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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/28027-0.txt b/28027-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..154dfa2 --- /dev/null +++ b/28027-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4811 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dwellers in Arcady, by Albert Bigelow Paine + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Dwellers in Arcady + The Story of an Abandoned Farm + +Author: Albert Bigelow Paine + +Illustrator: Thomas Fogarty + +Release Date: February 8, 2009 [eBook #28027] +[Most recently updated: May 25, 2023] + +Language: English + +Produced by: Annie McGuire + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWELLERS IN ARCADY *** + + + + +DWELLERS IN ARCADY + + * * * * * + +_Books by_ + +ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + +_For Young Readers_ + + THE BOYS' LIFE OF MARK TWAIN + HOLLOW TREE NIGHTS AND DAYS + THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP-WOODS BOOK + THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK + +_Small books of several stories each, selected from the above Hollow + Tree books:_ + + HOW MR. DOG GOT EVEN + HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL + MR. RABBIT'S BIG DINNER + MAKING UP WITH MR. DOG + MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT BALLOON TRIP + WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY + MR. RABBIT'S WEDDING + MR. CROW AND THE WHITEWASH + MR. TURTLE'S FLYING ADVENTURE + +_For Grown-ups_ + + DWELLERS IN ARCADY + MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS + MARK TWAIN: A BIOGRAPHY + TH. NAST: HIS PERIOD AND HIS PICTURES + THE SHIP-DWELLERS (Humorous travel) + THE TENT-DWELLERS (Humorous camping) + FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER (Humorous, home life) + PEANUT (Story of a boy) + +HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _Once more it was a habitation and a home_] + +[Illustration] + +DWELLERS IN ARCADY + +The Story of an Abandoned Farm + +by + +Albert Bigelow Paine + +_Author of_ "From Van-Dweller to Commuter" +"The Ship-Dwellers" "The Tent Dwellers" +Etc. + +With Illustrations by Thomas Fogarty + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + +Harper & Brothers Publishers +New York and London + +Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers +Printed in the United States of America +Published March, 1919 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + _Once more it was a habitation and a home_ _Frontispiece_ + + _"And here is your house," said William C. + Westbury_ 6 + + _They formed a board of appraisal. All of them + knew that cellar and were intimately acquainted + with its contents_ 44 + + _I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a + second later had it hooked and was back, + the lightning at my heels_ 68 + + _Sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by + the waning embers, and watched her moving + to and fro between me and the fading + autumn fields_ 110 + + _"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us + where we are?"_ 156 + + _I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic + summer, and, on the whole, a + successful one_ 206 + + _It was on a winter evening that I drove our + car back to its old place in the barn, after + its long journeyings by land and sea_ 238 + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + + +I + +_All my life I had dreamed of owning a brook_ + +[Illustration] + +Just below the brow of the hill one of the traces broke (it was in the +horse-and-wagon days of a dozen years or so ago), and, if our driver had +not been a prompt man our adventure might have come to grief when it was +scarcely begun. As it was, we climbed on foot to the top, and waited +while he went into a poor old wreck of a house to borrow a string for +repairs. + +We wondered if the house we were going to see would be like this one. It +was of no special design and it had never had a period. It was just a +house, built out of some one's urgent need and a lean purse. In the +fifty years or so of its existence it had warped and lurched and become +sway-backed and old--oh, so old and dilapidated--without becoming in the +least antique, but just dismal and disreputable--a veritable pariah of +architecture. We thought this too bad, for the situation, with its view +down a little valley and in the distance the hazy hills, was the sort of +thing that, common as it is in Connecticut, never loses its charm. Never +mind, we said, perhaps "our house" would have a view, too. + +But then our trace was mended and we went along--happily, for it was +sunny weather and summer-time, and, though parents of a family of three, +we were still young enough to find pleasure in novelty and a surprise at +every turn. Our driver was not a communicative spirit, but we drew from +him that a good many houses were empty in this part--"people dead or +gone away, and city folks not begun to come yet"--he didn't know why, +for it was handy enough to town--sixty miles by train--and a +nice-enough country, and healthy--just overlooked, he guessed. + +We agreed readily with this view; we were passing, just then, along a +deep gorge that had a romantic, even dangerous, aspect; we descended to +a pretty valley by a road so crooked that twice it nearly crossed +itself; we followed up a clear, foaming little river to a place where +there was a mill and a waterfall, also an old-fashioned white house +surrounded by trees. Just there we crossed a bridge and our driver +pulled up. + +"The man you came to see lives here," he said. "The house is ahead, up +the next hill." + +"The man" must have seen us coming, for the door opened and he came +through the trees, a youngish, capable-looking person who said he was +the same to whom we had written--that is to say, Westbury--William C. +Westbury, of Brook Ridge, Fairfield County. + +Had we suspected then how large a part of our daily economies William C. +Westbury was soon to become we should have given him a closer +inspection. However, he did not devote himself to us. He appeared to be +on terms of old acquaintance with our driver, climbed into the front +seat beside him, and lost himself in news from the outlying districts. +The telephone had not then reached the countryside, and our driver +brought the latest bulletins. The death of a horse in Little Boston, the +burning of a barn in Sanfordtown, the elopement of an otherwise +estimable lady with a peddler, marked the beginning of our intimacy with +the affairs of Brook Ridge. + +The hill was steep, and in the open field at one side a little cascade +leaped and glistened as it went racing to the river below. + +"That's the brook that runs through your farm," Mr. Westbury said, quite +casually, in the midst of his interchanges with the driver. + +"Our farm!" I felt a distinct thrill. And a brook on it! All my life I +had dreamed of owning a brook. + +"Any trout in it?" I ventured, trying to be calm. + +"Best trout-brook in the township. Ain't it, Ed?"--to the driver. + +"Has that name," Ed assented, nodding. "I never fish, myself, but I've +seen some good ones they said come out of it." + +[Illustration] + +We were up the hill by this time, and Mr. Westbury waved his hand to a +sloping meadow at the left. + +"That's one of the fields. Over there on the right is some of your +timber, and up the hill yonder is the rest of it. Thirty-one acres, more +or less. The brook runs through all of it--crosses the road yonder where +you see that bridge." + +I could feel my pulse getting quicker. There was no widely extended +view, but there was a snug coziness about these neighborly meadows and +wooded slopes, with the brook winding between; this friendly road with +its ancient stone walls, all but concealed now by a mass of ferns or +brake on one side, and on the other by a tangle of tall grass, +goldenrod, purple-plumed Joe Pye weed, wild grape with big mellowing +clusters, wild clematis in full bloom. New England in summer-time! What +other land is like it? Our brook, our farm, here in the land of our +fathers! There were a warmth, a glow, a poetry in the thought that +cannot be put down in words--something to us new and wonderful, yet as +old as human wandering and return. + +But then all at once we were pulling up abreast of two massive +maple-trees and some stone steps. + +[Illustration: _"And here is your house," said William C. Westbury_] + +"And here is your house," said William C. Westbury. + + +II + +_Ghosts like good architecture_ + +I believe I cannot quite give to-day my first impression of the house. +In the years that have followed it has blended into so many other +impressions that I could never be sure I was getting the right one. I +had better confine myself to its physical appearance and what was +perhaps a reflex impression--say, number two. + +One glance was enough to show that it was all that the other old house +was not. It did not sag, or lurch, or do any of those disreputable +things. It stood up as straight and was as firm on its foundations as on +the day when its last hand-wrought nail had been driven home, a century +or so before. No mistaking its period or architecture--it was the +long-roofed salt-box type, the first Connecticut habitation that +followed the pioneer cabin; its vast central chimney had held it +unshaken during the long generations of sun and storm. + +Not that it was intact--oh, by no means. Its wide weather-boards were +broken and falling; the red paint they had once known had become a mere +memory, its shingles were moss-grown and curling, the grass was uncut. +The weeds about the entrances and rotting well-curb grew tall and dank; +the appearance of things in general was far from gay. Clouds had +overcast the sky, and on that dull afternoon a sort of still deadliness +hung about the premises. No cheap, common house can be a haunted house. +Ghosts like good architecture, especially when it has become pretty +antique, and they have a passion for neglected door-yards. The place +lacked nothing that I could see to make it attractive to even the most +fastidious wandering wraith. As I say, I think this was not my first +impression, but certainly it was about the next one, and I could see by +her face that it was Elizabeth's. + +"Place wants trimming up," said Mr. Westbury, producing a big brass key, +"and the house needs some work on it, but the frame is as sound as ever +it was. Been standing there going on two hundred years--hewn oak and +hard as iron. We'll go inside." + +We climbed down rather silently. I felt a tendency to step softly, for +fear of waking something. The big key fitted the back door, and we +followed Mr. Westbury. He told us, as we entered, that the place +belonged to his wife and her sister--that they had been born there; +also, their father, their grandmother, and their great-grandfather, +which was as far back as they knew, though the house had always been in +the family. Through a little hallway we entered a square room of +considerable size. It had doors opening into two smaller rooms, and to +one much larger--long and low, so low that, being a tall person, my hair +brushed the plaster. Just in the corner where we entered there was an +astonishingly big fireplace to which Mr. Westbury waved a sort of +salute. + +"There is a real antique for you," he said. + +There was no question as to that. The opening, which included a Dutch +oven, was fully seven feet wide, and the chimney-breast no less than +ten. The long, narrow mantel-shelf was scarcely a foot below the +ceiling. It took our breath a little--it was so much better than +anything we had hoped for. We forgot that this was a haunted house. It +had become all at once a sort of a dream house in which mentally we +began placing all the ancient furnishings we had been gathering since +our far-off van-dwelling days. There was a big hole in the plaster, but +it was a small matter. We hardly saw it. What we saw was the long, low +room, with its wide wainscoting and quaint double windows, and ranged +about its walls--restored and tinted down to match--our low bookshelves; +on the old oak floor were our mellow rugs, and here and there tables and +desk and couches, with deep easy-chairs gathered about a wide open fire +of logs. Oh, there is nothing more precious in this world than the dream +of a possibility like that, when one is still young enough, and strong +enough to make it come true! + +"This was the kitchen in the old days," Mr. Westbury said. "They cooked +over the fire and baked in that oven. Old Uncle Phineas Todd, over at +Lonetown, who is ninety years old, and remembers when his mother cooked +that way, says that nothing has ever tasted so good since as the meat +and bread that came out of those ovens. The meat was rich with juice +and the bread had a crust on it an inch thick. That would be +seventy-five years ago, and it's about that long, I guess, since this +one was used." Mr. Westbury opened a door to another square room of +considerable size. "This was their best room," he said. "They opened the +front door only for funerals and weddings. I was married over there in +that corner twelve years ago. That was the last wedding. My wife's +father lived here till last year. That was the last funeral. He was +eighty-five when he died. People get to be old folks up here." + +There was a smaller fireplace in this room, and another in a little room +behind the chimney, and still another in the first we had entered--four +in all--one on each side of the great stone chimney-base. For the most +part the walls seemed in good condition--the plaster having been made +from oyster shells, Westbury said, hauled fifteen miles from Long Island +Sound. + +We returned to the long, low room and climbed the stair to a sort of +half-room--unfinished, the roof sloping to the eaves. Westbury called it +the kitchen-chamber, and it led to bedrooms--a large one and three +small ones. Also, to a tiny one which in our dream we promptly converted +into a bath-room. Then we climbed still another stair--a tortuous, +stumbling ascent--to the attic. + +We had expected it to be an empty place, of dust, cobwebs, and darkness. +It was dusty enough and none too light, but it was far from empty. Four +spinning-wheels of varying sizes were in plain view between us and the +front window. A dozen or more of black, straight-backed chairs of the +best and oldest pattern were mingled with a mass of other ancient +relics--bandboxes, bird-cages, queer-shaped pots and utensils, +trenchers, heaps of old periodicals, boxes of trinkets, wooden chests of +mystery--a New England garret collection such as we had read of, but +never seen, the accumulation of a century and a half of time and change. +We looked at it greedily, for we had long ago acquired a hunger for such +drift as that, left by the human tide. I said in a dead, hopeless tone: + +"I suppose it will all be taken away when the place is sold." + +William C. Westbury sighed. "Oh yes, we'll clear out whatever you don't +care for," he said, gloomily, "but it all goes with the house, if +anybody wants it." + +I gasped. "The--the spinning-wheels and the--the chairs?" + +"Everything--just as it is. We've got an attic full of such truck down +the hill now--from _my_ family. I've hauled around about all that old +stuff I ever want to." + +Our dream began to acquire extensive additions. We saw ourselves on +rainy days pulling over that treasure-house, making priceless +discoveries. Reluctantly we descended to the door-yard, taking another +glance at the rooms as we went down. We whispered to each other that the +place certainly had great possibilities, but it was mainly the attic we +were thinking of. + +We went outside. Somehow the door-yard seemed a good deal brighter, and +we agreed that an hour or two's brisk exercise with a scythe would work +wonders. We walked down to the brook, and Mr. Westbury pulled back the +willows from the swift water, and something darted away--trout, he +said, and if he had declared them to weigh a pound apiece we should have +accepted his appraisal, for we were still under the spell of that magic +collection up there under the roof and his statement that everything +went with the house. + +The price for the thirty-one acres--"more or less," as the New England +deeds phrase it, for there are no exact boundaries or measurements among +those hoary hills--with the house, which for the moment seemed to us +mainly composed of attic and contents, though we still remembered the +long, low room and spacious fireplaces; a barn--I was near forgetting +the barn, though it was larger than the house, and as old and solid; the +trout-brook; the woods; the meadow; the orchard--all complete was (ah, +me! I fear those days are gone!) a thousand dollars, and I cannot to +this day understand how we ever got away without closing the trade. I +suppose we wanted to talk about it awhile, and bargain, for the years +had brought us more prudence than money. In the end we agreed on nine +hundred, and went up one day to "pass papers"--which we did after +taking another look at the attic, to make certain that it was not just a +dream, after all. I remember the transaction quite clearly, for it +rained that day, world without end, and Elizabeth and I, caught in a +sudden shower, made for a great tree and had shelter under it while the +elements raged about us. How young we must have been to make it all seem +so novel and delightful! I recall that we discussed our attic and what +we would do with the fireplace room, as we stood there getting wet to +the skin. We had found accommodations at a neighbor's, and we decided to +remain a few days and make some plans. We were so engrossed that we +hardly knew when the rain was over. + +[Illustration] + +It was about sunset when I walked up alone for a casual look at our new +possession. It was still and deserted up there, and as the light faded +into dusk, the ancient overgrown place certainly had an air about it +that was not quite canny. I decided that I would not remain any longer, +and was about to go when I noticed an old, white-haired man standing a +few feet away. I had heard no step, and his pale, grave face was not +especially reassuring. I began to feel goose-flesh. + +"G-good evening," I said. + +He nodded and advanced a step. I noticed that he limped, and I had been +told that my predecessor who had passed away the year before at +eighty-five had walked in that way. + +"Don't pay too much for this place," he said, in a hollow, solemn voice. +"Don't pay too much. It was 'prised in the settlement at nine hundred, +and it tain't wuth any more." + +"I--I've already bought it," I said, weakly. + +"Yeh didn't pay more 'n nine hundred, did yeh?" he questioned, +anxiously. + +"No, I didn't pay more than that." + +"I'm glad," he said, "for it wasn't 'prised any more. I like to see +things in this world done fair. When yeh git moved I'll come to see yeh +again. Good night." + +He limped through the long grass and disappeared over the hill. On the +way down I stopped at the Westbury home and reported my visitor. Mrs. +Westbury, a handsome, spirited woman, laughed. + +"That was old Nat, who lives just back of you. He's a good old body, but +queer." + +"I'm glad he's a body," I said. "I wasn t sure." + + +III + +_Our debt to William C. Westbury_ + +Before going deeper into this history I think I ought definitely to +introduce William C. Westbury, who sold us the place. How few and +lagging would have been our accomplishments without Westbury; how +trifling seems our repayment as I review the years. Not only did he sell +us the house, but he made its habitation possible; you will understand +this as the pages pass. + +Westbury was a native of natives. By a collateral branch he, like his +wife, had descended from our original owners, the ancient and honorable +Meeker stock, who had acquired from the Crown a grant of one of the long +lots (so called because, although of limited width, they had each a +shore front on Long Island Sound) a fifteen-mile stretch of wood and +hill and running water. His own homestead at the foot of the hill--the +old-fashioned white house already mentioned--had been built a generation +or two after ours, when with prosperity, or at least the means of easier +accomplishment, the younger stock had gone in for a more pretentious +setting. + +Whatever there was to know about Brook Ridge, Westbury knew--an all-wide +Providence could scarcely know more. He knew every family, its history +and inter-relationships. His favorite diversion was to take up and +pursue some genealogical thread, to follow its mazy meanderings down the +generations, dropping in curious bits of unwritten history--some of it +spicy enough, some of it boisterously funny, some of it somber and +gruesome, but all of it alive with the very color and savor of the land +that was a part of himself, his inheritance from the generations of +sturdy pioneers. Possibly Westbury's history was not always authentic, +but if at times he drew on his imagination he tapped a noble source, for +his narrative flowed clear, limpid, refreshing, and inexhaustible. When +the days grew cooler and a fire was going in the big chimney, Westbury +would drop in and, pulling up a big chair, would take out his knife and, +selecting a soft, straight-grained piece of pine kindling, would whittle +and look into the fire while he unwound the skein that threaded through +the years from Azariah Meeker, or Ahab Todd, down to the few and +scattering remnants that still flecked the huckleberry hills. + +But I run ahead of my story--it is a habit. It was Westbury's practical +knowledge that first claimed our gratitude. It was complete and +infallible. He knew every horse and horned beast and vehicle in the +township, and had owned most of them, for he was an inveterate trader. +He knew their exact condition and capabilities, and those of their +owners--where we could get just the right man and team to do our fall +plowing; where we could hire a yoke of oxen if needed; where, in the +proper season, we could buy a cow. He introduced me to a man whose +specialty was cutting brush, because he had heavy, stooped shoulders and +preternaturally long, powerful arms--a sort of anthropoid specimen who +wielded a keen one-handed ax that cut a sizable sapling clean through +at one stroke. He produced a carpenter properly qualified for repairs on +an old house, because he had always lived in one and had been repairing +it most of the time since childhood. He found us the right men to clean +our well, to do our painting, to trim and rehabilitate our frowsy +door-yard. He took me in his buggy to see some of these men; the rest he +sent for. If you have ever undertaken a job like ours you have a pretty +good idea of our debt to William C. Westbury. + +And this was not all--oh, by no means! Westbury kept cows, in those +days, and made an almost daily trip with milk to the nearest sizable +town, by virtue of which he became the natural purchasing agent of the +thousand and one things we needed in that day of our beginning, and the +most reliable and efficient I have ever known. Nothing was too small or +too big for Westbury to remember, and I can see him now swing his team +up to the front step and hear him call out, "Hey, there!" as a +preparation to unloading crockery and tinware, dry-goods and notions, +garden tools and food-stuff, his wagon full, his pockets full, without +ever an oversight or a poor selection. If you have ever lived in the +country you know what a thing like that is worth. It was my opinion that +Westbury was a genius, and he has since proved it. + +But I am still going too fast. The family did not immediately come to +Brook Ridge, and perhaps I should say here that the "family," besides +Elizabeth, consisted of three hardy daughters, whom I shall name as the +Pride, the Hope, and the Joy, aged twelve, seven, and two, respectively. +They were boarding at a pleasant farm some twenty miles away, and it was +thought advisable for them to remain there with Elizabeth a week or such +a matter while I came over and stopped with Westbury and his capable +wife, to get things started. + + +IV + +_Those were lovely days_ + +My impression is that our carpenter came first, though the exact +sequence is unimportant. He was not exclusively a carpenter, being also +a farmer during a considerable portion of the year. He would have to +knock off, now and then, he said, to look after his corn and potatoes, +while his assistant, it appeared, served in the double capacity of +helper and hired man. + +But they were a suitable team for the work in hand--reconstruction on an +old house that had been put up mainly with an ax and a trowel, by thumb +measure, having probably never known anything so prosaic as a +spirit-level and a square. We began on the large room--that is to say, +the old kitchen, which was to be the new living-room, and in a very +little while had the prehistoric pantry and sink ripped out and the big +hole patched in the plaster, for our boss carpenter was a gifted man, +qualified for general repairs. + +No, on second thought, we did not rip out quite all the old pantry. +There were some whitewood shelves that had been put there to stay, and +in the century or so of their occupancy appeared to have grown to the +other woodwork. Considering them a little, and the fact that it would +require an ax and perhaps dynamite to dislodge them, I had an +inspiration. Modified a little, they would make excellent bric-à -brac +and book shelves and serve a new and beautiful use through all the +centuries we expected to live there. I feverishly began drawing designs, +and the chief carpenter and I undertook this fine-art and literary +corner at once, so that it might be finished and a surprise for +Elizabeth and the others when they came. It was well that we did so, for +it was no light matter to reduce the width of those shelves. Whitewood +is not hard when fresh, but this had seasoned with the generations until +it was as easy to saw as dried horn--just about--and we took turns at +it, and the sweat got in my eyes, and I would have sent for the ax and +the dynamite if I hadn't passed my word. + +Meantime, the helper, whose name was Henry Jones, was hewing an oaken +cross-beam which supported the ceiling, and which I could not pass under +without violently knocking my head. I am satisfied that the original +builders of that house were short people, or they would have planned +the old kitchen a few inches higher. But then I am always knocking my +head nearly off against something. I have left gleanings from it on the +sharp edges of a thousand swinging signs and on the cruel filigree of as +many low-hung chandeliers. My slightly bald spot, due to severe mental +effort, or something, if examined closely would be found to resemble an +old battlefield in France. But this is digression. As I was saying, +Henry Jones was hewing at the big old cross-beam, trying to raise its +lower sky-line a couple of inches with a foot-adz. I had not supposed +that the job would be especially difficult. I did not realize that the +old white-oak beam in a century and a half had petrified. We were having +a pretty toilsome time with our shelves, but I never saw a man sweat and +carry on like Henry Jones. He had to work straight up, with his head +tipped back, and his neck was rather short, with no proper hinge in it. +Besides, it was August, and pretty still and intense, and then some bees +that had taken up residence between the floors did not like the noise +he made, and occasionally came down to see about it. At such times he +made what was in the nature of a spring for the door, explaining later +that he had been to sharpen his adz. During quieter moments I went over, +at his suggestion, to measure up and see if the beam wasn t high enough. +It was on the afternoon of the second day that I told him that if he +would now trim up and round off the corners a little I thought I might +be able to pass under it without butting my remaining brains out. You +never saw a man so relieved. I think he considered me over-particular +about a small matter. As a reward I set him to elevating the beam across +the top of the door leading to the kitchen--quite an easy job. He only +had to put in a few hours of patient overhead sawing and split out the +chunks with wedges and a maul. + +Observing Henry Jones though fully, I became convinced that the oaken +frame of our house was nearly indestructible. When I found time I +examined its timbers rather carefully. They were massive as to size, +hand hewn, and held together with big wooden pins. No worm had been +indiscreet enough to tackle those timbers. The entire structure was +anchored in the masonry of the huge chimney, and as a whole was about as +solid as the foundations of the world. There were builders in those +days. + +I have mentioned the "ancient mariner" who appeared in the dusk of the +evening to warn me against over-payment for the place--old Nat. It +turned out that he was a farmer, but with artistic leanings in the +direction of whitewash. He appeared one morning in a more substantial +form, and was presently making alabaster of our up-stairs ceilings, for +if ever there was an old master in whitewash it was Nat. Never a streak +or a patchy place, and he knew the secret of somehow making the second +coat gleam like frosting on a wedding-cake. + +Things were happening all about. Old Pop, the brush-cutter, had arrived, +with his deadly one-handed ax, and was busy in the lower brook lot--a +desperate place of briers and brush and poison ivy. He was a savage +worker. The thorns stung him to a pitch of fighting madness, and he +went after them, careless of mishap. Each evening he came up out of that +vicious swamp, bleeding at every pore, his massive shoulders hunched +forward, his super-normal arms hanging until his huge hands nearly swept +the ground. + +[Illustration] + +Pop in action was a fascinating sight. Few things could be finer than to +see him snatch away a barbed-wire entanglement of blackberry-bushes, +clutch a three-inch thorn sapling with his hairy left, and with one +swing of his terrible right cut the taproot through. I had figured that +it would take a month to clear away that mess along the brook, but on +the evening of the fifth day Pop had the last bit of its tangle cut and +piled. Of such stuff were warriors of the olden time. Given armor and a +battle-ax, and nothing could have stood before him. One could imagine +him at Crecy, at Agincourt, at Patay. Joan of Arc would have kept him at +her side. + +Pop had another name, but everybody called him "Old Pop" and he seemed +to prefer it. He was seventy years old and a pensioner. There was a week +when his check came that he did no work, but remained dressed up, and I +fear did not always get the worth of his money. Never mind, he had +earned relaxation. An ancient hickory-tree in the brook meadow had been +broken by a March storm. Old Pop and his son Sam had it cut, split, and +sawed into fireplace lengths in a little while. That is, comparatively. +I think they were two or three days at it, while it had taken nature a +full hundred and sixty years to get the old tree ready for them. I +counted the rings. The figures impressed me. + +It was--let us say--as old as the old house. It had been a straight +young tree of thirty years or so when the Revolutionary began, and it +saw the recruits of Brook Ridge march by to join Putnam, who had a camp +on a neighboring hill. There were Reeds and Meekers and Burrs and Todds +and Sanfords in that little detachment, and their uniforms were not very +uniform, and their knapsacks none too well filled. There was no rich +government behind them to vote billions for defense, no camps that were +cities sprung up in a night, no swift trains to whirl them to their +destination. Where they went they walked, through dust or mud and over +the stony hills. The old tree saw them pass--in its youth and +theirs--and by and by saw them return--fewer in numbers, and foot-sore, +but triumphant. I mentioned it to Pop. He said: + +"Yeah--I was in the Civil War. It wa'n't much fun, but I'm lookin' for +my pension to be increased next year." + +When there was no more brush or chopping I set Pop to laying stone wall +and said I would employ him steadily for a year. But that was a +mistake. Old Pop was a free lance, a knight errant. Anything that +savored of permanency smelled to him of vassalage. He laid a rod of +stone wall--solid wall that will be there for Gabriel to stand on when +he plays his last trump--blows it, I mean--in that neighborhood. But +then he collected, one evening, and vanished, and I did not see him any +more. I never carried the wall any farther. As Pop left it, so it +remains to this day. + +[Illustration] + +My plowman was a young man--a handsome, high-born-looking youth who came +one Sunday evening to arrange terms. He was stylishly dressed, and I +took him for a college lad on vacation. He assured me, however, that his +schooling had been acquired in the neighborhood, that he was a farmer on +his own account, with a team of his own, and that he was accustomed to +plowing rocky land. His name was Luther Merrill, and if I had thought +him handsome in his fine clothes, I considered him really superb when he +arrived next morning in work attire and started his great plow and big +white horses around the furrows. There had been a shower in the night +and the summer foliage was fresh--the leaves shining. Against a gleaming +green background of maple, alder, and wild clematis, Luther Merrill in +shirt and trousers, his collar open, his sleeves turned back, bending to +the plow and calling directions to his sturdy team, was something to +make one's heart leap for joy. I photographed him unobserved. I longed +to paint him. + +My admiration grew as I observed the character of his plowing. A Western +boy wouldn't have stood it five minutes. The soil was at least half +stone, and the stones were not all loose. Every other rod the plow +brought up with a jerk that nearly flung the plowman over the top of it. +Then he had to yank and haul it out, lift it over, and start again. He +did not lose his temper, even when he broke one of his plow points, of +which, it seemed, he had brought a supply, in anticipation. He merely +called something encouraging to his horses and went on. I know about +plowing, and I once plowed a small blackberry-patch that was mostly +roots, and nearly swore my teeth loose in the half a day it took me. But +that had been nothing to this, and this was continual. I decided that +nothing could feaze Luther Merrill. + +Still, he was not absolute proof against bees. I have mentioned the +swarm between the floors of the old house, and in the course of the +morning Luther's plowing took him near the corner where it seems they +had their entrance. It was a bright, hot day and they were quite busy, +but not busy enough to prevent them from giving prompt attention to us +as we came along. + +I was holding one handle of the plow at the moment, pretending to help, +when I noticed a peculiar high-pitched note close to my ear, and a +certain pungent "mad smell" which bees know how to make. Something told +me just then that I had business in the upper corner of the lot and I +set out to attend to it. Two of those bees came along. They hurried a +good deal--they had to, to keep up with me. I discouraged them as much +as possible with an earnest fanning or beating motion and sharp words. I +was not entirely successful. I felt something hot and sudden on the lobe +of one ear just as I dove beneath the bushes that draped the upper wall, +and I had an almost immediate sensation of its becoming hard and +pear-shaped. + +I peered out presently to see what had become of Luther Merrill. He had +not basely deserted his team--he was too high-class for that, but he was +moving from the point of attack with as little delay as possible, +grasping the lines with one hand and pawing the air with the other. By +the time I reached him he was plowing in a rather remote corner, and he +had lost some of his beauty--one eye was quite closed. He said he would +plow down there by the house late in the evening, or on the next wet +day. + +Luther plowed and harrowed and sowed for us--two fields of rye and +timothy mixed, to insure a future meadow, this on Westbury's advice. A +part of one field had great boulders in it, which he suggested we take +out. I said we would drop the boulders into the brook at intervals to +make the pretty falls it now lacked. Next morning, Luther Merrill came +with a heavy chain and a stone-boat (an immense sled without runners) +and for two happy days we reconstructed the world, dislocating and +hauling boulders that had not stirred since the ice age. + +Luther was an expert at chaining out boulders, and he loved the job. +When we got one to the brook, and after great prying and grunting +finally boosted it in with a mighty splash, Luther would wave his arms, +jump about, and laugh like the high-hearted boy that he was. Those were +lovely days. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + + +I + +_We carried down a little hair trunk_ + +[Illustration] + +I was in the midst of the improvements mentioned when the family--that +is to say, Elizabeth and the girls--arrived on the scene. It was a fine +August day--the 21st, to be quite exact--and I borrowed a horse and +light wagon from Westbury and drove the three miles of brook and woods +and meadow to the station to meet them. + +There was just one business house at the station--a general store--and I +suddenly found myself deeply interested, in things I had barely noticed +heretofore. Why, there was a broom! Sure enough, we would need a broom; +also, a rake--that was highly necessary; and a hatchet, and some nails, +and a shovel, and a water-pail, and a big galvanized tub, and--by the +time the train came it took careful arrangement to fit in the family and +the baggage among my purchases. The Pride had to sit on the water-pail, +the Joy, aged two, in the galvanized tub, while the Hope, who was seven, +sat on a trunk at the back, dangled her legs, waved her arms, and +whooped her delight as we joggled along, for the Hope was a care-free, +unrestrained soul, and the world to her just a perpetual song and dance. + +[Illustration] + +They were in a mood to take things as they found them; even the Pride, +who at twelve was critical, expressed herself as satisfied with the +house, and, with the Hope, presently made a dash for the attic, our +story of which had stirred them deeply. It was necessary to restrain +them somewhat. In the first place, our attic was not a possession to be +pawed over by careless and undiscerning childhood. Besides, it was hot +up there under the roof, and gray with the dust of years. It was a place +for a cool, rainy day and not for a mid-August afternoon. + +We carried down a little hair trunk with brass nails in it, and under +the shade of one of the big maples the "tribe," as we sometimes call +them, spread out the treasures of some little old-fashioned girl who +long, long ago had put them away for the last time. There were doll +dresses, made of the quaint prints of another day, and their gay posy +patterns had remained fresh, though the thread of the long childish +stitches had grown yellow with the years. They had very full skirts, and +waists that opened in front, and there was an apron with a wonderful +bib, and a little split sun-bonnet, probably for every-day wear, also +another bonnet which must have been for occasions, for its material was +silk and it was one of those grand, flaring coal-scuttle affairs such as +fashionable dolls wore a very long time ago. + +The doll was not there. Long since she had gone the way of all dolls; +but the Pride and the Hope decked their own dolls in the little old +wardrobe, and thought it all delightful and amusing, while we watched +them with long thoughts, trying to picture the little girl who had one +day put her treasures away to become a young lady, and in time a wife, +and a mother, and a grandmother, and was now resting on the sunny slope +where the road turns, beyond the hill. Later generations of little girls +appeared to have added nothing to the hair trunk. Doubtless they had +dolls, with dresses and styles of their own, and trunks of a newer +pattern, and had scorned these as being a little out of date. Even the +Pride and the Hope would not have permitted their dolls to appear in +those gowns in public, I think--at any rate, not in the best +society--though carefully preserving them with a view perhaps to +fancy-dress occasions. + +The Joy was not deeply impressed with the hair trunk. Neither its art +nor its sentimental value appealed to her. She had passed something more +than two years in our society, and during most of this period had +imagined herself a horse. A fairly level green place, where she could +race up and down and whinny and snort and roll was about all she +demanded of life; though she had a doll--a sort of a horse's doll--which +at the end of a halter went bounding after her during long afternoons of +violence. + +[Illustration] + +For the Joy we brought down from the attic a little two-wheeled green +doll-buggy, with a phaeton top and a tongue, and this at once became her +chief treasure. She hitched herself to it, flung in her doll, and went +racing up and down, checked up or running free, until her round, fat +face seemed ready to burst, and it became necessary to explain to her +that she had arrived at wherever she was going and must stand hitched in +the shade till she cooled off. It was a drowsy occupation that summer +afternoon. She was presently sitting down--as much as a horse can sit +down--and just a little later was stretched among the long grass and +clover, forgetful of check-rein and hitching-post. Later, when the three +of them were awake at once, they possessed themselves of the big barn +and explored the stalls and tumbled about on the remnant of hay that +still remained in one of the mows. Then they discovered the brook, where +it flowed clear and cool among the willows at the foot of the door-yard. +It was not deep enough to be dangerous, and they were presently wading +and paddling to their hearts' content. + +The brook, in fact, became one of their chief delights. It was never +very warm, but, tempered by August sun and shower, its shady, pleasant +waters were as balm to hot bare legs and burning feet. Flowers of many +kinds grew along its banks, while below the bridge where it crossed the +road there was always a school of minnows eager to be fed, and now and +then one saw something larger dart by--something dark, torpedo-shaped, +swift, touched with white along its propellers--a trout. There is no +end of entertainment in such things. Summer-time, the country, and +childhood--that is a happy combination, and a bit of running water adds +the perfect touch. + + +II + +_Cap'n Ben has an iron door-sill_ + +We did not take full possession of our place immediately. Whatever we +had in the way of household effects was in a New York City flat, and one +must have a few pots and tin things, even for the simple life. Fortune +was good to us: the Westbury household offered us shelter until we were +ready to make at least a primitive beginning, and one could not ask +better than that. Mrs. Westbury was a famous cook, and Westbury's +religion was conveyed in the word plenty. The hospitality and bounty of +their table were things from another and more lavish generation. The Joy +promptly gave our hosts titles. She called them Man and Lady Westbury, +which somehow seemed exactly to fit them. + +Each morning we went up to see what we could find to do, and we never +failed to find plenty. I don't remember distinctly as to all of +Elizabeth's occupations, but I know she has a mania for a broom and a +clothesline. I carry across the years the impression of an almost +continuous sweeping sound--an undertone accompaniment to my discussion +with carpenter and painter--and I see rows of little unpacked dresses +swinging in the sun. + +One of my own early jobs was to clean the cellar. It was a sizable +undertaking, and I engaged Old Pop's Sam to help me. It was a cellar of +the oldest pattern, with no step, having an entrance on a level with the +road, the same being a "rollway" wide enough to admit barrels of cider +and other produce. I don't know how many had been rolled into it during +the century or so before we came, but after a casual look I decided that +very few had been rolled out. The place was packed to the doors with +barrels, boxes, benches, and general lumber of every description. + +[Illustration: _They formed a board of appraisal. All of them knew that +cellar and were intimately acquainted with its contents_] + +About the time we got started an audience assembled. Old Nat, who was +taking a day off, and 'Lias Mullins, who had a weakness in his back and +took most of his days off, drifted in from somewhere and sat on the wall +in the shade to give us counsel. Then presently W. C. Westbury drove up +and became general overseer of the job. They formed a board of +appraisal, with Westbury as chairman. All of them knew that cellar and +were intimately acquainted with its contents. + +I had thought the old collection of value only as kindling, but as we +brought out one selection after another I realized my error. + +"That," said 'Lias Mullins, "is Uncle Joe's pork-barrel. It's wuth a +dollar fifty new, an that one's better 'n new." + +"I used to help Uncle Joe kill, every year," nodded Old Nat, "an' to put +his meat away. I remember that bar'l as well as can be. I'll take it +myself, if you don't want it. + +"Better keep your barrel," Westbury said. "You'll be wanting a pair of +pigs next, and then you'll need it." He looked into it reflectively +and sounded it with his foot. "Many a good mess of pork that old +barrel's had in it," he said. + +The board's ruling being unanimous, the barrel was set aside. Uncle +Joe's ham-barrel came next, and was likewise recognized, carefully +examined, and accepted by the board. Then two cider-barrels, which awoke +an immediate and special interest. + +For cider is the New England staple. Its manufacture and preparation are +matters not to be lightly dismissed. Good seasoned cider-barrels have a +value in no way related to cooperage. It is the flavor, the bouquet, +acquired through a tide of seasons, from apples that grow sweet and rich +through summer sun and shower and find a spicy tang in the first October +frost. Gathered and pressed on the right day; kept in the right +temperature, the mellow juice holds its sweetness and tone far into the +winter, and in the oaken staves leaves something of its savor to the +contents of another year. + +"That's the best cider-cellar I know of," said 'Lias Mullins, "and Uncle +Joe allus had the best bar'ls; but they wa'n't used last year, an I'm +turrible 'fraid they've gone musty." + +"Shouldn't be su'prised," agreed old Nat, mournfully. "An' it's a great +pity." + +"Bet you a quarter apiece they're as sweet as ever," proposed Chairman +Westbury. He took out a great jack-knife and carefully pried out the +bungs. "Smell 'em, 'Lias," he said, yielding precedence to the oldest +member. + +'Lias Mullins carefully steadied himself with his cane, bent close to +the bung-hole of one of the barrels, and took a long and apparently +agreeable whiff. Then after due preparation he bent close to the other +bung-hole and took another and still longer whiff. + +"Seems to me that one's just a leetle bit musty," he said. + +"Now, Nat, it's your turn," said Westbury. + +Whereupon old Nat, gravely and after due preparation, took a long whiff +of first one barrel, then a still longer one of the other barrel. + +"Seems to me it's _t'other_ one that's a _leetle trifle_ musty," he +said. + +W. C. Westbury took two short business-like whiffs at each bung. + +"Sweet as a nut, both of 'em," he announced, definitely. + +That settled it; Westbury was acknowledged authority. Sam rolled out two +vinegar-barrels, both pronounced good. Following there came what seemed +at least a hundred apple-barrels, potato-barrels, turnip-barrels, +ash-barrels, boxes, benches, sections of shelving, and a general heap of +debris, some of it unrecognizable even by 'Lias Mullins, oldest member +of the board. + +"It was a Meeker habit to throw nothing away," commented Westbury, as he +looked over the assortment. "No matter what it was, they thought they +might want it, some day. You'll find the same thing when you get to the +attic." + +At this moment Sam discovered in a dark corner a heap of flat slabs +that, brought to light, proved to be small tombstones. Westbury grinned. + +"Those were put over the cemetery fence," he said, "whenever the +relatives bought bigger ones. Uncle Joe brought a lot of them home to +cool his milk on." + +I looked at them doubtfully. They were nothing but stones, and they had +served their original purpose. Still, it had been a rather particular +purpose and they were carved with certain names and dates. I was not +sure that their owners might not sometime--some weird fall evening, +say--take a notion to claim them. + +They opened the door of history to Westbury. He began to recall +connections and events, and related how a certain Hezekiah Lee, whose +name was on one of them, had decided, some fifty years before, to give +up farming and go to counterfeiting. His career from that moment had +been a busy one; he had been always traveling one way or the other +between affluence and the penitentiary. His last term had been a long +one, and when he got out, styles in national currency had changed a good +deal and Uncle Hezekiah couldn't seem to get the hang of the new +designs. So he took to preaching, and held camp-meetings. He lived to +be eighty-seven, and people had traveled forty miles to his funeral. + +I said I would keep Uncle Hezekiah's headstone. In the end we made an +inside walk of the collection, for the old cellar had a dirt floor and +was not always dry, but we laid them face down. When we had raked and +swept, and brushed and put back the articles accepted by the board, and +all was trim and neat, Westbury looked in. + +"Looks nice," he said, and added, "that's what you've got now, but by +and by you'll have your mess of old truck, too, and the next man will +cart a lot of it to the wood-pile, just as you're carting it now." + +I said I thought we would begin our career with a coat of whitewash. +Westbury noticed something sticking out from an overhead beam, and drew +out a long-handled wrought-iron toasting-fork. Looking and prying about, +we discovered an old pair of brass snuffers, and a pair of hand-made +wrought-iron shears. The old things were pretty rusty, and I could see +that Westbury did not value them highly, but I would not have traded +them for the pork-barrel and the ham-barrel and all the other barrels +and benches reserved from Uncle Joe's collection. 'Lias Mullins, +inspecting them, became reflective: + +"Them's from away back in old Ben Meeker's time," he said, "or mebbe +furder than that. The' ain't been no scissors made by hand in this +country since my time, an' a good while before. I guess old Ben was a +good hand to have things made. I've heard my father tell that when he +was a boy Cap'n Ben, as they called him, one day found his door-sill +split, an' went to the blacksmith shop an' had one made out of iron. +Father said it was a big curiosity, and everybody went to look at it. +That would be fully a hundred years ago, when the' wasn't so much to +talk about. He said that the biggest piece of news in Brook Ridge for a +good while was that Cap'n Ben had an iron door-sill. It was around there +at the side door. I've seen it many a time, an' for all I know it's +there yet." + +We went around there. Sure enough! Cap'n Ben's iron door-sill was still +in place. Brown at the ends, bright and thinner where the step came, it +remained as firmly fixed as when, a hundred years before, it had +supplied the latest bit of gossip to Brook Ridge. + + +III + +_The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements"_ + +Peace of mind is a fleeting thing. We began to be harassed with +uncertainty--to suffer with indecision. In buying the old house we had +not at first considered making it a year-round residence, but merely a +place to put some appropriate furnishings, the things we cared for most, +so that we might have them the best part of the year--from April, say, +to Thanksgiving. It had not occurred to us that we would cut loose +altogether from the town--dynamite our bridges, as it were--and become a +part and parcel of Brook Ridge. + +Every day, neighbors stopped to make our acquaintance and learn our +plans. We interested them, for we were the first new-comers for many a +year to that neglected corner of the township. They were the kindest +people in the world, moved, perhaps, less by curiosity than by concern +for our comfort and happiness. They generally wanted to know how we +liked our place, what changes we were going to make in it, and they +never failed to ask if we intended to make it our home or merely a place +for summer-time. + +Our replies to the last question, at first definite, became vague and +qualified, then again definite, for we admitted that we did not know. As +a matter of fact, the place was getting hold of us, possessing us, +surrounding us on all sides with its fascinations. It was just an old +house, a few broken acres, and a brook--just some old lumber and stones, +some ordinary trees, some every-day water--not much, perhaps, to get +excited over or to change one's scheme of life. Yet we did get excited +over it, daily, and it had suddenly become a main factor in our problem +of life. The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements," with +clanging bells and crashing wheels, and with an expanse of dingy roofs +for scenery, became daily less attractive. True, we would have to spend +a good deal more money on the old house to fit it for cold weather, but +then there would be the saving in rent. + +We began to discuss the matter--quietly, even casually, at first--then +feverishly, positively. We were not always on the same side, and there +were moments when a stranger might have thought our relations slightly +strained. But this would have been to misjudge our method. We are seldom +really violent in argument--though occasionally intense. Besides, we +were too much of a mind, now, for real disagreement. We both yearned too +deeply to set the old house in complete order, to establish ourselves in +it exclusively and live there for ever and ever. Think of Christmas in +it, we said, with the great open fires, the snow outside, and a +Christmas tree brought in from our own woods! + +I said at last that I would make a trip to town, go to the flat, and +ship up a few articles for present use. It would be rather more than a +month until our lease expired, and in that time we could decide +something. I secretly intended to send up a number of vital things that +would make return difficult and costly. I was not going to blow up our +entire bridge--I was only going to remove one or two of its necessary +arches. + +That was what I did. I went in one morning and packed a barrel or two of +important queensware and utensils and a bale of bedding, without which +even the best flat becomes a snare and a mockery. When I had seen it in +the hands of the expressman I had a feeling that our pretty apartment +was no longer home. + +I went over to my club for luncheon. A number of my friends were there, +and I seized an auspicious moment to announce my purchase and to exhibit +a bunch of photographs. They were good fellows who showed a proper +interest. Some of them already owned farms--some had farms in prospect. +The artists among them agreed that the old house was a pretty fair +example of its period and began advising me what to do with it. But, as +they did not agree among themselves, the net result was not valuable. +Somebody asked what I was going to plant. + +'Rye,' I said. + +For some reason everybody laughed. + +"All rye? What's the matter with planting a little Scotch?" + +It was not much of a joke, but they seemed to enjoy it. They were good +fellows, as I have said, but I fear rather light-minded. + +When I got back to Brook Ridge and confessed, Elizabeth did not seem +surprised. In fact, it was as if I had been merely obeying orders. If +there was any further question as to what we were going to do, I do not +recall it. Our landlord in town was notified, our farmer-carpenter was +consulted as to further alterations. We had definitely cast our fortunes +with Brook Ridge. + + +IV + +_The soft feet of the rain on the shingles_ + +When the articles I had chosen from the apartment arrived Westbury +carted them up the hill and we entered into possession of our new +estate--not of the house (some painters had possessed themselves of +that), but of the wood-house and barn. The barn was a big, airy place, +suitable for a summer dormitory. The wood-house was not big, but it was +empty and had been set in order. It had a stove-pipe hole, and Westbury +contributed a stove--the first one ever made, he said, or, at any rate, +the first ever used in that neighborhood. It was a good stove, too, +solidly cast, almost unbreakable. Its legs were gone, which was no great +matter, for we set it up on bricks. With a box for a table, we had a +proper living-room, handy and complete. + +Not entirely complete, either--the old stove had no pipe. But just then +it happened that the groceryman came along, making one of his two trips +a week. He would deliver during the afternoon, he said, and could bring +along some pipe for us. He did that, but it was a kind of pipe that +didn't fit--not very well. + +If there is anything that would make a man forget the Great War it +would be putting up stove-pipe. It seems, somehow, to overshadow all +other misfortunes. Some persons might have enjoyed matching up those +units, but I did not. I have no gift that way. Elizabeth said she would +help, but she didn't seem to use good judgment--not the best. When I was +making a painfully careful adjustment she was possessed to push a +little, or something, and make my efforts futile. Once when the box I +was standing on tipped over and I came down, with the pipe resolved into +joints, she seemed to think it amusing. At times, too, our tribe of +precious ones came racing through. By the time the job was finished +Elizabeth and I were treating each other rather coolly--that is to say, +politely. But this was temporary. The soft purr of a fresh fire, the +pleasant singing of a kettle, set us to laughing at our troubles. Man +Westbury came driving up with some green corn, lettuce, and beans from +the garden; also a chicken and a pie hot from Lady Westbury's oven. +Those blessed neighbors! How good they were to us! In less than no time +the corn and beans were in the pot and I was dressing the lettuce. We +had brought down some of the old chairs from the attic, and the tribe +assembled with a whoop to place them. A little more, and we were seated. +The Hope, aged seven, who had a gift for such things, asked a blessing, +and we had begun life in the new home. I wonder why tears are trying to +come as I write about it. There was never a better meal, or a jollier +one--never a happier, healthier family. + +A shower came up and settled into a gentle rain. The barn, where we were +going to sleep, was a good step away, so that when the time came we put +on our rubbers, took our umbrellas and a lantern, and set out for bed. +There was nothing very wonderful about all this, of course; it only +seemed wonderful to us because it was all so new. The Pride and the Hope +declared they were always going to sleep in the barn, and when we got +inside the big, lofty place, and in the gloom overheard heard the soft +feet of the rain on the shingles, I, too, had a deep-down wish that +there was nothing in the world, but this--that the pleasant night and +soothing patter might never cease. + +Truth obliges me to confess that on that first night our bed was not an +entire success. For convenience and economy we had laid it in a +continuous stretch on the floor, with some hay beneath. There being not +enough mattresses for all, I had built an extension of hay for the elder +members of the family. It was the best hay, but I had used it too +sparingly. I suppose I had not realized how, with adjustment, it would +pack and separate. I know it had hardened considerably by the time I had +made one or two turns as a necessary preparation for sleep. I remarked +each time how delightful it all was, to which Elizabeth agreed, though +she had the courage presently to venture that she didn't think it quite +as soft as one of Lady Westbury's feather beds. The Pride observed that +there seemed to be a certain horsey smell that did not entirely please +her, though the Joy, who was probably imagining herself hitched in one +of the stalls, declared that she liked that best of anything. As for the +Hope--clear of conscience and worn with the riot of the day--she had +plunged without a moment's hesitation into the blessed business of +sleep. It engaged us all, at length, and we must have become adapted by +morning, for when we were all awake and lay in the dim light, listening +to the quiet music of the continuing rain, there was no voice of +discontent. Elizabeth thought it likely that she was considerably +bruised, but, as she made no complaint later, this was perhaps a false +alarm. + +[Illustration] + +When I crept out and pushed open the wide front doors, I found that the +brook had risen and was slipping across the grass of the lower yard. It +had a tempting look, and the rain held all but ceased. I picked my way +down to it, and, hanging my garments on a limb, enjoyed the richest +luxury in the world--that of bathing in the open air, sheltered only by +the sky and the greenery, in one's own brook and one's own door-yard. +Interlacing boughs, birds singing, the cool, slipping water--no +millionaire could have more. I was heir to the best the ages had to +give. + + +V + +_Elizabeth's ideas were not poetic_ + +We were busy with our new plans. We decided to shingle the roof, which +showed an inclination to leak; also the sides, which in numerous places +besides the windows admitted samples of the outdoors. Such things did +not matter so much in summer-time, but New England in winter is +different. Then the roof and door-yard are piled with snow, the +northwest wind seeks out the tiniest crevice in one's armor. How did +those long-ago people manage? Their walls were not sheeted, and they +did not know the use of building-paper. Our old wide siding had been +laid directly on the bare timbers, the studding; every crevice under the +windows, every crack in the plaster, was a short circuit with zero. We +decided to take off the antique siding, cut out the bad places, and +relay it flat, as sheeting. Over it we would lay building-paper, and on +top of this, good substantial shingles, laid wide to the weather in the +old-fashioned way. + +It hurt us to think of covering up that fine original siding--priceless +stuff, a foot wide and of the softest, straightest-grained white pine, +cut from large trees such as no longer grow--but we did not know what +else to do with it. It was a wonderful antique, but we could not afford +to keep a pile of lumber just for exhibition purposes. I said it ought +to be in a museum, and I had some thought of offering it to the +Metropolitan, at a modest valuation, next time I went to town. Elizabeth +discouraged this idea. She suggested that I have it made up into Brook +Ridge souvenirs--little trays and paper-cutters--a wagon-load or two, +then start out and peddle them. The scheme dazzled me for a moment, but +I resisted it. So in the end it became just sheeting. I did pick out one +fine example--a piece with some of the original red paint still on +it--and said I meant to have it framed, but in the course of the work, +at a moment when my back was turned, the carpenter got hold of it, so I +fear there is no exposed scrap of it to-day. It is all there under the +shingles, and will still be there for other shingles when those are +gone. The nails that held it were made by hand, every one of them, and I +did save some of those, for they were really beautiful. But think of the +patient labor of making them. I suppose a skilled and rapid workman +could turn out as many as twenty of those nails in an hour. A detail +like that gives one a sort of measurement of those deliberate days. + +We did not always agree as to our improvements. I don t think our +arguments ever became heated--one might characterize them as, well, +ardent. If Elizabeth thought my ideas sometimes wild, not to say crazy, +I don t remember that she ever put it just in that way. If I thought +hers inclined to be prosaic and earthy, I was careful to be out of range +and hearing before I expressed myself. I remember once suggesting that +we do our cooking and heating entirely in the old way--that is to say, +using the fireplaces and the Dutch oven--and was pained to find that +Elizabeth was contemplating a furnace and a kitchen range. She asked me +rather pointedly who I thought was going to get in wood enough to keep +four fireplaces running, and if I fancied the idea of going to bed in +the big north room up-stairs with the thermometer shrinking below zero. + +It was still August at the moment, and the prospect was not so +disturbing. I said that hardy races always did those things, that the +old builders of this house had probably not minded it at all, and just +see to what great old ages they had lived. I said that as a child I had +even done it myself. + +"So did I," said Elizabeth; "that is why I am not going to do it now." + +She walked out with quite a firm step, and I did not pursue the matter. +I might have done so, but I had a vision, just then, of a boy who had +lived on the Western prairies, in a big box of a house, and had gone to +bed in a room that was about the temperature of the snow-drifted yard. I +could see him madly flinging off a few outer garments, making a spring +into a bed that was like a frozen pond, lying there in a bunch, getting +tolerably warm at last, but all night long fearful of moving an inch +because of his frigid boundaries. As for the matter of wood, well, I had +carried that, too, cords of it, for a fireplace that had devoured it +relentlessly and given nothing adequate in return. I recalled that in +cold weather I had never known what it was to be warm on both sides at +once, that I had scorched my face while my back was freezing, then +turned, like a chicken on a spit, to bake the other side. Without doubt +I had grown used to it, so used to it that it had never occurred to me +that in cold weather any one really could be warm on both sides at once; +also, perhaps, it had hardened me, still-- + +Elizabeth's ideas were not poetic; they did not express art for art's +sake; anybody could see that; but, after all, there would be +days--January days--when a fireplace alone, however beautiful as an +ornament, would not make enough impression on the family circle, and +scarcely any at all on the up-stairs. Coming up rather quietly somewhat +later, she found me sitting under the big maple, surreptitiously +studying a range and furnace catalogue borrowed of Westbury. We decided +on Acme Hummers and I gave the order to the postman next morning. + + +VI + +_Our last night in the barn was not like the others_ + +We lived a full week in the wood-house and barn, a week that is chiefly +memorable to me now because of the kindness of our neighbors. + +I wonder if in every New England neighborhood new-comers are treated as +we were. It was high garden season, and I think not a day passed, that +at least one basket of sweet corn, beans, lettuce, and such noble things +was not set at our doors. + +From all about they came, and how sweet and fresh they were! There had +been no lack of showers that summer, and gardens were at their best. +Nothing is so good as sweet corn, freshly picked and put in the pot. We +had never really had enough of it before. Now we had to strain our +appetites to keep up with the supply. And lima beans, and buttered +beets, and cucumbers and crisp salads, and fresh cabbage slaw! Dear me! +Why must any one have to stay in town where all those things are scarce, +and costly, and days old, and wilted, when he can go to the country and +have them fresh and abundant from the garden--of his neighbor? + +Some of the offerings were really artistic, prettily arranged, and +garnished with flowers. Old Nat of the whitewash came one evening with a +huge round basket, in the center of which was a big yellow pumpkin, the +first of his crop, and ranged about it ears of corn, big red tomatoes, +and heads of lettuce, the whole like some wonderful great flower. But +then Nat was always an artist at heart. + +Our last night in the barn was not like the others. We had become very +comfortable there, for we had built our hay higher, and we had learned +the art of resting in that processional fashion, while the big, airy +place and the patter of the not infrequent rain had grown dear to us. +But that last night was different. It rained, as usual, but it did +something more. I had been asleep an indeterminable time when I was +aroused by a crash of thunder that for a moment I thought had taken off +the roof. In the glimmer of lightning that followed I realized that +Elizabeth was awake--also the Pride, aged twelve. + +It was the sort of storm to make one sit up on his elbow. Elizabeth sat +up on hers, and declined to lie back even when assured that it would be +easier for the lightning to hit her in that half-erect position. The +Pride began asking persistently if the barn was going to be struck. The +Joy, who was next me, suddenly grabbed my arm and clung like a burr, +saying nothing. The Hope, secure in the knowledge of an upright life, +aided by a perfect digestion, slept as one in a trance, while the fierce +pounding grew more alarming as flash followed flash and the crashes came +more promptly and forcibly on the heels of every flare. I don't think I +was exactly afraid, but I could not altogether forget the tradition that +lightning has a mania for striking barns and it was this that had +occurred to Elizabeth. She said she had been reading of storms like this +in Jamaica, and that invariably they had struck barns, though whether +she meant Jamaica of southern waters or the pretty suburb on Long Island +by that name I have not learned to this day. + +There was no wind, but all at once, at the very height of things, when +the flashes and the crashes came together and the very sky seemed about +to explode, one of our wide barn doors swung slowly, silently open, as +if moved by a spirit hand, and at the same instant there came a blaze +and roar that fairly filled the barn. A moment later the great door +silently closed; then once more opened to let in a blinding, deafening +shot. + +[Illustration: _I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a second +later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels_] + +I could tell by what Elizabeth said that the big door ought to be shut +and securely fastened. I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a +second later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels. Then +the clouds must have upset, for there came a downpour that fairly +drowned the world. + +[Illustration] + +But the artillery was passing. Soon flash and roar came farther apart +and modified by distance. Nothing was left at last but a soothing rumble +and the whisper of the receding rain. We slept, and woke to find +ourselves rich, in sunlight, blue sky, and overflowing rain-barrels. +This made it washday for Elizabeth and the tribe, and presently all the +lines were full. It was a glorious storm, but that afternoon we moved +our sleeping-arrangements to the house. The painters had finished +up-stairs, and there was no purpose in exposing ourselves to storms +which for all we knew, came straight from Jamaica, where they had a +mania for hitting barns. