.</li>
+
+<li><b>Flying Mercury, The.</b> By Eleanor M. Ingram.</li>
+
+<li><b>For a Maiden Brave.</b> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.</li>
+
+<li><b>Four Million, The.</b> By O. Henry.</li>
+
+<li><b>Four Pool's Mystery, The.</b> By Jean Webster.</li>
+
+<li><b>Fruitful Vine, The.</b> By Robert Hichens.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Ganton &amp; Co.</b> By Arthur J. Eddy.</li>
+
+<li><b>Gentleman of France, A.</b> By Stanley Weyman.</li>
+
+<li><b>Gentleman, The.</b> By Alfred Ollivant.</li>
+
+<li><b>Get-Rich-Quick-Wallingford.</b> By George Randolph Chester.</li>
+
+<li><b>Gilbert Neal.</b> By Will N. Harben.</li>
+
+<li><b>Girl and the Bill, The.</b> By Bannister Merwin.</li>
+
+<li><b>Girl from His Town, The.</b> By Marie Van Vorst.</li>
+
+<li><b>Girl Who Won, The.</b> By Beth Ellis.</li>
+
+<li><b>Glory of Clementina, The.</b> By William J. Locke.</li>
+
+<li><b>Glory of the Conquered, The.</b> By Susan Glaspell.</li>
+
+<li><b>God's Good Man.</b> By Marie Corelli.</li>
+
+<li><b>Going Some.</b> By Rex Beach.</li>
+
+<li><b>Golden Web, The.</b> By Anthony Partridge.</li>
+
+<li><b>Green Patch, The.</b> By Bettina von Hutten.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Happy Island (sequel to "Uncle William").</b> By Jennette Lee.</li>
+
+<li><b>Hearts and the Highway.</b> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.</li>
+
+<li><b>Held for Orders.</b> By Frank H. Spearman.</li>
+
+<li><b>Hidden Water.</b> By Dane Coolidge.</li>
+
+<li><b>Highway of Fate, The.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.</li>
+
+<li><b>Homesteaders, The.</b> By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.</li>
+
+<li><b>Honor of the Big Snows, The.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</li>
+
+<li><b>Hopalong Cassidy.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</li>
+
+<li><b>Household of Peter, The.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.</li>
+
+<li><b>House of Mystery, The.</b> By Will Irwin.</li>
+
+<li><b>House of the Lost Court, The.</b> By C. N. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>House of the Whispering Pines, The.</b> By Anna Katherine Green.</li>
+
+<li><b>House on Cherry Street, The.</b> By Amelia E. Barr.</li>
+
+<li><b>How Leslie Loved.</b> By Anne Warner.</li>
+
+<li><b>Husbands of Edith, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Idols.</b> By William J. Locke.</li>
+
+<li><b>Illustrious Prince, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</li>
+
+<li><b>Imprudence of Prue, The.</b> By Sophie Fisher.</li>
+
+<li><b>Inez.</b> (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.</li>
+
+<li><b>Infelice.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Initials Only.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</li>
+
+<li><b>In Defiance of the King.</b> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.</li>
+
+<li><b>Indifference of Juliet, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</li>
+
+<li><b>In the Service of the Princess.</b> By Henry C. Rowland.</li>
+
+<li><b>Iron Woman, The.</b> By Margaret Deland.</li>
+
+<li><b>Ishmael.</b> (Illustrated.) By Mrs. Southworth.</li>
+
+<li><b>Island of Regeneration, The.</b> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Jack Spurlock, Prodigal.</b> By Horace Lorimer.</li>
+
+<li><b>Jane Cable.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</li>
+
+<li><b>Jeanne of the Marshes.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</li>
+
+<li><b>Jude the Obscure.</b> By Thomas Hardy.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Keith of the Border.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>Key to the Unknown, The.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.</li>
+
+<li><b>Kingdom of Earth, The.</b> By Anthony Partridge.</li>
+
+<li><b>King Spruce.</b> By Holman Day.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Ladder of Swords, A.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</li>
+
+<li><b>Lady Betty Across the Water.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Lady Merton, Colonist.</b> By Mrs. Humphrey Ward.</li>
+
+<li><b>Lady of Big Shanty, The.</b> By Berkeley F. Smith.</li>
+
+<li><b>Langford of the Three Bars.</b> By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.</li>
+
+<li><b>Land of Long Ago, The.</b> By Eliza Calvert Hall.</li>
+
+<li><b>Lane That Had No Turning, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</li>
+
+<li><b>Last Trail, The.</b> By Zane Grey.</li>
+
+<li><b>Last Voyage of the Donna Isabel, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>Leavenworth Case, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</li>
+
+<li><b>Lin McLean.</b> By Owen Wister.</li>
+
+<li><b>Little Brown Jug at Kildare, The.</b> By Meredith Nicholson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Loaded Dice.</b> By Ellery H. Clarke.</li>
+
+<li><b>Lord Loveland Discovers America.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Lorimer of the Northwest.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</li>
+
+<li><b>Lorraine.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</li>
+
+<li><b>Lost Ambassador, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</li>
+
+<li><b>Love Under Fire.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>Loves of Miss Anne, The.</b> By S. R. Crockett.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Macaria.</b> (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.</li>
+
+<li><b>Mademoiselle Celeste.</b> By Adele Ferguson Knight.</li>
+
+<li><b>Maid at Arms, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</li>
+
+<li><b>Maid of Old New York, A.</b> By Amelia E. Barr.</li>
+
+<li><b>Maid of the Whispering Hills, The.</b> By Vingie Roe.</li>
+
+<li><b>Maids of Paradise, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</li>
+
+<li><b>Making of Bobby Burnit, The.</b> By George Randolph Chester.</li>
+
+<li><b>Mam' Linda.</b> By Will N. Harben.</li>
+
+<li><b>Man Outside, The.</b> By Wyndham Martyn.</li>
+
+<li><b>Man In the Brown Derby, The.</b> By Wells Hastings.</li>
+
+<li><b>Marriage a la Mode.</b> By Mrs. Humphrey Ward.</li>
+
+<li><b>Marriage of Theodora, The.</b> By Molly Elliott Seawell.</li>
+
+<li><b>Marriage Under the Terror, A.</b> By Patricia Wentworth.</li>
+
+<li><b>Master Mummer, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</li>
+
+<li><b>Masters of the Wheatlands.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</li>
+
+<li><b>Max.</b> By Katherine Cecil Thurston.</li>
+
+<li><b>Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Millionaire Baby, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</li>
+
+<li><b>Missioner, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</li>
+
+<li><b>Miss Selina Lue.</b> By Maria Thompson Daviess.</li>
+
+<li><b>Mistress of Brae Farm, The.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.</li>
+
+<li><b>Money Moon, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</li>
+
+<li><b>Motor Maid, The.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Much Ado About Peter.</b> By Jean Webster.</li>
+
+<li><b>Mr. Pratt.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</li>
+
+<li><b>My Brother's Keeper.</b> By Charles Tenny Jackson.</li>
+
+<li><b>My Friend the Chauffeur.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>My Lady Caprice</b> (author of the "Broad Highway"). Jeffery Farnol.</li>
+
+<li><b>My Lady of Doubt.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>My Lady of the North.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>My Lady of the South.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>Mystery Tales.</b> By Edgar Allen Poe.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Nancy Stair.</b> By Elinor Macartney Lane.</li>
+
+<li><b>Ne'er-Do-Well, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</li>
+
+<li><b>No Friend Like a Sister.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Officer 666.</b> By Barton W. Currie and Augustin McHugh.</li>
+
+<li><b>One Braver Thing.</b> By Richard Dehan.</li>
+
+<li><b>Order No. 11.</b> By Caroline Abbot Stanley.</li>
+
+<li><b>Orphan, The.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</li>
+
+<li><b>Out of the Primitive.</b> By Robert Ames Bennett.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Pam.</b> By Bettina von Hutten.</li>
+
+<li><b>Pam Decides.</b> By Bettina von Hutten.</li>
+
+<li><b>Pardners.</b> By Rex Beach.</li>
+
+<li><b>Partners of the Tide.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</li>
+
+<li><b>Passage Perilous, The.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.</li>
+
+<li><b>Passers By.</b> By Anthony Partridge.</li>
+
+<li><b>Paternoster Ruby, The.</b> By Charles Edmonds Walk.</li>
+
+<li><b>Patience of John Moreland, The.</b> By Mary Dillon.</li>
+
+<li><b>Paul Anthony, Christian.</b> By Hiram W. Hays.</li>
+
+<li><b>Phillip Steele.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</li>
+
+<li><b>Phra the Phoenician.</b> By Edwin Lester Arnold.</li>
+
+<li><b>Plunderer, The.</b> By Roy Norton.</li>
+
+<li><b>Pole Baker.</b> By Will N. Harben.</li>
+
+<li><b>Politician, The.</b> By Edith Huntington Mason.</li>
+
+<li><b>Polly of the Circus.</b> By Margaret Mayo.</li>
+
+<li><b>Pool of Flame, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</li>
+
+<li><b>Poppy.</b> By Cynthia Stockley.</li>
+
+<li><b>Power and the Glory, The.</b> By Grace McGowan Cooke.</li>
+
+<li><b>Price of the Prairie, The.</b> By Margaret Hill McCarter.</li>
+
+<li><b>Prince of Sinners, A.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</li>
+
+<li><b>Prince or Chauffeur.</b> By Lawrence Perry.</li>
+
+<li><b>Princess Dehra, The.</b> By John Reed Scott.</li>
+
+<li><b>Princess Passes, The.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Princess Virginia, The.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Prisoners of Chance.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>Prodigal Son, The.</b> By Hall Caine.</li>
+
+<li><b>Purple Parasol, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Reconstructed Marriage, A.</b> By Amelia Barr.</li>
+
+<li><b>Redemption of Kenneth Galt, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</li>
+
+<li><b>Red House on Rowan Street.</b> By Roman Doubleday.</li>
+
+<li><b>Red Mouse, The.</b> By William Hamilton Osborne.</li>
+
+<li><b>Red Pepper Burns.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</li>
+
+<li><b>Refugees, The.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The.</b> By Anne Warner.</li>
+
+<li><b>Road to Providence, The.</b> By Maria Thompson Daviess.</li>
+
+<li><b>Romance of a Plain Man, The.</b> By Ellen Glasgow.</li>
+
+<li><b>Rose in the Ring, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</li>
+
+<li><b>Rose of Old Harpeth, The.</b> By Maria Thompson Daviess.</li>
+
+<li><b>Rosa of the World.</b> By Agnes and Egerton Castle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Round the Corner in Gay Street.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</li>
+
+<li><b>Routledge Rides Alone.</b> By Will Livingston Comfort.</li>
+
+<li><b>Running Fight, The.</b> By Wm. Hamilton Osborne.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Seats of the Mighty, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</li>
+
+<li><b>Septimus.</b> By William J. Locke.</li>
+
+<li><b>Set in Silver.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Self-Raised.</b> (Illustrated.) By Mrs. Southworth.</li>
+
+<li><b>Shepherd of the Hills, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</li>
+
+<li><b>Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</li>
+
+<li><b>Sidney Carteret, Rancher.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</li>
+
+<li><b>Simon the Jester.</b> By William J. Locke.</li>
+
+<li><b>Silver Blade, The.</b> By Charles E. Walk.</li>
+
+<li><b>Silver Horde, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</li>
+
+<li><b>Sir Nigel.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Sir Richard Calmady.</b> By Lucas Malet.</li>
+
+<li><b>Skyman, The.</b> By Henry Ketchell Webster.</li>
+
+<li><b>Slim Princess, The.</b> By George Ade.</li>
+
+<li><b>Speckled Bird, A.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Spirit in Prison, A.</b> By Robert Hichens.</li>
+
+<li><b>Spirit of the Border, The.</b> By Zane Grey.</li>
+
+<li><b>Spirit Trail, The.</b> By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.</li>
+
+<li><b>Spoilers, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</li>
+
+<li><b>Stanton Wins.</b> By Eleanor M. Ingram.</li>
+
+<li><b>St. Elmo.</b> (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.</li>
+
+<li><b>Stolen Singer, The.</b> By Martha Bellinger.</li>
+
+<li><b>Stooping Lady, The.</b> By Maurice Hewlett.</li>
+
+<li><b>Story of the Outlaw, The.</b> By Emerson Hough.</li>
+
+<li><b>Strawberry Acres.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</li>
+
+<li><b>Strawberry Handkerchief, The.</b> By Amelia E. Barr.</li>
+
+<li><b>Sunnyside of the Hill, The.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.</li>
+
+<li><b>Sunset Trail, The.</b> By Alfred Henry Lewis.</li>
+
+<li><b>Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop.</b> By Anne Warner.</li>
+
+<li><b>Sword of the Old Frontier, A.</b> By Randall Parrish.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Tales of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</li>
+
+<li><b>Tennessee Shad, The.</b> By Owen Johnson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Tess of the D'Urbervilles.</b> By Thomas Hardy.</li>
+
+<li><b>Texican, The.</b> By Dane Coolidge.</li>
+
+<li><b>That Printer of Udell's.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</li>
+
+<li><b>Three Brothers, The.</b> By Eden Phillpotts.</li>
+
+<li><b>Throwback, The.</b> By Alfred Henry Lewis.</li>
+
+<li><b>Thurston of Orchard Valley.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</li>
+
+<li><b>Title Market, The.</b> By Emily Post.</li>
+
+<li><b>Torn Sails.</b> A Tale of a Welsh Village. By Allen Raine.</li>
+
+<li><b>Trail of the Axe, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</li>
+
+<li><b>Treasure of Heaven, The.</b> By Marie Corelli.</li>
+
+<li><b>Two-Gun Man, The.</b> By Charles Alden Seltzer.</li>
+
+<li><b>Two Vanrevels, The.</b> By Booth Tarkington.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Uncle William.</b> By Jennette Lee.</li>
+
+<li><b>Up from Slavery.</b> By Booker T. Washington.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Vanity Box, The.</b> By C. N. Williamson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Vashti.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Varmint, The.</b> By Owen Johnson.</li>
+
+<li><b>Vigilante Girl, A.</b> By Jerome Hart.</li>
+
+<li><b>Village of Vagabonds, A.</b> By F. Berkeley Smith.</li>
+
+<li><b>Visioning, The.</b> By Susan Glaspell.</li>
+
+<li><b>Voice of the People, The.</b> By Ellen Glasgow.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Wanted&mdash;A Chaperon.</b> By Paul Leicester Ford.</li>
+
+<li><b>Wanted: A Matchmaker.</b> By Paul Leicester Ford.</li>
+
+<li><b>Watchers of the Plains, The.</b> Ridgwell Cullum.</li>
+
+<li><b>Wayfarers, The.</b> By Mary Stewart Cutting.</li>
+
+<li><b>Way of a Man, The.</b> By Emerson Hough.</li>
+
+<li><b>Weavers, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</li>
+
+<li><b>When Wilderness Was King.</b> By Randall Parrish.</li>
+
+<li><b>Where the Trail Divides.</b> By Will Lillibridge.</li>
+
+<li><b>White Sister, The.</b> By Marion Crawford.</li>
+
+<li><b>Window at the White Cat, The.</b> By Mary Roberts Rhinehart.</li>
+
+<li><b>Winning of Barbara Worth, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</li>
+
+<li><b>With Juliet In England.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</li>
+
+<li><b>Woman Haters, The.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</li>
+
+<li><b>Woman in Question, The.</b> By John Reed Scott.</li>
+
+<li><b>Woman In the Alcove, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.<br /><br /></li>
+
+
+<li><b>Yellow Circle, The.</b> By Charles E. Walk.</li>
+
+<li><b>Yellow Letter, The.</b> By William Johnston.</li>
+
+<li><b>Younger Set, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</li>
+</ul>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Newest_Books_in_Popular_Reprint_Fiction" id="The_Newest_Books_in_Popular_Reprint_Fiction"></a>The Newest Books in Popular Reprint Fiction</h2>
+
+<h3>Only Books of Superior Merit and Popularity are Published in this List</h3>
+
+
+<p><b>THE WOOD-CARVER OF 'LYMPUS. By Mary E. Waller.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A strong tale of human loves and hopes set in a background
+of the granite mountain-tops of remote New England.</p>
+
+<p>Hugh Armstrong, the hero, is one of the pronouncedly high
+class character delineations of a quarter century.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>THE REASON WHY. By Elinor Glyn.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A fine love story, the chief interest lies in the
+personality of a beautiful girl whose uncle arranges a match
+for her with a titled Englishman.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS. By Harold MacGrath.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Courtlandt, the young American hero, is a typical MacGrath
+creation. He is past thirty, without a wife, and so rich
+that he cannot get rid of his money fast enough. No love
+plot was ever more original.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>AUNT JANE OF KENTUCKY. By Eliza Calvert Hall.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>This story is destined to make a strong appeal to every
+human heart. Everyone is sure to love Aunt Jane and her
+neighbors, her quilts and her flowers, her stories and her
+quaint, tender philosophy.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>THE POSTMASTER. By Joseph C. Lincoln.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"The Postmaster" has more pure fun in it than anything Mr.
+Lincoln has written recently. The episode where the
+Christian Science lady meets the nervous old gentleman in
+the home of the spiritualist is uproarious.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>TRUTH DEXTER. By Sidney McCall.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>The novel bears the unmistakable imprint of genius.... Truth
+Dexter, the heroine, is one of the most lovable women in
+fiction&mdash;pure, worshipful, worthy and thoroughly
+womanly&mdash;the woman who makes a heaven of earth.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>THE BANDBOX. By Louis Joseph Vance.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"The Bandbox" is one of those delightful romances that you
+read through to the end at a sitting, forgetful of time,
+troubles, or tired feelings, and then breathe a sigh of
+regret because there's no more.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>JAPONETTE. By Robert W. Chambers.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A Chambers' novel is always one of the literary events of
+the year, and nothing more fascinating than "Japonette" has
+been penned by this most gifted writer.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>THE WIND BEFORE THE DAWN. By Dell H. Munger.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>The author has gone below the surface, seized upon the
+spirit of the pioneers, and dramatized into her story their
+love for the region and their stubborn faith in what held
+them there. It is a good, human, realistic story, full of
+real people and thrilling with the real pulses of life.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>MISS GIBBIE GAULT. By Kate Langley Bosher.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>To read a book like this is like taking a sun-bath. No one
+will finish the book without thanking the author for the
+keen pleasure it has given, and the vision of something good
+in human nature that it has brought before them.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>THE ONE-WAY TRAIL. By Ridgwell Cullum.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>This is a wholesome story of life and love in Montana, with
+real men and women, a strong plot and thrilling situations.
+Intensely interesting from beginning to end.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>THE GUESTS OF HERCULES. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>This is a story of the Riviera and Monte Carlo&mdash;and a clever
+and rather complicated plot. The girl is particularly
+unusual and piquant, the man more than ever loverlike and
+fascinating.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>MOLLY McDONALD, A Tale of the Old Frontier. By Randall Parrish.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>This is the story of a charming, whole-hearted girl, who
+leaving an Eastern school joins her father at a military
+post in Kansas during the Indian wars of 1868.</p></div>
+
+
+<p><b>TO M. L. G., OR ONE WHO PASSED.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>This is a life-story written by a woman who had not dared to
+risk telling it to the man she loved. She preferred to send
+him away rather than to lose his respect; knowing her life
+to have been so different from what he fancied it.</p></div>
+
+
+<h5>For sale by most booksellers at the popular price of 50 cents.
+Published by the</h5>
+
+<h3><b>A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52 Duane Street, New York.</b></h3>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="AUNT_JANE" id="AUNT_JANE"></a>AUNT JANE<br />
+
+OF KENTUCKY</h2>
+
+<h3>By ELIZA CALVERT HALL</h3>
+
+<p>With Aunt Jane a real personage has come into literature.</p>
+
+<p>In this dear old philosopher in homespun&mdash;with her patchwork quilts,
+which were her albums and diary, and in the midst of her garden, where
+each "flower was a human thing with a life-story"&mdash;we seem to renew
+acquaintance with a character which each of us has known and loved
+back in our own gardens of memory.</p>
+
+<p>Where so many have made caricatures of old-time country folk, Eliza
+Calvert Hall has caught at once the real charm, the real spirit, the
+real people, and the real joy of living which was theirs.</p>
+
+
+<h3>ALSO BY THE SAME AUTHOR</h3>
+
+<h3>The Land of Long Ago</h3>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"The Land of Long Ago," in which reappears that famous
+character, "Aunt Jane of Kentucky," is a delightful picture
+of rural life in the Blue Grass country, showing the real
+charm and spirit of the old time country folk&mdash;a book full
+of sentiment and kindliness and high ideals. It cannot fail
+to appeal to every reader by reason of its sunny humor, its
+sweetness and sincerity, its entire fidelity to life. Aunt
+Jane with her calm philosophy, her captivating stories, her
+sweet, womanly ways, is a character that wins the reader at
+once.</p></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>A. L. BURT COMPANY,</h3>
+<h4>Publishers,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;New York</h4>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Aunt Jane of Kentucky, by Eliza Calvert Hall
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Aunt Jane of Kentucky, by Eliza Calvert Hall
+
+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: Aunt Jane of Kentucky
+
+Author: Eliza Calvert Hall
+
+Illustrator: Beulah Strong
+
+Release Date: September 30, 2008 [EBook #26728]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT JANE OF KENTUCKY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Suzanne Shell, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           [Illustration:]
+
+
+                              AUNT JANE
+
+                             OF KENTUCKY
+
+
+
+                        BY ELIZA CALVERT HALL
+
+                  Author of "The Land of Long Ago."
+
+
+                WITH FRONTISPIECE AND PAGE DECORATIONS
+
+                           BY BEULAH STRONG
+
+
+
+
+                          A. L. BURT COMPANY
+
+                      PUBLISHERS        NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+
+                     COPYRIGHT, 1898, 1899, 1900,
+
+                       BY JOHN BRISBANE WALKER.
+
+                           COPYRIGHT, 1904,
+
+                 BY COSMOPOLITAN PUBLISHING COMPANY.
+
+                           COPYRIGHT, 1907,
+
+                    BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+MY   MOTHER   AND   FATHER
+
+I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTERS
+
+
+                                                    PAGE
+   I.   SALLY ANN'S EXPERIENCE                       1
+
+  II.   THE NEW ORGAN                               29
+
+ III.   AUNT JANE'S ALBUM                           53
+
+  IV.   "SWEET DAY OF REST"                         83
+
+   V.   MILLY BAKER'S BOY                          105
+
+  VI.   THE BAPTIZING AT KITTLE CREEK              141
+
+ VII.   HOW SAM AMOS RODE IN THE TOURNAMENT        169
+
+VIII.   MARY ANDREWS' DINNER-PARTY                 193
+
+  IX.   THE GARDENS OF MEMORY                      247
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+     "There is not an existence about us but at first seems
+     colorless, dreary, lethargic: what can our soul have in
+     common with that of an elderly spinster, a slow-witted
+     plowman, a miser who worships his gold?... But ... the
+     emotion that lived and died in an old-fashioned country
+     parlor shall as mightily stir our heart, shall as unerringly
+     find its way to the deepest sources of life as the majestic
+     passion that ruled the life of a king and shed its
+     triumphant luster from the dazzling height of a
+     throne."--_Maeterlinck_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+SALLY ANN'S EXPERIENCE
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+
+"Come right in and set down. I was jest wishin' I had somebody to talk
+to. Take that chair right by the door so's you can get the breeze."
+
+And Aunt Jane beamed at me over her silver-rimmed spectacles and
+hitched her own chair a little to one side, in order to give me the
+full benefit of the wind that was blowing softly through the
+white-curtained window, and carrying into the room the heavenliest
+odors from a field of clover that lay in full bloom just across the
+road. For it was June in Kentucky, and clover and blue-grass were
+running sweet riot over the face of the earth.
+
+Aunt Jane and her room together always carried me back to a dead and
+gone generation. There was a rag carpet on the floor, of the
+"hit-or-miss" pattern; the chairs were ancient Shaker rockers, some
+with homely "shuck" bottoms, and each had a tidy of snowy thread or
+crochet cotton fastened primly over the back. The high bed and bureau
+and a shining mahogany table suggested an era of "plain living" far,
+far remote from the day of Turkish rugs and Japanese bric-a-brac, and
+Aunt Jane was in perfect correspondence with her environment. She wore
+a purple calico dress, rather short and scant; a gingham apron, with a
+capacious pocket, in which she always carried knitting or some other
+"handy work"; a white handkerchief was laid primly around the wrinkled
+throat and fastened with a pin containing a lock of gray hair; her cap
+was of black lace and lutestring ribbon, not one of the butterfly
+affairs that perch on the top of the puffs and frizzes of the modern
+old lady, but a substantial structure that covered her whole head and
+was tied securely under her chin. She talked in a sweet old treble
+with a little lisp, caused by the absence of teeth, and her laugh was
+as clear and joyous as a young girl's.
+
+"Yes, I'm a-piecin' quilts again," she said, snipping away at the bits
+of calico in her lap. "I did say I was done with that sort o' work;
+but this mornin' I was rummagin' around up in the garret, and I come
+across this bundle of pieces, and thinks I, 'I reckon it's intended
+for me to piece one more quilt before I die;' I must 'a' put 'em there
+thirty years ago and clean forgot 'em, and I've been settin' here all
+the evenin' cuttin' 'em and thinkin' about old times.
+
+"Jest feel o' that," she continued, tossing some scraps into my lap.
+"There ain't any such caliker nowadays. This ain't your five-cent
+stuff that fades in the first washin' and wears out in the second. A
+caliker dress was somethin' worth buyin' and worth makin' up in them
+days. That blue-flowered piece was a dress I got the spring before
+Abram died. When I put on mournin' it was as good as new, and I give
+it to sister Mary. That one with the green ground and white figger was
+my niece Rebecca's. She wore it for the first time to the County Fair
+the year I took the premium on my salt-risin' bread and sponge cake.
+This black-an'-white piece Sally Ann Flint give me. I ricollect 'twas
+in blackberry time, and I'd been out in the big pasture pickin' some
+for supper, and I stopped in at Sally Ann's for a drink o' water on my
+way back. She was cuttin' out this dress."
+
+Aunt Jane broke off with a little soprano laugh.
+
+"Did I ever tell you about Sally Ann's experience?" she said, as she
+laid two three-cornered pieces together and began to sew with her
+slender, nervous old fingers.
+
+To find Aunt Jane alone and in a reminiscent mood! This was
+delightful.
+
+"Do tell me," I said.
+
+Aunt Jane was silent for a few moments. She always made this pause
+before beginning a story, and there was something impressive about it.
+I used to think she was making an invocation to the goddess of Memory.
+
+"'Twas forty years ago," she began musingly, "and the way of it was
+this. Our church was considerably out o' fix. It needed a new roof.
+Some o' the winder lights was out, and the floor was as bare as your
+hand, and always had been. The men folks managed to git the roof
+shingled and the winders fixed, and us women in the Mite Society
+concluded we'd git a cyarpet. We'd been savin' up our money for some
+time, and we had about twelve dollars. I ricollect what a argument we
+had, for some of us wanted the cyarpet, and some wanted to give it to
+furrin missions, as we'd set out to do at first. Sally Ann was the one
+that settled it. She says at last--Sally Ann was in favor of the
+cyarpet--she says, 'Well, if any of the heathen fails to hear the
+gospel on account of our gittin' this cyarpet, they'll be saved
+anyhow, so Parson Page says. And if we send the money and they do hear
+the gospel, like as not they won't repent, and then they're certain to
+be damned. And it seems to me as long as we ain't sure what they'll
+do, we might as well keep the money and git the cyarpet. I never did
+see much sense anyhow,' says she, 'in givin' people a chance to damn
+theirselves.'
+
+"Well, we decided to take Sally Ann's advice, and we was talkin' about
+app'intin' a committee to go to town the follerin' Monday and pick out
+the cyarpet, when all at once 'Lizabeth Taylor--she was our
+treasurer--she spoke up, and says she, 'There ain't any use app'intin'
+that committee. The money's gone,' she says, sort o' short and quick.
+'I kept it in my top bureau drawer, and when I went for it yesterday,
+it was gone. I'll pay it back if I'm ever able, but I ain't able now.'
+And with that she got up and walked out o' the room, before any one
+could say a word, and we seen her goin' down the road lookin' straight
+before her and walkin' right fast.
+
+"And we--we set there and stared at each other in a sort o' dazed way.
+I could see that everybody was thinkin' the same thing, but nobody
+said a word, till our minister's wife--she was as good a woman as ever
+lived--she says, '_Judge not_.'
+
+"Them two words was jest like a sermon to us. Then Sally Ann spoke up
+and says: 'For the Lord's sake, don't let the men folks know anything
+about this. They're always sayin' that women ain't fit to handle
+money, and I for one don't want to give 'em any more ground to stand
+on than they've already got.'
+
+"So we agreed to say nothin' about it, and all of us kept our promise
+except Milly Amos. She had mighty little sense to begin with, and
+havin' been married only about two months, she'd about lost that
+little. So next mornin' I happened to meet Sam Amos, and he says to
+me, 'Aunt Jane, how much money have you women got to'rds the new
+cyarpet for the church?' I looked him square in the face, and I says,
+'Are you a member of the Ladies' Mite Society of Goshen church, Sam
+Amos? For if you are, you already know how much money we've got, and
+if you ain't, you've got no business knowin'. And, furthermore,' says
+I, 'there's some women that can't keep a secret and a promise, and
+some that can, and _I_ can.' And that settled _him_.
+
+"Well, 'Lizabeth never showed her face outside her door for more'n a
+month afterwards, and a more pitiful-lookin' creatur' you never saw
+than she was when she come out to prayer-meetin' the night Sally Ann
+give her experience. She set 'way back in the church, and she was as
+pale and peaked as if she had been through a siege of typhoid. I
+ricollect it all as if it had been yesterday. We sung 'Sweet Hour of
+Prayer,' and Parson Page prayed, and then called on the brethren to
+say anything they might feel called on to say concernin' their
+experience in the past week. Old Uncle Jim Matthews begun to clear his
+throat, and I knew, as well as I knew my name, he was fixin' to git up
+and tell how precious the Lord had been to his soul, jest like he'd
+been doin' every Wednesday night for twenty years. But before he got
+started, here come 'Lizabeth walkin' down the side aisle and stopped
+right in front o' the pulpit.
+
+"'I've somethin' to say,' she says. 'It's been on my mind till I can't
+stand it any longer. I've got to tell it, or I'll go crazy. It was me
+that took that cyarpet money. I only meant to borrow it. I thought
+sure I'd be able to pay it back before it was wanted. But things went
+wrong, and I ain't known a peaceful minute since, and never shall
+again, I reckon. I took it to pay my way up to Louisville, the time I
+got the news that Mary was dyin'.'
+
+"Mary was her daughter by her first husband, you see. 'I begged Jacob
+to give me the money to go on,' says she, 'and he wouldn't do it. I
+tried to give up and stay, but I jest couldn't. Mary was all I had in
+the world; and maybe you that has children can put yourself in my
+place, and know what it would be to hear your only child callin' to
+you from her death-bed, and you not able to go to her. I asked Jacob
+three times for the money,' she says, 'and when I found he wouldn't
+give it to me, I said to myself, "I'm goin' anyhow." I got down on my
+knees,' says she, 'and asked the Lord to show me a way, and I felt
+sure he would. As soon as Jacob had eat his breakfast and gone out on
+the farm, I dressed myself, and as I opened the top bureau drawer to
+get out my best collar, I saw the missionary money. It come right
+into my head,' says she, 'that maybe this was the answer to my prayer;
+maybe I could borrow this money, and pay it back some way or other
+before it was called for. I tried to put it out o' my head, but the
+thought kept comin' back; and when I went down into the sittin'-room
+to get Jacob's cyarpetbag to carry a few things in, I happened to look
+up at the mantelpiece and saw the brass candlesticks with prisms all
+'round 'em that used to belong to my mother; and all at once I seemed
+to see jest what the Lord intended for me to do.
+
+"'You know,' she says, 'I had a boarder summer before last--that lady
+from Louisville--and she wanted them candlesticks the worst kind, and
+offered me fifteen dollars for 'em. I wouldn't part with 'em then, but
+she said if ever I wanted to sell 'em, to let her know, and she left
+her name and address on a cyard. I went to the big Bible and got out
+the cyard, and I packed the candlesticks in the cyarpetbag, and put on
+my bonnet. When I opened the door I looked up the road, and the first
+thing I saw was Dave Crawford comin' along in his new buggy. I went
+out to the gate, and he drew up and asked me if I was goin' to town,
+and said he'd take me. It looked like the Lord was leadin' me all the
+time,' says she, 'but the way things turned out it must 'a' been
+Satan. I got to Mary just two hours before she died, and she looked up
+in my face and says, "Mother, I knew God wouldn't let me die till I'd
+seen you once more."'"
+
+Here Aunt Jane took off her glasses and wiped her eyes.
+
+"I can't tell this without cryin' to save my life," said she; "but
+'Lizabeth never shed a tear. She looked like she'd got past cryin',
+and she talked straight on as if she'd made up her mind to say jest so
+much, and she'd die if she didn't git to say it."
+
+"'As soon as the funeral was over,' says she, 'I set out to find the
+lady that wanted the candlesticks. She wasn't at home, but her niece
+was there, and said she'd heard her aunt speak of the candlesticks
+often; and she'd be home in a few days and would send me the money
+right off. I come home thinkin' it was all right, and I kept expectin'
+the money every day, but it never come till day before yesterday. I
+wrote three times about it, but I never got a word from her till
+Monday. She had just got home, she said, and hoped I hadn't been
+inconvenienced by the delay. She wrote a nice, polite letter and sent
+me a check for fifteen dollars, and here it is. I wanted to confess
+it all that day at the Mite Society, but somehow I couldn't till I had
+the money right in my hand to pay back. If the lady had only come back
+when her niece said she was comin', it would all have turned out
+right, but I reckon it's a judgment on me for meddling with the Lord's
+money. God only knows what I've suffered,' says she, 'but if I had to
+do it over again, I believe I'd do it. Mary was all the child I had in
+the world, and I had to see her once more before she died. I've been a
+member of this church for twenty years,' says she, 'but I reckon
+you'll have to turn me out now.'
+
+"The pore thing stood there tremblin' and holdin' out the check as if
+she expected somebody to come and take it. Old Silas Petty was
+glowerin' at her from under his eyebrows, and it put me in mind of the
+Pharisees and the woman they wanted to stone, and I ricollect
+thinkin', 'Oh, if the Lord Jesus would jest come in and take her
+part!' And while we all set there like a passel o' mutes, Sally Ann
+got up and marched down the middle aisle and stood right by 'Lizabeth.
+You know what funny thoughts people will have sometimes.
+
+"Well, I felt so relieved. It popped into my head all at once that we
+didn't need the Lord after all, Sally Ann would do jest as well. It
+seemed sort o' like sacrilege, but I couldn't help it.
+
+"Well, Sally Ann looked all around as composed as you please, and says
+she, 'I reckon if anybody's turned out o' this church on account o'
+that miserable little money, it'll be Jacob and not 'Lizabeth. A man
+that won't give his wife money to go to her dyin' child is too mean to
+stay in a Christian church anyhow; and I'd like to know how it is that
+a woman, that had eight hundred dollars when she married, has to go to
+her husband and git down on her knees and beg for what's her own.
+Where's that money 'Lizabeth had when she married you?' says she,
+turnin' round and lookin' Jacob in the face. 'Down in that ten-acre
+medder lot, ain't it?--and in that new barn you built last spring. A
+pretty elder you are, ain't you? Elders don't seem to have improved
+much since Susannah's times. If there ain't one sort o' meanness in
+'em it's another,' says she.
+
+"Goodness knows what she would 'a' said, but jest here old Deacon
+Petty rose up. And says he, 'Brethren,'--and he spread his arms out
+and waved 'em up and down like he was goin' to pray,--'brethren, this
+is awful! If this woman wants to give her religious experience, why,'
+says he, very kind and condescendin', 'of course she can do so. But
+when it comes to a _woman_ standin' up in the house of the Lord and
+revilin' an elder as this woman is doin', why, I tremble,' says he,
+'for the church of Christ. For don't the Apostle Paul say, "Let your
+women keep silence in the church"?'
+
+"As soon as he named the 'Postle Paul, Sally Ann give a kind of snort.
+Sally Ann was terrible free-spoken. And when Deacon Petty said that,
+she jest squared herself like she intended to stand there till
+judgment day, and says she, 'The 'Postle Paul has been dead ruther too
+long for me to be afraid of him. And I never heard of him app'intin'
+Deacon Petty to represent him in this church. If the 'Postle Paul
+don't like what I'm sayin', let him rise up from his grave in
+Corinthians or Ephesians, or wherever he's buried, and say so. I've
+got a message from the Lord to the men folks of this church, and I'm
+goin' to deliver it, Paul or no Paul,' says she. 'And as for you,
+Silas Petty, I ain't forgot the time I dropped in to see Maria one
+Saturday night and found her washin' out her flannel petticoat and
+dryin' it before the fire. And every time I've had to hear you lead in
+prayer since then I've said to myself, "Lord, how high can a man's
+prayers rise toward heaven when his wife ain't got but one flannel
+skirt to her name? No higher than the back of his pew, if you'll let
+me tell it." I knew jest how it was,' said Sally Ann, 'as well as if
+Maria'd told me. She'd been havin' the milk and butter money from the
+old roan cow she'd raised from a little heifer, and jest because feed
+was scarce, you'd sold her off before Maria had money enough to buy
+her winter flannels. I can give my experience, can I? Well, that's
+jest what I'm a-doin',' says she; 'and while I'm about it,' says she,
+'I'll give in some experience for 'Lizabeth and Maria and the rest of
+the women who, betwixt their husbands an' the 'Postle Paul, have about
+lost all the gumption and grit that the Lord started them out with. If
+the 'Postle Paul,' says she, 'has got anything to say about a woman
+workin' like a slave for twenty-five years and then havin' to set up
+an' wash out her clothes Saturday night, so's she can go to church
+clean Sunday mornin', I'd like to hear it. But don't you dare to say
+anything to me about keepin' silence in the church. There was times
+when Paul says he didn't know whether he had the Spirit of God or not,
+and I'm certain that when he wrote that text he wasn't any more
+inspired than you are, Silas Petty, when you tell Maria to shut her
+mouth.'
+
+"Job Taylor was settin' right in front of Deacon Petty, and I reckon
+he thought his time was comin' next; so he gets up, easy-like, with
+his red bandanna to his mouth, and starts out. But Sally Ann headed
+him off before he'd gone six steps, and says she, 'There ain't
+anything the matter with you, Job Taylor; you set right down and hear
+what I've got to say. I've knelt and stood through enough o' your
+long-winded prayers, and now it's my time to talk and yours to
+listen.'
+
+"And bless your life, if Job didn't set down as meek as Moses, and
+Sally Ann lit right into him. And says she, 'I reckon you're afraid
+I'll tell some o' your meanness, ain't you? And the only thing that
+stands in my way is that there's so much to tell I don't know where to
+begin. There ain't a woman in this church,' says she, 'that don't know
+how Marthy scrimped and worked and saved to buy her a new set o'
+furniture, and how you took the money with you when you went to
+Cincinnata, the spring before she died, and come back without the
+furniture. And when she asked you for the money, you told her that she
+and everything she had belonged to you, and that your mother's old
+furniture was good enough for anybody. It's my belief,' says she,
+'that's what killed Marthy. Women are dyin' every day, and the
+doctors will tell you it's some new-fangled disease or other, when, if
+the truth was known, it's nothin' but wantin' somethin' they can't
+git, and hopin' and waitin' for somethin' that never comes. I've
+watched 'em, and I know. The night before Marthy died she says to me,
+"Sally Ann," says she, "I could die a heap peacefuler if I jest knew
+the front room was fixed up right with a new set of furniture for the
+funeral."' And Sally Ann p'inted her finger right at Job and says she,
+'I said it then, and I say it now to your face, Job Taylor, you killed
+Marthy the same as if you'd taken her by the throat and choked the
+life out of her.'