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + + +I + +_At the threshold of the past_ + +[Illustration] + +I wonder if you are anything like as anxious to get into our old attic +as we were. That is not likely. To us it meant romance, even a kind of +sorcery--a bodily transmigration into the magic past. + +Now and then during those August days we would open the door below and +look up, perhaps even climb the stair and peer around a little, +possessed by the spell of it, deterred only by our immediate affairs and +the heat. + +[Illustration] + +Then at last came a day, a cool Sunday when it was raining softly, and +the tribe were having a "perfectly _lovelly_" time in the barn, +Elizabeth and I climbed the rickety stairway to the Land of the Long +Ago. There could be no better time for it--the quiet rain overhead, no +workmen, no likelihood of visitors. + +At the top of the stair we hesitated and looked about with something of +the feeling that I suppose the Egyptian explorer had when he looked into +the furnished tomb of Queen Thi. We were at the threshold of the past. + +A small window at each end gave light in plenty. There was a good deal +of dust, and there were some cobwebs in the corners, but these did not +disturb us. Only, we were a little bewildered by the extent of our +possessions. We hardly knew where to begin. + +At first we picked our way about rather aimlessly, pointing to this +thing and that, our voices subdued. There were all the high-backed +chairs--fourteen, we counted, with those already carried down. Most of +them would need new rush bottoms and black paint, but otherwise they had +withstood the generations. They were probably a part of the old house's +original furnishing--these and at least one of the spinning-wheels, of +which there were four, the large kind, used for spinning wool; also the +reel for winding yarn. Then we noticed a low wooden cradle, darkened +with age, its sides polished by the hands that had rocked it--that had +come next, no doubt. We remarked that one of the spinning-wheels was +considerably smaller than the others--a child's wheel. We thought it +might have come later, when one of the early occupants of the cradle had +been taught to do her stint. It made a small, plaintive noise when I +turned it, and I could see a little old-fashioned girl in linsey-woolsey +dress and home-made shoes and stockings, in front of the big fireplace +down-stairs, turning and turning to that droning cadence, through long +winter afternoons. Those other wheels had come for other daughters, or +daughters-in-law, and if there ever was a time when all four were going +at once, the low, long room must have been a busy place. + +From a nail in a rafter hung a rusty tin lantern, through the patterned +holes of which a single candle had once sprinkled with light the +progress of the farmer's evening chores. That, too, had belonged to the +early time, and from a dim corner I drew another important piece of +furniture of that day. At first this appeared to be a nest of wooden +chopping-bowls, oblong as to shape and evidently fashioned by hand. Then +remembering something that Westbury had told me, I recognized these +bowls as trenchers, the kind used in New England when pioneer homes were +rather short in the matter of tableware. The trencher stood in the +middle of the table and contained the dinner--oftenest a boiled dinner, +I suppose--and members of the family helped themselves from it--I +hesitate to say with their fingers, but evidence as to table cutlery in +the pioneer home of that period is very scanty. And, after all, if they +had no plates, what need of cutlery? Their good, active fingers and +stout teeth were made before knives and forks, and they did not enjoy +their dinner the less for having it in that intimate way. I confess a +sneaking weakness myself for an informal chicken bone or spare-rib--for +most anything of the sort, in fact, that I can get a fairly firm hold +of. It is better, of course, to have a handle to one's gravy, and +sometimes, when the family is looking the other way, I can manage a +swipe with a slice of bread, and so get a brief golden sample of the +joys of my ancestors. The two smaller trenchers must have been used when +company came--one for the bread, possibly; the other for pudding. I hope +it was good, firm pudding, so that it could be managed without waste. + +We found the kettle that they made the boiled dinner in, an enormous +three-legged witch-pot, also a number of big iron crane hangers, for +swinging vessels above the open fire. And there were three gridirons of +different patterns, for grilling meat over the coals--one of them round +with a revolving top, another square, sloping, with a little trough at +the bottom to catch the juice of a broiling steak. Elizabeth agreed that +we might use those sometimes and I set them over by the stair. We were +not delving deeply, not by any means--just picking off the nuggets, as +it were. It would be weeks before we would know the full extent of our +collection. + +Pushed back under the eaves there were what appeared to be several +"cord" bedsteads, not the high-posted kind--that would have been too +much to expect--but the low, home-made maple bedsteads such as one often +sees to-day in New England, shortened up into garden seats. There were, +in fact, seven of them, as we discovered later. They would be of the +early period, too, and probably had not been used for a good hundred +years. + +But it was the item we discovered next that would take rank, I think, in +the matter of age. At the moment we did not understand it at all. It was +a section of a hickory-tree, about fifteen inches through and two feet +high, hollowed out at the top to a depth of nearly a foot. It was smooth +inside and looked as if something had been pounded in it, as in a +mortar. Presently we came upon a long, heavy hickory mallet, tapering at +one end, smoothly rounded at the other. It had a short handle, and we +thought it might have been a sort of pestle for the big mortar. But what +had those old people ground in it? + +Westbury told us later; it had been their mill. By a slow, patient +process they had macerated their corn in it until it was fine enough for +bread. + +The old hand-mill would undoubtedly take priority in the matter of +antiquity. Those early settlers could do without beds and chairs and +trenchers and cradles, even without spinning-wheels for a time, but they +must very quickly have bread--corn, and a place to grind it. I think the +old mill was older than the house. I think it came almost with the +earliest camp-fire. + +The articles thus far mentioned were all in one end of the attic. We +were by no means through when we turned to the other end, the space +beyond the great chimney. Here under the eaves were piles of yellow +periodicals--religious papers, the New York _Tribune_, and those weekly +story-papers whose thrilling "romances of real life," like "Parted at +the Altar" and "The Lost Heir of Earlecliffe," were so popular with +those young ladies of slender waists and sloping shoulders who became +our grandmothers. I think none of the numbers dated farther back than +the early forties of the last century, and they were not very inviting, +for they were dusty and discolored and the mice had gnawed holes in the +career of Lord Reginald and the sorrows of Lady Maude. + +But there were better things than these--jugs, jars, and bottles of +marvelous patterns, and a stone churn, and some pewter and luster +teapots, damaged somewhat, it is true, but good for mantel decoration +over our fireplaces, and there were some queer old bandboxes, ornamented +with flowers and landscapes, and finally two small wooden chests and a +fascinating box of odds and ends, metal things, for the most part. + +We looked into the bandboxes. Some of them were empty, but in others +were odds and ends of finery and quaint examples of millinery, the +turban and poke and calash of vanished generations, some of them clearly +copied after the model worn by Lady Maude at the very moment when at the +church door she turned haughtily from Lord Crewston forever. We drew the +chests to the light and took out garments of several sorts and of a +variety of fashions. There were dresses of calico and delaine of the +Civil War days, a curious cape which we thought had been called a +"circular," a pretty silk apron with a bib, once precious to some young +girl. Some of the waists were very slim, closely following the outlines +of Lady Maude. Others were different--oh, very much so. I think these +were of an earlier period, for among other things there were a number of +garments made of stout, hand-woven linen, embroidered with initials +which had not belonged to the house for nearly a century. I hope they +were not a part of a bridal outfit, for no bride, no really popular +bride, ought to be as ample as must have been the owner of those +ch--garments, I mean. One of them, opened out, would be quite wide +enough for a sheet, Elizabeth said, though somewhat lacking in length. +She thought they would do for single beds, turned the other way. There +were sturdy women in those days. + +In the bottom of the chest there was a pair of red and very pointed +dancing-slippers. I don't think they belonged to the same person. +Neither did they belong to the period of Lady Maude, being much older. +They were very small and slim, and daintily made. Where had such pretty +feet found floors on which to dance? + +We laid them back with the other things where they had been put such a +long time ago, and turned to the box of odds and ends. There were knobs +and latches and keys--all of the old pattern--a hand-made padlock, some +flat wrought hinges and some hand-wrought nails, left, perhaps, after +the house was built. We sat flat on the floor to paw over these curious +things, and the dull light, and the rain just overhead, certainly +detracted nothing from our illusions. Every little piece in that box +seemed to us a treasure. The old hinges would go on our new closet +doors, held by the hand-made nails. The padlock was for the outside +cellar door. The knobs would replace certain reproductions on some of +our antique furniture. We knew what such things cost at the shops and +how hard they were to find. And just then Elizabeth came upon a +plated-silver buckle, and then upon another--a pair of them--old shoe or +garter buckles, we could not be sure which. Why, our attic was a regular +treasure island! + +[Illustration] + +We picked out a number of things that seemed of special interest, +including an iron crane we had found, and carried them down-stairs. The +crane fitted the fireplace in the smaller room, which was to become our +kitchen. We hung it and kindled a fire--our first real fire, for it was +our first cool day. There was litter on the floor, but we did not mind +it. We looked into the cheerful blaze, handled over the trifles we had +found, and in quiet voices spoke of the past. During our two hours or so +in the old attic we had been in step with the generations. We had +broken bread at the camp-fire of the pioneer; we had seen him build his +house and provide it with the simple, durable furnishings of his day; we +had shared the easy comfort of his hearty board; we had drawn near to +his good wife as she rocked the cradle or sat spinning in the firelight; +we had watched their descendants attain prosperity and a taste for +finery; we had seen how they had acquired fashion and in time had +patterned their gowns, their bonnets, perhaps even their romances upon +models of Lady Maude. They were all gone now, leaving us to carry on the +story. We also would go our way; others would follow us, and they, too, +would pass. It was a moment to look into the fire and think long, long +thoughts. + + +II + +_Paper-hanging is not a natural gift_ + +One day I measured up our walls, and the next I went to town and bought +the paper that was to cover them. I think it generally pays to do that, +provided you can get somebody to hang it. There is a very pretty margin +in wall-paper, and when you get a good deal of it that margin gnaws into +one's substance. Shopping around the department stores, picking up +remnant bargains, is the thing. I ran onto a lot of bedroom paper of a +quaint chintzy pattern at four cents a roll, or about one-fifth what it +would have cost in the regular way. I took enough of it for all the +upper rooms, with some to spare, and was sorry there were not more +rooms, so I could take it all. Then I found a gorgeous remnant of the +glazed-tile variety for the kitchen, and still another for our +prospective bath-room. A dull-green cartridge-paper for our living-room, +"best" room, and my tiny study behind the chimney cost me eighteen cents +a roll. The total bill was sixteen fifty-nine, and I got at least twice +the pleasure out of the size of that bill that I would have had in +earning double the sum in the time I spent. Figure out the profit in +that transaction if you can. Whatever it was, it was satisfactory, and +indeed few things in life are sweeter than the practice of our pet and +petty economies. We all have them. I once knew a very rich man who would +light a match and race from one gas-jet to another until he burnt his +fingers, lighting as many as he could before striking a second match. He +would generally say something when his fingers began to smoke, but to +have lighted all the jets at both ends of his long room was a triumph +that made this brief inconvenience of small account. I have also seen +him spend more time, and even money, utilizing some worn-out appliance +than a new one would cost. He was not a stingy man, either, not by any +means, but those things were ingrained and vital. They helped to +provide his life with interest and satisfaction--hence, were worth +while. + +To go back to the papering: I bought some tools--that is to say, a +paste-brush, and a smoothing-down brush, and a long pair of scissors, +for I had a suspicion that my painters would be at their fall farming +presently, in which case Westbury, who I was satisfied could do +anything, had agreed to beautify our walls. + +As a matter of fact, I hung most of that sixteen dollars and fifty-nine +cents' worth of paper myself. When I got back, my painters were about to +begin cutting their corn. Westbury came, but at the end of the first +day, when one of the up-stairs rooms was about finished, he also +developed a violent interest in corn-cutting. I was thus abandoned to +fate, also quite deserted. My carpenters were cutting corn; Luther +Merrill, my handsome plowman, was cutting corn; Old Pop and Sam were +cutting corn; while Elizabeth had gone to the apartment in town to begin +preparations for moving, and to put the Pride and the Hope into school. +I was alone--alone with sixteen dollars' worth of paper, a big, flat +paste-brush, and my bare, bare walls. + +Meantime I had trimmed some of the strips for Westbury and had given +some slight attention to his artistic method. It looked rather easy, and +there was still half a pail of paste. In some things I am impulsive, +even daring. With a steady hand, I measured, cut off, and trimmed a +strip of the pretty chintzy paper, laid it face down on the +papering-board which Westbury had made, slapped on the paste with a free +and business-like dash, folded up the end just as Westbury did, picked +it up with an easy, professional swing, and started for the wall. + +[Illustration] + +Being a tall man, I did not need the step-ladder. In those low rooms I +could quite easily stand on the floor and paper from the ceiling down. +Certainly that was an advantage. I discovered, however, that a +step-ladder is not all of a paper-hanger's gifts. When I matched that +piece of paper at the ceiling and started down with it, I realized +presently that it was not going in the direction of the floor. At least +not directly. It was slanting off at a bias to the southeast, leaving a +long, lean, wedge-shaped gap between it and the last strip. I pulled it +off and started again, shifting the angle. But I overdid the thing. This +time it went biasing off in the other direction and left an untidy +smudge of paste on Westbury's nice, clean strip. I reflected that this +would probably dry out--if not, I would hang a picture over it. Then I +gave the strip I was hanging a little twitch, being a trifle annoyed, +perhaps, by this time, and was pained to see that an irregular patch of +it remained on the wall, while the rest of it fell sloppily into my +hands. It appeared that wall-paper became tender with damp paste on it +and should not be jerked about in that nervous way. In seeking to remove +the ragged piece from the plaster, holding up the mutilated strip +meanwhile, something else occurred, I don't quite know what, but I +suddenly felt a damp and gluey mess on my face, and then it was around +my neck, and then I discovered that a portion of it had in some way got +tangled up with my legs, upon which I think I became rather positive, +for I seem to have wadded up several gooey balls of chintzy decoration +and hurled them through the open window, far out upon the sun-flecked +yard. + +I went below and washed up, and for a time sat under the maple shade and +smoked. When more calm I said: "This is nothing--it is only a first +lesson. Paper-hanging requires probationary study and experiment. It is +not a natural gift, an extempore thing like authorship and song. I have +paper enough to afford another lesson. This time I shall consider deeply +and use great care." + +I went back and prepared another strip, humbly and without any attempt +at style. This time, too, I did not consider the line of the ceiling, +but conformed to the vertical edge of Westbury's final strip, allowing +my loose section to dangle like a plumb-line several moments before +permitting it to get its death-grip on the wall. I will not say that +this second attempt was an entire success, but it was a step in that +direction. With a little smudging, a slight wrinkle or two, and a small +torn place, it would do, and I was really quite pleased with myself when +I observed it from across the room and imagined a kindly bureau just +about in that spot. + +I hung another strip, and another. Some went on very well, some with +heavy travail, and with results that made me grateful for our pictures +and furniture. Yet it became fascinating work; it was like piecing out +some vast picture-puzzle, one that might be of some use when finished. I +improved, too. I was several days finishing the up-stairs, and by the +time I got it done I had got back some of the dash I started off with. I +could slap on the paste and swing the strip to the wall so handily that +I was sorry Elizabeth was not there to observe me. + +I went below and papered the kitchen. There were a lot of little shelves +and cubby-nooks there, but they were only a new and pleasant variation +to the picture-puzzle. I did the small room off the kitchen, including +the ceiling, which was a new departure and at first discouraging. I was +earning probably as much as a dollar and a half a day and I was +acquiring at least that much in vanity and satisfaction, besides +learning a new trade which might come handy in a day of need. I had some +thought of proposing to Westbury a partnership in general paper-hanging +and farming, with possibly an annex of antiques. + + +III + +_There is nothing I wouldn't do for a bee--a reasonable bee_ + +Matters did not go so well in the living-room. It was not because the +old walls were more irregular there than elsewhere--I could negotiate +that--it was those pesky bees. Reshingling the sides of the house had +closed their outlets, and they had now found a crevice somewhere around +the big chimney and were pouring in and out, whizzing and buzzing around +the room by the hundred, clinging to the windows in droves, a maddening +distraction on a hot afternoon to a man with his head tipped back, in +the act of laying a long, flimsy strip of wall-paper on a wavy, billowy +old ceiling. They were no longer vicious and dangerous--they were only +disorganized and panic-stricken. A hundred times a day I swept +quantities of them from the windows and released them to the open air. +It was no use to shut the doors, for there still were pecks of them +between the floor and ceiling, and these came pouring out steadily, +while those that I had dismissed hurried back again as soon as they +could get their breath. I began to think we had met disaster in this +unexpected quarter--that those persistent little colonists were going to +dispossess us altogether. + +Old Nat and I had tried smoking them with sulphur, which had quieted +them temporarily while the men were shingling, but it had in no way +discouraged them. In fact, I think there is nothing that will discourage +a bee but sudden death, and that seems a pity, for in his proper sphere +he is one of our most useful citizens. + +He is so wise, so wonderfully skilled and patient. I have read +Maeterlinck's life of him, and there is nothing I would t do for a +bee--a reasonable bee--one that would appreciate a little sound advice. +That's just the trouble--a bee isn't built that way. He is so smart and +capable, and such a wonder in most things, that he won't discuss any +matter quietly and see where he is wrong and go his way in peace. Those +bees thought that, just because they had found a hole in the outside of +an old house, it was their house, and if anybody had to move it wouldn't +be they. I explained the situation over and over and begged them to go +away while the weather was still warm and the going good, but they just +whizzed and raged around the rooms and sickened me with their noise and +obstinacy. + +When Elizabeth and the Joy came up, school matters being arranged, we +decided, among other things, to evict those bees. There was just one way +to do it, Westbury said, which was to saw through the floor up-stairs +and take them out. He thought there would be some honey. We did not +count much on that; what we wanted was to be rid of the pests forever. I +sent word to our carpenter, and Henry Jones came one morning with his +saws. + +In a corner of the upper room where we had heard a great buzzing he +bored a hole through the flinty oak floors. I had the smoker ready and +pumped the sulphur fumes in pretty freely. Then he began to saw. He had +gone only a little way when he said: + +"My saw is running in honey." + +Sure enough, it was coated with the clear sticky substance, which +certainly did not make it run any easier. By hard work he managed to cut +across two of the wide boards, and through them again, adjoining the +next joist. When he was ready to lift out I pumped a new supply of smoke +into the holes, then rather gingerly we pried up the pieces. + +What a sight it was! Covered by a myriad of stupefied bees was layer +upon layer of pure honey, the frightened insects plunging into the +cells, filling themselves with their own merchandise, as is their habit +when alarmed. Lazarus, a small colored assistant whom we had recently +acquired, peered in cautiously (the sulphur fumes being still +suggestive, with a good many bees flying), and I sent him for something +to put the honey in--something large, I said--a dishpan. + +But Elizabeth had no great faith in our bee investigations, or she may +have been inclined to discount Lazarus. She sent a porcelain dish, which +I filled with a few choice pieces. + +"Tell her this is just a sample, and to send the dishpan." + +But still she thought either I or Lazarus was excited, and sent only an +agate stew-pan, which I also filled. + +"Take it down, Lazarus, and tell her that we still need the dishpan." + +So then at last it came up, and we filled that, too. + +We were not through, however. There was a heavy buzzing near the center +of the room, and again we bored and smoked and sawed, and presently +uncovered another swarm, with another surplus stock, this time a +wash-boiler full, most of it fine and white, though some of the pieces +were discolored, showing age. Elizabeth left her occupations and came up +to investigate. Our old house had proven a regular honey-mine. We had +enough for an indefinite period, and some for the neighbors. I suppose +if we had left an outside hole for those bees they would have gone on +multiplying and eventually would have packed our floors and walls solid +full of honey, and we should have had, in truth, "the very sweetest +house in all the world." + +I confess we felt sorry for those poor bees. A quantity of them refused +to leave the premises and persisted on squeezing into the house if a +door or window was left open. A clot of them formed on an old +fence-post--around their queen, perhaps--and would not go away, though +they knew quite well we had hardened our hearts against them and would +not relent. If I had it to do over again I would bring down an old hive +made from a hollow log, which we found up in the attic, and put into it +some honey and some comb and invite them to set up business again in a +small way. But my wounds were too fresh. They had daubed some of my new +paper, driven me nearly frantic with their commotion, and stung me in +several localities. The old fence-post was quite loose. In the evening I +softly lifted it out, carried it to a remote place, and left it, just as +any other heartless person would drop an unwelcome kitten. When I passed +that way the following spring they were gone. + +A last word about our papering. To this day I am proud of the job and +don't wish to dismiss it in any casual way. I left our square "best" +room till the last; it made a dramatic ending. + +I believe I have not mentioned before that I washed down the old plaster +with a solution of vinegar (a remnant from one of Uncle Joe's barrels) +in order to kill the lime, which, Westbury said, was bad for the +sticking qualities of the paste. Perhaps I made my solution a bit too +strong for the "best"-room walls, or it may be that the plaster there +was different--I don t know. I know that I worked till nearly midnight +to get done, Elizabeth holding a pair of lamps, and that when we came +down next morning to admire our beautiful green walls by daylight, they +were no longer green--at least, not solidly so, not definitely so. What +seemed to us at first a sorrowful mottled complaint in yellow had +every-where broken through, and I had the sickening feeling that my work +was wasted and must be done over. But presently Elizabeth said, +reflectively: + +"It isn't so bad just as it is." + +And I said, "Why, no! it's a kind of a pattern." + +And then we both said, "Why, it's really artistic and beautiful." + +And so it was. Over the dull green a large, irregular lacework of dull +yellow had spread itself, and the more we looked the better we liked it. +Just why the chemical affinity between plaster and paper should produce +that particular effect we could not imagine, but there it was and there +it stayed, for the process did not go any farther. Later on, when our +furniture and pictures were in place, visitors used to say, "_Wherever_ +did you get that wonderful paper?" If they were true friends and worthy, +we told them. Otherwise we would vaguely hint of a special pattern, and +that there was no more to be had of the kind. + + +IV + +_There was a place we sometimes visited to see the trout_ + +I suppose about the most beautiful thing in life is novelty. In it is +the chief charm of youth and travel and honeymoons. I will not say it is +the most valuable thing there is, and it is likely to be about the most +transient. But while it lasts it is precious, and inspiring beyond +words. + +No other autumn could ever be quite like that first one of our new +possession, none could ever have the halo and the bloom of novelty that +made us revel in all the things we could do and moved us to undertake +them all. Days to come would be more peaceful and abundantly satisfying, +happier, even, in the fullness of accomplishment, but never again would +we know quite the thrill that each day brought during our first golden +September at Brook Ridge. + +To begin with, it was September, and golden. The rains of August had +ceased and their lavish abundance had filled brook and river and left +the world a garden of wild aster and goldenrod, with red apples swinging +from the trees, massed umbels of dark elderberries, and pink and purple +grapes ripening in the sun. Our satisfaction with everything was +unbounded. A New England farm, with its brook and springs and gray walls +and odd corners, seemed to us, of all possessions, the most desirable. +We took long walks through our quiet woods where there were hickory and +chestnut trees, and oaks and hemlocks, and slender white birches that +were like beautiful spirits, and tall maples, and even apple-trees, wild +seedlings, planted by the birds, but thrifty and bearing. We had never +seen that in the West. The fruit was not very tender, but well flavored +and made delicious sauce. + +"Why, it must be the Garden of Eden," we said, "if the apple-tree grows +wild!" + +We carried baskets and gathered in infinite variety. Apples, +hickory-nuts, berries, mushrooms--especially mushrooms, for we were fond +of them and had carefully acquainted ourselves with the deadly kinds. +Those, by the way, are all that one needs to know. All the others may be +eaten. Some of them may taste like gall and wormwood, or living and +enduring fire, and an occasional specimen may make the experimenter feel +briefly unwell, but if he will acquaint himself with the virulent +amanita varieties, and shun them, he will not die--not from poison. I do +not guarantee against indigestion. + +We would bring home as many as seventeen sorts of those edible +toadstools, beautiful things in creamy white, brown, purple, yellow, +coral, and vivid scarlet, and get out our _Book of a Thousand Kinds_, +and patiently identify them, tasting for the flavor and sometimes +getting a hot one or a bitter one, but often putting as many as a dozen +kinds into the chafing-dish. Even if the result was occasionally a bit +"woodsy" as to savor, we did not mind much, not in those days of +novelty, though Elizabeth did once think she felt a "little dizzy" after +an unusually large collection, and I had a qualm or two myself. But when +we looked up and found that mushroom poison does not begin to destroy +for several hours, we fell to discussing other matters, and did not +remember our slight inconvenience until long after we should have been +dead, by the book limitation. + +There was a gap in the stone wall where we passed from our land into +Westbury's, and beyond it an open place that was a mushroom-garden. +Green and purple russulas grew there as if they had been planted, beds +of coral-hued "Tom Thumbs" that were like strawberries, and a big, +bitter variety of boletus, worthless but beautiful, having the size and +appearance of a pie--a meringue pie, well browned. A path led to another +garden where in a hidden nook we one day discovered a quantity of +chanterelles that were like wonderful black morning-glories. It was +duskily shaded there, and through the flickering green we noticed a +vivid, red spot that was like a flame. We pushed out to it and came upon +a tiny, silent brook slipping through a bed of cowslip and water-arum, +and at its margin a scarlet cardinal-flower, burning a star upon the +afternoon. + +[Illustration] + +There was a place which we sometimes visited to see the trout. You +crossed the bean-lot and came to a little secluded land where there were +slim cedars and grass and asters and goldenrod, a spot so still and +unvisited that it was like a valley that one might find in a dream. Our +brook flowed through it and in one place there was a quiet pool and an +overhanging rock. Willows and alders sheltered it, and if you slipped +through without noise and lay very still, you were pretty sure to see a +school of trout, for it was their favorite haunt. Once we counted +twenty-two there, lying head up-stream, gently fanning their tails and +white-edged fins. They were a handsome lot, ranging in size from eight +to twelve inches, and we would not have parted with them for the cost of +the farm. + +[Illustration] + +The "precious ones" joined in some of these excursions, but our +diversions were too tame for them, as a rule. Wading, racing up and +down, tumbling on the hay, with now and then a book in the shade, was +more to their liking. When the two older ones had gone to school and the +Joy was with us alone, she invented plays of her own, plays in which a +capering horse--that is to say, herself--had the star part. Once I found +her sitting by a tub of water, sailing a wonderful boat in it--one that +she had made for herself, out of a chip and a nail, using a stone for a +hammer. She wore one of the antique bonnets brought down from the attic, +and seemed lost in contemplation of her handiwork. Without her noticing, +I made a photograph. How it carries me back, to-day. + +I have mentioned our varied undertakings. When wild grapes ripened on +the roadside walls--the big, fragrant wild grapes of New England--we +made a real business of gathering them. They were in endless quantity, +three colors--pink, purple, and white--and their rich odor betrayed +them. Placing some stones in the brook one afternoon, I became conscious +of a thick wave of that sweet perfume, and, looking up, discovered a +natural trellis of clusters just above my head. I don't know how many +bushels we gathered in all, or how many quarts of jelly and jam and +sweet wine we made. I found in the attic, which we named our "Swiss +Family Robinson," because it was provided with everything we needed, an +old pair of "pressers," and squeezed out grape juice and elderberry +juice and blackberry juice, while Elizabeth stirred and boiled and put +away, for we were New England farmers now, and were going to do all the +things, and have preserves and nuts and apples laid away for winter. How +we worked--played, I mean, for with novelty one does not work, but +becomes a child again, and plays. And the more toys we can find, and the +longer we can make each one last, the happier and better and younger we +shall be. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + + +I + +_There is compensation even for moving_ + +[Illustration] + +On the 1st of October we moved. Ah, me! How easily one may dismiss in +words an epic thing like that. Yet it is better so. Moves, like +earthquakes, are all a good deal alike, except as to size and the extent +of destruction. Few care for the details. I still have an impression of +two or three nightmarish days that began with some attempt at real +packing and ended with a desperate dropping of anything into any +convenient box or barrel or bureau drawer, and of a final fevered +morning when two or more criminals in the guise of moving-men bumped and +scraped our choicest pieces down tortuous stairways and slammed them +into their cavernous vans, leaving on the pavement certain unsightly, +disreputable articles for every passer-by to scorn. + +[Illustration] + +It is true that this time we had a box-car--we had never before risen to +that dignity--and I recall a weird traveling to and fro with the vans, +and intervals of anguish when I watched certain precious, and none too +robust, examples of the antique fired almost bodily into its deeper +recesses. Oh, well, never mind; it came to an end. Our goods arrived at +the Brook Ridge station, and Westbury and his teams transported +them--not to the house, but to the barn, for among other things in Brook +Ridge we had unearthed an old cabinet-maker whom we had engaged for the +season to put us in order before we set our possessions in place. He +erected a bench in the barn, and there for a month he glued and scraped +and polished and tacked, and as each piece was finished we brought it in +and tried it in one place and another, discovering all over again how +handsome it was, restored and polished, and now at last in its proper +setting. + +There was compensation even for moving in getting settled in that +progressive way, each evening marking a step toward completion. When our +low book shelves were ranged in the spaces about the walls, the books +wiped and put into them; when our comfortable chairs were drawn about +the fireplaces; when our tall clock with a shepherdess painted on the +dial had found its place between the windows and was ticking +comfortably--we felt that our dream of that first day was coming true, +and that the reality was going to be even better than the dream. + +[Illustration: _Sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning +embers, and watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading +autumn fields_] + +Of course the old living-room was the best of all. Its length and low +ceiling and the great fireplace would insure that. We had ranged a row +of blue plates, with some of the ancient things from the attic, along +the narrow mantel, and it somehow seemed as if they had been there from +the beginning. The low double windows were opposite the fireplace. We +had our large table there, and between meal-times the Joy liked to +spread her toys on it. She wore her hair cut in the Dutch fashion, and +sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning embers and +watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading autumn fields, I +had the most precious twilight illusion of having stepped backward at +least a hundred years. + +We thought our color scheme good, and I suppose there is really no +better background for old mahogany than dull green. Golden brown is +handsome with it, and certain shades of blue, but there is something +about the green with antique furniture that seems literally to give it a +soul. Never had our possessions shown to such an advantage (no pun +intended, though they did shine) and never, we flattered ourselves, had +the old house been more fittingly appointed. With the pictures and +shades put up, the rugs put down, and the fires lit, it seemed to us +just about perfect. It was a jewel, we thought, and to-day, remembering +it, I think so still. + + +II + +_There is work about making apple-butter_ + +Perhaps I am making it all sound too easy and comfortable. The past has +a way of submerging its sorrows. With a little effort, however, I can +still recall some of them. Our transition period was not all picnic and +poetry. There were days of stress--hard, nerve-racking days when it +seemed that never in the wide world would things get into shape--as +when, for instance, the new kitchen range arrived and would not go +through any of the kitchen doors; when our grandfather clock had been +found an inch too tall for any of our rooms; when our big fireplace had +poured out smoke until we were blind and asphyxiated. Any one of these +things would be irritating, and coming together, as they did, one +gloomy, chilly morning, they had presented an aspect almost of failure. +Then, being resolute and in good health, we proceeded to correct +matters. We stripped the range for action, took out a sash, and brought +it in edgewise through a window. We mortised down an inch into the +flinty oak floor and let in the legs of the old clock so that its top +ornament would just clear the ceiling. + +The fireplace problem was more serious. We knew that the chimney was big +enough, for we could look up it at a three-foot square of sky, and our +earlier fires had given us no trouble. We solved the mystery when we +threw open an outside door to let out the smoke. The smoke did not go +out; it rushed back to the big fireplace and went up the chimney, where +it belonged. We understood, then--in the old days air had poured in +through a hundred cracks and crevices. Now we had tightened our walls +and windows until the big chimney could no longer get its breath. It +must have a vent, an air-supply which must come from the outside, yet +not through the room. + +Here was a chance for invention. I went down cellar to reflect and +investigate. I decided that a stove-pipe could be carried from a small +cellar window to the old chimney base, and by prying up the thick stone +hearth we could excavate beneath it a passage which would admit the pipe +to one end of the fireplace, where it could be covered and made sightly +by a register. Old Pop came with his crowbar and pick, and Westbury +brought the galvanized pipe and the grating. It was quite a strenuous +job while it lasted, but it was the salvation of our big fireplace, and +I was so proud of the result that I did not greatly mind the mashed foot +I got through Old Pop's allowing the thousand-pound stone hearth to rest +on it while he attended to another matter. + +I have given the details of this non-smoke device because any one buying +and repairing an old house is likely to be smoked out and might not +immediately stumble upon the simple remedy. I know when later, at the +club, I explained it to an architectural friend, he confessed that the +notion had not occurred to him, adding, with some shame, that he had +more than once left a considerable crack under a door as an air-supply. +Imagine! + +So these troubles passed, and others in kind and variety. Those were +busy days. We were doing so many things, we hardly had time to enjoy the +fall scenery, the second stage of it, as it were, when the goldenrod and +queen's-lace-handkerchief were gone, the blue wild asters fading, and +leaves beginning to fall, though the hilltops were still ablaze with +crimson and gold. Once we stole an afternoon and climbed a ridge that +looked across a valley to other ridges swept by the flame of autumn. It +was really our first wide vision of the gorgeous fall colorings of New +England, and they are not surpassed, I think, anywhere this side of +heaven. + +We gathered our apples. We had a small orchard of red Baldwins across +the brook, and some old, scattering trees such as you will find on every +New England farm. These last were very ancient, and of varieties +unknown to-day. One, badly broken by the wind, we cut, and its rings +gave it one hundred and fifty years. Putnam's soldiers could have hooked +apples from that tree, and probably did so, for it was not in plain view +of the house. + +We put the Baldwins away and made cider of the others, it being now the +right moment, when there was a tang of frost in the morning air. We +picked up enough to fill both of Uncle Joe's cider-barrels, Westbury and +I hauled them to the mill, and the next day Elizabeth was boiling down +the sweet juice into apple-butter, which is one of the best things in +the world. + +There is work about making apple-butter. It is not just a simple matter +of putting on some juice and letting it boil. Apples must go into it, +too, a great many of them, and those apples must be peeled and sliced, +and stirred and stirred eternally. And then you will find that you need +more apples, more peeling and slicing, and more stirring and stirring, +oh yes, indeed. Elizabeth stirred, I stirred, and Lazarus, our small +colored vassal, stirred. I said if I had time I would invent an +apple-butter machine, and Elizabeth declared she would never undertake +such a job again, never in the world! But that was mere momentary +rebellion. When it was all spiced and done and some of it spread on +slices of fresh bread and butter, discontent and weariness passed, and +next day she and Lazarus were making pickles and catsup and apple jelly, +while Old Pop and I were hauling all the flat stones we could find and +paving the wide space between the house and the stone curb which already +we had built around the well. Oh, there is plenty to do when one has +bought an old farm and wants to have all the good things, and the +livable things; and October is the time to do them, when the mornings +are brisk, and the days are balmy, and evening brings solace by the open +fire. + + +III + +_Lazarus's downfall was a matter of pigs_ + +It was Lazarus, I think, who most enjoyed the open fire. Stretched full +length on the hearth, flat on his stomach, his chin in his hands, +baking himself, he might have been one of his own ancestors of the +African forest, for he was desperately black, and true to type. A runty +little spindle-legged darky of thirteen, Lazarus had come to us +second-hand, so to speak, from the county home. A family in the +neighborhood was breaking up, and Lazarus's temporary adoption in the +household was at an end. He had come on an errand one evening, and our +interview then had led to his being transferred to our account. + +"I goin' away nex' week," he said. + +"Where are you going, Lazarus?" + +"Back to de home, where I come from." + +"What do you get for your work where you are now?" + +"Boa'd and clo's an' whatever dey min' to give." + +"What do you do?" + +"Bring wood, wash dishes, and whatever dey wants me to." + +"How would you like to come up here for a while?" + +He had his eye on my target-rifle as he replied, "Yassah, I'd like +it--what sort o' gun yo' got?" + +I explained my firearm to him and let him handle it. His willingness to +come grew. + +"Are you a pretty good boy, Lazarus?" + +"Oh, yassah--is--is yo' goin' to le' me shoot yo' gun ef I come?" + +"Very likely, but never mind that now. What happens if you're not good?" + +He eyed me rather furtively. "De rule is yo cain't whip," he said. "You +kin only send back to de home." + +We agreed on these terms, and Lazarus arrived the day after the auction +that closed out his former employers. As an aside I may mention that Old +Pop laid off a day to attend the said auction, and bought a pink +chenille portière and a Japanese screen. + +I want to be fair to Lazarus, and I confess, before going farther, that +I think we did not rate him at his worth. He had artistic value--he was +good literary material. I feel certain of that now, and I think I +vaguely realized it at the time. But I was not at the moment doing +anything in color, and for other purposes he was not convincing. His +dish-washing was far from brilliant and his sweeping was a mess. Also, +his appetite for bringing wood had grown dull. There is an old saying +which closely associates a colored person with a wood-pile, but our +particular Senegambian was not of that variety. The only time he really +cared for wood was when it was blazing in the big fireplace, and the +picture he made in front of it was about all that we thought valuable. +It is true that he made a good audience and would accompany me to the +fuel-heap and openly admire and praise my strength in handling the big +logs, but his own gifts lay elsewhere. He approved of my gun and would +have spent whole days firing it into the sky or the tree-tops, or at the +barn or at birds, or into an expansive random, to the general danger of +the neighborhood, if I had let him. He had a taste for jewelry, +especially for my scarf-pins. When he saw one loosely lying about he +carefully laid it away to prevent accident, using a very private little +box he had, as a proper and safe place for it. When he discussed this +matter he told me quite casually that he spected something _would_ +happen to him some day, as his father and uncle, and I think he said his +grandfather, were at the moment in the penitentiary. He was inclined to +exaggerate and may have been boasting, but I think his ancestry was of +that turn. + +Lazarus's own chief treasure was a clock. I do not recall now where he +said it came from, but he valued it highly. It was a round tin clock, +with an alarm attachment. He kept it by his bed, and the alarm was his +especial joy. He loved the sound of it, I do not know why. Perhaps it +echoed some shrill, raucous cry of the jungle that had stirred his +ancestors, and something hereditary in him still answered to it. He +never seemed to realize that it was attached to the clock for any +special purpose, such as rousing him to the affairs of the day. To him +it was music, inspiration, even solace. When its strident concatenation +of sounds smote the morning air Lazarus would let it rave on +interminably, probably hugging himself with the fierce joy of it, +lulled by its final notes to a relapse of dreams. It did not on any +occasion stimulate him to rise and dress. That was a more strenuous +matter--one requiring at times physical encouragement on my part. Had +his bulk been in proportion to his trance, I should have needed a block +and tackle and a derrick to raise this later Lazarus. + +Lazarus's downfall was a matter of pigs. We did not expect to embark in +pig culture when we settled at Brook Ridge, but Westbury encouraged the +notion, and our faith in Westbury was strong. He said that pigs had a +passion for dish-water and garbage, and that our kitchen surplus, +modestly supplemented with "shorts," would maintain a side-line of two +pigs, which would grow into three-hundred-pounders and fill up Uncle +Joe's pork and ham barrels by the end of another season. + +The idea was alluring. A neighbor had small pigs for sale, and I ordered +a pair. There was an old pen near the barn, and I spent a day setting it +in order for our guests. I repaired the outlets, swept it, and put in +nice clean hay. I built a yard easy of access from the pen, and +installed a generous and even handsome trough. Westbury said our +preparations were quite complete. I could see that our pigs also +approved of it. They capered about, oof-oofing, and enjoyed their trough +and contents. True, their manners left something to be desired, but that +is often the case with the young. + +What round, cunning, funny little things they were! We named them Hans +and Gretel, and were tempted to take them into the house, as pets. We +might have done so, only that I remembered the story of the Arab who +invited his camel to put his head in the tent. I had a dim suspicion +that those two pigs would own the house presently, and that we should +have no place to go but the pen. Lazarus was fascinated by them. He hung +over the side of their private grounds and wanted to carry them +refreshments constantly. + +"Dem cert'ney make mighty fine shotes by spring," he announced to +everybody that came along, "an' by killin'-time dey grow as big as dat +barn. I gwine to feed 'em all day an' see how fat dey gits." + +[Illustration] + +"You're elected, Lazarus," I said. "It's your job. You look after Hans +and Gretel and we'll look after you." + +"Yo' des watch 'em grow," said Lazarus. + +For a while we did. We went out nearly every day to look at our +prospective ham and bacon supply, and it did seem to be coming along. +Then I had some special work which took me away for a fortnight, and +concurrently a bad spell of weather set in. Elizabeth, occupied with +the hundred supplementary details of getting established, and general +domestic duties, could not give Hans and Gretel close personal +attention, and they fell as a monopoly to Lazarus. With his passion for +pigs, she thought he might overfeed them, but as she had never heard of +any fatalities in that direction he was not restrained. + +But it may be this idea somehow got hold of Lazarus. I came home one +evening and asked about the pigs. Elizabeth was doubtful. She had been +out that day to look at them and was not encouraged by their appearance. +She thought they had grown somewhat--in length. When I inspected them +next morning, I thought so, too. I said that Hans and Gretel were no +longer pigs they were turning into ant-eaters. Their bodies appeared to +have doubled in length and halved in bulk. Their pudgy noses had become +beaks. I was reminded of certain wild, low-bred pigs which I had seen +splitting the hazel-brush of the West, the kind that Bill Nye once +pictured as outrunning the fast mail. I said I feared our kitchen +by-product was not rich enough for Hans and Gretel. Possibly that was +true. Still, it would, have been better than nothing, which it appeared +was chiefly what those poor porkers had been living on. + +Lazarus's love had waned and died. On chilly, stormy evenings it had +been easier to fling the contents of his pail and pan out back of the +wood-house than to carry them several times farther to the pen, while +the supplementary "shorts" had been shortened unduly for Hans and +Gretel. The physical evidence was all against Lazarus--the fascinations +of the big open fire had won him; he had been untrue to the pigs. When +he appeared, they charged him in chorus with his perfidy, and he could +frame no adequate reply. Westbury came, and I persuaded him to take them +at a reduction, and threw in Uncle Joe's pork and ham barrels. I said we +wanted Hans and Gretel to have a good home--that we had not been worthy +of them. + +They found it at Westbury's. There they were in a sort of heaven. When I +saw them at the end of another two weeks they were again +unrecognizable--they were once more pigs. + +We parted, with Lazarus about the same time. Our régime was not suited +to his needs. It was a pity. With his gifts, the right people might have +modeled him into a politician, or something, but we couldn't. We had +neither the equipment nor the time. Nor, according to agreement, could +we administer that discipline which, from our old-fashioned point of +view, he sometimes seemed to require. We could only "send back to de +home." Perhaps to-day he is "somewhere in France," making a good +soldier. I hope so. + + +IV + +_Westbury had advised against wheat_ + +But if our venture in pig culture had not been an entire success, our +agriculture gave better promise. Our rye and grass seed had come up +abundantly, and by November the fields, viewed from a little distance, +were a mass of vivid green. There is something approaching a thrill in +seeing the seed of your own sowing actually break ground and spring up +and wax strong with promise. You seem somehow to have had a hand in the +ancient miracle of life. + +Our rye had such a sturdy look that I said it was pretty sure to turn +out something fancy in the way of grain, and that we could probably sell +it as "seed" rye, which always brought a better price than the regular +crop. Then, as the idea expanded, I said that with our few acres we +could cultivate intensively and raise seed crops entirely. That would be +something really aristocratic in the farming line. We would begin with +seed rye and wheat, of which latter grain I had put in a modest sowing. +Next year we would go in for seed potatoes, oats, corn, and the like. We +could have a neat sign on the stone wall in front, announcing our line +of goods. Very likely buyers would come from a considerable distance for +them--I had myself driven seven miles with Westbury for the seed rye. A +business like that would grow. We could go in for new varieties of +things, and in time set up a shipping-station, with a packing-house and +a bookkeeper. No doubt Henderson and Hiram Sibley and Ferry and those +other seed magnates had begun in some such modest way. + +I don't think Elizabeth responded entirely to this particular +enthusiasm, and I could see that she was doubtful about the sign in +front, but on a winy, windless November day, warmed by a mellow sun, all +things seem possible, and she graciously admitted that one never could +tell--that stranger things had happened. Then we came to our small +wheat-field, and the new seed enthusiasm received a slight check. +Westbury had advised against wheat. He said it did not do well in that +section. This, I had insisted, must be a superstition, and I had gone to +considerable expense to have the ground properly prepared, and to obtain +the best seed. + +The result, as it appeared now, was not promising. Here and there a +spindling blade had come through, and some of those seemed about to turn +into grass. I do not know why wheat acts like that in Connecticut. I did +not follow up the scientific phases of the case, but I confided to +Elizabeth that perhaps, after all, we would not announce "Seed Wheat" +on the neat sign planned for the outer wall. + +Late October winds had changed the aspect of our world. Our woods were +no longer deep, vast, and mysterious. We could see straight through them +and read their most hidden secrets. We discovered one day, what we had +never suspected, that at one place our brook turned and came back almost +to the road. All that summer it had supped silently through that brushy +corner which for some reason we had never penetrated. We discovered, +too, a little to one side of our former excursions, a rocky acclivity, a +place of pretty hemlock-trees and seclusion--a spot for a summer tent. + +There were not many mushrooms any more, but we gathered gay red berries +for decoration, bunches of late fern, sprays of bittersweet; we raked +over the leaves for nuts, and sometimes found bits of spicy wintergreen +or checkerberry, the kind that always flavored old-fashioned lozenges +which our grandmothers bought in little rolls for a penny, on the way to +school. You may guess that this was pleasant play to us who for ten +years had known only city or suburban life at this season, and not the +least pleasant part of it was the quiet noise the leaves made as we +strode through them, the _fruis-sas-se-ar_, as the French of the +Provence call it, and the word as they speak it conveys the sound. +Astride a stick horse, of which on our new back porch she kept a full +stable, the Joy went racing this way and that, kicking high the loose +brown drift of summer, stirred to a sort of ecstasy by its pleasant +noise and the spicy autumn air. + +The November woods had fewer voices than those of the earlier season, +but there was more visible life. Many of the birds remained, and they +could no longer hide so easily. A hawk or an owl on a bare bough was +sharply outlined. Rabbits darted among the trees, or stood erect, +staring at us with questioning eyes. Squirrels scampering over the limbs +gave exhibitions of acrobatic skill. There were two kinds of +squirrels--the fat gray ones, of which there were not many, and the +venomous little red ones, of which there seemed an overproduction. They +were cute little wretches, but we did not care for them. They were +pugnacious pirates; they robbed their unmilitant gray relative and +chased him from the premises. Earlier in the season they had thrown down +quantities of green nuts to be wasted, and we were told they robbed +birds' nests, not only of their eggs, but of their young. Those red +rovers had no food value, or they would have been fewer. They were a +mere furry skin drawn over a bunch of wires and strings, and not worth a +charge of powder. + + +V + +_Deer--wild deer--on our own farm!_ + +Animal life is still plentiful in New England--far more so than in the +newer states of the Middle West. With the decrease of population in many +districts the wild things have wandered back to their old haunts. They +are not very persistently hunted, and some of them, like the deer, are +protected. Now and again in our walks we saw a fox, wary and +silent-footed, and often on sharp nights, on the hill above the house, +one barked anxiously at the moon. At least that is the poetic form, +though I really think he was barking for the same reason that I often +sing when others of the family are not present. The others claim they do +not care for it--I often wonder why. I suppose that fox's family was the +same way, so he went out there alone in a dark, safe place to enjoy his +music unrestrained. Yet no place seems entirely safe when one wants to +sing, and I fear something happened to that fox, for by and by we did +not hear him any more. Very likely one of his relatives crept up on him +with a brick. We were sorry, for we had learned to like his music--it +gave us a wild, primeval feeling. + +I think there were no wolves or bears in our immediate neighborhood, +though there came reports of them, now and then--exaggerated, I dare +say--from adjoining ridges. The nearest thing we had to bears were some +very fat and friendly woodchucks, who at a little distance, sitting on +their haunches, looked very much like small grizzlies. They dug their +holes a few yards from the house and sometimes came quite to the back +door, probably intending to call, but when we approached them their +courage failed and they went "galumphing" back to their houses. There +they would sit up for a moment, staring at us, then, if we approached +suddenly, would dive to lower recesses. I explained to the Joy that they +most likely had cozy little houses down there, with chairs and tables +and a nice stove to cook their food things on. She was sure it was all +true, except about the stove, which seemed doubtful, because no smoke +ever came from their chimneys. + +Most of the animals were friendly to us, and I think made our house a +sort of center. I remember one pleasant Sunday afternoon, when we were +sitting outside, we noticed simultaneously two woodchucks playing in the +field just across the road; a red squirrel pursuing a gray one along our +stone wall, almost within arm's-reach; a blue heron among the willows by +the brook, probably prospecting for trout; some bob-whites running along +by the roadside; while in the woods just beyond a partridge was drumming +up further recruits for the exhibition. + +The deer did not call as soon as the others. They were reserved and +aristocratic and would seem to have looked us over a good while before +they accepted us. We frequently saw their tracks, and hoped for one of +the glimpses reported by our neighbors. + +It came one morning, very early. A cow in an adjoining field was making +an unusual sound. Elizabeth looked out and beckoned me to the window. +There they were, at last! two reddish-tan, shy creatures--a doe and a +half-grown fawn--stepping mincingly down to the brook to drink. We could +have hugged ourselves with the delight of it--deer--wild deer--on our +own farm, drinking from our own brook, here in this old, old land! + +I wonder if they heard us, or perhaps sensed us. Or they may not have +liked the noise of greeting, or protest, made by the neighbor's cow. +Whatever the reason, they suddenly threw up their heads, seemed to look +straight at us, turned lightly, and simply floated away. What I mean by +that is that their movement was not like that of any other animal, or +like a bird's--it suggested thistledown. They drifted over the stone +wall and clumps of bushes without haste and seemingly without weight. It +was as if we had seen phantoms of the dawn. + +We saw them often, after that. Sometimes at evening they grazed in our +lower meadow. Once, three of them in full daylight crossed the upland +just above the house. They were not fifty yards away, moving +deliberately, looking neither to the right nor to the left. + +We felt the honor of it--they had admitted us to their charmed circle. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + + +I + +_But Sarah was biding her time_ + +[Illustration] + +I have not mentioned, I think, a small building that, when we came, +stood just across the road from our house--a rather long, low structure +with sliding windows, called "the shop." Red raspberries of a large, +sweet variety were ripening about it, and within was a short box +counter, a shoemaker's work-bench, a cutting-board, a great bag of +wooden shoe-pegs, and a quantity of leather scraps, for it had, in fact, +been a shop during the two generations preceding our ownership. Before +that it appeared to have served as a sort of office for Captain Ben +Meeker, who also had been not merely a farmer, as certain records +proved. Captain Ben may have built the shop, though I think it was +older, for when we examined the picturesque little building, with a view +to restoration, it proved to be too far gone--too much a structure of +decay. So we tore down "the shop," and, incidentally, Old Pop, who did +the tearing, found a Revolutionary bayonet in the loft; also a more +recent, and particularly hot, hornets' nest which caused him to leap +through the window and spring into the air several times on the way to +the bushes by the brook. But that is another story. We have already had +the bee history; hornets would be in the nature of a repetition. + +[Illustration] + +We found something of still greater interest in the old shop. One day, +digging over the leather scraps, we uncovered the records above +mentioned--that is to say, the old account-books of Captain Ben Meeker +and the two generations of shoemakers who had followed him. These +ancient folios, stoutly made and legibly written, correlate a good deal +of Brook Ridge history for a hundred years. The names of the dead are +there, and the items of their forgotten activities. + +From Westbury and others we already knew that Benjamin Meeker and Sarah, +his wife, had occupied our house at the beginning of the last +century--young married folks then--and that there had been a little girl +(owner of the small brass-nailed trunk, maybe) who in due time had grown +up and married the young shoemaker, Eli Brayton, of "distant parts," he +being from eastern New York, as much as fifty miles away. Brayton had +remained in the family, set up his bench in one end of the building +across the road, and there for a generation made the boots of the +countryside, followed in the trade by his son, the "Uncle Joe" who at +eighty-five had laid down the hammer and the last a year prior to our +coming. This was good history in outline, and Westbury had supplied +episodes, here and there, embellished in his improving fashion. The old +books came now as a supplement--an extension course, as it were, in the +history of Captain Ben and his successors. + +While not recorded, we may assume that Captain Ben belonged to the +militia, hence his title. That he had another official position we learn +from certain items of entry: + + To serving one summon on S. Davis 3 shillin + To serving one tachment on J. Fillow 2 shillin + To fees: execushun Eli Sherwood 2 shillin 6 pnc. + +Evidently a constable or deputy sheriff, and I think we may assume that +the last item records a process, and not a performance. The fees are +reassuring. Eli could hardly have been dismissed mortally for two and +six. + +Captain Ben had still other activities. He owned teams for hire; he +dealt in livestock; in addition to his farm he owned a sawmill on the +brook; he even went out at day's labor--certainly a busy man, requiring +carefully kept accounts, and an office. + +The accounts begin in 1797 and are sometimes kept in dollars and cents, +sometimes in the English fashion, as above. Sometimes the charges are +made in one form, the credits in another. It was just as he got started, +I suppose, both moneys being in about equal circulation. + +Captain Ben's spelling is interesting. He was by no means illiterate. +His writing is trim, his accounts in good form and correctly figured. +But it was more a fashion in that day to spell as pronounced, and his +orthography gives us a personal sense of the period. + +"To plowin garding ... 