+
+"Mary Embry, Job's sister-in-law, was settin' right behind me, and I
+heard her say, 'Amen!' as fervent as if somebody had been prayin'. Job
+set there, lookin' like a sheep-killin' dog, and Sally Ann went right
+on. 'I know,' says she, 'the law gives you the right to your wives'
+earnin's and everything they've got, down to the clothes on their
+backs; and I've always said there was some Kentucky law that was made
+for the express purpose of encouragin' men in their natural
+meanness,--a p'int in which the Lord knows they don't need no
+encouragin'. There's some men,' says she, 'that'll sneak behind the
+'Postle Paul when they're plannin' any meanness against their wives,
+and some that runs to the law, and you're one of the law kind. But
+mark my words,' says she, 'one of these days, you men who've been
+stealin' your wives' property and defraudin' 'em, and cheatin' 'em out
+o' their just dues, you'll have to stand before a Judge that cares
+mighty little for Kentucky law; and all the law and all the Scripture
+you can bring up won't save you from goin' where the rich man went.'
+
+"I can see Sally Ann right now," and Aunt Jane pushed her glasses up
+on her forehead, and looked with a dreamy, retrospective gaze through
+the doorway and beyond, where swaying elms and maples were whispering
+softly to each other as the breeze touched them. "She had on her old
+black poke-bonnet and some black yarn mitts, and she didn't come nigh
+up to Job's shoulder, but Job set and listened as if he jest _had to_.
+I heard Dave Crawford shufflin' his feet and clearin' his throat while
+Sally Ann was talkin' to Job. Dave's farm j'ined Sally Ann's, and they
+had a lawsuit once about the way a fence ought to run, and Sally Ann
+beat him. He always despised Sally Ann after that, and used to call
+her a 'he-woman.' Sally Ann heard the shufflin', and as soon as she
+got through with Job, she turned around to Dave, and says she: 'Do you
+think your hemmin' and scrapin' is goin' to stop me, Dave Crawford?
+You're one o' the men that makes me think that it's better to be a
+Kentucky horse than a Kentucky woman. Many's the time,' says she,
+'I've seen pore July with her head tied up, crawlin' around tryin' to
+cook for sixteen harvest hands, and you out in the stable cossetin' up
+a sick mare, and rubbin' down your three-year-olds to get 'em in trim
+for the fair. Of all the things that's hard to understand,' says she,
+'the hardest is a man that has more mercy on his horse than he has on
+his wife. July's found rest at last,' says she, 'out in the graveyard;
+and every time I pass your house I thank the Lord that you've got to
+pay a good price for your cookin' now, as there ain't a woman in the
+country fool enough to step into July's shoes.'
+
+"But, la!" said Aunt Jane, breaking off with her happy laugh,--the
+laugh of one who revels in rich memories,--"what's the use of me
+tellin' all this stuff? The long and the short of it is, that Sally
+Ann had her say about nearly every man in the church. She told how
+Mary Embry had to cut up her weddin' skirts to make clothes for her
+first baby; and how John Martin stopped Hannah one day when she was
+carryin' her mother a pound of butter, and made her go back and put
+the butter down in the cellar; and how Lije Davison used to make Ann
+pay him for every bit of chicken feed, and then take half the egg
+money because the chickens got into his garden; and how Abner Page
+give his wife twenty-five cents for spendin' money the time she went
+to visit her sister.
+
+"Sally Ann always was a masterful sort of woman, and that night it
+seemed like she was possessed. The way she talked made me think of the
+Day of Pentecost and the gift of tongues. And finally she got to the
+minister! I'd been wonderin' all along if she was goin' to let him
+off. She turned around to where he was settin' under the pulpit, and
+says she, 'Brother Page, you're a good man, but you ain't so good you
+couldn't be better. It was jest last week,' says she, 'that the women
+come around beggin' money to buy you a new suit of clothes to go to
+Presbytery in; and I told 'em if it was to get Mis' Page a new dress,
+I was ready to give; but not a dime was I goin' to give towards
+puttin' finery on a man's back. I'm tired o' seein' the ministers
+walk up into the pulpit in their slick black broadcloths, and their
+wives settin' down in the pew in an old black silk that's been turned
+upside down, wrong side out, and hind part before, and sponged, and
+pressed, and made over till you can't tell whether it's silk, or
+caliker, or what.'
+
+"Well, I reckon there was some o' the women that expected the roof to
+fall down on us when Sally Ann said that right to the minister. But it
+didn't fall, and Sally Ann went straight on. 'And when it comes to the
+perseverance of the saints and the decrees of God,' says she, 'there
+ain't many can preach a better sermon; but there's some of your
+sermons,' says she, 'that ain't fit for much but kindlin' fires.
+There's that one you preached last Sunday on the twenty-fourth verse
+of the fifth chapter of Ephesians. I reckon I've heard about a hundred
+and fifty sermons on that text, and I reckon I'll keep on hearin' 'em
+as long as there ain't anybody but men to do the preachin'. Anybody
+would think,' says she, 'that you preachers was struck blind every
+time you git through with the twenty-fourth verse, for I never heard a
+sermon on the twenty-fifth verse. I believe there's men in this church
+that thinks the fifth chapter of Ephesians hasn't got but twenty-four
+verses, and I'm goin' to read the rest of it to 'em for once anyhow.'
+
+"And if Sally Ann didn't walk right up into the pulpit same as if
+she'd been ordained, and read what Paul said about men lovin' their
+wives as Christ loved the church, and as they loved their own bodies.
+
+"'Now,' says she, 'if Brother Page can reconcile these texts with what
+Paul says about women submittin' and bein' subject, he's welcome to do
+it. But,' says she, 'if I had the preachin' to do, I wouldn't waste
+time reconcilin'. I'd jest say that when Paul told women to be subject
+to their husbands in everything, he wasn't inspired; and when he told
+men to love their wives as their own bodies, he was inspired; and I'd
+like to see the Presbytery that could silence me from preachin' as
+long as I wanted to preach. As for turnin' out o' the church,' says
+she, 'I'd like to know who's to do the turnin' out. When the disciples
+brought that woman to Christ there wasn't a man in the crowd fit to
+cast a stone at her; and if there's any man nowadays good enough to
+set in judgment on a woman, his name ain't on the rolls of Goshen
+church. If 'Lizabeth,' says she, 'had as much common sense as she's
+got conscience, she'd know that the matter o' that money didn't
+concern nobody but our Mite Society, and we women can settle it
+without any help from you deacons and elders.'
+
+"Well, I reckon Parson Page thought if he didn't head Sally Ann off
+some way or other she'd go on all night; so when she kind o' stopped
+for breath and shut up the big Bible, he grabbed a hymn-book and says:
+
+"'Let us sing "Blest be the Tie that Binds."'
+
+"He struck up the tune himself; and about the middle of the first
+verse Mis' Page got up and went over to where 'Lizabeth was standin',
+and give her the right hand of fellowship, and then Mis' Petty did the
+same; and first thing we knew we was all around her shakin' hands and
+huggin' her and cryin' over her. 'Twas a reg'lar love-feast; and we
+went home feelin' like we'd been through a big protracted meetin' and
+got religion over again.
+
+"'Twasn't more'n a week till 'Lizabeth was down with slow
+fever--nervous collapse, old Dr. Pendleton called it. We took turns
+nursin' her, and one day she looked up in my face and says, 'Jane, I
+know now what the mercy of the Lord is.'"
+
+Here Aunt Jane paused, and began to cut three-cornered pieces out of a
+time-stained square of flowered chintz. The quilt was to be of the
+wild-goose pattern. There was a drowsy hum from the bee-hive near the
+window, and the shadows were lengthening as sunset approached.
+
+"One queer thing about it," she resumed, "was that while Sally Ann was
+talkin', not one of us felt like laughin'. We set there as solemn as
+if parson was preachin' to us on 'lection and predestination. But
+whenever I think about it now, I laugh fit to kill. And I've thought
+many a time that Sally Ann's plain talk to them men done more good
+than all the sermons us women had had preached to us about bein'
+'shame-faced' and 'submittin'' ourselves to our husbands, for every
+one o' them women come out in new clothes that spring, and such a
+change as it made in some of 'em! I wouldn't be surprised if she did
+have a message to deliver, jest as she said. The Bible says an ass
+spoke up once and reproved a man, and I reckon if an ass can reprove a
+man, so can a woman. And it looks to me like men stand in need of
+reprovin' now as much as they did in Balaam's days.
+
+"Jacob died the follerin' fall, and 'Lizabeth got shed of her
+troubles. The triflin' scamp never married her for anything but her
+money.
+
+"Things is different from what they used to be," she went on, as she
+folded her pieces into a compact bundle and tied it with a piece of
+gray yarn. "My son-in-law was tellin' me last summer how a passel o'
+women kept goin' up to Frankfort and so pesterin' the Legislatur',
+that they had to change the laws to git rid of 'em. So married women
+now has all the property rights they want, and more'n some of 'em has
+sense to use, I reckon."
+
+"How about you and Uncle Abram?" I suggested. "Didn't Sally Ann say
+anything about you in her experience?"
+
+Aunt Jane's black eyes snapped with some of the fire of her long-past
+youth. "La! no, child," she said. "Abram never was that kind of a man,
+and I never was that kind of a woman. I ricollect as we was walkin'
+home that night Abram says, sort o' humble-like: 'Jane, hadn't you
+better git that brown merino you was lookin' at last County Court
+day?'
+
+"And I says, 'Don't you worry about that brown merino, Abram. It's
+a-lyin' in my bottom drawer right now. I told the storekeeper to cut
+it off jest as soon as your back was turned, and Mis' Simpson is goin'
+to make it next week.' And Abram he jest laughed, and says, 'Well,
+Jane, I never saw your beat.' You see, I never was any hand at
+'submittin'' myself to my husband, like some women. I've often
+wondered if Abram wouldn't 'a' been jest like Silas Petty if I'd been
+like Maria. I've noticed that whenever a woman's willin' to be imposed
+upon, there's always a man standin' 'round ready to do the imposin'. I
+never went to a law-book to find out what my rights was. I did my duty
+faithful to Abram, and when I wanted anything I went and got it, and
+Abram paid for it, and I can't see but what we got on jest as well as
+we'd 'a' done if I'd a-'submitted' myself."
+
+Longer and longer grew the shadows, and the faint tinkle of bells came
+in through the windows. The cows were beginning to come home. The
+spell of Aunt Jane's dramatic art was upon me. I began to feel that my
+own personality had somehow slipped away from me, and those dead
+people, evoked from their graves by an old woman's histrionism, seemed
+more real to me than my living, breathing self.
+
+"There now, I've talked you clean to death," she said with a happy
+laugh, as I rose to go. "But we've had a real nice time, and I'm glad
+you come."
+
+The sun was almost down as I walked slowly away. When I looked back,
+at the turn of the road, Aunt Jane was standing on the door-step,
+shading her eyes and peering across the level fields. I knew what it
+meant. Beyond the fields was a bit of woodland, and in one corner of
+that you might, if your eyesight was good, discern here and there a
+glimpse of white. It was the old burying-ground of Goshen church; and
+I knew by the strained attitude and intent gaze of the watcher in the
+door that somewhere in the sunlit space between Aunt Jane's door-step
+and the little country graveyard, the souls of the living and the dead
+were keeping a silent tryst.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE NEW ORGAN
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+"Gittin' a new organ is a mighty different thing nowadays from what it
+was when I was young," said Aunt Jane judicially, as she lifted a
+panful of yellow harvest apples from the table and began to peel them
+for dumplings.
+
+Potatoes, peas, and asparagus were bubbling on the stove, and the
+dumplings were in honor of the invited guest, who had begged the
+privilege of staying in the kitchen awhile. Aunt Jane was one of
+those rare housekeepers whose kitchens are more attractive than the
+parlors of other people.
+
+"And gittin' religion is different, too," she continued, propping her
+feet on the round of a chair for the greater comfort and convenience
+of her old knees. "Both of 'em is a heap easier than they used to be,
+and the organs is a heap better. I don't know whether the religion's
+any better or not. You know I went up to my daughter Mary Frances'
+last week, and the folks up there was havin' a big meetin' in the
+Tabernicle, and that's how come me to be thinkin' about organs.
+
+"The preacher was an evangelist, as they call him, Sam Joynes, from
+'way down South. In my day he'd 'a' been called the Rev. Samuel
+Joynes. Folks didn't call their preachers Tom, Dick, and Harry, and
+Jim and Sam, like they do now. I'd like to 'a' seen anybody callin'
+Parson Page 'Lem Page.' He was the Rev. Lemuel Page, and don't you
+forgit it. But things is different, as I said awhile ago, and even the
+little boys says 'Sam Joynes,' jest like he played marbles with 'em
+every day. I went to the Tabernicle three or four times; and of all
+the preachers that ever I heard, he certainly is the beatenest. Why,
+I ain't laughed so much since me and Abram went to Barnum's circus,
+the year before the war. He was preachin' one day about cleanliness
+bein' next to godliness, which it certainly is, and he says, 'You old
+skunk, you!' But, la! the worse names he called 'em the better they
+'peared to like it, and sinners was converted wholesale every time he
+preached. But there wasn't no goin' to the mourners' bench and
+mournin' for your sins and havin' people prayin' and cryin' over you.
+They jest set and laughed and grinned while he was gittin' off his
+jokes, and then they'd go up and shake hands with him, and there they
+was all saved and ready to be baptized and taken into the church."
+
+Just here the old yellow rooster fluttered up to the door-step and
+gave a hoarse, ominous crow.
+
+"There, now! You hear that?" said Aunt Jane, as she tossed him a
+golden peeling from her pan. "There's some folks that gives right up
+and looks for sickness or death or bad news every time a rooster crows
+in the door. But I never let such things bother me. The Bible says
+that nobody knows what a day may bring forth, and if I don't know, it
+ain't likely my old yeller rooster does.
+
+"What was I talkin' about? Oh, yes--the big meetin'. Well, I never was
+any hand to say that old ways is best, and I don't say so now. If you
+can convert a man by callin' him a polecat, why, call him one, of
+course. And mournin' ain't always a sign o' true repentance. They used
+to tell how Silas Petty mourned for forty days, and, as Sally Ann
+said, he had about as much religion as old Dan Tucker's Derby ram.
+
+"However, it was the organ I set out to tell about. It's jest like me
+to wander away from the p'int. Abram always said a text would have to
+be made like a postage stamp for me to stick to it. You see, they'd
+jest got a fine new organ at Mary Frances' church, and she was tellin'
+me how they paid for it. One man give five hundred dollars, and
+another give three hundred; then they collected four or five hundred
+amongst the other members, and give a lawn party and a strawberry
+festival and raised another hundred. It set me to thinkin' o' the time
+us women got the organ for Goshen church. It wasn't any light matter,
+for, besides the money it took us nearly three years to raise, there
+was the opposition. Come to think of it, we raised more opposition
+than we did money."
+
+And Aunt Jane laughed a blithe laugh and tossed another peeling to
+the yellow rooster, who had dropped the role of harbinger of evil and
+was posing as a humble suppliant.
+
+"An organ in them days, honey, was jest a wedge to split the church
+half in two. It was the new cyarpet that brought on the organ. You
+know how it is with yourself; you git a new dress, and then you've got
+to have a new bonnet, and then you can't wear your old shoes and
+gloves with a new dress and a new bonnet, and the first thing you know
+you've spent five times as much as you set out to spend. That's the
+way it was with us about the cyarpet and the organ and the pulpit
+chairs and the communion set.
+
+"Most o' the men folks was against the organ from the start, and Silas
+Petty was the foremost. Silas made a p'int of goin' against everything
+that women favored. Sally Ann used to say that if a woman was to come
+up to him and say, 'Le's go to heaven,' Silas would start off towards
+the other place right at once; he was jest that mulish and contrairy.
+He met Sally Ann one day, and says he, 'Jest give you women rope
+enough and you'll turn the house o' the Lord into a reg'lar toy-shop.'
+And Sally Ann she says, 'You'd better go home, Silas, and read the
+book of Exodus. If the Lord told Moses how to build the Tabernicle
+with the goats' skins and rams' skins and blue and purple and scarlet
+and fine linen and candlesticks with six branches, I reckon he won't
+object to a few yards o' cyarpetin' and a little organ in Goshen
+church.'
+
+"Sally Ann always had an answer ready, and I used to think she knew
+more about the Bible than Parson Page did himself.
+
+"Of course Uncle Jim Matthews didn't want the organ; he was afraid it
+might interfere with his singin'. Job Taylor always stood up for
+Silas, so he didn't want it; and Parson Page never opened his mouth
+one way or the other. He was one o' those men that tries to set on
+both sides o' the fence at once, and he'd set that way so long he was
+a mighty good hand at balancin' himself.
+
+"Us women didn't say much, but we made up our minds to have the organ.
+So we went to work in the Mite Society, and in less'n three years we
+had enough money to git it. I've often wondered how many pounds o'
+butter and how many baskets of eggs it took to raise that money. I
+reckon if they'd 'a' been piled up on top of each other they'd 'a'
+reached to the top o' the steeple. The women of Israel brought their
+ear-rings and bracelets to help build the Tabernicle, but we had jest
+our egg and butter money, and the second year, when the chicken
+cholery was so bad, our prospects looked mighty blue.
+
+"When I saw that big organ up at Danville, I couldn't help thinkin'
+about the little thing we worked so hard to git. 'Twasn't much
+bigger'n a washstand, and I reckon if I was to hear it now, I'd think
+it was mighty feeble and squeaky. But it sounded fine enough to us in
+them days, and, little as it was, it raised a disturbance for miles
+around.
+
+"When it come down from Louisville, Abram went to town with his
+two-horse wagon and brought it out and set it up in our parlor. My
+Jane had been takin' lessons in town all winter, so's to be able to
+play on it.
+
+"We had a right good choir for them days; the only trouble was that
+everybody wanted to be leader. That's a common failin' with church
+choirs, I've noticed. Milly Amos sung soprano, and my Jane was the
+alto; John Petty sung bass, and young Sam Crawford tenor; and as for
+Uncle Jim Matthews, he sung everything, and a plenty of it, too. Milly
+Amos used to say he was worse'n a flea. He'd start out on the bass,
+and first thing you knew he'd be singin' tenor with Sam Crawford; and
+by the time Sam was good and mad, he'd be off onto the alto or the
+soprano. He was one o' these meddlesome old creeturs that thinks the
+world never moved till they got into it, and they've got to help
+everybody out with whatever they happen to be doin'. You've heard o'
+children bein' born kickin'. Well, Uncle Jim must 'a' been born
+singin'. I've seen people that said they didn't like the idea o' goin'
+to heaven and standin' around a throne and singin' hymns for ever and
+ever; but you couldn't 'a' pleased Uncle Jim better than to set him
+down in jest that sort o' heaven. Wherever there was a chance to get
+in some singin', there you'd be sure to find Uncle Jim. Folks used to
+say he enjoyed a funeral a heap better than he did a weddin', 'cause
+he could sing at the funeral, and he couldn't at the weddin'; and Sam
+Crawford said he believed if Gabriel was to come down and blow his
+trumpet, Uncle Jim would git up and begin to sing.
+
+"It wouldn't 'a' been so bad if he'd had any sort of a voice; but he'd
+been singin' all his life and hollerin' at protracted meetin's ever
+since he got religion, till he'd sung and hollered all the music out
+of his voice, and there wasn't much left but the old creaky machinery.
+It used to make me think of an old rickety house with the blinds
+flappin' in the wind. It mortified us terrible to have any of the
+Methodists or Babtists come to our church. We was sort o' used to the
+old man's capers, but people that wasn't couldn't keep a straight face
+when the singin' begun, and it took more grace than any of us had to
+keep from gittin' mad when we seen people from another church laughin'
+at our choir.
+
+"The Babtists had a powerful protracted meetin' one winter. Uncle Jim
+was there to help with the singin', as a matter of course, and he
+begun to git mightily interested in Babtist doctrines. Used to go home
+with 'em after church and talk about Greek and Hebrew words till the
+clock struck twelve. And one communion Sunday he got up solemn as a
+owl and marched out o' church jest before the bread and wine was
+passed. Made out like he warn't sure he'd been rightly babtized. The
+choir was mightily tickled at the idea o' gittin' shed o' the old
+pest, and Sam Crawford went to him and told him he was on the right
+track and to go ahead, for the Babtists was undoubtedly correct, and
+if it wasn't for displeasin' his father and mother he'd jine 'em
+himself. And then--Sam never could let well enough alone--then he went
+to Bush Elrod, the Babtist tenor, and says he, 'I hear you're goin'
+to have a new member in your choir.' And Bush says, 'Well, if the old
+idiot ever jines this church, we'll hold his head under the water so
+long that he won't be able to spile good music agin.' And then he give
+Uncle Jim a hint o' how things was; and when Uncle Jim heard that the
+Presbyterians was anxious to git shed of him, he found out right away
+that all them Greek and Hebrew words meant sprinklin' and infant
+babtism. So he settled down to stay where he was, and hollered
+louder'n ever the next Sunday.
+
+"The old man was a good enough Christian, I reckon; but when it come
+to singin', he was a stumblin'-block and rock of offense to the whole
+church, and especially to the choir. The first thing Sally Ann said
+when she looked at the new organ was, 'Well, Jane, how do you reckon
+it's goin' to sound with Uncle Jim's voice?' and I laughed till I had
+to set down in a cheer.
+
+"Well, when the men folks found out that our organ had come, they
+begun to wake up. Abram had brought it out Tuesday, and Wednesday
+night, as soon as prayer-meetin' broke, Parson Page says, says he:
+'Brethren, there is a little business to be transacted. Please remain
+a few minutes longer.' And then, when we had set down again, he went
+on to say that the sisters had raised money and bought an organ, and
+there was some division of opinion among the brethren about usin' it,
+so he would like to have the matter discussed. He used a lot o' big
+words and talked mighty smooth, and I knew there was trouble ahead for
+us women.
+
+"Uncle Jim was the first one to speak. He was so anxious to begin, he
+could hardly wait for Parson Page to stop; and anybody would 'a'
+thought that he'd been up to heaven and talked with the Father and the
+Son and the Holy Ghost and all the angels, to hear him tell about the
+sort o' music there was in heaven, and the sort there ought to be on
+earth. 'Why, brethren,' says he, 'when John saw the heavens opened
+there wasn't no organs up there. God don't keer nothin',' says he,
+'about such new-fangled, worldly instruments. But when a lot o' sweet
+human voices git to praisin' him, why, the very angels stop singin' to
+listen.'
+
+"Milly Amos was right behind me, and she leaned over and says, 'Well,
+if the angels'd rather hear Uncle Jim's singin' than our organ,
+they've got mighty pore taste, that's all I've got to say.'
+
+"Silas Petty was the next one to git up, and says he: 'I never was in
+favor o' doin' things half-way, brethren; and if we've got to have the
+organ, why, we might as well have a monkey, too, and be done with it.
+For my part,' says he, 'I want to worship in the good old way my
+fathers and grandfathers worshiped in, and, unless my feelin's change
+very considerable, I shall have to withdraw from this church if any
+such Satan's music-box is set up in this holy place.'
+
+"And Sally Ann turned around and whispered to me, 'We ought to 'a' got
+that organ long ago, Jane.' I like to 'a' laughed right out, and I
+leaned over, and says I, 'Why don't you git up and talk for us, Sally
+Ann?' and she says: 'The spirit ain't moved me, Jane. I reckon it's
+too busy movin' Uncle Jim and Silas Petty.'
+
+"Jest then I looked around, and there was Abram standin' up. Well, you
+could 'a' knocked me over with a feather. Abram always was one o'
+those close-mouthed men. Never spoke if he could git around it any way
+whatever. Parson Page used to git after him every protracted meetin'
+about not leadin' in prayer and havin' family worship; but the spirit
+moved him that time sure, and there he was talkin' as glib as old
+Uncle Jim. And says he: 'Brethren, I'm not carin' much one way or
+another about this organ. I don't know how the angels feel about it,
+not havin' so much acquaintance with 'em as Uncle Jim has; but I do
+know enough about women to know that there ain't any use tryin' to
+stop 'em when they git their heads set on a thing, and I'm goin' to
+haul that organ over to-morrow mornin' and set it up for the choir to
+practise by Friday night. If I don't haul it over, Sally Ann and
+Jane'll tote it over between 'em, and if they can't put it into the
+church by the door, they'll hist a window and put it in that way. I
+reckon,' says he, 'I've got all the men against me in this matter, but
+then, I've got all the women on my side, and I reckon all the women
+and one man makes a pretty good majority, and so I'm goin' to haul the
+organ over to-morrow mornin'.'
+
+"I declare I felt real proud of Abram, and I told him so that night
+when we was goin' home together. Then Parson Page he says, 'It seems
+to me there is sound sense in what Brother Parish says, and I suggest
+that we allow the sisters to have their way and give the organ a
+trial; and if we find that it is hurtful to the interests of the
+church, it will be an easy matter to remove it.' And Milly Amos says
+to me, 'I see 'em gittin' that organ out if we once git it in.'
+
+"When the choir met Friday night, Milly come in all in a flurry, and
+says she: 'I hear Brother Gardner has gone to the 'Sociation down in
+Russellville, and all the Babtists are comin' to our church Sunday;
+and I want to show 'em what good music is this once, anyhow. Uncle Jim
+Matthews is laid up with rheumatism,' says she, 'and if that ain't a
+special providence I never saw one.' And Sam Crawford slapped his
+knee, and says he, 'Well, if the old man's rheumatism jest holds out
+over Sunday, them Babtists'll hear music sure.'
+
+"Then Milly went on to tell that she'd been up to Squire Elrod's, and
+Miss Penelope, the squire's niece from Louisville, had promised to
+sing a voluntary Sunday.
+
+"'Voluntary? What's that?' says Sam.
+
+"'Why,' says Milly, 'it's a hymn that the choir, or somebody in it,
+sings of their own accord, without the preacher givin' it out; just
+like your tomatoes come up in the spring, voluntary, without you
+plantin' the seed. That's the way they do in the city churches,' says
+she, 'and we are goin' to put on city style Sunday.'
+
+"Then they went to work and practised some new tunes for the hymns
+Parson Page had give 'em, so if Uncle Jim's rheumatism didn't hold
+out, he'd still have to hold his peace.
+
+"Well, Sunday come; but special providence was on Uncle Jim's side
+that time, and there he was as smilin' as a basket o' chips if he did
+have to walk with a cane. We'd had the church cleaned up as neat as a
+new pin. My Jane had put a bunch of honeysuckles and pinks on the
+organ, and everybody was dressed in their best. Miss Penelope was
+settin' at the organ with a bunch of roses in her hand, and the
+windows was all open, and you could see the trees wavin' in the wind
+and hear the birds singin' outside. I always did think that was the
+best part o' Sunday--that time jest before church begins."
+
+Aunt Jane's voice dropped. Her words came slowly; and into the story
+fell one of those "flashes of silence" to which she was as little
+given as the great historian. The pan of dumplings waited for the
+sprinkling of spice and sugar, while she stood motionless, looking
+afar off, though her gaze apparently stopped on the vacant whitewashed
+wall before her. No mind reader's art was needed to tell what scene
+her faded eyes beheld. There was the old church, with its battered
+furniture and high pulpit. For one brief moment the grave had yielded
+up its dead, and "the old familiar faces" looked out from every pew.
+We were very near together, Aunt Jane and I; but the breeze that
+fanned her brow was not the breeze I felt as I sat by her kitchen
+window. For her a wind was blowing across the plains of memory; and
+the honeysuckle odor it carried was not from the bush in the yard. It
+came, weighted with dreams, from the blossoms that her Jane had placed
+on the organ twenty-five years ago. A bob-white was calling in the
+meadow across the dusty road, and the echoes of the second bell had
+just died away. She and Abram were side by side in their accustomed
+place, and life lay like a watered garden in the peaceful stillness of
+the time "jest before church begins."
+
+The asparagus on the stove boiled over with a great spluttering, and
+Aunt Jane came back to "the eternal now."
+
+"Sakes alive!" she exclaimed, as she lifted the saucepan; "I must be
+gittin' old, to let things boil over this way while I'm studyin' about
+old times. I declare, I believe I've clean forgot what I was sayin'."
+
+"You were at church," I suggested, "and the singing was about to
+begin."
+
+"Sure enough! Well, all at once Miss Penelope laid her hands on the
+keys and begun to play and sing 'Nearer, My God, to Thee.' We'd heard
+that hymn all our lives at church and protracted meetin's and
+prayer-meetin's, but we didn't know how it could sound till Miss
+Penelope sung it all by herself that day with our new organ. I
+ricollect jest how she looked, pretty little thing that she was; and
+sometimes I can hear her voice jest as plain as I hear that robin out
+yonder in the ellum tree. Every word was jest like a bright new piece
+o' silver, and every note was jest like gold; and she was lookin' up
+through the winder at the trees and the sky like she was singin' to
+somebody we couldn't see. We clean forgot about the new organ and the
+Baptists; and I really believe we was feelin' nearer to God than we'd
+ever felt before. When she got through with the first verse, she
+played somethin' soft and sweet and begun again; and right in the
+middle of the first line--I declare, it's twenty-five years ago, but I
+git mad now when I think about it--right in the middle of the first
+line Uncle Jim jined in like an old squawkin' jay-bird, and sung like
+he was tryin' to drown out Miss Penelope and the new organ, too.
+
+"Everybody give a jump when he first started, and he'd got nearly
+through the verse before we took in what was happenin'. Even the
+Babtists jest looked surprised like the rest of us. But when Miss
+Penelope begun the third time and Uncle Jim jined in with his
+hollerin', I saw Bush Elrod grin, and that grin spread all over the
+Babtist crowd in no time. The Presbyterian young folks was gigglin'
+behind their fans, and Bush got to laughin' till he had to git up and
+leave the church. They said he went up the road to Sam Amos' pasture
+and laid down on the ground and rolled over and over and laughed till
+he couldn't laugh any more.
+
+"I was so mad I started to git up, though goodness knows what I could
+'a' done. Abram he grabbed my dress and says, 'Steady, Jane!' jest
+like he was talkin' to the old mare. The thing that made me maddest
+was Silas Petty a-leanin' back in his pew and smilin' as satisfied as
+if he'd seen the salvation of the Lord. I didn't mind the Babtists
+half as much as I did Silas.
+
+"The only person in the church that wasn't the least bit flustered was
+Miss Penelope. She was a Marshall on her mother's side, and I always
+said that nobody but a born lady could 'a' acted as she did. She sung
+right on as if everything was goin' exactly right and she'd been
+singin' hymns with Uncle Jim all her life. Two or three times when the
+old man kind o' lagged behind, it looked like she waited for him to
+ketch up, and when she got through and Uncle Jim was lumberin' on the
+last note, she folded her hands and set there lookin' out the winder
+where the sun was shinin' on the silver poplar trees, jest as peaceful
+as a angel, and the rest of us as mad as hornets. Milly Amos set back
+of Uncle Jim, and his red bandanna handkerchief was lyin' over his
+shoulders where he'd been shooin' the flies away. She told me the next
+day it was all she could do to keep from reachin' over and chokin' the
+old man off while Miss Penelope was singin'.
+
+"I said Miss Penelope was the only one that wasn't flustered. I ought
+to 'a' said Miss Penelope and Uncle Jim. The old creetur was jest that
+simple-minded he didn't know he'd done anything out o' the way, and he
+set there lookin' as pleased as a child, and thinkin', I reckon, how
+smart he'd been to help Miss Penelope out with the singin'.
+
+"The rest o' the hymns went off all right, and it did me good to see
+Uncle Jim's face when they struck up the new tunes. He tried to jine
+in, but he had to give it up and wait for the doxology.
+
+"Parson Page preached a powerful good sermon, but I don't reckon it
+did some of us much good, we was so put out about Uncle Jim spilin'
+our voluntary.
+
+"After meetin' broke and we was goin' home, me and Abram had to pass
+by Silas Petty's wagon. He was helpin' Maria in, and I don't know what
+she'd been sayin', but he says, 'It's a righteous judgment on you
+women, Maria, for profanin' the Lord's house with that there organ.'
+And, mad as I was, I had to laugh when I thought of old Uncle Jim
+Matthews executin' a judgment of the Lord. Uncle Jim never made more'n
+a half-way livin' at the carpenter's trade, and I reckon if the Lord
+had wanted anybody to help him execute a judgment, Uncle Jim would 'a'
+been the last man he'd 'a' thought of.
+
+"Of course the choir was madder'n ever at Uncle Jim; and when Milly
+Amos had fever that summer, she called Sam to her the day she was at
+her worst, and pulled his head down and whispered as feeble as a baby:
+'Don't let Uncle Jim sing at my funeral, Sam. I'll rise up out of my
+coffin if he does.' And Sam broke out a-laughin' and a-cryin' at the
+same time--he thought a heap o' Milly--and says he, 'Well, Milly, if
+it'll have that effect, Uncle Jim shall sing at the funeral, sure.'
+And Milly got to laughin', weak as she was, and in a few minutes she
+dropped off to sleep, and when she woke up the fever was gone, and she
+begun to git well from that day. I always believed that laugh was the
+turnin'-p'int. Instead of Uncle Jim singin' at her funeral, she sung
+at Uncle Jim's, and broke down and cried like a child for all the mean
+things she'd said about the pore old creetur's voice."
+
+The asparagus had been transferred to a china dish, and the browned
+butter was ready to pour over it. The potatoes were steaming
+themselves into mealy delicacy, and Aunt Jane peered into the stove
+where the dumplings were taking on a golden brown. Her story-telling
+evidently did not interfere with her culinary skill, and I said so.
+
+"La, child," she replied, dashing a pinch of "seasonin" into the peas,
+"when I git so old I can't do but one thing at a time, I'll try to die
+as soon as possible."
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+AUNT JANE'S ALBUM
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+They were a bizarre mass of color on the sweet spring landscape, those
+patchwork quilts, swaying in a long line under the elms and maples.
+The old orchard made a blossoming background for them, and farther off
+on the horizon rose the beauty of fresh verdure and purple mist on
+those low hills, or "knobs," that are to the heart of the Kentuckian
+as the Alps to the Swiss or the sea to the sailor.
+
+I opened the gate softly and paused for a moment between the
+blossoming lilacs that grew on each side of the path. The fragrance of
+the white and the purple blooms was like a resurrection-call over the
+graves of many a dead spring; and as I stood, shaken with thoughts as
+the flowers are with the winds, Aunt Jane came around from the back of
+the house, her black silk cape fluttering from her shoulders, and a
+calico sunbonnet hiding her features in its cavernous depth. She
+walked briskly to the clothes-line and began patting and smoothing the
+quilts where the breeze had disarranged them.
+
+"Aunt Jane," I called out, "are you having a fair all by yourself?"
+
+She turned quickly, pushing back the sunbonnet from her eyes.
+
+"Why, child," she said, with a happy laugh, "you come pretty nigh
+skeerin' me. No, I ain't havin' any fair; I'm jest givin' my quilts
+their spring airin'. Twice a year I put 'em out in the sun and wind;
+and this mornin' the air smelt so sweet, I thought it was a good
+chance to freshen 'em up for the summer. It's about time to take 'em
+in now."
+
+She began to fold the quilts and lay them over her arm, and I did the
+same. Back and forth we went from the clothes-line to the house, and
+from the house to the clothes-line, until the quilts were safely
+housed from the coming dewfall and piled on every available chair in
+the front room. I looked at them in sheer amazement. There seemed to
+be every pattern that the ingenuity of woman could devise and the
+industry of woman put together,--"four-patches," "nine-patches,"
+"log-cabins," "wild-goose chases," "rising suns," hexagons, diamonds,
+and only Aunt Jane knows what else. As for color, a Sandwich Islander
+would have danced with joy at the sight of those reds, purples,
+yellows, and greens.
+
+"Did you really make all these quilts, Aunt Jane?" I asked
+wonderingly.
+
+Aunt Jane's eyes sparkled with pride.
+
+"Every stitch of 'em, child," she said, "except the quiltin'. The
+neighbors used to come in and help some with that. I've heard folks
+say that piecin' quilts was nothin' but a waste o' time, but that
+ain't always so. They used to say that Sarah Jane Mitchell would set
+down right after breakfast and piece till it was time to git dinner,
+and then set and piece till she had to git supper, and then piece by
+candle-light till she fell asleep in her cheer.
+
+"I ricollect goin' over there one day, and Sarah Jane was gittin'
+dinner in a big hurry, for Sam had to go to town with some cattle,
+and there was a big basket o' quilt pieces in the middle o' the
+kitchen floor, and the house lookin' like a pigpen, and the children
+runnin' around half naked. And Sam he laughed, and says he, 'Aunt
+Jane, if we could wear quilts and eat quilts we'd be the richest
+people in the country.' Sam was the best-natured man that ever was, or
+he couldn't 'a' put up with Sarah Jane's shiftless ways. Hannah
+Crawford said she sent Sarah Jane a bundle o' caliker once by Sam, and
+Sam always declared he lost it. But Uncle Jim Matthews said he was
+ridin' along the road jest behind Sam, and he saw Sam throw it into
+the creek jest as he got on the bridge. I never blamed Sam a bit if he
+did.
+
+"But there never was any time wasted on my quilts, child. I can look
+at every one of 'em with a clear conscience. I did my work faithful;
+and then, when I might 'a' set and held my hands, I'd make a block or
+two o' patchwork, and before long I'd have enough to put together in a
+quilt. I went to piecin' as soon as I was old enough to hold a needle
+and a piece o' cloth, and one o' the first things I can remember was
+settin' on the back door-step sewin' my quilt pieces, and mother
+praisin' my stitches. Nowadays folks don't have to sew unless they
+want to, but when I was a child there warn't any sewin'-machines, and
+it was about as needful for folks to know how to sew as it was for 'em
+to know how to eat; and every child that was well raised could hem and
+run and backstitch and gether and overhand by the time she was nine
+years old. Why, I'd pieced four quilts by the time I was nineteen
+years old, and when me and Abram set up housekeepin' I had bedclothes
+enough for three beds.
+
+"I've had a heap o' comfort all my life makin' quilts, and now in my
+old age I wouldn't take a fortune for 'em. Set down here, child, where
+you can see out o' the winder and smell the lilacs, and we'll look at
+'em all. You see, some folks has albums to put folks' pictures in to
+remember 'em by, and some folks has a book and writes down the things
+that happen every day so they won't forgit 'em; but, honey, these
+quilts is my albums and my di'ries, and whenever the weather's bad and
+I can't git out to see folks, I jest spread out my quilts and look at
+'em and study over 'em, and it's jest like goin' back fifty or sixty
+years and livin' my life over agin.
+
+"There ain't nothin' like a piece o' caliker for bringin' back old
+times, child, unless it's a flower or a bunch o' thyme or a piece o'
+pennyroy'l--anything that smells sweet. Why, I can go out yonder in
+the yard and gether a bunch o' that purple lilac and jest shut my eyes
+and see faces I ain't seen for fifty years, and somethin' goes through
+me like a flash o' lightnin', and it seems like I'm young agin jest
+for that minute."
+
+Aunt Jane's hands were stroking lovingly a "nine-patch" that resembled
+the coat of many colors.
+
+"Now this quilt, honey," she said, "I made out o' the pieces o' my
+children's clothes, their little dresses and waists and aprons. Some
+of 'em's dead, and some of 'em's grown and married and a long way off
+from me, further off than the ones that's dead, I sometimes think. But
+when I set down and look at this quilt and think over the pieces, it
+seems like they all come back, and I can see 'em playin' around the
+floors and goin' in and out, and hear 'em cryin' and laughin' and
+callin' me jest like they used to do before they grew up to men and
+women, and before there was any little graves o' mine out in the old
+buryin'-ground over yonder."
+
+Wonderful imagination of motherhood that can bring childhood back from
+the dust of the grave and banish the wrinkles and gray hairs of age
+with no other talisman than a scrap of faded calico!
+
+The old woman's hands were moving tremulously over the surface of the
+quilt as if they touched the golden curls of the little dream children
+who had vanished from her hearth so many years ago. But there were no
+tears either in her eyes or in her voice. I had long noticed that Aunt
+Jane always smiled when she spoke of the people whom the world calls
+"dead," or the things it calls "lost" or "past." These words seemed to
+have for her higher and tenderer meanings than are placed on them by
+the sorrowful heart of humanity.
+
+But the moments were passing, and one could not dwell too long on any
+quilt, however well beloved. Aunt Jane rose briskly, folded up the one
+that lay across her knees, and whisked out another from the huge pile
+in an old splint-bottomed chair.