2 shillin." You can almost hear him say that, +while "To haulin stun" likewise carries the fine old flavor. + +We have heard much of the "good old times when things were cheap," but +Captain Ben's book proves that not all commodities were cheap in his +day. Calico, for instance, is set down at three and six a yard--that is, +eighty-five cents. Handkerchiefs at two shillings thrippence each, +sugar at a shilling per pound, which is more than double our war-time +prices. It is not well to complain, even to-day, remembering those +rates, especially when we note that in 1805 Captain Ben's labor brought +him only four shillings a day (six with team), and his sawing, in small +lots, but a trifle. Labor was, in fact, cheap at that period; also +unfortunately for Captain Ben--rum and brandy. + +The book does not say where Ezekial Jackson kept his general store, but +that was where Captain Ben dealt, and his items of purchase are +faithfully set down. A good many men "swear off" on the New Year, but +Captain Ben didn't. He bought a "decantur," price two and six (ah me! it +would be an antique, now), and promptly started in having it filled. +Behold the startling credits to Ezekial Jackson during the first ten +days of 1806: + + Jan. 1, By 2 lb. sugar 2 shillin + " 1, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + " 5, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + " 6, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + " 10, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + +But perhaps this was too costly a pace, for the next entry is, "Jan. 15, +1 jug, 1 shillin," and on the same date, "One gallon of rum, 6 shillin." +That, you see, was somewhat cheaper and required fewer trips to town. On +January 20th the jug was filled again, and on the same date we find set +down "four and a half yards of chintz and one scane of silk." That +chintz and "scane" of silk look suspicious--they look like tranquilizers +for Sarah, his wife. + +Through that month and the three following the liquid items follow with +alarming monotony, only separated here and there by entries of "tee" and +sugar and certain yards of "cotting" and "scanes" of silk for Sarah. + +But Sarah was biding her time. The book does not say that the minister +was asked to call, or that he came. It does not need to. We may guess it +from the next entry: + + May 2, By 1 famly bible 1 poun, 13 shillin + +That ended the rum chapter. There is not another spirituous entry in all +of Ezekial Jackson's credits. "By one mometer" comes next, May 6th. +Probably Captain Ben felt himself cooling down pretty rapidly for the +season, and wanted to take the temperature. Then follows "two combs"--he +was going to keep slicked up--also earthenware, indigo, "cotting," and +more scanes of silk, mainly for Sarah, no doubt, and so on to the end, +when the account is closed and underneath is written: + + This day made all even betwixt Ezekial Jackson and myself. + + B. M. + +Captain Ben's accounts close in 1829, but the shoemaking records had +long since begun. They are more prosaic, but they have an interest, too. +A book with charges against Joel Barlow and Aaron Burr could hardly fail +of that, though the said Joel Barlow is not the poet-diplomat who wrote +the "Columbiad" and shone in European courts, nor Aaron Burr the +corrupter of Blennerhassett and the slayer of Alexander Hamilton. At +least, I judge they were not, for this Barlow and this Burr had cobbling +charges against them as late as 1840, when the intriguing Aaron and the +gifted Joel no longer needed earthly repairs. Nevertheless, they were of +the same families, for Joel Barlow, the poet, was born just over the +hill from us, and the name of Aaron Burr was known in Connecticut long +before it found doubtful distinction in New Jersey. + +The shoemaker's accounts reflect a life that is now all but gone. Some +of the charges were offset with potatoes, some with rye, some with +labor, a few of them with cash. A pair of boots in 1828 brought two +dollars and fifty cents. Repairs ranged from six cents up, many of the +charges being set down in half-cents. Those were exact, frugal days. + + +II + +_We often cooked by our fireplace_ + +One hundred and fifty Thanksgivings must have preceded ours in the old +house, but I think out of them all you could not have picked a better +one. I would not like to say a more bountiful one, for I suppose in the +earlier day they had great wild turkeys and perhaps a haunch of venison, +braces of partridges and other royal fare. Even so, they could hardly +have eaten it all, and I think their noble turkey did not taste any +better than ours. Moreover, we were glad that our deer and partridges +were still running free. + +We did not lack of native dishes. Our mince and pumpkin pies were home +products, as well as our apple-butter and a variety of other preserves. +Also, I had discovered a bed of wild cress in the brook and our brown +turkey was garnished with that piquant green. Certainly there was an +old-fashioned feeling about our first New England holiday--something +precious and genuine, that made all effort and cost worth while. + +The Pride and the Hope had come home for a week's vacation and were +reveling in the house, which they now for the first time saw in order. +Of course their rooms had to be personally adjusted, their own special +belongings inspected and put away. Their treasures, after two months of +absence, were all new and fresh to them. The Pride, reveling in her own +"cozy corner," or curled up in a big chair by the log fire, reread her +favorite books; the Hope and the Joy played paper-doll "ladies" on the +deep couch, cutting out a whole new generation with up-to-date wardrobes +from the costume pages of some marvelous new fashion magazines. +Oblivious to the grosser world about them, they caused their respective +families to telephone and give parties and visit back and forth, and to +discuss openly their most private affairs and move into new houses and +make improvements and purchases that would have wrecked Rockefeller if +the bills had ever fallen due. That is the glory of make-believe--one +may go as far as he likes, building his castles and his kingdoms, with +never a cent to pay. It is only when one tries to realize in acres and +bricks and shingles that the accounts come in. A spiritistic friend of +mine told me recently that the latest communications from the shadow +world indicate the life there to be purely mental, that each spirit +entity creates its own environment and habitation by thought alone. In +a word, it is a world, he said, where imagination is reality and all the +dreams come true. Ah me! I hope he is not mistaken! What dreams of +empires we have all put away, what air-castles we have seen melt and +vanish because of the cost! A place where one may build and plant and +renew by the processes of thought alone, unchecked by acreage boundaries +or any sordid limitations of ways and means! I cannot think of a better +or more reasonable hereafter than that. We get a glimpse of it here in +the play of children--little children who perhaps have left the truth +not so far behind. + +"Fashion ladies" must relax now and then. Even in late November there +were pleasant sunny days when the Hope and the Joy roamed the fields or +laid a long board across a tumbled wall and teetered away vacation hours +to the tune of + + Seesaw, Marjory Daw, + Sold her bed and laid on straw, + +which was probably first sung a good way back--by Cain and Abel, maybe, +in some corner of Eden. No, it would be outside of Eden, for their +parents had moved, as I remember, before their arrival. And I wonder if +little Cain and Abel had a fire to gather around when the fall evenings +began to close in, before the lamps were lit, and if they ever had cakes +and toast and sandwiches, with hot chocolate, from an old blue china set +from a corner cupboard, and were as hungry as bears, and rocked while +they ate and drank and watched the firelight dance on the tea-things and +table-legs. If not, I am afraid they missed something, and perhaps it is +not to be wondered at that little Cain became gloomy and savage and +outcast when he grew up. A fireplace with a cozy cup of chocolate and a +bite of something filling will civilize children about as quickly as +anything I know of, and would, I am sure, have been good for Cain. + +[Illustration] + +We often cooked by our fireplace. We hung a kettle over it for tea and +toasted bread on Captain Ben Meeker's long iron toasting-fork. Then at +supper-time we would rake out the coals, and on one of the old +gridirons brought down from the attic would broil a big steak, or some +chops, and if they did not taste better than any other steak or chops we +certainly imagined they did, and I am still inclined to think we were +right. Then there was popcorn, and potatoes roasted in the ashes, and +apples on sticks, though this was likely to be later in the evening, +when the tribe was hungry again, for children in vacation are always +hungry, just little savages, and the best way to civilize them is to +feed them, as I have said. It was too bad they must go back to school, +and sometimes we wished there were never any such things as schools; and +then again, when the house was one wild riot and hurrah, just at a +moment when I wanted to reflect, I could appreciate quite fully the +beauties of education and certain remote places where under careful +direction it could be acquired. But how silent and lonely the house +seemed when the Pride and the Hope were gone! How glad we were that +Christmas was only a month away! + + +III + +_Under the spell of the white touch_ + +In an earlier chapter I have spoken of our attic as an almost unfailing +source of supply. Any sort of vessel or implement we might happen to +need was pretty certain to turn up there if we looked long enough. It +provided us with jugs and jars, and by and by, when the snow came, a +wooden shovel and a bootjack for our rubber boots. I said that probably +some day we should find a horse and buggy and harness up there, which +was about all that we needed, now. It was just one of those careless +remarks we all make on occasion. It never occurred to me that it was +tinged with prophecy. + +We did not find the horse, harness, and buggy in the attic, but we found +them--heired them, to use a good New England word, just as we had heired +the other things. The automobile had not yet reached Brook Ridge, but +it was arriving in the centers and suburbs, upsetting old traditions, +severing old ties. Once we had been commuters on Long Island, and in our +happy suburb there still lived a friend to whom the years had brought +prosperity and motor-machines. In the earlier, more deliberate years he +had found comfort and sufficient speed in an enviable surrey, attached +to a faithful family horse which now, alas! was too slow, too deliberate +for the pace of wealth and the honk-honk of style. So the old horse +stood in the stable, for his owners did not wish to see him go to +strangers. But then one day they heard how we had turned ourselves into +farmers, and presently word came that if we needed Old Beek (shortened +from Lord Beaconsfield), surrey, and harness complete, they were ours to +command. They would be delivered to us in the city, the message said, +from which point we could drive, or ship, them to the farm. It was a +windfall from a clear sky--we said it must be our lucky year. We +accepted the quickest way, and were presently in the city to receive +Lord Beaconsfield. + +Had it been earlier in the year, during those magic days of September, +or even in October, when the drifting leaves had turned the highways +into thoroughfares of gold, we should have driven by easy stages the +sixty miles, across the hills and far away, to Brook Ridge, resting +where the night found us. It was too late for that now. The roadsides +were no longer flower-decked or golden. An early snowfall had left them +in rather a mixed condition, and the air had a chill in it that did not +invite extended travel. We could ship by boat to our nearest Sound port, +and the fifteen-mile drive from there seemed no great matter. + +We admired the dignity with which His Lordship drew up in front of our +New York hotel. He was a large, handsome animal, sorrel as to color, and +of a manner befitting his station and advanced years. It was evident +that we were not of his class, but with the gentle tact of true nobility +he never, either then or later, permitted this difference in rank to +make us uncomfortable. He even allowed us to call him "Beek," "Old +Beek," "good Old Beek," especially when there was a lump of sugar in +prospect. He was very human. + +But I anticipate. We were delighted with Lord Beaconsfield and his +appurtenances. As for the Joy, she was quite beside herself. Anything +with the semblance of a horse would excite the Joy. I got in with the +driver, and we made our way to the river-front, where I saw His Lordship +to his state-room and the surrey stored away. I don't suppose in all his +twenty years he had ever taken a voyage before, but he showed no +nervousness or undue surprise, and that night at the port of arrival he +came stepping down the gang-plank as unconcernedly as the oldest +traveler. We were up and away rather early next morning, for we wished +to travel leisurely, and we were not familiar with the road. + +On inquiry we learned there were two roads--one to the east and one to +the west of a little river, the same that formed a mill-pond in +Westbury's door-yard, and here a wide orderly stream flowed into the +sea. The "Glen" road--the one to the east--was thought to be the +shorter, so we chose that. It was a good selection, so far as scenery +was concerned, but if I had the same drive to make again I would go the +other way. With the exception of a small box of lunch crackers for the +Joy, we had provided no food for the journey, for we said we could stop +at a village inn when the time came and get something warm. That was a +good idea, only there were no villages. There was not even a country +store in that lost land of forest and hill and rocky cliff and desolate +open field. Now and then we came to a house, but so dead and forbidding +was its aspect that we did not dare even to ask our way. Never a soul +appeared in the door-yard, and if smoke came from the chimney it was a +thin, blue wisp as from dying embers. The land was asleep, under the +spell of the white touch. To knock at one of those houses would have +been, as it seemed, to call its occupants from their winter trance. + +We traveled slowly, for the roads were sticky, and there were many +hills. We could not ask Lord Beaconsfield to do more than walk, which he +did sturdily enough, tugging up the long hills, though they were +probably the first he had ever seen, for his part of Long Island had +been level ground. What must he have thought of that chaotic desolation, +where most of the woods and a good many of the fields were set up at +foolish angles against other woods and fields and where there was no +sign of food for man or beast? + +But if we were timid about making inquiries, His Lordship was not. When +his appetite became urgent he forgot that he had come of a proud race, +and soon after noon-time began to trumpet his demands, and his alarm, +like an ordinary horse. His stable at home must have been red, for at +every barn of that friendly color--and most of them were of that hue--he +sent a clarion neigh across the echoing hills. The Joy, bundled warmly, +munched her crackers and made little complaint. Her elders diverted +themselves by admiring the winter scenery--the bared woods, lightly +dressed with snow, the rocky cliffs and ledges, the tumbling black river +that now and again came into view. + +As the afternoon wore on and we arrived nowhere, we became disturbed by +doubts as to our direction. It was true that we seemed to be following +the general course of the river, but was it the right river? Hadn't we +gone trailing off somewhere on a second-class tributary that had been +leading us all day through a weird, bedeviled territory that probably +wasn't on the map at all? The brief daylight was fading and it was +important that we arrive somewhere, pretty soon. We must make inquiry. +It would be better to rouse even one of the seven sleepers than to +wander aimlessly into the night. At the next house, I said, we would +knock. + +But at the next house we actually discovered something moving--something +outside. As we came nearer it took the form of a man, a sad man, +dragging a crooked limb from a wood-pile. I drew up. + +[Illustration: _"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we +are?"_] + +"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we are?" + +"Why, yes," he grunted, as he worked and pulled at the limb. "You're at +Valley Forge." + +Valley Forge! Heavens! We were within twenty miles of Philadelphia, +on the Schuylkill. At the pace we had been going it did not seem +reasonable. This must be enchantment, sure enough. + +"Look here," I said, "you don't mean that this is Valley Forge where +Washington was quartered." + +"Don't know anything about that," he said, still grunting over the +crooked limb, "but I've been quartered here for more 'n sixty years, an' +it's always been the same Valley Forge in my time." + +"Is--is this Connecticut?" + +"That's what it is." + +I breathed easier. If he had said Pennsylvania it would have meant that +we were a hundred and fifty miles from home. + +"Do you know of any place called the Glen?" + +"Of course; right up ahead a few miles. Where'd you folks come from, +anyway? You don't appear to know much about locations." + +I side-stepped, thanking him profusely. We were all right, then, but it +seemed a narrow escape. + +At last we entered the Glen and recognized certain landmarks. It was a +somber place now--its aspect weirdly changed since the first days of our +coming. Then it had been a riot of summer-time, the cliffs a mat and +tangle of green that had shut us in. On this dull December evening, with +its vines and shrubs and gaunt trees bare, its pointed cedars and +hemlocks the only green, its dark water swirling under overhanging +rocks, it had become an entrance to Valhalla, the dim abode of the gods. + +How friendly Westbury's lights looked when we crossed the bridge by the +mill and turned into the drive, and what gracious comfort there was in +his bright fire and warm, waiting supper. We did not go up the hill that +night. Good Old Beek found rest and food and society in Westbury's big +red barn. + + +IV + +_The difficulty was to get busy_ + +I have referred more than once, I am sure, to my study behind the +chimney, a tiny place of about seven by nine feet, once, no doubt, the +"parlor bedroom." I selected it chiefly because of its size. I said one +could condense his thoughts so much better in a limited area. I shelved +one side and end of it to the ceiling, put dull-green paper on the +walls, padded its billowy floor with excelsior, put down dull-green +denim as a rug basis, and painted the woodwork to match. Then I set my +work-table in the center, where I could reach almost anything without +getting up; and certainly with its capable fireplace it was as cozy and +inviting a work-room as one would find in a week's travel. + +The difficulty was to get busy at the condensing process. Work was +pressing. Not exactly the work, either, but the need of it. No, I mean +the necessity of it. It was the need of funds that was pressing--that is +what I have been trying to convey. With all the buying and improving, +and the loads of new indispensables that Westbury was constantly +bringing from the nearest town of size, the exchequer was running low. I +am not really so lazy, once I get started, but I have a constitutional +hesitancy in the matter of getting started. My will and enthusiasm are +both in good supply, but my ability to sit down and really begin is +elusive. + +It was especially so that winter; there were so many excuses for not +getting started. Mornings I would rise firm in the resolve that the day +and hour were at hand. After breakfast I would determinedly start for +the room behind the chimney. Unfortunately I had to pass through our +"best room" to get there. There was certain to be a picture or something +a little out of place in that room. Whatever it was, it must be attended +to. It would annoy me to leave a thing like that unremedied. One's mind +must be quite untrammeled to condense. Sometimes I had to rearrange +several of the pictures, and straighten the books, and pull the rugs +around a little, before I felt ready for the condensing process. But +then I would be certain to notice something out in the yard that was not +in place. We took a pride in our yard. Once outside, one thing generally +led to another, and in the course of time I would be pawing over stuff +in the barn. Then it was about luncheon-time--it would hardly be worth +starting the condensing business till afterward. + +Perhaps I would actually get into the room behind the chimney after +luncheon, but one could not begin work until the fire was replenished +and a supply of wood brought. Then while one was at it one might as well +get in a supply of fuel for the other fires, so as to have a clear +afternoon for a good substantial beginning. + +Oh, well, you see where all those paltry subterfuges ended. It was the +easiest thing in the world to remember something I wanted to tell +Westbury--something important--and our telephone lines were not yet +connected. It would be about five when I got back, and of course one +could not start a piece of work late in the day when one was all worn +out. To-morrow, bright and early, would be the time. + +Then, just as likely as not, to-morrow would be one of those bad-luck +days. In a diary which I kept at the time I find a record of a day of +that sort. + + Began this morning by breaking a lamp chimney before I was dressed. + I continued by stepping on Pussum's tail on the way down-stairs in + the dark, which caused me to slide and scrape the rest of the way. + Elizabeth came to the head of the stairs with a fresh lamp and the + remark that she thought I had given up using such language. In + applying the liniment I upset the greasy stuff on the living-room + rug and it required an hour's brisk rubbing to get it out. Not + being satisfied with this, I turned over a bottle of ink when I sat + down after breakfast to dash off an important note before + mail-time. Nobody could think consecutively after a series like + that, so I went out for some fresh air and decided to clean up a + rough corner by the brook. I scratched my nose, strained my wrist, + and mashed my finger with a stone. Only a 100-per-cent. Christian + could remain calm on such a day. To-morrow I shall go warily and + softly, and really begin work. + +I did, in fact, against all intention and good judgment, begin one +evening just about bedtime, and worked until quite late. It was not a +bad beginning, either, as such things go--at least, I have tried harder +and made worse ones. After that the condensing process went better. I +could any time find excuses for not working, but I did not hunt for +them so anxiously. I was pretty fairly under way by Christmas, and the +room behind the chimney had all at once become the most alluring place +in the world. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + + +I + +_The magic of the starlit tree_ + +[Illustration] + +We have always had a tree for Christmas. Long ago, far back in our early +flat-dwelling days, we had our first one, and I remember we shopped for +it Christmas Eve among the bright little Harlem groceries where they had +them ranged outside, picking very carefully for one symmetrical in shape +and small of size and price, to fit our tiny flat and, oh yes, indeed, +our casual income. I remember, too, that when it was finally bought I +put it on my shoulder with a proud feeling, and we drifted farther, +picking up the trimmings--the tinsel and gay ornaments, the small gifts +for the one very small person who had so recently come to live with us, +discussing each purchase with due deliberation, going home at last with +rather more than we could afford, I fear, for I recall further that we +did not have enough left next morning to buy butter for breakfast. How +young we were then, and how poor, and how happy! and Christmas morning, +with its twinkling mystery, was the most precious thing of the whole +year. + +It still remained so. Time could not dim the magic of the starlit tree. +Another little person had come, and another. A larger tree and more +decorations were needed, and the presents grew in number and variety, +but the old charm of secret preparation, and morning gifts, and the +lights that first twinkled around a manger, did not fade. + +[Illustration] + +We did not buy a tree at Brook Ridge. There was no need. Across the +road, partway up the slope, was a collection of green and shapely little +cedars--a regular Santa Claus grove--and on the afternoon before +Christmas, a gray, still afternoon, heavy with mystic portent, Elizabeth +and I took a small ax and climbed up there, and picked and selected, +just as we had done in those earlier years, and came home with our tree, +stealthily carrying it in the back way, to the wood-house, and fitting +it to the small green stand that we had used and preserved from year to +year. The little girl for whom we had bought the first tree was the +Pride, now aged twelve, and no longer without knowledge of the Christmas +saint, but the romance of not knowing, of still believing in it all, was +too precious to be put away yet, and she was off to bed with the others +to bring more quickly the joyous morning. Alone, as heretofore, +Elizabeth and I tied and marked the tissue packages, and in some of the +books wrote rhymes, such as only Santa Claus can think of when he has +finished his remote year of toil and has started out with his loaded +sleigh to strew happiness around the world. + +I suppose there is no more delightful employment than to watch the thing +that will give a splendid joy to one's children grow and glisten under +one's hands--to view it at different angles during the process; to note +how it begins to look "Christmasy," to add a touch here, a brightness +there, to see it at last radiant and complete, ready for the morning +illumination. On the topmost branch each year there was always the same +little hanging ornament, a swinging tinseled cherub that we had bought +for the very first little tree and the very first little girl, in the +days when we had been so young, so poor, and so happy. + +It was midnight when the last touch was given and the cherub was +swinging at the top, and it was only a wink or two afterward, it seemed, +that there were callings back and forth from small beds and a general +demand for investigation. A hurried semi-dressing, a fire blazing up the +chimney, a door thrown open upon a sparkling, spangled tree. Eager +exclamations, moments of awed silence, after which the thrilling +distribution of gifts. Human life holds few things better or happier +than such a Christmas morning. Whatever else the Christ-child brought to +the world, that alone would make his coming a boon to mankind. + +On our wall hung a quaint framed print of the first Christmas family, +and under it some verses by the now all-but-forgotten poet, Edwin Waugh. +In those days it was our custom, when the distribution was over and the +morning light filled the room, to gather in front of the picture and +sing the verses to a simple tune of our own. It was a poor little +ceremony, but, remembering it now, I am glad that we thought it worth +while. The verses are certainly so, and I want to preserve them +here--they are so little known. + +CHRISTMAS CAROL + +BY EDWIN WAUGH + + Long time ago in Palestine, + Upon a wintry morn, + All in a lowly cattle-shed + The Prince of Peace was born. + + The clouds fled from the gloomy sky, + The winds in silence lay, + And the stars shone bright with strange delight + To welcome in that day. + + His parents they were simple folk + And simple lives they led, + And in the ways of righteousness + This little child was bred. + + In gentle thought and gentle deed + His early days went by, + And the light His youthful steps did lead + Came down from heaven on high. + + He was the friend of all the poor + That wander here below; + It was His only joy on earth + To ease them of their woe. + + In pain He trod His holy path, + By sorrow sorely tried; + It was for all mankind He lived, + And for mankind He died. + + Like Him let us be just and pure, + Like Him be true alway, + That we may find the peace of mind + That never fades away. + + +II + +_Westbury dropped in_ + +So came the deeps of winter--January in New England. With the Pride and +the Hope back at school, Elizabeth and I, with the Joy, shut away from +most of the sounds and strivings of men, looked out on the heaping +drifts and gathered about blazing logs, piled sometimes almost to the +chimney throat. + +It was our refreshment and exercise to bring in the logs. We were told +that in a former day they had been dragged in by a horse, who drew them +right up to the wide stone hearth. But we did not use Lord Beaconsfield +for this work. For one thing, he would have been too big to get through +the door; besides, we were strong, and liked the job. We had two pairs +of ice-tongs, and we would put on our rubber boots, and take the tongs, +and go out into the snow, and fasten to a log--one at each end--and drag +it across Captain Ben's iron door-sill, and lift it in and swing it +across the stout andirons with a skill that improved with each day's +practice. They were good, lusty sticks--some of them nearly two feet +through. These were the back-logs, and they would last two or three +days, buried in the ashes, breaking at last into a mass of splendid +coals. + +In New England one builds a fire scientifically, if he expects to keep +warm by it. There must be a fore-stick and a back-stick, and a pyramid +of other sticks, with proper draught below and flame outlets above. And +he must not spare fuel--not if he expects heat. Westbury dropped in one +afternoon just when we had completed a masterpiece in fire-building. He +went up to warm his hands and regarded the blazing heap of hickory with +critical appraisal. + +"That fire cost you two dollars," he remarked, probably recalling the +number of days it had taken Old Pop and Sam to cut and cord the big +hickory across the brook. + +"It's worth it," I said. "I've paid many a two dollars for luxuries that +weren't worth five minutes of this." + +Westbury dropped into a comfortable chair, took out his knife, and +picked up a piece of pine kindling. + +"You think this beats city life?" he observed, whittling slowly. + +"Well, that depends on what you want. If you like noise and action, the +city's the place. We once lived in a flat where there was a piano at +one end of the hall and two phonographs at the other. Then there was a +man across the air-shaft who practised on the clarinet, and a +professional singer up-stairs. Besides this, when the season was right, +we had a hand-organ concert every few minutes on the street. When +everything was going at once it was quite a combination. The trolley in +front and the Elevated railway behind helped out, too, besides the +automobiles, and the newsboys and more or less babies that were trying +to do their part. Some people would be lonesome without those things, I +suppose." + +Westbury whittled reflectively. + +"I like to be where it's busy," he commented, "but I guess a fellow +could get tired of too much of it. It's pretty nice to live where you +can look out on the snow and the woods, and where you can hear it rain, +and in the spring wake up in the night and listen to the frogs sing." +Westbury's eye ranged about the room, taking in the pictures and +bric-à -brac and the bookshelves along the wall. "I wonder what Captain +Ben Meeker would think to see his old kitchen turned into a library," +he went on, thoughtfully. "Not many books in his day, I guess; maybe one +or two on the parlor table, mostly about religion. They were pretty +strong on religion, back in that time, though Captain Ben, I guess, +didn't go in on it as heavy as his wife. Captain Ben was more for +hunting, and horses, and dogs, and the man that could cut the most grass +in a day. The story goes that when Eli Brayton, the shoemaker, wanted to +marry Molly Meeker, Captain Ben wouldn't give her to him because he said +Eli hadn't proved himself a man yet. Brayton was boarding in the family +and working in the little shop that used to stand across the road. Aunt +Sarah Meeker, Captain Ben's wife, wanted the shoemaker in the family +because he was religious; but Captain Ben said, 'No, sir, he's got to +prove himself a man before he can have Molly.' Well, one day Eli Brayton +saw a fox up in the timber, and came down to the house and told Captain +Ben about it. 'Let me have your gun,' he said, 'and I'll go up and get +that chap that's been killing your chickens lately.' 'All right,' says +Captain Ben, 'but you won't get him.' Eli didn't say anything, but took +the old musket and slipped up there, and by and by they heard a shot and +pretty soon he came down the hill with Mr. Fox over his shoulder. They +went out on the step to meet him, and he threw the fox down in front of +Molly Meeker. 'There's some fur for you,' he said, 'and I guess he won't +catch any more chickens.' Captain Ben went up to Eli and slapped him on +the shoulder. 'Now you've proved yourself a man,' he says, 'and you can +have Molly.' That was my wife's grandmother. She was an only child and +the Meekers and the Braytons lived here together. Eli Brayton grew to be +quite a character himself. When they came around to him to collect money +for the church he'd contribute some of his unpaid shoe accounts. He knew +the people that owed them would pay the church, because they'd be afraid +not to. Old Deacon Timothy Todd used to do the collecting. He had a +high-keyed voice and no front teeth, and always chewed as he talked. +He'd pull out the bill and shake it at the man that owed it and say: 'A +debt to the church is registered above. Not to pay it is a mortal sin. +To perish in sin is to be burned with brimstone and eaten by the worm +that dieth not.' Before Deacon Todd got through that sinner was ready to +come across." + +Westbury in childhood had seen Deacon Timothy Todd and could imitate his +speech and manner. He enjoyed doing it as much as we enjoyed hearing +him. + +"Deacon Todd had two boys," he went on, "Jim and Tim, and he used to +say, 'My Jim is a good boy, but Tim proved himself a bad one when he +slapped his mother with an eel-skin.' Deacon Todd married a second time. +He lent some money to a woman to set up a business in Westport, and a +little while after his wife died he went down to collect it. Somebody +met him on the road and asked him where he was going. 'Well,' he said, +'I'm just going down to Westport to collect a little money I loaned a +young woman, and I'll bring back the money or the young woman, one of +the two,' and he did. He was back with her next day. Timothy Todd was a +great old chap. When the Civil War broke out he didn't want to go. He +was getting along pretty well, then--forty or so--and had already lost +two of his front teeth and claimed he couldn't bite off the ca'tridges. +They used to have to bite off the paper ends of them for muzzle-loading +guns. Then the draft came and he was scared up for fear they'd get him. +They didn't, though, but they got about all the others that were left, +and Deacon Todd went down to see them off. When the train came and he +saw them all get on, and the train starting, he forgot all about not +wanting to go, and jumped on with them, and went. 'I saw all my friends +was goin',' he said, 'an' th'd be nobody left in the country but me. "I +reckon I can bite them ca'tridges off with my eye-teeth, if I really +want to do it," I says, an' I was on the train an' half-way to Danbury +before I recollected that Mrs. Todd had told me to bring home a dime's +wuth o' coffee an' a pound o' sugar. I didn't get back with 'em fer two +years, an' then I come in limpin' with a bullet in my left hind leg. +"Here's that pound o' coffee and dime's wuth o' sugar," I says. "I +waited fer 'em to git cheaper."'" + +Westbury's visits did much to brighten up the somber days, while our +blazing hearth and the sturdy little furnace down-stairs kept us warm and +cozy. Looking out on a landscape that was like a Christmas card, and +remembering the drabble and jangle of the town, we were not sorry to be +among the clean white hills. + + +III + +_No animal except man digs and plants_ + +It was only a little after Christmas that we began planning for our +spring garden. As commuters, we had once possessed a garden--a bit of +ground, thirty-five feet square, but fruitful beyond belief. Now we had +broad, enriched spaces that in our fancy we saw luxuriant with vegetable +and bright with flower. + +I suppose one of the most deeply seated of human instincts is to plant +and till the soil. It is the thing that separates us most widely from +other animal life. The beasts and birds and insects build houses, lay up +food, and some of them, even if unwittingly, change the style of their +clothing with the seasons. But no animal except man digs and plants and +cultivates the flower and fruit and vegetable that nourish his body and +soul. It is something that must date back to creation, for in the +deepest winter, when the ground is petrified and the skies are low and +gray, the very thought of turning up the earth, and raking and planting, +awakens a thrill in the innermost recesses of the normal human heart, +while a new seed-catalogue, filled with gay pictures and gaudy promises, +becomes a poem, nothing less. + +What gardens we anticipate when the snow lies deep and we pore over +those seductive lists by a blazing fire! Never a garden this side of +Paradise so fair as they. For there are no weeds in our gardens of +anticipation, nor pests, nor drought, nor any blight. The sun always +shines there, and purple flowers are waving in the wind. No real garden +will ever be so beautiful, because it will never quite be bathed in the +tender light, never wave with quite the loveliness of those fair, frail +gardens of our dreams. + +We planted many dream gardens that winter. Splendid catalogues came +every little while, and each had its magic of color and special +offers--"Six rare roses for a dollar," "Six papers of seeds for ten +cents"--six of anything to make the heart happy, for a ridiculously +small sum. The rich level behind the barn was to us no longer hard with +frost and buried beneath the drifts, but green and waving. Some days we +walked out to look over the ground a little and pick the places where we +would have things, but our imagination seemed to work better in the +house by the big fireplace, especially when we rattled the +buff-and-green seed-packets that presently began to come and were kept +handy in the sideboard drawer. + +Our former garden had been so small that we feared we should not have +enough for these new areas, and almost daily we increased certain +staples and discovered something we had overlooked, some "New Wonder" +tomato, or "Murphy's Miracle" melon. Being strong for melons, I pinned +my faith to Murphy's Miracle, and ordered several packets of the seeds +that would produce it. Then I began to have doubts. I said if half those +seeds sprouted and did half as well as the catalogue promised, the level +behind the barn would fall a prey to Murphy and become just a heap of +melons. Elizabeth suggested that I add another acre and devote my summer +vacation to peddling them. + +Elizabeth was mainly for salads. Anything that could be served with +French dressing or mayonnaise found a place on her list. She got a new +copy of her favorite Iowa catalogue, and when she found in it a special +combination offer of "Twelve new things to eat raw" (it had formerly +been nine) she was moved almost to tears. + +In the matter of sweet corn and beans our souls were as one--a sort of +spiritual succotash, as it were--and we encouraged one another in any +new departure that would increase or prolong this staple supply. Flowers +we would have pretty much every-where--hollyhocks in odd corners; +delphinium and foxglove along the stone walls; bunches of calliopsis and +bleeding-heart and peonies; borders of phlox and alyssum; beds of +sweet-williams and corn-flowers and columbines--all those lovely, +old-fashioned things, with the loveliest old-fashioned names in the +world. Where did they get those names, I wonder? for they are among the +most wonderful in the language--each one a strain of word music. We +ordered hollyhock roots and hollyhock seed, and delphinium roots and +delphinium seed, and all the others in roots and seeds that could be had +in both ways, and roses and roses and roses, till I found it desirable +to lay aside the fascinating catalogues now and then for certain +industries in the little room behind the chimney, which I called my +study, in order to be able to provide the "inclosed stamps or check, in +payment for the same." + +But I believe there is no money that one spends so willingly as that +invested in garden seeds. That is because the normal human being is a +visionary, a speculator in futures, a dealer in dreams. For every penny +he spends in winter he pictures an overflowing return in beauty or +substance, in flower and fruit, the glorious harvest of radiant summer +days. + + +IV + +_Then came Bella--and Gibbs_ + +We had other entertainments. I have not thus far mentioned the domestic +service that followed Lazarus. There was a hiatus of brief duration, and +then came Bella--Bella and Gibbs. Bella was from town and of literary +association. We inherited her from authors whose ideals perhaps did not +accord with hers--I do not know. At all events, she tried ours for a +period. I know that she was considerably middle-aged, hard of hearing, +and short of sight, and that when I tried to recall her name I could not +think of anything but "Hunka-munka." Heaven knows why--it must have +expressed her, I suppose. + +But Hunka-munka--Bella, I mean--had resources. Her specialties were +Kipling and deep-dish apple pie. We could have worried along without +Kipling, but her deep-dish pie with whipped cream on it was a poem that +won our hearts. I must be fair. Hunka-munka's cooking was all good, as +to taste, and if her vision had been a bit more extended it might have +been of better appearance. I suppose the steam collected on her +super-thick glasses and she had to work somewhat by guess. Never mind--I +still recall her substantial and savory dinners with deep gratitude, +especially the pie of the deep dish with whipped cream atop. + +[Illustration] + +Gibbs came when we acquired Lord Beaconsfield and the furnace. My gifts +do not run to the care of a horse and an egg-coal fire. I don t know +where Gibbs had matriculated, but he professed to have taken high +degrees in those functions, and thus became a part of our establishment. +I think he overestimated his powers in the directions named, but he was +not without talents. He could wash and wipe dishes and, incredible as +it may seem, he was also literary. Like attracts like, by some law past +understanding. To me it still seems a wonderful thing that this little +waif of a man with a taste for Tolstoy and a passion for long words +should have just then landed upon us. + +Gibbs had a warm and fairly snug room in the barn--"a veritable bijou of +an apartment," he called it, though it was, I think, something less, and +he declared that the aroma of the hay and the near presence of Lord +Beaconsfield gave him a "truly bucolic emotion" that was an inspiration. +Nevertheless, Gibbs could not resist Bella and her domain. This was +proper enough. He was convenient to hand her things, to help with the +dishes and to discuss deeply and at length their favorite authors. When +our meals were in preparation or safely over there was more literature, +five to one, in the kitchen than in any other part of the house. + +Sometimes the drift of it came to us. It was necessary for Gibbs to +speak up pretty smartly to get his remarks into Hunka-munka's +consciousness. Once in the heat of things we heard him say: "One may not +really compare or contrast the literary emanations of Tolstoy and +Kipling except as to the net human residuum. Difference in environment +would preclude any cosmic psychology of interrelationship." + +As this noble sentence came hurtling through the door I felt poor and +disheartened. Never could I hope to reach such a height. And here was +Gibbs washing dishes and tossing off those things without a thought. +Hunka-munka's reply was lost on us. Like many persons of defective +hearing, she had the habit of speaking low, but I do not think her +remarks were in the gaudy class of her associate's. + +Their discussions were not entirely of Tolstoy and Kipling. There was a +neighborhood library and they took books from it--books which I judge +became more romantic as the weeks went by. I judge this because Gibbs +grew more careful in the matter of dress, and when the days became +pleasanter the two walked down to the bridge across the brook and looked +over into the water, after the manner of heroes and heroines in the +novels of Mrs. Southworth and Bertha M. Clay. + +What might have been the outcome of the discussions, the dish-washings, +the walks, the leanings over the bridge at the trysting-place, we may +only speculate now. For a time the outlook for this "romance of real +life" seemed promising, then came disillusion. Gibbs, alas, had a bent +which at first we did not suspect, but which in time became only too +manifest. It had its root in a laudable desire--the desire to destroy +anything resembling strong drink. Only, I think he went at it in the +wrong way. His idea was to destroy it by drinking it up. He +miscalculated his capacity. It took no great quantity of strong waters +to partially destroy Gibbs, and at such times he was neither literary +nor romantic, no fit mate for Hunka-munka, who had a tidy sum in savings +laid away and did not wish to invest it in the destroying process. I do +not know what she said to him, at last, but there came a day when he +vanished from our sight and knowledge, and the kitchen after dinner was +silent. I suppose the change was too much for Hunka-munka, for she +saddened and lost vigor. Her deep-dish pies became savorless, the +whipped cream smeary and sad of taste. She went the way of all cooks, +and if it had not been spring, with the buds breaking and the birds +calling and the trout leaping in the brook, we should have grieved as +over a broken song. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + + +I + +_We planted a number of things_ + +[Illustration] + +The whistle of a bird means spring; the poking through of the +skunk-cabbage in low ground, the growing green mist upon the woods. But +there is one thing that has more positive spring in it than any of +these--more of the stir and throb of awakening, something identified +with that earliest impulse that prompted some remote ancestor to make +the first garden. I mean the smell of freshly turned earth with the sun +on it. Nothing else is like that; there is a kind of madness in it. +Elizabeth said it was a poem. It is that and something more--a pæan, a +marching song--a summons to battle. + +Luther Merrill came up to plow the space back of the barn. When he had +turned up a furrow or so to the warm April sun, and I got a whiff of it, +reason fled. I began capering about with a rake and a hoe, shouting to +Elizabeth to bring the seeds--all the seeds--also the catalogues, so +that we might order more. Why, those little packages were only a +beginning! We must have pounds, quarts, bushels. And we must have other +things--sweet-potatoes, for instance, and asparagus--we have overlooked +those. + +Elizabeth came, and was bitten by that smell, too, but she partially +kept her balance. She was in favor of the asparagus and sweet-potatoes, +but she said she thought we had better plant what we had of the other +things and see how far they would go, before ordering more. She said the +seed-houses would probably have enough to go around even a week or so +later, and we could use what we had on hand in making what the +catalogues referred to as the "first sowing." I was not entirely +satisfied, but I submitted. I was too much excited, too glad, to oppose +anything. Luther Merrill plowed around and around, and then harrowed +and cross-harrowed, while we sorted the yellow packets and picked the +earliest things and were presently raking and marking on beds and rows, +warm with the fever of tillage. + +We did not always agree as to the order of planting. In our small +commuter garden we had been restricted by space limitations and had +fallen into the habit of planting rows a good deal closer together than +the directions on the packets said--an economy of ground, but not of +toil. I had frequently weeded the beds, and had found that my feet were +not suited to working between rows six inches apart, while even a +baby-sized hoe had to be handled with great care. I said, now that we +had the space, we would separate our rows of beets and radishes and +salad full ten to fourteen inches, as advised by the authorities who had +written the package directions, and thus give both the plants and the +gardener more room. + +But Elizabeth had acquired the economy habit. She declared that such +rows gave more room for the weeds and that it was too bad to waste the +rich ground in that way. I had to draw the most pathetic picture of +myself bending over in the hot sun, working with a toy hoe, and pulling +weeds with my fingers, through long July days, to effect a compromise. +Experience had taught me that this was the best way to get concessions +from Elizabeth. Little could be gained by polemic argument. Besides, it +was dangerous. She would resign, and a good deal more than half the joy +would go out of that precious employment if I was left to finish it +alone. Women are so volatile. It is their main attraction. + +The Joy helped us. That is, she had a little hoe and insisted on digging +with it in the very places where we were raking and marking and sowing +and patting down the fragrant earth that was presently to wax green with +fruitfulness. She was not satisfied to go off in a remote corner and +make a garden of her own. She was strong for community life, and +required close watching. It was necessary, at last, to let her plant a +crooked little row without direction or artistic balance. Then she +suddenly remembered that she was not a gardener, but a horse, and +plowed and harrowed back and forth across the mellow ground. + +We planted a number of things that first day of our gardening in Brook +Ridge--long rows of lettuce and radishes and pease--the last named two +kinds, the bush and dwarf varieties. Pease cannot be sown too early, nor +the other things, for that matter. I have known the ground to freeze +solid after lettuce and radishes had begun to sprout, without serious +resulting damage. We put in some beets, too, and some onions, but we +postponed the corn and bean planting. There is nothing gained by putting +those tender things in too early. Even if they sprout, they do not +thrive unless the weather is really warm, while a light frost lays them +low. More than once I have tried very early corn-planting, but never +with much result. Once I had quite a patch of it up about three inches +high when the wind suddenly went to the north and it was certain that +the night would bring frost. I gathered up all the old cans and boxes +and hats on the premises and covered every hill of it. That was a good +scheme, and most of my corn survived, but six weeks later, when it was +green and waving, a neighbor's cow got in and ate it to the last piece. +No, fate is against early corn-planting. + +We had seed enough for all we wanted to plant that first day, and a good +deal more than enough of some things. It's remarkable how many lettuce +seeds there are in a buff packet. I sowed and sowed without being able +to use up two packets. I don't see how they can raise and gather so many +for five cents. It was the same with most of the other things. I did not +need to reorder, and by night I did not particularly want to. It had +been a pretty long day of raking and digging and patting down, and I had +got over some of the intoxication of the earth smell. Also, I was lame. +I could see that tending a garden of the size we had planned--along, +say, in July--was going to be a chore. No one as yet had come to replace +our ex-domestic staff: if no one came that chore would fall to me. In +the gray of the evening my enthusiasm was at rather low ebb. It was all +I could do to make out an order for asparagus and sweet-potato plants. +A cool, quiet bed, in a spring land where frogs are peeping in the moist +places, is sweet after such a day. + + +II + +_Out of the blue_ + +We were not permanently abandoned, however. Bella and Gibbs, our +literary forces, were presently replaced by Lena and William. Lena and +William were not literary. William was just plain Tipperary, and Lena +was a Finn. I extracted Lena one day from a "Norsk Employment Agency," +selecting her chiefly for her full-moon smile and her inability to speak +any English word. The smile had a permanent look, and I reasoned that an +inability to speak English would be a bar to her getting away. We should +not mind it much ourselves. Having had everything from a Pole to a +Patagonian, we were experts on sign language, and rather favored it +after the flow of English we had just survived. I personally conducted +Lena to the train and landed her safely at Brook Ridge. + +William came to us out of the blue. One morning I drew a tin pail of +water, bright and splashing from the well, and turned to pour a little +of it into the birds drinking-trough, a stone hollowed out at the top. I +did not do so, however, for a good reason--a man was sitting on the +stone. He had not been there a moment before, and I had heard no sound. +He was gaunt, pale, and dilapidated, and looked as if he had been in a +sort of general dog fight. He had a wild cast in his eyes and was in no +way prepossessing. His appearance suggested a burglar on sick-leave. + +I confess I was startled by this apparition. I set down the pail rather +weakly. + +"Why, good morning!" I said. + +He replied in a high-keyed Irish intonation, at the moment rather feeble +in volume. + +"C'u'd ye give a man a bite to eat fer some worrk, now?" he asked. + +I was relieved. If he had demanded my purse I should not have been +surprised. I nodded eagerly. + +"Yes, indeed. We need some wood. If you'll cut a little, I'll see that +you have some breakfast. You'll find the wood-pile and the ax down there +by the barn." + +He rose by a sort of slow unfolding process, and I was impressed by his +height. I gave him some specifications as to the wood needed, and he was +presently swinging the ax, though without force. He lacked "pep," I +could see that, and as soon as the food was ready I called him. He ate +little, but he emptied the pot of hot coffee in record time. Then he +came down to where I was trimming some rose-bushes. + +"W'u'd ye let me lie a bit on the hay?" he said. "Thin I'll do some more +of the little shtove-shticks fer yeh. I'm feelin' none too brisk this +mornin'." + +"Been sick?" I asked. + +"Naw, just a trrifle weery with trav'lin' an' losin' of sleep." + +Inside I hesitated. It was probably overtime at housebreaking that had +told on him. I pointed at the barn, however. + +"All right," I said, "take a nap--only, don t smoke in there." + +He vanished, and some three hours later when I had forgotten him I +suddenly heard a sound of great chopping. Our guest had reappeared at +the wood-pile, transformed. He was no longer pale and listless. His face +was ruddy--in fact, tanned. The cast in his eye had taken on fire. Every +movement was of amazing vigor and direction. The wood-pile was +disappearing and the little heap of "stove-sticks" growing in a most +astonishing way. I called Elizabeth out to see. + +"If coffee and a nap will make him do that." I said, "we'd better give +him dinner and get enough wood to last all summer." I went down there. +"What is your name?" I asked. + +"William--William Deegan." + +"Well, William, you seem to understand work. Come up to dinner +presently, and if you want to go on cutting this afternoon I'll pay you +for it." + +He came, and there was nothing the matter with his appetite this time. +Ham and eggs, potatoes, beans, corn-bread, pie--whatever came went. +William was the apostle of the clean plate. Reflecting somewhat on the +matter, I reached the conclusion (and it was justified by later events) +that William had perhaps been entertaining himself with friends the +night before--during several nights before, I judge--and was suffering +from temporary reaction when he had appeared on our horizon. Coffee and +a nap had restored him. He was quick on recovery, I will say that. + +You never saw such a hole in a wood-pile as he made that afternoon. When +I went down to settle with him and announce supper he was still in full +swing, apparently intending to go on all night. + +"William," I said, "you're a boss hand with an ax." + +"Well, sur," said William, his Celtic timbre pitched to the sky, "if I +could be shtayin' a day or two longer I'd finish the job fer ye." + +Was this a proposition to rob the house and murder us in our beds? I +looked at the wood-pile and at William. There was something about their +intimate relations that had an honest look. I remembered the extensive +garden that would have to be hoed in July. + +"Where would you go from here?" I said. + +"I don't know, sur. I'll be lookin' fer a job." + +"Do you understand gardening and taking care of a horse and cow?" + +"Yes, sur, I do that." + +I had an impulse to ask him about his last job, but I checked it. It was +a question that could lead to embarrassment. I would accept him on his +demonstration, or not at all. + +"So you want a summer job, at general farm-work?" + +"Yes, sur, I do." + +"Well, William, you've found one, right here." + +Even after the lapse of a dozen years I cannot write of William without +a tugging at the heart. We never knew his antecedents--never knew where +behind the sky-line he had been concealed all those years before that +morning when he appeared, pale and unannounced, at the well. We got the +impression, as time passed, that he had once been married and that he +had at some time been somewhere on a peach-farm. With the exception of +certain brief intervals--of which I may speak later--he remained with us +three years, and that was as much as we ever knew, for he talked little, +and not at all of the past. His face value was certainly not much, and +some of his habits could have been improved, but a more faithful and +honest soul than William Deegan never lived. + + +III + +_"Ah, the bonny cow!"_ + +We had acquired Mis' Cow a few weeks before William's arrival. It was +partly on account of the milk that we wanted her, partly because there +was an empty stall next to Old Beek's and we thought she would be +company for him, partly because we wanted a cow in the landscape--a +moving picture of her in the green pasture across the road--finally (and +I believe principally) because we have a mania for restoring things and +Mis' Cow looked as if she needed to be restored. + +She was owned by a man who was moving away--moving because he had not +made a success of chicken-farming by book, and still less of Mis' Cow. +He was not her first owner, nor her second, nor her third. I don't know +what his number was on her list of owners, but I know if he had kept her +much longer he would have been her last one. More than once we had +bought the mere frame of a haircloth couch, and taken an esthetic +pleasure in having it polished and upholstered, and made into a thing of +beauty and service. It was with this view that we acquired Mis Cow, who +at the moment was a mere frame with a patchy Holstein covering and a +feebly hanging tail. We gave thirty-five dollars for her, and the man +who was moving because he had not made a success of chickens threw in a +single buggy that broke down the week after he left. + +We consulted Westbury on the matter of Mis' Cow's past history, and it +was the only time I ever knew W. C. Westbury to be inexact as to the +age and habits of any animal in Brook Ridge. He said he had always known +her as a good milker, but that she had been unfortunate of late years in +her owners. He couldn't remember her age, but he didn't think it was +enough to hurt her. My opinion is that he could have given her exact +birthday and record had he really tried, but that kindness of heart +prompted him to encourage a trade that might improve her fortunes. I +suspect that they had played together in childhood. + +We managed to get Mis' Cow up the hill and into her stall, where we +could provide her with upholstery material. The little pasture across +the road was getting green and she presently had the full run of it. The +restoring progress began, as it were, overnight. If ever an article of +furniture paid a quick return in the matter of looks, she did. She could +never be a very fat Mis' Cow--she was not of that build. But a few days +of good food and plenty of it certainly worked wonders. She filled out +several of the most alarming hollows around her hips and along her +ridge-pole, she seemingly took on height and length. She grew smooth, +even glossy; her tail no longer hung on her like a bell-cord, but became +a lithe weapon of defense that could swat a fly with fatal precision on +any given spot of her black-and-white area. It was only a little while +until we were really proud to have her in the landscape, and the picture +she made grazing against the green or standing in the apple shade was +really gratifying. When the trees were pink and white with bloom and +Mis' Cow rested under them, chewing in time to her long reflections, we +often called one another out to admire the pastoral scene. A visiting +friend of Scotch ancestry was moved to exclaim, "Ah, the bonny cow!" + +Then there was the matter of milk--she certainly justified Westbury's +reputation in that respect. From a quart or two of thin, pale unusable +fluid her daily dividend grew into gallons of foaming richness that +became pitchers of cream and pounds of butter; for Elizabeth, like +myself, had known farming in an earlier day, and rows of milk-pans and a +churn went with her idea of the simple life. All day Mis' Cow munched +the new grass, and night and morning yielded a brimming pail. She was a +noble worker, I will say that. + +But there was another side to Mis' Cow--a side which Westbury forgot to +mention. Mis' Cow was an acrobat. When she had been on bran mash and +clover for a few weeks she showed a decided tendency to be gay--to caper +and kick up her heels--to break away into the woods or down the road, if +one was not watching. But this was not all--this was mere ordinary cow +nature, which is more foolish and contrary than any other kind of nature +except that which goes with a human being or a hen. I was not surprised +at these things--they were only a sign that she was getting tolerably +restored, according to specifications. But when one day I saw her going +down the road, soon after I had turned her into the pasture and +carefully put up the bars, I realized that she had special gifts. Stone +walls did not a prison make--not for her. Elizabeth and I rounded her up +and got her back into the pasture, and from concealment I watched her. +She fed peacefully enough, for some time, then, doubtless believing +herself unobserved, she took a brief promenade along the wall until she +came to what looked like a promising place, and simply walked over it, +like a goat. + +We herded her into the barn, and I engaged a man to put a string of wire +above the wall. That was effective as long as it was in repair. But it +was Mis' Cow's business to see that it did not remain in repair +permanently. She would examine it during idle moments, pick out a weak +spot in the entanglement, and pull it flat with her horns. Or where the +wall was broad enough at the top she would climb up and walk it, just +for exercise, stepping over when she got ready. If she could have been +persuaded to do those things to order I could have sold her to a circus. +It was necessary to reinforce the wire and add another string. + +Even that was not always a cure. I came home from the city one night, +after a hard day. Elizabeth and the Joy, with Old Beek, had met me at +the station, and as we drove up the hill in the dim evening I said how +glad I was to get home, and that Elizabeth had milked, so that I could +drop into a chair and eat my supper and rest, the minute I entered the +house. We reached the top of the hill just then, and a dim gray shadow +met and passed us in the velvet dusk. It was Mis' Cow, starting out to +spend the night. She was moving with a long, swinging trot, and in +another second I was out and after her. + +She had several rods' start and could run downhill better than I could, +especially in the dark. It seemed to me that every step I went plunging +out into space. My empty stomach became demoralized, the blood rushed to +my head. "Gosh dern a cow, anyway!" By the time we had reached +Westbury's and started up the next hill I had made up my mind to sell +her--to give her away--to drive her off the premises. Some people were +standing in front of the next house and they laughed as we went by, we +being about neck and neck at the time. Westbury was in that crowd, and +for the moment our friendship was in grave danger. But then we came to +the house of the man who had made a failure of book chicken-farming, +and she darted in. She had remembered it as her home and wanted to +return to it. Imagine wanting to go back to such a home! + +Westbury came, and we got a rope on her and led her uphill. I suppose I +felt better in the morning, and it was about this time that William +arrived on the scene. William loved Mis' Cow and did not mind chasing +her up and down the road and through the bushes, though sometimes during +the summer, when he had had a hard day with her, and our windows were +open, we could hear him still hi-hi-ing and whooping in his sleep, +chasing Mis' Cow through the woods of dream. + + +IV + +_Strawberries and trout. How is that for a combination?