+
+"Here's a piece o' one o' Sally Ann's purple caliker dresses. Sally
+Ann always thought a heap o' purple caliker. Here's one o' Milly Amos'
+ginghams--that pink-and-white one. And that piece o' white with the
+rosebuds in it, that's Miss Penelope's. She give it to me the summer
+before she died. Bless her soul! That dress jest matched her face
+exactly. Somehow her and her clothes always looked alike, and her
+voice matched her face, too. One o' the things I'm lookin' forward
+to, child, is seein' Miss Penelope agin and hearin' her sing. Voices
+and faces is alike; there's some that you can't remember, and there's
+some you can't forgit. I've seen a heap o' people and heard a heap o'
+voices, but Miss Penelope's face was different from all the rest, and
+so was her voice. Why, if she said 'Good mornin'' to you, you'd hear
+that 'Good mornin' all day, and her singin'--I know there never was
+anything like it in this world. My grandchildren all laugh at me for
+thinkin' so much o' Miss Penelope's singin', but then they never heard
+her, and I have: that's the difference. My grandchild Henrietta was
+down here three or four years ago, and says she, 'Grandma, don't you
+want to go up to Louisville with me and hear Patti sing?' And says I,
+'Patty who, child?' Says I, 'If it was to hear Miss Penelope sing, I'd
+carry these old bones o' mine clear from here to New York. But there
+ain't anybody else I want to hear sing bad enough to go up to
+Louisville or anywhere else. And some o' these days,' says I, _'I'm
+goin' to hear Miss Penelope sing._'"
+
+Aunt Jane laughed blithely, and it was impossible not to laugh with
+her.
+
+"Honey," she said, in the next breath, lowering her voice and laying
+her finger on the rosebud piece, "honey, there's one thing I can't git
+over. Here's a piece o' Miss Penelope's dress, but _where's Miss
+Penelope_? Ain't it strange that a piece o' caliker'll outlast you and
+me? Don't it look like folks ought 'o hold on to their bodies as long
+as other folks holds on to a piece o' the dresses they used to wear?"
+
+Questions as old as the human heart and its human grief! Here is the
+glove, but where is the hand it held but yesterday? Here the jewel
+that she wore, but where is she?
+
+    "Where is the Pompadour now?
+    _This_ was the Pompadour's fan!"
+
+Strange that such things as gloves, jewels, fans, and dresses can
+outlast a woman's form.
+
+"Behold! I show you a mystery"--the mystery of mortality. And an eery
+feeling came over me as I entered into the old woman's mood and
+thought of the strong, vital bodies that had clothed themselves in
+those fabrics of purple and pink and white, and that now were dust and
+ashes lying in sad, neglected graves on farm and lonely roadside.
+There lay the quilt on our knees, and the gay scraps of calico seemed
+to mock us with their vivid colors. Aunt Jane's cheerful voice called
+me back from the tombs.
+
+"Here's a piece o' one o' my dresses," she said; "brown ground with a
+red ring in it. Abram picked it out. And here's another one, that
+light yeller ground with the vine runnin' through it. I never had so
+many caliker dresses that I didn't want one more, for in my day folks
+used to think a caliker dress was good enough to wear anywhere. Abram
+knew my failin', and two or three times a year he'd bring me a dress
+when he come from town. And the dresses he'd pick out always suited me
+better'n the ones I picked."
+
+"I ricollect I finished this quilt the summer before Mary Frances was
+born, and Sally Ann and Milly Amos and Maria Petty come over and give
+me a lift on the quiltin'. Here's Milly's work, here's Sally Ann's,
+and here's Maria's."
+
+I looked, but my inexperienced eye could see no difference in the
+handiwork of the three women. Aunt Jane saw my look of incredulity.
+
+"Now, child," she said, earnestly, "you think I'm foolin' you, but,
+la! there's jest as much difference in folks' sewin' as there is in
+their handwritin'. Milly made a fine stitch, but she couldn't keep on
+the line to save her life; Maria never could make a reg'lar stitch,
+some'd be long and some short, and Sally Ann's was reg'lar, but all of
+'em coarse. I can see 'em now stoopin' over the quiltin' frames--Milly
+talkin' as hard as she sewed, Sally Ann throwin' in a word now and
+then, and Maria never openin' her mouth except to ask for the thread
+or the chalk. I ricollect they come over after dinner, and we got the
+quilt out o' the frames long before sundown, and the next day I begun
+bindin' it, and I got the premium on it that year at the Fair.
+
+"I hardly ever showed a quilt at the Fair that I didn't take the
+premium, but here's one quilt that Sarah Jane Mitchell beat me on."
+
+And Aunt Jane dragged out a ponderous, red-lined affair, the very
+antithesis of the silken, down-filled comfortable that rests so
+lightly on the couch of the modern dame.
+
+"It makes me laugh jest to think o' that time, and how happy Sarah
+Jane was. It was way back yonder in the fifties. I ricollect we had a
+mighty fine Fair that year. The crops was all fine that season, and
+such apples and pears and grapes you never did see. The Floral Hall
+was full o' things, and the whole county turned out to go to the
+Fair. Abram and me got there the first day bright and early, and we
+was walkin' around the amp'itheater and lookin' at the townfolks and
+the sights, and we met Sally Ann. She stopped us, and says she, 'Sarah
+Jane Mitchell's got a quilt in the Floral Hall in competition with
+yours and Milly Amos'.' Says I, 'Is that all the competition there
+is?' And Sally Ann says, 'All that amounts to anything. There's one
+more, but it's about as bad a piece o' sewin' as Sarah Jane's, and
+that looks like it'd hardly hold together till the Fair's over. And,'
+says she, 'I don't believe there'll be any more. It looks like this
+was an off year on that particular kind o' quilt. I didn't get mine
+done,' says she, 'and neither did Maria Petty, and maybe it's a good
+thing after all.'
+
+"Well, I saw in a minute what Sally Ann was aimin' at. And I says to
+Abram, 'Abram, haven't you got somethin' to do with app'intin' the
+judges for the women's things?' And he says, 'Yes.' And I says, 'Well,
+you see to it that Sally Ann gits app'inted to help judge the caliker
+quilts.' And bless your soul, Abram got me and Sally Ann both
+app'inted. The other judge was Mis' Doctor Brigham, one o' the town
+ladies. We told her all about what we wanted to do, and she jest
+laughed and says, 'Well, if that ain't the kindest, nicest thing! Of
+course we'll do it.'
+
+"Seein' that I had a quilt there, I hadn't a bit o' business bein' a
+judge; but the first thing I did was to fold my quilt up and hide it
+under Maria Petty's big worsted quilt, and then we pinned the blue
+ribbon on Sarah Jane's and the red on Milly's. I'd fixed it all up
+with Milly, and she was jest as willin' as I was for Sarah Jane to
+have the premium. There was jest one thing I was afraid of: Milly was
+a good-hearted woman, but she never had much control over her tongue.
+And I says to her, says I: 'Milly, it's mighty good of you to give up
+your chance for the premium, but if Sarah Jane ever finds it out,
+that'll spoil everything. For,' says I, 'there ain't any kindness in
+doin' a person a favor and then tellin' everybody about it.' And Milly
+laughed, and says she: 'I know what you mean, Aunt Jane. It's mighty
+hard for me to keep from tellin' everything I know and some things I
+don't know, but,' says she, 'I'm never goin' to tell this, even to
+Sam.' And she kept her word, too. Every once in a while she'd come up
+to me and whisper, 'I ain't told it yet, Aunt Jane,' jest to see me
+laugh.
+
+"As soon as the doors was open, after we'd all got through judgin'
+and puttin' on the ribbons, Milly went and hunted Sarah Jane up and
+told her that her quilt had the blue ribbon. They said the pore thing
+like to 'a' fainted for joy. She turned right white, and had to lean
+up against the post for a while before she could git to the Floral
+Hall. I never shall forgit her face. It was worth a dozen premiums to
+me, and Milly, too. She jest stood lookin' at that quilt and the blue
+ribbon on it, and her eyes was full o' tears and her lips quiverin',
+and then she started off and brought the children in to look at
+'Mammy's quilt.' She met Sam on the way out, and says she: 'Sam, what
+do you reckon? My quilt took the premium.' And I believe in my soul
+Sam was as much pleased as Sarah Jane. He came saunterin' up, tryin'
+to look unconcerned, but anybody could see he was mighty well
+satisfied. It does a husband and wife a heap o' good to be proud of
+each other, and I reckon that was the first time Sam ever had cause to
+be proud o' pore Sarah Jane. It's my belief that he thought more o'
+Sarah Jane all the rest o' her life jest on account o' that premium.
+Me and Sally Ann helped her pick it out. She had her choice betwixt a
+butter-dish and a cup, and she took the cup. Folks used to laugh and
+say that that cup was the only thing in Sarah Jane's house that was
+kept clean and bright, and if it hadn't 'a' been solid silver, she'd
+'a' wore it all out rubbin' it up. Sarah Jane died o' pneumonia about
+three or four years after that, and the folks that nursed her said she
+wouldn't take a drink o' water or a dose o' medicine out o' any cup
+but that. There's some folks, child, that don't have to do anything
+but walk along and hold out their hands, and the premiums jest
+naturally fall into 'em; and there's others that work and strive the
+best they know how, and nothin' ever seems to come to 'em; and I
+reckon nobody but the Lord and Sarah Jane knows how much happiness she
+got out o' that cup. I'm thankful she had that much pleasure before
+she died."
+
+There was a quilt hanging over the foot of the bed that had about it a
+certain air of distinction. It was a solid mass of patchwork, composed
+of squares, parallelograms, and hexagons. The squares were of dark
+gray and red-brown, the hexagons were white, the parallelograms black
+and light gray. I felt sure that it had a history that set it apart
+from its ordinary fellows.
+
+"Where did you get the pattern, Aunt Jane?" I asked. "I never saw
+anything like it."
+
+The old lady's eyes sparkled, and she laughed with pure pleasure.
+
+"That's what everybody says," she exclaimed, jumping up and spreading
+the favored quilt over two laden chairs, where its merits became more
+apparent and striking. "There ain't another quilt like this in the
+State o' Kentucky, or the world, for that matter. My granddaughter
+Henrietta, Mary Frances' youngest child, brought me this pattern _from
+Europe_."
+
+She spoke the words as one might say, "from Paradise," or "from
+Olympus," or "from the Lost Atlantis." "Europe" was evidently a name
+to conjure with, a country of mystery and romance unspeakable. I had
+seen many things from many lands beyond the sea, but a quilt pattern
+from Europe! Here at last was something new under the sun. In what
+shop of London or Paris were quilt patterns kept on sale for the
+American tourist?
+
+"You see," said Aunt Jane, "Henrietta married a mighty rich man, and
+jest as good as he's rich, too, and they went to Europe on their
+bridal trip. When she come home she brought me the prettiest shawl you
+ever saw. She made me stand up and shut my eyes, and she put it on my
+shoulders and made me look in the lookin'-glass, and then she says,
+'I brought you a new quilt pattern, too, grandma, and I want you to
+piece one quilt by it and leave it to me when you die.' And then she
+told me about goin' to a town over yonder they call Florence, and how
+she went into a big church that was built hundreds o' years before I
+was born. And she said the floor was made o' little pieces o' colored
+stone, all laid together in a pattern, and they called it mosaic. And
+says I, 'Honey, has it got anything to do with Moses and his law?' You
+know the Commandments was called the Mosaic Law, and was all on tables
+o' stone. And Henrietta jest laughed, and says she: 'No, grandma; I
+don't believe it has. But,' says she, 'the minute I stepped on that
+pavement I thought about you, and I drew this pattern off on a piece
+o' paper and brought it all the way to Kentucky for you to make a
+quilt by.' Henrietta bought the worsted for me, for she said it had to
+be jest the colors o' that pavement over yonder, and I made it that
+very winter."
+
+Aunt Jane was regarding the quilt with worshipful eyes, and it really
+was an effective combination of color and form.
+
+"Many a time while I was piecin' that," she said, "I thought about
+the man that laid the pavement in that old church, and wondered what
+his name was, and how he looked, and what he'd think if he knew there
+was a old woman down here in Kentucky usin' his patterns to make a
+bedquilt."
+
+It was indeed a far cry from the Florentine artisan of centuries ago
+to this humble worker in calico and worsted, but between the two
+stretched a cord of sympathy that made them one--the eternal
+aspiration after beauty.
+
+"Honey," said Aunt Jane, suddenly, "did I ever show you my premiums?"
+
+And then, with pleasant excitement in her manner, she arose, fumbled
+in her deep pocket for an ancient bunch of keys, and unlocked a
+cupboard on one side of the fireplace. One by one she drew them out,
+unrolled the soft yellow tissue-paper that enfolded them, and ranged
+them in a stately line on the old cherry center-table--nineteen
+sterling silver cups and goblets. "Abram took some of 'em on his fine
+stock, and I took some of 'em on my quilts and salt-risin' bread and
+cakes," she said, impressively.
+
+To the artist his medals, to the soldier his cross of the Legion of
+Honor, and to Aunt Jane her silver cups. All the triumph of a humble
+life was symbolized in these shining things. They were simple and
+genuine as the days in which they were made. A few of them boasted a
+beaded edge or a golden lining, but no engraving or embossing marred
+their silver purity. On the bottom of each was the stamp: "John B.
+Akin, Danville, Ky." There they stood,
+
+    "Filled to the brim with precious memories,"--
+
+memories of the time when she and Abram had worked together in field
+or garden or home, and the County Fair brought to all a yearly
+opportunity to stand on the height of achievement and know somewhat
+the taste of Fame's enchanted cup.
+
+"There's one for every child and every grandchild," she said, quietly,
+as she began wrapping them in the silky paper, and storing them
+carefully away in the cupboard, there to rest until the day when
+children and grandchildren would claim their own, and the treasures of
+the dead would come forth from the darkness to stand as heirlooms on
+fashionable sideboards and damask-covered tables.
+
+"Did you ever think, child," she said, presently, "how much piecin' a
+quilt's like livin' a life? And as for sermons, why, they ain't no
+better sermon to me than a patchwork quilt, and the doctrines is right
+there a heap plainer'n they are in the catechism. Many a time I've set
+and listened to Parson Page preachin' about predestination and
+free-will, and I've said to myself, 'Well, I ain't never been through
+Centre College up at Danville, but if I could jest git up in the
+pulpit with one of my quilts, I could make it a heap plainer to folks
+than parson's makin' it with all his big words.' You see, you start
+out with jest so much caliker; you don't go to the store and pick it
+out and buy it, but the neighbors will give you a piece here and a
+piece there, and you'll have a piece left every time you cut out a
+dress, and you take jest what happens to come. And that's like
+predestination. But when it comes to the cuttin' out, why, you're free
+to choose your own pattern. You can give the same kind o' pieces to
+two persons, and one'll make a 'nine-patch' and one'll make a
+'wild-goose chase,' and there'll be two quilts made out o' the same
+kind o' pieces, and jest as different as they can be. And that is jest
+the way with livin'. The Lord sends us the pieces, but we can cut 'em
+out and put 'em together pretty much to suit ourselves, and there's a
+heap more in the cuttin' out and the sewin' than there is in the
+caliker. The same sort o' things comes into all lives, jest as the
+Apostle says, 'There hath no trouble taken you but is common to all
+men.'
+
+"The same trouble'll come into two people's lives, and one'll take it
+and make one thing out of it, and the other'll make somethin' entirely
+different. There was Mary Harris and Mandy Crawford. They both lost
+their husbands the same year; and Mandy set down and cried and worried
+and wondered what on earth she was goin' to do, and the farm went to
+wrack and the children turned out bad, and she had to live with her
+son-in-law in her old age. But Mary, she got up and went to work, and
+made everybody about her work, too; and she managed the farm better'n
+it ever had been managed before, and the boys all come up steady,
+hard-workin' men, and there wasn't a woman in the county better fixed
+up than Mary Harris. Things is predestined to come to us, honey, but
+we're jest as free as air to make what we please out of 'em. And when
+it comes to puttin' the pieces together, there's another time when
+we're free. You don't trust to luck for the caliker to put your quilt
+together with; you go to the store and pick it out yourself, any
+color you like. There's folks that always looks on the bright side and
+makes the best of everything, and that's like puttin' your quilt
+together with blue or pink or white or some other pretty color; and
+there's folks that never see anything but the dark side, and always
+lookin' for trouble, and treasurin' it up after they git it, and
+they're puttin' their lives together with black, jest like you would
+put a quilt together with some dark, ugly color. You can spoil the
+prettiest quilt pieces that ever was made jest by puttin' 'em together
+with the wrong color, and the best sort o' life is miserable if you
+don't look at things right and think about 'em right.
+
+"Then there's another thing. I've seen folks piece and piece, but when
+it come to puttin' the blocks together and quiltin' and linin' it,
+they'd give out; and that's like folks that do a little here and a
+little there, but their lives ain't of much use after all, any more'n
+a lot o' loose pieces o' patchwork. And then while you're livin' your
+life, it looks pretty much like a jumble o' quilt pieces before
+they're put together; but when you git through with it, or pretty nigh
+through, as I am now, you'll see the use and the purpose of everything
+in it. Everything'll be in its right place jest like the squares in
+this 'four-patch,' and one piece may be pretty and another one ugly,
+but it all looks right when you see it finished and joined together."
+
+Did I say that every pattern was represented? No, there was one
+notable omission. Not a single "crazy quilt" was there in the
+collection. I called Aunt Jane's attention to this lack.
+
+"Child," she said, "I used to say there wasn't anything I couldn't do
+if I made up my mind to it. But I hadn't seen a 'crazy quilt' then.
+The first one I ever seen was up at Danville at Mary Frances', and
+Henrietta says, 'Now, grandma, you've got to make a crazy quilt;
+you've made every other sort that ever was heard of.' And she brought
+me the pieces and showed me how to baste 'em on the square, and said
+she'd work the fancy stitches around 'em for me. Well, I set there all
+the mornin' tryin' to fix up that square, and the more I tried, the
+uglier and crookeder the thing looked. And finally I says: 'Here,
+child, take your pieces. If I was to make this the way you want me to,
+they'd be a crazy quilt and a crazy woman, too.'"
+
+Aunt Jane was laying the folded quilts in neat piles here and there
+about the room. There was a look of unspeakable satisfaction on her
+face--the look of the creator who sees his completed work and
+pronounces it good.
+
+"I've been a hard worker all my life," she said, seating herself and
+folding her hands restfully, "but 'most all my work has been the kind
+that 'perishes with the usin',' as the Bible says. That's the
+discouragin' thing about a woman's work. Milly Amos used to say that
+if a woman was to see all the dishes that she had to wash before she
+died, piled up before her in one pile, she'd lie down and die right
+then and there. I've always had the name o' bein' a good housekeeper,
+but when I'm dead and gone there ain't anybody goin' to think o' the
+floors I've swept, and the tables I've scrubbed, and the old clothes
+I've patched, and the stockin's I've darned. Abram might 'a'
+remembered it, but he ain't here. But when one o' my grandchildren or
+great-grandchildren sees one o' these quilts, they'll think about Aunt
+Jane, and, wherever I am then, I'll know I ain't forgotten.
+
+"I reckon everybody wants to leave somethin' behind that'll last after
+they're dead and gone. It don't look like it's worth while to live
+unless you can do that. The Bible says folks 'rest from their labors,
+and their works do follow them,' but that ain't so. They go, and
+maybe they do rest, but their works stay right here, unless they're
+the sort that don't outlast the usin'. Now, some folks has money to
+build monuments with--great, tall, marble pillars, with angels on top
+of 'em, like you see in Cave Hill and them big city buryin'-grounds.
+And some folks can build churches and schools and hospitals to keep
+folks in mind of 'em, but all the work I've got to leave behind me is
+jest these quilts, and sometimes, when I'm settin' here, workin' with
+my caliker and gingham pieces, I'll finish off a block, and I laugh
+and say to myself, 'Well, here's another stone for the monument.'
+
+"I reckon you think, child, that a caliker or a worsted quilt is a
+curious sort of a monument--'bout as perishable as the sweepin' and
+scrubbin' and mendin'. But if folks values things rightly, and knows
+how to take care of 'em, there ain't many things that'll last longer'n
+a quilt. Why, I've got a blue and white counterpane that my mother's
+mother spun and wove, and there ain't a sign o' givin' out in it yet.
+I'm goin' to will that to my granddaughter that lives in Danville,
+Mary Frances' oldest child. She was down here last summer, and I was
+lookin' over my things and packin' 'em away, and she happened to see
+that counterpane, and says she, 'Grandma, I want you to will me
+that.' And says I: 'What do you want with that old thing, honey? You
+know you wouldn't sleep under such a counterpane as that.' And says
+she, 'No, but I'd hang it up over my parlor door for a--"
+
+"Portiere?" I suggested, as Aunt Jane hesitated for the unaccustomed
+word.
+
+"That's it, child. Somehow I can't ricollect these new-fangled words,
+any more'n I can understand these new-fangled ways. Who'd ever 'a'
+thought that folks'd go to stringin' up bed-coverin's in their doors?
+And says I to Janie, 'You can hang your great-grandmother's
+counterpane up in your parlor door if you want to, but,' says I,
+'don't you ever make a door-curtain out o' one o' my quilts.' But la!
+the way things turn around, if I was to come back fifty years from
+now, like as not I'd find 'em usin' my quilts for window-curtains or
+door-mats."
+
+We both laughed, and there rose in my mind a picture of a
+twentieth-century house decorated with Aunt Jane's "nine-patches" and
+"rising suns." How could the dear old woman know that the same
+esthetic sense that had drawn from their obscurity the white and blue
+counterpanes of colonial days would forever protect her loved quilts
+from such a desecration as she feared? As she lifted a pair of quilts
+from a chair near by, I caught sight of a pure white spread in
+striking contrast with the many-hued patchwork.
+
+"Where did you get that Marseilles spread, Aunt Jane?" I asked,
+pointing to it. Aunt Jane lifted it and laid it on my lap without a
+word. Evidently she thought that here was something that could speak
+for itself. It was two layers of snowy cotton cloth thinly lined with
+cotton, and elaborately quilted into a perfect imitation of a
+Marseilles counterpane. The pattern was a tracery of roses, buds, and
+leaves, very much conventionalized, but still recognizable for the
+things they were. The stitches were fairylike, and altogether it might
+have covered the bed of a queen.
+
+"I made every stitch o' that spread the year before me and Abram was
+married," she said. "I put it on my bed when we went to housekeepin';
+it was on the bed when Abram died, and when I die I want 'em to cover
+me with it." There was a life-history in the simple words. I thought
+of Desdemona and her bridal sheets, and I did not offer to help Aunt
+Jane as she folded this quilt.
+
+"I reckon you think," she resumed presently, "that I'm a mean, stingy
+old creetur not to give Janie the counterpane now, instead o' hoardin'
+it up, and all these quilts too, and keepin' folks waitin' for 'em
+till I die. But, honey, it ain't all selfishness. I'd give away my
+best dress or my best bonnet or an acre o' ground to anybody that
+needed 'em more'n I did; but these quilts--Why, it looks like my whole
+life was sewed up in 'em, and I ain't goin' to part with 'em while
+life lasts."
+
+There was a ring of passionate eagerness in the old voice, and she
+fell to putting away her treasures as if the suggestion of losing them
+had made her fearful of their safety.
+
+I looked again at the heap of quilts. An hour ago they had been
+patchwork, and nothing more. But now! The old woman's words had
+wrought a transformation in the homely mass of calico and silk and
+worsted. Patchwork? Ah, no! It was memory, imagination, history,
+biography, joy, sorrow, philosophy, religion, romance, realism, life,
+love, and death; and over all, like a halo, the love of the artist for
+his work and the soul's longing for earthly immortality.
+
+No wonder the wrinkled fingers smoothed them as reverently as we
+handle the garments of the dead.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+"SWEET DAY OF REST"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+I walked slowly down the "big road" that Sunday afternoon--slowly, as
+befitted the scene and the season; for who would hurry over the path
+that summer has prepared for the feet of earth's tired pilgrims? It
+was the middle of June, and Nature lay a vision of beauty in her
+vesture of flowers, leaves, and blossoming grasses. The sandy road was
+a pleasant walking-place; and if one tired of that, the short, thick
+grass on either side held a fairy path fragrant with pennyroyal, that
+most virtuous of herbs. A tall hedge of Osage orange bordered each
+side of the road, shading the traveler from the heat of the sun, and
+furnishing a nesting-place for numberless small birds that twittered
+and chirped their joy in life and love and June. Occasionally a gap in
+the foliage revealed the placid beauty of corn, oats, and clover,
+stretching in broad expanse to the distant purple woods, with here and
+there a field of the cloth of gold--the fast-ripening wheat that
+waited the hand of the mower. Not only is it the traveler's manifest
+duty to walk slowly in the midst of such surroundings, but he will do
+well if now and then he sits down and dreams.
+
+As I made the turn in the road and drew near Aunt Jane's house, I
+heard her voice, a high, sweet, quavering treble, like the notes of an
+ancient harpsichord. She was singing a hymn that suited the day and
+the hour:
+
+    "Welcome, sweet day of rest,
+      That saw the Lord arise,
+    Welcome to this reviving breast,
+      And these rejoicing eyes."
+
+Mingling with the song I could hear the creak of her old
+splint-bottomed chair as she rocked gently to and fro. Song and creak
+ceased at once when she caught sight of me, and before I had opened
+the gate she was hospitably placing another chair on the porch and
+smiling a welcome.
+
+"Come in, child, and set down," she exclaimed, moving the rocker so
+that I might have a good view of the bit of landscape that she knew I
+loved to look at.
+
+"Pennyroy'l! Now, child, how did you know I love to smell that?" She
+crushed the bunch in her withered hands, buried her face in it and sat
+for a moment with closed eyes. "Lord! Lord!" she exclaimed, with
+deep-drawn breath, "if I could jest tell how that makes me feel! I
+been smellin' pennyroy'l all my life, and now, when I get hold of a
+piece of it, sometimes it makes me feel like a little child, and then
+again it brings up the time when I was a gyirl, and if I was to keep
+on settin' here and rubbin' this pennyroy'l in my hands, I believe my
+whole life'd come back to me. Honey-suckles and pinks and roses ain't
+any sweeter to me. Me and old Uncle Harvey Dean was jest alike about
+pennyroy'l. Many a time I've seen Uncle Harvey searchin' around in the
+fence corners in the early part o' May to see if the pennyroy'l was up
+yet, and in pennyroy'l time you never saw the old man that he didn't
+have a bunch of it somewheres about him. Aunt Maria Dean used to say
+there was dried pennyroy'l in every pocket of his coat, and he used to
+put a big bunch of it on his piller at night. Sundays it looked like
+Uncle Harvey couldn't enjoy the preachin' and the singin' unless he
+had a sprig of it in his hand, and I ricollect once seein' him git up
+durin' the first prayer and tiptoe out o' church and come back with a
+handful o' pennyroy'l that he'd gethered across the road, and he'd set
+and smell it and look as pleased as a child with a piece o' candy."
+
+"Piercing sweet" the breath of the crushed wayside herb rose on the
+air. I had a distinct vision of Uncle Harvey Dean, and wondered if the
+fields of asphodel might not yield him some small harvest of his
+much-loved earthly plant, or if he might not be drawn earthward in
+"pennyroy'l time."
+
+"I was jest settin' here restin'," resumed Aunt Jane, "and thinkin'
+about Milly Amos. I reckon you heard me singin' fit to scare the crows
+as you come along. We used to call that Milly Amos' hymn, and I never
+can hear it without thinkin' o' Milly."
+
+"Why was it Milly Amos' hymn?" I asked.
+
+Aunt Jane laughed blithely.
+
+"La, child!" she said, "don't you ever git tired o' my yarns? Here it
+is Sunday, and you tryin' to git me started talkin'; and when I git
+started you know there ain't any tellin' when I'll stop. Come on and
+le's look at the gyarden; that's more fittin' for Sunday evenin' than
+tellin' yarns."
+
+So together we went into the garden and marveled happily over the
+growth of the tasseling corn, the extraordinarily long runners on the
+young strawberry plants, the size of the green tomatoes, and all the
+rest of the miracles that sunshine and rain had wrought since my last
+visit.
+
+The first man and the first woman were gardeners, and there is
+something wrong in any descendant of theirs who does not love a
+garden. He is lacking in a primal instinct. But Aunt Jane was in this
+respect a true daughter of Eve, a faithful co-worker with the
+sunshine, the winds, the rain, and all other forces of nature.
+
+"What do you reckon folks'd do," she inquired, "if it wasn't for
+plantin'-time and growin'-time and harvest-time? I've heard folks say
+they was tired o' livin', but as long as there's a gyarden to be
+planted and looked after there's somethin' to live for. And unless
+there's gyardens in heaven I'm pretty certain I ain't goin' to be
+satisfied there."
+
+But the charms of the garden could not divert me from the main theme,
+and when we were seated again on the front porch I returned to Milly
+Amos and her hymn.
+
+"You know," I said, "that there isn't any more harm in talking about a
+thing on Sunday than there is in thinking about it." And Aunt Jane
+yielded to the force of my logic.
+
+"I reckon you've heard me tell many a time about our choir," she
+began, smoothing out her black silk apron with fingers that evidently
+felt the need of knitting or some other form of familiar work. "John
+Petty was the bass, Sam Crawford the tenor, my Jane was the alto, and
+Milly Amos sung soprano. I reckon Milly might 'a' been called the
+leader of the choir; she was the sort o' woman that generally leads
+wherever she happens to be, and she had the strongest, finest voice in
+the whole congregation. All the parts appeared to depend on her, and
+it seemed like her voice jest carried the rest o' the voices along
+like one big river that takes up all the little rivers and carries 'em
+down to the ocean. I used to think about the difference between her
+voice and Miss Penelope's. Milly's was jest as clear and true as Miss
+Penelope's, and four or five times as strong, but I'd ruther hear one
+note o' Miss Penelope's than a whole song o' Milly's. Milly's was jest
+a voice, and Miss Penelope's was a voice and somethin' else besides,
+but what that somethin' was I never could say. However, Milly was the
+very one for a choir; she kind o' kept 'em all together and led 'em
+along, and we was mighty proud of our choir in them days. We always
+had a voluntary after we got our new organ, and I used to look forward
+to Sunday on account o' that voluntary. It used to sound so pretty to
+hear 'em begin singin' when everything was still and solemn, and I can
+never forgit the hymns they sung then--Sam and Milly and John and my
+Jane.
+
+"But there was one Sunday when Milly didn't sing. Her and Sam come in
+late, and I knew the minute I set eyes on Milly that somethin' was the
+matter. Generally she was smilin' and bowin' to people all around, but
+this time she walked in and set the children down, and then set down
+herself without even lookin' at anybody, to say nothin' o' smilin' or
+speakin'. Well, when half-past ten come, my Jane began to play
+'Welcome, sweet day of rest,' and all of 'em begun singin' except
+Milly. She set there with her mouth tight shut, and let the bass and
+tenor and alto have it all their own way. I thought maybe she was out
+o' breath from comin' in late and in a hurry, and I looked for her to
+jine in, but she jest set there, lookin' straight ahead of her; and
+when Sam passed her a hymn-book, she took hold of it and shut it up
+and let it drop in her lap. And there was the tenor and the bass and
+the alto doin' their best, and everybody laughin', or tryin' to keep
+from laughin'. I reckon if Uncle Jim Matthews had 'a' been there, he'd
+'a' took Milly's place and helped 'em out, but Uncle Jim'd been in his
+grave more'n two years. Sam looked like he'd go through the floor, he
+was so mortified, and he kept lookin' around at Milly as much as to
+say, 'Why don't you sing? Please sing, Milly,' but Milly never opened
+her mouth.
+
+"I'd about concluded Milly must have the sore throat or somethin' like
+that, but when the first hymn was give out, Milly started in and sung
+as loud as anybody; and when the doxology come around, Milly was on
+hand again, and everybody was settin' there wonderin' why on earth
+Milly hadn't sung in the voluntary. When church was out, I heard Sam
+invitin' Brother Hendricks to go home and take dinner with
+him--Brother Hendricks'd preached for us that day--and they all drove
+off together before I'd had time to speak to Milly.
+
+"But that week, when the Mite Society met, Milly was there bright and
+early; and when we'd all got fairly started with our sewin', and
+everybody was in a good-humor, Sally Ann says, says she: 'Milly, I
+want to know why you didn't sing in that voluntary Sunday. I reckon
+everybody here wants to know,' says she, 'but nobody but me's got the
+courage to ask you.'
+
+"And Milly's face got as red as a beet, and she burst out laughin',
+and says she: 'I declare, I'm ashamed to tell you all. I reckon Satan
+himself must 'a' been in me last Sunday. You know,' says she,'there's
+some days when everything goes wrong with a woman, and last Sunday was
+one o' them days. I got up early,' says she, 'and dressed the children
+and fed my chickens and strained the milk and washed up the milk
+things and got breakfast and washed the dishes and cleaned up the
+house and gethered the vegetables for dinner and washed the children's
+hands and faces and put their Sunday clothes on 'em, and jest as I was
+startin' to git myself ready for church,' says she, 'I happened to
+think that I hadn't skimmed the milk for the next day's churnin'. So
+I went down to the spring-house and did the skimmin', and jest as I
+picked up the cream-jar to put it up on that shelf Sam built for me,
+my foot slipped,' says she, 'and down I come and skinned my elbow on
+the rock step, and broke the jar all to smash and spilled the cream
+all over creation, and there I was--four pounds o' butter and a
+fifty-cent jar gone, and my spring-house in such a mess that I ain't
+through cleanin' it yet, and my right arm as stiff as a poker ever
+since.'
+
+"We all had to laugh at the way Milly told it; and Sally Ann says,
+'Well, that was enough to make a saint mad.' 'Yes,' says Milly, 'and
+you all know I'm far from bein' a saint. However,' says she, 'I picked
+up the pieces and washed up the worst o' the cream, and then I went to
+the house to git myself ready for church, and before I could git
+there, I heard Sam hollerin' for me to come and sew a button on his
+shirt; one of 'em had come off while he was tryin' to button it. And
+when I got out my work-basket, the children had been playin' with it,
+and there wasn't a needle in it, and my thimble was gone, and I had to
+hunt up the apron I was makin' for little Sam and git a needle off
+that, and I run the needle into my finger, not havin' any thimble,
+and got a blood spot on the bosom o' the shirt. Then,' says she,
+'before I could git my dress over my head, here come little Sam with
+his clothes all dirty where he'd fell down in the mud, and there I had
+him to dress again, and that made me madder still; and then, when I
+finally got out to the wagon,' says she, 'I rubbed my clean dress
+against the wheel, and that made me mad again; and the nearer we got
+to the church, the madder I was; and now,' says she, 'do you reckon
+after all I'd been through that mornin', and dinner ahead of me to
+git, and the children to look after all the evenin', do you reckon
+that I felt like settin' up there and singin' "Welcome, sweet day o'
+rest"?' Says she, 'I ain't seen any day o' rest since the day I
+married Sam, and I don't expect to see any till the day I die; and if
+Parson Page wants that hymn sung, let him git up a choir of old maids
+and old bachelors, for they're the only people that ever see any rest
+Sunday or any other day.'
+
+"We all laughed, and said we didn't blame Milly a bit for not singin'
+that hymn; and then Milly said: 'I reckon I might as well tell you all
+the whole story. By the time church was over,' says she, 'I'd kind o'
+cooled off, but when I heard Sam askin' Brother Hendricks to go home
+and take dinner with him, that made me mad again; for I knew that
+meant a big dinner for me to cook, and I made up my mind then and
+there that I wouldn't cook a blessed thing, company or no company.
+Sam'd killed chickens the night before,' says she, 'and they was all
+dressed and ready, down in the spring-house; and the vegetables was
+right there on the back porch, but I never touched 'em,' says she. 'I
+happened to have some cold ham and cold mutton on hand--not much of
+either one--and I sliced 'em and put the ham in one end o' the big
+meat-dish and the mutton in the other, with a big bare place between,
+so's everybody could see that there wasn't enough of either one to go
+'round; and then,' says she, 'I sliced up a loaf o' my salt-risin'
+bread and got out a bowl o' honey and a dish o' damson preserves, and
+then I went out on the porch and told Sam that dinner was ready.'
+
+"I never shall forgit how we all laughed when Milly was tellin' it.
+'You know, Aunt Jane,' says she, 'how quick a man gits up when you
+tell him dinner's ready. Well, Sam he jumps up, and says he, "Why,
+you're mighty smart to-day, Milly; I don't believe there's another
+woman in the county that could git a Sunday dinner this quick." And
+says he, "Walk out, Brother Hendricks, walk right out."'"
+
+Here Aunt Jane paused to laugh again at the long-past scene that her
+words called up.
+
+"Milly used to say that Sam's face changed quicker'n a flash o'
+lightnin' when he saw the table, and he dropped down in his cheer and
+forgot to ask Brother Hendricks to say grace. 'Why, Milly,' says he,
+'where's the dinner? Where's them chickens I killed last night, and
+the potatoes and corn and butter-beans?' And Milly jest looked him
+square in the face, and says she, 'The chickens are in the
+spring-house and the vegetables out on the back porch, and,' says she,
+'do you suppose I'm goin' to cook a hot dinner for you all on this
+"sweet day o' rest"?'"
+
+Aunt Jane stopped again to laugh.
+
+"That wasn't a polite way for anybody to talk at their own table," she
+resumed, "and some of us asked Milly what Brother Hendricks said. And
+Milly's face got as red as a beet again, and she says: 'Why, he
+behaved so nice, he made me feel right ashamed o' myself for actin' so
+mean. He jest reached over and helped himself to everything he could
+reach, and says he, "This dinner may not suit you, Brother Amos, but
+it's plenty good for me, and jest the kind I'm used to at home." Says
+he, "I'd rather eat a cold dinner any time than have a woman toilin'
+over a hot stove for me."' And when he said that, Milly up and told
+him why it was she didn't feel like gittin' a hot dinner, and why she
+didn't sing in the voluntary; and when she'd got through, he says,
+'Well, Sister Amos, if I'd been through all you have this mornin' and
+then had to git up and give out such a hymn as "Welcome, sweet day o'
+rest," I believe I'd be mad enough to pitch the hymn-book and the
+Bible at the deacons and the elders.' And then he turns around to Sam,
+and says he, 'Did you ever think, Brother Amos, that there ain't a
+pleasure men enjoy that women don't have to suffer for it?' And Milly
+said that made her feel meaner'n ever; and when supper-time come, she
+lit the fire and got the best hot supper she could--fried chicken and
+waffles and hot soda-biscuits and coffee and goodness knows what else.
+Now wasn't that jest like a woman, to give in after she'd had her own
+way for a while and could 'a' kept on havin' it? Abram used to say
+that women and runaway horses was jest alike; the best way to manage
+'em both was to give 'em the rein and let 'em go till they got tired,
+and they'll always stop before they do any mischief. Milly said that
+supper tickled Sam pretty near to death. Sam was always mighty proud
+o' Milly's cookin'.
+
+"So that's how we come to call that hymn Milly Amos' hymn, and as long
+as Milly lived folks'd look at her and laugh whenever the preacher
+give out 'Welcome, sweet day o' rest.'"
+
+The story was over. Aunt Jane folded her hands, and we both
+surrendered ourselves to happy silence. All the faint, sweet sounds
+that break the stillness of a Sunday in the country came to our ears
+in gentle symphony,--the lisp of the leaves, the chirp of young
+chickens lost in the mazes of billowy grass, and the rustle of the
+silver poplar that turned into a mass of molten silver whenever the
+breeze touched it.
+
+"When you've lived as long as I have, child," said Aunt Jane
+presently, "you'll feel that you've lived in two worlds. A short life
+don't see many changes, but in eighty years you can see old things
+passin' away and new ones comin' on to take their place, and when I
+look back at the way Sunday used to be kept and the way it's kept now,
+it's jest like bein' in another world. I hear folks talkin' about how
+wicked the world's growin' and wishin' they could go back to the old
+times, but it looks like to me there's jest as much kindness and
+goodness in folks nowadays as there was when I was young; and as for
+keepin' Sunday, why, I've noticed all my life that the folks that's
+strictest about that ain't always the best Christians, and I reckon
+there's been more foolishness preached and talked about keepin' the
+Sabbath day holy than about any other one thing.
+
+"I ricollect some fifty-odd years ago the town folks got to keepin'
+Sunday mighty strict. They hadn't had a preacher for a long time, and
+the church'd been takin' things easy, and finally they got a new
+preacher from down in Tennessee, and the first thing he did was to
+draw the lines around 'em close and tight about keepin' Sunday. Some
+o' the members had been in the habit o' havin' their wood chopped on
+Sunday. Well, as soon as the new preacher come, he said that Sunday
+wood-choppin' had to cease amongst his church-members or he'd have 'em
+up before the session. I ricollect old Judge Morgan swore he'd have
+his wood chopped any day that suited him. And he had a load o' wood
+carried down cellar, and the nigger man chopped all day long down in
+the cellar, and nobody ever would 'a' found it out, but pretty soon
+they got up a big revival that lasted three months and spread 'way out
+into the country, and bless your life, old Judge Morgan was one o'
+the first to be converted; and when he give in his experience, he told
+about the wood-choppin', and how he hoped to be forgiven for breakin'
+the Sabbath day.
+
+"Well, of course us people out in the country wouldn't be outdone by
+the town folks, so Parson Page got up and preached on the Fourth
+Commandment and all about that pore man that was stoned to death for
+pickin' up a few sticks on the seventh day. And Sam Amos, he says
+after meetin' broke, says he, 'It's my opinion that that man was a
+industrious, enterprisin' feller that was probably pickin' up
+kindlin'-wood to make his wife a fire, and,' says he, 'if they wanted
+to stone anybody to death they better 'a' picked out some lazy,
+triflin' feller that didn't have energy enough to work Sunday or any
+other day.' Sam always would have his say, and nothin' pleased him
+better'n to talk back to the preachers and git the better of 'em in a
+argument. I ricollect us women talked that sermon over at the Mite
+Society, and Maria Petty says: 'I don't know but what it's a wrong
+thing to say, but it looks to me like that Commandment wasn't intended
+for anybody but them Israelites. It was mighty easy for them to keep
+the Sabbath day holy, but,' says she, 'the Lord don't rain down manna
+in my yard. And,' says she, 'men can stop plowin' and plantin' on
+Sunday, but they don't stop eatin', and as long as men have to eat on
+Sunday, women'll have to work.'
+
+"And Sally Ann, she spoke up, and says she, 'That's so; and these very
+preachers that talk so much about keepin' the Sabbath day holy,
+they'll walk down out o' their pulpits and set down at some woman's
+table and eat fried chicken and hot biscuits and corn bread and five
+or six kinds o' vegetables, and never think about the work it took to
+git the dinner, to say nothin' o' the dish-washin' to come after.'
+
+"There's one thing, child, that I never told to anybody but Abram; I
+reckon it was wicked, and I ought to be ashamed to own it, but"--here
+her voice fell to a confessional key--"I never did like Sunday till I
+begun to git old. And the way Sunday used to be kept, it looks to me
+like nobody could 'a' been expected to like it but old folks and lazy
+folks. You see, I never was one o' these folks that's born tired. I
+loved to work. I never had need of any more rest than I got every
+night when I slept, and I woke up every mornin' ready for the day's
+work. I hear folks prayin' for rest and wishin' for rest, but, honey,
+all my prayer was, 'Lord, give me work, and strength enough to do
+it.' And when a person looks at all the things there is to be done in
+this world, they won't feel like restin' when they ain't tired.
+
+"Abram used to say he believed I tried to make work for myself Sunday
+and every other day; and I ricollect I used to be right glad when any
+o' the neighbors'd git sick on Sunday and send for me to help nurse
+'em. Nursing the sick was a work o' necessity, and mercy, too. And
+then, child, the Lord don't ever rest. The Bible says He rested on the
+seventh day when He got through makin' the world, and I reckon that
+was rest enough for Him. For, jest look; everything goes on Sundays
+jest the same as week-days. The grass grows, and the sun shines, and
+the wind blows, and He does it all."
+
+    "'For still the Lord is Lord of might;
+      In deeds, in deeds He takes delight,'"
+
+I said.
+
+"That's it," said Aunt Jane, delightedly. "There ain't any religion in
+restin' unless you're tired, and work's jest as holy in his sight as
+rest."
+
+Our faces were turned toward the western sky, where the sun was
+sinking behind the amethystine hills. The swallows were darting and
+twittering over our heads, a somber flock of blackbirds rose from a
+huge oak tree in the meadow across the road, and darkened the sky for
+a moment in their flight to the cedars that were their nightly resting
+place. Gradually the mist changed from amethyst to rose, and the
+poorest object shared in the transfiguration of the sunset hour.
+
+Is it unmeaning chance that sets man's days, his dusty, common days,
+between the glories of the rising and the setting sun, and his life,
+his dusty, common life, between the two solemnities of birth and
+death? Bounded by the splendors of the morning and evening skies, what
+glory of thought and deed should each day hold! What celestial dreams
+and vitalizing sleep should fill our nights! For why should day be
+more magnificent than life?
+
+As we watched in understanding silence, the enchantment slowly faded.
+The day of rest was over, a night of rest was at hand; and in the
+shadowy hour between the two hovered the benediction of that peace
+which "passeth all understanding."
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+MILLY BAKER'S BOY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+It was the last Monday in May, and a steady stream of wagons,
+carriages, and horseback riders had been pouring into town over the
+smooth, graveled pike.
+
+Aunt Jane stood on her front porch, looking around and above with
+evident delight. This was her gala Monday; and if any thoughts of the
+County Court days of happier years were in her mind, they were not
+permitted to mar her enjoyment of the present. There were no waters of
+Marah near her spring of remembrance.
+
+"Clear as a whistle!" she exclaimed, peering through the tendrils of a
+Virginia creeper at the sea of blue ether where fleecy white clouds
+were floating, driven eastward by the fresh spring wind. "Folks'll
+come home dry to-night; last time they was as wet as drowned rats.
+Yonder comes the Crawfords, and there's Jim Amos on horseback in front
+of 'em. How d'ye, Jim! And yonder comes Richard Elrod in his new
+carriage. Jest look at him! I do believe he grows younger and
+handsomer every day of his life."
+
+A sweet-faced woman sat beside him, and two pretty girls were in the
+seat behind them. Bowing courteously to the old woman on the
+door-step, Richard Elrod looked every inch a king of the soil and a
+perfect specimen of the gentleman farmer of Kentucky.
+
+"The richest man in the county," said Aunt Jane exultingly, as she
+followed the vanishing carriage with her keen gaze. "He went to the
+legislatur' last winter; the 'Hon. Richard Elrod' they call him now.
+And I can remember the time when he was jest Milly Baker's boy, and
+nothin' honorable about it, either."
+
+There was a suggestion of a story in the words and in the look in Aunt
+Jane's eyes. What wonder that the tides of thought flowed back into
+the channel of old times on a day like this, when every passing face
+was a challenge to memory? It needed but a hint to bring forth the
+recollections that the sight of Richard Elrod had stirred to life. The
+high-back rocker and the basket of knitting were transferred to the
+porch; and with the beauty and the music of a spring morning around us
+I listened to the story of Milly Baker's boy.
+
+"I hardly know jest where to begin," said Aunt Jane, wrinkling her
+forehead meditatively and adjusting her needles. "Tellin' a story is
+somethin' like windin' off a skein o' yarn. There's jest two ends to
+the skein, though, and if you can git hold o' the right one it's easy
+work. But there's so many ways o' beginning a story, and you never
+know which one leads straightest to the p'int. I wonder many a time
+how folks ever finds out where to begin when they set out to write a
+book. However, I reckon if I start with Dick Elrod I'll git through
+somehow or other.
+
+"You asked me jest now who Richard Elrod was. He was the son o' Dick
+Elrod, and Dick was the son of Richard Elrod, the old Squire. It's
+curious how you'll name two boys Richard, and one of 'em will always
+be called Richard and the other'll be called Dick. Nobody ever would
+'a' thought o' callin' Squire Elrod 'Dick,' he was Richard from the
+day he was born till the day he died. But his son was nothin' but Dick
+all his life; Richard didn't seem to fit him somehow. And I've noticed
+that you can tell what sort of a man a boy's goin' to make jest by
+knowin' whether folks calls him Richard or Dick. I ain't sayin' that
+every Richard is a good man and every Dick a bad one. All I mean is
+that there's as much difference betwixt a 'Dick' and a 'Richard' as
+there is betwixt a roastin' ear and a peck o' corn meal. Both of 'em's
+corn, and both of 'em may be good, but they ain't the same thing by a
+long jump. There's been a Richard in the Elrod family as far back as
+you could track 'em; all of 'em good, steady, God-fearin' men till
+Dick come along. He was an only child, and of course that made a bad
+matter worse.
+
+"There's some men that's born to git women into trouble, and Dick was
+one of 'em. Jest as handsome as a picture, and two years ahead o' his
+age when it come to size, and a way about him, from the time he put on
+pants, that showed jest what kind of a man he was cut out for. If the
+children was playin' 'Jinny, Put the Kittle on,' Dick would git
+kissed ten times to any other boy's once; and if it was 'Drop the
+Handkerchief,' every little gyirl in the ring'd be droppin' it behind
+Dick to git him to run after her, and that was the only time Dick ever
+did any runnin'. All he had to do was jest to sit still, and the
+gyirls did the runnin'. It was that way all his life; and folks used
+to say there was jest one woman in the world that Dick couldn't make a
+fool of, and that was his cousin Penelope, the old Squire's brother's
+child. She used to come down to the Squire's pretty near every summer,
+and when Dick saw how high and mighty she was, he begun to lay himself
+out to make her come down jest where the other women was, not because
+he keered anything for her,--such men never keer for anybody but
+theirselves,--he jest couldn't stand it to have a woman around unless
+she was throwin' herself at his head or at his feet. But he couldn't
+do anything with his cousin Penelope. She naturally despised him, and
+he hated her. Next to Miss Penelope, the only girl that appeared to be
+anything like a match for Dick was Annie Crawford, Old Man Bob
+Crawford's daughter. Old Man Bob was one o' the kind that thinks that
+the more children they've got the bigger men they are. Always made me
+think of Abraham and the rest o' the old patriarchs to see him come
+walkin' into church with them nine young ones at his heels, makin' so
+much racket you couldn't hear the sermon. He was mighty proud of his
+sons; but after Bob was born he wanted a daughter; and when they all
+kept turnin' out boys, he got crazier and crazier for a gyirl. Annie
+wasn't born till he was past sixty, and he like to 'a' lost his senses
+with joy. It was harvestin' time, and he jest stopped work and set on
+his front porch, and every time anybody passed by he'd holler, 'Well;
+neighbor, it's a gal this time!' If I'd 'a' been in Ann 'Liza's place,
+I'd 'a' gagged him. But la! she thought everything he did was all
+right. It got to be a reg'lar joke with the neighbors to ask Old Man
+Bob how many children he had, and he'd give a big laugh and say, 'Ten,
+neighbor, and all of 'em gals but nine.'
+
+"Well, of course Annie was bound to be spoiled, especially as her
+mother died when she was jest four years old. How Ann 'Liza ever stood
+Old Man Bob and them nine boys as long as she did was a mystery to
+everybody. Ann 'Liza had done her best to manage Annie, with Old Man
+Bob pullin' against her all the time, but after she died Annie took
+the place and everything and everybody on it. Old Man Bob had raised
+all his boys on spare-the-rod-and-spile-the-child principle, but when
+Annie come, he turned his back on Solomon and give out that Annie
+mustn't be crossed by anybody. Sam Amos asked him once how he come to
+change his mind so about raisin' children, and Old Man Bob said he was
+of the opinion that that text ought to read, 'Spare the rod and spile
+the boy'; that Solomon had too much regyard for women to want to whip
+a gal child. If ever there was an old idiot he was one; I mean Old Man
+Bob, not Solomon; though Solomon wasn't as wise as he might 'a' been
+in some things.
+
+"Well, Annie was a headstrong, high-tempered child to begin with; and
+havin' nobody to control her, she got to be the worst young one, I
+reckon, in the State o' Kentucky. I used to feel right sorry for her
+little brothers. They couldn't keep a top or a ball or marble or any
+plaything to save their lives. Annie would cry for 'em jest for pure
+meanness, and whatever it was that Annie cried for they had to give it
+up or git a whippin'. She'd break up their rabbit-traps and their
+bird-cages and the little wheelbarrers and wagons they'd make, and
+they didn't have any peace at home, pore little motherless things. I
+ricollect one day little Jim come runnin' over to my house draggin'
+his wagon loaded up with all his playthings, his little saw and hammer
+and some nails the cyarpenters had give him when Old Man Bob had his
+new stable built, and says he, 'Aunt Jane, please let me keep my tools
+over here. Annie says she's goin' to throw 'em in the well, and
+pappy'll make me give 'em to her if she cries for 'em.' Them tools
+stayed at my house till Jim outgrowed 'em, and he and Henry, the other
+little one, used to come and stay by the hour playin' with my Abram.
+
+"It was all Old Man Bob could do to git a housekeeper to stay with him
+when Annie got older. One spring she broke up all the hen nests and
+turkey nests on the farm, and they had to buy chickens all summer and
+turkeys all next winter. They used to tell how she stood and hollered
+for two hours one day because the housekeeper wouldn't let her put her
+hand into a kittle o' boilin' lye soap. It's my belief that she was
+all that kept Old Man Bob from marryin' again in less'n a year after
+Ann 'Liza died. He courted three or four widders and old maids round
+the neighborhood, but there wasn't one of 'em that anxious to marry
+that she'd take Old Man Bob with Annie thrown in. As soon as she got
+old enough, Old Man Bob carried her with him wherever he went. County
+Court days you'd see him goin' along on his big gray mare with Annie
+behind him, holdin' on to the sides of his coat with her little fat
+hands, her sunbonnet fallin' off and her curls blowin' all around her
+face,--like as not she hadn't had 'em combed for a week,--and in the
+evenin' about sunset here they'd come, Annie in front fast asleep, and
+Old Man Bob holdin' her on one arm and guidin' his horse with the
+other. Harvestin' times Annie'd be out in the field settin' on a shock
+o' wheat and orderin' the hands around same as if she was the
+overseer; and Old Man Bob'd jest stand back and shake his sides
+laughin' and say: 'That's right, honey. Make 'em move lively. If it
+wasn't for you, pappy couldn't git his harvestin' done.'
+
+"Every fall and spring he'd go to town to buy clothes for her, and
+people used to say the storekeepers laid in a extry stock jest for Old
+Man Bob, and charged him two or three prices for everything he bought.
+He'd walk into Tom Baker's store with his saddle-bags on his arm and
+holler out, 'Well, what you got to-day? Trot out your silks and your
+satins, and remember that the best ain't good enough for my little
+gal.'
+
+"When Annie was twelve years old he took her off to Bardstown to git
+her education. When he come to say good-bye to her, he cried and she
+cried, and it ended with him settin' down and stayin' three weeks in
+Bardstown, waitin' for Annie to git over her homesickness. Folks never
+did git through plaguin' him about goin' off to boardin' school, and
+as soon as Sam Crawford seen him he says, 'Well, Uncle Bob, when do
+you reckon you'll git your diploma?'
+
+"I never shall forgit the first time Annie come home to spend her
+Christmas. The neighbors didn't have any peace o' their lives for Old
+Man Bob tellin' 'em how Annie had growed, and how there wasn't a gal
+in the state that could hold a candle to her. And Sunday he come
+walkin' in church with Annie hangin' on to his arm jest as proud and
+happy as if he'd got a new wife.
+
+"Annie had improved wonderful. It wasn't jest her looks, for she
+always was as pretty as a picture, but she was as nice-mannered,
+well-behaved a gyirl as you'd want to see. There was jest as much
+difference betwixt her then and what she used to be as there is
+betwixt a tame fox and a wild one. Of course the wildness is all
+there, but it's kind o' covered up under a lot o' cute little tricks
+and ways; and that's the way it was with Annie. Squire Elrod's pew was
+jest across the aisle from Old Man Bob's, and I could see Dick
+watchin' her durin' church time. But Annie never looked one way nor
+the other. She set there with her hands folded and her eyes straight
+before her, and nobody ever would 'a' thought that she'd been ridin'
+horses bare-back and climbin' eight-rail fences ever since she could
+walk, mighty near.
+
+"When she come back from school in June it was the same thing over
+again, Old Man Bob braggin' on her and everybody sayin' how sweet and
+pretty she was. Dick began to wait on her right away, and before long
+folks was sayin' that they was made for each other, especially as
+their farms jined. That's a fool notion, but you can't git it out o'
+some people's heads.
+
+"Things went on this way for two or three years, Annie goin' and
+comin' and gittin' prettier all the time, and Dick waitin' on her
+whenever she was at home and carryin' on between times with every
+gyirl in the neighborhood. At last she come home for good, and Dick
+dropped all the others in a hurry and set out in earnest to git Annie.
+Folks said he was mightily in love, but accordin' to my way o'
+thinkin' there wasn't any love about it. The long and the short of it
+was that Annie knew how to manage him, and the other gyirls didn't.
+They was always right there in the neighborhood, and it don't help a
+woman to be always under a man's nose. But Annie was here and there
+and everywhere, visitin' in town and in Louisville and bringin' the
+town folks and the city folks home with her, and havin' dances and
+picnics, and doin' all she could to make Dick jealous. And then I
+always believed that Annie was jest as crazy about Dick as the rest o'
+the gyirls, but she had sense enough not to let him know it. It's
+human nature, you know, to want things that's hard to git. Why, if
+fleas and mosquitoes was sceerce, folks would go to huntin' 'em and
+makin' a big fuss over 'em. Annie made herself hard to git, and that's
+why Dick wanted her instead o' Harriet Amos, that was jest as good
+lookin' and better in every other way than Annie was. Everybody was
+sayin' what a blessed thing it was, and now Dick would give up his
+wild ways and settle down and be a comfort to the Squire in his old
+age.
+
+"Well, along in the spring, a year after Annie got through with
+school, Sally Ann come to me, and says she, 'Jane, I saw somethin'
+last night and it's been botherin' me ever since;' and she went on to
+say how she was goin' home about dusk, and how she'd seen Dick Elrod
+and little Milly Baker at the turn o' the lane that used to lead up to
+Milly's house. 'They was standin' under the wild cherry tree in the
+fence corner,' says she, 'and the elderberry bushes was so thick that
+I could jest see Dick's head and shoulders and the top of Milly's
+head, but they looked to be mighty close together, and Dick was
+stoopin' over and whisperin' somethin' to her.'
+
+"Well, that set me to thinkin', and I ricollected seein' Dick comin'
+down the lane one evenin' about sunset and at the same time I'd caught
+sight o' Milly walkin' away in the opposite direction. Our Mite
+Society met that day, and Sally Ann and me had it up, and we all
+talked it over. It come out that every woman there had seen the same
+things we'd been seein', but nobody said anything about it as long as
+they wasn't certain. 'Somethin' ought to be done,' says Sally Ann;
+'it'd be a shame to let that pore child go to destruction right before
+our eyes when a word might save her. She's fatherless, and pretty
+near motherless, too,' says she.
+
+"You see, the Bakers was tenants of old Squire Elrod's, and after
+Milly's father died o' consumption the old Squire jest let 'em live on
+the same as before. Mis' Elrod give 'em quiltin' and sewin' to do, and
+they had their little gyarden, and managed to git along well enough.
+Some folks called 'em pore white trash. They was pore enough, goodness
+knows, but they was clean and hard-workin', and that's two things that
+'trash' never is. I used to hear that Milly's mother come of a good
+family, but she'd married beneath herself and got down in the world
+like folks always do when they're cast off by their own people. Milly
+had come up like a wild rose in a fence corner, and she was jest the
+kind of a girl to be fooled by a man like Dick, handsome and smooth
+talkin', with all the ways and manners that take women in. Em'ly
+Crawford used to say it made her feel like a queen jest to see Dick
+take his hat off to her. If men's manners matched their hearts, honey,
+this'd be a heap easier world for women. But whenever you see a man
+that's got good manners and a bad heart, you may know there's trouble
+ahead for some woman.
+
+"Well, us women talked it over till dark come; and I reckon if we had
+app'inted a committee to look after Milly and Dick, somethin' might
+have been done. But everybody's business is nobody's business, and I
+thought Sally Ann would go to Milly and give her a word o' warnin',
+and Sally Ann thought I'd do it, and so it went, and nothin' was said
+or done at last; and before long it was all over the neighborhood that
+pore little Milly was in trouble."
+
+Aunt Jane paused, took off her glasses and wiped them carefully on a
+corner of her gingham apron.
+
+"Many's the time," she said slowly, "that I've laid awake till the
+chickens crowed, blamin' myself and wonderin' how far I was
+responsible for Milly's mishap. I've lived a long time since then, and
+I don't worry any more about such things. There's some things that's
+got to be; and when a person is all wore out tryin' to find out why
+this thing happened and why that thing didn't happen, he can jest
+throw himself back on the eternal decrees, and it's like layin' down
+on a good soft feather bed after you've done a hard day's work. The
+preachers'll tell you that every man is his brother's keeper, but
+'tain't so. I ain't my brother's keeper, nor my sister's, neither.
+There's jest one person I've got to keep, and that's myself.
+
+"The Bible says, 'A word spoken in due season, how good it is!' But
+when folks is in love there ain't any due season for speakin' warnin'
+words to 'em. There was Emmeline Amos: her father told her if she
+married Hal, he'd cut her name out o' the family Bible and leave her
+clear out o' his will. But that didn't hinder her. She went right on
+and married him, and lived to rue the day she did it. No, child,
+there's mighty little salvation by words for folks that's in love. I
+reckon if a word from me would 'a' saved Milly, the word would 'a'
+been given to me, and the season too, and as they wasn't, why I hadn't
+any call to blame myself.
+
+"Abram and Sam Crawford did try to talk to Old Man Bob; but, la! you
+might as well 'a' talked to the east wind. All he said was, 'If Annie
+wants Dick Elrod, Annie shall have him.' That's what he'd been sayin'
+ever since Annie was born. Nobody said anything to Annie, for she was
+the sort o' girl who didn't care whose feelin's was tramped on, if she
+jest had her own way.
+
+"So it went on, and the weddin' day was set, and nothin' was talked
+about but Annie's first-day dress and Annie's second-day dress, and
+how many ruffles she had on her petticoats, and what the lace on her
+nightgowns cost; and all the time there was pore Milly Baker cryin'
+her eyes out night and day, and us women gittin' up all our old baby
+clothes for Dick Elrod's unborn child."
+
+Aunt Jane dropped her knitting in her lap, and gazed across the fields
+as if she were seeking in the sunlit ether the faces of those who
+moved and spoke in her story. A farm wagon came lumbering through the
+stillness, and she gathered up the double thread of story and knitting
+and went on.
+
+"Annie always said she was goin' to have such a weddin' as the county
+never had seen, and she kept her word. Old Man Bob had the house fixed
+up inside and out. They sent up to Louisville for the cakes and
+things, and the weddin' cake was three feet high. There was a solid
+gold ring in it, and the bridesmaids cut for it; and every gyirl there
+had a slice o' the bride's cake to carry home to dream on that night.
+Annie's weddin' dress was white satin so heavy it stood alone, so they
+said. And Old Man Bob had the whole neighborhood laughin', tellin' how
+many heifers and steers it took to pay for the lace around the neck of
+it.
+
+"Annie and Dick was married in October about the time the leaves fell,
+and Milly's boy was born the last o' November. Lord! Lord! what a
+world this is! Old Man Bob wouldn't hear to Annie's leavin' him, so
+they stayed right on in the old home place. In them days folks didn't
+go a-lopin' all over creation as soon as they got married; they
+settled down to housekeepin' like sensible folks ought to do. Old Lady
+Elrod was as foolish over Dick as Old Man Bob was over Annie, and it
+was laid down beforehand that they was to spend half the time at Old
+Man Bob's and half the time at the Squire's, 'bout the worst thing
+they could 'a' done. The further a young couple can git from the old
+folks on both sides the better for everybody concerned. And besides,
+Annie wasn't the kind of a gyirl to git along with Dick's mother. A
+gyirl with the kind o' raisin' Annie'd had wasn't any fit
+daughter-in-law for a particular, high-steppin' woman like Old Lady
+Elrod.
+
+"There was some people that expected a heap o' Dick after he married,
+but I never did. If a man can't be faithful to a woman before he
+marries her, he ain't likely to be faithful after he marries her. And
+shore enough the shine wasn't off o' Annie's weddin' clothes before
+Dick was back to his old ways, drinkin' and carryin' on with the women
+same as ever, and the first thing we knew, him and Annie had a big
+quarrel, and Old Man Bob had ordered him off the place. However, they
+made it up and went over to the old Squire's to live, and things went
+on well enough till Annie's baby was born. Dick had set his heart on
+havin' a boy, but it turned out a girl, and as soon as they told him,
+he never even asked how Annie was, but jest went out to the stable and
+saddled his horse and galloped off, and nobody seen him for two days.
+He needn't 'a' took on so, for the pore little thing didn't live but a
+week. Annie had convulsions over Dick's leavin' her that way, and the
+doctor said that was what killed the child. Annie never was the same
+after this. She grieved for her child and lost her good looks, and
+when she lost them, she lost Dick. It wasn't long before Dick was
+livin' with his father, and she with hers. At last he went out West;
+and in less than three years Annie died; and a good thing she did, for
+a more soured, disappointed woman couldn't 'a' been found anywhere.
+
+"Well, all this time Milly Baker's baby was growin' in grace, you
+might say. And a finer child never was born. Milly had named him
+Richard, and nature had wrote his father's name all over him. He was
+the livin' image of Dick, all but the look in his eyes; that was
+Milly's. Milly worshiped him, and there was few children raised any
+carefuler and better than Milly Baker's boy; that was what we always
+called him. Milly was nothin' but a child herself when he was born,
+but all at once she appeared to turn to a woman; acted like one and
+looked like one. It ain't time, honey, that makes people old; it's
+experience. Some folks never git over bein' children, and some never
+has any childhood; and pore little Milly's was cut short by trouble.
+If she felt ashamed of herself or the child, nobody ever knew it. I
+never could tell whether it was lack of sense, or whether she jest
+looked at things different from the rest of us; but to see her walk in
+church holding little Richard by the hand, nobody ever would 'a'
+thought but what she was a lawful wife. No woman could 'a' behaved
+better'n she did, I'm bound to say. She got better lookin' all the
+time, but she was as steady and sober as if she'd been sixty years
+old. Parson Page said once that Milly Baker had more dignity than any
+woman, young or old, that he'd ever seen. It seems right queer to talk
+about dignity in a pore gyirl who'd made the misstep she'd made, but I
+reckon it was jest that that made us all come to treat her as if she
+was as good as anybody. People can set their own price on 'emselves,
+I've noticed; and if they keep it set, folks'll come up to it. Milly
+didn't seem to think that she had done anything wrong; and when she
+brought little Richard up for baptism there wasn't a dry eye in the
+church; and when she joined the church herself there wasn't anybody
+mean enough to say a word against it, not even Silas Petty.
+
+"Squire Elrod give her the cottage rent free after her mother died,
+and betwixt nursin' and doin' fine needlework she made a good livin'
+for herself and the boy.
+
+"Little Richard was a child worth workin' for from the start. Tall and
+straight as a saplin', and carried himself like he owned the earth,
+even when he was a little feller. It looked like all the good blood on
+both sides had come out in him, and there wasn't a smarter, handsomer
+boy in the county. The old Squire thought a heap of him, and nothin'
+but his pride kept him from ownin' the child outright and treatin' him
+like he was his own flesh and blood. Richard had an old head on young
+shoulders, though he was as full o' life as any boy; and by the time
+he was grown the old Squire trusted him with everything on the place
+and looked to him the same as if he'd been a settled man. After Old
+Lady Elrod died, he broke terrible fast, and folks used to say it was
+a pitiful sight to see him when he'd be watchin' Richard overseein'
+the hands and tendin' to things about the place. He'd lean on the
+fence, his hands tremblin' and his face workin', thinkin' about Dick
+and grievin' over him and wishin', I reckon, that Dick had been such a
+man as Milly's boy was.
+
+"All these years nobody ever heard from Dick. Once in a while
+somebody'd come from town and say they'd seen somebody that had seen
+somebody else, and that somebody had seen Dick way out in California
+or Lord knows where, and that was all the news that ever come back.
+We'd all jest about made up our minds that he was dead, when one
+mornin', along in corn-plantin' time, the news was brought and spread
+over the neighborhood in no time that Dick Elrod had come home and was
+lyin' at the p'int of death. I remembered hearin' a hack go by on the
+pike the night before, and wondered to myself what was up. I thought,
+maybe, it was a runaway couple or some such matter, but it was pore
+Dick comin' back to his father's house, like the Prodigal Son, after
+twenty years. It takes some folks a long time, child, to git tired of
+the swine and the husks.
+
+"Well, of course, it made a big commotion, and before we'd hardly
+taken it in, we heard that he'd sent for Milly, and her and Richard
+had gone together up to the big house.
+
+"Jane Ann Petty was keepin' house for the old Squire, and she told us
+afterwards how it all come about.
+
+"We had a young probationer preachin' for us that summer, and as soon
+as he heard about Dick, he goes up to the big house without bein' sent
+for to talk to him about his soul. I reckon he thought it'd be a
+feather in his cap if he could convert a hardened sinner like Dick.
+
+"Jane Ann said they took him into Dick's room, and he set down by the
+bed and begun to lay off the plan o' salvation jest like he was
+preachin' from the pulpit, and Dick listened and never took his eyes
+off his face. When he got through Dick says, says he:
+
+"'Do you mean to say that all I've got to do to keep out of hell and
+get into heaven is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ?' And Brother
+Jonas, he says:
+
+"'Yes, my dear brother, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou
+shalt be saved. The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from
+all sin."'
+
+"And they said Dick jest laughed a curious sort o' laugh and says he:
+
+"'It's a pretty God that'll make such a bargain as that!' And says he,
+'I was born bad, I've lived bad, and I'm dyin' bad; but I ain't a
+coward nor a sneak, and I'm goin' to hell for my sins like a man. Like
+a man, do you hear me?'
+
+"Jane Ann said the look in his eyes was awful; and the preacher turned
+white as a sheet. It was curious talk for a death-bed; but, when you
+come to think about it, it's reasonable enough. When a man's got hell
+in his heart, what good is it goin' to do him to git into heaven?"
+
+"What, indeed?" I echoed, thinking how delightful it was that Aunt
+Jane and Omar Khayyam should be of one mind on this subject.
+
+"When Dick said this the young preacher got up to go, but Dick called
+him back, and says he, 'I don't want any of your preachin' or prayin',
+but you stay here; there's another sort of a job for you to do.' And
+then he turned around to the old Squire and says, 'Send for Milly.'
+
+"When we all heard that Milly'd been sent for, the first thing we
+thought was, 'How on earth is Milly goin' to tell Richard all he's
+got to know?' I never used to think we was anything over and above the
+ordinary out in our neighborhood, but when I ricollect that Richard
+Elrod come up from a boy to a man without knowin' who his father was,
+it seems like we must 'a' known how to hold our tongues anyhow. There
+wasn't man, woman, or child that ever hinted to Milly Baker's boy that
+he wasn't like other children, and so it was natural for us to wonder
+how Milly was goin' to tell him. Well, it wasn't any of our business,
+and we never found out. All we ever did know was that Milly and
+Richard walked over to the big house together, and Richard held his
+head as high as ever.
+
+"They said that Dick give a start when Milly come into the room. I
+reckon he expected to see the same little girl he'd fooled twenty
+years back, and when she come walkin' in it jest took him by surprise.
+
+"'Why, Milly,' says he, 'is this you?'
+
+"And he held out his hand, and she walked over to the bed and laid her
+hand in his. Folks that was there say it was a strange sight for any
+one that remembered what them two used to be. Her so gentle and
+sweet-lookin', and him all wore out with bad livin' and wasted to a
+shadder of what he used to be.
+
+"I've seen the same thing, child, over and over again. Two people'll
+start out together, and after a while they'll git separated, or,
+maybe, they'll live together a lifetime, and when they git to the end
+o' fifteen or twenty or twenty-five years, one'll be jest where he was
+when they set out, and the other'll be 'way up and 'way on, and
+they're jest nothin' but strangers after all. That's the way it was
+with Milly and Dick. They'd been sweethearts, and there was the child;
+but the father'd gone his way and the mother'd gone hers, and now
+there was somethin' between 'em like that 'great gulf' the Bible tells
+about. Well, they said Dick looked up at Milly like a hungry man looks
+at bread, and at last he says:
+
+"'I'm goin' to make an honest woman of you, Milly.'
+
+"And Milly looked him in the eyes and said as gentle and easy as if
+she'd been talkin' to a sick child: 'I've always been an honest woman,
+Dick.'
+
+"This kind o' took him back again, but he says, right earnest and
+pitiful, 'I want to marry you, Milly; don't refuse me. I want to do
+one decent thing before I die. I've come all the way from California
+just for this. Surely you'll feel better if you are my lawful wife.'
+
+"And they said Milly thought a minute and then she says: 'I don't
+believe it makes any difference with me, Dick. I've been through the
+worst, and I'm used to it. But if it'll make it any easier for you,
+I'll marry you. And then there's my boy; maybe it will be better for
+him.'
+
+"'Where's the boy?' says Dick; 'I want to see him.'
+
+"So Milly went and called Richard in. And as soon as Dick saw him he
+raised up on his elbow, weak as he was, and hollered out so you could
+hear him in the next room.
+
+"'Why,' says he, 'it's myself! It's myself! Stand off there where I
+can see you, boy! Why, you're the man I ought to have been and
+couldn't be. These lyin' doctors,' says he, 'tell me that I haven't
+got a day to live, but I'm goin' to live another lifetime in you!'
+
+"And then he fell back, gaspin' for breath, and young Richard stood
+there in the middle o' the floor with his arms folded and his face
+lookin' like it was made of stone.
+
+"As soon as Dick could speak, they said he pulled Milly down and
+whispered something to her, and she went over to the chair where his
+clothes was hangin' and felt in the pocket of the vest and got a
+little pearl ring out. They said she shook like a leaf when she saw
+it. And Dick says: 'I took it away from you, Milly, twenty years ago,
+for fear you'd use it for evidence against me--scoundrel that I was;
+and now I'm goin' to put it on your finger again, and the parson shall
+marry us fair and square. I've got the license here under my pillow.'
+And Milly leaned over and lifted him and propped him up with the
+pillows, and the young parson said the ceremony over 'em, with Jane
+Ann and the old Squire for witnesses.
+
+"As soon as the parson got through, Dick says: 'Boy, won't you shake
+hands with your father? I wouldn't ask you before.' But Richard never
+stirred. And Milly got up and went to him and laid her hand on his arm
+and says: 'My son, come and speak to your father.' And he walked up
+and took Dick's pore wasted hand in his strong one, and the old Squire
+set there and sobbed like a child. Jane Ann said he held on to
+Richard's hand and looked at him for a long time, and then he reached
+under the pillow and brought out a paper, and says he: 'It's my will;
+open it after I'm gone. I've squandered a lot o' money out West, but
+there's a plenty left, and that minin' stock'll make you a rich man.
+It's all yours and your mother's. I wish it was more,' says he, 'for
+you're a son that a king'd be proud of.'
+
+"Them was about the last words he said. Dr. Pendleton said he wouldn't
+live through the night, and sure enough he begun to sink as soon as
+the young parson left, and he died the next mornin' about daybreak.
+Jane Ann said jest before he died he opened his eyes and mumbled
+somethin', and Milly seemed to know what he wanted, for she reached
+over and put Richard's hand on hers and Dick's, and he breathed his
+last jest that way.
+
+"Milly wouldn't let a soul touch the corpse, but her and Richard. She
+was a mighty good hand at layin' out the dead, and them two washed and
+shrouded the body and laid it in the coffin, and the next day at the
+funeral Milly walked on one side o' the old Squire and Richard on the
+other, and the old man leaned on Richard like he'd found a prop for
+his last days.
+
+"I ain't much of a hand to believe in signs, but there was one thing
+the day of the buryin' that I shall always ricollect. It had been
+rainin' off and on all day,--a soft, misty sort o' rain that's good
+for growin' things,--but while they were fillin' up the grave and
+smoothin' it off, the sun broke out over in the west, and when we
+turned around to leave the grave there was the brightest, prettiest
+rainbow you ever saw; and when Milly and Richard got into the old
+Squire's carriage and rode home with him, that rainbow was right in
+front of 'em all the way home. It didn't mean much for Milly and the
+Squire, but I couldn't help thinkin' it was a promise o' better things
+for Richard, and maybe a hope for pore Dick.
+
+"Milly didn't live long after this. They found her dead in her bed one
+mornin'. The doctor said it was heart disease; but it's my belief that
+she jest died because she thought she could do Richard a better turn
+by dyin' than livin'. She'd lived for him twenty years and seen him
+come into his rights, and I reckon she thought her work was done.
+Dyin' for people is a heap easier'n livin' for 'em, anyhow.
+
+"The old Squire didn't outlive Milly many years, and when he died
+Richard come into all the Elrod property. You've seen the Elrod place,
+ain't you, child? That white house with big pillars and porches in
+front of it. It's three miles further on the pike, and folks'll drive
+out there jest to look at it. I've heard 'em call it a 'colonial
+mansion,' or some such name as that. It was all run down when Richard
+come into possession of it, but now it's one o' the finest places in
+the whole state. That's the way it is with families: one generation'll
+tear down and another generation'll build up. Richard's buildin' up
+all that his father tore down, and I'm in hopes his work'll last for
+many a day."
+
+Aunt Jane's voice ceased, and there was a long silence. The full
+harvest of the story-telling was over; but sometimes there was an
+aftermath to Aunt Jane's tale, and for this I waited. I looked at the
+field opposite where the long, verdant rows gave promise of the autumn
+reaping, and my thoughts were busy tracing backward every link in the
+chain of circumstance that stretched between Milly Baker's boy of
+forty years ago and the handsome, prosperous man I had seen that
+morning. Ah, a goodly tale and a goodly ending! Aunt Jane spoke at
+last, and her words were an echo of my thought.
+
+"There's lots of satisfactory things in this world, child," she said,
+beaming at me over her spectacles with the smile of the optimist who
+is born, not made. "There's a satisfaction in roundin' off the toe of
+a stockin', like I'm doin' now, and knowin' that your work's goin' to
+keep somebody's feet warm next winter. There's a satisfaction in
+bakin' a nice, light batch o' bread for the children to eat up.
+There's a satisfaction in settin' on the porch in the cool o' the
+evenin' and thinkin' o' the good day's work behind you, and another
+good day that's comin' to-morrow. This world ain't a vale o' tears
+unless you make it so on purpose. But of all the satisfactions I ever
+experienced, the most satisfyin' is to see people git their just
+deserts right here in this world. I don't blame David for bein' out o'
+patience when he saw the wicked flourishin' like a green bay tree.
+
+"I never was any hand for puttin' things off, whether it's work or
+punishment; and I've never got my own consent to this way o' skeerin'
+people with a hell and wheedlin' 'em with a heaven way off yonder in
+the next world. I ain't as old as Methuselah, but I've lived long
+enough to find out a few things; and one of 'em is that if people
+don't die before their time, they'll git their heaven and their hell
+right here in this world. And whenever I feel like doubtin' the
+justice o' the Lord, I think o' Milly Baker's boy, and how he got
+everything that belonged to him, and he didn't have to die and go to
+heaven to git it either."
+
+    "'Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;
+      Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds
+          He all.'"
+
+I quoted the lines musingly, watching meanwhile their effect on Aunt
+Jane. Her eyes sparkled as her quick brain took in the meaning of the
+poet's words.
+
+"That's it!" she exclaimed,--"that's it! I don't mind waitin' myself
+and seein' other folks wait, too, a reasonable time, but I do like to
+see everybody, sooner or later, git the grist that rightly belongs to
+'em."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+THE BAPTIZING AT KITTLE CREEK
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+"There's a heap o' reasons for folks marryin'," said Aunt Jane,
+reflectively. "Some marries for love, some for money, some for a home;
+some marries jest to spite somebody else, and some, it looks like,
+marries for nothin' on earth but to have somebody always around to
+quarrel with about religion. That's the way it was with Marthy and
+Amos Matthews. I don't reckon you ever heard o' Marthy and Amos, did
+you, child? It's been many a year since I thought of 'em myself. But
+last Sunday evenin' I was over at Elnora Simpson's, and old Uncle Sam
+Simpson was there visitin'. Uncle Sam used to live in the neighborhood
+o' Goshen, but he moved up to Edmonson County way back yonder, I can't
+tell when, and every now and then he comes back to see his
+grandchildren. He's gittin' well on towards ninety, and I'm thinkin'
+this is about the last trip the old man'll make till he goes on his
+long journey. I was mighty glad to see him, and me and him set and
+talked about old times till the sun went down. What he didn't remember
+I did, and what I didn't remember he did; and when we got through
+talkin', Elnora--that's his grandson's wife--says, 'Well, Uncle Sam,
+if I could jest take down everything you and Aunt Jane said to-day,
+I'd have a pretty good history of everybody that ever lived in this
+county.'