_ + +[Illustration: _I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic +summer, and, on the whole, a successful one_] + +I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic summer, and, on the +whole, a successful one. Our early garden grew--also the second +planting and the third. William Deegan made it his business to see that +they did. I realized presently that my special forte lay in directing a +sizable garden like that rather than in performing the actual labor, +especially when June arrived and the sun began to approach the +perpendicular and take on callithump. You probably don't know what +callithump is, but you will find out if you undertake to hoe sod-ground +potatoes in July. It has something to do with brazen trumpets and +violence. + +I became acquainted with callithump when I straightened out the +asparagus-bed. The weeds had got a master start there, and the feeble +feathery asparagus shoots were quite overtopped and lost. I said the job +required a microscopic eye and a delicate hand. I would set the +asparagus-bed in order myself. + +It is surprising how much ground a hundred asparagus roots can cover. +Elizabeth had superintended their planting, during a period when I had +been absent, and, remembering my mania for having things far apart, she +had let herself go in the matter of space. She had made it rich, too, +and the weeds just loved it. Some of them were up to my waist. I said +they would have to be pulled by hand and I would get up in the cool of +the morning and do it. + +It is almost impossible to beat the sun up in June. I was out there at +five o'clock, but the sun was already busy and had got the range. By the +time I had pulled half-way down one row I could feel the callithump +working. Also something else. We claimed to have no mosquitoes in Brook +Ridge, so it could not have been those. Whatever it was kept me swearing +steadily, and pawing and slapping and sweating blood. When I had +finished a row I crept in, got some fresh clothes and a towel, and made +a dash for the brook. I had cleaned out a special pool behind the +ice-house, and built a little dressing-platform. In less than a minute I +was in the water, looking up at the sky and hearing the birds sing. Talk +about luxury! After breakfast I took Elizabeth out to show her my +progress. + +"It looks nice," she said, "and how easily you did it!" + +It took me four memorable mornings to finish the asparagus-bed, and, +proud as I was of the job, I resigned, after that, in favor of William. +The brazen trumpets of the sky even at high noon could not phase W. +Deegan. Often in July I have sat in the maple shade, with pride watching +him carry out my directions concerning weeds and potato-bugs. I admired +and honored William. I have the greatest respect for honorable toil, but +even more for callithump. + +Sometimes in the early morning I went trout-fishing. There is more +fascination and less waste tissue in that. I would creep down while the +house was still and get my rod and basket, and take a sheltered lane +that was like a green tunnel through the woods, where the birds were +just tuning up for a concert, then out across the "bean-lot," to strike +the brook at about the head of navigation--for trout. + +They were plenty enough and just of the right size--that is to say, +eight to eleven inches long--and easy enough to get if one was very +careful. You could not cast for them; the brook was too small and +brushy for that. You had to use a very short line, and wind it around +the end of the rod, and work it through the branches, and then +carefully, very carefully, unwind and let the hook drop lightly on the +water. Then as likely as not there would be a swift, tingling tug, and, +if you were lucky, an instant later you would have a beautiful +red-speckled fellow landed among the grass and field flowers, his gay +colors glancing in the sun. + +The open places also required maneuvering. One does not walk up to the +bank and fish for wild trout--not in a stream that is as clear as glass +and where every fish in it can see the slightest movement on the bank. +To fish such a place is to lie flat on the stomach and work forward inch +by inch through the grass, Indian fashion, until the water is in reach. +Even then you must not look, but feel, unwinding the line slowly, +slowly, until the fly or worm taps the water. Then if you have done it +well and the trout is there, and it is June, there will be +results--sharp, quick, sudden results that insure the best breakfast in +the world--hot fried trout, fresh from a New England brook. + +The Joy went with me on some of these excursions. She liked to have me +call her early and go tiptoing and whispering about our preparations and +to wade off through the dewy grass in her rubber boots, leaving the rest +of the house asleep. She generally carried the basket, and was deeply +interested in my maneuvers when the cry of the "teacher"-bird and the +call of the wood-thrush did not distract her attention. I can still see +the grass up to her fat little waist, her comical blue apron, her +dimpled round face and the sunlight on her hair. She had a deep pity for +the trout, but her sporting instinct was deeper still. Sometimes when +there was a slip, and a big shining fellow would go bouncing and +splashing back into the brook, she would jump up and down and demand, +excitedly: + +"Why didn't you catch that one, Daddy? Why didn't you catch him? That +was a big, big, _big_ one?" And she walked very proudly when we had six +or more to carry back for breakfast. + +Strawberries and trout--how is that for a breakfast combination in June? +Trout just from the water and strawberries fresh from the garden. We had +planted a good patch of strawberries the August of our arrival and they +had done wonderfully well for the first year. Often by the time we had +come from fishing Elizabeth had been out and filled a bowl, and +sometimes even made a short-cake, for we were old-fashioned enough to +love short-cake--old-fashioned short-cake made with biscuit dough (not +the sweet-cake kind) for breakfast. And breakfast with trout and +short-cake--short-cake with cream, mind you!--in New England in June, +when the windows open on the grass and the wood-thrushes are calling, is +just about as near paradise as you can get in this old world. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + + +I + +_Fate produced a man who had chickens to sell_ + +[Illustration] + +With June the Pride and the Hope came home from school. The brook, the +barn, Old Beek, and Mis' Cow all had their uses then--also a tent in the +yard, a swing, hammock and whatnot. When God made the country He made it +especially for children. Burning suns, a weedy garden and potato blight +may dismay the old, but such things do not fret the young mind. As long +as the brook is cool and the fields are sweet and there is fresh milk +and succotash on the table, happy childhood is indifferent to care. + +[Illustration] + +We were given to picnics. Often we packed some food things into a basket +and went into the woods and spread them in a shady place. Lena, the +Finn, sometimes accompanied these excursions and went quite mad with the +delight of them, racing about and digging up flowers and shrubs to plant +in the door-yard, fairly whooping it up in joyful Finnish and such +English words as she had acquired. I believe the aspect of our woods +reminded her of Finland. + +Lena was a good soul, that is certain, and measurably instructive. We +learned from her how priceless is the gift of good nature, which was the +chief thing that kept her with us; also, to eat a number of dishes quite +new to us, and that an apple-tree--or perhaps it was an apple, baked or +in dumpling--was, in her speech, an "ominy poo." She was not strong on +desserts, but she could always fall back on the ominy poo--meaning in a +general way the big sweet-apple tree that grew by the barn and was +loaded to the breaking-point with delicious fruit. Any baked apple is +good, but a big, cold, baked sweet-apple--"punkin sweets," Westbury +called them--with cold cream, plenty of it, and a sprinkle of sugar, is +about the most blithesome thing in the world. Hurrah for the ominy poo! +whether it be the tree, or the fruit, baked or in dumplings. When the +strawberry passed and was not, the ominy poo reigned gloriously. I don't +know what Lena called certain other dishes that from time to time she +tried to substitute--some other kind of poo, maybe--I know we gradually +persuaded her away from them into a better way of life. + +Sometimes we joined our picnics with the Westburys'--loaded our baskets +into a little hand-express wagon, or into the surrey behind Lord +Beaconsfield--and these were quite elaborate affairs that required a +good deal of preparation and meant a general holiday. More than once we +spread long tables on the green of Westbury's shaded lawn that sloped +down to the river and the mill, and was a picture-place, if ever there +was one. Other days we went over the hills for huckleberries--and came +home with pails of the best fruit that grows for pies, bar none. Happy +days--days of peace--a true golden age, as it seems now. Will the world, +I wonder, ever be so happy and golden again? + + * * * * * + +We had no intention of embarking in chickens when we settled in Brook +Ridge. Neither of us had any love for chickens on foot, and we had no +illusions about the fortunes that, according to certain books, could be +made from a setting of eggs and a tin hen--an incubator, I mean. Also, +our experiment with pigs had cooled us in the matter of live stock for +profit. + +Still, we did love chickens in their proper place--that is to say, with +dumplings or dressing and some of the nice jellies and things which +Elizabeth had made during those autumn months of our arrival. It seemed +extravagant to have them often; chickens had become chickens since our +long-ago early acquaintance with them, when "two bits" had been a fancy +price for broilers and old hens. Elizabeth finally conceded that perhaps +a few chickens--a very few, kept in a neat inclosure away from the +garden--might be desirable. It would be so handy to have one when we +wanted it. She even hinted that the sound of a satisfied and reflective +hen singing about the barn would add a rural note to our pastoral +harmony. Then, of course, there would be the eggs. + +Fate produced a man, just at that moment, who had chickens to sell. He +had been called away, and would let his flock go cheap--he had about a +dozen, he thought, assorted as to age and condition. We could have them +for fifty cents each. It seemed an opportunity. William Deegan was +instructed to prepare the neat inclosure, which he did with enthusiasm, +William being enamoured of anything that was alive. + +The man who had been called away had made a poor count of his flock. He +arrived with nearly twice as many as he said, but we were in the mood by +that time, and took over the bunch. They were not a very inspiring lot. +They were of no special breed, but just chickens--a long-legged, +roostery set, with a mixture of frazzled hens of years and experience. +We said, however, that food and care would improve them. Remember what +it had done for Mis' Cow. + +"Ye'll be after eatin' thim roosters, prisently," William commented, as +we looked at them through the inclosing wire, "before they be gettin' +much older. Ye'll be wantin' eggs from the hins." + +William's remark seemed wise. We were wanting the eggs, all right, and +those ten or twelve speedy-looking roosters ought to go to the platter +without much delay. We would feed liberally and begin on the best ones, +forthwith. + +Still, we did not have chicken that day, nor the next. There is nothing +so perverse as the human appetite. Those were not really bad chickens, +and in a few days they were much better. If any one of those middle-aged +roosters had been brought to us by the butcher we would have paid the +usual dollar for it, and, baked and browned and served with fixings, it +would have gone well enough, even though a trifle muscular and somewhat +resilient. + +But somehow this was a different proposition. I don't believe I can +explain just why. There was something about the aggregation as a whole +that was discouraging. I suspect William's remark that they must be +eaten "prisently" had something to do with it. Eating those chickens was +not to be an entertainment, a pastime, but a job--a job that increased, +for the "old hins" did not lay, or very sparingly--an egg a day being +about the average. William brought it in solemnly. We had got to devour +that entire flock of chickens, and the thought became daily less +attractive. Even our tribe of precious ones, who had always been +chicken-hungry before, suddenly became indifferent to the idea of +chicken fried, baked, or in fricassee. I said, at last, we would have to +have a series of picnics. Anything would taste good at a picnic. + +I don't remember how many we used up in that way, but I know the +business of getting rid of those chickens seemed interminable. We tried +working them off on William and Lena, but even _they_ balked before the +end was reached. I have heard it stated that no one can eat thirty +quails in thirty days. I don't know about that, but I know that when we +tried to put over a dozen chickens on Lena and William in six weeks it +was a failure. At last we were reduced to one old hen, who by general +consent was made immune. Also free. The garden was too far advanced for +her to damage it. The door of the neat wire inclosure was left open for +her to go and come at will. There was danger of foxes at night, but we +did not shut it. The foxes, however, did not come. Even foxes have to +draw the line somewhere. That venerable old lady wandered about the +place, pecking and contentedly singing, and in that part we really +became fond of her. I think she died at last of old age. + + +II + +_I planted some canterbury-bells_ + +I believe our agriculture may be said to have been successful. William +was a faithful gardener. His corn, beans, pease, and potatoes were +abundant, and all the other good things, whether to eat boiled, raw, or +roasted. Our table was almost embarrassed by these riches, which perhaps +helped us to weaken on the chicken idea. + +I think our favorite staple was corn--green sweet corn, carried directly +from the patch to the pot, and from the pot to the table. If you have +not eaten it under these conditions you have never really known what +green corn should be like. The flavor of corn begins to go the moment it +is pulled from the stalk, also the moment it leaves the pot. Cooked +instanter, buttered, with salt and pepper, eaten the moment it does not +blister your mouth, it is the pride of the garden. Cooked the next day +and eaten when it has become cool and flabby, it becomes a reproach. It +is different with beans. Beans keep, and, hot or cold or warmed over, +they are never to be despised. The heaping platters of corn and the +bowls of beans that our family could destroy after a morning of hearty +exercise were rather staggering. Then presently the cantaloups +came--fragrant, juicy ones, and all the salads, and--oh, well, never +mind the list--I have heard of living like a lord, but I can't imagine +any lord ever living as near to the sap and savor of life's luxuries as +we did. + +I must not overlook our rye. By June it was a cloth of gold, and of such +elevation that I could barely see over it. There is something stately +and wonderful about standing rye, when one is close enough to see the +individual stalks. They are so tall and slim that you cannot understand +why the lightest wind does not lay them flat. Yet all day long they sway +and ripple and billow in the summer wind, and unless the heavy, driving +storm comes the ranks remain unbroken to the last and face the sickle in +golden dress parade. + +Westbury came with a force of men one blazing morning, and the sound of +the cutting-machine was a music that carried me back to days when I had +followed the reaper in the Mississippi Valley, from the first ray of +sunrise to the last ray of sunset, eaten five times a day, drunk water +out of a jug under the shock, and once picked up a bundle with a snake +in it and jumped fourteen feet, more or less, straight up in the air. It +was not that I was afraid, you understand, but just surprised. Snakes +nearly always surprise me. I remember once when I was a little boy, on +the way to visit a friend about my size, I took a short cut across a +little clearing, and was hopping and singing along when I hopped onto +something firm that moved twistingly under my bare foot. I did not jump +or run that time; I merely opened out my wings and flew. Corn-rows, +brush-piles, fences, were as nothing. I sailed over them like a gnat +till I reached the big main road. I was not interested in short cuts, +after that, and I didn't cross that field again for years. I was not +afraid, but I did not wish to be surprised again. I recall another +time-- + +But this is not a snake story. I told Westbury that I could bind as well +as ever, and would give them an exhibition of a few rounds. But it was +impressively hot and at about the third bundle I remembered an important +memorandum I wanted to make, and excused myself. It was quite pleasant +in my study, and I kept on making memorandums until by and by Westbury +sent the Hope to tell me that they'd like me to come out and give the +rest of the exhibition. It was not very considerate of Westbury when I +was busy that way, and I ignored his suggestion. + +We did not go in for selling seed rye, as I had once contemplated, but I +think we might have done so if there had been a demand. Westbury and +the men put it into the barn, and later flailed it out on the barn +floor, after the manner of Abraham and Boaz and Bildad the Shuhite, +beating the flails in time and singing a song that Bildad himself +composed. Who would have a dusty, roaring thrashing-machine when one can +listen to the beating flails and be back with Boaz and Bildad in the +days when the world was new? + + * * * * * + +Just a word more of our vegetable experiments. For one thing, our +asparagus-bed thrived. Those hot mornings I put in paid the biggest +return of any early-morning investment I ever made. Each year it came +better and better--in May and June we could not keep up with it and +shared it with our neighbors. The farm-dweller who does not plant an +asparagus-bed as quickly as he can get the ground ready, and the plants +for it, makes a grave mistake. + +Perhaps I ought to record here that our sweet-potatoes were a success. +We were told that they would not grow in New England, but they grew for +us and were sweet and plentiful. + +The waning of the year in a garden is almost the best of it, I think. +Spring with its thrill of promise, summer with its fulfilment--meager or +abundant, according to the season--are over. Then comes September and +October, the season of cool, even brisk, mornings and mellow afternoons. +It is remnant-day in the garden, the time to take a basket and go +bargain-hunting on the "as is" counter. Where the carrots have been +gathered there are always a few to be found, if one looks carefully, and +in the melon-patch there is sure to be one or two that still hold the +bouquet of summer, with something added that has come with the first +spicy mornings of fall. Also, if one is lucky, he will find along the +yellowing rows a few ears of corn, tender enough and sweet enough for +the table, with not quite the flavor of July, perhaps, but with +something that appeals as much to the imagination, that belongs with the +spectral sunlight, the fading stalks and vines, and carries the memory +back to that first day of April planting. To bring in a basket, however +scanty, of those odds and ends and range them side by side on the +kitchen table affords a gratification that is not entirely material, I +believe, for there is a sort of pensive sadness in it that I have been +told is related to poetry. + + * * * * * + +I have said little of our flowers, but they were a large part--sometimes +I think the largest part--of our happiness. Going back through the +summers now, I cannot quite separate those of that first year from those +of the summers that followed. It does not matter; sooner or later we had +all the old-fashioned things: hollyhocks in clusters and corners, and on +the high ground in a long row against the sky; poppies and +bleeding-heart, columbine and foxglove, bunches of crimson bee-balm and +rows of tall delphinium in marvelous shades of blue. And we had banks of +calliopsis and sunflowers--the small sunflowers of Kansas, that bloom a +hundred or more to a stalk--and tall phlox whose fragrance carries one +back to some far, forgotten childhood. Then there were the roses--the +tea-roses that one must be careful of in winter and the hardy +climbers--the Dorothy Perkins and ramblers clambering over the walls. As +I look back now through the summers I seem to see a tangle of color +stretching across the years. It is our garden--our flowers--always a +riot of disorder, always a care and a trial, always beloved and +glorious. + +One year I planted some canterbury-bells--the blue and the white. They +are biennials, and bloom the second year. The blue ones came +wonderfully, but the white ones apparently failed. I did not plant them +again, for I went in mainly for perennials that, once established, come +year after year. I tried myosotis, too, but that also disappeared after +the second year. Our garden, such as it was, was a hardy garden, where +only the fittest survived. + +There was an accompaniment to our garden. It was the brook. Nearly +always, as I dug and planted, I could hear its voice. Sometimes it rose +strong and insistent--in spring, when rains were plenty; sometimes in +August when the sky for weeks had been hard and dry, it sank to a low +murmur, but it was seldom silent. All the year through its voice was a +lilting undertone, and the seasons ran away to the thread of its silver +song. + +After all, a garden in any season is whatever it seems to its owner. To +one who plans and plants it, tends and loves it, any garden is a world +in little, a small realm of sentient personalities, of quaint and lovely +associations, of anxious strivings and concerns, of battles, of +triumphs, and of defeats. To one who makes a garden under compulsion it +is merely an inclosure of dirt and persistent weeds, a place of sun and +sweat and some more or less perverse and reluctant vegetables that would +be much more pleasantly obtained from the market-wagon. There is no +personality in it to him, nor any poetry. I know this, because I was +once that kind of a gardener myself. It was when I was a boy and had to +hoe one every Saturday forenoon, when there were a number of other +things I wanted to do. It was almost impossible to study lovingly the +miracle of the garden when duty was calling me to play short-stop on +the baseball nine that I knew was assembling on the common, with some +irresponsible one-gallus substitute in my place. Yet even in those days +I loved the fall garden. The hoeing was all done then, the weeds were no +longer my enemies. One could dig around among them and find a belated +melon, and in the mellow sunlight, between faded corn-rows, scoop out +its golden or ruby heart and reflect on many things. + + +III + +_And how the family did grow up!_ + +As I look back now, that first year on our abandoned farm seems a good +deal like the years that followed it; but it could not have been so, for +when I consider to-day's aspect and circumstance I realize that each of +our twelve years of ownership furnished events that were to us unusual, +some of them, at the time, even startling. + +We must have enjoyed a kind of prosperity, I suppose, for we seem always +to have been planning or doing something to enlarge the house or +improve its surroundings, and quite a good deal of money can be spent in +that way. I think it was about the second year that for the sake of +light and air we let out three dormer windows on the long roof, and I +remember that in order not to make a mistake in their architecture we +drove thirty miles one morning to see a house like ours which had owned +its windows from the beginning. We loved our old house, you see, and did +not wish to do it an injury. I think it was about the same time that we +pulled off the plaster from the living-room ceiling and left the exposed +beams--old hewn timbers which we tinted down with a dull stain. William +Deegan and I stained those beams together, and our friendship ripened +during that employment. William had been with us about a year at this +period--not steadily, because now and then would come a day when with +sadness and averted eyes he would say, "I think I'll be goin' now, for a +little while," after which the effacement of William for perhaps a week, +followed by his return some morning, pale, delapidated, as on the +morning of his first arrival. + +In the beginning I had argued, even remonstrated, but without effect. +William only said, humbly: "It comes over me to be goin', and I have to +do it. I'll be dacent ag'in, whin I get back." + +During one such period of absence there came a telephone call from the +sheriff of the nearest town of size. + +"Do you know a man named William Deegan?" + +"We do." + +"He is in the calaboose here. His fine and costs amount to five dollars. +Do you want to redeem him?" + +"We do." + +Clearly William's vacation had been unusual, even for him. We sent up +the money and William was home that night, more crushed, more pale, more +dilapidated than ever. He had worn a new suit away. He returned with a +mere rag. We thought this might cure him, but nothing could do that. We +could redeem William, but he could not redeem himself. These occasional +lapses were the only drawback of that faithful, industrious soul, and we +let them go. We had been unable to forgive them in the light-headed, +literary Gibbs. + +But William here is a digression; I was speaking of our improvements. We +decided one year that we must have more flowers--a real garden. We made +it on the side of the house where before had been open field--walled in +a space where there was an apple-tree, a place large enough to assemble +all the things we loved most and that grew with an economy of care. In a +little while it was a glorious tangle that we admired exceedingly, and +that our artist friends tried to paint. + +Another year we converted my study behind the chimney into a pantry, +opened it into the kitchen, made the "best room" into a dining-room, and +left the long living-room with the big fireplace for library use only. +That was a radical change and I had to build me a study over on a cedar +slope--a good deal of a house, in fact, where I could gather my traps +about me, for with the years my work had somehow invited a +paraphernalia of shelves and files, and a variety of other furniture +that required room. It was better for a growing-up family, too. With me +out of the house, they had more freedom to grow up in, which, after all, +was their human right, and the growing-up machinery could revolve as +noisily as it pleased without furnishing a procrastinating author an +added excuse for not working. No author with a growing-up family should +work in his own home. He is impossible enough under even the best +conditions. + +[Illustration] + +And how the family did grow up. Why, once when they were home from +school I came from the study one day to find a young man in the house--a +strange young man, from somewhere in the school neighborhood. I couldn't +imagine what he was doing there until I was taken aside and it was +explained to me that he was there to see our eldest, the Pride. That +little girl, imagine! It is true she was eighteen--I counted, up on my +fingers to see--but the Pride! why, only yesterday she was bare-footed, +wading in the brook. Somehow I couldn't make it seem right. + + +IV + +_And then one eventful day_ + +I suppose it was about that time that we acquired a car--it would be +likely to be about that time. 'Most everybody was getting cars, and Lord +Beaconsfield, good Old Beek, was getting slower each year and could no +longer keep up even with our deliberate progress. Furthermore, I learned +to drive the car, in time. It is true I knocked some splinters from the +barn, put a crimp in a mud-guard, and smashed another man's tail-light +in the process, but nothing fatal occurred, though I found it a pretty +good plan to stick fairly close to my new study on the cedar slope if I +wanted to keep up with the garage and damage bills. Those bills startled +me, at first, and then, like everybody else, I became callous and +reckless, and we did without a good many other things in order that the +car might not go unshod or climb limpingly the stiff New England hills. + +And then at last, one eventful day--a day far back in that happy, +halcyon age when ships sailed as freely across the ocean as ferry-boats +across the North River and men roved at will among the nations of the +earth--one sunny August morning, eight years after the day of our +coming, we locked the old house behind us and drove away in the car to a +New York pier and sailed with it (the car, I mean, not the pier) to the +Mediterranean, and the shores of France. In that fair land, while the +world was still at peace, we wandered for more than a year, resting +where we chose, as long as we chose, all the more unhurried and happy +for not knowing that we were seeing the end of the Golden Age. Oh, those +lovely days when we went gipsying along the roads of Provence and +Picardy and Touraine! I cannot write of them now, for in to-day's shock +of battle they have already become unreal and dreamlike. I touch them +and the bloom vanishes. But sometimes when I do not try to write, and +only lean back and close my eyes, I can catch again a little of their +breath and sweetness; I can see the purpling vineyards and the poppied +fields; I can drift once more with Elizabeth and our girls through the +wonderland of France. + +[Illustration: _It was on a winter evening that I drove our car back to +its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by land and sea_] + +War came and brought the ruin of the world. It was late in the year when +we returned to America, and it was on a winter evening that I drove our +car back to its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by +land and sea. Our old house had remained faithful. A fire roaring up the +chimney made it home. + +We went to Westbury's, however, for the holidays. Westbury with the +years had become a prosperous contractor, for Brook Ridge was no longer +an abandoned land, but a place of new and beautiful homes. Westbury's +prosperity, however, had not made him proud--not too proud to offer us +old-time Christmas hospitality at his glowing fireside. + + +V + +_Was it the spirit of our garden?_ + +Summer found us back in the old house, almost as if we had not left it. +Almost, but not quite. Somehow the world had changed. Perhaps it was +just the war--perhaps it was because we were all older--our girls +beginning to have lives of their own--because the family unit was +getting ready to dissolve. + +The dissolving began at last one sunny June day when the Pride left us. +It was the young man whom I had noticed around the house a year or two +before who took her away. She seemed to prefer to go with him than to +stay with us, I could not exactly make out why, but I did not think it +best, or safe, to argue the question, and I drove them to the train +afterward. + +Then the Hope and the Joy got the notion of spending their summers in +one of those camps that are so much the fashion now, and at last there +came a day that the Hope, who such a little while ago was running +care-free and happy-hearted in the sun, bade us good-by and sailed +away--sailed back across the ocean to France, an enlisted soldier, to do +her part where the world's bravest were battling for the world's +freedom. + +For us, indeed, the world had changed; we had little need any more for +the old house that on a July day twelve years before we had found and +made our home. It had seen our brief generation pass; it was ready for +the next. And when, one day, there came a young man and his bride, just +starting on the way we had come, and seeing the beauty of the spot, just +as we had seen it, wanted to own and enjoy it, just as we had owned and +enjoyed it, we yielded it to them gladly, even if sorrowfully, for one +must give up everything, some time or other, and it is an economy of +regret to give to the right person, at the right time. + +And now just here I want to record a curious thing. Earlier in these +pages I have spoken of planting one year some white canterbury-bells +that did not grow, or at least, so far as we could discover, did not +bloom. In six seasons we never saw any sign of them, yet on the day we +were leaving our house, closing it for the last time, I found on the +spot where they had been planted, in full bloom, a stalk of white +canterbury-bells! Had the seed germinated after all those years? Was it +the spirit of our garden, sprung up there to tell us good-by? Who can +answer? + +[Illustration] + +Our abandoned farm is no longer ours. We, too, have abandoned it. Only +the years that we spent there remain to us--a tender and beautiful +memory. Whatever there was of shadow or misfortune has long since +passed, by. I see now all our summers there bathed in mellow sunlight, +all the autumns aglow with red and gold, all the winters clean with +sparkling snow, all the springs green with breaking buds and white with +bloom. If those seasons were not flawless at the time, they have become +so, now when they are added to the past. + +And I know that they were indeed happy, for they make my heart ache +remembering, and it is happiness, and not misery, that makes the heart +ache--when it is gone. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWELLERS IN ARCADY *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenbergâ„¢ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERGâ„¢ +concept and trademark. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Dwellers in Arcady<br /> +  The Story of an Abandoned Farm</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Albert Bigelow Paine</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Thomas Fogarty</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 8, 2009 [eBook #28027]<br /> +[Most recently updated: May 25, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Annie McGuire</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWELLERS IN ARCADY ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 389px;"> +<img src="images/book_cover.jpg" width="389" height="600" alt="Book Cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>DWELLERS<br/> +IN ARCADY</h1> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Books_by" id="Books_by"></a><i>Books by</i></h2> + +<h2>ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE</h2> + +<h2><i>For Young Readers</i></h2> + +<h4>THE BOYS' LIFE OF MARK TWAIN</h4> +<h4>HOLLOW TREE NIGHTS AND DAYS</h4> +<h4>THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP-WOODS BOOK</h4> +<h4>THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK</h4> + +<h2><i>Small books of several stories each, selected from the above Hollow Tree books:</i></h2> + +<h4>HOW MR. DOG GOT EVEN</h4> +<h4>HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL</h4> +<h4>MR. RABBIT'S BIG DINNER</h4> +<h4>MAKING UP WITH MR. DOG</h4> +<h4>MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT BALLOON TRIP</h4> +<h4>WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY</h4> +<h4>MR. RABBIT'S WEDDING</h4> +<h4>MR. CROW AND THE WHITEWASH</h4> +<h4>MR. TURTLE'S FLYING ADVENTURE</h4> + +<h2><i>For Grown-ups</i></h2> + +<h4>DWELLERS IN ARCADY</h4> +<h4>MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS</h4> +<h4>MARK TWAIN: <span class="smcap">A Biography</span></h4> +<h4>TH. NAST: <span class="smcap">His Period and His Pictures</span></h4> +<h4>THE SHIP-DWELLERS (Humorous travel)</h4> +<h4>THE TENT-DWELLERS (Humorous camping)</h4> +<h4>FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER (Humorous, home life)</h4> +<h4>PEANUT (Story of a boy)</h4> + +<h3>HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="ILLO_FRONTIS" id="ILLO_FRONTIS"></a> +<img src="images/ill_001.jpg" width="400" height="420" alt="Once more it was a habitation and a home" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Once more it was a habitation and a home</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 266px;"> +<img src="images/ill_002.jpg" width="266" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>DWELLERS IN ARCADY</h2> + +<h2>The Story of an Abandoned Farm</h2> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<h2>Albert Bigelow Paine</h2> + +<h3><i>Author of</i> "<span class="smcap">from van-dweller to commuter</span>"</h3> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">the ship-dwellers</span>" "<span class="smcap">the tent dwellers</span>"</h3> + +<h3><span class="smcap">etc</span>.</h3> + +<h3>with Illustrations by</h3> + +<h2>Thomas Fogarty</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 180px;"> +<img src="images/ill_003.jpg" width="180" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3>HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS</h3> + +<h3>NEW YORK AND LONDON</h3> + +<h4>Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers</h4> + +<h4>Printed in the United States of America</h4> + +<h4>Published March, 1919</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_ONE"><b>CHAPTER ONE</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_TWO"><b>CHAPTER TWO</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_THREE"><b>CHAPTER THREE</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_FOUR"><b>CHAPTER FOUR</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_FIVE"><b>CHAPTER FIVE</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_SIX"><b>CHAPTER SIX</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_SEVEN"><b>CHAPTER SEVEN</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_EIGHT"><b>CHAPTER EIGHT</b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLO_FRONTIS"><i>Once more it was a habitation and a home</i></a></td><td align='right'><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLO_P6"><i>"And here is your house," said William C. Westbury</i></a></td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">Facing p</span> 6</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLO_P44"><i>They formed a board of appraisal. All of them knew that cellar and were intimately acquainted with its contents</i></a></td><td align='right'>44</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLO_P68"><i>I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a second later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels</i></a></td><td align='right'>68</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLO_P110"><i>Sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning embers, and watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading autumn fields</i></a></td><td align='right'>110</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLO_P156"><i>"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we are?"</i></a></td><td align='right'>156</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLO_P206"><i>I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic summer, and, on the whole, a successful one</i></a></td><td align='right'>206</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLO_P238"><i>It was on a winter evening that I drove our car back to its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by land and sea</i></a></td><td align='right'>238</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_ONE" id="CHAPTER_ONE"></a>CHAPTER ONE</h2> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3><i>All my life I had dreamed of owning a brook</i></h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/ill_004.jpg" width="200" height="200" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>ust below the brow of the hill one of the traces broke (it was in the +horse-and-wagon days of a dozen years or so ago), and, if our driver had +not been a prompt man our adventure might have come to grief when it was +scarcely begun. As it was, we climbed on foot to the top, and waited +while he went into a poor old wreck of a house to borrow a string for +repairs.</p> + +<p>We wondered if the house we were going to see would be like this one. It +was of no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> special design and it had never had a period. It was just a +house, built out of some one's urgent need and a lean purse. In the +fifty years or so of its existence it had warped and lurched and become +sway-backed and old—oh, so old and dilapidated—without becoming in the +least antique, but just dismal and disreputable—a veritable pariah of +architecture. We thought this too bad, for the situation, with its view +down a little valley and in the distance the hazy hills, was the sort of +thing that, common as it is in Connecticut, never loses its charm. Never +mind, we said, perhaps "our house" would have a view, too.</p> + +<p>But then our trace was mended and we went along—happily, for it was +sunny weather and summer-time, and, though parents of a family of three, +we were still young enough to find pleasure in novelty and a surprise at +every turn. Our driver was not a communicative spirit, but we drew from +him that a good many houses were empty in this part—"people dead or +gone away, and city folks not begun to come yet"—he didn't know why, +for it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> handy enough to town—sixty miles by train—and a +nice-enough country, and healthy—just overlooked, he guessed.</p> + +<p>We agreed readily with this view; we were passing, just then, along a +deep gorge that had a romantic, even dangerous, aspect; we descended to +a pretty valley by a road so crooked that twice it nearly crossed +itself; we followed up a clear, foaming little river to a place where +there was a mill and a waterfall, also an old-fashioned white house +surrounded by trees. Just there we crossed a bridge and our driver +pulled up.</p> + +<p>"The man you came to see lives here," he said. "The house is ahead, up +the next hill."</p> + +<p>"The man" must have seen us coming, for the door opened and he came +through the trees, a youngish, capable-looking person who said he was +the same to whom we had written—that is to say, Westbury—William C. +Westbury, of Brook Ridge, Fairfield County.</p> + +<p>Had we suspected then how large a part of our daily economies William C. +Westbury was soon to become we should have given him a closer +inspection. However, he did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> not devote himself to us. He appeared to be +on terms of old acquaintance with our driver, climbed into the front +seat beside him, and lost himself in news from the outlying districts. +The telephone had not then reached the countryside, and our driver +brought the latest bulletins. The death of a horse in Little Boston, the +burning of a barn in Sanfordtown, the elopement of an otherwise +estimable lady with a peddler, marked the beginning of our intimacy with +the affairs of Brook Ridge.</p> + +<p>The hill was steep, and in the open field at one side a little cascade +leaped and glistened as it went racing to the river below.</p> + +<p>"That's the brook that runs through your farm," Mr. Westbury said, quite +casually, in the midst of his interchanges with the driver.</p> + +<p>"Our farm!" I felt a distinct thrill. And a brook on it! All my life I +had dreamed of owning a brook.</p> + +<p>"Any trout in it?" I ventured, trying to be calm.</p> + +<p>"Best trout-brook in the township. Ain't it, Ed?"—to the driver.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Has that name," Ed assented, nodding. "I never fish, myself, but I've +seen some good ones they said come out of it."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_004a.jpg" width="300" height="153" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>We were up the hill by this time, and Mr. Westbury waved his hand to a +sloping meadow at the left.</p> + +<p>"That's one of the fields. Over there on the right is some of your +timber, and up the hill yonder is the rest of it. Thirty-one acres, more +or less. The brook runs through all of it—crosses the road yonder where +you see that bridge."</p> + +<p>I could feel my pulse getting quicker. There was no widely extended +view, but there was a snug coziness about these neighborly meadows and +wooded slopes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> with the brook winding between; this friendly road with +its ancient stone walls, all but concealed now by a mass of ferns or +brake on one side, and on the other by a tangle of tall grass, +goldenrod, purple-plumed Joe Pye weed, wild grape with big mellowing +clusters, wild clematis in full bloom. New England in summer-time! What +other land is like it? Our brook, our farm, here in the land of our +fathers! There were a warmth, a glow, a poetry in the thought that +cannot be put down in words—something to us new and wonderful, yet as +old as human wandering and return.</p> + +<p>But then all at once we were pulling up abreast of two massive +maple-trees and some stone steps.</p> + +<p>"And here is your house," said William C. Westbury.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 335px;"><a name="ILLO_P6" id="ILLO_P6"></a> +<img src="images/ill_005.jpg" width="335" height="400" alt=""And here is your house," said William C. Westbury" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"And here is your house," said William C. Westbury</span> +</div> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3><i>Ghosts like good architecture</i></h3> + +<p>I believe I cannot quite give to-day my first impression of the house. +In the years<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> that have followed it has blended into so many other +impressions that I could never be sure I was getting the right one. I +had better confine myself to its physical appearance and what was +perhaps a reflex impression—say, number two.</p> + +<p>One glance was enough to show that it was all that the other old house +was not. It did not sag, or lurch, or do any of those disreputable +things. It stood up as straight and was as firm on its foundations as on +the day when its last hand-wrought nail had been driven home, a century +or so before. No mistaking its period or architecture—it was the +long-roofed salt-box type, the first Connecticut habitation that +followed the pioneer cabin; its vast central chimney had held it +unshaken during the long generations of sun and storm.</p> + +<p>Not that it was intact—oh, by no means. Its wide weather-boards were +broken and falling; the red paint they had once known had become a mere +memory, its shingles were moss-grown and curling, the grass was uncut. +The weeds about the entrances and rotting well-curb grew tall and dank; +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> appearance of things in general was far from gay. Clouds had +overcast the sky, and on that dull afternoon a sort of still deadliness +hung about the premises. No cheap, common house can be a haunted house. +Ghosts like good architecture, especially when it has become pretty +antique, and they have a passion for neglected door-yards. The place +lacked nothing that I could see to make it attractive to even the most +fastidious wandering wraith. As I say, I think this was not my first +impression, but certainly it was about the next one, and I could see by +her face that it was Elizabeth's.</p> + +<p>"Place wants trimming up," said Mr. Westbury, producing a big brass key, +"and the house needs some work on it, but the frame is as sound as ever +it was. Been standing there going on two hundred years—hewn oak and +hard as iron. We'll go inside."</p> + +<p>We climbed down rather silently. I felt a tendency to step softly, for +fear of waking something. The big key fitted the back door, and we +followed Mr. Westbury.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> He told us, as we entered, that the place +belonged to his wife and her sister—that they had been born there; +also, their father, their grandmother, and their great-grandfather, +which was as far back as they knew, though the house had always been in +the family. Through a little hallway we entered a square room of +considerable size. It had doors opening into two smaller rooms, and to +one much larger—long and low, so low that, being a tall person, my hair +brushed the plaster. Just in the corner where we entered there was an +astonishingly big fireplace to which Mr. Westbury waved a sort of +salute.</p> + +<p>"There is a real antique for you," he said.</p> + +<p>There was no question as to that. The opening, which included a Dutch +oven, was fully seven feet wide, and the chimney-breast no less than +ten. The long, narrow mantel-shelf was scarcely a foot below the +ceiling. It took our breath a little—it was so much better than +anything we had hoped for. We forgot that this was a haunted house. It +had become all at once a sort of a dream house in which mentally we +began<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> placing all the ancient furnishings we had been gathering since +our far-off van-dwelling days. There was a big hole in the plaster, but +it was a small matter. We hardly saw it. What we saw was the long, low +room, with its wide wainscoting and quaint double windows, and ranged +about its walls—restored and tinted down to match—our low bookshelves; +on the old oak floor were our mellow rugs, and here and there tables and +desk and couches, with deep easy-chairs gathered about a wide open fire +of logs. Oh, there is nothing more precious in this world than the dream +of a possibility like that, when one is still young enough, and strong +enough to make it come true!</p> + +<p>"This was the kitchen in the old days," Mr. Westbury said. "They cooked +over the fire and baked in that oven. Old Uncle Phineas Todd, over at +Lonetown, who is ninety years old, and remembers when his mother cooked +that way, says that nothing has ever tasted so good since as the meat +and bread that came out of those ovens. The meat was rich with juice +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> the bread had a crust on it an inch thick. That would be +seventy-five years ago, and it's about that long, I guess, since this +one was used." Mr. Westbury opened a door to another square room of +considerable size. "This was their best room," he said. "They opened the +front door only for funerals and weddings. I was married over there in +that corner twelve years ago. That was the last wedding. My wife's +father lived here till last year. That was the last funeral. He was +eighty-five when he died. People get to be old folks up here."</p> + +<p>There was a smaller fireplace in this room, and another in a little room +behind the chimney, and still another in the first we had entered—four +in all—one on each side of the great stone chimney-base. For the most +part the walls seemed in good condition—the plaster having been made +from oyster shells, Westbury said, hauled fifteen miles from Long Island +Sound.</p> + +<p>We returned to the long, low room and climbed the stair to a sort of +half-room—unfinished, the roof sloping to the eaves. Westbury called it +the kitchen-chamber,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> and it led to bedrooms—a large one and three +small ones. Also, to a tiny one which in our dream we promptly converted +into a bath-room. Then we climbed still another stair—a tortuous, +stumbling ascent—to the attic.</p> + +<p>We had expected it to be an empty place, of dust, cobwebs, and darkness. +It was dusty enough and none too light, but it was far from empty. Four +spinning-wheels of varying sizes were in plain view between us and the +front window. A dozen or more of black, straight-backed chairs of the +best and oldest pattern were mingled with a mass of other ancient +relics—bandboxes, bird-cages, queer-shaped pots and utensils, +trenchers, heaps of old periodicals, boxes of trinkets, wooden chests of +mystery—a New England garret collection such as we had read of, but +never seen, the accumulation of a century and a half of time and change. +We looked at it greedily, for we had long ago acquired a hunger for such +drift as that, left by the human tide. I said in a dead, hopeless tone:</p> + +<p>"I suppose it will all be taken away when the place is sold."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>William C. Westbury sighed. "Oh yes, we'll clear out whatever you don't +care for," he said, gloomily, "but it all goes with the house, if +anybody wants it."</p> + +<p>I gasped. "The—the spinning-wheels and the—the chairs?"</p> + +<p>"Everything—just as it is. We've got an attic full of such truck down +the hill now—from <i>my</i> family. I've hauled around about all that old +stuff I ever want to."</p> + +<p>Our dream began to acquire extensive additions. We saw ourselves on +rainy days pulling over that treasure-house, making priceless +discoveries. Reluctantly we descended to the door-yard, taking another +glance at the rooms as we went down. We whispered to each other that the +place certainly had great possibilities, but it was mainly the attic we +were thinking of.</p> + +<p>We went outside. Somehow the door-yard seemed a good deal brighter, and +we agreed that an hour or two's brisk exercise with a scythe would work +wonders. We walked down to the brook, and Mr. Westbury pulled back the +willows from the swift water, and something darted away—trout,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> he +said, and if he had declared them to weigh a pound apiece we should have +accepted his appraisal, for we were still under the spell of that magic +collection up there under the roof and his statement that everything +went with the house.</p> + +<p>The price for the thirty-one acres—"more or less," as the New England +deeds phrase it, for there are no exact boundaries or measurements among +those hoary hills—with the house, which for the moment seemed to us +mainly composed of attic and contents, though we still remembered the +long, low room and spacious fireplaces; a barn—I was near forgetting +the barn, though it was larger than the house, and as old and solid; the +trout-brook; the woods; the meadow; the orchard—all complete was (ah, +me! I fear those days are gone!) a thousand dollars, and I cannot to +this day understand how we ever got away without closing the trade. I +suppose we wanted to talk about it awhile, and bargain, for the years +had brought us more prudence than money. In the end we agreed on nine +hundred, and went up one day to "pass papers"—which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> we did after +taking another look at the attic, to make certain that it was not just a +dream, after all. I remember the transaction quite clearly, for it +rained that day, world without end, and Elizabeth and I, caught in a +sudden shower, made for a great tree and had shelter under it while the +elements raged about us. How young we must have been to make it all seem +so novel and delightful! I recall that we discussed our attic and what +we would do with the fireplace room, as we stood there getting wet to +the skin. We had found accommodations at a neighbor's, and we decided to +remain a few days and make some plans. We were so engrossed that we +hardly knew when the rain was over.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 362px;"> +<img src="images/ill_006.jpg" width="362" height="400" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>It was about sunset when I walked up alone for a casual look at our new +possession. It was still and deserted up there, and as the light faded +into dusk, the ancient overgrown place certainly had an air about it +that was not quite canny. I decided that I would not remain any longer, +and was about to go when I noticed an old,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> white-haired man standing a +few feet away. I had heard no step, and his pale, grave face was not +especially reassuring. I began to feel goose-flesh.</p> + +<p>"G-good evening," I said.</p> + +<p>He nodded and advanced a step. I noticed that he limped, and I had been +told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> that my predecessor who had passed away the year before at +eighty-five had walked in that way.</p> + +<p>"Don't pay too much for this place," he said, in a hollow, solemn voice. +"Don't pay too much. It was 'prised in the settlement at nine hundred, +and it tain't wuth any more."</p> + +<p>"I—I've already bought it," I said, weakly.</p> + +<p>"Yeh didn't pay more 'n nine hundred, did yeh?" he questioned, +anxiously.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't pay more than that."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad," he said, "for it wasn't 'prised any more. I like to see +things in this world done fair. When yeh git moved I'll come to see yeh +again. Good night."</p> + +<p>He limped through the long grass and disappeared over the hill. On the +way down I stopped at the Westbury home and reported my visitor. Mrs. +Westbury, a handsome, spirited woman, laughed.</p> + +<p>"That was old Nat, who lives just back of you. He's a good old body, but +queer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm glad he's a body," I said. "I wasn t sure."</p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3><i>Our debt to William C. Westbury</i></h3> + +<p>Before going deeper into this history I think I ought definitely to +introduce William C. Westbury, who sold us the place. How few and +lagging would have been our accomplishments without Westbury; how +trifling seems our repayment as I review the years. Not only did he sell +us the house, but he made its habitation possible; you will understand +this as the pages pass.</p> + +<p>Westbury was a native of natives. By a collateral branch he, like his +wife, had descended from our original owners, the ancient and honorable +Meeker stock, who had acquired from the Crown a grant of one of the long +lots (so called because, although of limited width, they had each a +shore front on Long Island Sound) a fifteen-mile stretch of wood and +hill and running water. His own homestead at the foot of the hill—the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +old-fashioned white house already mentioned—had been built a generation +or two after ours, when with prosperity, or at least the means of easier +accomplishment, the younger stock had gone in for a more pretentious +setting.</p> + +<p>Whatever there was to know about Brook Ridge, Westbury knew—an all-wide +Providence could scarcely know more. He knew every family, its history +and inter-relationships. His favorite diversion was to take up and +pursue some genealogical thread, to follow its mazy meanderings down the +generations, dropping in curious bits of unwritten history—some of it +spicy enough, some of it boisterously funny, some of it somber and +gruesome, but all of it alive with the very color and savor of the land +that was a part of himself, his inheritance from the generations of +sturdy pioneers. Possibly Westbury's history was not always authentic, +but if at times he drew on his imagination he tapped a noble source, for +his narrative flowed clear, limpid, refreshing, and inexhaustible. When +the days grew cooler and a fire was going in the big chimney,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> Westbury +would drop in and, pulling up a big chair, would take out his knife and, +selecting a soft, straight-grained piece of pine kindling, would whittle +and look into the fire while he unwound the skein that threaded through +the years from Azariah Meeker, or Ahab Todd, down to the few and +scattering remnants that still flecked the huckleberry hills.</p> + +<p>But I run ahead of my story—it is a habit. It was Westbury's practical +knowledge that first claimed our gratitude. It was complete and +infallible. He knew every horse and horned beast and vehicle in the +township, and had owned most of them, for he was an inveterate trader. +He knew their exact condition and capabilities, and those of their +owners—where we could get just the right man and team to do our fall +plowing; where we could hire a yoke of oxen if needed; where, in the +proper season, we could buy a cow. He introduced me to a man whose +specialty was cutting brush, because he had heavy, stooped shoulders and +preternaturally long, powerful arms—a sort of anthropoid specimen who +wielded a keen one-handed ax that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> cut a sizable sapling clean through +at one stroke. He produced a carpenter properly qualified for repairs on +an old house, because he had always lived in one and had been repairing +it most of the time since childhood. He found us the right men to clean +our well, to do our painting, to trim and rehabilitate our frowsy +door-yard. He took me in his buggy to see some of these men; the rest he +sent for. If you have ever undertaken a job like ours you have a pretty +good idea of our debt to William C. Westbury.</p> + +<p>And this was not all—oh, by no means! Westbury kept cows, in those +days, and made an almost daily trip with milk to the nearest sizable +town, by virtue of which he became the natural purchasing agent of the +thousand and one things we needed in that day of our beginning, and the +most reliable and efficient I have ever known. Nothing was too small or +too big for Westbury to remember, and I can see him now swing his team +up to the front step and hear him call out, "Hey, there!" as a +preparation to unloading crockery and tinware, dry-goods and notions, +garden tools and food-stuff,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> his wagon full, his pockets full, without +ever an oversight or a poor selection. If you have ever lived in the +country you know what a thing like that is worth. It was my opinion that +Westbury was a genius, and he has since proved it.</p> + +<p>But I am still going too fast. The family did not immediately come to +Brook Ridge, and perhaps I should say here that the "family," besides +Elizabeth, consisted of three hardy daughters, whom I shall name as the +Pride, the Hope, and the Joy, aged twelve, seven, and two, respectively. +They were boarding at a pleasant farm some twenty miles away, and it was +thought advisable for them to remain there with Elizabeth a week or such +a matter while I came over and stopped with Westbury and his capable +wife, to get things started.</p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3><i>Those were lovely days</i></h3> + +<p>My impression is that our carpenter came first, though the exact +sequence is unimportant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> He was not exclusively a carpenter, being also +a farmer during a considerable portion of the year. He would have to +knock off, now and then, he said, to look after his corn and potatoes, +while his assistant, it appeared, served in the double capacity of +helper and hired man.</p> + +<p>But they were a suitable team for the work in hand—reconstruction on an +old house that had been put up mainly with an ax and a trowel, by thumb +measure, having probably never known anything so prosaic as a +spirit-level and a square. We began on the large room—that is to say, +the old kitchen, which was to be the new living-room, and in a very +little while had the prehistoric pantry and sink ripped out and the big +hole patched in the plaster, for our boss carpenter was a gifted man, +qualified for general repairs.</p> + +<p>No, on second thought, we did not rip out quite all the old pantry. +There were some whitewood shelves that had been put there to stay, and +in the century or so of their occupancy appeared to have grown to the +other woodwork. Considering them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> a little, and the fact that it would +require an ax and perhaps dynamite to dislodge them, I had an +inspiration. Modified a little, they would make excellent bric-à-brac +and book shelves and serve a new and beautiful use through all the +centuries we expected to live there. I feverishly began drawing designs, +and the chief carpenter and I undertook this fine-art and literary +corner at once, so that it might be finished and a surprise for +Elizabeth and the others when they came. It was well that we did so, for +it was no light matter to reduce the width of those shelves. Whitewood +is not hard when fresh, but this had seasoned with the generations until +it was as easy to saw as dried horn—just about—and we took turns at +it, and the sweat got in my eyes, and I would have sent for the ax and +the dynamite if I hadn't passed my word.</p> + +<p>Meantime, the helper, whose name was Henry Jones, was hewing an oaken +cross-beam which supported the ceiling, and which I could not pass under +without violently knocking my head. I am satisfied that the original +builders of that house<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> were short people, or they would have planned +the old kitchen a few inches higher. But then I am always knocking my +head nearly off against something. I have left gleanings from it on the +sharp edges of a thousand swinging signs and on the cruel filigree of as +many low-hung chandeliers. My slightly bald spot, due to severe mental +effort, or something, if examined closely would be found to resemble an +old battlefield in France. But this is digression. As I was saying, +Henry Jones was hewing at the big old cross-beam, trying to raise its +lower sky-line a couple of inches with a foot-adz. I had not supposed +that the job would be especially difficult. I did not realize that the +old white-oak beam in a century and a half had petrified. We were having +a pretty toilsome time with our shelves, but I never saw a man sweat and +carry on like Henry Jones. He had to work straight up, with his head +tipped back, and his neck was rather short, with no proper hinge in it. +Besides, it was August, and pretty still and intense, and then some bees +that had taken up residence between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> the floors did not like the noise +he made, and occasionally came down to see about it. At such times he +made what was in the nature of a spring for the door, explaining later +that he had been to sharpen his adz. During quieter moments I went over, +at his suggestion, to measure up and see if the beam wasn t high enough. +It was on the afternoon of the second day that I told him that if he +would now trim up and round off the corners a little I thought I might +be able to pass under it without butting my remaining brains out. You +never saw a man so relieved. I think he considered me over-particular +about a small matter. As a reward I set him to elevating the beam across +the top of the door leading to the kitchen—quite an easy job. He only +had to put in a few hours of patient overhead sawing and split out the +chunks with wedges and a maul.</p> + +<p>Observing Henry Jones though fully, I became convinced that the oaken +frame of our house was nearly indestructible. When I found time I +examined its timbers rather carefully. They were massive as to size,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +hand hewn, and held together with big wooden pins. No worm had been +indiscreet enough to tackle those timbers. The entire structure was +anchored in the masonry of the huge chimney, and as a whole was about as +solid as the foundations of the world. There were builders in those +days.</p> + +<p>I have mentioned the "ancient mariner" who appeared in the dusk of the +evening to warn me against over-payment for the place—old Nat. It +turned out that he was a farmer, but with artistic leanings in the +direction of whitewash. He appeared one morning in a more substantial +form, and was presently making alabaster of our up-stairs ceilings, for +if ever there was an old master in whitewash it was Nat. Never a streak +or a patchy place, and he knew the secret of somehow making the second +coat gleam like frosting on a wedding-cake.</p> + +<p>Things were happening all about. Old Pop, the brush-cutter, had arrived, +with his deadly one-handed ax, and was busy in the lower brook lot—a +desperate place of briers and brush and poison ivy. He was a savage +worker. The thorns stung him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> to a pitch of fighting madness, and he +went after them, careless of mishap. Each evening he came up out of that +vicious swamp, bleeding at every pore, his massive shoulders hunched +forward, his super-normal arms hanging until his huge hands nearly swept +the ground.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 211px;"> +<img src="images/ill_007.jpg" width="211" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Pop in action was a fascinating sight. Few things could be finer than to +see him snatch away a barbed-wire entanglement of blackberry-bushes, +clutch a three-inch thorn sapling with his hairy left, and with one +swing of his terrible right cut the taproot through. I had figured that +it would take a month to clear away that mess along the brook, but on +the evening of the fifth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> day Pop had the last bit of its tangle cut and +piled. Of such stuff were warriors of the olden time. Given armor and a +battle-ax, and nothing could have stood before him. One could imagine +him at Crecy, at Agincourt, at Patay. Joan of Arc would have kept him at +her side.</p> + +<p>Pop had another name, but everybody called him "Old Pop" and he seemed +to prefer it. He was seventy years old and a pensioner. There was a week +when his check came that he did no work, but remained dressed up, and I +fear did not always get the worth of his money. Never mind, he had +earned relaxation. An ancient hickory-tree in the brook meadow had been +broken by a March storm. Old Pop and his son Sam had it cut, split, and +sawed into fireplace lengths in a little while. That is, comparatively. +I think they were two or three days at it, while it had taken nature a +full hundred and sixty years to get the old tree ready for them. I +counted the rings. The figures impressed me.</p> + +<p>It was—let us say—as old as the old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> house. It had been a straight +young tree of thirty years or so when the Revolutionary began, and it +saw the recruits of Brook Ridge march by to join Putnam, who had a camp +on a neighboring hill. There were Reeds and Meekers and Burrs and Todds +and Sanfords in that little detachment, and their uniforms were not very +uniform, and their knapsacks none too well filled. There was no rich +government behind them to vote billions for defense, no camps that were +cities sprung up in a night, no swift trains to whirl them to their +destination. Where they went they walked, through dust or mud and over +the stony hills. The old tree saw them pass—in its youth and +theirs—and by and by saw them return—fewer in numbers, and foot-sore, +but triumphant. I mentioned it to Pop. He said:</p> + +<p>"Yeah—I was in the Civil War. It wa'n't much fun, but I'm lookin' for +my pension to be increased next year."</p> + +<p>When there was no more brush or chopping I set Pop to laying stone wall +and said I would employ him steadily for a year.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> But that was a +mistake. Old Pop was a free lance, a knight errant. Anything that +savored of permanency smelled to him of vassalage. He laid a rod of +stone wall—solid wall that will be there for Gabriel to stand on when +he plays his last trump—blows it, I mean—in that neighborhood. But +then he collected, one evening, and vanished, and I did not see him any +more. I never carried the wall any farther. As Pop left it, so it +remains to this day.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 98px;"> +<img src="images/ill_008.jpg" width="98" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>My plowman was a young man—a handsome, high-born-looking youth who came +one Sunday evening to arrange terms. He was stylishly dressed, and I +took him for a college lad on vacation. He assured me, however, that his +schooling had been acquired in the neighborhood, that he was a farmer on +his own account, with a team of his own, and that he was accustomed to +plowing rocky land. His name was Luther Merrill, and if I had thought +him handsome in his fine clothes, I considered him really superb when he +arrived<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> next morning in work attire and started his great plow and big +white horses around the furrows. There had been a shower in the night +and the summer foliage was fresh—the leaves shining. Against a gleaming +green background of maple, alder, and wild clematis, Luther Merrill in +shirt and trousers, his collar open, his sleeves turned back, bending to +the plow and calling directions to his sturdy team, was something to +make one's heart leap for joy. I photographed him unobserved. I longed +to paint him.</p> + +<p>My admiration grew as I observed the character of his plowing. A Western +boy wouldn't have stood it five minutes. The soil was at least half +stone, and the stones were not all loose. Every other rod the plow +brought up with a jerk that nearly flung the plowman over the top of it. +Then he had to yank and haul it out, lift it over, and start again. He +did not lose his temper, even when he broke one of his plow points, of +which, it seemed, he had brought a supply, in anticipation. He merely +called something encouraging to his horses and went on. I know about +plowing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> and I once plowed a small blackberry-patch that was mostly +roots, and nearly swore my teeth loose in the half a day it took me. But +that had been nothing to this, and this was continual. I decided that +nothing could feaze Luther Merrill.</p> + +<p>Still, he was not absolute proof against bees. I have mentioned the +swarm between the floors of the old house, and in the course of the +morning Luther's plowing took him near the corner where it seems they +had their entrance. It was a bright, hot day and they were quite busy, +but not busy enough to prevent them from giving prompt attention to us +as we came along.</p> + +<p>I was holding one handle of the plow at the moment, pretending to help, +when I noticed a peculiar high-pitched note close to my ear, and a +certain pungent "mad smell" which bees know how to make. Something told +me just then that I had business in the upper corner of the lot and I +set out to attend to it. Two of those bees came along. They hurried a +good deal—they had to, to keep up with me. I discouraged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> them as much +as possible with an earnest fanning or beating motion and sharp words. I +was not entirely successful. I felt something hot and sudden on the lobe +of one ear just as I dove beneath the bushes that draped the upper wall, +and I had an almost immediate sensation of its becoming hard and +pear-shaped.</p> + +<p>I peered out presently to see what had become of Luther Merrill. He had +not basely deserted his team—he was too high-class for that, but he was +moving from the point of attack with as little delay as possible, +grasping the lines with one hand and pawing the air with the other. By +the time I reached him he was plowing in a rather remote corner, and he +had lost some of his beauty—one eye was quite closed. He said he would +plow down there by the house late in the evening, or on the next wet +day.</p> + +<p>Luther plowed and harrowed and sowed for us—two fields of rye and +timothy mixed, to insure a future meadow, this on Westbury's advice. A +part of one field had great boulders in it, which he suggested we take +out. I said we would drop the boulders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> into the brook at intervals to +make the pretty falls it now lacked. Next morning, Luther Merrill came +with a heavy chain and a stone-boat (an immense sled without runners) +and for two happy days we reconstructed the world, dislocating and +hauling boulders that had not stirred since the ice age.</p> + +<p>Luther was an expert at chaining out boulders, and he loved the job. +When we got one to the brook, and after great prying and grunting +finally boosted it in with a mighty splash, Luther would wave his arms, +jump about, and laugh like the high-hearted boy that he was. Those were +lovely days.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_009.jpg" width="300" height="204" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWO" id="CHAPTER_TWO"></a>CHAPTER TWO</h2> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3><i>We carried down a little hair trunk</i></h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 105px;"> +<img src="images/ill_010.jpg" width="105" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p> was in the midst of the improvements mentioned when the family—that +is to say, Elizabeth and the girls—arrived on the scene. It was a fine +August day—the 21st, to be quite exact—and I borrowed a horse and +light wagon from Westbury and drove the three miles of brook and woods +and meadow to the station to meet them.</p> + +<p>There was just one business house at the station—a general store—and I +suddenly found myself deeply interested, in things I had barely noticed +heretofore. Why, there was a broom! Sure enough, we would need a broom; +also, a rake—that was highly necessary; and a hatchet, and some nails,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +and a shovel, and a water-pail, and a big galvanized tub, and—by the +time the train came it took careful arrangement to fit in the family and +the baggage among my purchases. The Pride had to sit on the water-pail, +the Joy, aged two, in the galvanized tub, while the Hope, who was seven, +sat on a trunk at the back, dangled her legs, waved her arms, and +whooped her delight as we joggled along, for the Hope was a care-free, +unrestrained soul, and the world to her just a perpetual song and dance.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_011.jpg" width="300" height="94" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>They were in a mood to take things as they found them; even the Pride, +who at twelve was critical, expressed herself as satisfied with the +house, and, with the Hope, presently made a dash for the attic, our +story of which had stirred them deeply. It was necessary to restrain +them somewhat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> In the first place, our attic was not a possession to be +pawed over by careless and undiscerning childhood. Besides, it was hot +up there under the roof, and gray with the dust of years. It was a place +for a cool, rainy day and not for a mid-August afternoon.</p> + +<p>We carried down a little hair trunk with brass nails in it, and under +the shade of one of the big maples the "tribe," as we sometimes call +them, spread out the treasures of some little old-fashioned girl who +long, long ago had put them away for the last time. There were doll +dresses, made of the quaint prints of another day, and their gay posy +patterns had remained fresh, though the thread of the long childish +stitches had grown yellow with the years. They had very full skirts, and +waists that opened in front, and there was an apron with a wonderful +bib, and a little split sun-bonnet, probably for every-day wear, also +another bonnet which must have been for occasions, for its material was +silk and it was one of those grand, flaring coal-scuttle affairs such as +fashionable dolls wore a very long time ago.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>The doll was not there. Long since she had gone the way of all dolls; +but the Pride and the Hope decked their own dolls in the little old +wardrobe, and thought it all delightful and amusing, while we watched +them with long thoughts, trying to picture the little girl who had one +day put her treasures away to become a young lady, and in time a wife, +and a mother, and a grandmother, and was now resting on the sunny slope +where the road turns, beyond the hill. Later generations of little girls +appeared to have added nothing to the hair trunk. Doubtless they had +dolls, with dresses and styles of their own, and trunks of a newer +pattern, and had scorned these as being a little out of date. Even the +Pride and the Hope would not have permitted their dolls to appear in +those gowns in public, I think—at any rate, not in the best +society—though carefully preserving them with a view perhaps to +fancy-dress occasions.</p> + +<p>The Joy was not deeply impressed with the hair trunk. Neither its art +nor its sentimental value appealed to her. She had passed something more +than two years<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> in our society, and during most of this period had +imagined herself a horse. A fairly level green place, where she could +race up and down and whinny and snort and roll was about all she +demanded of life; though she had a doll—a sort of a horse's doll—which +at the end of a halter went bounding after her during long afternoons of +violence.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/ill_012.jpg" width="200" height="119" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>For the Joy we brought down from the attic a little two-wheeled green +doll-buggy, with a phaeton top and a tongue, and this at once became her +chief treasure. She hitched herself to it, flung in her doll, and went +racing up and down, checked up or running free, until her round, fat +face seemed ready to burst, and it became necessary to explain to her +that she had arrived at wherever she was going and must stand hitched in +the shade till she cooled off. It was a drowsy occupation that summer +afternoon. She was presently sitting down—as much as a horse can sit +down—and just a little later was stretched among the long grass and +clover, forgetful of check-rein and hitching-post. Later, when the three +of them were awake at once, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> possessed themselves of the big barn +and explored the stalls and tumbled about on the remnant of hay that +still remained in one of the mows. Then they discovered the brook, where +it flowed clear and cool among the willows at the foot of the door-yard. +It was not deep enough to be dangerous, and they were presently wading +and paddling to their hearts' content.</p> + +<p>The brook, in fact, became one of their chief delights. It was never +very warm, but, tempered by August sun and shower, its shady, pleasant +waters were as balm to hot bare legs and burning feet. Flowers of many +kinds grew along its banks, while below the bridge where it crossed the +road there was always a school of minnows eager to be fed, and now and +then one saw something larger dart by—something dark, torpedo-shaped, +swift, touched with white along its propellers—a trout. There is no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +end of entertainment in such things. Summer-time, the country, and +childhood—that is a happy combination, and a bit of running water adds +the perfect touch.</p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3><i>Cap'n Ben has an iron door-sill</i></h3> + +<p>We did not take full possession of our place immediately. Whatever we +had in the way of household effects was in a New York City flat, and one +must have a few pots and tin things, even for the simple life. Fortune +was good to us: the Westbury household offered us shelter until we were +ready to make at least a primitive beginning, and one could not ask +better than that. Mrs. Westbury was a famous cook, and Westbury's +religion was conveyed in the word plenty. The hospitality and bounty of +their table were things from another and more lavish generation. The Joy +promptly gave our hosts titles. She called them Man and Lady Westbury, +which somehow seemed exactly to fit them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>Each morning we went up to see what we could find to do, and we never +failed to find plenty. I don't remember distinctly as to all of +Elizabeth's occupations, but I know she has a mania for a broom and a +clothesline. I carry across the years the impression of an almost +continuous sweeping sound—an undertone accompaniment to my discussion +with carpenter and painter—and I see rows of little unpacked dresses +swinging in the sun.</p> + +<p>One of my own early jobs was to clean the cellar. It was a sizable +undertaking, and I engaged Old Pop's Sam to help me. It was a cellar of +the oldest pattern, with no step, having an entrance on a level with the +road, the same being a "rollway" wide enough to admit barrels of cider +and other produce. I don't know how many had been rolled into it during +the century or so before we came, but after a casual look I decided that +very few had been rolled out. The place was packed to the doors with +barrels, boxes, benches, and general lumber of every description.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 362px;"> +<a name="ILLO_P44" id="ILLO_P44"></a><img src="images/ill_013.jpg" width="362" height="400" alt="They formed a board of appraisal. All of them knew that +cellar and were intimately acquainted with its contents" title="" /> +<span class="caption">They formed a board of appraisal. All of them knew that +cellar and were intimately acquainted with its contents</span> +</div> + +<p>About the time we got started an audience<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> assembled. Old Nat, who was +taking a day off, and 'Lias Mullins, who had a weakness in his back and +took most of his days off, drifted in from somewhere and sat on the wall +in the shade to give us counsel. Then presently W. C. Westbury drove up +and became general overseer of the job. They formed a board of +appraisal, with Westbury as chairman. All of them knew that cellar and +were intimately acquainted with its contents.</p> + +<p>I had thought the old collection of value only as kindling, but as we +brought out one selection after another I realized my error.</p> + +<p>"That," said 'Lias Mullins, "is Uncle Joe's pork-barrel. It's wuth a +dollar fifty new, an that one's better 'n new."</p> + +<p>"I used to help Uncle Joe kill, every year," nodded Old Nat, "an' to put +his meat away. I remember that bar'l as well as can be. I'll take it +myself, if you don't want it.</p> + +<p>"Better keep your barrel," Westbury said. "You'll be wanting a pair of +pigs next, and then you'll need it." He looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> into it reflectively +and sounded it with his foot. "Many a good mess of pork that old +barrel's had in it," he said.</p> + +<p>The board's ruling being unanimous, the barrel was set aside. Uncle +Joe's ham-barrel came next, and was likewise recognized, carefully +examined, and accepted by the board. Then two cider-barrels, which awoke +an immediate and special interest.</p> + +<p>For cider is the New England staple. Its manufacture and preparation are +matters not to be lightly dismissed. Good seasoned cider-barrels have a +value in no way related to cooperage. It is the flavor, the bouquet, +acquired through a tide of seasons, from apples that grow sweet and rich +through summer sun and shower and find a spicy tang in the first October +frost. Gathered and pressed on the right day; kept in the right +temperature, the mellow juice holds its sweetness and tone far into the +winter, and in the oaken staves leaves something of its savor to the +contents of another year.</p> + +<p>"That's the best cider-cellar I know of," said 'Lias Mullins, "and Uncle +Joe allus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> had the best bar'ls; but they wa'n't used last year, an I'm +turrible 'fraid they've gone musty."</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't be su'prised," agreed old Nat, mournfully. "An' it's a great +pity."</p> + +<p>"Bet you a quarter apiece they're as sweet as ever," proposed Chairman +Westbury. He took out a great jack-knife and carefully pried out the +bungs. "Smell 'em, 'Lias," he said, yielding precedence to the oldest +member.</p> + +<p>'Lias Mullins carefully steadied himself with his cane, bent close to +the bung-hole of one of the barrels, and took a long and apparently +agreeable whiff. Then after due preparation he bent close to the other +bung-hole and took another and still longer whiff.</p> + +<p>"Seems to me that one's just a leetle bit musty," he said.</p> + +<p>"Now, Nat, it's your turn," said Westbury.</p> + +<p>Whereupon old Nat, gravely and after due preparation, took a long whiff +of first one barrel, then a still longer one of the other barrel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Seems to me it's <i>t'other</i> one that's a <i>leetle trifle</i> musty," he +said.</p> + +<p>W. C. Westbury took two short business-like whiffs at each bung.</p> + +<p>"Sweet as a nut, both of 'em," he announced, definitely.</p> + +<p>That settled it; Westbury was acknowledged authority. Sam rolled out two +vinegar-barrels, both pronounced good. Following there came what seemed +at least a hundred apple-barrels, potato-barrels, turnip-barrels, +ash-barrels, boxes, benches, sections of shelving, and a general heap of +debris, some of it unrecognizable even by 'Lias Mullins, oldest member +of the board.</p> + +<p>"It was a Meeker habit to throw nothing away," commented Westbury, as he +looked over the assortment. "No matter what it was, they thought they +might want it, some day. You'll find the same thing when you get to the +attic."</p> + +<p>At this moment Sam discovered in a dark corner a heap of flat slabs +that, brought to light, proved to be small tombstones. Westbury grinned.</p> + +<p>"Those were put over the cemetery<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> fence," he said, "whenever the +relatives bought bigger ones. Uncle Joe brought a lot of them home to +cool his milk on."</p> + +<p>I looked at them doubtfully. They were nothing but stones, and they had +served their original purpose. Still, it had been a rather particular +purpose and they were carved with certain names and dates. I was not +sure that their owners might not sometime—some weird fall evening, +say—take a notion to claim them.</p> + +<p>They opened the door of history to Westbury. He began to recall +connections and events, and related how a certain Hezekiah Lee, whose +name was on one of them, had decided, some fifty years before, to give +up farming and go to counterfeiting. His career from that moment had +been a busy one; he had been always traveling one way or the other +between affluence and the penitentiary. His last term had been a long +one, and when he got out, styles in national currency had changed a good +deal and Uncle Hezekiah couldn't seem to get the hang of the new +designs. So he took to preaching, and held camp-meetings. He lived to +be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> eighty-seven, and people had traveled forty miles to his funeral.</p> + +<p>I said I would keep Uncle Hezekiah's headstone. In the end we made an +inside walk of the collection, for the old cellar had a dirt floor and +was not always dry, but we laid them face down. When we had raked and +swept, and brushed and put back the articles accepted by the board, and +all was trim and neat, Westbury looked in.</p> + +<p>"Looks nice," he said, and added, "that's what you've got now, but by +and by you'll have your mess of old truck, too, and the next man will +cart a lot of it to the wood-pile, just as you're carting it now."</p> + +<p>I said I thought we would begin our career with a coat of whitewash. +Westbury noticed something sticking out from an overhead beam, and drew +out a long-handled wrought-iron toasting-fork. Looking and prying about, +we discovered an old pair of brass snuffers, and a pair of hand-made +wrought-iron shears. The old things were pretty rusty, and I could see +that Westbury did not value them highly, but I would not have traded +them for the pork-barrel and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> the ham-barrel and all the other barrels +and benches reserved from Uncle Joe's collection. 'Lias Mullins, +inspecting them, became reflective:</p> + +<p>"Them's from away back in old Ben Meeker's time," he said, "or mebbe +furder than that. The' ain't been no scissors made by hand in this +country since my time, an' a good while before. I guess old Ben was a +good hand to have things made. I've heard my father tell that when he +was a boy Cap'n Ben, as they called him, one day found his door-sill +split, an' went to the blacksmith shop an' had one made out of iron. +Father said it was a big curiosity, and everybody went to look at it. +That would be fully a hundred years ago, when the' wasn't so much to +talk about. He said that the biggest piece of news in Brook Ridge for a +good while was that Cap'n Ben had an iron door-sill. It was around there +at the side door. I've seen it many a time, an' for all I know it's +there yet."</p> + +<p>We went around there. Sure enough! Cap'n Ben's iron door-sill was still +in place. Brown at the ends, bright and thinner where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> the step came, it +remained as firmly fixed as when, a hundred years before, it had +supplied the latest bit of gossip to Brook Ridge.</p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3><i>The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements"</i></h3> + +<p>Peace of mind is a fleeting thing. We began to be harassed with +uncertainty—to suffer with indecision. In buying the old house we had +not at first considered making it a year-round residence, but merely a +place to put some appropriate furnishings, the things we cared for most, +so that we might have them the best part of the year—from April, say, +to Thanksgiving. It had not occurred to us that we would cut loose +altogether from the town—dynamite our bridges, as it were—and become a +part and parcel of Brook Ridge.</p> + +<p>Every day, neighbors stopped to make our acquaintance and learn our +plans. We interested them, for we were the first new-comers for many a +year to that neglected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> corner of the township. They were the kindest +people in the world, moved, perhaps, less by curiosity than by concern +for our comfort and happiness. They generally wanted to know how we +liked our place, what changes we were going to make in it, and they +never failed to ask if we intended to make it our home or merely a place +for summer-time.</p> + +<p>Our replies to the last question, at first definite, became vague and +qualified, then again definite, for we admitted that we did not know. As +a matter of fact, the place was getting hold of us, possessing us, +surrounding us on all sides with its fascinations. It was just an old +house, a few broken acres, and a brook—just some old lumber and stones, +some ordinary trees, some every-day water—not much, perhaps, to get +excited over or to change one's scheme of life. Yet we did get excited +over it, daily, and it had suddenly become a main factor in our problem +of life. The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements," with +clanging bells and crashing wheels, and with an expanse of dingy roofs +for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> scenery, became daily less attractive. True, we would have to spend +a good deal more money on the old house to fit it for cold weather, but +then there would be the saving in rent.</p> + +<p>We began to discuss the matter—quietly, even casually, at first—then +feverishly, positively. We were not always on the same side, and there +were moments when a stranger might have thought our relations slightly +strained. But this would have been to misjudge our method. We are seldom +really violent in argument—though occasionally intense. Besides, we +were too much of a mind, now, for real disagreement. We both yearned too +deeply to set the old house in complete order, to establish ourselves in +it exclusively and live there for ever and ever. Think of Christmas in +it, we said, with the great open fires, the snow outside, and a +Christmas tree brought in from our own woods!</p> + +<p>I said at last that I would make a trip to town, go to the flat, and +ship up a few articles for present use. It would be rather more than a +month until our lease expired,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> and in that time we could decide +something. I secretly intended to send up a number of vital things that +would make return difficult and costly. I was not going to blow up our +entire bridge—I was only going to remove one or two of its necessary +arches.</p> + +<p>That was what I did. I went in one morning and packed a barrel or two of +important queensware and utensils and a bale of bedding, without which +even the best flat becomes a snare and a mockery. When I had seen it in +the hands of the expressman I had a feeling that our pretty apartment +was no longer home.</p> + +<p>I went over to my club for luncheon. A number of my friends were there, +and I seized an auspicious moment to announce my purchase and to exhibit +a bunch of photographs. They were good fellows who showed a proper +interest. Some of them already owned farms—some had farms in prospect. +The artists among them agreed that the old house was a pretty fair +example of its period and began advising me what to do with it. But, as +they did not agree among<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> themselves, the net result was not valuable. +Somebody asked what I was going to plant.</p> + +<p>'Rye,' I said.</p> + +<p>For some reason everybody laughed.</p> + +<p>"All rye? What's the matter with planting a little Scotch?"</p> + +<p>It was not much of a joke, but they seemed to enjoy it. They were good +fellows, as I have said, but I fear rather light-minded.</p> + +<p>When I got back to Brook Ridge and confessed, Elizabeth did not seem +surprised. In fact, it was as if I had been merely obeying orders. If +there was any further question as to what we were going to do, I do not +recall it. Our landlord in town was notified, our farmer-carpenter was +consulted as to further alterations. We had definitely cast our fortunes +with Brook Ridge.</p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3><i>The soft feet of the rain on the shingles</i></h3> + +<p>When the articles I had chosen from the apartment arrived Westbury +carted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> them up the hill and we entered into possession of our new +estate—not of the house (some painters had possessed themselves of +that), but of the wood-house and barn. The barn was a big, airy place, +suitable for a summer dormitory. The wood-house was not big, but it was +empty and had been set in order. It had a stove-pipe hole, and Westbury +contributed a stove—the first one ever made, he said, or, at any rate, +the first ever used in that neighborhood. It was a good stove, too, +solidly cast, almost unbreakable. Its legs were gone, which was no great +matter, for we set it up on bricks. With a box for a table, we had a +proper living-room, handy and complete.</p> + +<p>Not entirely complete, either—the old stove had no pipe. But just then +it happened that the groceryman came along, making one of his two trips +a week. He would deliver during the afternoon, he said, and could bring +along some pipe for us. He did that, but it was a kind of pipe that +didn't fit—not very well.</p> + +<p>If there is anything that would make a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> man forget the Great War it +would be putting up stove-pipe. It seems, somehow, to overshadow all +other misfortunes. Some persons might have enjoyed matching up those +units, but I did not. I have no gift that way. Elizabeth said she would +help, but she didn't seem to use good judgment—not the best. When I was +making a painfully careful adjustment she was possessed to push a +little, or something, and make my efforts futile. Once when the box I +was standing on tipped over and I came down, with the pipe resolved into +joints, she seemed to think it amusing. At times, too, our tribe of +precious ones came racing through. By the time the job was finished +Elizabeth and I were treating each other rather coolly—that is to say, +politely. But this was temporary. The soft purr of a fresh fire, the +pleasant singing of a kettle, set us to laughing at our troubles. Man +Westbury came driving up with some green corn, lettuce, and beans from +the garden; also a chicken and a pie hot from Lady Westbury's oven. +Those blessed neighbors! How good they were to us! In less than no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> time +the corn and beans were in the pot and I was dressing the lettuce. We +had brought down some of the old chairs from the attic, and the tribe +assembled with a whoop to place them. A little more, and we were seated. +The Hope, aged seven, who had a gift for such things, asked a blessing, +and we had begun life in the new home. I wonder why tears are trying to +come as I write about it. There was never a better meal, or a jollier +one—never a happier, healthier family.</p> + +<p>A shower came up and settled into a gentle rain. The barn, where we were +going to sleep, was a good step away, so that when the time came we put +on our rubbers, took our umbrellas and a lantern, and set out for bed. +There was nothing very wonderful about all this, of course; it only +seemed wonderful to us because it was all so new. The Pride and the Hope +declared they were always going to sleep in the barn, and when we got +inside the big, lofty place, and in the gloom overheard heard the soft +feet of the rain on the shingles, I, too, had a deep-down wish that +there was nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> in the world, but this—that the pleasant night and +soothing patter might never cease.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 110px;"> +<img src="images/ill_014.jpg" width="110" height="200" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Truth obliges me to confess that on that first night our bed was not an +entire success. For convenience and economy we had laid it in a +continuous stretch on the floor, with some hay beneath. There being not +enough mattresses for all, I had built an extension of hay for the elder +members of the family. It was the best hay, but I had used it too +sparingly. I suppose I had not realized how, with adjustment, it would +pack and separate. I know it had hardened considerably by the time I had +made one or two turns as a necessary preparation for sleep. I remarked +each time how delightful it all was, to which Elizabeth agreed, though +she had the courage presently to venture that she didn't think it quite +as soft as one of Lady Westbury's feather beds. The Pride observed that +there seemed to be a certain horsey smell that did not entirely please +her, though the Joy, who was probably imagining herself hitched in one +of the stalls, declared that she liked that best of anything. As for the +Hope—clear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> of conscience and worn with the riot of the day—she had +plunged without a moment's hesitation into the blessed business of +sleep. It engaged us all, at length, and we must have become adapted by +morning, for when we were all awake and lay in the dim light, listening +to the quiet music of the continuing rain, there was no voice of +discontent. Elizabeth thought it likely that she was considerably +bruised, but, as she made no complaint later, this was perhaps a false +alarm.</p> + +<p>When I crept out and pushed open the wide front doors, I found that the +brook had risen and was slipping across the grass of the lower yard. It +had a tempting look,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> and the rain held all but ceased. I picked my way +down to it, and, hanging my garments on a limb, enjoyed the richest +luxury in the world—that of bathing in the open air, sheltered only by +the sky and the greenery, in one's own brook and one's own door-yard. +Interlacing boughs, birds singing, the cool, slipping water—no +millionaire could have more. I was heir to the best the ages had to +give.</p> + +<h2>V</h2> + +<h3><i>Elizabeth's ideas were not poetic</i></h3> + +<p>We were busy with our new plans. We decided to shingle the roof, which +showed an inclination to leak; also the sides, which in numerous places +besides the windows admitted samples of the outdoors. Such things did +not matter so much in summer-time, but New England in winter is +different. Then the roof and door-yard are piled with snow, the +northwest wind seeks out the tiniest crevice in one's armor. How did +those long-ago people manage? Their walls<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> were not sheeted, and they +did not know the use of building-paper. Our old wide siding had been +laid directly on the bare timbers, the studding; every crevice under the +windows, every crack in the plaster, was a short circuit with zero. We +decided to take off the antique siding, cut out the bad places, and +relay it flat, as sheeting. Over it we would lay building-paper, and on +top of this, good substantial shingles, laid wide to the weather in the +old-fashioned way.</p> + +<p>It hurt us to think of covering up that fine original siding—priceless +stuff, a foot wide and of the softest, straightest-grained white pine, +cut from large trees such as no longer grow—but we did not know what +else to do with it. It was a wonderful antique, but we could not afford +to keep a pile of lumber just for exhibition purposes. I said it ought +to be in a museum, and I had some thought of offering it to the +Metropolitan, at a modest valuation, next time I went to town. Elizabeth +discouraged this idea. She suggested that I have it made up into Brook +Ridge souvenirs—little trays and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> paper-cutters—a wagon-load or two, +then start out and peddle them. The scheme dazzled me for a moment, but +I resisted it. So in the end it became just sheeting. I did pick out one +fine example—a piece with some of the original red paint still on +it—and said I meant to have it framed, but in the course of the work, +at a moment when my back was turned, the carpenter got hold of it, so I +fear there is no exposed scrap of it to-day. It is all there under the +shingles, and will still be there for other shingles when those are +gone. The nails that held it were made by hand, every one of them, and I +did save some of those, for they were really beautiful. But think of the +patient labor of making them. I suppose a skilled and rapid workman +could turn out as many as twenty of those nails in an hour. A detail +like that gives one a sort of measurement of those deliberate days.</p> + +<p>We did not always agree as to our improvements. I don t think our +arguments ever became heated—one might characterize them as, well, +ardent. If Elizabeth thought my ideas sometimes wild, not to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> say crazy, +I don t remember that she ever put it just in that way. If I thought +hers inclined to be prosaic and earthy, I was careful to be out of range +and hearing before I expressed myself. I remember once suggesting that +we do our cooking and heating entirely in the old way—that is to say, +using the fireplaces and the Dutch oven—and was pained to find that +Elizabeth was contemplating a furnace and a kitchen range. She asked me +rather pointedly who I thought was going to get in wood enough to keep +four fireplaces running, and if I fancied the idea of going to bed in +the big north room up-stairs with the thermometer shrinking below zero.</p> + +<p>It was still August at the moment, and the prospect was not so +disturbing. I said that hardy races always did those things, that the +old builders of this house had probably not minded it at all, and just +see to what great old ages they had lived. I said that as a child I had +even done it myself.</p> + +<p>"So did I," said Elizabeth; "that is why I am not going to do it now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>She walked out with quite a firm step, and I did not pursue the matter. +I might have done so, but I had a vision, just then, of a boy who had +lived on the Western prairies, in a big box of a house, and had gone to +bed in a room that was about the temperature of the snow-drifted yard. I +could see him madly flinging off a few outer garments, making a spring +into a bed that was like a frozen pond, lying there in a bunch, getting +tolerably warm at last, but all night long fearful of moving an inch +because of his frigid boundaries. As for the matter of wood, well, I had +carried that, too, cords of it, for a fireplace that had devoured it +relentlessly and given nothing adequate in return. I recalled that in +cold weather I had never known what it was to be warm on both sides at +once, that I had scorched my face while my back was freezing, then +turned, like a chicken on a spit, to bake the other side. Without doubt +I had grown used to it, so used to it that it had never occurred to me +that in cold weather any one really could be warm on both sides at once; +also, perhaps, it had hardened me, still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>Elizabeth's ideas were not poetic; they did not express art for art's +sake; anybody could see that; but, after all, there would be +days—January days—when a fireplace alone, however beautiful as an +ornament, would not make enough impression on the family circle, and +scarcely any at all on the up-stairs. Coming up rather quietly somewhat +later, she found me sitting under the big maple, surreptitiously +studying a range and furnace catalogue borrowed of Westbury. We decided +on Acme Hummers and I gave the order to the postman next morning.</p> + +<h2>VI</h2> + +<h3><i>Our last night in the barn was not like the others</i></h3> + +<p>We lived a full week in the wood-house and barn, a week that is chiefly +memorable to me now because of the kindness of our neighbors.</p> + +<p>I wonder if in every New England neighborhood new-comers are treated as +we were.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> It was high garden season, and I think not a day passed, that +at least one basket of sweet corn, beans, lettuce, and such noble things +was not set at our doors.</p> + +<p>From all about they came, and how sweet and fresh they were! There had +been no lack of showers that summer, and gardens were at their best. +Nothing is so good as sweet corn, freshly picked and put in the pot. We +had never really had enough of it before. Now we had to strain our +appetites to keep up with the supply. And lima beans, and buttered +beets, and cucumbers and crisp salads, and fresh cabbage slaw! Dear me! +Why must any one have to stay in town where all those things are scarce, +and costly, and days old, and wilted, when he can go to the country and +have them fresh and abundant from the garden—of his neighbor?</p> + +<p>Some of the offerings were really artistic, prettily arranged, and +garnished with flowers. Old Nat of the whitewash came one evening with a +huge round basket, in the center of which was a big yellow pumpkin, the +first of his crop, and ranged about it ears<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> of corn, big red tomatoes, +and heads of lettuce, the whole like some wonderful great flower. But +then Nat was always an artist at heart.</p> + +<p>Our last night in the barn was not like the others. We had become very +comfortable there, for we had built our hay higher, and we had learned +the art of resting in that processional fashion, while the big, airy +place and the patter of the not infrequent rain had grown dear to us. +But that last night was different. It rained, as usual, but it did +something more. I had been asleep an indeterminable time when I was +aroused by a crash of thunder that for a moment I thought had taken off +the roof. In the glimmer of lightning that followed I realized that +Elizabeth was awake—also the Pride, aged twelve.</p> + +<p>It was the sort of storm to make one sit up on his elbow. Elizabeth sat +up on hers, and declined to lie back even when assured that it would be +easier for the lightning to hit her in that half-erect position. The +Pride began asking persistently if the barn was going to be struck. The +Joy, who was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> next me, suddenly grabbed my arm and clung like a burr, +saying nothing. The Hope, secure in the knowledge of an upright life, +aided by a perfect digestion, slept as one in a trance, while the fierce +pounding grew more alarming as flash followed flash and the crashes came +more promptly and forcibly on the heels of every flare. I don't think I +was exactly afraid, but I could not altogether forget the tradition that +lightning has a mania for striking barns and it was this that had +occurred to Elizabeth. She said she had been reading of storms like this +in Jamaica, and that invariably they had struck barns, though whether +she meant Jamaica of southern waters or the pretty suburb on Long Island +by that name I have not learned to this day.</p> + +<p>There was no wind, but all at once, at the very height of things, when +the flashes and the crashes came together and the very sky seemed about +to explode, one of our wide barn doors swung slowly, silently open, as +if moved by a spirit hand, and at the same instant there came a blaze +and roar that fairly filled the barn. A moment later the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> great door +silently closed; then once more opened to let in a blinding, deafening +shot.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="ILLO_P68" id="ILLO_P68"></a> +<img src="images/ill_015.jpg" width="400" height="389" alt="I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a second +later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels" title="" /> +<span class="caption">I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a second +later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels</span> +</div> + +<p>I could tell by what Elizabeth said that the big door ought to be shut +and securely fastened. I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a +second later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels. Then +the clouds must have upset, for there came a downpour that fairly +drowned the world.</p> + +<p>But the artillery was passing. Soon flash and roar came farther apart +and modified by distance. Nothing was left at last but a soothing rumble +and the whisper of the receding rain. We slept, and woke to find<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +ourselves rich, in sunlight, blue sky, and overflowing rain-barrels. +This made it washday for Elizabeth and the tribe, and presently all the +lines were full. It was a glorious storm, but that afternoon we moved +our sleeping-arrangements to the house. The painters had finished +up-stairs, and there was no purpose in exposing ourselves to storms +which for all we knew, came straight from Jamaica, where they had a +mania for hitting barns.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/ill_016.jpg" width="400" height="221" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_THREE" id="CHAPTER_THREE"></a>CHAPTER THREE</h2> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3><i>At the threshold of the past</i></h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 134px;"> +<img src="images/ill_017.jpg" width="134" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p> wonder if you are anything like as anxious to get into our old attic +as we were. That is not likely. To us it meant romance, even a kind of +sorcery—a bodily transmigration into the magic past.</p> + +<p>Now and then during those August days we would open the door below and +look up, perhaps even climb the stair and peer around a little, +possessed by the spell of it, deterred only by our immediate affairs and +the heat.</p> + +<p>Then at last came a day, a cool Sunday when it was raining softly, and +the tribe were having a "perfectly <i>lovelly</i>" time in the barn, +Elizabeth and I climbed the rickety stairway to the Land of the Long +Ago.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> There could be no better time for it—the quiet rain overhead, no +workmen, no likelihood of visitors.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/ill_018.jpg" width="400" height="510" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>At the top of the stair we hesitated and looked about with something of +the feeling that I suppose the Egyptian explorer had when he looked into +the furnished tomb of Queen Thi. We were at the threshold of the past.</p> + +<p>A small window at each end gave light in plenty. There was a good deal +of dust, and there were some cobwebs in the corners, but these did not +disturb us. Only, we were a little bewildered by the extent of our +possessions. We hardly knew where to begin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + +<p>At first we picked our way about rather aimlessly, pointing to this +thing and that, our voices subdued. There were all the high-backed +chairs—fourteen, we counted, with those already carried down. Most of +them would need new rush bottoms and black paint, but otherwise they had +withstood the generations. They were probably a part of the old house's +original furnishing—these and at least one of the spinning-wheels, of +which there were four, the large kind, used for spinning wool; also the +reel for winding yarn. Then we noticed a low wooden cradle, darkened +with age, its sides polished by the hands that had rocked it—that had +come next, no doubt. We remarked that one of the spinning-wheels was +considerably smaller than the others—a child's wheel. We thought it +might have come later, when one of the early occupants of the cradle had +been taught to do her stint. It made a small, plaintive noise when I +turned it, and I could see a little old-fashioned girl in linsey-woolsey +dress and home-made shoes and stockings, in front of the big fireplace +down-stairs,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> turning and turning to that droning cadence, through long +winter afternoons. Those other wheels had come for other daughters, or +daughters-in-law, and if there ever was a time when all four were going +at once, the low, long room must have been a busy place.</p> + +<p>From a nail in a rafter hung a rusty tin lantern, through the patterned +holes of which a single candle had once sprinkled with light the +progress of the farmer's evening chores. That, too, had belonged to the +early time, and from a dim corner I drew another important piece of +furniture of that day. At first this appeared to be a nest of wooden +chopping-bowls, oblong as to shape and evidently fashioned by hand. Then +remembering something that Westbury had told me, I recognized these +bowls as trenchers, the kind used in New England when pioneer homes were +rather short in the matter of tableware. The trencher stood in the +middle of the table and contained the dinner—oftenest a boiled dinner, +I suppose—and members of the family helped themselves from it—I +hesitate to say with their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> fingers, but evidence as to table cutlery in +the pioneer home of that period is very scanty. And, after all, if they +had no plates, what need of cutlery? Their good, active fingers and +stout teeth were made before knives and forks, and they did not enjoy +their dinner the less for having it in that intimate way. I confess a +sneaking weakness myself for an informal chicken bone or spare-rib—for +most anything of the sort, in fact, that I can get a fairly firm hold +of. It is better, of course, to have a handle to one's gravy, and +sometimes, when the family is looking the other way, I can manage a +swipe with a slice of bread, and so get a brief golden sample of the +joys of my ancestors. The two smaller trenchers must have been used when +company came—one for the bread, possibly; the other for pudding. I hope +it was good, firm pudding, so that it could be managed without waste.</p> + +<p>We found the kettle that they made the boiled dinner in, an enormous +three-legged witch-pot, also a number of big iron crane hangers, for +swinging vessels above the open fire. And there were three gridirons of +different<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> patterns, for grilling meat over the coals—one of them round +with a revolving top, another square, sloping, with a little trough at +the bottom to catch the juice of a broiling steak. Elizabeth agreed that +we might use those sometimes and I set them over by the stair. We were +not delving deeply, not by any means—just picking off the nuggets, as +it were. It would be weeks before we would know the full extent of our +collection.</p> + +<p>Pushed back under the eaves there were what appeared to be several +"cord" bedsteads, not the high-posted kind—that would have been too +much to expect—but the low, home-made maple bedsteads such as one often +sees to-day in New England, shortened up into garden seats. There were, +in fact, seven of them, as we discovered later. They would be of the +early period, too, and probably had not been used for a good hundred +years.</p> + +<p>But it was the item we discovered next that would take rank, I think, in +the matter of age. At the moment we did not understand it at all. It was +a section of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> hickory-tree, about fifteen inches through and two feet +high, hollowed out at the top to a depth of nearly a foot. It was smooth +inside and looked as if something had been pounded in it, as in a +mortar. Presently we came upon a long, heavy hickory mallet, tapering at +one end, smoothly rounded at the other. It had a short handle, and we +thought it might have been a sort of pestle for the big mortar. But what +had those old people ground in it?</p> + +<p>Westbury told us later; it had been their mill. By a slow, patient +process they had macerated their corn in it until it was fine enough for +bread.</p> + +<p>The old hand-mill would undoubtedly take priority in the matter of +antiquity. Those early settlers could do without beds and chairs and +trenchers and cradles, even without spinning-wheels for a time, but they +must very quickly have bread—corn, and a place to grind it. I think the +old mill was older than the house. I think it came almost with the +earliest camp-fire.</p> + +<p>The articles thus far mentioned were all in one end of the attic. We +were by no means<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> through when we turned to the other end, the space +beyond the great chimney. Here under the eaves were piles of yellow +periodicals—religious papers, the New York <i>Tribune</i>, and those weekly +story-papers whose thrilling "romances of real life," like "Parted at +the Altar" and "The Lost Heir of Earlecliffe," were so popular with +those young ladies of slender waists and sloping shoulders who became +our grandmothers. I think none of the numbers dated farther back than +the early forties of the last century, and they were not very inviting, +for they were dusty and discolored and the mice had gnawed holes in the +career of Lord Reginald and the sorrows of Lady Maude.</p> + +<p>But there were better things than these—jugs, jars, and bottles of +marvelous patterns, and a stone churn, and some pewter and luster +teapots, damaged somewhat, it is true, but good for mantel decoration +over our fireplaces, and there were some queer old bandboxes, ornamented +with flowers and landscapes, and finally two small wooden chests and a +fascinating box of odds and ends, metal things, for the most part.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<p>We looked into the bandboxes. Some of them were empty, but in others +were odds and ends of finery and quaint examples of millinery, the +turban and poke and calash of vanished generations, some of them clearly +copied after the model worn by Lady Maude at the very moment when at the +church door she turned haughtily from Lord Crewston forever. We drew the +chests to the light and took out garments of several sorts and of a +variety of fashions. There were dresses of calico and delaine of the +Civil War days, a curious cape which we thought had been called a +"circular," a pretty silk apron with a bib, once precious to some young +girl. Some of the waists were very slim, closely following the outlines +of Lady Maude. Others were different—oh, very much so. I think these +were of an earlier period, for among other things there were a number of +garments made of stout, hand-woven linen, embroidered with initials +which had not belonged to the house for nearly a century. I hope they +were not a part of a bridal outfit, for no bride, no really popular +bride, ought to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> as ample as must have been the owner of those +ch—garments, I mean. One of them, opened out, would be quite wide +enough for a sheet, Elizabeth said, though somewhat lacking in length. +She thought they would do for single beds, turned the other way. There +were sturdy women in those days.</p> + +<p>In the bottom of the chest there was a pair of red and very pointed +dancing-slippers. I don't think they belonged to the same person. +Neither did they belong to the period of Lady Maude, being much older. +They were very small and slim, and daintily made. Where had such pretty +feet found floors on which to dance?</p> + +<p>We laid them back with the other things where they had been put such a +long time ago, and turned to the box of odds and ends. There were knobs +and latches and keys—all of the old pattern—a hand-made padlock, some +flat wrought hinges and some hand-wrought nails, left, perhaps, after +the house was built. We sat flat on the floor to paw over these curious +things, and the dull light, and the rain just overhead, certainly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +detracted nothing from our illusions. Every little piece in that box +seemed to us a treasure. The old hinges would go on our new closet +doors, held by the hand-made nails. The padlock was for the outside +cellar door. The knobs would replace certain reproductions on some of +our antique furniture. We knew what such things cost at the shops and +how hard they were to find. And just then Elizabeth came upon a +plated-silver buckle, and then upon another—a pair of them—old shoe or +garter buckles, we could not be sure which. Why, our attic was a regular +treasure island!</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/ill_019.jpg" width="400" height="195" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>We picked out a number of things that seemed of special interest, +including an iron crane we had found, and carried them down-stairs. The +crane fitted the fireplace in the smaller room, which was to become our +kitchen. We hung it and kindled a fire—our first real fire, for it was +our first cool day. There was litter on the floor, but we did not mind +it. We looked into the cheerful blaze, handled over the trifles we had +found, and in quiet voices spoke of the past. During our two hours or so +in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> old attic we had been in step with the generations. We had +broken bread at the camp-fire of the pioneer; we had seen him build his +house and provide it with the simple, durable furnishings of his day; we +had shared the easy comfort of his hearty board; we had drawn near to +his good wife as she rocked the cradle or sat spinning in the firelight; +we had watched their descendants attain prosperity and a taste for +finery; we had seen how they had acquired fashion and in time had +patterned their gowns, their bonnets, perhaps even their romances upon +models of Lady Maude. They were all gone now, leaving us to carry on the +story. We also would go our way;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> others would follow us, and they, too, +would pass. It was a moment to look into the fire and think long, long +thoughts.</p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3><i>Paper-hanging is not a natural gift</i></h3> + +<p>One day I measured up our walls, and the next I went to town and bought +the paper that was to cover them. I think it generally pays to do that, +provided you can get somebody to hang it. There is a very pretty margin +in wall-paper, and when you get a good deal of it that margin gnaws into +one's substance. Shopping around the department stores, picking up +remnant bargains, is the thing. I ran onto a lot of bedroom paper of a +quaint chintzy pattern at four cents a roll, or about one-fifth what it +would have cost in the regular way. I took enough of it for all the +upper rooms, with some to spare, and was sorry there were not more +rooms, so I could take it all. Then I found a gorgeous remnant of the +glazed-tile variety for the kitchen, and still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> another for our +prospective bath-room. A dull-green cartridge-paper for our living-room, +"best" room, and my tiny study behind the chimney cost me eighteen cents +a roll. The total bill was sixteen fifty-nine, and I got at least twice +the pleasure out of the size of that bill that I would have had in +earning double the sum in the time I spent. Figure out the profit in +that transaction if you can. Whatever it was, it was satisfactory, and +indeed few things in life are sweeter than the practice of our pet and +petty economies. We all have them. I once knew a very rich man who would +light a match and race from one gas-jet to another until he burnt his +fingers, lighting as many as he could before striking a second match. He +would generally say something when his fingers began to smoke, but to +have lighted all the jets at both ends of his long room was a triumph +that made this brief inconvenience of small account. I have also seen +him spend more time, and even money, utilizing some worn-out appliance +than a new one would cost. He was not a stingy man, either, not by any +means, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> those things were ingrained and vital. They helped to +provide his life with interest and satisfaction—hence, were worth +while.</p> + +<p>To go back to the papering: I bought some tools—that is to say, a +paste-brush, and a smoothing-down brush, and a long pair of scissors, +for I had a suspicion that my painters would be at their fall farming +presently, in which case Westbury, who I was satisfied could do +anything, had agreed to beautify our walls.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, I hung most of that sixteen dollars and fifty-nine +cents' worth of paper myself. When I got back, my painters were about to +begin cutting their corn. Westbury came, but at the end of the first +day, when one of the up-stairs rooms was about finished, he also +developed a violent interest in corn-cutting. I was thus abandoned to +fate, also quite deserted. My carpenters were cutting corn; Luther +Merrill, my handsome plowman, was cutting corn; Old Pop and Sam were +cutting corn; while Elizabeth had gone to the apartment in town to begin +preparations for moving, and to put the Pride and the Hope into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> school. +I was alone—alone with sixteen dollars' worth of paper, a big, flat +paste-brush, and my bare, bare walls.</p> + +<p>Meantime I had trimmed some of the strips for Westbury and had given +some slight attention to his artistic method. It looked rather easy, and +there was still half a pail of paste. In some things I am impulsive, +even daring. With a steady hand, I measured, cut off, and trimmed a +strip of the pretty chintzy paper, laid it face down on the +papering-board which Westbury had made, slapped on the paste with a free +and business-like dash, folded up the end just as Westbury did, picked +it up with an easy, professional swing, and started for the wall.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 255px;"> +<img src="images/ill_020.jpg" width="255" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Being a tall man, I did not need the step-ladder. In those low rooms I +could quite easily stand on the floor and paper from the ceiling down. +Certainly that was an advantage. I discovered, however, that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +step-ladder is not all of a paper-hanger's gifts. When I matched that +piece of paper at the ceiling and started down with it, I realized +presently that it was not going in the direction of the floor. At least +not directly. It was slanting off at a bias to the southeast, leaving a +long, lean, wedge-shaped gap between it and the last strip. I pulled it +off and started again, shifting the angle. But I overdid the thing. This +time it went biasing off in the other direction and left an untidy +smudge of paste on Westbury's nice, clean strip. I reflected that this +would probably dry out—if not, I would hang a picture over it. Then I +gave the strip I was hanging a little twitch, being a trifle annoyed, +perhaps, by this time, and was pained to see that an irregular patch of +it remained on the wall, while the rest of it fell sloppily into my +hands. It appeared that wall-paper became tender with damp paste on it +and should not be jerked about in that nervous way. In seeking to remove +the ragged piece from the plaster, holding up the mutilated strip +meanwhile, something else occurred, I don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> quite know what, but I +suddenly felt a damp and gluey mess on my face, and then it was around +my neck, and then I discovered that a portion of it had in some way got +tangled up with my legs, upon which I think I became rather positive, +for I seem to have wadded up several gooey balls of chintzy decoration +and hurled them through the open window, far out upon the sun-flecked +yard.</p> + +<p>I went below and washed up, and for a time sat under the maple shade and +smoked. When more calm I said: "This is nothing—it is only a first +lesson. Paper-hanging requires probationary study and experiment. It is +not a natural gift, an extempore thing like authorship and song. I have +paper enough to afford another lesson. This time I shall consider deeply +and use great care."</p> + +<p>I went back and prepared another strip, humbly and without any attempt +at style. This time, too, I did not consider the line of the ceiling, +but conformed to the vertical edge of Westbury's final strip, allowing +my loose section to dangle like a plumb-line several moments before +permitting it to get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> its death-grip on the wall. I will not say that +this second attempt was an entire success, but it was a step in that +direction. With a little smudging, a slight wrinkle or two, and a small +torn place, it would do, and I was really quite pleased with myself when +I observed it from across the room and imagined a kindly bureau just +about in that spot.</p> + +<p>I hung another strip, and another. Some went on very well, some with +heavy travail, and with results that made me grateful for our pictures +and furniture. Yet it became fascinating work; it was like piecing out +some vast picture-puzzle, one that might be of some use when finished. I +improved, too. I was several days finishing the up-stairs, and by the +time I got it done I had got back some of the dash I started off with. I +could slap on the paste and swing the strip to the wall so handily that +I was sorry Elizabeth was not there to observe me.</p> + +<p>I went below and papered the kitchen. There were a lot of little shelves +and cubby-nooks there, but they were only a new and pleasant variation +to the picture-puzzle. I did the small room off the kitchen, including<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +the ceiling, which was a new departure and at first discouraging. I was +earning probably as much as a dollar and a half a day and I was +acquiring at least that much in vanity and satisfaction, besides +learning a new trade which might come handy in a day of need. I had some +thought of proposing to Westbury a partnership in general paper-hanging +and farming, with possibly an annex of antiques.