+
+"Uncle Sam was the one that started the talk about Marthy and Amos.
+He'd been leanin' on his cane lookin' out o' the door at Elnora's
+twins playin' on the grass, and all at once he says, says he, 'Jane,
+do you ricollect the time they had the big babtizin' down at Kittle
+Creek?' And he got to laughin', and I got to laughin', and we set
+there and cackled like a pair o' old fools, and nobody but us two
+seein' anything funny about it."
+
+Aunt Jane's ready laugh began again at the mere remembrance of her
+former mirth. I kept discreetly silent, fearing to break the flow of
+reminiscence by some ill-timed question.
+
+"Nobody ever could see," she continued, "how it was that Amos Matthews
+and Marthy Crawford ever come to marry, unless it was jest as I said,
+to have somebody always handy to quarrel with about their religion;
+and I used to think sometimes that Marthy and Amos got more pleasure
+that way than most folks git out o' prayin' and singin' and listenin'
+to preachin'. Amos was the strictest sort of a Presbyterian, and
+Marthy was a Babtist, and to hear them two jawin' and arguin' and
+bringin' up Scripture texts about predestination and infant babtism
+and close communion and immersion was enough to make a person wish
+there wasn't such a thing as churches and doctrines. Brother Rice
+asked Sam Amos once if Marthy and Amos Matthews was Christians.
+Brother Rice had come to help Parson Page carry on a meetin', and he
+was tryin' to find out who was the sinners and who was the
+Christians. And Sam says, 'No; my Lord! It takes all o' Marthy's time
+to be a Babtist and all o' Amos' to be a Presbyterian. They ain't got
+time to be Christians.'
+
+"Some folks wondered how they ever got time to do any courtin', they
+was so busy wranglin' over babtism and election. And after Marthy had
+her weddin' clothes all made they come to a dead stop. Amos said he
+wouldn't feel like they was rightly married if they didn't have a
+Presbyterian minister to marry 'em, and Marthy said it wouldn't be
+marryin' to her if they didn't have a Babtist. I was over at Hannah
+Crawford's one day, and she says, says she, 'Jane, I've been savin' up
+my eggs and butter for a month to make Marthy's weddin' cake, and if
+her and Amos don't come to an understandin' soon, it'll all be a dead
+loss.' And Marthy says, 'Well, mother, I may not have any cake at my
+weddin', and I may not have any weddin', but one thing is certain: I'm
+not goin' to give up my principles.'
+
+"And Hannah sort o' groaned--she hadn't had any easy time with Miles
+Crawford--and says she, 'You pore foolish child! Principles ain't the
+only thing a woman has to give up when she gits married.'
+
+"I don't know whether they ever would 'a' come to an agreement if it
+hadn't been for Brother Morris. He was the Presidin' Elder from town,
+and a powerful hand for jokin' with folks. He happened to meet Amos
+one day about this time, and says he, 'Amos, I hear you and Miss
+Marthy can't decide betwixt Brother Page and Brother Gyardner. It'd be
+a pity,' says he, 'to have a good match sp'iled for such a little
+matter, and s'pose you compromise and have me to marry you.'
+
+"And Amos says, 'I don't know but what that's the best thing that
+could be done. I'll see Marthy and let you know.' And, bless your
+life, they was married a week from that day. I went over and helped
+Hannah with the cake, and Brother Morris said as pretty a ceremony
+over 'em as any Presbyterian or Babtist could 'a' said.
+
+"Well, the next Sunday everybody was on the lookout to see which
+church the bride and groom'd go to. Bush Elrod bet a dollar that
+Marthy'd have her way, and Sam Amos bet a dollar that they'd be at the
+Presbyterian church. Sam won the bet, and we was all right glad that
+Marthy'd had the grace to give up that one time, anyhow. Amos was
+powerful pleased havin' Marthy with him, and they sung out of the same
+hymn-book and looked real happy. It looked like they was startin' out
+right, and I thought to myself, 'Well, here's a good beginnin',
+anyhow.' But it happened to be communion Sunday, and of all the
+unlucky things that could 'a' happened for Marthy and Amos, that was
+about the unluckiest. I said then that if Parson Page had been a
+woman, he'd 'a' postponed that communion. But a man couldn't be
+expected to have much sense about such matters, so he goes ahead and
+gives out the hymn,
+
+    ''Twas on that dark and dreadful day;'
+
+and everybody in church was lookin' at Amos and Marthy and watchin' to
+see what she was goin' to do. While they was singin' the hymn the
+church-members got up and went forward to the front seats, and Amos
+went with 'em. That left Marthy all alone in the pew, and I couldn't
+help feelin' sorry for her. She tried to look unconcerned, but anybody
+could see she felt sort o' forsaken and left out, and folks all
+lookin', and some of 'em whisperin' and nudgin' each other. I knew
+jest exactly how Marthy felt. Abram said to me when we was on the way
+home that day, 'Jane, if I'd 'a' been in Amos' place, I believe I'd
+'a' set still with Marthy. Marthy'd come with him and it looks like
+he ought to 'a' stayed with her.' I reckon, though, that Amos thought
+he was doin' right, and maybe it's foolish in women to care about
+things like that. Sam Amos used to say that nobody but God Almighty,
+that made her, ever could tell what a woman wanted and what she didn't
+want; and I've thought many a time that since He made women, it's a
+pity He couldn't 'a' made men with a better understandin' o' women's
+ways.
+
+"Maybe if Amos'd set still that day, things would 'a' been different
+with him and Marthy all their lives, and then again, maybe it didn't
+make any difference. It's hard to tell jest what makes things go wrong
+in this world and what makes 'em go right. It's a mighty little thing
+for a man to git up and leave his wife settin' alone in a pew for a
+few minutes, but then there's mighty few things in this life that
+ain't little, till you git to follerin' 'em up and seein' what they
+come to."
+
+I thought of Pippa's song:
+
+    "Say not a small event! Why 'small'?
+    Costs it more pain that this, ye call
+    A great event, should come to pass,
+    Than that? Untwine me from the mass
+    Of deeds which make up life, one deed
+    Power shall fall short in or exceed!"
+
+And Aunt Jane went serenely on:
+
+"Anyhow, it wasn't long till Amos was goin' to his church and Marthy
+to hers, and they kept that up the rest of their lives. Still, they
+might 'a' got along well enough this way, for married folks don't have
+to think alike about everything, but they was eternally arguin' about
+their church doctrines. If Amos grumbled about the weather, Marthy'd
+say, 'Ain't everything predestined? Warn't this drought app'inted
+before the foundation of the world? What's the sense in grumblin' over
+the decrees of God?' And it got so that if Amos wanted to grumble over
+anything, he had to git away from home first, and that must 'a' been
+mighty wearin' on him; for, as a rule, a man never does any grumblin'
+except at home; but pore Amos didn't have that privilege. Sam Amos
+used to say---Sam wasn't a church-member himself--that there was some
+advantages about bein' a Babtist after all; you did have to go under
+the water, but then you had the right to grumble. But if a man
+believed that everything was predestined before the foundations of the
+world, there wasn't any sense or reason in findin' fault with anything
+that happened. And he believed that he'd ruther jine the Babtist
+church than the Presbyterian, for he didn't see how he could carry on
+his farm without complainin' about the weather and the crops and
+things in general.
+
+"If Marthy and Amos'd been divided on anything but their churches, the
+children might 'a' brought 'em together; but every time a child was
+born matters got worse. Amos, of course, wanted 'em all babtized in
+infancy, and Marthy wanted 'em immersed when they j'ined the church,
+and so it went. Amos had his way about the first one, and I never
+shall forgit the day it was born. I went over to help wait on Marthy
+and the baby, and as soon as I got the little thing dressed, we called
+Amos in to see it. Now, Amos always took his religion mighty hard. It
+didn't seem to bring him any comfort or peace o' mind. I've heard
+people say they didn't see how Presbyterians ever could be happy; but
+la, child, it's jest as easy to be happy in one church as in another.
+It all depends on what doctrines you think the most about. Now you
+take election and justification and sanctification, and you can git
+plenty o' comfort out o' them. But Amos never seemed to think of
+anything but reprobation and eternal damnation. Them doctrines jest
+seemed to weigh on him night and day. He used to say many a time that
+he didn't know whether he had made his callin' and election sure or
+not, and I don't believe he thought that anybody else had made theirs
+sure, either. Abram used to say that Amos looked like he was carryin'
+the sins o' the world on his shoulders.
+
+"That day the baby was born I thought to myself, 'Well, here's
+somethin' that'll make Amos forgit about his callin' and election for
+once, anyhow;' and I wrapped the little feller up in his blanket and
+held him to the light, so his father could see him; and Amos looked at
+him like he was skeered, for a minute, and then he says, 'O Lord! I
+hope it ain't a reprobate.'
+
+"Now jest think of a man lookin' down into a little new-born baby's
+face and talkin' about reprobates!
+
+"Marthy heard what he said, and says she, 'Amos, are you goin' to have
+him babtized in infancy?'
+
+"'Why, yes,' says Amos, 'of course I am.'
+
+"And Marthy says, 'Well, hadn't you better wait until you find out
+whether he's a reprobate or not? If he's a reprobate, babtizin' ain't
+goin' to do him any good, and if he's elected he don't need to be
+babtized.'
+
+"And I says, 'For goodness' sake, Marthy, you and Amos let the
+doctrines alone, or you'll throw yourself into a fever.' And I pushed
+a rockin'-chair up by the bed and I says, 'Here, Amos, you set here by
+your wife, and both of you thank the Lord for givin' you such a fine
+child;' and I laid the baby in Amos' arms, and went out in the gyarden
+to look around and git some fresh air. I gethered a bunch o'
+honeysuckles to put on Marthy's table, and when I got back, Marthy and
+the baby was both asleep, and Amos looked as if he was beginnin' to
+have some little hopes of the child's salvation.
+
+"Marthy named him John; and Sam Amos said he reckoned it was for John
+the Babtist. But it wasn't; it was for Marthy's twin brother that died
+when he was jest three months old. Twins run in the Crawford family.
+Amos had him babtized in infancy jest like he said he would, and such
+a hollerin' and squallin' never was heard in Goshen church. The next
+day Sally Ann says to me, says she, 'That child must 'a' been a
+Babtist, Jane; for he didn't appear to favor infant babtism.'
+
+"Well, Marthy had her say-so about the next child--that one was a boy,
+too, and they named him Amos for his father--and young Amos wasn't
+babtized in infancy; he was 'laid aside for immersion,' as Sam Amos
+said. Then it was Amos' time to have his way, and so they went on till
+young Amos was about fifteen years old and Marthy got him converted
+and ready to be immersed. The Babtists had a big meetin' that spring,
+and there was a dozen or more converts to be babtized when it was
+over. We'd been havin' mighty pleasant weather that March; I ricollect
+me and Abram planted our potatoes the first week in March, and I would
+put in some peas. Abram said it was too early, and sure enough the
+frost got 'em when they was about two inches high. It turned off real
+cold about the last o' March; and when the day for the babtizin' come,
+there was a pretty keen east wind, and Kittle Creek was mighty high
+and muddy, owin' to the rains they'd had further up. There was some
+talk o' puttin' off the babtizin' till better weather, but Brother
+Gyardner, he says: 'The colder the water, the warmer your faith,
+brethren; Christ never put off any babtizin' on account of the
+weather.'
+
+"Sam Amos asked him if he didn't reckon there was some difference
+between the climate o' Kentucky and the climate o' Palestine. Sam was
+always a great hand to joke with the preachers. But the way things
+went that day the weather didn't make much difference anyhow to young
+Sam.
+
+"The whole neighborhood turned out Sunday evenin' and went over to
+Kittle Creek to see the big babtizin'. Marthy and Amos and all the
+children was there, and Marthy looked like she'd had a big streak o'
+good luck. Sam Amos says to me, 'Well, Aunt Jane, Marthy's waited a
+long time, but she'll have her innin's now.'
+
+"Bush Elrod was the first one to go under the water; and when two or
+three more had been babtized, it was young Amos' time. I saw Marthy
+pushin' him forward and beckonin' to Brother Gyardner like she
+couldn't wait any longer.
+
+"Nobody never did know exactly how it happened. Some folks said that
+young Amos wasn't overly anxious to go under the water that cold day,
+and he kind o' slipped behind his father when he saw Brother Gyardner
+comin' towards him; and some went so fur as to say that Brother
+Gyardner was in the habit o' takin' a little spirits after a babtizin'
+to keep from takin' cold, and that time he'd taken it beforehand, and
+didn't know exactly what he was about. Anyhow, the first thing we knew
+Brother Gyardner had hold o' Amos himself, leadin' him towards the
+water. Amos was a timid sort o' man, easy flustered, and it looked
+like he lost his wits and his tongue too. He was kind o' pullin' back
+and lookin' round in a skeered way, and Brother Gyardner he hollered
+out, 'Come right along, brother! I know jest how it is myself; the
+spirit is willin', but the flesh is weak.' The Babtists was shoutin'
+'Glory Hallelujah' and Uncle Jim Matthews begun to sing, 'On Jordan's
+stormy banks I stand,' and pretty near everybody j'ined in till you
+couldn't hear your ears. The rest of us was about as flustered as
+Amos. We knew in reason that Brother Gyardner was makin' a big
+mistake, but we jest stood there and let things go on, and no tellin'
+what might 'a' happened if it hadn't been for Sam Amos. Sam was a
+cool-headed man, and nothin' ever flustered him. As soon as he saw how
+things was goin' he set down on the bank and pulled off his boots; and
+jest as Brother Gyardner got into the middle o' the creek, here come
+Sam wadin' up behind 'em, and grabbed Amos by the shoulder and
+hollered out, 'You got the wrong man, parson! Here, Amos, take hold o'
+me.' And he give Amos a jerk that nearly made Brother Gyardner lose
+his footin', and him and Amos waded up to the shore and left Brother
+Gyardner standin' there in the middle o' the creek lookin' like he'd
+lost his job.
+
+"Well, that put a stop to the singin' and the shoutin', and the way
+folks laughed was scandalous. They had to walk Amos home in a hurry
+to git his wet clothes off, and Uncle Jim Matthews and Old Man Bob
+Crawford went with him to rub him down. Amos was subject to
+bronchitis, anyhow. Marthy went on ahead of 'em in the wagon to have
+hot water and blankets ready. I'll give Marthy that credit; she
+appeared to forgit all about the babtizin' when Amos come up so wet
+and shiverin'. Sam couldn't git his boots on over his wet socks, and
+as he'd walked over to the creek, Silas Petty had to take him home in
+his spring wagon. Brother Gyardner all this time was lookin' round for
+young Amos, but he wasn't to be found high nor low, and that set folks
+to laughin' again, and so many havin' to leave, the babtizin' was
+clean broke up. Milly come up jest as Sam was gittin' into Old Man
+Bob's wagon, and says she, 'Well, Sam, you've ruined your Sunday pants
+this time.' And Sam says, 'Pants nothin'. The rest o' you all can save
+your Sunday pants if you want to, but this here's a free country, and
+I ain't goin' to stand by and see a man babtized against his will
+while I'm able to save him.' And if Sam'd saved Amos' life, instead o'
+jest savin' him from babtism, Amos couldn't 'a' been gratefuler. When
+Sam broke his arm the follerin' summer, Amos went over and set up
+with him at night, and let his own wheat stand while he harvested
+Sam's.
+
+"Well, the next time the 'Sociation met, the Babtists had somethin'
+new to talk about. Old Brother Gyardner got up, and says he,
+'Brethren, there's a question that's been botherin' me for some time,
+and I'd like to hear it discussed and git it settled, if possible;'
+and says he, 'If a man should be babtized accidentally, and against
+his will, would he be a Babtist? or would he not?' And they begun to
+argue it, and they had it up and down, and some was of one opinion and
+some of another. Brother Gyardner said he was inclined to think that
+babtism made a man a Babtist, but old Brother Bascom said if a man
+wasn't a Babtist in his heart, all the water in the sea wouldn't make
+him one. And Brother Gyardner said that was knockin' the props clean
+from under the Babtist faith. 'For,' says he, 'if bein' a Babtist in
+the heart makes a man a Babtist, then babtism ain't necessary to
+salvation, and if babtism ain't necessary, what becomes o' the Babtist
+church?'
+
+"Somebody told Amos about the dispute they was havin' over his case,
+and Amos says, 'If them fool Babtists want that question settled, let
+'em come to me.' Says he, 'My father and mother was Presbyterians,
+and my grandfather and grandmother and great-grandfather and
+great-grandmother on both sides; I was sprinkled in infancy, and I
+j'ined the Presbyterian church as soon as I come to the age of
+accountability, and if you was to carry me over to Jerusalem and
+babtize me in the river Jordan itself, I'd still be a Presbyterian.'"
+
+Here Aunt Jane paused to laugh again. "There's some things, child,"
+she said, as she wiped her glasses, "that people'll laugh over and
+then forgit; and there's some things they never git over laughin'
+about. The Kittle Creek babtizin' was one o' that kind. Old Man Bob
+Crawford used to say he wouldn't 'a' took five hundred dollars for
+that babtizin'. Old Man Bob was the biggest laugher in the country;
+you could hear him for pretty near half a mile when he got in a
+laughin' way; and he used to say that whenever he felt like havin' a
+good laugh, all he had to do was to think of Amos and how he looked
+with Brother Gyardner leadin' him into the water, and the Babtists
+a-singin' over him. Bush Elrod was another one that never got over it.
+Every time he'd see Amos he'd begin to sing, 'On Jordan's stormy banks
+I stand,' and Amos couldn't git out o' the way quick enough.
+
+"Well, that's what made me and old Uncle Sam Simpson laugh so last
+Sunday. I don't reckon there's anything funny in it to folks that
+never seen it; but when old people git together and call up old times,
+they can see jest how folks looked and acted, and it's like livin' it
+all over again."
+
+"I don't believe you can see it any plainer than I do, Aunt Jane," I
+hastened to assure her. "It is all as clear to me as any picture I
+ever saw. It was in March, you say, and the wind was cool, but the sun
+was warm; and if you sat in a sheltered place you might almost think
+it was the last of April."
+
+"That's so, child. I remember me and Abram set under the bank on a
+rock that kind o' cut off the north wind, and it was real pleasant."
+
+"Then there must have been a purple haze on the hills; and, while the
+trees were still bare, there was a look about them as if the coming
+leaves were casting their shadows before. There were heaps of brown
+leaves from last year's autumn in the fence corners, and as you and
+Uncle Abram walked home, you looked under them to see if the violets
+were coming up, and found some tiny wood ferns."
+
+Aunt Jane dropped her knitting and leaned back in the high
+old-fashioned chair.
+
+"Why, child," she said in an awe-struck tone, "are you a
+fortune-teller?"
+
+"Not at all, Aunt Jane," I said, laughing at the dear old lady's
+consternation. "I am only a good guesser; and I wanted you to know
+that I not only see the things that you see and tell me, but some of
+the things that you see and don't tell me. Did Marthy ever get young
+Amos baptized?" I asked.
+
+"La, yes," laughed Aunt Jane. "They finished up the babtizin' two
+weeks after that. It was a nice, pleasant day, and young Amos went
+under the water all right; but mighty little good it did him after
+all. For as soon as he come of age, he married Matildy Harris (Matildy
+was a Methodist), and he got to goin' to church with his wife, and
+that was the last of his Babtist raisin'."
+
+Then we both were silent for a while, and I watched the gathering
+thunder-clouds in the west. A low rumble of thunder broke the
+stillness of the August afternoon. Aunt Jane looked up apprehensively.
+
+"There's goin' to be a storm betwixt now and sundown," she said, "but
+I reckon them young turkeys'll be safe under their mother's wings by
+that time."
+
+"Don't you think a wife ought to join her husband's church, Aunt
+Jane?" I asked with idle irrelevance to her remark.
+
+"Sometimes she ought and sometimes she oughtn't," replied Aunt Jane
+oracularly. "There ain't any rule about it. Everybody's got to be
+their own judge about such matters. If I'd 'a' been in Marthy's place,
+I wouldn't 'a' j'ined Amos' church, and if I'd been in Amos' place I
+wouldn't 'a' j'ined Marthy's church. So there it is."
+
+"But didn't you join Uncle Abram's church?" I asked, in a laudable
+endeavor to get at the root of the matter.
+
+"Yes, I did," said Aunt Jane stoutly; "but that's a mighty different
+thing. Of course, I went with Abram, and if I had it to do over again,
+I'd do it. You see the way of it was this: my folks was Campbellites,
+or Christians they'd ruther be called. It's curious how they don't
+like to be called Campbellites. Methodists don't mind bein' called
+Wesleyans, and Presbyterians don't git mad if you call 'em Calvinists,
+and I reckon Alexander Campbell was jest as good a man as Wesley and a
+sight better'n Calvin, but you can't make a Campbellite madder than to
+call him a Campbellite. However, as I was sayin', Alexander Campbell
+himself babtized my father and mother out here in Drake's Creek, and
+I was brought up to think that my church was _the_ Christian church,
+sure enough. But when me and Abram married, neither one of us was
+thinkin' much about churches. I used to tell Marthy that if a man'd
+come talkin' church to me, when he ought to been courtin' me, I'd 'a'
+told him to go on and marry a hymn-book or a catechism. I believe in
+religion jest as much as anybody, but a man that can't forgit his
+religion while he's courtin' a woman ain't worth havin'. That's my
+opinion. But as I was sayin', me and Abram had the church question to
+settle after we was married, and I don't believe either one of us
+thought about it till Sunday mornin' come. I ricollect it jest like it
+was yesterday. We was married in June, and you know how things always
+look about then. I've thought many a day, when I've been out in the
+gyarden workin' with my vegetables and getherin' my honeysuckles and
+roses, that if folks could jest live on and never git old and it'd
+stay June forever, that this world'd be heaven enough for anybody. And
+that's the way it was that Sunday mornin'. I ricollect I had on my
+'second-day' dress, the prettiest sort of a changeable silk, kind 'o
+dove color and pink, and I had a leghorn bonnet on with pink roses
+inside the brim, and black lace mitts on my hands. I stood up before
+the glass jest before I went out to the gate where Abram was, waitin'
+for me, and I looked as pretty as a pink, if I do say it. 'Self-praise
+goes but a little ways,' my mother used to tell me, when I was a
+gyirl; but I reckon there ain't any harm in an old woman like me
+tellin' how she looked when she was a bride more'n sixty years ago."
+
+And a faint color came into the wrinkled cheeks, while her clear, high
+laugh rang out. The outward symbols of youth and beauty were gone, but
+their unquenchable spirit lay warm under the ashes of nearly eight
+decades.
+
+"Well, I went out, and Abram helped me into the buggy and, instead o'
+goin' straight on to Goshen church, he turned around and drove out to
+my church. When we walked in I could see folks nudgin' each other and
+laughin', and when meetin' broke and we was fixin' to go home, Aunt
+Maria Taylor grabbed hold o' me and pulled me off to one side and says
+she, 'That's right, Jane, you're beginnin' in time. Jest break a man
+in at the start, and you won't have no trouble afterwards.' And I jest
+laughed in her face and went on to where Abram was waitin' for me. I
+was too happy to git mad that day. Well, the next Sunday, when we got
+into the buggy and Abram started to turn round, I took hold o' the
+reins and says I, 'It's my time to drive, Abram; you had your way last
+Sunday, and now I'm goin' to have mine.' And I snapped the whip over
+old Nell's back and drove right on to Goshen, and Abram jest set back
+and laughed fit to kill.
+
+"We went on that way for two or three months, folks sayin' that Abram
+and Jane Parrish couldn't go to the same church two Sundays straight
+along to save their lives, and everybody wonderin' which of us'd have
+their way in the long run. And me and Abram jest laughed in our
+sleeves and paid no attention to 'em; for there never was but one way
+for us, anyhow, and that wasn't Abram's way nor my way; it was jest
+_our_ way. There's lots of married folks, honey, and one of 'em's here
+and one of 'em's gone over yonder, and there's a long, deep grave
+between 'em; but they're a heap nearer to each other than two livin'
+people that stay in the same house, and eat at the same table, and
+sleep in the same bed, and all the time there's two great thick church
+walls between 'em and growin' thicker and higher every day. Sam Amos
+used to say that if religion made folks act like Marthy and Amos did,
+he believed he'd ruther have less religion or none at all. But, honey,
+when you see married folks quarrelin' over their churches, it ain't
+too much religion that's the cause o' the trouble, it's too little
+love. Jest ricollect that; if folks love each other right, religion
+ain't goin' to come between 'em.
+
+"Well, as soon as cold weather set in they started up a big revival at
+Goshen church. After the meetin' had been goin' on for three or four
+weeks, Parson Page give out one Sunday that the session would meet on
+the follerin' Thursday to examine all that had experienced a change o'
+heart and wanted to unite with the church. I never said a word to
+Abram, but Thursday evenin' while he was out on the farm mendin' some
+fences that the cattle had broke down, I harnessed old Nell to the
+buggy and drove out to Goshen. All the converts was there, and the
+session was questionin' and examinin' when I got in. When it come my
+turn, Parson Page begun askin' me if I'd made my callin' and election
+sure, and I come right out, and says I, 'I don't know much about
+callin' and election, Brother Page; I reckon I'm a Christian,' says I,
+'for I've been tryin' to do right by everybody ever since I was old
+enough to know the difference betwixt right and wrong; but, if the
+plain truth was told, I'm j'inin' this church jest because it's
+Abram's church, and I want to please him. And that's all the testimony
+I've got to give.' And Parson Page put his hand over his mouth to keep
+from laughin'--he was a young man then and hadn't been married long
+himself--and says he, 'That'll do, Sister Parrish; brethren, we'll
+pass on to the next candidate.' I left 'em examinin' Sam Crawford
+about his callin' and election, and I got home before Abram come to
+the house, and the next day when I walked up with the rest of 'em
+Abram was the only person in the church that was surprised. When
+they'd got through givin' us the right hand o' fellowship, and I went
+back to our pew, Abram took hold o' my hand and held on to it like he
+never would let go, and I knew I'd done the right thing and I never
+would regret it."
+
+There was a light on the old woman's face that made me turn my eyes
+away. Here was a personal revelation that should have satisfied the
+most exacting, but my vulgar curiosity cried out for further light on
+the past.
+
+"What would you have done," I asked, "if Uncle Abram hadn't turned the
+horse that Sunday morning--if he had gone straight on to Goshen?"
+
+Aunt Jane regarded me for a moment with a look of pitying allowance,
+such as one bestows on a child who doesn't know any better than to ask
+stupid questions.
+
+"Shuh, child," she said with careless brevity, "Abram couldn't 'a'
+done such a thing as that."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+HOW SAM AMOS RODE IN THE
+
+TOURNAMENT
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+"There's one thing I'd like mighty well to see again before I die,"
+said Aunt Jane, "and that is a good, old-fashioned fair. The apostle
+says we must 'press forward, forgetting the things that are behind,'
+but there's some things I've left behind that I can't never forget,
+and the fairs we had in my day is one of 'em."
+
+It was the quietest hour of an August afternoon--that time when one
+seems to have reached "the land where it is always afternoon"--and
+Aunt Jane and I were sitting on the back porch, shelling butter-beans
+for the next day's market. Before us lay the garden in the splendid
+fulness of late summer. Concord and Catawba grapes loaded the vines on
+the rickety old arbor; tomatoes were ripening in reckless plenty, to
+be given to the neighbors, or to lie in tempting rows on the
+window-sill of the kitchen and the shelves of the back porch; the
+second planting of cucumber vines ran in flowery luxuriance over the
+space allotted to them, and even encroached on the territory of the
+squashes and melons. Damsons hung purpling over the eaves of the
+house, and wasps and bees kept up a lively buzzing as they feasted on
+the windfalls of the old yellow peach tree near the garden gate.
+Nature had distributed her sunshine and showers with wise generosity
+that year, and neither in field nor in garden was there lack of any
+good thing. Perhaps it was this gracious abundance, presaging fine
+exhibits at the coming fair, that turned Aunt Jane's thoughts towards
+the fairs of her youth.
+
+"Folks nowadays don't seem to think much about fairs," she continued;
+"but when I was young a fair was something that the grown folks looked
+forward to jest like children look for Christmas. The women and the
+men, too, was gittin' ready for the fair all the year round, the women
+piecin' quilts and knittin' socks and weavin' carpets and puttin' up
+preserves and pickles, and the men raisin' fine stock; and when the
+fair come, it was worth goin' to, child, and worth rememberin' after
+you'd gone to it.
+
+"I hear folks talkin' about the fair every year, and I laugh to myself
+and I say, 'You folks don't know what a fair is.' And I set out there
+on my porch fair week and watch the buggies and wagons goin' by in the
+mornin' and comin' home at night, and I git right happy, thinkin'
+about the time when me and Abram and the children used to go over the
+same road to the fair, but a mighty different sort of fair from what
+they have nowadays. One thing is, honey, they have the fairs too soon.
+It never was intended for folks to go to fairs in hot weather, and
+here they've got to havin' 'em the first week in September, about the
+hottest, driest, dustiest time of the whole year. Nothin' looks pretty
+then, and it always makes me think o' folks when they've been wearin'
+their summer clothes for three months, and everything's all faded and
+dusty and drabbled. That's the way it generally is in September. But
+jest wait till two or three good rains come, and everything's washed
+clean and sweet, and the trees look like they'd got a new set o'
+leaves, and the grass comes out green and fresh like it does in the
+spring, and the nights and the mornin's feel cool, though it's hot
+enough in the middle o' the day; and maybe there'll come a touch of
+early frost, jest enough to turn the top leaves on the sugar maples.
+That's October, child, and that's the time for a fair.
+
+"Lord, the good times I've seen in them days! Startin' early and
+comin' home late, with the sun settin' in front of you, and by and by
+the moon comin' up behind you, and the wind blowin' cool out o' the
+woods on the side o' the road; the baby fast asleep in my arms, and
+the other children talkin' with each other about what they'd seen, and
+Abram drivin' slow over the rough places, and lookin' back every once
+in a while to see if we was all there. It's a curious thing, honey; I
+liked fairs as well as anybody, and I reckon I saw all there was to be
+seen, and heard everything there was to be heard every time I went to
+one. But now, when I git to callin' 'em up, it appears to me that the
+best part of it all, and the part I ricollect the plainest, was jest
+the goin' there and the comin' back home.
+
+"Abram knew I liked to stay till everything was over, and he'd git
+somebody to water and feed the stock, and then I never had any hot
+suppers to git while the fair lasted; so there wasn't anything to
+hurry me and Abram. I ricollect Maria Petty come up one day about
+five o'clock, jest as we was lookin' at the last race, and says she,
+'I'm about to drop, Jane; but I believe I'd ruther stay here and sleep
+on the floor o' the amp'itheater than to go home and cook a hot
+supper.' And I says, 'Don't cook a hot supper, then.' And says she,
+'Why, Silas wouldn't eat a piece o' cold bread at home to save his
+life or mine either.'
+
+"There's a heap o' women to be pitied, child," said Aunt Jane,
+dropping a handful of shelled beans into my pan with a cheerful
+clatter, "but, of all things, deliver me from livin' with a man that
+has to have hot bread three times a day. Milly Amos used to say that
+when she died she wanted a hot biscuit carved on her tombstone; and
+that if it wasn't for hot biscuits, there'd be a mighty small crop of
+widowers. Sam, you see, was another man that couldn't eat cold bread.
+But Sam had a right to his hot biscuits; for if Milly didn't feel like
+goin' into the kitchen, Sam'd go out and mix up his biscuits and bake
+'em himself. Sam's soda biscuits was as good as mine; and when it come
+to beaten biscuits, why nobody could equal Sam. Milly'd make up the
+dough as stiff as she could handle it, and Sam'd beat it till it was
+soft enough to roll out; and such biscuits I never expect to eat
+again--white and light as snow inside, and crisp as a cracker
+outside. Folks nowadays makes beaten biscuits by machinery, but they
+don't taste like the old-fashioned kind that was beat by hand.
+
+"And talkin' about biscuits, child, reminds me of the cookin' I used
+to do for the fairs. I don't reckon many women likes to remember the
+cookin' they've done. When folks git to rememberin', it looks like the
+only thing they want to call up is the pleasure they've had, the
+picnics and the weddin's and the tea-parties. But somehow the work
+I've done in my day is jest as precious to me as the play I've had. I
+hear young folks complainin' about havin' to work so hard, and I say
+to 'em, 'Child, when you git to be as old as I am, and can't work all
+you want to, you'll know there ain't any pleasure like good hard
+work.'
+
+"There's one thing that bothers me, child," and Aunt Jane's voice sank
+to a confidential key: "I've had a plenty o' fears in my life, but
+they've all passed over me; and now there's jest one thing I'm afraid
+of: that I'll live to be too old to work. It appears to me like I
+could stand anything but that. And if the time ever comes when I can't
+help myself, nor other folks either, I trust the Lord'll see fit to
+call me hence and give me a new body, and start me to work again
+right away.
+
+"But, as I was sayin', I always enjoyed cookin', and it's a pleasure
+to me to set and think about the hams I've b'iled and the salt-risin'
+bread I've baked and the old-fashioned pound-cake and sponge-cake and
+all the rest o' the things I used to take to the fair. Abram was
+always mighty proud o' my cookin', and we generally had a half a dozen
+or more o' the town folks to eat dinner with us every day o' the fair.
+Old Judge Grace and Dr. Brigham never failed to eat with us. The old
+judge'd say something about my salt-risin' bread every time I'd meet
+him in town. The first year my bread took the premium, Abram sent the
+premium loaf to him with the blue ribbon tied around it. After Abram
+died I stopped goin' to the fairs, and I don't know how many years
+it'd been since I set foot on the grounds. I hadn't an idea how
+things'd changed since my day till, year before last, Henrietta and
+her husband come down here from Danville. He'd come to show some
+blooded stock, and she come along with him to see me. And says she,
+'Grandma, you've got to go to the fair with me one day, anyhow;' and I
+went more to please her than to please myself.
+
+"I'm always contendin', child, that this world's growin' better and
+better all the time; but, Lord! Lord! that fair come pretty near
+upsettin' my faith. Why, in my day folks could take their children to
+the fair and turn 'em loose; and, if they had sense enough to keep
+from under the horses' feet, they was jest as safe at the fair as they
+was at a May meetin'. But, la! the sights I saw that day Henrietta
+took me to the fair! Every which way you'd look there was some sort of
+a trap for temptin' boys and leadin' 'em astray. Whisky and beer and
+all sorts o' gamblin' machines and pool sellin', and little boys no
+higher'n that smokin' little white cigyars, and offerin' to bet with
+each other on the races. And I says to Henrietta, 'Child, I don't call
+this a fair; why, it's jest nothin' but a gamblin' den and a whisky
+saloon. And,' says I, 'I know now what old Uncle Henry Matthews
+meant.' I'd asked the old man if he was goin' to show anything at the
+fair that year, and he said, 'No, Jane. Unless you've got somethin'
+for the town folks to bet on, it ain't worth while.'
+
+"But there was one thing I did enjoy that day, and that was the races.
+There's some folks thinks that racin' horses is a terrible sin; but I
+don't. It's the bettin' and the swearin' that goes with the racin'
+that's the sin. If folks'd behave as well as the horses behaves, a
+race'd be jest as religious as a Sunday-school picnic. There ain't a
+finer sight to me than a blooded horse goin' at a two-forty gait round
+a smooth track, and the sun a-shinin' and the flags a-wavin' and the
+wind blowin' and the folks cheerin' and hollerin'. So, when Henrietta
+said the races was goin' to begin, I says, says I, 'Here, child, take
+hold o' my arm and help me down these steps; I'm goin' to see one more
+race before I die.' And Henrietta helped me down, and we went over to
+the grand stand and got a good seat where I could see the horses when
+they come to the finish. I tell you, honey, it made me feel young
+again jest to see them horses coverin' the ground like they did. My
+father used to raise fine horses, and Abram used to say that when it
+come to knowin' a horse's p'ints, he'd back me against any man in
+Kentucky. I'll have to be a heap older'n I am now before I see the day
+when I wouldn't turn around and walk a good piece to look at a fine
+horse."
+
+And the old lady gave a laugh at this confession of weakness.
+
+"It was like old times to see the way them horses run. And when they
+come to the finish I was laughin' and hollerin' as much as anybody.
+And jest then somebody right behind me give a yell, and says he:
+
+"'Hurrah for old Kentucky! When it comes to fine horses and fine
+whisky and fine women, she can't be beat.'
+
+"Everybody begun to laugh, and a man right in front o' me says, 'It's
+that young feller from Lexin'ton. His father's one o' the biggest
+horsemen in the state. That's his horse that's jest won the race.' And
+I turned around to see, and there was a boy about the size o' my
+youngest grandchild up at Danville. His hat was set on the back of his
+head, and his hair was combed down over his eyes till he looked like
+he'd come out of a feeble-minded school. He had a little white cigyar
+in his mouth, and you could tell by his breath that he'd been
+drinkin'.
+
+"Now I ain't much of a hand for meddlin' with other folks' business,
+but I'd been readin' about the Salvation Army, and how they preach on
+the street; and it come into my head that here was a time for some
+Salvation work. And I says to him, says I, 'Son, there's another thing
+that Kentucky used to be hard to beat on, and that was fine men. But,'
+says I, 'betwixt the fine horses and the fine women and the fine
+whisky, some o' the men has got to be a mighty common lot.' Says I,
+'Holler as much as you please for that horse out there; he's worth
+hollerin' for. But,' says I, 'when a state's got to raisin' a better
+breed o' horses than she raises men, it ain't no time to be hollerin'
+"hurrah" for her.' Says I, 'You're your father's son, and yonder's
+your father's horse; now which do you reckon your father's proudest of
+to-day, his horse or his son?'
+
+"Well, folks begun to laugh again, and the boy looked like he wanted
+to say somethin' sassy, but he couldn't git his wits together enough
+to think up anything. And I says, says I, 'That horse never touched
+whisky or tobacco in his life; he's clean-blooded and clean-lived, and
+he'll live to a good old age; and, maybe, when he dies they'll bury
+him like a Christian, and put a monument up over him like they did
+over Ten Broeck. But you, why, you ain't hardly out o' your short
+pants, and you're fifty years old if you're a day. You'll bring your
+father's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave, and you'll go to your own
+grave a heap sooner'n you ought to, and nobody'll ever build a
+monument over you.'
+
+"There was three or four boys along with the Lexin'ton boy, and one of
+'em that appeared to have less whisky in him than the rest, he says,
+'Well, grandma, I reckon you're about right; we're a pretty bad lot.'
+And says he, 'Come on, boys, and let's git out o' this.' And off they
+went; and whether my preachin' ever did 'em any good I don't know, but
+I couldn't help sayin' what I did, and that's the last time I ever
+went to these new-fashioned fairs they're havin' nowadays. Fair time
+used to mean a heap to me, but now it don't mean anything but jest to
+put me in mind o' old times."
+
+Just then there was a sound of galloping hoofs on the pike, and loud
+"whoas" from a rider in distress. We started up with the eagerness of
+those whose lives have flowed too long in the channels of stillness
+and peace. Here was a possibility of adventure not to be lost for any
+consideration. Aunt Jane dropped her pan with a sharp clang; I
+gathered up my skirt with its measure of unshelled beans, and together
+we rushed to the front of the house.
+
+It was a "solitary horseman," wholly and ludicrously at the mercy of
+his steed, a mischievous young horse that had never felt the bridle
+and bit of a trainer.
+
+"It's that red-headed boy of Joe Crofton's," chuckled Aunt Jane.
+"Nobody'd ever think he was born in Kentucky; now, would they? Old Man
+Bob Crawford used to say that every country boy in this state was a
+sort o' half-brother to a horse. But that boy yonder ain't no kin to
+the filly he's tryin' to ride. There's good blood in that filly as
+sure's you're born. I can tell by the way she throws her head and uses
+her feet. She'll make a fine saddle-mare, if her master ever gets hold
+of her. Jest look yonder, will you?"