</p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3><i>There is nothing I wouldn't do for a bee—a reasonable bee</i></h3> + +<p>Matters did not go so well in the living-room. It was not because the +old walls were more irregular there than elsewhere—I could negotiate +that—it was those pesky bees. Reshingling the sides of the house had +closed their outlets, and they had now found a crevice somewhere around +the big chimney and were pouring in and out, whizzing and buzzing around +the room by the hundred, clinging to the windows in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> droves, a maddening +distraction on a hot afternoon to a man with his head tipped back, in +the act of laying a long, flimsy strip of wall-paper on a wavy, billowy +old ceiling. They were no longer vicious and dangerous—they were only +disorganized and panic-stricken. A hundred times a day I swept +quantities of them from the windows and released them to the open air. +It was no use to shut the doors, for there still were pecks of them +between the floor and ceiling, and these came pouring out steadily, +while those that I had dismissed hurried back again as soon as they +could get their breath. I began to think we had met disaster in this +unexpected quarter—that those persistent little colonists were going to +dispossess us altogether.</p> + +<p>Old Nat and I had tried smoking them with sulphur, which had quieted +them temporarily while the men were shingling, but it had in no way +discouraged them. In fact, I think there is nothing that will discourage +a bee but sudden death, and that seems a pity, for in his proper sphere +he is one of our most useful citizens.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>He is so wise, so wonderfully skilled and patient. I have read +Maeterlinck's life of him, and there is nothing I would t do for a +bee—a reasonable bee—one that would appreciate a little sound advice. +That's just the trouble—a bee isn't built that way. He is so smart and +capable, and such a wonder in most things, that he won't discuss any +matter quietly and see where he is wrong and go his way in peace. Those +bees thought that, just because they had found a hole in the outside of +an old house, it was their house, and if anybody had to move it wouldn't +be they. I explained the situation over and over and begged them to go +away while the weather was still warm and the going good, but they just +whizzed and raged around the rooms and sickened me with their noise and +obstinacy.</p> + +<p>When Elizabeth and the Joy came up, school matters being arranged, we +decided, among other things, to evict those bees. There was just one way +to do it, Westbury said, which was to saw through the floor up-stairs +and take them out. He thought there would be some honey. We did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +count much on that; what we wanted was to be rid of the pests forever. I +sent word to our carpenter, and Henry Jones came one morning with his +saws.</p> + +<p>In a corner of the upper room where we had heard a great buzzing he +bored a hole through the flinty oak floors. I had the smoker ready and +pumped the sulphur fumes in pretty freely. Then he began to saw. He had +gone only a little way when he said:</p> + +<p>"My saw is running in honey."</p> + +<p>Sure enough, it was coated with the clear sticky substance, which +certainly did not make it run any easier. By hard work he managed to cut +across two of the wide boards, and through them again, adjoining the +next joist. When he was ready to lift out I pumped a new supply of smoke +into the holes, then rather gingerly we pried up the pieces.</p> + +<p>What a sight it was! Covered by a myriad of stupefied bees was layer +upon layer of pure honey, the frightened insects plunging into the +cells, filling themselves with their own merchandise, as is their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> habit +when alarmed. Lazarus, a small colored assistant whom we had recently +acquired, peered in cautiously (the sulphur fumes being still +suggestive, with a good many bees flying), and I sent him for something +to put the honey in—something large, I said—a dishpan.</p> + +<p>But Elizabeth had no great faith in our bee investigations, or she may +have been inclined to discount Lazarus. She sent a porcelain dish, which +I filled with a few choice pieces.</p> + +<p>"Tell her this is just a sample, and to send the dishpan."</p> + +<p>But still she thought either I or Lazarus was excited, and sent only an +agate stew-pan, which I also filled.</p> + +<p>"Take it down, Lazarus, and tell her that we still need the dishpan."</p> + +<p>So then at last it came up, and we filled that, too.</p> + +<p>We were not through, however. There was a heavy buzzing near the center +of the room, and again we bored and smoked and sawed, and presently +uncovered another swarm, with another surplus stock, this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> time a +wash-boiler full, most of it fine and white, though some of the pieces +were discolored, showing age. Elizabeth left her occupations and came up +to investigate. Our old house had proven a regular honey-mine. We had +enough for an indefinite period, and some for the neighbors. I suppose +if we had left an outside hole for those bees they would have gone on +multiplying and eventually would have packed our floors and walls solid +full of honey, and we should have had, in truth, "the very sweetest +house in all the world."</p> + +<p>I confess we felt sorry for those poor bees. A quantity of them refused +to leave the premises and persisted on squeezing into the house if a +door or window was left open. A clot of them formed on an old +fence-post—around their queen, perhaps—and would not go away, though +they knew quite well we had hardened our hearts against them and would +not relent. If I had it to do over again I would bring down an old hive +made from a hollow log, which we found up in the attic, and put into it +some honey and some comb and invite them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> to set up business again in a +small way. But my wounds were too fresh. They had daubed some of my new +paper, driven me nearly frantic with their commotion, and stung me in +several localities. The old fence-post was quite loose. In the evening I +softly lifted it out, carried it to a remote place, and left it, just as +any other heartless person would drop an unwelcome kitten. When I passed +that way the following spring they were gone.</p> + +<p>A last word about our papering. To this day I am proud of the job and +don't wish to dismiss it in any casual way. I left our square "best" +room till the last; it made a dramatic ending.</p> + +<p>I believe I have not mentioned before that I washed down the old plaster +with a solution of vinegar (a remnant from one of Uncle Joe's barrels) +in order to kill the lime, which, Westbury said, was bad for the +sticking qualities of the paste. Perhaps I made my solution a bit too +strong for the "best"-room walls, or it may be that the plaster there +was different—I don t know. I know that I worked till nearly midnight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +to get done, Elizabeth holding a pair of lamps, and that when we came +down next morning to admire our beautiful green walls by daylight, they +were no longer green—at least, not solidly so, not definitely so. What +seemed to us at first a sorrowful mottled complaint in yellow had +every-where broken through, and I had the sickening feeling that my work +was wasted and must be done over. But presently Elizabeth said, +reflectively:</p> + +<p>"It isn't so bad just as it is."</p> + +<p>And I said, "Why, no! it's a kind of a pattern."</p> + +<p>And then we both said, "Why, it's really artistic and beautiful."</p> + +<p>And so it was. Over the dull green a large, irregular lacework of dull +yellow had spread itself, and the more we looked the better we liked it. +Just why the chemical affinity between plaster and paper should produce +that particular effect we could not imagine, but there it was and there +it stayed, for the process did not go any farther. Later on, when our +furniture and pictures were in place, visitors used to say,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> "<i>Wherever</i> +did you get that wonderful paper?" If they were true friends and worthy, +we told them. Otherwise we would vaguely hint of a special pattern, and +that there was no more to be had of the kind.</p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3><i>There was a place we sometimes visited to see the trout</i></h3> + +<p>I suppose about the most beautiful thing in life is novelty. In it is +the chief charm of youth and travel and honeymoons. I will not say it is +the most valuable thing there is, and it is likely to be about the most +transient. But while it lasts it is precious, and inspiring beyond +words.</p> + +<p>No other autumn could ever be quite like that first one of our new +possession, none could ever have the halo and the bloom of novelty that +made us revel in all the things we could do and moved us to undertake +them all. Days to come would be more peaceful and abundantly satisfying, +happier, even, in the fullness of accomplishment,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> but never again would +we know quite the thrill that each day brought during our first golden +September at Brook Ridge.</p> + +<p>To begin with, it was September, and golden. The rains of August had +ceased and their lavish abundance had filled brook and river and left +the world a garden of wild aster and goldenrod, with red apples swinging +from the trees, massed umbels of dark elderberries, and pink and purple +grapes ripening in the sun. Our satisfaction with everything was +unbounded. A New England farm, with its brook and springs and gray walls +and odd corners, seemed to us, of all possessions, the most desirable. +We took long walks through our quiet woods where there were hickory and +chestnut trees, and oaks and hemlocks, and slender white birches that +were like beautiful spirits, and tall maples, and even apple-trees, wild +seedlings, planted by the birds, but thrifty and bearing. We had never +seen that in the West. The fruit was not very tender, but well flavored +and made delicious sauce.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, it must be the Garden of Eden," we said, "if the apple-tree grows +wild!"</p> + +<p>We carried baskets and gathered in infinite variety. Apples, +hickory-nuts, berries, mushrooms—especially mushrooms, for we were fond +of them and had carefully acquainted ourselves with the deadly kinds. +Those, by the way, are all that one needs to know. All the others may be +eaten. Some of them may taste like gall and wormwood, or living and +enduring fire, and an occasional specimen may make the experimenter feel +briefly unwell, but if he will acquaint himself with the virulent +amanita varieties, and shun them, he will not die—not from poison. I do +not guarantee against indigestion.</p> + +<p>We would bring home as many as seventeen sorts of those edible +toadstools, beautiful things in creamy white, brown, purple, yellow, +coral, and vivid scarlet, and get out our <i>Book of a Thousand Kinds</i>, +and patiently identify them, tasting for the flavor and sometimes +getting a hot one or a bitter one, but often putting as many as a dozen +kinds into the chafing-dish. Even if the result<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> was occasionally a bit +"woodsy" as to savor, we did not mind much, not in those days of +novelty, though Elizabeth did once think she felt a "little dizzy" after +an unusually large collection, and I had a qualm or two myself. But when +we looked up and found that mushroom poison does not begin to destroy +for several hours, we fell to discussing other matters, and did not +remember our slight inconvenience until long after we should have been +dead, by the book limitation.</p> + +<p>There was a gap in the stone wall where we passed from our land into +Westbury's, and beyond it an open place that was a mushroom-garden. +Green and purple russulas grew there as if they had been planted, beds +of coral-hued "Tom Thumbs" that were like strawberries, and a big, +bitter variety of boletus, worthless but beautiful, having the size and +appearance of a pie—a meringue pie, well browned. A path led to another +garden where in a hidden nook we one day discovered a quantity of +chanterelles that were like wonderful black morning-glories. It was +duskily shaded there, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> through the flickering green we noticed a +vivid, red spot that was like a flame. We pushed out to it and came upon +a tiny, silent brook slipping through a bed of cowslip and water-arum, +and at its margin a scarlet cardinal-flower, burning a star upon the +afternoon.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/ill_021.jpg" width="400" height="286" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>There was a place which we sometimes visited to see the trout. You +crossed the bean-lot and came to a little secluded land where there were +slim cedars and grass and asters and goldenrod, a spot so still and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +unvisited that it was like a valley that one might find in a dream. Our +brook flowed through it and in one place there was a quiet pool and an +overhanging rock. Willows and alders sheltered it, and if you slipped +through without noise and lay very still, you were pretty sure to see a +school of trout, for it was their favorite haunt. Once we counted +twenty-two there, lying head up-stream, gently fanning their tails and +white-edged fins. They were a handsome lot, ranging in size from eight +to twelve inches, and we would not have parted with them for the cost of +the farm.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/ill_022.jpg" width="200" height="187" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The "precious ones" joined in some of these excursions, but our +diversions were too tame for them, as a rule. Wading, racing up and +down, tumbling on the hay, with now and then a book in the shade, was +more to their liking. When the two older ones had gone to school and the +Joy was with us alone, she invented plays of her own, plays in which a +capering horse—that is to say, herself—had the star part. Once I found +her sitting by a tub of water, sailing a wonderful boat in it—one that +she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> had made for herself, out of a chip and a nail, using a stone for a +hammer. She wore one of the antique bonnets brought down from the attic, +and seemed lost in contemplation of her handiwork. Without her noticing, +I made a photograph. How it carries me back, to-day.</p> + +<p>I have mentioned our varied undertakings. When wild grapes ripened on +the roadside walls—the big, fragrant wild grapes of New England—we +made a real business of gathering them. They were in endless quantity, +three colors—pink, purple, and white—and their rich odor betrayed +them. Placing some stones in the brook one afternoon, I became conscious +of a thick wave of that sweet perfume, and, looking up, discovered a +natural trellis of clusters just above my head. I don't know how many +bushels we gathered in all, or how many quarts of jelly and jam and +sweet wine we made. I found in the attic, which we named our "Swiss +Family Robinson," because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> it was provided with everything we needed, an +old pair of "pressers," and squeezed out grape juice and elderberry +juice and blackberry juice, while Elizabeth stirred and boiled and put +away, for we were New England farmers now, and were going to do all the +things, and have preserves and nuts and apples laid away for winter. How +we worked—played, I mean, for with novelty one does not work, but +becomes a child again, and plays. And the more toys we can find, and the +longer we can make each one last, the happier and better and younger we +shall be.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/ill_023.jpg" width="400" height="223" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_FOUR" id="CHAPTER_FOUR"></a>CHAPTER FOUR</h2> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3><i>There is compensation even for moving</i></h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 83px;"> +<img src="images/ill_024.jpg" width="83" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>n the 1st of October we moved. Ah, me! How easily one may dismiss in +words an epic thing like that. Yet it is better so. Moves, like +earthquakes, are all a good deal alike, except as to size and the extent +of destruction. Few care for the details. I still have an impression of +two or three nightmarish days that began with some attempt at real +packing and ended with a desperate dropping of anything into any +convenient box or barrel or bureau drawer, and of a final fevered +morning when two or more criminals in the guise of moving-men bumped and +scraped our choicest pieces down tortuous stairways and slammed them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +into their cavernous vans, leaving on the pavement certain unsightly, +disreputable articles for every passer-by to scorn.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_025.jpg" width="300" height="209" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>It is true that this time we had a box-car—we had never before risen to +that dignity—and I recall a weird traveling to and fro with the vans, +and intervals of anguish when I watched certain precious, and none too +robust, examples of the antique fired almost bodily into its deeper +recesses. Oh, well, never mind; it came to an end. Our goods arrived at +the Brook Ridge station, and Westbury and his teams transported<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +them—not to the house, but to the barn, for among other things in Brook +Ridge we had unearthed an old cabinet-maker whom we had engaged for the +season to put us in order before we set our possessions in place. He +erected a bench in the barn, and there for a month he glued and scraped +and polished and tacked, and as each piece was finished we brought it in +and tried it in one place and another, discovering all over again how +handsome it was, restored and polished, and now at last in its proper +setting.</p> + +<p>There was compensation even for moving in getting settled in that +progressive way, each evening marking a step toward completion. When our +low book shelves were ranged in the spaces about the walls, the books +wiped and put into them; when our comfortable chairs were drawn about +the fireplaces; when our tall clock with a shepherdess painted on the +dial had found its place between the windows and was ticking +comfortably—we felt that our dream of that first day was coming true, +and that the reality was going to be even better than the dream.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;"><a name="ILLO_P110" id="ILLO_P110"></a> +<img src="images/ill_026.jpg" width="394" height="400" alt="Sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning +embers, and watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading +autumn fields" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning +embers, and watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading +autumn fields</span> +</div> + +<p>Of course the old living-room was the best of all. Its length and low +ceiling and the great fireplace would insure that. We had ranged a row +of blue plates, with some of the ancient things from the attic, along +the narrow mantel, and it somehow seemed as if they had been there from +the beginning. The low double windows were opposite the fireplace. We +had our large table there, and between meal-times the Joy liked to +spread her toys on it. She wore her hair cut in the Dutch fashion, and +sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning embers and +watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading autumn fields, I +had the most precious twilight illusion of having stepped backward at +least a hundred years.</p> + +<p>We thought our color scheme good, and I suppose there is really no +better background for old mahogany than dull green. Golden brown is +handsome with it, and certain shades of blue, but there is something +about the green with antique furniture that seems literally to give it a +soul. Never had our possessions shown to such an advantage<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> (no pun +intended, though they did shine) and never, we flattered ourselves, had +the old house been more fittingly appointed. With the pictures and +shades put up, the rugs put down, and the fires lit, it seemed to us +just about perfect. It was a jewel, we thought, and to-day, remembering +it, I think so still.</p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3><i>There is work about making apple-butter</i></h3> + +<p>Perhaps I am making it all sound too easy and comfortable. The past has +a way of submerging its sorrows. With a little effort, however, I can +still recall some of them. Our transition period was not all picnic and +poetry. There were days of stress—hard, nerve-racking days when it +seemed that never in the wide world would things get into shape—as +when, for instance, the new kitchen range arrived and would not go +through any of the kitchen doors; when our grandfather clock had been +found an inch too tall for any of our rooms; when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> our big fireplace had +poured out smoke until we were blind and asphyxiated. Any one of these +things would be irritating, and coming together, as they did, one +gloomy, chilly morning, they had presented an aspect almost of failure. +Then, being resolute and in good health, we proceeded to correct +matters. We stripped the range for action, took out a sash, and brought +it in edgewise through a window. We mortised down an inch into the +flinty oak floor and let in the legs of the old clock so that its top +ornament would just clear the ceiling.</p> + +<p>The fireplace problem was more serious. We knew that the chimney was big +enough, for we could look up it at a three-foot square of sky, and our +earlier fires had given us no trouble. We solved the mystery when we +threw open an outside door to let out the smoke. The smoke did not go +out; it rushed back to the big fireplace and went up the chimney, where +it belonged. We understood, then—in the old days air had poured in +through a hundred cracks and crevices. Now we had tightened our walls +and windows until the big chimney could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> no longer get its breath. It +must have a vent, an air-supply which must come from the outside, yet +not through the room.</p> + +<p>Here was a chance for invention. I went down cellar to reflect and +investigate. I decided that a stove-pipe could be carried from a small +cellar window to the old chimney base, and by prying up the thick stone +hearth we could excavate beneath it a passage which would admit the pipe +to one end of the fireplace, where it could be covered and made sightly +by a register. Old Pop came with his crowbar and pick, and Westbury +brought the galvanized pipe and the grating. It was quite a strenuous +job while it lasted, but it was the salvation of our big fireplace, and +I was so proud of the result that I did not greatly mind the mashed foot +I got through Old Pop's allowing the thousand-pound stone hearth to rest +on it while he attended to another matter.</p> + +<p>I have given the details of this non-smoke device because any one buying +and repairing an old house is likely to be smoked out and might not +immediately stumble upon the simple remedy. I know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> when later, at the +club, I explained it to an architectural friend, he confessed that the +notion had not occurred to him, adding, with some shame, that he had +more than once left a considerable crack under a door as an air-supply. +Imagine!</p> + +<p>So these troubles passed, and others in kind and variety. Those were +busy days. We were doing so many things, we hardly had time to enjoy the +fall scenery, the second stage of it, as it were, when the goldenrod and +queen's-lace-handkerchief were gone, the blue wild asters fading, and +leaves beginning to fall, though the hilltops were still ablaze with +crimson and gold. Once we stole an afternoon and climbed a ridge that +looked across a valley to other ridges swept by the flame of autumn. It +was really our first wide vision of the gorgeous fall colorings of New +England, and they are not surpassed, I think, anywhere this side of +heaven.</p> + +<p>We gathered our apples. We had a small orchard of red Baldwins across +the brook, and some old, scattering trees such as you will find on every +New England<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> farm. These last were very ancient, and of varieties +unknown to-day. One, badly broken by the wind, we cut, and its rings +gave it one hundred and fifty years. Putnam's soldiers could have hooked +apples from that tree, and probably did so, for it was not in plain view +of the house.</p> + +<p>We put the Baldwins away and made cider of the others, it being now the +right moment, when there was a tang of frost in the morning air. We +picked up enough to fill both of Uncle Joe's cider-barrels, Westbury and +I hauled them to the mill, and the next day Elizabeth was boiling down +the sweet juice into apple-butter, which is one of the best things in +the world.</p> + +<p>There is work about making apple-butter. It is not just a simple matter +of putting on some juice and letting it boil. Apples must go into it, +too, a great many of them, and those apples must be peeled and sliced, +and stirred and stirred eternally. And then you will find that you need +more apples, more peeling and slicing, and more stirring and stirring, +oh yes, indeed. Elizabeth stirred, I stirred, and Lazarus, our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> small +colored vassal, stirred. I said if I had time I would invent an +apple-butter machine, and Elizabeth declared she would never undertake +such a job again, never in the world! But that was mere momentary +rebellion. When it was all spiced and done and some of it spread on +slices of fresh bread and butter, discontent and weariness passed, and +next day she and Lazarus were making pickles and catsup and apple jelly, +while Old Pop and I were hauling all the flat stones we could find and +paving the wide space between the house and the stone curb which already +we had built around the well. Oh, there is plenty to do when one has +bought an old farm and wants to have all the good things, and the +livable things; and October is the time to do them, when the mornings +are brisk, and the days are balmy, and evening brings solace by the open +fire.</p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3><i>Lazarus's downfall was a matter of pigs</i></h3> + +<p>It was Lazarus, I think, who most enjoyed the open fire. Stretched full +length on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> the hearth, flat on his stomach, his chin in his hands, +baking himself, he might have been one of his own ancestors of the +African forest, for he was desperately black, and true to type. A runty +little spindle-legged darky of thirteen, Lazarus had come to us +second-hand, so to speak, from the county home. A family in the +neighborhood was breaking up, and Lazarus's temporary adoption in the +household was at an end. He had come on an errand one evening, and our +interview then had led to his being transferred to our account.</p> + +<p>"I goin' away nex' week," he said.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going, Lazarus?"</p> + +<p>"Back to de home, where I come from."</p> + +<p>"What do you get for your work where you are now?"</p> + +<p>"Boa'd and clo's an' whatever dey min' to give."</p> + +<p>"What do you do?"</p> + +<p>"Bring wood, wash dishes, and whatever dey wants me to."</p> + +<p>"How would you like to come up here for a while?"</p> + +<p>He had his eye on my target-rifle as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> replied, "Yassah, I'd like +it—what sort o' gun yo' got?"</p> + +<p>I explained my firearm to him and let him handle it. His willingness to +come grew.</p> + +<p>"Are you a pretty good boy, Lazarus?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yassah—is—is yo' goin' to le' me shoot yo' gun ef I come?"</p> + +<p>"Very likely, but never mind that now. What happens if you're not good?"</p> + +<p>He eyed me rather furtively. "De rule is yo cain't whip," he said. "You +kin only send back to de home."</p> + +<p>We agreed on these terms, and Lazarus arrived the day after the auction +that closed out his former employers. As an aside I may mention that Old +Pop laid off a day to attend the said auction, and bought a pink +chenille portière and a Japanese screen.</p> + +<p>I want to be fair to Lazarus, and I confess, before going farther, that +I think we did not rate him at his worth. He had artistic value—he was +good literary material. I feel certain of that now, and I think I +vaguely realized it at the time. But I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> was not at the moment doing +anything in color, and for other purposes he was not convincing. His +dish-washing was far from brilliant and his sweeping was a mess. Also, +his appetite for bringing wood had grown dull. There is an old saying +which closely associates a colored person with a wood-pile, but our +particular Senegambian was not of that variety. The only time he really +cared for wood was when it was blazing in the big fireplace, and the +picture he made in front of it was about all that we thought valuable. +It is true that he made a good audience and would accompany me to the +fuel-heap and openly admire and praise my strength in handling the big +logs, but his own gifts lay elsewhere. He approved of my gun and would +have spent whole days firing it into the sky or the tree-tops, or at the +barn or at birds, or into an expansive random, to the general danger of +the neighborhood, if I had let him. He had a taste for jewelry, +especially for my scarf-pins. When he saw one loosely lying about he +carefully laid it away to prevent accident, using a very private little +box he had, as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> proper and safe place for it. When he discussed this +matter he told me quite casually that he spected something <i>would</i> +happen to him some day, as his father and uncle, and I think he said his +grandfather, were at the moment in the penitentiary. He was inclined to +exaggerate and may have been boasting, but I think his ancestry was of +that turn.</p> + +<p>Lazarus's own chief treasure was a clock. I do not recall now where he +said it came from, but he valued it highly. It was a round tin clock, +with an alarm attachment. He kept it by his bed, and the alarm was his +especial joy. He loved the sound of it, I do not know why. Perhaps it +echoed some shrill, raucous cry of the jungle that had stirred his +ancestors, and something hereditary in him still answered to it. He +never seemed to realize that it was attached to the clock for any +special purpose, such as rousing him to the affairs of the day. To him +it was music, inspiration, even solace. When its strident concatenation +of sounds smote the morning air Lazarus would let it rave on +interminably, probably hugging himself with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> the fierce joy of it, +lulled by its final notes to a relapse of dreams. It did not on any +occasion stimulate him to rise and dress. That was a more strenuous +matter—one requiring at times physical encouragement on my part. Had +his bulk been in proportion to his trance, I should have needed a block +and tackle and a derrick to raise this later Lazarus.</p> + +<p>Lazarus's downfall was a matter of pigs. We did not expect to embark in +pig culture when we settled at Brook Ridge, but Westbury encouraged the +notion, and our faith in Westbury was strong. He said that pigs had a +passion for dish-water and garbage, and that our kitchen surplus, +modestly supplemented with "shorts," would maintain a side-line of two +pigs, which would grow into three-hundred-pounders and fill up Uncle +Joe's pork and ham barrels by the end of another season.</p> + +<p>The idea was alluring. A neighbor had small pigs for sale, and I ordered +a pair. There was an old pen near the barn, and I spent a day setting it +in order for our guests. I repaired the outlets, swept it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> and put in +nice clean hay. I built a yard easy of access from the pen, and +installed a generous and even handsome trough. Westbury said our +preparations were quite complete. I could see that our pigs also +approved of it. They capered about, oof-oofing, and enjoyed their trough +and contents. True, their manners left something to be desired, but that +is often the case with the young.</p> + +<p>What round, cunning, funny little things they were! We named them Hans +and Gretel, and were tempted to take them into the house, as pets. We +might have done so, only that I remembered the story of the Arab who +invited his camel to put his head in the tent. I had a dim suspicion +that those two pigs would own the house presently, and that we should +have no place to go but the pen. Lazarus was fascinated by them. He hung +over the side of their private grounds and wanted to carry them +refreshments constantly.</p> + +<p>"Dem cert'ney make mighty fine shotes by spring," he announced to +everybody that came along, "an' by killin'-time dey grow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> as big as dat +barn. I gwine to feed 'em all day an' see how fat dey gits."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 242px;"> +<img src="images/ill_027.jpg" width="242" height="250" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"You're elected, Lazarus," I said. "It's your job. You look after Hans +and Gretel and we'll look after you."</p> + +<p>"Yo' des watch 'em grow," said Lazarus.</p> + +<p>For a while we did. We went out nearly every day to look at our +prospective ham and bacon supply, and it did seem to be coming along. +Then I had some special work which took me away for a fortnight, and +concurrently a bad spell of weather set in.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> Elizabeth, occupied with +the hundred supplementary details of getting established, and general +domestic duties, could not give Hans and Gretel close personal +attention, and they fell as a monopoly to Lazarus. With his passion for +pigs, she thought he might overfeed them, but as she had never heard of +any fatalities in that direction he was not restrained.</p> + +<p>But it may be this idea somehow got hold of Lazarus. I came home one +evening and asked about the pigs. Elizabeth was doubtful. She had been +out that day to look at them and was not encouraged by their appearance. +She thought they had grown somewhat—in length. When I inspected them +next morning, I thought so, too. I said that Hans and Gretel were no +longer pigs they were turning into ant-eaters. Their bodies appeared to +have doubled in length and halved in bulk. Their pudgy noses had become +beaks. I was reminded of certain wild, low-bred pigs which I had seen +splitting the hazel-brush of the West, the kind that Bill Nye once +pictured as outrunning the fast mail. I said I feared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> our kitchen +by-product was not rich enough for Hans and Gretel. Possibly that was +true. Still, it would, have been better than nothing, which it appeared +was chiefly what those poor porkers had been living on.</p> + +<p>Lazarus's love had waned and died. On chilly, stormy evenings it had +been easier to fling the contents of his pail and pan out back of the +wood-house than to carry them several times farther to the pen, while +the supplementary "shorts" had been shortened unduly for Hans and +Gretel. The physical evidence was all against Lazarus—the fascinations +of the big open fire had won him; he had been untrue to the pigs. When +he appeared, they charged him in chorus with his perfidy, and he could +frame no adequate reply. Westbury came, and I persuaded him to take them +at a reduction, and threw in Uncle Joe's pork and ham barrels. I said we +wanted Hans and Gretel to have a good home—that we had not been worthy +of them.</p> + +<p>They found it at Westbury's. There they were in a sort of heaven. When I +saw them at the end of another two weeks they were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> again +unrecognizable—they were once more pigs.</p> + +<p>We parted, with Lazarus about the same time. Our régime was not suited +to his needs. It was a pity. With his gifts, the right people might have +modeled him into a politician, or something, but we couldn't. We had +neither the equipment nor the time. Nor, according to agreement, could +we administer that discipline which, from our old-fashioned point of +view, he sometimes seemed to require. We could only "send back to de +home." Perhaps to-day he is "somewhere in France," making a good +soldier. I hope so.</p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3><i>Westbury had advised against wheat</i></h3> + +<p>But if our venture in pig culture had not been an entire success, our +agriculture gave better promise. Our rye and grass seed had come up +abundantly, and by November the fields, viewed from a little distance, +were a mass of vivid green. There is something approaching a thrill in +seeing the seed of your own sowing actually break<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> ground and spring up +and wax strong with promise. You seem somehow to have had a hand in the +ancient miracle of life.</p> + +<p>Our rye had such a sturdy look that I said it was pretty sure to turn +out something fancy in the way of grain, and that we could probably sell +it as "seed" rye, which always brought a better price than the regular +crop. Then, as the idea expanded, I said that with our few acres we +could cultivate intensively and raise seed crops entirely. That would be +something really aristocratic in the farming line. We would begin with +seed rye and wheat, of which latter grain I had put in a modest sowing. +Next year we would go in for seed potatoes, oats, corn, and the like. We +could have a neat sign on the stone wall in front, announcing our line +of goods. Very likely buyers would come from a considerable distance for +them—I had myself driven seven miles with Westbury for the seed rye. A +business like that would grow. We could go in for new varieties of +things, and in time set up a shipping-station, with a packing-house and +a bookkeeper. No doubt Henderson<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> and Hiram Sibley and Ferry and those +other seed magnates had begun in some such modest way.</p> + +<p>I don't think Elizabeth responded entirely to this particular +enthusiasm, and I could see that she was doubtful about the sign in +front, but on a winy, windless November day, warmed by a mellow sun, all +things seem possible, and she graciously admitted that one never could +tell—that stranger things had happened. Then we came to our small +wheat-field, and the new seed enthusiasm received a slight check. +Westbury had advised against wheat. He said it did not do well in that +section. This, I had insisted, must be a superstition, and I had gone to +considerable expense to have the ground properly prepared, and to obtain +the best seed.</p> + +<p>The result, as it appeared now, was not promising. Here and there a +spindling blade had come through, and some of those seemed about to turn +into grass. I do not know why wheat acts like that in Connecticut. I did +not follow up the scientific phases of the case, but I confided to +Elizabeth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> that perhaps, after all, we would not announce "Seed Wheat" +on the neat sign planned for the outer wall.</p> + +<p>Late October winds had changed the aspect of our world. Our woods were +no longer deep, vast, and mysterious. We could see straight through them +and read their most hidden secrets. We discovered one day, what we had +never suspected, that at one place our brook turned and came back almost +to the road. All that summer it had supped silently through that brushy +corner which for some reason we had never penetrated. We discovered, +too, a little to one side of our former excursions, a rocky acclivity, a +place of pretty hemlock-trees and seclusion—a spot for a summer tent.</p> + +<p>There were not many mushrooms any more, but we gathered gay red berries +for decoration, bunches of late fern, sprays of bittersweet; we raked +over the leaves for nuts, and sometimes found bits of spicy wintergreen +or checkerberry, the kind that always flavored old-fashioned lozenges +which our grandmothers bought in little rolls for a penny, on the way to +school.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> You may guess that this was pleasant play to us who for ten +years had known only city or suburban life at this season, and not the +least pleasant part of it was the quiet noise the leaves made as we +strode through them, the <i>fruis-sas-se-ar</i>, as the French of the +Provence call it, and the word as they speak it conveys the sound. +Astride a stick horse, of which on our new back porch she kept a full +stable, the Joy went racing this way and that, kicking high the loose +brown drift of summer, stirred to a sort of ecstasy by its pleasant +noise and the spicy autumn air.</p> + +<p>The November woods had fewer voices than those of the earlier season, +but there was more visible life. Many of the birds remained, and they +could no longer hide so easily. A hawk or an owl on a bare bough was +sharply outlined. Rabbits darted among the trees, or stood erect, +staring at us with questioning eyes. Squirrels scampering over the limbs +gave exhibitions of acrobatic skill. There were two kinds of +squirrels—the fat gray ones, of which there were not many, and the +venomous little red ones, of which there seemed an overproduction. They +were cute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> little wretches, but we did not care for them. They were +pugnacious pirates; they robbed their unmilitant gray relative and +chased him from the premises. Earlier in the season they had thrown down +quantities of green nuts to be wasted, and we were told they robbed +birds' nests, not only of their eggs, but of their young. Those red +rovers had no food value, or they would have been fewer. They were a +mere furry skin drawn over a bunch of wires and strings, and not worth a +charge of powder.</p> + +<h2>V</h2> + +<h3><i>Deer—wild deer—on our own farm!</i></h3> + +<p>Animal life is still plentiful in New England—far more so than in the +newer states of the Middle West. With the decrease of population in many +districts the wild things have wandered back to their old haunts. They +are not very persistently hunted, and some of them, like the deer, are +protected. Now and again in our walks we saw a fox, wary and +silent-footed, and often on sharp nights, on the hill above the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> house, +one barked anxiously at the moon. At least that is the poetic form, +though I really think he was barking for the same reason that I often +sing when others of the family are not present. The others claim they do +not care for it—I often wonder why. I suppose that fox's family was the +same way, so he went out there alone in a dark, safe place to enjoy his +music unrestrained. Yet no place seems entirely safe when one wants to +sing, and I fear something happened to that fox, for by and by we did +not hear him any more. Very likely one of his relatives crept up on him +with a brick. We were sorry, for we had learned to like his music—it +gave us a wild, primeval feeling.</p> + +<p>I think there were no wolves or bears in our immediate neighborhood, +though there came reports of them, now and then—exaggerated, I dare +say—from adjoining ridges. The nearest thing we had to bears were some +very fat and friendly woodchucks, who at a little distance, sitting on +their haunches, looked very much like small grizzlies. They dug their +holes a few yards from the house and sometimes came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> quite to the back +door, probably intending to call, but when we approached them their +courage failed and they went "galumphing" back to their houses. There +they would sit up for a moment, staring at us, then, if we approached +suddenly, would dive to lower recesses. I explained to the Joy that they +most likely had cozy little houses down there, with chairs and tables +and a nice stove to cook their food things on. She was sure it was all +true, except about the stove, which seemed doubtful, because no smoke +ever came from their chimneys.</p> + +<p>Most of the animals were friendly to us, and I think made our house a +sort of center. I remember one pleasant Sunday afternoon, when we were +sitting outside, we noticed simultaneously two woodchucks playing in the +field just across the road; a red squirrel pursuing a gray one along our +stone wall, almost within arm's-reach; a blue heron among the willows by +the brook, probably prospecting for trout; some bob-whites running along +by the roadside; while in the woods just beyond a partridge was drumming +up further recruits for the exhibition.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>The deer did not call as soon as the others. They were reserved and +aristocratic and would seem to have looked us over a good while before +they accepted us. We frequently saw their tracks, and hoped for one of +the glimpses reported by our neighbors.</p> + +<p>It came one morning, very early. A cow in an adjoining field was making +an unusual sound. Elizabeth looked out and beckoned me to the window. +There they were, at last! two reddish-tan, shy creatures—a doe and a +half-grown fawn—stepping mincingly down to the brook to drink. We could +have hugged ourselves with the delight of it—deer—wild deer—on our +own farm, drinking from our own brook, here in this old, old land!</p> + +<p>I wonder if they heard us, or perhaps sensed us. Or they may not have +liked the noise of greeting, or protest, made by the neighbor's cow. +Whatever the reason, they suddenly threw up their heads, seemed to look +straight at us, turned lightly, and simply floated away. What I mean by +that is that their movement was not like that of any other animal, or +like a bird's—it suggested thistledown. They drifted over the stone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +wall and clumps of bushes without haste and seemingly without weight. It +was as if we had seen phantoms of the dawn.</p> + +<p>We saw them often, after that. Sometimes at evening they grazed in our +lower meadow. Once, three of them in full daylight crossed the upland +just above the house. They were not fifty yards away, moving +deliberately, looking neither to the right nor to the left.</p> + +<p>We felt the honor of it—they had admitted us to their charmed circle.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/ill_028.jpg" width="400" height="311" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_FIVE" id="CHAPTER_FIVE"></a>CHAPTER FIVE</h2> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3><i>But Sarah was biding her time</i></h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 127px;"> +<img src="images/ill_029.jpg" width="127" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p> have not mentioned, I think, a small building that, when we came, +stood just across the road from our house—a rather long, low structure +with sliding windows, called "the shop." Red raspberries of a large, +sweet variety were ripening about it, and within was a short box +counter, a shoemaker's work-bench, a cutting-board, a great bag of +wooden shoe-pegs, and a quantity of leather scraps, for it had, in fact, +been a shop during the two generations preceding our ownership. Before +that it appeared to have served as a sort of office for Captain Ben +Meeker, who also had been not merely a farmer, as certain records +proved. Captain Ben may have built the shop, though I think it was +older, for when we examined the picturesque little building, with a view +to restoration, it proved to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> too far gone—too much a structure of +decay. So we tore down "the shop," and, incidentally, Old Pop, who did +the tearing, found a Revolutionary bayonet in the loft; also a more +recent, and particularly hot, hornets' nest which caused him to leap +through the window and spring into the air several times on the way to +the bushes by the brook. But that is another story. We have already had +the bee history; hornets would be in the nature of a repetition.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p><div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_030.jpg" width="300" height="201" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>We found something of still greater interest in the old shop. One day, +digging over the leather scraps, we uncovered the records above +mentioned—that is to say, the old account-books of Captain Ben Meeker +and the two generations of shoemakers who had followed him. These +ancient folios, stoutly made and legibly written, correlate a good deal +of Brook Ridge history for a hundred years. The names of the dead are +there, and the items of their forgotten activities.</p> + +<p>From Westbury and others we already knew that Benjamin Meeker and Sarah, +his wife, had occupied our house at the beginning of the last +century—young married folks then—and that there had been a little girl +(owner of the small brass-nailed trunk, maybe) who in due time had grown +up and married the young shoemaker, Eli Brayton, of "distant parts," he +being from eastern New York, as much as fifty miles away. Brayton had +remained in the family, set up his bench in one end of the building +across the road, and there for a generation made the boots of the +countryside,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> followed in the trade by his son, the "Uncle Joe" who at +eighty-five had laid down the hammer and the last a year prior to our +coming. This was good history in outline, and Westbury had supplied +episodes, here and there, embellished in his improving fashion. The old +books came now as a supplement—an extension course, as it were, in the +history of Captain Ben and his successors.</p> + +<p>While not recorded, we may assume that Captain Ben belonged to the +militia, hence his title. That he had another official position we learn +from certain items of entry:</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>To serving one summon on S. Davis</td><td align='left'>3 shillin</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>To serving one tachment on J. Fillow</td><td align='left'>2 shillin</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>To fees: execushun Eli Sherwood</td><td align='left'>2 shillin 6 pnc.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>Evidently a constable or deputy sheriff, and I think we may assume that +the last item records a process, and not a performance. The fees are +reassuring. Eli could hardly have been dismissed mortally for two and +six.</p> + +<p>Captain Ben had still other activities. He owned teams for hire; he +dealt in livestock; in addition to his farm he owned a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> sawmill on the +brook; he even went out at day's labor—certainly a busy man, requiring +carefully kept accounts, and an office.</p> + +<p>The accounts begin in 1797 and are sometimes kept in dollars and cents, +sometimes in the English fashion, as above. Sometimes the charges are +made in one form, the credits in another. It was just as he got started, +I suppose, both moneys being in about equal circulation.</p> + +<p>Captain Ben's spelling is interesting. He was by no means illiterate. +His writing is trim, his accounts in good form and correctly figured. +But it was more a fashion in that day to spell as pronounced, and his +orthography gives us a personal sense of the period.</p> + +<p>"To plowin garding ... 2 shillin." You can almost hear him say that, +while "To haulin stun" likewise carries the fine old flavor.</p> + +<p>We have heard much of the "good old times when things were cheap," but +Captain Ben's book proves that not all commodities were cheap in his +day. Calico, for instance, is set down at three and six a yard—that is, +eighty-five cents. Handkerchiefs at two shillings thrippence each,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +sugar at a shilling per pound, which is more than double our war-time +prices. It is not well to complain, even to-day, remembering those +rates, especially when we note that in 1805 Captain Ben's labor brought +him only four shillings a day (six with team), and his sawing, in small +lots, but a trifle. Labor was, in fact, cheap at that period; also +unfortunately for Captain Ben—rum and brandy.</p> + +<p>The book does not say where Ezekial Jackson kept his general store, but +that was where Captain Ben dealt, and his items of purchase are +faithfully set down. A good many men "swear off" on the New Year, but +Captain Ben didn't. He bought a "decantur," price two and six (ah me! it +would be an antique, now), and promptly started in having it filled. +Behold the startling credits to Ezekial Jackson during the first ten +days of 1806:</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>Jan. 1, By 2 lb. sugar</td><td align='left'>2 shillin</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'> " 1, " 1 qt. brandy</td><td align='left'>2 shillin</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'> " 5, " 1 qt. brandy</td><td align='left'>2 shillin</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'> " 6, " 1 qt. brandy</td><td align='left'>2 shillin</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'> " 10, " 1 qt. brandy</td><td align='left'>2 shillin</td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> +<p>But perhaps this was too costly a pace, for the next entry is, "Jan. 15, +1 jug, 1 shillin," and on the same date, "One gallon of rum, 6 shillin." +That, you see, was somewhat cheaper and required fewer trips to town. On +January 20th the jug was filled again, and on the same date we find set +down "four and a half yards of chintz and one scane of silk." That +chintz and "scane" of silk look suspicious—they look like tranquilizers +for Sarah, his wife.</p> + +<p>Through that month and the three following the liquid items follow with +alarming monotony, only separated here and there by entries of "tee" and +sugar and certain yards of "cotting" and "scanes" of silk for Sarah.</p> + +<p>But Sarah was biding her time. The book does not say that the minister +was asked to call, or that he came. It does not need to. We may guess it +from the next entry:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">May 2, By 1 famly bible 1 poun, 13 shillin</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>That ended the rum chapter. There is not another spirituous entry in all +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> Ezekial Jackson's credits. "By one mometer" comes next, May 6th. +Probably Captain Ben felt himself cooling down pretty rapidly for the +season, and wanted to take the temperature. Then follows "two combs"—he +was going to keep slicked up—also earthenware, indigo, "cotting," and +more scanes of silk, mainly for Sarah, no doubt, and so on to the end, +when the account is closed and underneath is written:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">This day made all even betwixt Ezekial Jackson and myself.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 44em;">B. M.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Captain Ben's accounts close in 1829, but the shoemaking records had +long since begun. They are more prosaic, but they have an interest, too. +A book with charges against Joel Barlow and Aaron Burr could hardly fail +of that, though the said Joel Barlow is not the poet-diplomat who wrote +the "Columbiad" and shone in European courts, nor Aaron Burr the +corrupter of Blennerhassett and the slayer of Alexander Hamilton. At +least, I judge they were not, for this Barlow and this Burr had cobbling +charges against them as late as 1840, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> the intriguing Aaron and the +gifted Joel no longer needed earthly repairs. Nevertheless, they were of +the same families, for Joel Barlow, the poet, was born just over the +hill from us, and the name of Aaron Burr was known in Connecticut long +before it found doubtful distinction in New Jersey.</p> + +<p>The shoemaker's accounts reflect a life that is now all but gone. Some +of the charges were offset with potatoes, some with rye, some with +labor, a few of them with cash. A pair of boots in 1828 brought two +dollars and fifty cents. Repairs ranged from six cents up, many of the +charges being set down in half-cents. Those were exact, frugal days.</p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3><i>We often cooked by our fireplace</i></h3> + +<p>One hundred and fifty Thanksgivings must have preceded ours in the old +house, but I think out of them all you could not have picked a better +one. I would not like to say a more bountiful one, for I suppose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> in the +earlier day they had great wild turkeys and perhaps a haunch of venison, +braces of partridges and other royal fare. Even so, they could hardly +have eaten it all, and I think their noble turkey did not taste any +better than ours. Moreover, we were glad that our deer and partridges +were still running free.</p> + +<p>We did not lack of native dishes. Our mince and pumpkin pies were home +products, as well as our apple-butter and a variety of other preserves. +Also, I had discovered a bed of wild cress in the brook and our brown +turkey was garnished with that piquant green. Certainly there was an +old-fashioned feeling about our first New England holiday—something +precious and genuine, that made all effort and cost worth while.</p> + +<p>The Pride and the Hope had come home for a week's vacation and were +reveling in the house, which they now for the first time saw in order. +Of course their rooms had to be personally adjusted, their own special +belongings inspected and put away. Their treasures, after two months of +absence, were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> all new and fresh to them. The Pride, reveling in her own +"cozy corner," or curled up in a big chair by the log fire, reread her +favorite books; the Hope and the Joy played paper-doll "ladies" on the +deep couch, cutting out a whole new generation with up-to-date wardrobes +from the costume pages of some marvelous new fashion magazines. +Oblivious to the grosser world about them, they caused their respective +families to telephone and give parties and visit back and forth, and to +discuss openly their most private affairs and move into new houses and +make improvements and purchases that would have wrecked Rockefeller if +the bills had ever fallen due. That is the glory of make-believe—one +may go as far as he likes, building his castles and his kingdoms, with +never a cent to pay. It is only when one tries to realize in acres and +bricks and shingles that the accounts come in. A spiritistic friend of +mine told me recently that the latest communications from the shadow +world indicate the life there to be purely mental, that each spirit +entity creates its own environment and habitation by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> thought alone. In +a word, it is a world, he said, where imagination is reality and all the +dreams come true. Ah me! I hope he is not mistaken! What dreams of +empires we have all put away, what air-castles we have seen melt and +vanish because of the cost! A place where one may build and plant and +renew by the processes of thought alone, unchecked by acreage boundaries +or any sordid limitations of ways and means! I cannot think of a better +or more reasonable hereafter than that. We get a glimpse of it here in +the play of children—little children who perhaps have left the truth +not so far behind.</p> + +<p>"Fashion ladies" must relax now and then. Even in late November there +were pleasant sunny days when the Hope and the Joy roamed the fields or +laid a long board across a tumbled wall and teetered away vacation hours +to the tune of</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Seesaw, Marjory Daw,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Sold her bed and laid on straw,</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>which was probably first sung a good way back—by Cain and Abel, maybe, +in some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> corner of Eden. No, it would be outside of Eden, for their +parents had moved, as I remember, before their arrival. And I wonder if +little Cain and Abel had a fire to gather around when the fall evenings +began to close in, before the lamps were lit, and if they ever had cakes +and toast and sandwiches, with hot chocolate, from an old blue china set +from a corner cupboard, and were as hungry as bears, and rocked while +they ate and drank and watched the firelight dance on the tea-things and +table-legs. If not, I am afraid they missed something, and perhaps it is +not to be wondered at that little Cain became gloomy and savage and +outcast when he grew up. A fireplace with a cozy cup of chocolate and a +bite of something filling will civilize children about as quickly as +anything I know of, and would, I am sure, have been good for Cain.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_031.jpg" width="300" height="206" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>We often cooked by our fireplace. We hung a kettle over it for tea and +toasted bread on Captain Ben Meeker's long iron toasting-fork. Then at +supper-time we would rake out the coals, and on one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> old +gridirons brought down from the attic would broil a big steak, or some +chops, and if they did not taste better than any other steak or chops we +certainly imagined they did, and I am still inclined to think we were +right. Then there was popcorn, and potatoes roasted in the ashes, and +apples on sticks, though this was likely to be later in the evening, +when the tribe was hungry again, for children in vacation are always +hungry, just little savages, and the best way to civilize them is to +feed them, as I have said. It was too bad they must go back to school, +and sometimes we wished there were never any such things as schools; and +then again, when the house was one wild riot and hurrah, just at a +moment when I wanted to reflect, I could appreciate quite fully the +beauties of education and certain remote places where under careful +direction it could be acquired. But how silent and lonely the house +seemed when the Pride and the Hope were gone!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> How glad we were that +Christmas was only a month away!</p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3><i>Under the spell of the white touch</i></h3> + +<p>In an earlier chapter I have spoken of our attic as an almost unfailing +source of supply. Any sort of vessel or implement we might happen to +need was pretty certain to turn up there if we looked long enough. It +provided us with jugs and jars, and by and by, when the snow came, a +wooden shovel and a bootjack for our rubber boots. I said that probably +some day we should find a horse and buggy and harness up there, which +was about all that we needed, now. It was just one of those careless +remarks we all make on occasion. It never occurred to me that it was +tinged with prophecy.</p> + +<p>We did not find the horse, harness, and buggy in the attic, but we found +them—heired them, to use a good New England word, just as we had heired +the other things. The automobile had not yet reached Brook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> Ridge, but +it was arriving in the centers and suburbs, upsetting old traditions, +severing old ties. Once we had been commuters on Long Island, and in our +happy suburb there still lived a friend to whom the years had brought +prosperity and motor-machines. In the earlier, more deliberate years he +had found comfort and sufficient speed in an enviable surrey, attached +to a faithful family horse which now, alas! was too slow, too deliberate +for the pace of wealth and the honk-honk of style. So the old horse +stood in the stable, for his owners did not wish to see him go to +strangers. But then one day they heard how we had turned ourselves into +farmers, and presently word came that if we needed Old Beek (shortened +from Lord Beaconsfield), surrey, and harness complete, they were ours to +command. They would be delivered to us in the city, the message said, +from which point we could drive, or ship, them to the farm. It was a +windfall from a clear sky—we said it must be our lucky year. We +accepted the quickest way, and were presently in the city to receive +Lord Beaconsfield.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>Had it been earlier in the year, during those magic days of September, +or even in October, when the drifting leaves had turned the highways +into thoroughfares of gold, we should have driven by easy stages the +sixty miles, across the hills and far away, to Brook Ridge, resting +where the night found us. It was too late for that now. The roadsides +were no longer flower-decked or golden. An early snowfall had left them +in rather a mixed condition, and the air had a chill in it that did not +invite extended travel. We could ship by boat to our nearest Sound port, +and the fifteen-mile drive from there seemed no great matter.</p> + +<p>We admired the dignity with which His Lordship drew up in front of our +New York hotel. He was a large, handsome animal, sorrel as to color, and +of a manner befitting his station and advanced years. It was evident +that we were not of his class, but with the gentle tact of true nobility +he never, either then or later, permitted this difference in rank to +make us uncomfortable. He even allowed us to call him "Beek," "Old +Beek," "good Old Beek," especially<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> when there was a lump of sugar in +prospect. He was very human.</p> + +<p>But I anticipate. We were delighted with Lord Beaconsfield and his +appurtenances. As for the Joy, she was quite beside herself. Anything +with the semblance of a horse would excite the Joy. I got in with the +driver, and we made our way to the river-front, where I saw His Lordship +to his state-room and the surrey stored away. I don't suppose in all his +twenty years he had ever taken a voyage before, but he showed no +nervousness or undue surprise, and that night at the port of arrival he +came stepping down the gang-plank as unconcernedly as the oldest +traveler. We were up and away rather early next morning, for we wished +to travel leisurely, and we were not familiar with the road.</p> + +<p>On inquiry we learned there were two roads—one to the east and one to +the west of a little river, the same that formed a mill-pond in +Westbury's door-yard, and here a wide orderly stream flowed into the +sea. The "Glen" road—the one to the east—was thought to be the +shorter, so we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> chose that. It was a good selection, so far as scenery +was concerned, but if I had the same drive to make again I would go the +other way. With the exception of a small box of lunch crackers for the +Joy, we had provided no food for the journey, for we said we could stop +at a village inn when the time came and get something warm. That was a +good idea, only there were no villages. There was not even a country +store in that lost land of forest and hill and rocky cliff and desolate +open field. Now and then we came to a house, but so dead and forbidding +was its aspect that we did not dare even to ask our way. Never a soul +appeared in the door-yard, and if smoke came from the chimney it was a +thin, blue wisp as from dying embers. The land was asleep, under the +spell of the white touch. To knock at one of those houses would have +been, as it seemed, to call its occupants from their winter trance.</p> + +<p>We traveled slowly, for the roads were sticky, and there were many +hills. We could not ask Lord Beaconsfield to do more than walk, which he +did sturdily enough,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> tugging up the long hills, though they were +probably the first he had ever seen, for his part of Long Island had +been level ground. What must he have thought of that chaotic desolation, +where most of the woods and a good many of the fields were set up at +foolish angles against other woods and fields and where there was no +sign of food for man or beast?</p> + +<p>But if we were timid about making inquiries, His Lordship was not. When +his appetite became urgent he forgot that he had come of a proud race, +and soon after noon-time began to trumpet his demands, and his alarm, +like an ordinary horse. His stable at home must have been red, for at +every barn of that friendly color—and most of them were of that hue—he +sent a clarion neigh across the echoing hills. The Joy, bundled warmly, +munched her crackers and made little complaint. Her elders diverted +themselves by admiring the winter scenery—the bared woods, lightly +dressed with snow, the rocky cliffs and ledges, the tumbling black river +that now and again came into view.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>As the afternoon wore on and we arrived nowhere, we became disturbed by +doubts as to our direction. It was true that we seemed to be following +the general course of the river, but was it the right river? Hadn't we +gone trailing off somewhere on a second-class tributary that had been +leading us all day through a weird, bedeviled territory that probably +wasn't on the map at all? The brief daylight was fading and it was +important that we arrive somewhere, pretty soon. We must make inquiry. +It would be better to rouse even one of the seven sleepers than to +wander aimlessly into the night. At the next house, I said, we would +knock.</p> + +<p>But at the next house we actually discovered something moving—something +outside. As we came nearer it took the form of a man, a sad man, +dragging a crooked limb from a wood-pile. I drew up.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 344px;"><a name="ILLO_P156" id="ILLO_P156"></a> +<img src="images/ill_032.jpg" width="344" height="400" alt=""Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we +are?"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we +are?"</span> +</div> + +<p>"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we are?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," he grunted, as he worked and pulled at the limb. "You're at +Valley Forge."</p> + +<p>Valley Forge! Heavens! We were within<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> twenty miles of Philadelphia, +on the Schuylkill. At the pace we had been going it did not seem +reasonable. This must be enchantment, sure enough.</p> + +<p>"Look here," I said, "you don't mean that this is Valley Forge where +Washington was quartered."</p> + +<p>"Don't know anything about that," he said, still grunting over the +crooked limb, "but I've been quartered here for more 'n sixty years, an' +it's always been the same Valley Forge in my time."</p> + +<p>"Is—is this Connecticut?"</p> + +<p>"That's what it is."</p> + +<p>I breathed easier. If he had said Pennsylvania it would have meant that +we were a hundred and fifty miles from home.</p> + +<p>"Do you know of any place called the Glen?"</p> + +<p>"Of course; right up ahead a few miles. Where'd you folks come from, +anyway? You don't appear to know much about locations."</p> + +<p>I side-stepped, thanking him profusely. We were all right, then, but it +seemed a narrow escape.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last we entered the Glen and recognized certain landmarks. It was a +somber place now—its aspect weirdly changed since the first days of our +coming. Then it had been a riot of summer-time, the cliffs a mat and +tangle of green that had shut us in. On this dull December evening, with +its vines and shrubs and gaunt trees bare, its pointed cedars and +hemlocks the only green, its dark water swirling under overhanging +rocks, it had become an entrance to Valhalla, the dim abode of the gods.</p> + +<p>How friendly Westbury's lights looked when we crossed the bridge by the +mill and turned into the drive, and what gracious comfort there was in +his bright fire and warm, waiting supper. We did not go up the hill that +night. Good Old Beek found rest and food and society in Westbury's big +red barn.</p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3><i>The difficulty was to get busy</i></h3> + +<p>I have referred more than once, I am sure, to my study behind the +chimney, a tiny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> place of about seven by nine feet, once, no doubt, the +"parlor bedroom." I selected it chiefly because of its size. I said one +could condense his thoughts so much better in a limited area. I shelved +one side and end of it to the ceiling, put dull-green paper on the +walls, padded its billowy floor with excelsior, put down dull-green +denim as a rug basis, and painted the woodwork to match. Then I set my +work-table in the center, where I could reach almost anything without +getting up; and certainly with its capable fireplace it was as cozy and +inviting a work-room as one would find in a week's travel.</p> + +<p>The difficulty was to get busy at the condensing process. Work was +pressing. Not exactly the work, either, but the need of it. No, I mean +the necessity of it. It was the need of funds that was pressing—that is +what I have been trying to convey. With all the buying and improving, +and the loads of new indispensables that Westbury was constantly +bringing from the nearest town of size, the exchequer was running low. I +am not really so lazy, once I get started, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> I have a constitutional +hesitancy in the matter of getting started. My will and enthusiasm are +both in good supply, but my ability to sit down and really begin is +elusive.</p> + +<p>It was especially so that winter; there were so many excuses for not +getting started. Mornings I would rise firm in the resolve that the day +and hour were at hand. After breakfast I would determinedly start for +the room behind the chimney. Unfortunately I had to pass through our +"best room" to get there. There was certain to be a picture or something +a little out of place in that room. Whatever it was, it must be attended +to. It would annoy me to leave a thing like that unremedied. One's mind +must be quite untrammeled to condense. Sometimes I had to rearrange +several of the pictures, and straighten the books, and pull the rugs +around a little, before I felt ready for the condensing process. But +then I would be certain to notice something out in the yard that was not +in place. We took a pride in our yard. Once outside, one thing generally +led to another,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> and in the course of time I would be pawing over stuff +in the barn. Then it was about luncheon-time—it would hardly be worth +starting the condensing business till afterward.</p> + +<p>Perhaps I would actually get into the room behind the chimney after +luncheon, but one could not begin work until the fire was replenished +and a supply of wood brought. Then while one was at it one might as well +get in a supply of fuel for the other fires, so as to have a clear +afternoon for a good substantial beginning.</p> + +<p>Oh, well, you see where all those paltry subterfuges ended. It was the +easiest thing in the world to remember something I wanted to tell +Westbury—something important—and our telephone lines were not yet +connected. It would be about five when I got back, and of course one +could not start a piece of work late in the day when one was all worn +out. To-morrow, bright and early, would be the time.</p> + +<p>Then, just as likely as not, to-morrow would be one of those bad-luck +days. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> a diary which I kept at the time I find a record of a day of +that sort.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Began this morning by breaking a lamp chimney before I was dressed. +I continued by stepping on Pussum's tail on the way down-stairs in +the dark, which caused me to slide and scrape the rest of the way. +Elizabeth came to the head of the stairs with a fresh lamp and the +remark that she thought I had given up using such language. In +applying the liniment I upset the greasy stuff on the living-room +rug and it required an hour's brisk rubbing to get it out. Not +being satisfied with this, I turned over a bottle of ink when I sat +down after breakfast to dash off an important note before +mail-time. Nobody could think consecutively after a series like +that, so I went out for some fresh air and decided to clean up a +rough corner by the brook. I scratched my nose, strained my wrist, +and mashed my finger with a stone. Only a 100-per-cent. Christian +could remain calm on such a day. To-morrow I shall go warily and +softly, and really begin work.</p></div> + +<p>I did, in fact, against all intention and good judgment, begin one +evening just about bedtime, and worked until quite late. It was not a +bad beginning, either, as such things go—at least, I have tried harder +and made worse ones. After that the condensing process went better. I +could any time find excuses for not working, but I did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> hunt for +them so anxiously. I was pretty fairly under way by Christmas, and the +room behind the chimney had all at once become the most alluring place +in the world.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/ill_033.jpg" width="400" height="386" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_SIX" id="CHAPTER_SIX"></a>CHAPTER SIX</h2> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3><i>The magic of the starlit tree</i></h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 154px;"> +<img src="images/ill_034.jpg" width="154" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>e have always had a tree for Christmas. Long ago, far back in our early +flat-dwelling days, we had our first one, and I remember we shopped for +it Christmas Eve among the bright little Harlem groceries where they had +them ranged outside, picking very carefully for one symmetrical in shape +and small of size and price, to fit our tiny flat and, oh yes, indeed, +our casual income. I remember, too, that when it was finally bought I +put it on my shoulder with a proud feeling, and we drifted farther, +picking up the trimmings—the tinsel and gay ornaments, the small gifts +for the one very small person who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> so recently come to live with us, +discussing each purchase with due deliberation, going home at last with +rather more than we could afford, I fear, for I recall further that we +did not have enough left next morning to buy butter for breakfast. How +young we were then, and how poor, and how happy! and Christmas morning, +with its twinkling mystery, was the most precious thing of the whole +year.</p> + +<p>It still remained so. Time could not dim the magic of the starlit tree. +Another little person had come, and another. A larger tree and more +decorations were needed, and the presents grew in number and variety, +but the old charm of secret preparation, and morning gifts, and the +lights that first twinkled around a manger, did not fade.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_035.jpg" width="300" height="184" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>We did not buy a tree at Brook Ridge. There was no need. Across the +road, partway up the slope, was a collection of green and shapely little +cedars—a regular Santa Claus grove—and on the afternoon before +Christmas, a gray, still afternoon, heavy with mystic portent, Elizabeth +and I took a small ax and climbed up there, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> picked and selected, +just as we had done in those earlier years, and came home with our tree, +stealthily carrying it in the back way, to the wood-house, and fitting +it to the small green stand that we had used and preserved from year to +year. The little girl for whom we had bought the first tree was the +Pride, now aged twelve, and no longer without knowledge of the Christmas +saint, but the romance of not knowing, of still believing in it all, was +too precious to be put away yet, and she was off to bed with the others +to bring more quickly the joyous morning. Alone, as heretofore, +Elizabeth and I tied and marked the tissue packages, and in some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> of the +books wrote rhymes, such as only Santa Claus can think of when he has +finished his remote year of toil and has started out with his loaded +sleigh to strew happiness around the world.</p> + +<p>I suppose there is no more delightful employment than to watch the thing +that will give a splendid joy to one's children grow and glisten under +one's hands—to view it at different angles during the process; to note +how it begins to look "Christmasy," to add a touch here, a brightness +there, to see it at last radiant and complete, ready for the morning +illumination. On the topmost branch each year there was always the same +little hanging ornament, a swinging tinseled cherub that we had bought +for the very first little tree and the very first little girl, in the +days when we had been so young, so poor, and so happy.</p> + +<p>It was midnight when the last touch was given and the cherub was +swinging at the top, and it was only a wink or two afterward, it seemed, +that there were callings back and forth from small beds and a general +demand for investigation. A hurried semi-dressing, a fire blazing up the +chimney, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> door thrown open upon a sparkling, spangled tree. Eager +exclamations, moments of awed silence, after which the thrilling +distribution of gifts. Human life holds few things better or happier +than such a Christmas morning. Whatever else the Christ-child brought to +the world, that alone would make his coming a boon to mankind.</p> + +<p>On our wall hung a quaint framed print of the first Christmas family, +and under it some verses by the now all-but-forgotten poet, Edwin Waugh. +In those days it was our custom, when the distribution was over and the +morning light filled the room, to gather in front of the picture and +sing the verses to a simple tune of our own. It was a poor little +ceremony, but, remembering it now, I am glad that we thought it worth +while. The verses are certainly so, and I want to preserve them +here—they are so little known.</p> + +<h2>CHRISTMAS CAROL</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Edwin Waugh</span></h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">Long time ago in Palestine,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">Upon a wintry morn,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">All in a lowly cattle-shed</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 22em;">The Prince of Peace was born.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">The clouds fled from the gloomy sky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">The winds in silence lay,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">And the stars shone bright with strange delight</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">To welcome in that day.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">His parents they were simple folk</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">And simple lives they led,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">And in the ways of righteousness</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">This little child was bred.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">In gentle thought and gentle deed</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">His early days went by,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">And the light His youthful steps did lead</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">Came down from heaven on high.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">He was the friend of all the poor</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">That wander here below;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">It was His only joy on earth</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">To ease them of their woe.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">In pain He trod His holy path,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">By sorrow sorely tried;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">It was for all mankind He lived,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">And for mankind He died.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">Like Him let us be just and pure,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">Like Him be true alway,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">That we may find the peace of mind</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">That never fades away.</span><br /> +</p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3><i>Westbury dropped in</i></h3> + +<p>So came the deeps of winter—January in New England. With the Pride and +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> Hope back at school, Elizabeth and I, with the Joy, shut away from +most of the sounds and strivings of men, looked out on the heaping +drifts and gathered about blazing logs, piled sometimes almost to the +chimney throat.</p> + +<p>It was our refreshment and exercise to bring in the logs. We were told +that in a former day they had been dragged in by a horse, who drew them +right up to the wide stone hearth. But we did not use Lord Beaconsfield +for this work. For one thing, he would have been too big to get through +the door; besides, we were strong, and liked the job. We had two pairs +of ice-tongs, and we would put on our rubber boots, and take the tongs, +and go out into the snow, and fasten to a log—one at each end—and drag +it across Captain Ben's iron door-sill, and lift it in and swing it +across the stout andirons with a skill that improved with each day's +practice. They were good, lusty sticks—some of them nearly two feet +through. These were the back-logs, and they would last two or three +days, buried in the ashes, breaking at last into a mass of splendid +coals.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>In New England one builds a fire scientifically, if he expects to keep +warm by it. There must be a fore-stick and a back-stick, and a pyramid +of other sticks, with proper draught below and flame outlets above. And +he must not spare fuel—not if he expects heat. Westbury dropped in one +afternoon just when we had completed a masterpiece in fire-building. He +went up to warm his hands and regarded the blazing heap of hickory with +critical appraisal.</p> + +<p>"That fire cost you two dollars," he remarked, probably recalling the +number of days it had taken Old Pop and Sam to cut and cord the big +hickory across the brook.</p> + +<p>"It's worth it," I said. "I've paid many a two dollars for luxuries that +weren't worth five minutes of this."</p> + +<p>Westbury dropped into a comfortable chair, took out his knife, and +picked up a piece of pine kindling.</p> + +<p>"You think this beats city life?" he observed, whittling slowly.</p> + +<p>"Well, that depends on what you want. If you like noise and action, the +city's the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> place. We once lived in a flat where there was a piano at +one end of the hall and two phonographs at the other. Then there was a +man across the air-shaft who practised on the clarinet, and a +professional singer up-stairs. Besides this, when the season was right, +we had a hand-organ concert every few minutes on the street. When +everything was going at once it was quite a combination. The trolley in +front and the Elevated railway behind helped out, too, besides the +automobiles, and the newsboys and more or less babies that were trying +to do their part. Some people would be lonesome without those things, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>Westbury whittled reflectively.</p> + +<p>"I like to be where it's busy," he commented, "but I guess a fellow +could get tired of too much of it. It's pretty nice to live where you +can look out on the snow and the woods, and where you can hear it rain, +and in the spring wake up in the night and listen to the frogs sing." +Westbury's eye ranged about the room, taking in the pictures and +bric-à-brac and the bookshelves along the wall. "I wonder what Captain +Ben Meeker<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> would think to see his old kitchen turned into a library," +he went on, thoughtfully. "Not many books in his day, I guess; maybe one +or two on the parlor table, mostly about religion. They were pretty +strong on religion, back in that time, though Captain Ben, I guess, +didn't go in on it as heavy as his wife. Captain Ben was more for +hunting, and horses, and dogs, and the man that could cut the most grass +in a day. The story goes that when Eli Brayton, the shoemaker, wanted to +marry Molly Meeker, Captain Ben wouldn't give her to him because he said +Eli hadn't proved himself a man yet. Brayton was boarding in the family +and working in the little shop that used to stand across the road. Aunt +Sarah Meeker, Captain Ben's wife, wanted the shoemaker in the family +because he was religious; but Captain Ben said, 'No, sir, he's got to +prove himself a man before he can have Molly.' Well, one day Eli Brayton +saw a fox up in the timber, and came down to the house and told Captain +Ben about it. 'Let me have your gun,' he said, 'and I'll go up and get +that chap that's been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> killing your chickens lately.' 'All right,' says +Captain Ben, 'but you won't get him.' Eli didn't say anything, but took +the old musket and slipped up there, and by and by they heard a shot and +pretty soon he came down the hill with Mr. Fox over his shoulder. They +went out on the step to meet him, and he threw the fox down in front of +Molly Meeker. 'There's some fur for you,' he said, 'and I guess he won't +catch any more chickens.' Captain Ben went up to Eli and slapped him on +the shoulder. 'Now you've proved yourself a man,' he says, 'and you can +have Molly.' That was my wife's grandmother. She was an only child and +the Meekers and the Braytons lived here together. Eli Brayton grew to be +quite a character himself. When they came around to him to collect money +for the church he'd contribute some of his unpaid shoe accounts. He knew +the people that owed them would pay the church, because they'd be afraid +not to. Old Deacon Timothy Todd used to do the collecting. He had a +high-keyed voice and no front teeth, and always chewed as he talked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +He'd pull out the bill and shake it at the man that owed it and say: 'A +debt to the church is registered above. Not to pay it is a mortal sin. +To perish in sin is to be burned with brimstone and eaten by the worm +that dieth not.' Before Deacon Todd got through that sinner was ready to +come across."</p> + +<p>Westbury in childhood had seen Deacon Timothy Todd and could imitate his +speech and manner. He enjoyed doing it as much as we enjoyed hearing +him.</p> + +<p>"Deacon Todd had two boys," he went on, "Jim and Tim, and he used to +say, 'My Jim is a good boy, but Tim proved himself a bad one when he +slapped his mother with an eel-skin.' Deacon Todd married a second time. +He lent some money to a woman to set up a business in Westport, and a +little while after his wife died he went down to collect it. Somebody +met him on the road and asked him where he was going. 'Well,' he said, +'I'm just going down to Westport to collect a little money I loaned a +young woman, and I'll bring back the money or the young woman, one of +the two,' and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> did. He was back with her next day. Timothy Todd was a +great old chap. When the Civil War broke out he didn't want to go. He +was getting along pretty well, then—forty or so—and had already lost +two of his front teeth and claimed he couldn't bite off the ca'tridges. +They used to have to bite off the paper ends of them for muzzle-loading +guns. Then the draft came and he was scared up for fear they'd get him. +They didn't, though, but they got about all the others that were left, +and Deacon Todd went down to see them off. When the train came and he +saw them all get on, and the train starting, he forgot all about not +wanting to go, and jumped on with them, and went. 'I saw all my friends +was goin',' he said, 'an' th'd be nobody left in the country but me. "I +reckon I can bite them ca'tridges off with my eye-teeth, if I really +want to do it," I says, an' I was on the train an' half-way to Danbury +before I recollected that Mrs. Todd had told me to bring home a dime's +wuth o' coffee an' a pound o' sugar. I didn't get back with 'em fer two +years, an' then I come in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> limpin' with a bullet in my left hind leg. +"Here's that pound o' coffee and dime's wuth o' sugar," I says. "I +waited fer 'em to git cheaper."'"</p> + +<p>Westbury's visits did much to brighten up the somber days, while our +blazing hearth and the sturdy little furnace down-stairs kept us warm and +cozy. Looking out on a landscape that was like a Christmas card, and +remembering the drabble and jangle of the town, we were not sorry to be +among the clean white hills.</p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3><i>No animal except man digs and plants</i></h3> + +<p>It was only a little after Christmas that we began planning for our +spring garden. As commuters, we had once possessed a garden—a bit of +ground, thirty-five feet square, but fruitful beyond belief. Now we had +broad, enriched spaces that in our fancy we saw luxuriant with vegetable +and bright with flower.</p> + +<p>I suppose one of the most deeply seated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> of human instincts is to plant +and till the soil. It is the thing that separates us most widely from +other animal life. The beasts and birds and insects build houses, lay up +food, and some of them, even if unwittingly, change the style of their +clothing with the seasons. But no animal except man digs and plants and +cultivates the flower and fruit and vegetable that nourish his body and +soul. It is something that must date back to creation, for in the +deepest winter, when the ground is petrified and the skies are low and +gray, the very thought of turning up the earth, and raking and planting, +awakens a thrill in the innermost recesses of the normal human heart, +while a new seed-catalogue, filled with gay pictures and gaudy promises, +becomes a poem, nothing less.</p> + +<p>What gardens we anticipate when the snow lies deep and we pore over +those seductive lists by a blazing fire! Never a garden this side of +Paradise so fair as they. For there are no weeds in our gardens of +anticipation, nor pests, nor drought, nor any blight. The sun always +shines there,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> and purple flowers are waving in the wind. No real garden +will ever be so beautiful, because it will never quite be bathed in the +tender light, never wave with quite the loveliness of those fair, frail +gardens of our dreams.</p> + +<p>We planted many dream gardens that winter. Splendid catalogues came +every little while, and each had its magic of color and special +offers—"Six rare roses for a dollar," "Six papers of seeds for ten +cents"—six of anything to make the heart happy, for a ridiculously +small sum. The rich level behind the barn was to us no longer hard with +frost and buried beneath the drifts, but green and waving. Some days we +walked out to look over the ground a little and pick the places where we +would have things, but our imagination seemed to work better in the +house by the big fireplace, especially when we rattled the +buff-and-green seed-packets that presently began to come and were kept +handy in the sideboard drawer.</p> + +<p>Our former garden had been so small that we feared we should not have +enough for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> these new areas, and almost daily we increased certain +staples and discovered something we had overlooked, some "New Wonder" +tomato, or "Murphy's Miracle" melon. Being strong for melons, I pinned +my faith to Murphy's Miracle, and ordered several packets of the seeds +that would produce it. Then I began to have doubts. I said if half those +seeds sprouted and did half as well as the catalogue promised, the level +behind the barn would fall a prey to Murphy and become just a heap of +melons. Elizabeth suggested that I add another acre and devote my summer +vacation to peddling them.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth was mainly for salads. Anything that could be served with +French dressing or mayonnaise found a place on her list. She got a new +copy of her favorite Iowa catalogue, and when she found in it a special +combination offer of "Twelve new things to eat raw" (it had formerly +been nine) she was moved almost to tears.</p> + +<p>In the matter of sweet corn and beans our souls were as one—a sort of +spiritual succotash, as it were—and we encouraged one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> another in any +new departure that would increase or prolong this staple supply. Flowers +we would have pretty much every-where—hollyhocks in odd corners; +delphinium and foxglove along the stone walls; bunches of calliopsis and +bleeding-heart and peonies; borders of phlox and alyssum; beds of +sweet-williams and corn-flowers and columbines—all those lovely, +old-fashioned things, with the loveliest old-fashioned names in the +world. Where did they get those names, I wonder? for they are among the +most wonderful in the language—each one a strain of word music. We +ordered hollyhock roots and hollyhock seed, and delphinium roots and +delphinium seed, and all the others in roots and seeds that could be had +in both ways, and roses and roses and roses, till I found it desirable +to lay aside the fascinating catalogues now and then for certain +industries in the little room behind the chimney, which I called my +study, in order to be able to provide the "inclosed stamps or check, in +payment for the same."</p> + +<p>But I believe there is no money that one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> spends so willingly as that +invested in garden seeds. That is because the normal human being is a +visionary, a speculator in futures, a dealer in dreams. For every penny +he spends in winter he pictures an overflowing return in beauty or +substance, in flower and fruit, the glorious harvest of radiant summer +days.</p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3><i>Then came Bella—and Gibbs</i></h3> + +<p>We had other entertainments. I have not thus far mentioned the domestic +service that followed Lazarus. There was a hiatus of brief duration, and +then came Bella—Bella and Gibbs. Bella was from town and of literary +association. We inherited her from authors whose ideals perhaps did not +accord with hers—I do not know. At all events, she tried ours for a +period. I know that she was considerably middle-aged, hard of hearing, +and short of sight, and that when I tried to recall her name I could not +think of anything but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> "Hunka-munka." Heaven knows why—it must have +expressed her, I suppose.</p> + +<p>But Hunka-munka—Bella, I mean—had resources. Her specialties were +Kipling and deep-dish apple pie. We could have worried along without +Kipling, but her deep-dish pie with whipped cream on it was a poem that +won our hearts. I must be fair. Hunka-munka's cooking was all good, as +to taste, and if her vision had been a bit more extended it might have +been of better appearance. I suppose the steam collected on her +super-thick glasses and she had to work somewhat by guess. Never mind—I +still recall her substantial and savory dinners with deep gratitude, +especially the pie of the deep dish with whipped cream atop.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_036.jpg" width="300" height="229" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Gibbs came when we acquired Lord Beaconsfield and the furnace. My gifts +do not run to the care of a horse and an egg-coal fire. I don t know +where Gibbs had matriculated, but he professed to have taken high +degrees in those functions, and thus became a part of our establishment. +I think he overestimated his powers in the directions named, but he was +not without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> talents. He could wash and wipe dishes and, incredible as +it may seem, he was also literary. Like attracts like, by some law past +understanding. To me it still seems a wonderful thing that this little +waif of a man with a taste for Tolstoy and a passion for long words +should have just then landed upon us.</p> + +<p>Gibbs had a warm and fairly snug room in the barn—"a veritable bijou of +an apartment," he called it, though it was, I think, something less, and +he declared that the aroma of the hay and the near presence of Lord +Beaconsfield gave him a "truly bucolic emotion" that was an inspiration. +Nevertheless, Gibbs could not resist Bella and her domain. This was +proper enough. He was convenient to hand her things, to help with the +dishes and to discuss deeply and at length their favorite authors. When +our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> meals were in preparation or safely over there was more literature, +five to one, in the kitchen than in any other part of the house.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the drift of it came to us. It was necessary for Gibbs to +speak up pretty smartly to get his remarks into Hunka-munka's +consciousness. Once in the heat of things we heard him say: "One may not +really compare or contrast the literary emanations of Tolstoy and +Kipling except as to the net human residuum. Difference in environment +would preclude any cosmic psychology of interrelationship."</p> + +<p>As this noble sentence came hurtling through the door I felt poor and +disheartened. Never could I hope to reach such a height. And here was +Gibbs washing dishes and tossing off those things without a thought. +Hunka-munka's reply was lost on us. Like many persons of defective +hearing, she had the habit of speaking low, but I do not think her +remarks were in the gaudy class of her associate's.</p> + +<p>Their discussions were not entirely of Tolstoy and Kipling. There was a +neighborhood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> library and they took books from it—books which I judge +became more romantic as the weeks went by. I judge this because Gibbs +grew more careful in the matter of dress, and when the days became +pleasanter the two walked down to the bridge across the brook and looked +over into the water, after the manner of heroes and heroines in the +novels of Mrs. Southworth and Bertha M. Clay.</p> + +<p>What might have been the outcome of the discussions, the dish-washings, +the walks, the leanings over the bridge at the trysting-place, we may +only speculate now. For a time the outlook for this "romance of real +life" seemed promising, then came disillusion. Gibbs, alas, had a bent +which at first we did not suspect, but which in time became only too +manifest. It had its root in a laudable desire—the desire to destroy +anything resembling strong drink. Only, I think he went at it in the +wrong way. His idea was to destroy it by drinking it up. He +miscalculated his capacity. It took no great quantity of strong waters +to partially destroy Gibbs, and at such times he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> neither literary +nor romantic, no fit mate for Hunka-munka, who had a tidy sum in savings +laid away and did not wish to invest it in the destroying process. I do +not know what she said to him, at last, but there came a day when he +vanished from our sight and knowledge, and the kitchen after dinner was +silent. I suppose the change was too much for Hunka-munka, for she +saddened and lost vigor. Her deep-dish pies became savorless, the +whipped cream smeary and sad of taste. She went the way of all cooks, +and if it had not been spring, with the buds breaking and the birds +calling and the trout leaping in the brook, we should have grieved as +over a broken song.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/ill_037.jpg" width="400" height="218" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_SEVEN" id="CHAPTER_SEVEN"></a>CHAPTER SEVEN</h2> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3><i>We planted a number of things</i></h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 152px;"> +<img src="images/ill_038.jpg" width="152" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>he whistle of a bird means spring; the poking through of the +skunk-cabbage in low ground, the growing green mist upon the woods. But +there is one thing that has more positive spring in it than any of +these—more of the stir and throb of awakening, something identified +with that earliest impulse that prompted some remote ancestor to make +the first garden. I mean the smell of freshly turned earth with the sun +on it. Nothing else is like that; there is a kind of madness in it. +Elizabeth said it was a poem. It is that and something more—a pæan, a +marching song—a summons to battle.</p> + +<p>Luther Merrill came up to plow the space<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> back of the barn. When he had +turned up a furrow or so to the warm April sun, and I got a whiff of it, +reason fled. I began capering about with a rake and a hoe, shouting to +Elizabeth to bring the seeds—all the seeds—also the catalogues, so +that we might order more. Why, those little packages were only a +beginning! We must have pounds, quarts, bushels. And we must have other +things—sweet-potatoes, for instance, and asparagus—we have overlooked +those.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth came, and was bitten by that smell, too, but she partially +kept her balance. She was in favor of the asparagus and sweet-potatoes, +but she said she thought we had better plant what we had of the other +things and see how far they would go, before ordering more. She said the +seed-houses would probably have enough to go around even a week or so +later, and we could use what we had on hand in making what the +catalogues referred to as the "first sowing." I was not entirely +satisfied, but I submitted. I was too much excited, too glad, to oppose +anything. Luther Merrill plowed around and around, and then harrowed +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> cross-harrowed, while we sorted the yellow packets and picked the +earliest things and were presently raking and marking on beds and rows, +warm with the fever of tillage.</p> + +<p>We did not always agree as to the order of planting. In our small +commuter garden we had been restricted by space limitations and had +fallen into the habit of planting rows a good deal closer together than +the directions on the packets said—an economy of ground, but not of +toil. I had frequently weeded the beds, and had found that my feet were +not suited to working between rows six inches apart, while even a +baby-sized hoe had to be handled with great care. I said, now that we +had the space, we would separate our rows of beets and radishes and +salad full ten to fourteen inches, as advised by the authorities who had +written the package directions, and thus give both the plants and the +gardener more room.</p> + +<p>But Elizabeth had acquired the economy habit. She declared that such +rows gave more room for the weeds and that it was too bad to waste the +rich ground in that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> way. I had to draw the most pathetic picture of +myself bending over in the hot sun, working with a toy hoe, and pulling +weeds with my fingers, through long July days, to effect a compromise. +Experience had taught me that this was the best way to get concessions +from Elizabeth. Little could be gained by polemic argument. Besides, it +was dangerous. She would resign, and a good deal more than half the joy +would go out of that precious employment if I was left to finish it +alone. Women are so volatile. It is their main attraction.</p> + +<p>The Joy helped us. That is, she had a little hoe and insisted on digging +with it in the very places where we were raking and marking and sowing +and patting down the fragrant earth that was presently to wax green with +fruitfulness. She was not satisfied to go off in a remote corner and +make a garden of her own. She was strong for community life, and +required close watching. It was necessary, at last, to let her plant a +crooked little row without direction or artistic balance. Then she +suddenly remembered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> that she was not a gardener, but a horse, and +plowed and harrowed back and forth across the mellow ground.</p> + +<p>We planted a number of things that first day of our gardening in Brook +Ridge—long rows of lettuce and radishes and pease—the last named two +kinds, the bush and dwarf varieties. Pease cannot be sown too early, nor +the other things, for that matter. I have known the ground to freeze +solid after lettuce and radishes had begun to sprout, without serious +resulting damage. We put in some beets, too, and some onions, but we +postponed the corn and bean planting. There is nothing gained by putting +those tender things in too early. Even if they sprout, they do not +thrive unless the weather is really warm, while a light frost lays them +low. More than once I have tried very early corn-planting, but never +with much result. Once I had quite a patch of it up about three inches +high when the wind suddenly went to the north and it was certain that +the night would bring frost. I gathered up all the old cans and boxes +and hats on the premises and covered every hill<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> of it. That was a good +scheme, and most of my corn survived, but six weeks later, when it was +green and waving, a neighbor's cow got in and ate it to the last piece. +No, fate is against early corn-planting.</p> + +<p>We had seed enough for all we wanted to plant that first day, and a good +deal more than enough of some things. It's remarkable how many lettuce +seeds there are in a buff packet. I sowed and sowed without being able +to use up two packets. I don't see how they can raise and gather so many +for five cents. It was the same with most of the other things. I did not +need to reorder, and by night I did not particularly want to. It had +been a pretty long day of raking and digging and patting down, and I had +got over some of the intoxication of the earth smell. Also, I was lame. +I could see that tending a garden of the size we had planned—along, +say, in July—was going to be a chore. No one as yet had come to replace +our ex-domestic staff: if no one came that chore would fall to me. In +the gray of the evening my enthusiasm was at rather low ebb. It was all +I could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> do to make out an order for asparagus and sweet-potato plants. +A cool, quiet bed, in a spring land where frogs are peeping in the moist +places, is sweet after such a day.</p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3><i>Out of the blue</i></h3> + +<p>We were not permanently abandoned, however. Bella and Gibbs, our +literary forces, were presently replaced by Lena and William. Lena and +William were not literary. William was just plain Tipperary, and Lena +was a Finn. I extracted Lena one day from a "Norsk Employment Agency," +selecting her chiefly for her full-moon smile and her inability to speak +any English word. The smile had a permanent look, and I reasoned that an +inability to speak English would be a bar to her getting away. We should +not mind it much ourselves. Having had everything from a Pole to a +Patagonian, we were experts on sign language, and rather favored it +after the flow of English we had just survived. I personally conducted +Lena<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> to the train and landed her safely at Brook Ridge.</p> + +<p>William came to us out of the blue. One morning I drew a tin pail of +water, bright and splashing from the well, and turned to pour a little +of it into the birds drinking-trough, a stone hollowed out at the top. I +did not do so, however, for a good reason—a man was sitting on the +stone. He had not been there a moment before, and I had heard no sound. +He was gaunt, pale, and dilapidated, and looked as if he had been in a +sort of general dog fight. He had a wild cast in his eyes and was in no +way prepossessing. His appearance suggested a burglar on sick-leave.</p> + +<p>I confess I was startled by this apparition. I set down the pail rather +weakly.</p> + +<p>"Why, good morning!" I said.</p> + +<p>He replied in a high-keyed Irish intonation, at the moment rather feeble +in volume.</p> + +<p>"C'u'd ye give a man a bite to eat fer some worrk, now?" he asked.</p> + +<p>I was relieved. If he had demanded my purse I should not have been +surprised. I nodded eagerly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. We need some wood. If you'll cut a little, I'll see that +you have some breakfast. You'll find the wood-pile and the ax down there +by the barn."</p> + +<p>He rose by a sort of slow unfolding process, and I was impressed by his +height. I gave him some specifications as to the wood needed, and he was +presently swinging the ax, though without force. He lacked "pep," I +could see that, and as soon as the food was ready I called him. He ate +little, but he emptied the pot of hot coffee in record time. Then he +came down to where I was trimming some rose-bushes.</p> + +<p>"W'u'd ye let me lie a bit on the hay?" he said. "Thin I'll do some more +of the little shtove-shticks fer yeh. I'm feelin' none too brisk this +mornin'."</p> + +<p>"Been sick?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Naw, just a trrifle weery with trav'lin' an' losin' of sleep."</p> + +<p>Inside I hesitated. It was probably overtime at housebreaking that had +told on him. I pointed at the barn, however.</p> + +<p>"All right," I said, "take a nap—only, don t smoke in there."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>He vanished, and some three hours later when I had forgotten him I +suddenly heard a sound of great chopping. Our guest had reappeared at +the wood-pile, transformed. He was no longer pale and listless. His face +was ruddy—in fact, tanned. The cast in his eye had taken on fire. Every +movement was of amazing vigor and direction. The wood-pile was +disappearing and the little heap of "stove-sticks" growing in a most +astonishing way. I called Elizabeth out to see.</p> + +<p>"If coffee and a nap will make him do that." I said, "we'd better give +him dinner and get enough wood to last all summer." I went down there. +"What is your name?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"William—William Deegan."</p> + +<p>"Well, William, you seem to understand work. Come up to dinner +presently, and if you want to go on cutting this afternoon I'll pay you +for it."</p> + +<p>He came, and there was nothing the matter with his appetite this time. +Ham and eggs, potatoes, beans, corn-bread, pie—whatever came went. +William was the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> apostle of the clean plate. Reflecting somewhat on the +matter, I reached the conclusion (and it was justified by later events) +that William had perhaps been entertaining himself with friends the +night before—during several nights before, I judge—and was suffering +from temporary reaction when he had appeared on our horizon. Coffee and +a nap had restored him. He was quick on recovery, I will say that.</p> + +<p>You never saw such a hole in a wood-pile as he made that afternoon. When +I went down to settle with him and announce supper he was still in full +swing, apparently intending to go on all night.</p> + +<p>"William," I said, "you're a boss hand with an ax."</p> + +<p>"Well, sur," said William, his Celtic timbre pitched to the sky, "if I +could be shtayin' a day or two longer I'd finish the job fer ye."</p> + +<p>Was this a proposition to rob the house and murder us in our beds? I +looked at the wood-pile and at William. There was something about their +intimate relations that had an honest look. I remembered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> the extensive +garden that would have to be hoed in July.</p> + +<p>"Where would you go from here?" I said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sur. I'll be lookin' fer a job."</p> + +<p>"Do you understand gardening and taking care of a horse and cow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sur, I do that."</p> + +<p>I had an impulse to ask him about his last job, but I checked it. It was +a question that could lead to embarrassment. I would accept him on his +demonstration, or not at all.</p> + +<p>"So you want a summer job, at general farm-work?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sur, I do."</p> + +<p>"Well, William, you've found one, right here."</p> + +<p>Even after the lapse of a dozen years I cannot write of William without +a tugging at the heart. We never knew his antecedents—never knew where +behind the sky-line he had been concealed all those years before that +morning when he appeared, pale and unannounced, at the well. We got the +impression, as time passed, that he had once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> been married and that he +had at some time been somewhere on a peach-farm. With the exception of +certain brief intervals—of which I may speak later—he remained with us +three years, and that was as much as we ever knew, for he talked little, +and not at all of the past. His face value was certainly not much, and +some of his habits could have been improved, but a more faithful and +honest soul than William Deegan never lived.</p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3><i>"Ah, the bonny cow!"</i></h3> + +<p>We had acquired Mis' Cow a few weeks before William's arrival. It was +partly on account of the milk that we wanted her, partly because there +was an empty stall next to Old Beek's and we thought she would be +company for him, partly because we wanted a cow in the landscape—a +moving picture of her in the green pasture across the road—finally (and +I believe principally) because we have a mania for restoring things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> and +Mis' Cow looked as if she needed to be restored.</p> + +<p>She was owned by a man who was moving away—moving because he had not +made a success of chicken-farming by book, and still less of Mis' Cow. +He was not her first owner, nor her second, nor her third. I don't know +what his number was on her list of owners, but I know if he had kept her +much longer he would have been her last one. More than once we had +bought the mere frame of a haircloth couch, and taken an esthetic +pleasure in having it polished and upholstered, and made into a thing of +beauty and service. It was with this view that we acquired Mis Cow, who +at the moment was a mere frame with a patchy Holstein covering and a +feebly hanging tail. We gave thirty-five dollars for her, and the man +who was moving because he had not made a success of chickens threw in a +single buggy that broke down the week after he left.</p> + +<p>We consulted Westbury on the matter of Mis' Cow's past history, and it +was the only time I ever knew W. C. Westbury to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> be inexact as to the +age and habits of any animal in Brook Ridge. He said he had always known +her as a good milker, but that she had been unfortunate of late years in +her owners. He couldn't remember her age, but he didn't think it was +enough to hurt her. My opinion is that he could have given her exact +birthday and record had he really tried, but that kindness of heart +prompted him to encourage a trade that might improve her fortunes. I +suspect that they had played together in childhood.</p> + +<p>We managed to get Mis' Cow up the hill and into her stall, where we +could provide her with upholstery material. The little pasture across +the road was getting green and she presently had the full run of it. The +restoring progress began, as it were, overnight. If ever an article of +furniture paid a quick return in the matter of looks, she did. She could +never be a very fat Mis' Cow—she was not of that build. But a few days +of good food and plenty of it certainly worked wonders. She filled out +several of the most alarming hollows around her hips and along her +ridge-pole, she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> seemingly took on height and length. She grew smooth, +even glossy; her tail no longer hung on her like a bell-cord, but became +a lithe weapon of defense that could swat a fly with fatal precision on +any given spot of her black-and-white area. It was only a little while +until we were really proud to have her in the landscape, and the picture +she made grazing against the green or standing in the apple shade was +really gratifying. When the trees were pink and white with bloom and +Mis' Cow rested under them, chewing in time to her long reflections, we +often called one another out to admire the pastoral scene. A visiting +friend of Scotch ancestry was moved to exclaim, "Ah, the bonny cow!"</p> + +<p>Then there was the matter of milk—she certainly justified Westbury's +reputation in that respect. From a quart or two of thin, pale unusable +fluid her daily dividend grew into gallons of foaming richness that +became pitchers of cream and pounds of butter; for Elizabeth, like +myself, had known farming in an earlier day, and rows of milk-pans and a +churn went with her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> idea of the simple life. All day Mis' Cow munched +the new grass, and night and morning yielded a brimming pail. She was a +noble worker, I will say that.</p> + +<p>But there was another side to Mis' Cow—a side which Westbury forgot to +mention. Mis' Cow was an acrobat. When she had been on bran mash and +clover for a few weeks she showed a decided tendency to be gay—to caper +and kick up her heels—to break away into the woods or down the road, if +one was not watching. But this was not all—this was mere ordinary cow +nature, which is more foolish and contrary than any other kind of nature +except that which goes with a human being or a hen. I was not surprised +at these things—they were only a sign that she was getting tolerably +restored, according to specifications. But when one day I saw her going +down the road, soon after I had turned her into the pasture and +carefully put up the bars, I realized that she had special gifts. Stone +walls did not a prison make—not for her. Elizabeth and I rounded her up +and got her back into the pasture, and from concealment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> I watched her. +She fed peacefully enough, for some time, then, doubtless believing +herself unobserved, she took a brief promenade along the wall until she +came to what looked like a promising place, and simply walked over it, +like a goat.</p> + +<p>We herded her into the barn, and I engaged a man to put a string of wire +above the wall. That was effective as long as it was in repair. But it +was Mis' Cow's business to see that it did not remain in repair +permanently. She would examine it during idle moments, pick out a weak +spot in the entanglement, and pull it flat with her horns. Or where the +wall was broad enough at the top she would climb up and walk it, just +for exercise, stepping over when she got ready. If she could have been +persuaded to do those things to order I could have sold her to a circus. +It was necessary to reinforce the wire and add another string.</p> + +<p>Even that was not always a cure. I came home from the city one night, +after a hard day. Elizabeth and the Joy, with Old Beek, had met me at +the station, and as we drove up the hill in the dim evening I said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> how +glad I was to get home, and that Elizabeth had milked, so that I could +drop into a chair and eat my supper and rest, the minute I entered the +house. We reached the top of the hill just then, and a dim gray shadow +met and passed us in the velvet dusk. It was Mis' Cow, starting out to +spend the night. She was moving with a long, swinging trot, and in +another second I was out and after her.</p> + +<p>She had several rods' start and could run downhill better than I could, +especially in the dark. It seemed to me that every step I went plunging +out into space. My empty stomach became demoralized, the blood rushed to +my head. "Gosh dern a cow, anyway!" By the time we had reached +Westbury's and started up the next hill I had made up my mind to sell +her—to give her away—to drive her off the premises. Some people were +standing in front of the next house and they laughed as we went by, we +being about neck and neck at the time. Westbury was in that crowd, and +for the moment our friendship was in grave danger. But then we came to +the house of the man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> who had made a failure of book chicken-farming, +and she darted in. She had remembered it as her home and wanted to +return to it. Imagine wanting to go back to such a home!</p> + +<p>Westbury came, and we got a rope on her and led her uphill. I suppose I +felt better in the morning, and it was about this time that William +arrived on the scene. William loved Mis' Cow and did not mind chasing +her up and down the road and through the bushes, though sometimes during +the summer, when he had had a hard day with her, and our windows were +open, we could hear him still hi-hi-ing and whooping in his sleep, +chasing Mis' Cow through the woods of dream.</p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3><i>Strawberries and trout. How is that for a combination?</i></h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="ILLO_P206" id="ILLO_P206"></a> +<img src="images/ill_039.jpg" width="500" height="365" alt="I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic +summer, and, on the whole, a successful one" title="" /> +<span class="caption">I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic +summer, and, on the whole, a successful one</span> +</div> + +<p>I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic summer, and, on the +whole, a successful one. Our early garden grew—also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> the second +planting and the third. William Deegan made it his business to see that +they did. I realized presently that my special forte lay in directing a +sizable garden like that rather than in performing the actual labor, +especially when June arrived and the sun began to approach the +perpendicular and take on callithump. You probably don't know what +callithump is, but you will find out if you undertake to hoe sod-ground +potatoes in July. It has something to do with brazen trumpets and +violence.</p> + +<p>I became acquainted with callithump when I straightened out the +asparagus-bed. The weeds had got a master start there, and the feeble +feathery asparagus shoots were quite overtopped and lost. I said the job +required a microscopic eye and a delicate hand. I would set the +asparagus-bed in order myself.</p> + +<p>It is surprising how much ground a hundred asparagus roots can cover. +Elizabeth had superintended their planting, during a period when I had +been absent, and, remembering my mania for having things far apart, she +had let herself go in the matter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> of space. She had made it rich, too, +and the weeds just loved it. Some of them were up to my waist. I said +they would have to be pulled by hand and I would get up in the cool of +the morning and do it.</p> + +<p>It is almost impossible to beat the sun up in June. I was out there at +five o'clock, but the sun was already busy and had got the range. By the +time I had pulled half-way down one row I could feel the callithump +working. Also something else. We claimed to have no mosquitoes in Brook +Ridge, so it could not have been those. Whatever it was kept me swearing +steadily, and pawing and slapping and sweating blood. When I had +finished a row I crept in, got some fresh clothes and a towel, and made +a dash for the brook. I had cleaned out a special pool behind the +ice-house, and built a little dressing-platform. In less than a minute I +was in the water, looking up at the sky and hearing the birds sing. Talk +about luxury! After breakfast I took Elizabeth out to show her my +progress.</p> + +<p>"It looks nice," she said, "and how easily you did it!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>It took me four memorable mornings to finish the asparagus-bed, and, +proud as I was of the job, I resigned, after that, in favor of William. +The brazen trumpets of the sky even at high noon could not phase W. +Deegan. Often in July I have sat in the maple shade, with pride watching +him carry out my directions concerning weeds and potato-bugs. I admired +and honored William. I have the greatest respect for honorable toil, but +even more for callithump.</p> + +<p>Sometimes in the early morning I went trout-fishing. There is more +fascination and less waste tissue in that. I would creep down while the +house was still and get my rod and basket, and take a sheltered lane +that was like a green tunnel through the woods, where the birds were +just tuning up for a concert, then out across the "bean-lot," to strike +the brook at about the head of navigation—for trout.</p> + +<p>They were plenty enough and just of the right size—that is to say, +eight to eleven inches long—and easy enough to get if one was very +careful. You could not cast for them; the brook was too small and +brushy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> for that. You had to use a very short line, and wind it around +the end of the rod, and work it through the branches, and then +carefully, very carefully, unwind and let the hook drop lightly on the +water. Then as likely as not there would be a swift, tingling tug, and, +if you were lucky, an instant later you would have a beautiful +red-speckled fellow landed among the grass and field flowers, his gay +colors glancing in the sun.</p> + +<p>The open places also required maneuvering. One does not walk up to the +bank and fish for wild trout—not in a stream that is as clear as glass +and where every fish in it can see the slightest movement on the bank. +To fish such a place is to lie flat on the stomach and work forward inch +by inch through the grass, Indian fashion, until the water is in reach. +Even then you must not look, but feel, unwinding the line slowly, +slowly, until the fly or worm taps the water. Then if you have done it +well and the trout is there, and it is June, there will be +results—sharp, quick, sudden results that insure the best breakfast in +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> world—hot fried trout, fresh from a New England brook.</p> + +<p>The Joy went with me on some of these excursions. She liked to have me +call her early and go tiptoing and whispering about our preparations and +to wade off through the dewy grass in her rubber boots, leaving the rest +of the house asleep. She generally carried the basket, and was deeply +interested in my maneuvers when the cry of the "teacher"-bird and the +call of the wood-thrush did not distract her attention. I can still see +the grass up to her fat little waist, her comical blue apron, her +dimpled round face and the sunlight on her hair. She had a deep pity for +the trout, but her sporting instinct was deeper still. Sometimes when +there was a slip, and a big shining fellow would go bouncing and +splashing back into the brook, she would jump up and down and demand, +excitedly:</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you catch that one, Daddy? Why didn't you catch him? That +was a big, big, <i>big</i> one?" And she walked very proudly when we had six +or more to carry back for breakfast.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>Strawberries and trout—how is that for a breakfast combination in June? +Trout just from the water and strawberries fresh from the garden. We had +planted a good patch of strawberries the August of our arrival and they +had done wonderfully well for the first year. Often by the time we had +come from fishing Elizabeth had been out and filled a bowl, and +sometimes even made a short-cake, for we were old-fashioned enough to +love short-cake—old-fashioned short-cake made with biscuit dough (not +the sweet-cake kind) for breakfast. And breakfast with trout and +short-cake—short-cake with cream, mind you!—in New England in June, +when the windows open on the grass and the wood-thrushes are calling, is +just about as near paradise as you can get in this old world.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_040.jpg" width="300" height="220" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_EIGHT" id="CHAPTER_EIGHT"></a>CHAPTER EIGHT</h2> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3><i>Fate produced a man who had chickens to sell</i></h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 125px;"> +<img src="images/ill_041.jpg" width="125" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>ith June the Pride and the Hope came home from school. The brook, the +barn, Old Beek, and Mis' Cow all had their uses then—also a tent in the +yard, a swing, hammock and whatnot. When God made the country He made it +especially for children. Burning suns, a weedy garden and potato blight +may dismay the old, but such things do not fret the young mind. As long +as the brook is cool and the fields are sweet and there is fresh milk +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> succotash on the table, happy childhood is indifferent to care.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 258px;"> +<img src="images/ill_042.jpg" width="258" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>We were given to picnics. Often we packed some food things into a basket +and went into the woods and spread them in a shady place. Lena, the +Finn, sometimes accompanied these excursions and went quite mad with the +delight of them, racing about and digging up flowers and shrubs to plant +in the door-yard, fairly whooping it up in joyful Finnish and such +English words as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> she had acquired. I believe the aspect of our woods +reminded her of Finland.</p> + +<p>Lena was a good soul, that is certain, and measurably instructive. We +learned from her how priceless is the gift of good nature, which was the +chief thing that kept her with us; also, to eat a number of dishes quite +new to us, and that an apple-tree—or perhaps it was an apple, baked or +in dumpling—was, in her speech, an "ominy poo." She was not strong on +desserts, but she could always fall back on the ominy poo—meaning in a +general way the big sweet-apple tree that grew by the barn and was +loaded to the breaking-point with delicious fruit. Any baked apple is +good, but a big, cold, baked sweet-apple—"punkin sweets," Westbury +called them—with cold cream, plenty of it, and a sprinkle of sugar, is +about the most blithesome thing in the world. Hurrah for the ominy poo! +whether it be the tree, or the fruit, baked or in dumplings. When the +strawberry passed and was not, the ominy poo reigned gloriously. I don't +know what Lena called certain other dishes that from time to time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> she +tried to substitute—some other kind of poo, maybe—I know we gradually +persuaded her away from them into a better way of life.</p> + +<p>Sometimes we joined our picnics with the Westburys'—loaded our baskets +into a little hand-express wagon, or into the surrey behind Lord +Beaconsfield—and these were quite elaborate affairs that required a +good deal of preparation and meant a general holiday. More than once we +spread long tables on the green of Westbury's shaded lawn that sloped +down to the river and the mill, and was a picture-place, if ever there +was one. Other days we went over the hills for huckleberries—and came +home with pails of the best fruit that grows for pies, bar none. Happy +days—days of peace—a true golden age, as it seems now. Will the world, +I wonder, ever be so happy and golden again?