+
+The horse had come to a stand; she gave a sudden backward leap, raised
+herself on her hind legs, came down on all fours with a great clatter
+of hoofs, and began a circular dance over the smooth road. Round she
+went, stepping as daintily as a maiden at a May-day dance, while the
+rider clung to the reins, dug his bare heels into the glossy sides of
+his steed, and yelled "whoa," as if his salvation lay in that word.
+Then, as if just awakened to a sense of duty, the filly ceased her
+antics, tossed her head with a determined air, and broke into a brisk,
+clean gallop that would have delighted a skilled rider, but seemed to
+bring only fresh dismay to the soul of Joe Crofton's boy. His arms
+flapped dismally and hopelessly up and down; a gust of wind seized his
+ragged cap and tossed it impishly on one of the topmost boughs of the
+Osage-orange hedge; his protesting "whoa" voiced the hopelessness of
+one who resigns himself to the power of a dire fate, and he
+disappeared ingloriously in a cloud of summer dust. Whereupon we
+returned to the prosaic work of bean-shelling, with the feeling of
+those who have watched the curtain go down on the last scene of the
+comedy.
+
+"I declare to goodness," sighed Aunt Jane breathlessly, as she stooped
+to recover her pan, "I ain't laughed so much in I don't know when. It
+reminds me o' the time Sam Amos rode in the t'u'nament." And she began
+laughing again at some recollection in which I had no part.
+
+"Now, that's right curious, ain't it? When I set here talkin' about
+fairs, that boy comes by and makes me think o' how Sam rode at the
+fair that year they had the t'u'nament. I don't know how long it's
+been since I thought o' that ride, and maybe I never would 'a' thought
+of it again if that boy of Joe Crofton's hadn't put me in mind of it."
+
+I dropped my butter-beans for a moment and assumed a listening
+attitude, and without any further solicitation, and in the natural
+course of events, the story began.
+
+"You see the town folks was always gittin' up somethin' new for the
+fair, and that year I'm talkin' about it was a t'u'nament. All the
+Goshen folks that went to town the last County Court day before the
+fair come back with the news that there was goin' to be a t'u'nament
+the third day o' the fair. Everybody was sayin', 'What's that?' and
+nobody could answer 'em till Sam Crawford went to town one Saturday
+jest before the fair, and come back with the whole thing at his
+tongue's end. Sam heard that they was practisin' for the t'u'nament
+that evenin', and as he passed the fair grounds on his way home, he
+made a p'int of goin' in and seein' what they was about. He said there
+was twelve young men, and they was called knights; and they had a lot
+o' iron rings hung from the posts of the amp'itheater, and they'd tear
+around the ring like mad and try to stick a pole through every ring
+and carry it off with 'em, and the one that got the most rings got the
+blue ribbon. Sam said it took a good eye and a steady arm and a good
+seat to manage the thing, and he enjoyed watchin' 'em. 'But,' says he,
+'why they call the thing a t'u'nament is more'n I could make out. I
+stayed there a plumb hour, and I couldn't hear nor see anything that
+sounded or looked like a tune.'
+
+"Well, the third day o' the fair come, and we was all on hand to see
+the t'u'nament. It went off jest like Sam said. There was twelve
+knights, all dressed in black velvet, with gold and silver spangles,
+and they galloped around and tried to take off the rings on their long
+poles. When they got through with that, the knights they rode up to
+the judges with a wreath o' flowers on the ends o' their
+poles--lances, they called 'em--and every knight called out the name
+o' the lady that he thought the most of; and she come up to the stand,
+and they put the wreath on her head, and there was twelve pretty
+gyirls with flowers on their heads, and they was 'Queens of Love and
+Beauty.' It was a mighty pretty sight, I tell you; and the band was
+playin' 'Old Kentucky Home,' and everybody was hollerin' and throwin'
+up their hats. Then the knights galloped around the ring once and went
+out at the big gate, and come up and promenaded around the
+amp'itheater with the gyirls they had crowned. The knight that got the
+blue ribbon took off ten rings out o' the fifteen. He rode a mighty
+fine horse, and Sam Amos, he says, 'I believe in my soul if I'd 'a'
+been on that horse I could 'a' taken off every one o' them rings.' Sam
+was a mighty good rider, and Milly used to say that the only thing
+that'd make Sam enjoy ridin' more'n he did was for somebody to put up
+lookin'-glasses so he could see himself all along the road.
+
+"Well, the next thing on the program was the gentleman riders' ring.
+The premium was five dollars in gold for the best gentleman rider. We
+was waitin' for that to commence, when Uncle Jim Matthews come up, and
+says he, 'Sam, there's only one entry in this ring, and it's about to
+fall through.'
+
+"You see they had made a rule that year that there shouldn't be any
+premiums given unless there was some competition. And Uncle Jim says,
+'There's a young feller from Simpson County out there mighty anxious
+to ride. He come up here on purpose to git that premium. Suppose you
+ride ag'inst him and show him that Simpson can't beat Warren.' Sam
+laughed like he was mightily pleased, and says he, 'I don't care a rap
+for the premium, Uncle Jim, but, jest to oblige the man from Simpson,
+I'll ride. But,' says he, 'I ought to 'a' known it this mornin' so I
+could 'a' put on my Sunday clothes.' And Uncle Jim says, 'Never mind
+that; you set your horse straight and carry yourself jest so, and the
+judges won't look at your clothes.' 'How about the horse?' says Sam.
+'Why,' says Uncle Jim, 'there's a dozen or more good-lookin'
+saddle-horses out yonder outside the big gate, and you can have your
+pick.' So Sam started off, and the next thing him and the man from
+Simpson was trottin' around the ring. Us Goshen people kind o' kept
+together when we set down in the amp'itheater. Every time Sam'd go
+past us, we'd all holler 'hurrah!' for him. The Simpson man appeared
+to have a lot o' friends on the other side o' the amp'itheater, and
+they'd holler for him, and the town folks was divided up about even.
+
+"Both o' the men rode mighty well. They put their horses through all
+the gaits, rackin' and pacin' and lopin', and it looked like it was
+goin' to be a tie, when all at once the band struck up 'Dixie,' and
+Sam's horse broke into a gallop. Sam didn't mind that; he jest pushed
+his hat down on his head and took a firm seat, and seemed to enjoy it
+as much as anybody. But after he'd galloped around the ring two or
+three times, he tried to rein the horse in and get him down to a nice
+steady trot like the Simpson man was doin'. But, no, sir. That horse
+hadn't any idea of stoppin'. The harder the band played the faster he
+galloped; and Uncle Jim Matthews says, 'I reckon Sam's horse thinks
+it's another t'u'nament.' And Abram says, 'Goes like he'd been paid to
+gallop jest that way; don't he, Uncle Jim?'
+
+"But horses has a heap o' sense, child; and it looked to me like the
+horse knew he had Sam Amos, one o' the best riders in the county, on
+his back and he was jest playin' a little joke on him.
+
+"Well, of course when the judges seen that Sam'd lost control of his
+horse, they called the Simpson man up and tied the blue ribbon on him.
+And he took off his hat and waved it around, and then he trotted
+around the ring, and the Simpson folks hollered and threw up their
+hats. And all that time Sam's horse was tearin' around the ring jest
+as hard as he could go. Sam's hat was off, and I ricollect jest how
+his hair looked, blowin' back in the wind--Milly hadn't trimmed it for
+some time--and him gittin' madder and madder every minute. Of course
+us Goshen folks was mad, too, because Sam didn't git the blue ribbon;
+but we had to laugh, and the town folks and the Simpson folks they
+looked like they'd split their sides. Old Man Bob Crawford jest laid
+back on the benches and hollered and laughed till he got right purple
+in the face. And says he, 'This beats the Kittle Creek babtizin' all
+to pieces.'
+
+"Well, nobody knows how long that horse would 'a' kept on gallopin',
+for Sam couldn't stop him; but finally two o' the judges they stepped
+out and headed him off and took hold o' the bridle and led him out o'
+the ring. And Uncle Jim Matthews he jumps up, and says he, 'Let me out
+o' here. I want to see Sam when he gits off o' that horse.' Milly was
+settin' on the top seat considerably higher'n I was. And says she, 'I
+wouldn't care if I didn't see Sam for a week to come. Sam don't git
+mad often,' says she, 'but when he does, folks'd better keep out o'
+his way.'
+
+"Well, Uncle Jim started off, and the rest of us set still and waited;
+and pretty soon here come Sam lookin' mad enough to fight all
+creation, sure enough. Everybody was still laughin', but nobody said
+anything to Sam till up comes Old Man Bob Crawford with about two
+yards o' blue ribbon. He'd jumped over into the ring and got it from
+the judges as soon as he could quit laughin'. And says he, 'Sam, I
+have seen gracefuler riders, and riders that had more control over
+their horses, but,' says he, 'I never seen one yet that stuck on a
+horse faithfuler'n you did in that little t'u'nament o' yours jest
+now; and I'm goin' to tie this ribbon on you jest as a premium for
+stickin' on, when you might jest as easy 'a' fell off.' Well,
+everybody looked for Sam to double up his fist and knock Old Man Bob
+down, and he might 'a' done it, but Milly saw how things was goin',
+and she come hurryin' up. Milly was a mighty pretty woman, and always
+dressed herself neat and trim, but she'd been goin' around with little
+Sam in her arms, and her hair was fallin' down, and she looked like
+any woman'd look that'd carried a heavy baby all day and dragged her
+dress over a dusty floor. She come up, and says she, 'Well, Sam, ain't
+you goin' to crown me "Queen o' Love and Beauty"?' Folks used to say
+that Sam never was so mad that Milly couldn't make him laugh, and says
+he, 'You look like a queen o' love and beauty, don't you?' Of course
+that turned the laugh on Milly, and then Sam come around all right.
+And says he, 'Well, neighbors, I've made a fool o' myself, and no
+mistake; and you all can laugh as much as you want to;' and he took
+Old Man Bob's blue ribbon and tied it on little Sam's arm, and him and
+Milly walked off together as pleasant as you please. And that's how
+Sam Amos rode in the t'u'nament," said Aunt Jane conclusively, as she
+arose from her chair and shook a lapful of bean pods into a willow
+basket near by.
+
+"Is Sam Amos living yet?" I asked, in the hope of prolonging an
+o'er-short tale. A softened look came over Aunt Jane's face.
+
+"No, child," she said quietly, "Sam's oldest son is livin' yet, and
+his three daughters. They all moved out o' the Goshen neighborhood
+long ago. But Sam's been in his grave twenty years or more, and here I
+set laughin' about that ride o' his. Somehow or other I've outlived
+nearly all of 'em. And now when I git to callin' up old times, no
+matter where I start out, I'm pretty certain to end over in the old
+buryin'-ground yonder. But then," and she smiled brightly, "there's a
+plenty more to be told over on the other side."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+MARY ANDREWS' DINNER-PARTY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+"Well!" exclaimed Aunt Jane, as she surveyed her dinner-table, "looks
+like Mary Andrews' dinner-party, don't it? However, there's a plenty
+of it such as it is, and good enough what there is of it, as the old
+man said; so set down, child, and help yourself."
+
+A loaf of Aunt Jane's salt-rising bread, a plate of golden butter, a
+pitcher of Jersey milk, and a bowl of honey in the comb,--who would
+ask for more? And as I sat down I blessed the friendly rain that had
+kept me from going home.
+
+"But who was Mary Andrews? and what about her dinner-party?" I asked,
+as I buttered my bread.
+
+"Eat your dinner, child, and then we'll talk about Mary Andrews,"
+laughed Aunt Jane. "If I'd 'a' thought before I spoke, which I hardly
+ever do, I wouldn't 'a' mentioned Mary Andrews, for I know you won't
+let me see any rest till you know all about her."
+
+And Aunt Jane was quite right. A summer rain, and a story, too!
+
+"I reckon there's mighty few livin' that ricollect about Mary Andrews
+and her dinner-party," she said meditatively an hour later, when the
+dishes had been washed and we were seated in the old-fashioned parlor.
+
+"Mary Andrews' maiden name was Crawford. A first cousin of Sam
+Crawford she was. Her father was Jerry Crawford, a brother of Old Man
+Bob, and her mother was a Simpson. People used to say that the
+Crawfords and the Simpsons was like two mud-puddles with a ditch
+between, always runnin' together. I ricollect one year three Crawford
+sisters married three Simpson brothers. Mary was about my age, and
+she married Harvey Andrews a little over a year after me and Abram
+married, and there's few women I ever knew better and liked more than
+I did Mary Andrews.
+
+"I ricollect her weddin' nearly as well as I do my own. My Jane was
+jest a month old, and I had to ask mother to come over and stay with
+the baby while I went to the weddin'. I hadn't thought much about what
+I'd wear--I'd been so taken up with the baby--and I ricollect I went
+to the big chest o' drawers in the spare room and jerked out my
+weddin' dress, and says I to mother, 'There'll be two brides at the
+weddin'!'
+
+"But, bless your life, when I tried to make it meet around my waist,
+why, it lacked four or five inches of comin' together; and mother set
+and laughed fit to kill, and, says she, 'Jane, that dress was made for
+a young girl, and you'll never be a young girl again!' And I says,
+'Well, I may never fasten this dress around my waist again, but I
+don't know what's to hinder me from bein' a young girl all my life.'
+
+"I wish to goodness," she went on, "that I could ricollect what I wore
+to Mary Andrews' weddin'. I know I didn't wear my weddin' dress, and I
+know I went, but to save my life I can't call up the dress I had on.
+It ain't like me to forgit the clothes I used to wear, but I can't
+call it up. However, what I wore to Mary Andrews' weddin' ain't got
+anything to do with Mary Andrews' dinner-party."
+
+Aunt Jane paused and scratched her head reflectively with a knitting
+needle. Evidently she was loath to go on with her story till the
+memory of that wedding garment should return to her.
+
+"I was readin' the other day," she continued, "about somethin' they've
+got off yonder in Washington, some sort of bureau that tells folks
+what the weather'll be, and warns the ships about settin' off on a
+voyage when there's a storm ahead. And says I to myself, 'Do you
+reckon they'll ever git so smart that they can tell what sort o'
+weather there is ahead o' two people jest married and settin' out on
+the voyage that won't end till death parts 'em? and what sort o'
+weather they're goin' to have six months from the weddin' day?' The
+world's gittin' wiser every day, child, but there ain't nobody wise
+enough to tell what sort of a husband a man's goin' to make, nor what
+sort of a wife a woman's goin' to make, nor how a weddin' is goin' to
+turn out. I've watched folks marryin' for more'n seventy years, and I
+don't know much more about it than I did when I was a ten-year-old
+child. I've seen folks marry when it looked like certain destruction
+for both of 'em, and all at once they'd take a turn that'd surprise
+everybody, and things would come out all right with 'em. There was
+Wick Harris and Virginia Matthews. Wick was jest such a boy as Dick
+Elrod, and Virginia was another Annie Crawford. She'd never done a
+stitch o' sewin' nor cooked a meal o' victuals in her life, and I
+ricollect her mother sayin' she didn't know which she felt sorriest
+for, Wick or Virginia, and she wished to goodness there was a law to
+keep such folks from marryin'. But, bless your life! instead o' comin'
+to shipwreck like Dick and Annie, they settled down as steady as any
+old married couple you ever saw. Wick quit his drinkin' and gamblin',
+and Virginia, why, there wasn't a better housekeeper in the state nor
+a better mother'n she got to be.
+
+"And then I've seen 'em marry when everything looked bright ahead and
+everybody was certain it was a good thing for both of 'em, and it
+turned out that everybody was wrong. That's the way it was with Mary
+Andrews and Harvey. Nobody had a misgivin' about it. Mary was as happy
+as a lark, and Harvey looked like he couldn't wait for the weddin'
+day, and everybody said they was made for each other. To be sure,
+Harvey was 'most a stranger in the neighborhood, havin' moved in about
+a year and a half before, and we couldn't know him like we did the
+Goshen boys that'd been born and brought up there. But nobody could
+say a word against him. His family down in Tennessee, jest beyond the
+state line, was as good people as ever lived, and Harvey himself was
+industrious and steady, and as fine lookin' a man as you'd see in a
+week's journey. Everybody said they never saw a handsomer couple than
+Harvey and Mary Andrews.
+
+"Mary was a tall, proud-lookin' girl, always carried herself like a
+queen, and hadn't a favor to ask of anybody; and Harvey was half a
+head taller, and jest her opposite in color. She was dark and he was
+light. They was a fine sight standin' up before the preacher that day,
+and everybody was wishin' 'em good luck, though it looked like they
+had enough already; both of 'em young and healthy and happy and
+good-lookin', and Harvey didn't owe a cent on his farm, and Mary's
+father had furnished the house complete for her. The weddin' come off
+at four o'clock in the evenin', and we all stayed to supper, and after
+supper Harvey and Mary drove over to their new home. I ricollect how
+Mary looked back over her shoulder and laughed at us standin' on the
+steps and wavin' at her and hollerin' 'good-bye.'
+
+"It was the fashion in that day for all the neighbors to entertain a
+newly married couple. Some would invite 'em to dinner, and some to
+supper, and then the bride and groom would have to do the same for the
+neighbors, and then the honeymoon'd be over, and they'd settle down
+and go to work like ordinary folks. We had Harvey and Mary over to
+dinner, and they asked us to supper. I ricollect how nice the table
+looked with Mary's new blue and white china and some o' the
+old-fashioned silver that'd been in the family for generations. And
+the supper matched the table, for Mary wasn't the kind that expects
+company to satisfy their hunger by lookin' at china and silver. She
+was a fine cook like her mother before her. Amos and Marthy Matthews
+had been invited, too, and we had a real pleasant time laughin' and
+jokin' like folks always do about young married people. After supper
+we all went out on the porch, and Mary whispered to me and Marthy to
+come and see her china closet and pantry. You know how proud a young
+housekeeper is of such things. She showed us all through the back part
+o' the house, and we praised everything and told her it looked like
+old experienced housekeepin' instead of a bride's.
+
+"Well, when we went back to the dinin'-room on our way to the porch,
+if there wasn't Harvey bendin' over the table countin' the silver
+teaspoons! A man always looks out o' place doin' such things, and I
+saw Mary's face turn red to the roots of her hair. But nobody said
+anything, and we passed on through and left Harvey still countin'. It
+was a little thing, but I couldn't help thinkin' how queer it was for
+a man that hadn't been married two weeks to leave his company and go
+back to the table to count spoons, and I asked myself how I'd 'a' felt
+if I'd found Abram countin' spoons durin' the honeymoon.
+
+"Did you ever take a walk, child, some cloudy night when everything's
+covered up by the darkness, and all at once there'll be a flash o'
+lightnin' showin' up everything jest for a second? Well, that's the
+way it is with people's lives. Near as Harvey and Mary lived to me,
+and friendly as we were, I couldn't tell what was happenin' between
+'em. But every now and then, as the months went by, and the years, I'd
+see or hear somethin' that was like a flash of light in a dark place.
+Sometimes it was jest a look, but there's mighty little a look can't
+tell; and as for actions, you know they speak louder than words. I
+ricollect one Sunday Harvey and Mary was walkin' ahead o' me and
+Abram. There was a rough piece o' road jest in front of the church,
+and I heard Harvey say: 'Don't walk there, come over on the side where
+it's smooth.'
+
+"I reckon Mary thought that Harvey was thinkin' of her feet, for she
+stepped over to the side of the road right at once and says he, 'Don't
+you know them stones'll wear out your shoes quicker'n anything?' And,
+bless your life, if Mary didn't go right back to the middle of the
+road, and she took particular pains to walk on the stones as far as
+they went. It was a little thing, to be sure, but it showed that
+Harvey was thinkin' more of his wife's shoes than he was of her feet,
+and that ain't a little thing to a woman.
+
+"Then, again, there was the time when me and Abram was passin'
+Harvey's place one evenin', and a storm was comin' up, and we stopped
+in to keep from gittin' wet. Mary had been to town that day, and she
+had on her best dress. She was a woman that looked well in anything
+she put on. Plain clothes couldn't make her look plain, and she set
+off fine clothes as much as they set her off. Me and Abram took seats
+on the porch, and Mary went into the hall to git another chair. I
+heard the back hall door open and somebody come in, and then I heard
+Harvey's voice. Says he, 'Go up-stairs and take off that dress.' Says
+he, 'What's the use of wearin' out your best clothes here at home?'
+But before he got the last words out, Mary was on the porch with the
+chair in her hand, talkin' to us about her trip to town, and lookin'
+as unconcerned as if she hadn't heard or seen Harvey. That night I
+says to Abram, says I, 'Abram, did you ever have any cause to think
+that Harvey Andrews was a close man?'
+
+"Abram thought a minute, and, says he, 'Why, no; I can't say I ever
+did. What put such a notion into your head, Jane? Harvey looks after
+his own interests in a trade, but he's as liberal a giver as there is
+in Goshen church. Besides,' says Abram, 'who ever heard of a tall,
+personable man like Harvey bein' close? Stingy people's always dried
+up and shriveled lookin'.'
+
+"But I'd made up my mind what the trouble was between Harvey and Mary,
+and nothin' that Abram said could change it. I don't reckon any man
+knows how women feel about stinginess and closeness in their husbands.
+I believe most women'd rather live with a man that'd killed somebody
+than one that was stingy. And then Mary never was used to anything of
+that kind, for her father, old man Jerry Crawford, was one o' the
+freest-handed men in the county. It was 'Come in and make yourself at
+home' with everybody that darkened his door, and for a woman, raised
+like Mary was, havin' to live with a man like Harvey was about the
+hardest thing that could 'a' happened to her. However, she had the
+Crawford pride, and she carried her head high and laughed and smiled
+as much as ever; but there's a look that tells plain enough whether a
+woman's married to a man or whether she's jest tied to him and stayin'
+with him because she can't get free; and when Mary wasn't laughin' or
+smilin' I could tell by her face that she wasn't as happy as we all
+thought she was goin' to be the day she married Harvey."
+
+Aunt Jane paused a moment to pick up a dropped stitch.
+
+"It's a good thing you had your dinner, honey, before I started this
+yarn," she said, looking at me quizzically over her glasses, "for I'll
+be a long time bringin' you to the dinner-party. But I've got to tell
+you all this rigmarole first, so you'll understand what's comin'. If I
+was to tell you about the dinner-party first you'd get a wrong idea
+about Mary. That's how folks misjudges one another. They see people
+doin' things that ain't right, and they up and conclude they're bad
+people, when if they only knew somethin' about their lives, they'd
+understand how to make allowance for 'em. You've got to know a heap
+about people's lives, child, before you can judge 'em.
+
+"Well, along about this time, somewhere in the '60's, I reckon it must
+'a' been, there was a big excitement about politics. I can't somehow
+ricollect what it was all about, but they had speakin's everywhere,
+and the men couldn't talk about anything but politics from mornin'
+till night. Abram was goin' in to town every week to some meetin' or
+speakin'; and finally they had a big rally and a barbecue at Goshen.
+One of the speakers was Judge McGowan, from Tennessee, and he was a
+cousin of Harvey Andrews on his mother's side."
+
+Here Aunt Jane paused again.
+
+"I wish I could ricollect what it was all about," she said musingly.
+"Must 'a' been something mighty important, but it's slipped my memory,
+sure. I do ricollect, though, hearin' Sam Amos say to old Squire
+Bentham, 'What's the matter, anyhow? Ain't Kentucky politicians got
+enough gift o' gab, without sendin' down to Tennessee to git somebody
+to help you out?'
+
+"And the old Squire laughed fit to kill; and says he, 'It's all on
+your account, Sam. We heard you was against us, and we knew there
+wasn't an orator in Kentucky that could make you change your mind. So
+we've sent down to Tennessee for Judge McGowan, and we're relyin' on
+him to bring you over to our side.' And that like to 'a' tickled Sam
+to death.
+
+"Well, when Harvey heard his cousin was to be one o' the big men at
+the speakin', he was mighty proud, as anybody would 'a' been, and
+nothin' would do but he must have Judge McGowan to eat dinner at his
+house.
+
+"Some of the men objected to this, and said the speakers ought to eat
+at the barbecue. But Harvey said that blood was thicker than water
+with him, and no cousin o' his could come to Goshen and go away
+without eatin' a meal at his house. So it was fixed up that everybody
+else was to eat at the barbecue, and Harvey was to take Judge McGowan
+over to his house to a family dinner-party.
+
+"I dropped in to see Mary two or three days before the speakin', and
+when I was leavin', I said, 'Mary, if there's anything I can do to
+help you about your dinner-party, jest let me know.' And she said,
+'There ain't a thing to do; Harvey's been to town and bought
+everything he could think of in the way of groceries, and Jane Ann's
+comin' over to cook the dinner; but thank you, all the same.'
+
+"I thought Mary looked pleased and satisfied, and I says, 'Well, with
+everything to cook and Jane Ann to cook it, there won't be anything
+lackin' about that dinner.' And Mary laughed, and says she, 'You know
+I'm my father's own child.'
+
+"Old Jerry used to say, ''Tain't no visit unless you waller a bed and
+empty a plate.' They used tell it that Aunt Maria, the cook, never had
+a chance to clean up the kitchen between meals, and the neighbors all
+called Jerry's house the free tavern. I've heard folks laugh many a
+time over the children recitin' the Ten Commandments Sunday evenin's,
+and Jerry would holler at 'em when they got through and say:
+
+"'The 'leventh commandment for Kentuckians is, "Be not forgetful to
+entertain strangers," and never mind about 'em turnin' out to be
+angels. Plain folks is good enough for me.'
+
+"Here I am strayin' off from the dinner, jest like I always do when I
+set out to tell anything or go anywhere. Abram used to say that if I
+started to the spring-house, I'd go by way o' the front porch and the
+front yard and the back porch and the back yard and the flower gyarden
+and the vegetable gyarden to git there.
+
+"Well, the day come, and Judge McGowan made a fine speech, and Harvey
+carried him off in his new buggy, as proud as a peacock. I ricollect
+when I set down to my table that day I said to myself: 'I know Judge
+McGowan's havin' a dinner to-day that'll make him remember Kentucky as
+long as he lives.' And it wasn't till years afterwards that I heard
+the truth about that dinner. Jane Ann herself told me, and I don't
+believe she ever told anybody else. Jane Ann was crippled for a year
+or more before she died, and the neighbors had to do a good deal of
+nursin' and waitin' on her. I was makin' her a cup o' tea one day, and
+the kittle was bubblin' and singin', and she begun to laugh, and says
+she, 'Jane, do you hear that sparrer chirpin' in the peach tree there
+by the window?' Says she, 'I never hear a sparrer chirpin' and a
+kittle b'ilin', that I don't think o' the dinner Mary Andrews had the
+day Judge McGowan spoke at the big barbecue.' Says she, 'Mary's dead,
+and Harvey's dead, and I reckon there ain't any harm in speakin' of it
+now.' And then she told me the story I'm tellin' you.
+
+"She said she went over that mornin' bright and early, and there was
+Mary sittin' on the back porch, sewin'. The house was all cleaned up,
+and there was a big panful o' greens on the kitchen table, but not a
+sign of a company dinner anywhere in sight. Jane Ann said Mary spoke
+up as bright and pleasant as possible, and told her to set down and
+rest herself, and she went on sewin', and they talked about this and
+that for a while, and finally Jane Ann rolled up her sleeves, and says
+she, 'I'm a pretty fast worker, Mis' Andrews, but a company dinner
+ain't any small matter; don't you think it's time to begin work?'
+
+"And Mary jest smiled and said in her easy way, 'No, Jane Ann, there's
+not much to do. It won't take long for the greens to cook, and I want
+you to make some of your good corn bread to go with 'em.' And then she
+went on sewin' and talkin', and all Jane Ann could do was to set there
+and listen and wonder what it all meant.
+
+"Finally the clock struck eleven, and Mary rolled up her work, and
+says she, 'You'd better make up your fire now, Jane Ann, and I'll set
+the table. Harvey likes an early dinner.'
+
+"Jane Ann said she expected to see Mary get out the best china and
+silver and the finest tablecloth and napkins she had, but instead o'
+that she put on jest plain, everyday things. Everything was clean and
+nice, but it wasn't the way to set the table for a company dinner, and
+nobody knew that better than Mary Andrews.
+
+"Jane Ann said she saw a ham and plenty o' vegetables and eggs in the
+pantry, and she could hardly keep her hands off 'em, and she did
+smuggle some potatoes into the stove after she got her greens washed
+and her meal scalded. She said she knew somethin' was wrong, but all
+she could do was to hold her tongue and do her work. That was Jane
+Ann's way. When Mary got through settin' the table, she went up-stairs
+and put on her best dress. Trouble hadn't pulled her down a bit; and,
+if anything, she was handsomer than she was the day she married. I
+reckon it was her spirit that kept her from breakin' and growin' old
+before her time. Jane Ann said she come down-stairs, her eyes
+sparklin' like a girl's and a bright color in her cheeks, and she had
+on a flowered muslin dress, white ground with sprigs o' lilac all over
+it, and lace in the neck, and angel sleeves that showed off her arms,
+and her hair was twisted high up on her head, and a big
+tortoise-shell comb in it. Jane Ann said she looked as pretty as a
+picture; and jest as she come down the stairs, Harvey drove up with
+Judge McGowan, and Mary walked out to give him a welcome, while Harvey
+put away the buggy. Nobody had pleasanter ways than Mary Andrews. She
+always had somethin' to say, and it was always the right thing to be
+said, and in a minute her and the old judge was laughin' like they'd
+known each other all their lives, and he had the children on his knees
+trottin' 'em and tellin' 'em about his little girl and boy at home.
+
+"Jane Ann said her greens was about done and she started to put on the
+corn bread, but somethin' held her back. She knew corn bread and
+greens wasn't a fit dinner for a stranger that had been invited there,
+but of course she couldn't do anything without orders, and she was
+standin' over the stove waitin' and wonderin', when Harvey, man-like,
+walked in to see how dinner was gettin' on. Jane Ann said he looked at
+the pot o' greens and the pan of corn bread batter, and he went into
+the dinin'-room and saw the table all clean, but nothin' on it beyond
+the ordinary, and his face looked like a thunder-cloud. And jest then
+Mary come in all smilin', and the prettiest color in her cheeks, and
+Harvey wheeled around and says he, 'What does this mean? Where's the
+ham I told you to cook and all the rest o' the things I bought for
+this dinner?'
+
+"Jane Ann said the way he spoke and the look in his eyes would 'a'
+frightened most any woman but Mary; she wasn't the kind to be
+frightened. Jane Ann said she stood up straight, with her head thrown
+back and still smilin', and her voice was as clear and sweet as if
+she'd been sayin' somethin' pleasant. And she looked Harvey straight
+in the eyes, and says she, 'It means, Harvey, that what's good enough
+for us is good enough for your kin.' Jane Ann said that Harvey looked
+at her a second as if he didn't understand, and then he give a start
+as if he ricollected somethin', and it looked like all the blood in
+his body rushed to his face, and he lifted one hand and opened his
+mouth like he was goin' to speak. There they stood, lookin' at each
+other, and Jane Ann said she never saw such a look pass between
+husband and wife before or since. If either of 'em had dropped dead,
+she said, it wouldn't 'a' seemed strange.
+
+"Honey, I read a story once about two men that had quarreled, and one
+of 'em picked up a little rock and put it in his pocket, and for eight
+years he carried that rock, and once a year he'd turn it over. And at
+last, one day he met the man he hated, and he took out the rock he'd
+been carryin' so long, and threw it at him, and it struck him dead.
+Now I know as well as if Mary Andrews had told me, that Harvey had
+said them very same words to her years before, and she'd carried 'em
+in her heart, jest like the man carried the stone in his pocket,
+waitin' till she could throw 'em back at him and hurt him as much as
+he hurt her. It wasn't right nor Christian. But knowin' Mary Andrews
+as I did, I never had a word o' blame for her. There never was a
+better-hearted woman than Mary, and I always thought she must 'a' gone
+through a heap to make her say such a thing to Harvey.
+
+"Jane Ann said that when she worked at a place she always tried to be
+blind and deaf so far as family matters was concerned, and she knew
+that she had no business seein' or hearin' anything that went on
+between Harvey and Mary, but there they stood, facin' each other, and
+she could hear a sparrer chirpin' outside, and the tea-kittle b'ilin'
+on the stove, while she stood watchin' 'em, feelin' like she was
+charmed by a snake. She said the look in Mary's eyes and the way she
+smiled made her blood run cold. And Harvey couldn't stand it. He had
+to give in.
+
+"Jane Ann said his hand dropped, and he turned and walked out o' the
+house and down towards the barn. Mary watched him till he was out o'
+sight, and then she went back to the front porch, and the next minute
+she was laughin' and talkin' with Harvey's cousin as if nothin' had
+happened.
+
+"Well, for the next half hour Jane Ann said she made her two hands do
+the work of four, and when she put the dinner on the table it was
+nothin' to be ashamed of. She sliced some ham and fried it, and made
+coffee and soda biscuits, and poached some eggs; and when they set
+down to the table, and the old judge'd said grace, he looked around,
+and, says he: 'How did you know, cousin, that jowl and greens was my
+favorite dish?' And while they was eatin' the first course, Jane Ann
+made up pie-crust and had a blackberry pie ready by the time they was
+ready to eat it. The old judge was a plain man and a hearty eater, and
+everything pleased him.
+
+"When they first set down, Mary says, says she: 'You'll have to excuse
+Harvey, Cousin Samuel; he had some farm-work to attend to and won't be
+in for some little time.'
+
+"And the old judge bows and smiles across the table, and, says he, 'I
+hadn't missed Harvey, and ain't likely to miss him when I'm talkin' to
+Harvey's wife.'
+
+"Jane Ann said she never saw a meal pass off better, and when she
+looked at Mary jokin' and smilin' with the judge and waitin' on the
+children so kind and thoughtful, she could hardly believe it was the
+same woman that had stood there a few minutes before with that awful
+smile on her face and looked her husband in the eyes till she looked
+him down. She said she expected Harvey to step in any minute, and she
+kept things hot while she was washin' up the dishes. But two o'clock
+come and half-past two, and still no Harvey. And pretty soon here come
+Mary out to the kitchen, and says she:
+
+"'I'm goin' to drive the judge to town, Jane Ann. And when you get
+through cleanin' up, jest close the house, and your money's on the
+mantelpiece in the dinin'-room.' Then she went out in the direction of
+the stable, and in a few minutes come drivin' back in the buggy. Jane
+Ann said the horse couldn't 'a' been unharnessed at all. Her and the
+judge got in with the two children down in front, and they drove off
+to catch the four-o'clock train.
+
+"Jane Ann said she straightened everything up in the kitchen and
+dinin'-room, and shut up the house, and then she went out in the yard
+and walked down in the direction of the stable, and there was Harvey,
+standin' in the stable-yard. She said his face was turned away from
+her, and she was glad it was, for it scared her jest to look at his
+back. He was standin' as still as a statue, his arms hangin' down by
+his sides and both hands clenched, and it looked like he'd made up his
+mind to stand there till Judgment Day. Jane Ann said she wondered many
+a time how long he stayed there, and whether he ever did come to the
+house.
+
+"I ricollect how everybody was talkin' about the speakin' that day.
+Abram come home from the barbecue, and, says he, 'Jane, I haven't
+heard such a speech as that since the days of old Humphrey Marshall;
+and as for the barbecue, all it needed was Judge McGowan to set at the
+head o' the table. But then,' says he, 'I reckon it was natural for
+Harvey to want to take his cousin home with him.'
+
+"That was about four o'clock, and it wasn't more than two hours till
+we heard a horse gallopin' way up the pike. I'd jest washed the supper
+dishes, and me and Abram was out on the back porch, and I had the baby
+in my arms. There was somethin' in the sound o' the horse's hoofs
+that told me he was carryin' bad news, and I jumped up, and says I,
+'Abram, some awful thing has happened.' And he says, 'Jane, are you
+crazy?' I could hear the sound o' the gallopin' comin' nearer and
+nearer, and I rushed out to the front gate with Abram follerin' after
+me. We looked up the road, and there was Sam Amos gallopin' like mad
+on that young bay mare of his. The minute he saw us he hollered out to
+Abram: 'Git ready as quick as you can, and go to town! Harvey Andrews
+has had an apoplectic stroke, and I want you to bring the undertaker
+out here right away.'
+
+"I turned around to say, 'What did I tell you?' But before I could git
+the words out, Abram was off to saddle and bridle old Moll. That was
+always Abram's way. If there was anything to be done, he did it, and
+the talkin' and questionin' come afterwards.
+
+"Sam stopped at the gate and got off a minute to give his horse a
+breathin' spell. He said he was passin' Harvey's place about five
+o'clock and he heard a child screamin'. 'At first,' says he, 'I didn't
+pay any attention to it, I'm so used to hearin' children holler. But
+after I got past the house I kept hearin' the child, and somethin'
+told me to turn back and find out what was the matter. I went in,'
+said he, 'and follered the sound till I come to the stable-yard, and
+there was Harvey, lyin' on the ground stone dead, and Mary standin'
+over him lookin' like a crazy woman, and the children, pore little
+things, screamin' and cryin' and scared half to death.'
+
+"The horse and buggy was standin' there, and Mary must 'a' found the
+body when she come back from town.
+
+"'I got her and the children to the house,' says he; 'and then I
+started out to get some person to help me move the body, and, as luck
+would have it,' says he, 'I met the Crawford boys comin' from town,
+and between us we managed to get the corpse up to the house and laid
+it on the big settee in the front hall. And now,' says he, 'I'm goin'
+after Uncle Jim Matthews; and me and him and the Crawford boys'll lay
+the body out when the undertaker comes. And Marthy Matthews will have
+to come over and stay all night.
+
+"Says I, 'Sam, how is Mary bearin' it?'
+
+"He shook his head, and says he, 'The worst way in the world. She
+hasn't shed a tear nor spoke a word, and she don't seem to notice
+anything, not even the children. But,' says he, 'I can't stand here
+talkin'. There's a heap to be done yet, and Milly's lookin' for me
+now.'
+
+"And with that he got on his horse and rode off, and I went into the
+house to put the children to bed. Then I set down on the porch steps
+to wait for Abram. The sun was down by this time, and there was a new
+moon in the west, and it didn't seem like there could be any sorrow
+and sufferin' in such a quiet, happy, peaceful-lookin' world. But
+there was poor Mary not a mile away, and I set and grieved over her in
+her trouble jest like it had been my own. I didn't know what had
+happened that day between Harvey and Mary. But I knew that Harvey had
+been struck down in the prime o' life, and that Mary had found his
+dead body, and that was terrible enough. From what I'd seen o' their
+married life I knew that Mary's loss wasn't what mine would 'a' been
+if Abram had dropped dead that day instead o' Harvey, but a man and
+woman can't live together as husband and wife and father and mother
+without growin' to each other; and whatever Mary hadn't lost, she had
+lost the father of her children, and I couldn't sleep much that night
+for thinkin' of her.
+
+"The day of the funeral I went over to help Mary and get her dressed
+in her widow's clothes. She was actin' queer and dazed, and nothin'
+seemed to make much impression on her. I was fastenin' her crape
+collar on, and she says to me: 'I reckon you think it's strange I
+don't cry and take on like women do when they lose their husbands.
+But,' says she, 'you wouldn't blame me if you knew.'
+
+"And then she dropped her voice down to a whisper, and says she, 'You
+know I married Harvey Andrews. But after I married him, I found that
+there wasn't any such man. I haven't got any cause to cry, for the man
+I married ain't dead. He never was alive, and so, of course, he can't
+be dead.'
+
+"And then she began to laugh; and says she, 'I don't know which is the
+worst: to be sorry when you ought to be glad, or glad when you ought
+to be sorry.'
+
+"And I says, 'Hush, Mary, don't talk about it. I know what you mean,
+but other folks might not understand.'
+
+"Mary ain't the only one, child, that's married a man, and then found
+out that there _wasn't any such man_. I've looked at many a bride and
+groom standin' up before the preacher and makin' promises for a
+lifetime, and I've thought to myself, 'You pore things, you! All you
+know about each other is your names and your faces. You've got all
+the rest to find out, and nobody knows what you'll find out nor what
+you'll do when you find it out.'
+
+"Folks said it was the saddest funeral they ever went to. Harvey's
+people all lived down in Tennessee. His father and mother had died
+long ago, and he hadn't any near kin except a brother and a sister;
+and they lived too far off to come to the funeral in time. Abram said
+to me after we got home: 'Well, I never thought I'd help to lay a
+friend and neighbor in the ground and not a tear shed over him.'
+
+"If Mary had 'a' cried, we could 'a' cried with her. But she set at
+the head o' the coffin with her hands folded in her lap, and her mind
+seemed to be away off from the things that was happenin' around her. I
+don't believe she even heard the clods fallin' on the coffin; and when
+we started away from the grave Marthy Matthews leaned over and
+whispered to me: 'Jane, don't Mary remind you of somebody walkin' in
+her sleep?'
+
+"Mary's mother and sister hadn't been with her in her trouble, for
+they happened to be down in Logan visitin' a great-uncle. So Marthy
+and me settled it between us that she was to stay with Mary that
+night and I was to come over the next mornin'. You know how much
+there is to be done after a funeral. Well, bright and early I went
+over, and Marthy met me at the gate. She was goin' out as I was comin'
+in. Says she, 'Go right up-stairs; Mary's lookin' for you. She's more
+like herself this mornin'; and I'm thankful for that.'
+
+"The minute I stepped in the door I heard Mary's voice. She'd seen me
+comin' in the gate and called out to me to come up-stairs. She was in
+the front room, her room and Harvey's, and the closet and the bureau
+drawers was all open, and things scattered around every which way, and
+Mary was down on her knees in front of an old trunk, foldin' up
+Harvey's clothes and puttin' 'em away. Her hands was shakin', and
+there was a red spot on each of her cheeks, and she had a strange look
+out of her eyes.
+
+"I says to her, 'Why, Mary, you ain't fit to be doin' that work. You
+ought to be in bed restin'.' And says she, 'I can't rest till I get
+everything straightened out. Mother and sister Sally are comin',' says
+she, 'and I want to get everything in order before they get here.' And
+I says, 'Now, Mary, you lay down on the bed and I'll put these things
+away. You can watch me and tell me what to do, and I'll do it; but
+you've got to rest.' So I shook everything out and folded it up as
+nice as I could and laid it away in the trunk, while she watched me.
+And once she said, 'Don't have any wrinkles in 'em. Harvey was always
+mighty particular about his clothes.'
+
+"Next to layin' the body in the ground, child, this foldin' up dead
+folks' clothes and puttin' 'em away is one o' the hardest things
+people ever has to do. It's jest like when you've finished a book and
+shut it up and put it away on the shelf. I knew jest how Mary felt,
+when she said she couldn't rest till everything was put away. The life
+she'd lived with Harvey was over, and she was closin' up the book and
+puttin' it out of sight forever. Pore child! Pore child!
+
+"Well, when I got all o' Harvey's clothes put away, I washed out the
+empty drawers, lined 'em with clean paper and laid some o' little
+Harvey's clothes in 'em, and that seemed to please Mary. The father
+was gone, but there was his son to take his place. Then I shut it up
+tight, and Mary raised herself up out o' bed and says she, 'Take hold,
+Jane, I'm goin' to take this to the attic right now.' And take it we
+did, though the trunk was heavy and the stairs so steep and narrer we
+had to stop and rest on every step. We pushed the trunk way back
+under the eaves, and it may be standin' there yet for all I know.
+
+"When we got down-stairs, Mary drew a long breath like she'd got a big
+load off her mind, and says she, 'There's one more thing I want you to
+help me about, and then you can go home, Jane, and I'll go to bed and
+rest.' She took a key out of her pocket, and says she, 'Jane, this is
+the key to the little cabin out in the back yard. Harvey used to keep
+something in there, but what it was I never knew. As long as we lived
+together, I never saw inside of that cabin, but I'm goin' to see it
+now.'
+
+"The children started to foller us when we went out on the back porch,
+but Mary give 'em some playthings and told 'em to stay around in the
+front yard till we come back. Then we went over to the far corner of
+the back yard where the cabin was, under a big old sycamore tree. I
+ricollect how the key creaked when Mary turned it, and how hard the
+door was to open.
+
+"Mary started to go in first, and then she fell back, and says she, in
+a whisper, 'You go in first, Jane; I'm afraid.' So I went in first and
+Mary follered. For a minute we couldn't see a thing. There was two
+windows to the cabin, but they'd been boarded up from the outside,
+and there was jest one big crack at the top of one of the windows that
+let in a long streak of light, and you could see the dust dancin' in
+it. The door opened jest enough to let us in, and we both stood there
+peerin' around and tryin' to see what sort of a place we'd got into.
+The first thing I made out was a heap of old rusty iron. I started to
+take a step, and my foot struck against it. There was old bolts and
+screws and horseshoes and scraps of old cast iron and nails of every
+size, all laid together in a big heap. The place seemed to be full of
+somethin', but I couldn't see what it all was till my eyes got used to
+the darkness. There was a row of nails goin' all round the wall, and
+old clothes hangin' on every one of 'em. And down on the floor there
+was piles of old clothes, folded smooth and laid one on top o' the
+other jest like a washerwoman would fold 'em and pile 'em up. Harvey's
+old clothes and Mary's and the children's, things that any
+right-minded person would 'a' put in the rag-bag or given away to
+anybody that could make use of 'em; there they was, all hoarded up in
+that old room jest like they was of some value. And over in one corner
+was all the old worn-out tin things that you could think of: buckets
+and pans and milk-strainers and dippers and cups. And next to them
+was all the glass and china that'd been broken in the years Mary and
+Harvey'd been keepin' house. And there was a lot of old brooms,
+nothin' but stubs, tied together jest like new brooms in the store.
+And there was all the children's broken toys, dolls, and doll dresses,
+and even some glass marbles that little Harvey used to play with. The
+dust was lyin' thick and heavy over everything, and the spiderwebs
+looked like black strings hangin' from the ceilin'; but things of the
+same sort was all lyin' together jest like some woman had put the
+place in order.
+
+"You've heard tell of that bird, child, that gathers up all sorts o'
+rubbish and carries it off to its nest and hides it? Well, I thought
+about that bird; and the heap of old iron reminded me of a little
+boy's pocket when you turn it wrong side out at night, and the china
+and glass and doll-rags made me think of the playhouses I used to make
+under the trees when I was a little girl. I've seen many curious
+places, honey, but nothin' like that old cabin. The moldy smell
+reminded me of the grave; and when I looked at all the dusty, old
+plunder, the ragged clothes hangin' against the wall like so many
+ghosts, and then thought of the dead man that had put 'em there, I
+tell you it made my flesh creep.
+
+"Well, we stood there, me and Mary, strainin' our eyes tryin' to see
+into the dark corners, and all at once the meanin' of it come over me
+like a flash: _Harvey was a miser!_"
+
+Aunt Jane stopped, took off her glasses and polished them on the hem
+of her gingham apron. I sat holding my breath; but, all regardless of
+my suspense, she dropped the thread of the story and followed memory
+in one of her capricious backward flights.
+
+"I ricollect a sermon I heard when I was a gyirl," she said. "It ain't
+often, I reckon, that a sermon makes much impression on a gyirl's
+mind. But this wasn't any ordinary sermon or any ordinary preacher.
+Presbytery met in town that year, and all the big preachers in the
+state was there. Some of 'em come out and preached to the country
+churches, and old Dr. Samuel Chalmers Morse preached at Goshen. He was
+one o' the biggest men in the Presbytery, and I ricollect his looks as
+plain as I ricollect his sermon. Some preachers look jest like other
+men, and you can tell the minute you set eyes on 'em that they ain't
+any wiser or any better than common folks. But Dr. Morse wasn't that
+kind.
+
+"You know the Bible tells about people walkin' with God and talkin'
+with God. It says Enoch walked with God, and Adam talked with Him.
+Some folks might find that hard to believe, but it seems jest as
+natural to me. Why many a time I've been in my gyarden when the sun's
+gone down, and it ain't quite time for the moon to come up, and the
+dew's fallin' and the flowers smellin' sweet, and I've set down in the
+summer-house and looked up at the stars; and if I'd heard a voice from
+heaven it wouldn't 'a' been a bit stranger to me than the blowin' of
+the wind.
+
+"The minute I saw Dr. Morse I thought about Adam and Enoch, and I said
+to myself, 'He looks like a man that's walked with God and talked with
+God.'
+
+"I didn't look at the people's hats and bonnets that day half as much
+as I usually did, and part of that sermon stayed by me all my life. He
+preached about Nebuchadnezzar and the image he saw in his dream with
+the head of gold and the feet of clay. And he said that every human
+being was like that image; there was gold and there was clay in every
+one of us. Part of us was human and part was divine. Part of us was
+earthly like the clay, and part heavenly like the gold. And he said
+that in some folks you couldn't see anything but the clay, but that
+the gold was there, and if you looked long enough you'd find it. And
+some folks, he said, looked like they was all gold, but somewhere or
+other there was the clay, too, and nobody was so good but what he had
+his secret sins and open faults. And he said sin was jest another name
+for ignorance, and that Christ knew this when he prayed on the cross,
+'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.' He said
+everybody would do right, if they knew what was right to do, and that
+the thing for us to do was to look for the gold and not the clay in
+other folks. For the gold was the part that would never die, and the
+clay was jest the mortal part that we dropped when this mortal shall
+have put on immortality.
+
+"Child, that sermon's come home to me many a time when I've caught
+myself weighin' people in the balance and findin' 'em wantin'. That's
+what I'd been doin' all them years with pore Harvey. I'd seen things
+every once in a while that let in a little light on his life and
+Mary's, but the old cabin made it all plain as day, and it seemed like
+every piece o' rubbish in it rose up in judgment against me. I never
+felt like cryin' at Harvey's funeral, but when I stood there peerin'
+around, the tears burnt my eyes, and I says to myself, 'Clay and gold!
+Clay and gold!'
+
+"The same thought must 'a' struck Mary at the same minute it did me,
+for she fell on her knees moanin' and wringin' her hands and cryin':
+
+"'God forgive me! God forgive me! I see it all now. He couldn't help
+it, and I've been a hard woman, and God'll judge me as I judged
+Harvey.'
+
+"The look in her eyes and the sound of her voice skeered me, and I saw
+that the quicker I got her out o' the old cabin the better. I put my
+hand on her shoulder, and says I, 'Hush, Mary. Get up and come back to
+the house; but don't let the children hear you takin' on so. You might
+skeer little Harvey.'
+
+"She stopped a minute and stared at me, and then she caught hold o' my
+hand, and says she: 'No! no! the children mustn't ever know anything
+about it, and nobody must ever see the inside o' that awful place.
+Come, quick!' says she; and she got up from her knees and pulled me
+outside of the door and locked it and dropped the key in her apron
+pocket.
+
+"Little Harvey come runnin' up to her, and I was in hopes the sight of
+the child would bring her to herself, but she walked on as if she
+hadn't seen him; and as soon as she got up-stairs she fell down in a
+heap on the floor and went to wringin' her hands and beatin' her
+breast and cryin' without tears.
+
+"Honey, if you're done a wrong to a livin' person, you needn't set
+down and grieve over it. You can go right to the person and make it
+right or try to make it right. But when the one you've wronged is
+dead, and the grave lies between you, that's the sort o' grief that
+breaks hearts and makes people lose their minds. And that was what
+Mary Andrews had to bear when she opened the door o' that old cabin
+and saw into Harvey's nature, and felt that she had misjudged and
+condemned him.
+
+"I couldn't do anything for a long time, but jest sit by her and
+listen while she called Harvey back from the dead, and called on God
+to forgive her, and blamed herself for all that had ever gone wrong
+between 'em. But at last she wore herself out and had to stop, and
+says I, 'Mary, I don't know what's passed between you and Harvey--'
+And she broke in, and says she:
+
+"'No! no! you don't know, and nobody on this earth knows what I've
+been through. I used to feel like I was in an iron cage that got
+smaller and smaller every day, and I knew the day was comin' when it
+would shut in on me and crush me. But I wouldn't give in to Harvey, I
+wouldn't let him have his own way, and I fought him and hated him and
+despised him; and now I see he couldn't help it, and I feel like I'd
+been strikin' a crippled child.'
+
+"A crippled child! That was jest what pore Harvey was; but I knew it
+wasn't right for Mary to take all the blame on herself, and says I:
+
+"'Mary, if Harvey could keep other people from knowin' what he was,
+couldn't he have kept you from knowin' it, too? If he was free-handed
+to other people, what was to hinder him from bein' the same way to
+you?' Says I, 'If there's any blame in this matter it belongs as much
+to Harvey as it does to you. When you look at that old cabin,' says I,
+'you can't have any hard feelin's toward pore Harvey. You've forgiven
+him, and now,' says I, 'there's jest one more person you've got to
+forgive, and that's yourself,' says I. 'It's jest as wrong to be too
+hard on yourself as it is to be too hard on other folks.'
+
+"I never had thought o' that before, child, but I've thought of it
+many a time since and I know it's true. It ain't often you find a
+human bein' that's too hard on himself. Most of us is jest the other
+way. But Mary was one of that kind. I could see a change come over
+her face while I was talkin', and I've always believed them words was
+put in my mouth to give Mary the comfort and help she needed.
+
+"She grabbed hold o' my hand, and says she:
+
+"'Do you reckon I've got a right to forgive myself?' Says she, 'I know
+I'm not a mean woman by nature, but Harvey's ways wasn't my ways. He
+made me do things I didn't want to do and say things I didn't want to
+say, and I never was myself as long as I lived with him. But God knows
+I wouldn't 'a' been so hard on him if I'd only known,' says she. 'God
+may forgive me, but even if He does, it don't seem to me that I've got
+a right to forgive myself.'
+
+"And says I, 'Mary, if you don't forgive yourself you won't be able to
+keer for the children, and you haven't got any right to wrong the
+livin' by worryin' over the dead. And now,' says I, 'you lie down on
+this bed and shut your eyes and say to yourself, "Harvey's forgiven
+me, and God's forgiven me, and I forgive myself." Don't let another
+thought come into your head. Jest say it over and over till you go to
+sleep, and while you're sleepin', I'll look after the children.'
+
+"I didn't have much faith in my own remedy, but she minded me like a
+child mindin' its mother; and, sure enough, when I tiptoed up-stairs
+an hour or so after that, I found her fast asleep. Her mother and her
+sister Sally come while she was still sleepin', and I left for home,
+feelin' that she was in good hands.
+
+"That night about half-past nine o'clock I went outdoors and set down
+on the porch steps in the dark, as I always do jest before bedtime.
+That's been one o' my ways ever since I was a child. Abram used to say
+he had known me to forgit my prayers many a night, but he never knew
+me to forgit to go outdoors and look up at the sky. If there was a
+moon, or if the stars was shinin', I'd stay out and wander around in
+the gyarden till he'd come out after me; and if it was cloudy, I'd set
+there and feel safe in the darkness as in the light. I always have
+thought, honey, that we lose a heap by sleepin' all night. Well, I was
+sittin' there lookin' up at the stars, and all at once I saw a bright
+light over in the direction of Harvey Andrews' place. Our house was
+built on risin' ground, and we could see for a good ways around the
+country. I called Abram and asked him if he hadn't better saddle old
+Moll and ride over and see if he couldn't help whoever was in trouble.
+But he said it was most likely some o' the neighbors burnin' brush,
+and whatever it was it would be out before he could git to it. So we
+set there watchin' it and speculatin' about it till it died down, and
+then we went to bed.
+
+"The next mornin' I was out in the yard weedin' out a bed o' clove
+pinks, and Sam Amos come ridin' by on his big bay mare. I hollered to
+him and asked him if he knew where the fire was the night before. And
+says he, 'Yes, Aunt Jane; it was that old cabin on Harvey Andrews'
+place.' He said that Amos Matthews happened to be goin' by at the time
+and took down the fence-rails to keep it from spreadin', but that was
+all he could do. Sam said Amos told him there was somethin' mysterious
+about that fire. He said it must 'a' been started from the inside, for
+the flames didn't burst through the windows and roof till after he got
+there, and the whole inside was ablaze. But, when he tried to open the
+door, it was locked fast and tight. He said Mary and her mother and
+sister was all out in the yard, and Mary was standin' with her hands
+folded in front of her, lookin' at the burnin' house jest as calm as
+if it was her own fireplace. Amos asked her for the key to the cabin
+door, and she went to the back porch and took one off a nail, but it
+wouldn't fit the lock, and before she could get another to try, the
+roof was on fire and cavin' in. Amos told Sam the cabin appeared to be
+full of old plunder of all sorts, and you could smell burnt rags for a
+mile around.
+
+"Of course there was a good deal o' talk about the fire, and everybody
+said how curious it was that it could catch on the inside when the
+door was locked. I never said a word, not even to Abram, but I knew
+well enough who set the old cabin afire, and why the key Mary gave
+Amos wouldn't fit the lock. Harvey's clothes was packed away under the
+old garret; the old cabin was burned, and the ashes and rubbish hauled
+away, and there wasn't anything much left to remind Mary of the things
+she was tryin' to forget. That's the best way to do. When a thing's
+done and you can't undo it, there's no use in frettin' and worryin'
+yourself. Jest put it out o' your mind, and go on your way and git
+ready for the next trial that's comin' to you.
+
+"But Mary never seemed like herself after Harvey died, until little
+Harvey was taken with fever. That seemed to rouse her and bring her
+senses back, and she nursed him night and day. The little thing went
+down to the very gates of death, and everybody give up hope except
+the old doctor. He'd fight death off as long as there was breath in
+the body. The night the turnin' point was to come I set up with Mary.
+The child'd been moanin' and tossin', and his muscles was twitchin',
+and the fever jest as high as it could be. But about three o'clock he
+got quiet and about half-past three I leaned over and counted his
+breaths. He was breathin' slow and regular, and I touched his forehead
+and found it was wet, and the fever was goin' away. I went over to
+Mary, and says I, 'You go in the other room and lie down, Mary, the
+fever's broke, and Harvey's goin' to git well.' She stared at me like
+she couldn't take in what I was sayin'. Then her face begun to work
+like a person's in a convulsion, and she jumped up and rushed out o'
+the room, and the next minute she give a cry that I can hear yet. Then
+she begun to sob, and I knew she was cryin' tears at last, and I set
+by the child and cried with her.
+
+"She wasn't able to be up for two or three days, and every little
+while she'd burst out cryin'. Some folks said she was cryin' for joy
+about the child gittin' well; and some said she was cryin' the tears
+she ought to 'a' cried when Harvey was buried; but I knew she was
+cryin' over all the sorrows of her married life. She told me
+afterwards that she hadn't shed a tear for six or seven years. Says
+she, 'I used to cry my eyes out nearly over the way things went, and
+one day somethin' happened and I come near cryin'; but the children
+was around and I didn't want them to see me; so I says to myself, "I
+won't cry. What's the use wastin' tears over such things?" And from
+that day,' says she, 'I got as hard as a stone, and it looks like I
+was jest turnin' back to flesh and blood again.'
+
+"There's only two ways o' takin' trouble, child; you can laugh over it
+or you can cry over it. But you've got to do one or the other. The
+Lord made some folks that can laugh away their troubles, and he made
+tears for them that can't laugh, and human bein's can't harden
+themselves into stone.
+
+"I reckon, as Mary said, nobody on earth knew what she'd been through,
+livin' with a man like Harvey. If he'd been an out-and-out miser, it
+would 'a' been better for everybody concerned. But it looked like
+Nature started out to make him a miser and then sp'iled the job, so's
+he was neither one thing nor the other. The gold was there, and he
+showed that to outsiders; and the clay was there, and he showed that
+to Mary. And that's the strangest part of all to me. If he had enough
+sense not to want his neighbors to know his meanness, it looks like he
+ought to have had sense enough to hide it from his wife. A man ought
+to want his wife to think well of him whether anybody else does or
+not. You see, a woman can make out to live with a man and not love
+him, but she can't live with him and despise him. She's jest got to
+respect him. But there's some men that never have found that out. They
+think that because a woman stands up before a preacher and promises to
+love and honor him, that she's bound to do it, no matter what he does.
+And some women do. They're like dogs; they'll stick to a man no matter
+what he does. Some women never can see any faults in their husbands,
+and some sees the faults and covers 'em up and hides 'em from
+outsiders. But Mary wasn't that sort. She couldn't deceive herself,
+and nobody could deceive her; and when she found out Harvey's meanness
+she couldn't help despisin' him in her heart, jest like Michal
+despised David when she saw him playin' and dancin' before the Lord.
+
+"There's something I never have understood, and one of 'em is why such
+a woman as Mary should 'a' been permitted to marry a man like Harvey
+Andrews. It kind o' shakes my faith in Providence every time I think
+of it. But I reckon there was a reason for it, whether I can see it or
+not."
+
+Aunt Jane's voice ceased. She dropped her knitting in her lap and
+leaned back in the old easy-chair. Apparently she was looking at the
+dripping syringa bush near the window, but the look in her eyes told
+me that she had reached a page in the story that was not for my eyes
+or my ears, and I held inviolate the silence that had fallen between
+us.
+
+A low, far-off roll of thunder, the last note of the storm-music,
+roused her from her reverie.
+
+"Sakes alive, child!" she exclaimed, starting bolt upright. "Have I
+been sleepin' and dreamin' and you settin' here? Well, I got through
+with my story, anyhow, before I dropped off."
+
+"Surely that isn't all," I said, discontentedly. "What became of Mary
+Andrews after Harvey died?"
+
+Aunt Jane laughed blithely.
+
+"No, it ain't all. What's gittin' into me to leave off the endin' of a
+story? Mary was married young; and when Harvey died she had the best
+part of her life before her, and it was the best part, sure enough.
+About a year after she was left a widow she went up to Christian
+County to visit some of her cousins, and there she met the man she
+ought to 'a' married in the first place. I ain't any hand for second
+marriages. 'One man for one woman,' says I; but I've seen so many
+second marriages that was happier than any first ones that I never say
+anything against marryin' twice. Some folks are made for each other,
+but they make mistakes in the road and git lost, and don't git found
+till they've been through a heap o' tribulation, and, maybe, the
+biggest half o' their life's gone. But then, they've got all eternity
+before 'em, and there's time enough there to find all they've lost and
+more besides. But Mary found her portion o' happiness before it was
+too late. Elbert Madison was the man she married. He was an old
+bachelor, and a mighty well-to-do man, and they said every old maid
+and widow in Christian County had set her cap for him one time or
+another. But whenever folks said anything to him about marryin', he'd
+say, 'I'm waitin' for the Right Woman. She's somewhere in the world,
+and as soon as I find her I'm goin' to marry.'
+
+"It got to be a standin' joke with the neighbors and the family, and
+his brother used to say that Elbert believed in that 'Right Woman' the
+same as he believed in God.
+
+"They used to tell how one Christmas, Elbert's nieces had a lot o'
+young company from Louisville, and they had a big dance Christmas Eve.
+Elbert was there, and the minute he come into the room the oldest
+niece, she whispered, 'Here's Uncle Elbert; he's come to see if the
+Right Woman's at the ball.' And with that all them gyirls rushed up to
+Elbert and shook hands with him and pulled him into the middle o' the
+room under a big bunch o' mistletoe, and the prettiest and sassiest
+one of 'em, she took her dress between the tips of her fingers and
+spread it out and made a low bow, and says she, lookin' up into
+Elbert's face, says she:
+
+"'Mr. Madison, don't I look like the Right Woman?'
+
+"Everybody laughed and expected to see Elbert blush and act like he
+wanted to go through the floor. But instead o' that he looked at her
+serious and earnest, and at last he says: 'You do look a little like
+her, but you ain't her. You've got the color of her eyes,' says he,
+'but not the look of 'em. Her hair's dark like yours, but it don't
+curl quite as much, and she's taller than you are, but not quite so
+slim.'
+
+"They said the gyirls stopped laughin' and jest looked at each other,
+and one of 'em said:
+
+"'Well, did you ever?' And that was the last time they tried to tease
+Elbert. But Elbert's brother he turns to somebody standin' near him,
+and says he, 'Unless Elbert gets that "right-woman" foolishness out of
+his head and marries and settles down like other men, I believe he'll
+end his days in a lunatic asylum.'
+
+"But it all turned out the way Elbert said it would. The minute he saw
+Mary Andrews, he whispered to his sister-in-law, and says he, 'Sister
+Mary, do you see that dark-eyed woman over there by the door? Well,
+that's the woman I've been lookin' for all my life.'
+
+"He walked across the room and got introduced to her, and they said
+when him and Mary shook hands they looked each other in the eyes and
+laughed like two old friends that hadn't met for years.
+
+"Harvey hadn't been dead much over a year and Mary wanted to put off
+the weddin'. But Elbert said, 'No; I've waited for you a lifetime and
+I'm not goin' to wait any longer.' So they got married as soon as Mary
+could have her weddin' clothes made, and a happier couple you never
+saw. Elbert used to look at her and say:
+
+"'God made Eve for Adam, and he made you for me.'
+
+"And he didn't only love Mary, but he loved her children the same as
+if they'd been his own. A woman that's been another man's wife can
+easy enough find a man to love her, but to find one that'll love the
+other man's children, that's a different matter."
+
+One! two! three! four! chimed the old clock; and at the same moment
+out came the sun, sending long rays across the room. The rain had
+subsided to a gentle mist, and the clouds were rolling away before a
+south-west wind that carried with it fragrance from wet flowers and
+leaves and a world cleansed and renewed by a summer storm. We moved
+our chairs out on the porch to enjoy the clearing-off. There were
+health and strength in every breath of the cool, moist air, and for
+every sense but one a pleasure--odor, light, coolness, and the faint
+music of falling water from the roof and from the trees that sent down
+miniature showers whenever the wind stirred their branches.
+
+Aunt Jane drew a deep breath of satisfaction, and looked upward at the
+blue sky.
+
+"I don't mind how much it rains durin' the day," she said, "if it'll
+jest stop off before night and let the sun set clear. And that's the
+way with life, child. If everything ends right, we can forget all
+about the troubles we've had before. I reckon if Mary Andrews could
+'a' seen a few years ahead while she was havin' her trials with pore
+Harvey, she would 'a' borne 'em all with a better grace. But lookin'
+ahead is somethin' we ain't permitted to do. We've jest got to stand
+up under the present and trust for the time we can't see. And whether
+we trust or not, child, no matter how dark it is nor how long it stays
+dark, the sun's goin' to come out some time, and it's all goin' to be
+right at the last. You know what the Scripture says, 'At evening time
+it shall be light!'"
+
+Her faded eyes were turned reverently toward the glory of the western
+sky, but the light on her face was not all of the setting sun.
+
+"At evening time it shall be light!"
+
+Not of the day but of human life were these words spoken, and with
+Aunt Jane the prophecy had been fulfilled.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+THE GARDENS OF MEMORY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+Each of us has his own way of classifying humanity. To me, as a child,
+men and women fell naturally into two great divisions: those who had
+gardens and those who had only houses.
+
+Brick walls and pavements hemmed me in and robbed me of one of my
+birthrights; and to the fancy of childhood a garden was a paradise,
+and the people who had gardens were happy Adams and Eves walking in a
+golden mist of sunshine and showers, with green leaves and blue sky
+overhead, and blossoms springing at their feet; while those others,
+dispossessed of life's springs, summers, and autumns, appeared darkly
+entombed in shops and parlors where the year might as well have been a
+perpetual winter.
+
+As I grew older I learned that there was a small subclass composed of
+people who not only possessed gardens, but whose gardens possessed
+them, and it is the spots sown and tended by these that blossom
+eternally in one's remembrance as veritable vailimas--"gardens of
+dreams."
+
+In every one's mind there is a lonely space, almost abandoned of
+consciousness, the time between infancy and childhood. It is like that
+period when the earth was "without form, and void; and darkness was
+upon the face of the deep." Here, like lost stars floating in the
+firmament of mind, will be found two or three faint memories, remote
+and disconnected. With me one of these memories is of a garden. I was
+riding with my father along a pleasant country road. There were
+sunshine and a gentle wind, and white clouds in a blue sky. We stopped
+at a gate. My father opened it, and I walked up a grassy path to the
+ruins of a house. The chimney was still standing, but all the rest was
+a heap of blackened, half-burned rubbish which spring and summer were
+covering with wild vines and weeds, and around the ruins of the house
+lay the ruins of the garden. The honeysuckle, bereft of its trellis,
+wandered helplessly over the ground, and amid a rank growth of weeds
+sprang a host of yellow snapdragons. I remember the feeling of rapture
+that was mine at the thought that I had found a garden where flowers
+could be gathered without asking permission of any one. And as long as
+I live, the sight of a yellow snapdragon on a sunny day will bring
+back my father from his grave and make me a little child again
+gathering flowers in that deserted garden, which is seemingly in
+another world than this.
+
+A later memory than this is of a place that was scarcely more than a
+paved court lying between high brick walls. But because we children
+wanted a garden so much, we called it by that name; and here and there
+a little of Mother Earth's bosom, left uncovered, gave us some warrant
+for the misnomer. Yet the spot was not without its beauties, and a
+less exacting child might have found content within its boundaries.
+
+Here was the Indian peach tree, whose pink blossoms told us that
+spring had come. Its fruit in the late summer was like the pomegranate
+in its rich color, "blood-tinctured with a veined humanity;" and its
+friendly limbs held a swing in which we cleft the air like the birds.
+Yet even now the sight of an Indian peach brings melancholy thoughts.
+A yellow honeysuckle clambered over a wall. But this flower has no
+perfume, and a honeysuckle without perfume is a base pretender, to be
+cast out of the family of the real sweet-scented honeysuckle. There
+were two roses of similar quality, one that detestable mockery known
+as the burr-rose. I have for this flower the feeling of repulsion that
+one has for certain disagreeable human beings,--people with cold,
+clammy hands, for instance. I hated its feeble pink color, its rough
+calyx, and its odor always made me think of vast fields of snow, and
+icicles hanging from snow-covered roofs under leaden wintry skies.
+Unhappy mistake to call such a thing a rose, and plant it in a child's
+garden! The only place where it might fitly grow is by the side of the
+road that led Childe Roland to the Dark Tower: between the bit of
+"stubbed ground" and the marsh near to the "palsied oak," with its
+roots set in the "bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth."
+
+The other rose I recall with the same dislike, though it was pleasing
+to the eye. The bush was tall, and had the nature of a climber; for it
+drooped in a lackadaisical way, and had to be tied to a stout post. I
+think it could have stood upright, had it chosen to do so; and its
+drooping seemed only an ugly habit, without grace. The cream-white
+flowers grew in clusters, and the buds were really beautiful, but
+color and form are only the body of the rose; the soul, the real self,
+is the rose odor, and no rose-soul was incarnated in its petals. Again
+and again, deceived by its beauty, I would hold it close to my face to
+breathe its fragrance, and always its faint sickening-sweet odor
+brought me only disappointment and disgust. It was a Lamia among
+roses. Another peculiarity was that it had very few thorns, and those
+few were small and weak. Yet the thorn is as much a part of the true
+rose as its sweetness; and lacking the rose thorn and the rose
+perfume, what claim had it to the rose name? I never saw this false
+rose elsewhere than in the false garden, and because it grew there,
+and because it dishonored its royal family, I would not willingly meet
+it face to face again.
+
+We children cultivated sweet-scented geraniums in pots, but a flower
+in a pot was to me like a bird in a cage, and the fragrant geraniums
+gave me no more pleasure than did the scentless many-hued
+lady's-slippers that we planted in tiny borders, and the purple
+flowering beans and white blossoms of the madeira vines that grew on
+a tall trellis by the cistern's grassy mound. There was nothing here
+to satisfy my longing, and I turned hungrily to other gardens whose
+gates were open to me in those early days. In one of these was a vast
+bed of purple heartsease, flower of the beautiful name. Year after
+year they had blossomed and gone to seed till the harvest of flowers
+in their season was past gathering, and any child in the neighborhood
+was at liberty to pluck them by handfuls, while the wicked ones played
+at "chicken fighting" and littered the ground with decapitated bodies.
+There is no heartsease nowadays, only the magnificent pansy of which
+it was the modest forerunner. But one little cluster of dark, spicy
+blooms like those I used to gather in that old garden would be more to
+me than the most splendid pansy created by the florist's art.
+
+The lily of the valley calls to mind a garden, almost in the heart of
+town, where this flower went forth to possess the land and spread
+itself in so reckless a growth that at intervals it had to be uprooted
+to protect the landed rights of the rest of the community. Never were
+there such beds of lilies! And when they pierced the black loam with
+their long sheath-like leaves, and broke their alabaster boxes of
+perfume on the feet of spring, the most careless passer-by was forced
+to stay his steps for one ecstatic moment to look and to breathe, to
+forget and to remember. The shadow of the owner's house lay on this
+garden at the morning hour, and a tall brick building intercepted its
+share of the afternoon sunshine; but the love and care of the wrinkled
+old woman who tended it took the place of real sunshine, and
+everything planted here grew with a luxuriance not seen in sunnier and
+more favored spots. The mistress of the garden, when questioned as to
+this, would say it was because she gave her flowers to all who asked,
+and the God of gardens loved the cheerful giver and blessed her with
+an abundance of bud and blossom. The highest philosophy of human life
+she used in her management of this little plant world; for, burying
+the weeds at the roots of the flowers, the evil was made to minister
+to the good; and the nettle, the plantain and all their kind were
+transmuted by nature's fine chemistry into pinks, lilies, and roses.
+
+The purple splendor of the wisteria recalls the garden that I always
+entered with a fearful joy, for here a French gardener reigned
+absolute, and the flowers might be looked at, but not pulled. How
+different from those wild gardens of the neighboring woods where we
+children roamed at will, shouting rapturously over the finding of a
+bed of scentless blue violets or delicate anemones that withered and
+were thrown away before we reached home,--an allegory, alas! of our
+later lives.
+
+There was one garden that I coveted in those days as Ahab coveted his
+neighbor's vineyard. After many years, so many that my childish
+longing was almost forgotten, I had it, I and my children. Together we
+played under the bee-haunted lindens, and looked at the sunset through
+the scarlet and yellow leaves of the sugar maples, and I learned that
+"every desire is the prophecy of its own fulfilment;" and if the
+fulfilment is long delayed, it is only that it may be richer and
+deeper when it does come.
+
+All these were gardens of the South; but before childhood was over I
+watched the quick, luxuriant growth of flowers through the brief
+summer of a northern clime. The Canterbury-bell, so like a prim,
+pretty maiden, the dahlia, that stately dame always in court costume
+of gorgeous velvet, remind me of those well-kept beds where not a leaf
+or flower was allowed to grow awry; and in one ancient garden the
+imagination of a child found wings for many an airy flight. The town
+itself bore the name of the English nobleman, well known in
+Revolutionary days. Not far away his mansion sturdily defied the touch
+of time and decay, and admonished the men of a degenerate present to
+remember their glorious past. The house that sheltered me that summer
+was known in colonial days as the Black-Horse Tavern. Its walls had
+echoed to the tread of patriot and tory, who gathered here to drink a
+health to General Washington or to King George; and patriot, and tory,
+too, had trod the paths of the garden and plucked its flowers and its
+fruit in the times that tried men's souls. By the back gate grew a
+strawberry apple tree, and every morning the dewy grass held a night's
+windfall of the tiny red apples that were the reward of the child who
+rose earliest. A wonderful grafted tree that bore two kinds of fruit
+gave the place a touch of fairyland's magic, and no explanation of the
+process of grafting ever diminished the awe I felt when I stood under
+this tree and saw ripe spice apples growing on one limb and green
+winter pearmains on all the others. The pound sweeting, the
+spitzenberg, and many sister apples were there; and I stayed long
+enough to see them ripen into perfection. While they ripened I
+gathered the jewel-like clusters of red and white currants and a
+certain rare English gooseberry which English hands had brought from
+beyond the seas and planted here when the sign of the Black-Horse
+swung over the tavern door. The ordinary gooseberry is a plebeian
+fruit, but this one was more patrician than its name, and its name was
+"the King George." Twice as large as the common kind, translucent and
+yellowish white when fully ripe, and of an incomparable sweetness and
+flavor, it could have graced a king's table and held its own with the
+delicate strawberry or the regal grape. And then, best of all, it was
+a forbidden fruit, whereof we children ate by stealth, and solemnly
+declared that we had not eaten. Could the Garden of the Hesperides
+have held more charms?
+
+At the end of the long Dutch "stoop" I found the wands of the
+snowberry, whose tiny flowers have the odor and color of the trailing
+arbutus, and whose waxen berries reminded me of the crimson
+"buckberry" of Southern fields. Fuchsias and dark-red clove pinks grew
+in a peculiarly rich and sunny spot by the back fence, and over a pot
+of the musk-plant I used to hang as Isabella hung over her pot of
+basil. I had never seen it before, and have never seen it since, but
+by the witchery of perfume one of its yellow flowers, one of its soft
+pale green leaves could place me again in that garden of the old inn,
+a child walking among the ghosts and memories of a past century.
+
+In all these flowery closes there are rich aftermaths; but when Memory
+goes a-gleaning, she dwells longest on the evenings and mornings once
+spent in Aunt Jane's garden.
+
+"I don't reckon Solomon was thinkin' about flower gyardens when he
+said there was a time for all things," Aunt Jane was wont to say, "but
+anyhow it's so. You know the Bible says that the Lord God walked in
+the gyarden of Eden in 'the cool of the day,' and that's the best time
+for seein' flowers,--the cool of the mornin' and the cool of the
+evenin'. There's jest as much difference between a flower with the dew
+on it at sun-up and a flower in the middle o' the day as there is
+between a woman when she's fresh from a good night's sleep and when
+she's cookin' a twelve-o'clock dinner in a hot kitchen. You think them
+poppies are mighty pretty with the sun shinin' on 'em, but the poppy
+ain't a sun flower; it's a sunrise flower."
+
+And so I found them when I saw them in the faint light of a summer
+dawn, delicate and tremulous, like lovely apparitions of the night
+that an hour of sun will dispel. With other flowers the miracle of
+blossoming is performed so slowly that we have not time to watch its
+every stage. There is no precise moment when the rose leaves become a
+bud, or when the bud turns to a full-blown flower. But at dawn by a
+bed of poppies you may watch the birth of a flower as it slips from
+the calyx, casting it to the ground as a soul casts aside its outgrown
+body, and smoothing the wrinkles from its silken petals, it faces the
+day in serene beauty, though the night of death be but a few hours
+away.
+
+"And some evenin' when the moon's full and there's a dew fallin',"
+continued Aunt Jane, "that's the time to see roses, and to smell
+roses, too. And chrysanthemums, they're sundown flowers. You come into
+my gyarden about the first o' next November, child, some evenin' when
+the sun's goin' down, and you'll see the white ones lookin' like
+stars, and the yeller ones shinin' like big gold lamps in the dusk;
+and when the last light o' the sun strikes the red ones, they look
+like cups o' wine, and some of 'em turn to colors that there ain't any
+names for. Chrysanthemums jest match the red and yeller leaves on the
+trees, and the colors you see in the sky after the first frosts when
+the cold weather begins to set in. Yes, honey, there's a time and a
+season for everything; flowers, too, jest as Solomon said."
+
+An old garden is like an old life. Who plants from youth to age writes
+a record of the years in leaf and blossom, and the spot becomes as
+sacred as old wine, old books, and old friends. Here in the garden of
+Aunt Jane's planting I found that flowers were also memories; that
+reminiscences were folded in the petals of roses and lilies; that a
+rose's perfume might be a voice from a vanished summer; and even the
+snake gliding across our path might prove a messenger bearing a story
+of other days. Aunt Jane made a pass at it with her hoe, and laughed
+as the little creature disappeared on the other side of the fence.
+
+"I never see a striped snake," she said, "that I don't think o' Sam
+Amos and the time he saw snakes. It wasn't often we got a joke on Sam,
+but his t'u'nament and his snake kept us laughin' for many a day.
+
+"Sam was one o' them big, blunderin' men, always givin' Milly trouble,
+and havin' trouble himself, jest through pure keerlessness. He meant
+well; and Milly used to say that if what Sam did was even half as good
+as what Sam intended to do, there'd be one perfect man on God's
+earth. One of his keerless ways was scatterin' his clothes all over
+the house. Milly'd scold and fuss about it, but Sam got worse instead
+o' better up to the day he saw the snake, and after that Milly said
+there wasn't a more orderly man in the state. The way of it was this:
+Sam was raisin' an embankment 'round one of his ponds, and Uncle Jim
+Matthews and Amos Crawford was helpin' him. It was one Monday mornin',
+about the first of April, and the weather was warm and sunny, jest the
+kind to bring out snakes. I reckon there never was anybody hated a
+snake as much as Sam did. He'd been skeered by one when he was a
+child, and never got over it. He used to say there was jest two things
+he was afraid of: Milly and a snake. That mornin' Uncle Jim and Amos
+got to the pond before Sam did, and Uncle Jim hollered out, 'Well,
+Sam, we beat you this time.' Uncle Jim never got tired tellin' what
+happened next. He said Sam run up the embankment with his spade, and
+set it in the ground and put his foot on it to push it down. The next
+minute he give a yell that you could 'a' heard half a mile, slung the
+spade over in the middle o' the pond, jumped three feet in the air,
+and run down the embankment yellin' and kickin' and throwin' his arms
+about in every direction, and at last he fell down on the ground a
+good distance from the pond.
+
+"Amos and Uncle Jim was so taken by surprise at first that they jest
+stood still and looked. Amos says, says he: 'The man's gone crazy all
+at once.' Uncle Jim says: 'He's havin' a spell. His father and
+grandfather before him used to have them spells.'
+
+"They run up to him and found him shakin' like a leaf, the cold sweat
+streamin' out of every pore, and gaspin' and sayin', 'Take it away!
+Take it away!' and all the time he was throwin' out his left foot in
+every direction. Finally Uncle Jim grabbed hold of his foot and there
+was a red and black necktie stickin' out o' the leg of his pants. He
+pulled it out and says he: 'Why, Sam, what's your Sunday necktie doin'
+up your pants leg?'
+
+"They said Sam looked at it in a foolish sort o' way and then he fell
+back laughin' and cryin' at the same time, jest like a woman, and it
+was five minutes or more before they could stop him. Uncle Jim brought
+water and put on his head, and Amos fanned him with his hat, and at
+last they got him in such a fix that he could sit up and talk, and
+says he:
+
+"'I took off my necktie last night and slung it down on a chair where
+my everyday pants was layin'. When I put my foot in my pants this
+mornin' I must 'a' carried the necktie inside, and by the time I got
+to the pond it'd worked down, and I thought it was a black snake with
+red stripes.'
+
+"He started to git up, but his ankle was sprained, and Uncle Jim says:
+'No wonder, Sam; you jumped about six feet when you saw that snake
+crawlin' out o' your pants leg.'
+
+"And Sam says: 'Six feet? I know I jumped six hundred feet, Uncle
+Jim.'
+
+"Well, they got him to the house and told Milly about it, and she
+says: 'Well, Sam, I'm too sorry for you to laugh at you like Uncle
+Jim, but I must say this wouldn't 'a' happened if you'd folded up that
+necktie and put it away in the top drawer.'
+
+"Sam was settin' on the side of the bed rubbin' his ankle, and he give
+a groan and says he: 'Things has come to a fine pass in Kentucky when
+a sober, God-fearin' man like me has to put his necktie in the top
+drawer to keep from seein' snakes.'
+
+"I declare to goodness!" laughed Aunt Jane, as she laid down her
+trowel and pushed back her calico sunbonnet, "if I never heard
+anything funny again in this world, I could keep on laughin' till I
+died jest over things I ricollect. The trouble is there ain't always
+anybody around to laugh with me. Sam Amos ain't nothin' but a name to
+you, child, but to me he's jest as real as if he hadn't been dead
+these many years, and I can laugh over the things he used to do the
+same as if they happened yesterday."
+
+Only a name! And I had read it on a lichen-covered stone in the old
+burying-ground; but as I walked home through the twilight I would
+hardly have been startled if Sam Amos, in the pride of life, had come
+riding past me on his bay mare, or if Uncle Jim Matthews' voice of
+cheerful discord had mingled with the spring song of the frogs
+sounding from every marsh and pond.
+
+It was Aunt Jane's motto that wherever a weed would grow a flower
+would grow; and carrying out this principle of planting, her garden
+was continually extending its boundaries; and denizens of the garden
+proper were to be found in every nook and corner of her domain. In the
+spring you looked for grass only; and lo! starting up at your feet,
+like the unexpected joys of life, came the golden daffodil, the paler
+narcissus, the purple iris, and the red and yellow tulip, flourishing
+as bravely as in the soil of its native Holland; and for a few sunny
+weeks the front yard would be a great flower garden. Then blossom and
+leaf would fade, and you might walk all summer over the velvet grass,
+never knowing how much beauty and fragrance lay hidden in the darkness
+of the earth. But when I go back to Aunt Jane's garden, I pass through
+the front yard and the back yard between rows of lilac, syringas,
+calycanthus, and honeysuckle; I open the rickety gate, and find myself
+in a genuine old-fashioned garden, the homely, inclusive spot that
+welcomed all growing things to its hospitable bounds, type of the days
+when there were no impassable barriers of gold and caste between man
+and his brother man. In the middle of the garden stood a
+"summer-house," or arbor, whose crumbling timbers were knit together
+by interlacing branches of honeysuckle and running roses. The
+summer-house had four entrances, opening on four paths that divided
+the ground into quarter-sections occupied by vegetables and small
+fruits, and around these, like costly embroidery on the hem of a
+homespun garment, ran a wide border of flowers that blossomed from
+early April to late November, shifting from one beauty to another as
+each flower had its little day.
+
+There are flower-lovers who love some flowers and other flower-lovers
+who love all flowers. Aunt Jane was of the latter class. The commonest
+plant, striving in its own humble way to be sweet and beautiful, was
+sure of a place here, and the haughtiest aristocrat who sought
+admission had to lay aside all pride of place or birth and acknowledge
+her kinship with common humanity. The Bourbon rose could not hold
+aside her skirts from contact with the cabbage-rose; the lavender
+could not disdain the companionship of sage and thyme. All must live
+together in the concord of a perfect democracy. Then if the great
+Gardener bestowed rain and sunshine when they were needed, mid-summer
+days would show a glorious symphony of color around the gray
+farmhouse, and through the enchantment of bloom and fragrance flitted
+an old woman, whose dark eyes glowed with the joy of living, and the
+joy of remembering all life's other summers.
+
+To Aunt Jane every flower in the garden was a human thing with a life
+story, and close to the summer-house grew one historic rose, heroine
+of an old romance, to which I listened one day as we sat in the arbor,
+where hundreds of honeysuckle blooms were trumpeting their fragrance
+on the air.
+
+"Grandmother's rose, child, that's all the name it's got," she said,
+in answer to my question. "I reckon you think a fine-lookin' rose like
+that ought to have a fine-soundin' name. But I never saw anybody yet
+that knew enough about roses to tell what its right name is. Maybe
+when I'm dead and gone somebody'll tack a French name on to it, but as
+long as it grows in my gyarden it'll be jest grandmother's rose, and
+this is how it come by the name:
+
+"My grandfather and grandmother was amongst the first settlers of
+Kentucky. They come from the Old Dominion over the Wilderness Road way
+back yonder, goodness knows when. Did you ever think, child, how
+curious it was for them men to leave their homes and risk their own
+lives and the lives of their little children and their wives jest to
+git to a new country? It appears to me they must 'a' been led jest
+like Columbus was when he crossed the big ocean in his little ships. I
+reckon if the women and children had had their way about it, the bears
+and wildcats and Indians would be here yet. But a man goes where he
+pleases, and a woman's got to foller, and that's the way it was with
+grandfather and grandmother. I've heard mother say that grandmother
+cried for a week when she found she had to go, and every now and then
+she'd sob out, 'I wouldn't mind it so much if I could take my
+gyarden.' When they began packin' up their things, grandmother took up
+this rose and put it in an iron kittle and laid plenty of good rich
+earth around the roots. Grandfather said the load they had to carry
+was heavy enough without puttin' in any useless things. But
+grandmother says, says she: 'If you leave this rose behind, you can
+leave me, too.' So the kittle and the rose went. Four weeks they was
+on their way, and every time they come to a creek or a river or a
+spring, grandmother'd water her rose, and when they got to their
+journey's end, before they'd ever chopped a tree or laid a stone or
+broke ground, she cut the sod with an axe, and then she took
+grandfather's huntin' knife and dug a hole and planted her rose.
+Grandfather cut some limbs off a beech tree and drove 'em into the
+ground all around it to keep it from bein' tramped down, and when that
+was done, grandmother says: 'Now build the house so's this rose'll
+stand on the right-hand side o' the front walk. Maybe I won't die of
+homesickness if I can set on my front door-step and see one flower
+from my old Virginia gyarden.'
+
+"Well, grandmother didn't die of homesickness, nor the rose either.
+The transplantin' was good for both of 'em. She lived to be ninety
+years old, and when she died the house wouldn't hold the children and
+grandchildren and great-grandchildren that come to the funeral. And
+here's her rose growin' and bloomin' yet, like there wasn't any such
+things in the world as old age and death. And every spring I gether a
+basketful o' these pink roses and lay 'em on her grave over yonder in
+the old buryin'-ground.
+
+"Some folks has family china and family silver that they're mighty
+proud of. Martha Crawford used to have a big blue and white bowl that
+belonged to her great-grandmother, and she thought more o' that bowl
+than she did of everything else in the house. Milly Amos had a set o'
+spoons that'd been in her family for four generations and was too
+precious to use; and I've got my family rose, and it's jest as dear to
+me as china and silver are to other folks. I ricollect after father
+died and the estate had to be divided up, and sister Mary and brother
+Joe and the rest of 'em was layin' claim to the claw-footed mahogany
+table and the old secretary and mother's cherry sideboard and such
+things as that, and brother Joe turned around and says to me, says
+he:
+
+"'Is there anything you want, Jane? If there is, speak up and make it
+known.' And I says: 'The rest of you can take what you want of the
+furniture, and if there's anything left, that can be my part. If there
+ain't anything left, there'll be no quarrelin'; for there's jest one
+thing I want, and that's grandmother's rose.'
+
+"They all laughed, and sister Mary says, 'Ain't that jest like Jane?'
+and brother Joe says, says he:
+
+"'You shall have it, Jane, and further than that, I'll see to the
+transplantin'.'
+
+"That very evenin' he come over, and I showed him where I wanted the
+rose to stand. He dug 'way down into the clay--there's nothin' a rose
+likes better, child, than good red clay--and got a wheelbarrer load o'
+soil from the woods, and we put that in first and set the roots in it
+and packed 'em good and firm, first with woods' soil, then with clay,
+waterin' it all the time. When we got through, I says: 'Now, you
+pretty thing you, if you could come all the way from Virginia in a old
+iron kittle, you surely won't mind bein' moved from father's place to
+mine. Now you've got to live and bloom for me same as you did for
+mother.'
+
+"You needn't laugh, child. That rose knew jest what I said, and did
+jest what I told it to do. It looked like everything favored us, for
+it was early in the spring, things was beginnin' to put out leaves,
+and the next day was cloudy and cool. Then it began to rain, and
+rained for thirty-six hours right along. And when the sun come out,
+grandmother's rose come out, too. Not a leaf on it ever withered, and
+me and my children and my children's children have gethered flowers
+from it all these years. Folks say I'm foolish about it, and I reckon
+I am. I've outlived most o' the people I love, but I don't want to
+outlive this rose. We've both weathered many a hard winter, and two or
+three times it's been winter-killed clean to the ground, and I thought
+I'd lost it. Honey, it was like losin' a child. But there's never been
+a winter yet hard enough to kill the life in that rose's root, and I
+trust there never will be while I live, for spring wouldn't be spring
+to me without grandmother's rose."
+
+Tall, straight, and strong it stood, this oft transplanted pilgrim
+rose; and whether in bloom or clothed only in its rich green foliage,
+you saw at a glance that it was a flower of royal lineage. When spring
+covered it with buds and full blown blossoms of pink, the true rose
+color, it spoke of queens' gardens and kings' palaces, and every
+satiny petal was a palimpsest of song and legend. Its perfume was the
+attar-of-rose scent, like that of the roses of India. It satisfied and
+satiated with its rich potency. And breathing this odor and gazing
+into its deep wells of color, you had strange dreams of those other
+pilgrims who left home and friends, and journeyed through the perils
+of a trackless wilderness to plant still farther westward the rose of
+civilization.
+
+To Aunt Jane there were three epochs in a garden's life, "daffodil
+time," "rose time," and "chrysanthemum time"; and the blossoming of
+all other flowers would be chronicled under one of these periods, just
+as we say of historical events that they happened in the reign of this
+or that queen or empress. But this garden had all seasons for its own,
+and even in winter there was a deep pleasure in walking its paths and
+noting how bravely life struggled against death in the frozen bosom of
+the earth.
+
+I once asked her which flower she loved best. It was "daffodil time,"
+and every gold cup held nepenthe for the nightmare dream of winter.
+She glanced reprovingly at me over her spectacles.
+
+"It appears to me, child, you ought to know that without askin'," she
+said. "Did you ever see as many daffydils in one place before? No;
+and you never will. I've been plantin' that flower every spring for
+sixty years, and I've never got too many of 'em yet. I used to call
+'em Johnny-jump-ups, till Henrietta told me that their right name was
+daffydil. But Johnny-jump-up suits 'em best, for it kind o' tells how
+they come up in the spring. The hyacinths and tulips, they hang back
+till they know it'll be warm and comfortable outside, but these
+daffydils don't wait for anything. Before the snow's gone you'll see
+their leaves pushin' up through the cold ground, and the buds come
+hurryin' along tryin' to keep up with the leaves, jest like they knew
+that little children and old women like me was waitin' and longin' for
+'em. Why, I've seen these flowers bloomin' and the snow fallin' over
+'em in March, and they didn't mind it a bit. I got my start o'
+daffydils from mother's gyarden, and every fall I'd divide the roots
+up and scatter 'em out till I got the whole place pretty well
+sprinkled with 'em, but the biggest part of 'em come from the old
+Harris farm, three or four miles down the pike. Forty years ago that
+farm was sold, and the man that bought it tore things up scandalous.
+He called it remodelin', I ricollect, but it looked more like ruinin'
+to me. Old Lady Harris was like myself; she couldn't git enough of
+these yeller flowers. She had a double row of 'em all around her
+gyarden, and they'd even gone through the fence and come up in the
+cornfield, and who ever plowed that field had to be careful not to
+touch them daffydils.
+
+"Well, as soon as the new man got possession he begun plowin' up the
+gyarden, and one evenin' the news come to me that he was throwin' away
+Johnny-jump-ups by the wagon-load. I put on my sunbonnet and went out
+where Abram was at work in the field, and says I, 'Abram, you've got
+to stop plowin' and put the horse to the spring wagon and take me over
+to the old Harris place.' And Abram says, says he, 'Why, Jane, I'd
+like mighty well to finish this field before night, for it looks like
+it might rain to-morrow. Is it anything particular you want to go
+for?'
+
+"Says I, 'Yes; I never was so particular about anything in my life as
+I am about this. I hear they're plowin' up Old Lady Harris' gyarden
+and throwin' the flowers away, and I want to go over and git a
+wagon-load o' Johnny-jump-ups.'
+
+"Abram looked at me a minute like he thought I was losin' my senses,
+and then he burst out laughin', and says he: 'Jane, who ever heard of
+a farmer stoppin' plowin' to go after Johnny-jump-ups? And who ever
+heard of a farmer's wife askin' him to do such a thing?'
+
+"I walked up to the plow and begun to unfasten the trace chains, and
+says I: 'Business before pleasure, Abram. If it's goin' to rain
+to-morrow that's all the more reason why I ought to have my
+Johnny-jump-ups set out to-day. The plowin' can wait till we come
+back.'
+
+"Of course Abram give in when he saw how I wanted the flowers. But he
+broke out laughin' two or three times while he was hitchin' up and
+says he: 'Don't tell any o' the neighbors, Jane, that I stopped
+plowin' to go after a load of Johnny-jump-ups.'
+
+"When we got to the Harris place we found the Johnny-jump-ups lyin' in
+a gully by the side o' the road, a pitiful sight to anybody that loves
+flowers and understands their feelin's. We loaded up the wagon with
+the pore things, and as soon as we got home, Abram took his hoe and
+made a little trench all around the gyarden, and I set out the
+Johnny-jump-ups while Abram finished his plowin', and the next day the
+rain fell on Abram's cornfield and on my flowers.
+
+"Do you see that row o' daffydils over yonder by the front fence,
+child--all leaves and no blossoms?"
+
+I looked in the direction of her pointing finger and saw a long line
+of flowerless plants, standing like sad and silent guests at the
+festival of spring.
+
+"It's been six years since I set 'em out there," said Aunt Jane
+impressively, "and not a flower have they had in all that time. Some
+folks say it's because I moved 'em at the wrong time o' the year. But
+the same week I moved these I moved some from my yard to Elizabeth
+Crawford's, and Elizabeth's bloom every year, so it can't be that.
+Some folks said the place I had 'em in was too shady, and I put 'em
+right out there where the sun strikes on 'em till it sets, and still
+they won't bloom. It's my opinion, honey, that they're jest homesick.
+I believe if I was to take them daffydils back to Aunt Matilda's and
+plant 'em in the border where they used to grow, alongside o' the sage
+and lavender and thyme, that they'd go to bloomin' again jest like
+they used to. You know how the children of Israel pined and mourned
+when they was carried into captivity. Well, every time I look at my
+daffydils I think o' them homesick Israelites askin', 'How can we sing
+the songs o' Zion in a strange land?'
+
+"You needn't laugh, child. A flower is jest as human as you and me.
+Look at that vine yonder, takin' hold of everything that comes in its
+way like a little child learnin' to walk. And calycanthus buds, see
+how you've got to hold 'em in your hands and warm 'em before they'll
+give out their sweetness, jest like children that you've got to love
+and pet, before they'll let you git acquainted with 'em. You see that
+pink rose over by the fence?" pointing to a La France heavy with
+blossoms. "Well, that rose didn't do anything but put out leaves the
+first two years I had it. A bud might come once in a while, but it
+would blast before it was half open. And at last I says to it, says I,
+'What is it you want, honey? There's somethin' that don't please you,
+I know. Don't you like the place you're planted in, and the hollyhocks
+and lilies for neighbors?' And one day I took it up and set it between
+that white tea and another La France, and it went to bloomin' right
+away. It didn't like the neighborhood it was in, you see. And did you
+ever hear o' people disappearin' from their homes and never bein'
+found any more? Well, flowers can disappear the same way. The year
+before I was married there was a big bed o' pink chrysanthemums
+growin' under the dinin'-room windows at old Dr. Pendleton's. It
+wasn't a common magenta pink, it was as clear, pretty a pink as that
+La France rose. Well, I saw 'em that fall for the first time and the
+last. The next year there wasn't any, and when I asked where they'd
+gone to, nobody could tell anything about 'em. And ever since then
+I've been searchin' in every old gyarden in the county, but I've never
+found 'em, and I don't reckon I ever will.
+
+"And there's my roses! Just look at 'em! Every color a rose could be,
+and pretty near every kind there is. Wouldn't you think I'd be
+satisfied? But there's a rose I lost sixty years ago, and the
+ricollection o' that rose keeps me from bein' satisfied with all I've
+got. It grew in Old Lady Elrod's gyarden and nowhere else, and there
+ain't a rose here except grandmother's that I wouldn't give up forever
+if I could jest find that rose again.
+
+"I've tried many a time to tell folks about that rose, but I can't
+somehow get hold of the words. I reckon an old woman like me, with
+little or no learnin', couldn't be expected to tell how that rose
+looked, any more'n she could be expected to draw it and paint it. I
+can say it was yeller, but that word 'yeller' don't tell the color the
+rose was. I've got all the shades of yeller in my garden, but nothin'
+like the color o' that rose. It got deeper and deeper towards the
+middle, and lookin' at one of them roses half-opened was like lookin'
+down into a gold mine. The leaves crinkled and curled back towards the
+stem as fast as it opened, and the more it opened the prettier it was,
+like some women that grow better lookin' the older they grow,--Mary
+Andrews was one o'that kind,--and when it comes to tellin' you how it
+smelt, I'll jest have to stop. There never was anything like it for
+sweetness, and it was a different sweetness from any other rose God
+ever made.
+
+"I ricollect seein' Miss Penelope come in church one Sunday, dressed
+in white, with a black velvet gyirdle 'round her waist, and a bunch o'
+these roses, buds and half-blown ones and full-blown ones, fastened in
+the gyirdle, and that bunch o' yeller roses was song and sermon and
+prayer to me that day. I couldn't take my eyes off 'em; and I thought
+that if Christ had seen that rose growin' in the fields around
+Palestine, he wouldn't 'a' mentioned lilies when he said Solomon in
+all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
+
+"I always intended to ask for a slip of it, but I waited too long. It
+got lost one winter, and when I asked Old Lady Elrod about it she
+said, 'Mistress Parrish, I cannot tell you whence it came nor whither
+it went.' The old lady always used mighty pretty language.
+
+"Well, honey, them two lost flowers jest haunt me. They're like dead
+children. You know a house may be full o' livin' children, but if
+there's one dead, a mother'll see its face and hear its voice above
+all the others, and that's the way with my lost flowers. No matter how
+many roses and chrysanthemums I have, I keep seein' Old Lady Elrod's
+yeller roses danglin' from Miss Penelope's gyirdle, and that bed o'
+pink chrysanthemums under Dr. Pendleton's dinin'-room windows."
+
+"Each mortal has his Carcassonne!" Here was Aunt Jane's, but it was no
+matter for a tear or even a sigh. And I thought how the sting of life
+would lose its venom, if for every soul the unattainable were embodied
+in nothing more embittering than two exquisite lost flowers.
+
+One afternoon in early June I stood with Aunt Jane in her garden. It
+was the time of roses; and in the midst of their opulent bloom stood
+the tall white lilies, handmaidens to the queen. Here and there over
+the warm earth old-fashioned pinks spread their prayer-rugs, on which
+a worshiper might kneel and offer thanks for life and spring; and
+towering over all, rows of many-colored hollyhocks flamed and glowed
+in the light of the setting sun like the stained glass windows of
+some old cathedral.
+
+Across the flowery expanse Aunt Jane looked wistfully toward the
+evening skies, beyond whose stars and clouds we place that other world
+called heaven.
+
+"I'm like my grandmother, child," she said presently. "I know I've got
+to leave this country some day soon, and journey to another one, and
+the only thing I mind about it is givin' up my gyarden. When John
+looked into heaven he saw gold streets and gates of pearl, but he
+don't say anything about gyardens. I like what he says about no
+sorrer, nor cryin', nor pain, and God wipin' away all tears from their
+eyes. That's pure comfort. But if I could jest have Abram and the
+children again, and my old home and my old gyarden, I'd be willin' to
+give up the gold streets and glass sea and pearl gates."
+
+The loves of earth and the homes of earth! No apocalyptic vision can
+come between these and the earth-born human heart.
+
+Life is said to have begun in a garden; and if here was our lost
+paradise, may not the paradise we hope to gain through death be, to
+the lover of nature, another garden in a new earth, girdled by four
+soft-flowing rivers, and watered by mists that arise in the night to
+fall on the face of the sleeping world, where all we plant shall grow
+unblighted through winterless years, and they who inherit it go with
+white garments and shining faces, and say at morn and noon and eve:
+_My soul is like a watered garden?_
+
+[Illustration]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
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+Abner Daniel. By Will N. Harben.
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+Alternative, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
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+Ancient Law, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
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+Angel of Pain, The. By E. F. Benson.
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+Bar-20 Days. By Clarence E. Mulford.
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+Beau Brocade. By Baroness Orczy.
+
+Beechy. By Bettina von Hutten.
+
+Bella Donna. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Beloved Vagabond, The. By William J. Locke.
+
+Ben Blair. By Will Lillibridge.
+
+Best Man, The. By Harold McGrath.
+
+Beth Norvell. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Betrayal, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Better Man, The. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
+
+Beulah. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
+
+Bill Toppers, The. By Andre Castaigne.
+
+Blaze Derringer. By Eugene P. Lyle, Jr.
+
+Bob Hampton of Placer. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Bob, Son of Battle. By Alfred Ollivant.
+
+Brass Bowl, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Bronze Bell, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Butterfly Man, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+By Right of Purchase. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+
+Cab No. 44. By R. F. Foster.
+
+Calling of Dan Matthews, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Call of the Blood, The. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Cape Cod Stories. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Cap'n Erl. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Captain Warren's Wards. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Caravaners, The. By the author of "Elizabeth and Her German Garden."
+
+Cardigan. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Carlton Case, The. By Ellery H. Clark.
+
+Car of Destiny, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Carpet From Bagdad, The. By Harold McGrath.
+
+Cash Intrigue, The. By George Randolph Chester.
+
+Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine. By Frank S. Stockton.
+
+Castle by the Sea, The. By H. B. Marriot Watson.
+
+Challoners, The. By E. F. Benson.
+
+Chaperon, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+City of Six, The. By C. L. Canfield.
+
+Circle, The. By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of "The
+       Masquerader," "The Gambler.")
+
+Colonial Free Lance, A. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+
+Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington.
+
+Conspirators, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Cynthia of the Minute. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+
+Dan Merrithew. By Lawrence Perry.
+
+Day of the Dog, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Depot Master, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Derelicts. By William J. Locke.
+
+Diamond Master, The. By Jacques Futrelle.
+
+Diamonds Cut Paste. By Agnes and Egerton Castle.
+
+Divine Fire, The. By May Sinclair.
+
+Dixie Hart. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Dr. David. By Marjorie Benton Cooke.
+
+
+Early Bird, The. By George Randolph Chester.
+
+Eleventh Hour, The. By David Potter.
+
+Elizabeth in Rugen. (By the author of "Elizabeth and Her German Garden.")
+
+Elusive Isabel. By Jacques Futrelle.
+
+Elusive Pimpernel, The. By Baroness Orczy.
+
+Enchanted Hat, The. By Harold McGrath.
+
+Excuse Me. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+
+54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough.
+
+Fighting Chance, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Flamsted Quarries. By Mary E. Waller.
+
+Flying Mercury, The. By Eleanor M. Ingram.
+
+For a Maiden Brave. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+
+Four Million, The. By O. Henry.
+
+Four Pool's Mystery, The. By Jean Webster.
+
+Fruitful Vine, The. By Robert Hichens.
+
+
+Ganton & Co. By Arthur J. Eddy.
+
+Gentleman of France, A. By Stanley Weyman.
+
+Gentleman, The. By Alfred Ollivant.
+
+Get-Rich-Quick-Wallingford. By George Randolph Chester.
+
+Gilbert Neal. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Girl and the Bill, The. By Bannister Merwin.
+
+Girl from His Town, The. By Marie Van Vorst.
+
+Girl Who Won, The. By Beth Ellis.
+
+Glory of Clementina, The. By William J. Locke.
+
+Glory of the Conquered, The. By Susan Glaspell.
+
+God's Good Man. By Marie Corelli.
+
+Going Some. By Rex Beach.
+
+Golden Web, The. By Anthony Partridge.
+
+Green Patch, The. By Bettina von Hutten.
+
+
+Happy Island (sequel to "Uncle William"). By Jennette Lee.
+
+Hearts and the Highway. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
+
+Held for Orders. By Frank H. Spearman.
+
+Hidden Water. By Dane Coolidge.
+
+Highway of Fate, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Homesteaders, The. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+
+Honor of the Big Snows, The. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Hopalong Cassidy. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Household of Peter, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+House of Mystery, The. By Will Irwin.
+
+House of the Lost Court, The. By C. N. Williamson.
+
+House of the Whispering Pines, The. By Anna Katherine Green.
+
+House on Cherry Street, The. By Amelia E. Barr.
+
+How Leslie Loved. By Anne Warner.
+
+Husbands of Edith, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+
+Idols. By William J. Locke.
+
+Illustrious Prince, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Imprudence of Prue, The. By Sophie Fisher.
+
+Inez. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
+
+Infelice. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Initials Only. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+In Defiance of the King. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+
+Indifference of Juliet, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+In the Service of the Princess. By Henry C. Rowland.
+
+Iron Woman, The. By Margaret Deland.
+
+Ishmael. (Illustrated.) By Mrs. Southworth.
+
+Island of Regeneration, The. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
+
+
+Jack Spurlock, Prodigal. By Horace Lorimer.
+
+Jane Cable. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Jeanne of the Marshes. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Jude the Obscure. By Thomas Hardy.
+
+
+Keith of the Border. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Key to the Unknown, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Kingdom of Earth, The. By Anthony Partridge.
+
+King Spruce. By Holman Day.
+
+
+Ladder of Swords, A. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Lady Betty Across the Water. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Lady Merton, Colonist. By Mrs. Humphrey Ward.
+
+Lady of Big Shanty, The. By Berkeley F. Smith.
+
+Langford of the Three Bars. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+
+Land of Long Ago, The. By Eliza Calvert Hall.
+
+Lane That Had No Turning, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Last Trail, The. By Zane Grey.
+
+Last Voyage of the Donna Isabel, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Leavenworth Case, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Lin McLean. By Owen Wister.
+
+Little Brown Jug at Kildare, The. By Meredith Nicholson.
+
+Loaded Dice. By Ellery H. Clarke.
+
+Lord Loveland Discovers America. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Lorimer of the Northwest. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Lorraine. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Lost Ambassador, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Love Under Fire. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Loves of Miss Anne, The. By S. R. Crockett.
+
+
+Macaria. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
+
+Mademoiselle Celeste. By Adele Ferguson Knight.
+
+Maid at Arms, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Maid of Old New York, A. By Amelia E. Barr.
+
+Maid of the Whispering Hills, The. By Vingie Roe.
+
+Maids of Paradise, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Making of Bobby Burnit, The. By George Randolph Chester.
+
+Mam' Linda. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Man Outside, The. By Wyndham Martyn.
+
+Man In the Brown Derby, The. By Wells Hastings.
+
+Marriage a la Mode. By Mrs. Humphrey Ward.
+
+Marriage of Theodora, The. By Molly Elliott Seawell.
+
+Marriage Under the Terror, A. By Patricia Wentworth.
+
+Master Mummer, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Masters of the Wheatlands. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Max. By Katherine Cecil Thurston.
+
+Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Millionaire Baby, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Missioner, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Miss Selina Lue. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
+
+Mistress of Brae Farm, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Money Moon, The. By Jeffery Farnol.
+
+Motor Maid, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Much Ado About Peter. By Jean Webster.
+
+Mr. Pratt. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+My Brother's Keeper. By Charles Tenny Jackson.
+
+My Friend the Chauffeur. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+My Lady Caprice (author of the "Broad Highway"). Jeffery Farnol.
+
+My Lady of Doubt. By Randall Parrish.
+
+My Lady of the North. By Randall Parrish.
+
+My Lady of the South. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Mystery Tales. By Edgar Allen Poe.
+
+
+Nancy Stair. By Elinor Macartney Lane.
+
+Ne'er-Do-Well, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+No Friend Like a Sister. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+
+Officer 666. By Barton W. Currie and Augustin McHugh.
+
+One Braver Thing. By Richard Dehan.
+
+Order No. 11. By Caroline Abbot Stanley.
+
+Orphan, The. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Out of the Primitive. By Robert Ames Bennett.
+
+
+Pam. By Bettina von Hutten.
+
+Pam Decides. By Bettina von Hutten.
+
+Pardners. By Rex Beach.
+
+Partners of the Tide. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Passage Perilous, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Passers By. By Anthony Partridge.
+
+Paternoster Ruby, The. By Charles Edmonds Walk.
+
+Patience of John Moreland, The. By Mary Dillon.
+
+Paul Anthony, Christian. By Hiram W. Hays.
+
+Phillip Steele. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Phra the Phoenician. By Edwin Lester Arnold.
+
+Plunderer, The. By Roy Norton.
+
+Pole Baker. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Politician, The. By Edith Huntington Mason.
+
+Polly of the Circus. By Margaret Mayo.
+
+Pool of Flame, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Poppy. By Cynthia Stockley.
+
+Power and the Glory, The. By Grace McGowan Cooke.
+
+Price of the Prairie, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Prince of Sinners, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Prince or Chauffeur. By Lawrence Perry.
+
+Princess Dehra, The. By John Reed Scott.
+
+Princess Passes, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Princess Virginia, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Prisoners of Chance. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Prodigal Son, The. By Hall Caine.
+
+Purple Parasol, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+
+Reconstructed Marriage, A. By Amelia Barr.
+
+Redemption of Kenneth Galt, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Red House on Rowan Street. By Roman Doubleday.
+
+Red Mouse, The. By William Hamilton Osborne.
+
+Red Pepper Burns. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Refugees, The. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The. By Anne Warner.
+
+Road to Providence, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
+
+Romance of a Plain Man, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
+
+Rose in the Ring, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Rose of Old Harpeth, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
+
+Rosa of the World. By Agnes and Egerton Castle.
+
+Round the Corner in Gay Street. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Routledge Rides Alone. By Will Livingston Comfort.
+
+Running Fight, The. By Wm. Hamilton Osborne.
+
+
+Seats of the Mighty, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Septimus. By William J. Locke.
+
+Set in Silver. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+Self-Raised. (Illustrated.) By Mrs. Southworth.
+
+Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Sidney Carteret, Rancher. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Simon the Jester. By William J. Locke.
+
+Silver Blade, The. By Charles E. Walk.
+
+Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Sir Nigel. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Sir Richard Calmady. By Lucas Malet.
+
+Skyman, The. By Henry Ketchell Webster.
+
+Slim Princess, The. By George Ade.
+
+Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Spirit of the Border, The. By Zane Grey.
+
+Spirit Trail, The. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+
+Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Stanton Wins. By Eleanor M. Ingram.
+
+St. Elmo. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
+
+Stolen Singer, The. By Martha Bellinger.
+
+Stooping Lady, The. By Maurice Hewlett.
+
+Story of the Outlaw, The. By Emerson Hough.
+
+Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Strawberry Handkerchief, The. By Amelia E. Barr.
+
+Sunnyside of the Hill, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
+
+Sunset Trail, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+
+Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop. By Anne Warner.
+
+Sword of the Old Frontier, A. By Randall Parrish.
+
+
+Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Tennessee Shad, The. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thomas Hardy.
+
+Texican, The. By Dane Coolidge.
+
+That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Three Brothers, The. By Eden Phillpotts.
+
+Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+
+Thurston of Orchard Valley. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Title Market, The. By Emily Post.
+
+Torn Sails. A Tale of a Welsh Village. By Allen Raine.
+
+Trail of the Axe, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli.
+
+Two-Gun Man, The. By Charles Alden Seltzer.
+
+Two Vanrevels, The. By Booth Tarkington.
+
+
+Uncle William. By Jennette Lee.
+
+Up from Slavery. By Booker T. Washington.
+
+
+Vanity Box, The. By C. N. Williamson.
+
+Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Varmint, The. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Vigilante Girl, A. By Jerome Hart.
+
+Village of Vagabonds, A. By F. Berkeley Smith.
+
+Visioning, The. By Susan Glaspell.
+
+Voice of the People, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
+
+
+Wanted--A Chaperon. By Paul Leicester Ford.
+
+Wanted: A Matchmaker. By Paul Leicester Ford.
+
+Watchers of the Plains, The. Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Wayfarers, The. By Mary Stewart Cutting.
+
+Way of a Man, The. By Emerson Hough.
+
+Weavers, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge.
+
+White Sister, The. By Marion Crawford.
+
+Window at the White Cat, The. By Mary Roberts Rhinehart.
+
+Winning of Barbara Worth, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+With Juliet In England. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Woman Haters, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Woman in Question, The. By John Reed Scott.
+
+Woman In the Alcove, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+
+Yellow Circle, The. By Charles E. Walk.
+
+Yellow Letter, The. By William Johnston.
+
+Younger Set, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Newest Books in Popular Reprint Fiction
+
+Only Books of Superior Merit and Popularity are Published in this List
+
+
+THE WOOD-CARVER OF 'LYMPUS. By Mary E. Waller.
+
+     A strong tale of human loves and hopes set in a background
+     of the granite mountain-tops of remote New England.
+
+     Hugh Armstrong, the hero, is one of the pronouncedly high
+     class character delineations of a quarter century.
+
+
+THE REASON WHY. By Elinor Glyn.
+
+     A fine love story, the chief interest lies in the
+     personality of a beautiful girl whose uncle arranges a match
+     for her with a titled Englishman.
+
+
+THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS. By Harold MacGrath.
+
+     Courtlandt, the young American hero, is a typical MacGrath
+     creation. He is past thirty, without a wife, and so rich
+     that he cannot get rid of his money fast enough. No love
+     plot was ever more original.
+
+
+AUNT JANE OF KENTUCKY. By Eliza Calvert Hall.
+
+     This story is destined to make a strong appeal to every
+     human heart. Everyone is sure to love Aunt Jane and her
+     neighbors, her quilts and her flowers, her stories and her
+     quaint, tender philosophy.
+
+
+THE POSTMASTER. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+     "The Postmaster" has more pure fun in it than anything Mr.
+     Lincoln has written recently. The episode where the
+     Christian Science lady meets the nervous old gentleman in
+     the home of the spiritualist is uproarious.
+
+
+TRUTH DEXTER. By Sidney McCall.
+
+     The novel bears the unmistakable imprint of genius.... Truth
+     Dexter, the heroine, is one of the most lovable women in
+     fiction--pure, worshipful, worthy and thoroughly
+     womanly--the woman who makes a heaven of earth.
+
+
+THE BANDBOX. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+     "The Bandbox" is one of those delightful romances that you
+     read through to the end at a sitting, forgetful of time,
+     troubles, or tired feelings, and then breathe a sigh of
+     regret because there's no more.
+
+
+JAPONETTE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+     A Chambers' novel is always one of the literary events of
+     the year, and nothing more fascinating than "Japonette" has
+     been penned by this most gifted writer.
+
+
+THE WIND BEFORE THE DAWN. By Dell H. Munger.
+
+     The author has gone below the surface, seized upon the
+     spirit of the pioneers, and dramatized into her story their
+     love for the region and their stubborn faith in what held
+     them there. It is a good, human, realistic story, full of
+     real people and thrilling with the real pulses of life.
+
+
+MISS GIBBIE GAULT. By Kate Langley Bosher.
+
+     To read a book like this is like taking a sun-bath. No one
+     will finish the book without thanking the author for the
+     keen pleasure it has given, and the vision of something good
+     in human nature that it has brought before them.
+
+
+THE ONE-WAY TRAIL. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+     This is a wholesome story of life and love in Montana, with
+     real men and women, a strong plot and thrilling situations.
+     Intensely interesting from beginning to end.
+
+
+THE GUESTS OF HERCULES. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+
+     This is a story of the Riviera and Monte Carlo--and a clever
+     and rather complicated plot. The girl is particularly
+     unusual and piquant, the man more than ever loverlike and
+     fascinating.
+
+
+MOLLY McDONALD, A Tale of the Old Frontier. By Randall Parrish.
+
+     This is the story of a charming, whole-hearted girl, who
+     leaving an Eastern school joins her father at a military
+     post in Kansas during the Indian wars of 1868.
+
+
+TO M. L. G., OR ONE WHO PASSED.
+
+     This is a life-story written by a woman who had not dared to
+     risk telling it to the man she loved. She preferred to send
+     him away rather than to lose his respect; knowing her life
+     to have been so different from what he fancied it.
+
+
+For sale by most booksellers at the popular price of 50 cents.
+Published by the
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52 Duane Street, New York.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+AUNT JANE
+
+OF KENTUCKY
+
+By ELIZA CALVERT HALL
+
+
+With Aunt Jane a real personage has come into literature.
+
+In this dear old philosopher in homespun--with her patchwork quilts,
+which were her albums and diary, and in the midst of her garden, where
+each "flower was a human thing with a life-story"--we seem to renew
+acquaintance with a character which each of us has known and loved
+back in our own gardens of memory.
+
+Where so many have made caricatures of old-time country folk, Eliza
+Calvert Hall has caught at once the real charm, the real spirit, the
+real people, and the real joy of living which was theirs.
+
+
+ALSO BY THE SAME AUTHOR
+
+The Land of Long Ago
+
+     "The Land of Long Ago," in which reappears that famous
+     character, "Aunt Jane of Kentucky," is a delightful picture
+     of rural life in the Blue Grass country, showing the real
+     charm and spirit of the old time country folk--a book full
+     of sentiment and kindliness and high ideals. It cannot fail
+     to appeal to every reader by reason of its sunny humor, its
+     sweetness and sincerity, its entire fidelity to life. Aunt
+     Jane with her calm philosophy, her captivating stories, her
+     sweet, womanly ways, is a character that wins the reader at
+     once.
+
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY,
+
+Publishers,           New York
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Aunt Jane of Kentucky, by Eliza Calvert Hall
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT JANE OF KENTUCKY ***
+
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