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>We had no intention of embarking in chickens when we settled in Brook +Ridge. Neither of us had any love for chickens on foot, and we had no +illusions about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> fortunes that, according to certain books, could be +made from a setting of eggs and a tin hen—an incubator, I mean. Also, +our experiment with pigs had cooled us in the matter of live stock for +profit.</p> + +<p>Still, we did love chickens in their proper place—that is to say, with +dumplings or dressing and some of the nice jellies and things which +Elizabeth had made during those autumn months of our arrival. It seemed +extravagant to have them often; chickens had become chickens since our +long-ago early acquaintance with them, when "two bits" had been a fancy +price for broilers and old hens. Elizabeth finally conceded that perhaps +a few chickens—a very few, kept in a neat inclosure away from the +garden—might be desirable. It would be so handy to have one when we +wanted it. She even hinted that the sound of a satisfied and reflective +hen singing about the barn would add a rural note to our pastoral +harmony. Then, of course, there would be the eggs.</p> + +<p>Fate produced a man, just at that moment, who had chickens to sell. He +had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> been called away, and would let his flock go cheap—he had about a +dozen, he thought, assorted as to age and condition. We could have them +for fifty cents each. It seemed an opportunity. William Deegan was +instructed to prepare the neat inclosure, which he did with enthusiasm, +William being enamoured of anything that was alive.</p> + +<p>The man who had been called away had made a poor count of his flock. He +arrived with nearly twice as many as he said, but we were in the mood by +that time, and took over the bunch. They were not a very inspiring lot. +They were of no special breed, but just chickens—a long-legged, +roostery set, with a mixture of frazzled hens of years and experience. +We said, however, that food and care would improve them. Remember what +it had done for Mis' Cow.</p> + +<p>"Ye'll be after eatin' thim roosters, prisently," William commented, as +we looked at them through the inclosing wire, "before they be gettin' +much older. Ye'll be wantin' eggs from the hins."</p> + +<p>William's remark seemed wise. We were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> wanting the eggs, all right, and +those ten or twelve speedy-looking roosters ought to go to the platter +without much delay. We would feed liberally and begin on the best ones, +forthwith.</p> + +<p>Still, we did not have chicken that day, nor the next. There is nothing +so perverse as the human appetite. Those were not really bad chickens, +and in a few days they were much better. If any one of those middle-aged +roosters had been brought to us by the butcher we would have paid the +usual dollar for it, and, baked and browned and served with fixings, it +would have gone well enough, even though a trifle muscular and somewhat +resilient.</p> + +<p>But somehow this was a different proposition. I don't believe I can +explain just why. There was something about the aggregation as a whole +that was discouraging. I suspect William's remark that they must be +eaten "prisently" had something to do with it. Eating those chickens was +not to be an entertainment, a pastime, but a job—a job that increased, +for the "old hins" did not lay, or very sparingly—an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> egg a day being +about the average. William brought it in solemnly. We had got to devour +that entire flock of chickens, and the thought became daily less +attractive. Even our tribe of precious ones, who had always been +chicken-hungry before, suddenly became indifferent to the idea of +chicken fried, baked, or in fricassee. I said, at last, we would have to +have a series of picnics. Anything would taste good at a picnic.</p> + +<p>I don't remember how many we used up in that way, but I know the +business of getting rid of those chickens seemed interminable. We tried +working them off on William and Lena, but even <i>they</i> balked before the +end was reached. I have heard it stated that no one can eat thirty +quails in thirty days. I don't know about that, but I know that when we +tried to put over a dozen chickens on Lena and William in six weeks it +was a failure. At last we were reduced to one old hen, who by general +consent was made immune. Also free. The garden was too far advanced for +her to damage it. The door of the neat wire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> inclosure was left open for +her to go and come at will. There was danger of foxes at night, but we +did not shut it. The foxes, however, did not come. Even foxes have to +draw the line somewhere. That venerable old lady wandered about the +place, pecking and contentedly singing, and in that part we really +became fond of her. I think she died at last of old age.</p> + +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3><i>I planted some canterbury-bells</i></h3> + +<p>I believe our agriculture may be said to have been successful. William +was a faithful gardener. His corn, beans, pease, and potatoes were +abundant, and all the other good things, whether to eat boiled, raw, or +roasted. Our table was almost embarrassed by these riches, which perhaps +helped us to weaken on the chicken idea.</p> + +<p>I think our favorite staple was corn—green sweet corn, carried directly +from the patch to the pot, and from the pot to the table. If you have +not eaten it under these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> conditions you have never really known what +green corn should be like. The flavor of corn begins to go the moment it +is pulled from the stalk, also the moment it leaves the pot. Cooked +instanter, buttered, with salt and pepper, eaten the moment it does not +blister your mouth, it is the pride of the garden. Cooked the next day +and eaten when it has become cool and flabby, it becomes a reproach. It +is different with beans. Beans keep, and, hot or cold or warmed over, +they are never to be despised. The heaping platters of corn and the +bowls of beans that our family could destroy after a morning of hearty +exercise were rather staggering. Then presently the cantaloups +came—fragrant, juicy ones, and all the salads, and—oh, well, never +mind the list—I have heard of living like a lord, but I can't imagine +any lord ever living as near to the sap and savor of life's luxuries as +we did.</p> + +<p>I must not overlook our rye. By June it was a cloth of gold, and of such +elevation that I could barely see over it. There is something stately +and wonderful about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> standing rye, when one is close enough to see the +individual stalks. They are so tall and slim that you cannot understand +why the lightest wind does not lay them flat. Yet all day long they sway +and ripple and billow in the summer wind, and unless the heavy, driving +storm comes the ranks remain unbroken to the last and face the sickle in +golden dress parade.</p> + +<p>Westbury came with a force of men one blazing morning, and the sound of +the cutting-machine was a music that carried me back to days when I had +followed the reaper in the Mississippi Valley, from the first ray of +sunrise to the last ray of sunset, eaten five times a day, drunk water +out of a jug under the shock, and once picked up a bundle with a snake +in it and jumped fourteen feet, more or less, straight up in the air. It +was not that I was afraid, you understand, but just surprised. Snakes +nearly always surprise me. I remember once when I was a little boy, on +the way to visit a friend about my size, I took a short cut across a +little clearing, and was hopping and singing along when I hopped onto +something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> firm that moved twistingly under my bare foot. I did not jump +or run that time; I merely opened out my wings and flew. Corn-rows, +brush-piles, fences, were as nothing. I sailed over them like a gnat +till I reached the big main road. I was not interested in short cuts, +after that, and I didn't cross that field again for years. I was not +afraid, but I did not wish to be surprised again. I recall another +time—</p> + +<p>But this is not a snake story. I told Westbury that I could bind as well +as ever, and would give them an exhibition of a few rounds. But it was +impressively hot and at about the third bundle I remembered an important +memorandum I wanted to make, and excused myself. It was quite pleasant +in my study, and I kept on making memorandums until by and by Westbury +sent the Hope to tell me that they'd like me to come out and give the +rest of the exhibition. It was not very considerate of Westbury when I +was busy that way, and I ignored his suggestion.</p> + +<p>We did not go in for selling seed rye, as I had once contemplated, but I +think we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> might have done so if there had been a demand. Westbury and +the men put it into the barn, and later flailed it out on the barn +floor, after the manner of Abraham and Boaz and Bildad the Shuhite, +beating the flails in time and singing a song that Bildad himself +composed. Who would have a dusty, roaring thrashing-machine when one can +listen to the beating flails and be back with Boaz and Bildad in the +days when the world was new?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Just a word more of our vegetable experiments. For one thing, our +asparagus-bed thrived. Those hot mornings I put in paid the biggest +return of any early-morning investment I ever made. Each year it came +better and better—in May and June we could not keep up with it and +shared it with our neighbors. The farm-dweller who does not plant an +asparagus-bed as quickly as he can get the ground ready, and the plants +for it, makes a grave mistake.</p> + +<p>Perhaps I ought to record here that our sweet-potatoes were a success. +We were told that they would not grow in New<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> England, but they grew for +us and were sweet and plentiful.</p> + +<p>The waning of the year in a garden is almost the best of it, I think. +Spring with its thrill of promise, summer with its fulfilment—meager or +abundant, according to the season—are over. Then comes September and +October, the season of cool, even brisk, mornings and mellow afternoons. +It is remnant-day in the garden, the time to take a basket and go +bargain-hunting on the "as is" counter. Where the carrots have been +gathered there are always a few to be found, if one looks carefully, and +in the melon-patch there is sure to be one or two that still hold the +bouquet of summer, with something added that has come with the first +spicy mornings of fall. Also, if one is lucky, he will find along the +yellowing rows a few ears of corn, tender enough and sweet enough for +the table, with not quite the flavor of July, perhaps, but with +something that appeals as much to the imagination, that belongs with the +spectral sunlight, the fading stalks and vines, and carries the memory +back to that first day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> of April planting. To bring in a basket, however +scanty, of those odds and ends and range them side by side on the +kitchen table affords a gratification that is not entirely material, I +believe, for there is a sort of pensive sadness in it that I have been +told is related to poetry.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I have said little of our flowers, but they were a large part—sometimes +I think the largest part—of our happiness. Going back through the +summers now, I cannot quite separate those of that first year from those +of the summers that followed. It does not matter; sooner or later we had +all the old-fashioned things: hollyhocks in clusters and corners, and on +the high ground in a long row against the sky; poppies and +bleeding-heart, columbine and foxglove, bunches of crimson bee-balm and +rows of tall delphinium in marvelous shades of blue. And we had banks of +calliopsis and sunflowers—the small sunflowers of Kansas, that bloom a +hundred or more to a stalk—and tall phlox whose fragrance carries one +back to some far, forgotten childhood. Then there were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> the roses—the +tea-roses that one must be careful of in winter and the hardy +climbers—the Dorothy Perkins and ramblers clambering over the walls. As +I look back now through the summers I seem to see a tangle of color +stretching across the years. It is our garden—our flowers—always a +riot of disorder, always a care and a trial, always beloved and +glorious.</p> + +<p>One year I planted some canterbury-bells—the blue and the white. They +are biennials, and bloom the second year. The blue ones came +wonderfully, but the white ones apparently failed. I did not plant them +again, for I went in mainly for perennials that, once established, come +year after year. I tried myosotis, too, but that also disappeared after +the second year. Our garden, such as it was, was a hardy garden, where +only the fittest survived.</p> + +<p>There was an accompaniment to our garden. It was the brook. Nearly +always, as I dug and planted, I could hear its voice. Sometimes it rose +strong and insistent—in spring, when rains were plenty; sometimes in +August when the sky for weeks had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> been hard and dry, it sank to a low +murmur, but it was seldom silent. All the year through its voice was a +lilting undertone, and the seasons ran away to the thread of its silver +song.</p> + +<p>After all, a garden in any season is whatever it seems to its owner. To +one who plans and plants it, tends and loves it, any garden is a world +in little, a small realm of sentient personalities, of quaint and lovely +associations, of anxious strivings and concerns, of battles, of +triumphs, and of defeats. To one who makes a garden under compulsion it +is merely an inclosure of dirt and persistent weeds, a place of sun and +sweat and some more or less perverse and reluctant vegetables that would +be much more pleasantly obtained from the market-wagon. There is no +personality in it to him, nor any poetry. I know this, because I was +once that kind of a gardener myself. It was when I was a boy and had to +hoe one every Saturday forenoon, when there were a number of other +things I wanted to do. It was almost impossible to study lovingly the +miracle of the garden when duty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> was calling me to play short-stop on +the baseball nine that I knew was assembling on the common, with some +irresponsible one-gallus substitute in my place. Yet even in those days +I loved the fall garden. The hoeing was all done then, the weeds were no +longer my enemies. One could dig around among them and find a belated +melon, and in the mellow sunlight, between faded corn-rows, scoop out +its golden or ruby heart and reflect on many things.</p> + +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3><i>And how the family did grow up!</i></h3> + +<p>As I look back now, that first year on our abandoned farm seems a good +deal like the years that followed it; but it could not have been so, for +when I consider to-day's aspect and circumstance I realize that each of +our twelve years of ownership furnished events that were to us unusual, +some of them, at the time, even startling.</p> + +<p>We must have enjoyed a kind of prosperity, I suppose, for we seem always +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> have been planning or doing something to enlarge the house or +improve its surroundings, and quite a good deal of money can be spent in +that way. I think it was about the second year that for the sake of +light and air we let out three dormer windows on the long roof, and I +remember that in order not to make a mistake in their architecture we +drove thirty miles one morning to see a house like ours which had owned +its windows from the beginning. We loved our old house, you see, and did +not wish to do it an injury. I think it was about the same time that we +pulled off the plaster from the living-room ceiling and left the exposed +beams—old hewn timbers which we tinted down with a dull stain. William +Deegan and I stained those beams together, and our friendship ripened +during that employment. William had been with us about a year at this +period—not steadily, because now and then would come a day when with +sadness and averted eyes he would say, "I think I'll be goin' now, for a +little while," after which the effacement of William for perhaps a week, +followed by his return<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> some morning, pale, delapidated, as on the +morning of his first arrival.</p> + +<p>In the beginning I had argued, even remonstrated, but without effect. +William only said, humbly: "It comes over me to be goin', and I have to +do it. I'll be dacent ag'in, whin I get back."</p> + +<p>During one such period of absence there came a telephone call from the +sheriff of the nearest town of size.</p> + +<p>"Do you know a man named William Deegan?"</p> + +<p>"We do."</p> + +<p>"He is in the calaboose here. His fine and costs amount to five dollars. +Do you want to redeem him?"</p> + +<p>"We do."</p> + +<p>Clearly William's vacation had been unusual, even for him. We sent up +the money and William was home that night, more crushed, more pale, more +dilapidated than ever. He had worn a new suit away. He returned with a +mere rag. We thought this might cure him, but nothing could do that. We +could redeem William, but he could not redeem himself. These occasional<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +lapses were the only drawback of that faithful, industrious soul, and we +let them go. We had been unable to forgive them in the light-headed, +literary Gibbs.</p> + +<p>But William here is a digression; I was speaking of our improvements. We +decided one year that we must have more flowers—a real garden. We made +it on the side of the house where before had been open field—walled in +a space where there was an apple-tree, a place large enough to assemble +all the things we loved most and that grew with an economy of care. In a +little while it was a glorious tangle that we admired exceedingly, and +that our artist friends tried to paint.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 224px;"> +<img src="images/ill_043.jpg" width="224" height="250" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Another year we converted my study behind the chimney into a pantry, +opened it into the kitchen, made the "best room" into a dining-room, and +left the long living-room with the big fireplace for library use only. +That was a radical change and I had to build me a study over on a cedar +slope—a good deal of a house, in fact, where I could gather my traps +about me, for with the years my work had somehow invited a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +paraphernalia of shelves and files, and a variety of other furniture +that required room. It was better for a growing-up family, too. With me +out of the house, they had more freedom to grow up in, which, after all, +was their human right, and the growing-up machinery could revolve as +noisily as it pleased without furnishing a procrastinating author an +added excuse for not working. No author with a growing-up family should +work in his own home. He is impossible enough under even the best +conditions.</p> + +<p>And how the family did grow up. Why, once when they were home from +school I came from the study one day to find a young man in the house—a +strange young man, from somewhere in the school neighborhood. I couldn't +imagine what he was doing there until I was taken aside and it was +explained to me that he was there to see our eldest, the Pride. That +little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> girl, imagine! It is true she was eighteen—I counted, up on my +fingers to see—but the Pride! why, only yesterday she was bare-footed, +wading in the brook. Somehow I couldn't make it seem right.</p> + +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3><i>And then one eventful day</i></h3> + +<p>I suppose it was about that time that we acquired a car—it would be +likely to be about that time. 'Most everybody was getting cars, and Lord +Beaconsfield, good Old Beek, was getting slower each year and could no +longer keep up even with our deliberate progress. Furthermore, I learned +to drive the car, in time. It is true I knocked some splinters from the +barn, put a crimp in a mud-guard, and smashed another man's tail-light +in the process, but nothing fatal occurred, though I found it a pretty +good plan to stick fairly close to my new study on the cedar slope if I +wanted to keep up with the garage and damage bills. Those bills startled +me, at first, and then,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> like everybody else, I became callous and +reckless, and we did without a good many other things in order that the +car might not go unshod or climb limpingly the stiff New England hills.</p> + +<p>And then at last, one eventful day—a day far back in that happy, +halcyon age when ships sailed as freely across the ocean as ferry-boats +across the North River and men roved at will among the nations of the +earth—one sunny August morning, eight years after the day of our +coming, we locked the old house behind us and drove away in the car to a +New York pier and sailed with it (the car, I mean, not the pier) to the +Mediterranean, and the shores of France. In that fair land, while the +world was still at peace, we wandered for more than a year, resting +where we chose, as long as we chose, all the more unhurried and happy +for not knowing that we were seeing the end of the Golden Age. Oh, those +lovely days when we went gipsying along the roads of Provence and +Picardy and Touraine! I cannot write of them now, for in to-day's shock +of battle they have already become unreal and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> dreamlike. I touch them +and the bloom vanishes. But sometimes when I do not try to write, and +only lean back and close my eyes, I can catch again a little of their +breath and sweetness; I can see the purpling vineyards and the poppied +fields; I can drift once more with Elizabeth and our girls through the +wonderland of France.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="ILLO_P238" id="ILLO_P238"></a> +<img src="images/ill_044.jpg" width="400" height="397" alt="It was on a winter evening that I drove our car back to +its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by land and sea" title="" /> +<span class="caption">It was on a winter evening that I drove our car back to +its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by land and sea</span> +</div> + +<p>War came and brought the ruin of the world. It was late in the year when +we returned to America, and it was on a winter evening that I drove our +car back to its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by +land and sea. Our old house had remained faithful. A fire roaring up the +chimney made it home.</p> + +<p>We went to Westbury's, however, for the holidays. Westbury with the +years had become a prosperous contractor, for Brook Ridge was no longer +an abandoned land, but a place of new and beautiful homes. Westbury's +prosperity, however, had not made him proud—not too proud to offer us +old-time Christmas hospitality at his glowing fireside.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<h2>V</h2> + +<h3><i>Was it the spirit of our garden?</i></h3> + +<p>Summer found us back in the old house, almost as if we had not left it. +Almost, but not quite. Somehow the world had changed. Perhaps it was +just the war—perhaps it was because we were all older—our girls +beginning to have lives of their own—because the family unit was +getting ready to dissolve.</p> + +<p>The dissolving began at last one sunny June day when the Pride left us. +It was the young man whom I had noticed around the house a year or two +before who took her away. She seemed to prefer to go with him than to +stay with us, I could not exactly make out why, but I did not think it +best, or safe, to argue the question, and I drove them to the train +afterward.</p> + +<p>Then the Hope and the Joy got the notion of spending their summers in +one of those camps that are so much the fashion now, and at last there +came a day that the Hope, who such a little while ago was running +care-free<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> and happy-hearted in the sun, bade us good-by and sailed +away—sailed back across the ocean to France, an enlisted soldier, to do +her part where the world's bravest were battling for the world's +freedom.</p> + +<p>For us, indeed, the world had changed; we had little need any more for +the old house that on a July day twelve years before we had found and +made our home. It had seen our brief generation pass; it was ready for +the next. And when, one day, there came a young man and his bride, just +starting on the way we had come, and seeing the beauty of the spot, just +as we had seen it, wanted to own and enjoy it, just as we had owned and +enjoyed it, we yielded it to them gladly, even if sorrowfully, for one +must give up everything, some time or other, and it is an economy of +regret to give to the right person, at the right time.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_045.jpg" width="300" height="236" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>And now just here I want to record a curious thing. Earlier in these +pages I have spoken of planting one year some white canterbury-bells +that did not grow, or at least, so far as we could discover, did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +bloom. In six seasons we never saw any sign of them, yet on the day we +were leaving our house, closing it for the last time, I found on the +spot where they had been planted, in full bloom, a stalk of white +canterbury-bells! Had the seed germinated after all those years? Was it +the spirit of our garden, sprung up there to tell us good-by? Who can +answer?</p> + +<p>Our abandoned farm is no longer ours. We, too, have abandoned it. Only +the years that we spent there remain to us—a tender and beautiful +memory. Whatever there was of shadow or misfortune has long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> since +passed, by. I see now all our summers there bathed in mellow sunlight, +all the autumns aglow with red and gold, all the winters clean with +sparkling snow, all the springs green with breaking buds and white with +bloom. If those seasons were not flawless at the time, they have become +so, now when they are added to the past.</p> + +<p>And I know that they were indeed happy, for they make my heart ache +remembering, and it is happiness, and not misery, that makes the heart +ache—when it is gone.</p> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWELLERS IN ARCADY ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..01dc039 --- /dev/null +++ b/28027-h/images/ill_045.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7d70455 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #28027 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28027) diff --git a/old/28027-8.txt b/old/28027-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c21cde --- /dev/null +++ b/old/28027-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4839 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dwellers in Arcady, by Albert Bigelow +Paine, Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty + + +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: Dwellers in Arcady + The Story of an Abandoned Farm + + +Author: Albert Bigelow Paine + + + +Release Date: February 8, 2009 [eBook #28027] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWELLERS IN ARCADY*** + + +E-text prepared by Annie McGuire + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 28027-h.htm or 28027-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/0/2/28027/28027-h/28027-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/0/2/28027/28027-h.zip) + + + + + +DWELLERS IN ARCADY + + * * * * * + +_Books by_ + +ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + +_For Young Readers_ + + THE BOYS' LIFE OF MARK TWAIN + HOLLOW TREE NIGHTS AND DAYS + THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP-WOODS BOOK + THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK + +_Small books of several stories each, selected from the above Hollow + Tree books:_ + + HOW MR. DOG GOT EVEN + HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL + MR. RABBIT'S BIG DINNER + MAKING UP WITH MR. DOG + MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT BALLOON TRIP + WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY + MR. RABBIT'S WEDDING + MR. CROW AND THE WHITEWASH + MR. TURTLE'S FLYING ADVENTURE + +_For Grown-ups_ + + DWELLERS IN ARCADY + MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS + MARK TWAIN: A BIOGRAPHY + TH. NAST: HIS PERIOD AND HIS PICTURES + THE SHIP-DWELLERS (Humorous travel) + THE TENT-DWELLERS (Humorous camping) + FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER (Humorous, home life) + PEANUT (Story of a boy) + +HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _Once more it was a habitation and a home_] + +[Illustration] + +DWELLERS IN ARCADY + +The Story of an Abandoned Farm + +by + +Albert Bigelow Paine + +_Author of_ "From Van-Dweller to Commuter" +"The Ship-Dwellers" "The Tent Dwellers" +Etc. + +With Illustrations by Thomas Fogarty + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + +Harper & Brothers Publishers +New York and London + +Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers +Printed in the United States of America +Published March, 1919 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + _Once more it was a habitation and a home_ _Frontispiece_ + + _"And here is your house," said William C. + Westbury_ 6 + + _They formed a board of appraisal. All of them + knew that cellar and were intimately acquainted + with its contents_ 44 + + _I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a + second later had it hooked and was back, + the lightning at my heels_ 68 + + _Sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by + the waning embers, and watched her moving + to and fro between me and the fading + autumn fields_ 110 + + _"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us + where we are?"_ 156 + + _I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic + summer, and, on the whole, a + successful one_ 206 + + _It was on a winter evening that I drove our + car back to its old place in the barn, after + its long journeyings by land and sea_ 238 + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + + +I + +_All my life I had dreamed of owning a brook_ + +[Illustration] + +Just below the brow of the hill one of the traces broke (it was in the +horse-and-wagon days of a dozen years or so ago), and, if our driver had +not been a prompt man our adventure might have come to grief when it was +scarcely begun. As it was, we climbed on foot to the top, and waited +while he went into a poor old wreck of a house to borrow a string for +repairs. + +We wondered if the house we were going to see would be like this one. It +was of no special design and it had never had a period. It was just a +house, built out of some one's urgent need and a lean purse. In the +fifty years or so of its existence it had warped and lurched and become +sway-backed and old--oh, so old and dilapidated--without becoming in the +least antique, but just dismal and disreputable--a veritable pariah of +architecture. We thought this too bad, for the situation, with its view +down a little valley and in the distance the hazy hills, was the sort of +thing that, common as it is in Connecticut, never loses its charm. Never +mind, we said, perhaps "our house" would have a view, too. + +But then our trace was mended and we went along--happily, for it was +sunny weather and summer-time, and, though parents of a family of three, +we were still young enough to find pleasure in novelty and a surprise at +every turn. Our driver was not a communicative spirit, but we drew from +him that a good many houses were empty in this part--"people dead or +gone away, and city folks not begun to come yet"--he didn't know why, +for it was handy enough to town--sixty miles by train--and a +nice-enough country, and healthy--just overlooked, he guessed. + +We agreed readily with this view; we were passing, just then, along a +deep gorge that had a romantic, even dangerous, aspect; we descended to +a pretty valley by a road so crooked that twice it nearly crossed +itself; we followed up a clear, foaming little river to a place where +there was a mill and a waterfall, also an old-fashioned white house +surrounded by trees. Just there we crossed a bridge and our driver +pulled up. + +"The man you came to see lives here," he said. "The house is ahead, up +the next hill." + +"The man" must have seen us coming, for the door opened and he came +through the trees, a youngish, capable-looking person who said he was +the same to whom we had written--that is to say, Westbury--William C. +Westbury, of Brook Ridge, Fairfield County. + +Had we suspected then how large a part of our daily economies William C. +Westbury was soon to become we should have given him a closer +inspection. However, he did not devote himself to us. He appeared to be +on terms of old acquaintance with our driver, climbed into the front +seat beside him, and lost himself in news from the outlying districts. +The telephone had not then reached the countryside, and our driver +brought the latest bulletins. The death of a horse in Little Boston, the +burning of a barn in Sanfordtown, the elopement of an otherwise +estimable lady with a peddler, marked the beginning of our intimacy with +the affairs of Brook Ridge. + +The hill was steep, and in the open field at one side a little cascade +leaped and glistened as it went racing to the river below. + +"That's the brook that runs through your farm," Mr. Westbury said, quite +casually, in the midst of his interchanges with the driver. + +"Our farm!" I felt a distinct thrill. And a brook on it! All my life I +had dreamed of owning a brook. + +"Any trout in it?" I ventured, trying to be calm. + +"Best trout-brook in the township. Ain't it, Ed?"--to the driver. + +"Has that name," Ed assented, nodding. "I never fish, myself, but I've +seen some good ones they said come out of it." + +[Illustration] + +We were up the hill by this time, and Mr. Westbury waved his hand to a +sloping meadow at the left. + +"That's one of the fields. Over there on the right is some of your +timber, and up the hill yonder is the rest of it. Thirty-one acres, more +or less. The brook runs through all of it--crosses the road yonder where +you see that bridge." + +I could feel my pulse getting quicker. There was no widely extended +view, but there was a snug coziness about these neighborly meadows and +wooded slopes, with the brook winding between; this friendly road with +its ancient stone walls, all but concealed now by a mass of ferns or +brake on one side, and on the other by a tangle of tall grass, +goldenrod, purple-plumed Joe Pye weed, wild grape with big mellowing +clusters, wild clematis in full bloom. New England in summer-time! What +other land is like it? Our brook, our farm, here in the land of our +fathers! There were a warmth, a glow, a poetry in the thought that +cannot be put down in words--something to us new and wonderful, yet as +old as human wandering and return. + +But then all at once we were pulling up abreast of two massive +maple-trees and some stone steps. + +[Illustration: _"And here is your house," said William C. Westbury_] + +"And here is your house," said William C. Westbury. + + +II + +_Ghosts like good architecture_ + +I believe I cannot quite give to-day my first impression of the house. +In the years that have followed it has blended into so many other +impressions that I could never be sure I was getting the right one. I +had better confine myself to its physical appearance and what was +perhaps a reflex impression--say, number two. + +One glance was enough to show that it was all that the other old house +was not. It did not sag, or lurch, or do any of those disreputable +things. It stood up as straight and was as firm on its foundations as on +the day when its last hand-wrought nail had been driven home, a century +or so before. No mistaking its period or architecture--it was the +long-roofed salt-box type, the first Connecticut habitation that +followed the pioneer cabin; its vast central chimney had held it +unshaken during the long generations of sun and storm. + +Not that it was intact--oh, by no means. Its wide weather-boards were +broken and falling; the red paint they had once known had become a mere +memory, its shingles were moss-grown and curling, the grass was uncut. +The weeds about the entrances and rotting well-curb grew tall and dank; +the appearance of things in general was far from gay. Clouds had +overcast the sky, and on that dull afternoon a sort of still deadliness +hung about the premises. No cheap, common house can be a haunted house. +Ghosts like good architecture, especially when it has become pretty +antique, and they have a passion for neglected door-yards. The place +lacked nothing that I could see to make it attractive to even the most +fastidious wandering wraith. As I say, I think this was not my first +impression, but certainly it was about the next one, and I could see by +her face that it was Elizabeth's. + +"Place wants trimming up," said Mr. Westbury, producing a big brass key, +"and the house needs some work on it, but the frame is as sound as ever +it was. Been standing there going on two hundred years--hewn oak and +hard as iron. We'll go inside." + +We climbed down rather silently. I felt a tendency to step softly, for +fear of waking something. The big key fitted the back door, and we +followed Mr. Westbury. He told us, as we entered, that the place +belonged to his wife and her sister--that they had been born there; +also, their father, their grandmother, and their great-grandfather, +which was as far back as they knew, though the house had always been in +the family. Through a little hallway we entered a square room of +considerable size. It had doors opening into two smaller rooms, and to +one much larger--long and low, so low that, being a tall person, my hair +brushed the plaster. Just in the corner where we entered there was an +astonishingly big fireplace to which Mr. Westbury waved a sort of +salute. + +"There is a real antique for you," he said. + +There was no question as to that. The opening, which included a Dutch +oven, was fully seven feet wide, and the chimney-breast no less than +ten. The long, narrow mantel-shelf was scarcely a foot below the +ceiling. It took our breath a little--it was so much better than +anything we had hoped for. We forgot that this was a haunted house. It +had become all at once a sort of a dream house in which mentally we +began placing all the ancient furnishings we had been gathering since +our far-off van-dwelling days. There was a big hole in the plaster, but +it was a small matter. We hardly saw it. What we saw was the long, low +room, with its wide wainscoting and quaint double windows, and ranged +about its walls--restored and tinted down to match--our low bookshelves; +on the old oak floor were our mellow rugs, and here and there tables and +desk and couches, with deep easy-chairs gathered about a wide open fire +of logs. Oh, there is nothing more precious in this world than the dream +of a possibility like that, when one is still young enough, and strong +enough to make it come true! + +"This was the kitchen in the old days," Mr. Westbury said. "They cooked +over the fire and baked in that oven. Old Uncle Phineas Todd, over at +Lonetown, who is ninety years old, and remembers when his mother cooked +that way, says that nothing has ever tasted so good since as the meat +and bread that came out of those ovens. The meat was rich with juice +and the bread had a crust on it an inch thick. That would be +seventy-five years ago, and it's about that long, I guess, since this +one was used." Mr. Westbury opened a door to another square room of +considerable size. "This was their best room," he said. "They opened the +front door only for funerals and weddings. I was married over there in +that corner twelve years ago. That was the last wedding. My wife's +father lived here till last year. That was the last funeral. He was +eighty-five when he died. People get to be old folks up here." + +There was a smaller fireplace in this room, and another in a little room +behind the chimney, and still another in the first we had entered--four +in all--one on each side of the great stone chimney-base. For the most +part the walls seemed in good condition--the plaster having been made +from oyster shells, Westbury said, hauled fifteen miles from Long Island +Sound. + +We returned to the long, low room and climbed the stair to a sort of +half-room--unfinished, the roof sloping to the eaves. Westbury called it +the kitchen-chamber, and it led to bedrooms--a large one and three +small ones. Also, to a tiny one which in our dream we promptly converted +into a bath-room. Then we climbed still another stair--a tortuous, +stumbling ascent--to the attic. + +We had expected it to be an empty place, of dust, cobwebs, and darkness. +It was dusty enough and none too light, but it was far from empty. Four +spinning-wheels of varying sizes were in plain view between us and the +front window. A dozen or more of black, straight-backed chairs of the +best and oldest pattern were mingled with a mass of other ancient +relics--bandboxes, bird-cages, queer-shaped pots and utensils, +trenchers, heaps of old periodicals, boxes of trinkets, wooden chests of +mystery--a New England garret collection such as we had read of, but +never seen, the accumulation of a century and a half of time and change. +We looked at it greedily, for we had long ago acquired a hunger for such +drift as that, left by the human tide. I said in a dead, hopeless tone: + +"I suppose it will all be taken away when the place is sold." + +William C. Westbury sighed. "Oh yes, we'll clear out whatever you don't +care for," he said, gloomily, "but it all goes with the house, if +anybody wants it." + +I gasped. "The--the spinning-wheels and the--the chairs?" + +"Everything--just as it is. We've got an attic full of such truck down +the hill now--from _my_ family. I've hauled around about all that old +stuff I ever want to." + +Our dream began to acquire extensive additions. We saw ourselves on +rainy days pulling over that treasure-house, making priceless +discoveries. Reluctantly we descended to the door-yard, taking another +glance at the rooms as we went down. We whispered to each other that the +place certainly had great possibilities, but it was mainly the attic we +were thinking of. + +We went outside. Somehow the door-yard seemed a good deal brighter, and +we agreed that an hour or two's brisk exercise with a scythe would work +wonders. We walked down to the brook, and Mr. Westbury pulled back the +willows from the swift water, and something darted away--trout, he +said, and if he had declared them to weigh a pound apiece we should have +accepted his appraisal, for we were still under the spell of that magic +collection up there under the roof and his statement that everything +went with the house. + +The price for the thirty-one acres--"more or less," as the New England +deeds phrase it, for there are no exact boundaries or measurements among +those hoary hills--with the house, which for the moment seemed to us +mainly composed of attic and contents, though we still remembered the +long, low room and spacious fireplaces; a barn--I was near forgetting +the barn, though it was larger than the house, and as old and solid; the +trout-brook; the woods; the meadow; the orchard--all complete was (ah, +me! I fear those days are gone!) a thousand dollars, and I cannot to +this day understand how we ever got away without closing the trade. I +suppose we wanted to talk about it awhile, and bargain, for the years +had brought us more prudence than money. In the end we agreed on nine +hundred, and went up one day to "pass papers"--which we did after +taking another look at the attic, to make certain that it was not just a +dream, after all. I remember the transaction quite clearly, for it +rained that day, world without end, and Elizabeth and I, caught in a +sudden shower, made for a great tree and had shelter under it while the +elements raged about us. How young we must have been to make it all seem +so novel and delightful! I recall that we discussed our attic and what +we would do with the fireplace room, as we stood there getting wet to +the skin. We had found accommodations at a neighbor's, and we decided to +remain a few days and make some plans. We were so engrossed that we +hardly knew when the rain was over. + +[Illustration] + +It was about sunset when I walked up alone for a casual look at our new +possession. It was still and deserted up there, and as the light faded +into dusk, the ancient overgrown place certainly had an air about it +that was not quite canny. I decided that I would not remain any longer, +and was about to go when I noticed an old, white-haired man standing a +few feet away. I had heard no step, and his pale, grave face was not +especially reassuring. I began to feel goose-flesh. + +"G-good evening," I said. + +He nodded and advanced a step. I noticed that he limped, and I had been +told that my predecessor who had passed away the year before at +eighty-five had walked in that way. + +"Don't pay too much for this place," he said, in a hollow, solemn voice. +"Don't pay too much. It was 'prised in the settlement at nine hundred, +and it tain't wuth any more." + +"I--I've already bought it," I said, weakly. + +"Yeh didn't pay more 'n nine hundred, did yeh?" he questioned, +anxiously. + +"No, I didn't pay more than that." + +"I'm glad," he said, "for it wasn't 'prised any more. I like to see +things in this world done fair. When yeh git moved I'll come to see yeh +again. Good night." + +He limped through the long grass and disappeared over the hill. On the +way down I stopped at the Westbury home and reported my visitor. Mrs. +Westbury, a handsome, spirited woman, laughed. + +"That was old Nat, who lives just back of you. He's a good old body, but +queer." + +"I'm glad he's a body," I said. "I wasn t sure." + + +III + +_Our debt to William C. Westbury_ + +Before going deeper into this history I think I ought definitely to +introduce William C. Westbury, who sold us the place. How few and +lagging would have been our accomplishments without Westbury; how +trifling seems our repayment as I review the years. Not only did he sell +us the house, but he made its habitation possible; you will understand +this as the pages pass. + +Westbury was a native of natives. By a collateral branch he, like his +wife, had descended from our original owners, the ancient and honorable +Meeker stock, who had acquired from the Crown a grant of one of the long +lots (so called because, although of limited width, they had each a +shore front on Long Island Sound) a fifteen-mile stretch of wood and +hill and running water. His own homestead at the foot of the hill--the +old-fashioned white house already mentioned--had been built a generation +or two after ours, when with prosperity, or at least the means of easier +accomplishment, the younger stock had gone in for a more pretentious +setting. + +Whatever there was to know about Brook Ridge, Westbury knew--an all-wide +Providence could scarcely know more. He knew every family, its history +and inter-relationships. His favorite diversion was to take up and +pursue some genealogical thread, to follow its mazy meanderings down the +generations, dropping in curious bits of unwritten history--some of it +spicy enough, some of it boisterously funny, some of it somber and +gruesome, but all of it alive with the very color and savor of the land +that was a part of himself, his inheritance from the generations of +sturdy pioneers. Possibly Westbury's history was not always authentic, +but if at times he drew on his imagination he tapped a noble source, for +his narrative flowed clear, limpid, refreshing, and inexhaustible. When +the days grew cooler and a fire was going in the big chimney, Westbury +would drop in and, pulling up a big chair, would take out his knife and, +selecting a soft, straight-grained piece of pine kindling, would whittle +and look into the fire while he unwound the skein that threaded through +the years from Azariah Meeker, or Ahab Todd, down to the few and +scattering remnants that still flecked the huckleberry hills. + +But I run ahead of my story--it is a habit. It was Westbury's practical +knowledge that first claimed our gratitude. It was complete and +infallible. He knew every horse and horned beast and vehicle in the +township, and had owned most of them, for he was an inveterate trader. +He knew their exact condition and capabilities, and those of their +owners--where we could get just the right man and team to do our fall +plowing; where we could hire a yoke of oxen if needed; where, in the +proper season, we could buy a cow. He introduced me to a man whose +specialty was cutting brush, because he had heavy, stooped shoulders and +preternaturally long, powerful arms--a sort of anthropoid specimen who +wielded a keen one-handed ax that cut a sizable sapling clean through +at one stroke. He produced a carpenter properly qualified for repairs on +an old house, because he had always lived in one and had been repairing +it most of the time since childhood. He found us the right men to clean +our well, to do our painting, to trim and rehabilitate our frowsy +door-yard. He took me in his buggy to see some of these men; the rest he +sent for. If you have ever undertaken a job like ours you have a pretty +good idea of our debt to William C. Westbury. + +And this was not all--oh, by no means! Westbury kept cows, in those +days, and made an almost daily trip with milk to the nearest sizable +town, by virtue of which he became the natural purchasing agent of the +thousand and one things we needed in that day of our beginning, and the +most reliable and efficient I have ever known. Nothing was too small or +too big for Westbury to remember, and I can see him now swing his team +up to the front step and hear him call out, "Hey, there!" as a +preparation to unloading crockery and tinware, dry-goods and notions, +garden tools and food-stuff, his wagon full, his pockets full, without +ever an oversight or a poor selection. If you have ever lived in the +country you know what a thing like that is worth. It was my opinion that +Westbury was a genius, and he has since proved it. + +But I am still going too fast. The family did not immediately come to +Brook Ridge, and perhaps I should say here that the "family," besides +Elizabeth, consisted of three hardy daughters, whom I shall name as the +Pride, the Hope, and the Joy, aged twelve, seven, and two, respectively. +They were boarding at a pleasant farm some twenty miles away, and it was +thought advisable for them to remain there with Elizabeth a week or such +a matter while I came over and stopped with Westbury and his capable +wife, to get things started. + + +IV + +_Those were lovely days_ + +My impression is that our carpenter came first, though the exact +sequence is unimportant. He was not exclusively a carpenter, being also +a farmer during a considerable portion of the year. He would have to +knock off, now and then, he said, to look after his corn and potatoes, +while his assistant, it appeared, served in the double capacity of +helper and hired man. + +But they were a suitable team for the work in hand--reconstruction on an +old house that had been put up mainly with an ax and a trowel, by thumb +measure, having probably never known anything so prosaic as a +spirit-level and a square. We began on the large room--that is to say, +the old kitchen, which was to be the new living-room, and in a very +little while had the prehistoric pantry and sink ripped out and the big +hole patched in the plaster, for our boss carpenter was a gifted man, +qualified for general repairs. + +No, on second thought, we did not rip out quite all the old pantry. +There were some whitewood shelves that had been put there to stay, and +in the century or so of their occupancy appeared to have grown to the +other woodwork. Considering them a little, and the fact that it would +require an ax and perhaps dynamite to dislodge them, I had an +inspiration. Modified a little, they would make excellent bric-à-brac +and book shelves and serve a new and beautiful use through all the +centuries we expected to live there. I feverishly began drawing designs, +and the chief carpenter and I undertook this fine-art and literary +corner at once, so that it might be finished and a surprise for +Elizabeth and the others when they came. It was well that we did so, for +it was no light matter to reduce the width of those shelves. Whitewood +is not hard when fresh, but this had seasoned with the generations until +it was as easy to saw as dried horn--just about--and we took turns at +it, and the sweat got in my eyes, and I would have sent for the ax and +the dynamite if I hadn't passed my word. + +Meantime, the helper, whose name was Henry Jones, was hewing an oaken +cross-beam which supported the ceiling, and which I could not pass under +without violently knocking my head. I am satisfied that the original +builders of that house were short people, or they would have planned +the old kitchen a few inches higher. But then I am always knocking my +head nearly off against something. I have left gleanings from it on the +sharp edges of a thousand swinging signs and on the cruel filigree of as +many low-hung chandeliers. My slightly bald spot, due to severe mental +effort, or something, if examined closely would be found to resemble an +old battlefield in France. But this is digression. As I was saying, +Henry Jones was hewing at the big old cross-beam, trying to raise its +lower sky-line a couple of inches with a foot-adz. I had not supposed +that the job would be especially difficult. I did not realize that the +old white-oak beam in a century and a half had petrified. We were having +a pretty toilsome time with our shelves, but I never saw a man sweat and +carry on like Henry Jones. He had to work straight up, with his head +tipped back, and his neck was rather short, with no proper hinge in it. +Besides, it was August, and pretty still and intense, and then some bees +that had taken up residence between the floors did not like the noise +he made, and occasionally came down to see about it. At such times he +made what was in the nature of a spring for the door, explaining later +that he had been to sharpen his adz. During quieter moments I went over, +at his suggestion, to measure up and see if the beam wasn t high enough. +It was on the afternoon of the second day that I told him that if he +would now trim up and round off the corners a little I thought I might +be able to pass under it without butting my remaining brains out. You +never saw a man so relieved. I think he considered me over-particular +about a small matter. As a reward I set him to elevating the beam across +the top of the door leading to the kitchen--quite an easy job. He only +had to put in a few hours of patient overhead sawing and split out the +chunks with wedges and a maul. + +Observing Henry Jones though fully, I became convinced that the oaken +frame of our house was nearly indestructible. When I found time I +examined its timbers rather carefully. They were massive as to size, +hand hewn, and held together with big wooden pins. No worm had been +indiscreet enough to tackle those timbers. The entire structure was +anchored in the masonry of the huge chimney, and as a whole was about as +solid as the foundations of the world. There were builders in those +days. + +I have mentioned the "ancient mariner" who appeared in the dusk of the +evening to warn me against over-payment for the place--old Nat. It +turned out that he was a farmer, but with artistic leanings in the +direction of whitewash. He appeared one morning in a more substantial +form, and was presently making alabaster of our up-stairs ceilings, for +if ever there was an old master in whitewash it was Nat. Never a streak +or a patchy place, and he knew the secret of somehow making the second +coat gleam like frosting on a wedding-cake. + +Things were happening all about. Old Pop, the brush-cutter, had arrived, +with his deadly one-handed ax, and was busy in the lower brook lot--a +desperate place of briers and brush and poison ivy. He was a savage +worker. The thorns stung him to a pitch of fighting madness, and he +went after them, careless of mishap. Each evening he came up out of that +vicious swamp, bleeding at every pore, his massive shoulders hunched +forward, his super-normal arms hanging until his huge hands nearly swept +the ground. + +[Illustration] + +Pop in action was a fascinating sight. Few things could be finer than to +see him snatch away a barbed-wire entanglement of blackberry-bushes, +clutch a three-inch thorn sapling with his hairy left, and with one +swing of his terrible right cut the taproot through. I had figured that +it would take a month to clear away that mess along the brook, but on +the evening of the fifth day Pop had the last bit of its tangle cut and +piled. Of such stuff were warriors of the olden time. Given armor and a +battle-ax, and nothing could have stood before him. One could imagine +him at Crecy, at Agincourt, at Patay. Joan of Arc would have kept him at +her side. + +Pop had another name, but everybody called him "Old Pop" and he seemed +to prefer it. He was seventy years old and a pensioner. There was a week +when his check came that he did no work, but remained dressed up, and I +fear did not always get the worth of his money. Never mind, he had +earned relaxation. An ancient hickory-tree in the brook meadow had been +broken by a March storm. Old Pop and his son Sam had it cut, split, and +sawed into fireplace lengths in a little while. That is, comparatively. +I think they were two or three days at it, while it had taken nature a +full hundred and sixty years to get the old tree ready for them. I +counted the rings. The figures impressed me. + +It was--let us say--as old as the old house. It had been a straight +young tree of thirty years or so when the Revolutionary began, and it +saw the recruits of Brook Ridge march by to join Putnam, who had a camp +on a neighboring hill. There were Reeds and Meekers and Burrs and Todds +and Sanfords in that little detachment, and their uniforms were not very +uniform, and their knapsacks none too well filled. There was no rich +government behind them to vote billions for defense, no camps that were +cities sprung up in a night, no swift trains to whirl them to their +destination. Where they went they walked, through dust or mud and over +the stony hills. The old tree saw them pass--in its youth and +theirs--and by and by saw them return--fewer in numbers, and foot-sore, +but triumphant. I mentioned it to Pop. He said: + +"Yeah--I was in the Civil War. It wa'n't much fun, but I'm lookin' for +my pension to be increased next year." + +When there was no more brush or chopping I set Pop to laying stone wall +and said I would employ him steadily for a year. But that was a +mistake. Old Pop was a free lance, a knight errant. Anything that +savored of permanency smelled to him of vassalage. He laid a rod of +stone wall--solid wall that will be there for Gabriel to stand on when +he plays his last trump--blows it, I mean--in that neighborhood. But +then he collected, one evening, and vanished, and I did not see him any +more. I never carried the wall any farther. As Pop left it, so it +remains to this day. + +[Illustration] + +My plowman was a young man--a handsome, high-born-looking youth who came +one Sunday evening to arrange terms. He was stylishly dressed, and I +took him for a college lad on vacation. He assured me, however, that his +schooling had been acquired in the neighborhood, that he was a farmer on +his own account, with a team of his own, and that he was accustomed to +plowing rocky land. His name was Luther Merrill, and if I had thought +him handsome in his fine clothes, I considered him really superb when he +arrived next morning in work attire and started his great plow and big +white horses around the furrows. There had been a shower in the night +and the summer foliage was fresh--the leaves shining. Against a gleaming +green background of maple, alder, and wild clematis, Luther Merrill in +shirt and trousers, his collar open, his sleeves turned back, bending to +the plow and calling directions to his sturdy team, was something to +make one's heart leap for joy. I photographed him unobserved. I longed +to paint him. + +My admiration grew as I observed the character of his plowing. A Western +boy wouldn't have stood it five minutes. The soil was at least half +stone, and the stones were not all loose. Every other rod the plow +brought up with a jerk that nearly flung the plowman over the top of it. +Then he had to yank and haul it out, lift it over, and start again. He +did not lose his temper, even when he broke one of his plow points, of +which, it seemed, he had brought a supply, in anticipation. He merely +called something encouraging to his horses and went on. I know about +plowing, and I once plowed a small blackberry-patch that was mostly +roots, and nearly swore my teeth loose in the half a day it took me. But +that had been nothing to this, and this was continual. I decided that +nothing could feaze Luther Merrill. + +Still, he was not absolute proof against bees. I have mentioned the +swarm between the floors of the old house, and in the course of the +morning Luther's plowing took him near the corner where it seems they +had their entrance. It was a bright, hot day and they were quite busy, +but not busy enough to prevent them from giving prompt attention to us +as we came along. + +I was holding one handle of the plow at the moment, pretending to help, +when I noticed a peculiar high-pitched note close to my ear, and a +certain pungent "mad smell" which bees know how to make. Something told +me just then that I had business in the upper corner of the lot and I +set out to attend to it. Two of those bees came along. They hurried a +good deal--they had to, to keep up with me. I discouraged them as much +as possible with an earnest fanning or beating motion and sharp words. I +was not entirely successful. I felt something hot and sudden on the lobe +of one ear just as I dove beneath the bushes that draped the upper wall, +and I had an almost immediate sensation of its becoming hard and +pear-shaped. + +I peered out presently to see what had become of Luther Merrill. He had +not basely deserted his team--he was too high-class for that, but he was +moving from the point of attack with as little delay as possible, +grasping the lines with one hand and pawing the air with the other. By +the time I reached him he was plowing in a rather remote corner, and he +had lost some of his beauty--one eye was quite closed. He said he would +plow down there by the house late in the evening, or on the next wet +day. + +Luther plowed and harrowed and sowed for us--two fields of rye and +timothy mixed, to insure a future meadow, this on Westbury's advice. A +part of one field had great boulders in it, which he suggested we take +out. I said we would drop the boulders into the brook at intervals to +make the pretty falls it now lacked. Next morning, Luther Merrill came +with a heavy chain and a stone-boat (an immense sled without runners) +and for two happy days we reconstructed the world, dislocating and +hauling boulders that had not stirred since the ice age. + +Luther was an expert at chaining out boulders, and he loved the job. +When we got one to the brook, and after great prying and grunting +finally boosted it in with a mighty splash, Luther would wave his arms, +jump about, and laugh like the high-hearted boy that he was. Those were +lovely days. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + + +I + +_We carried down a little hair trunk_ + +[Illustration] + +I was in the midst of the improvements mentioned when the family--that +is to say, Elizabeth and the girls--arrived on the scene. It was a fine +August day--the 21st, to be quite exact--and I borrowed a horse and +light wagon from Westbury and drove the three miles of brook and woods +and meadow to the station to meet them. + +There was just one business house at the station--a general store--and I +suddenly found myself deeply interested, in things I had barely noticed +heretofore. Why, there was a broom! Sure enough, we would need a broom; +also, a rake--that was highly necessary; and a hatchet, and some nails, +and a shovel, and a water-pail, and a big galvanized tub, and--by the +time the train came it took careful arrangement to fit in the family and +the baggage among my purchases. The Pride had to sit on the water-pail, +the Joy, aged two, in the galvanized tub, while the Hope, who was seven, +sat on a trunk at the back, dangled her legs, waved her arms, and +whooped her delight as we joggled along, for the Hope was a care-free, +unrestrained soul, and the world to her just a perpetual song and dance. + +[Illustration] + +They were in a mood to take things as they found them; even the Pride, +who at twelve was critical, expressed herself as satisfied with the +house, and, with the Hope, presently made a dash for the attic, our +story of which had stirred them deeply. It was necessary to restrain +them somewhat. In the first place, our attic was not a possession to be +pawed over by careless and undiscerning childhood. Besides, it was hot +up there under the roof, and gray with the dust of years. It was a place +for a cool, rainy day and not for a mid-August afternoon. + +We carried down a little hair trunk with brass nails in it, and under +the shade of one of the big maples the "tribe," as we sometimes call +them, spread out the treasures of some little old-fashioned girl who +long, long ago had put them away for the last time. There were doll +dresses, made of the quaint prints of another day, and their gay posy +patterns had remained fresh, though the thread of the long childish +stitches had grown yellow with the years. They had very full skirts, and +waists that opened in front, and there was an apron with a wonderful +bib, and a little split sun-bonnet, probably for every-day wear, also +another bonnet which must have been for occasions, for its material was +silk and it was one of those grand, flaring coal-scuttle affairs such as +fashionable dolls wore a very long time ago. + +The doll was not there. Long since she had gone the way of all dolls; +but the Pride and the Hope decked their own dolls in the little old +wardrobe, and thought it all delightful and amusing, while we watched +them with long thoughts, trying to picture the little girl who had one +day put her treasures away to become a young lady, and in time a wife, +and a mother, and a grandmother, and was now resting on the sunny slope +where the road turns, beyond the hill. Later generations of little girls +appeared to have added nothing to the hair trunk. Doubtless they had +dolls, with dresses and styles of their own, and trunks of a newer +pattern, and had scorned these as being a little out of date. Even the +Pride and the Hope would not have permitted their dolls to appear in +those gowns in public, I think--at any rate, not in the best +society--though carefully preserving them with a view perhaps to +fancy-dress occasions. + +The Joy was not deeply impressed with the hair trunk. Neither its art +nor its sentimental value appealed to her. She had passed something more +than two years in our society, and during most of this period had +imagined herself a horse. A fairly level green place, where she could +race up and down and whinny and snort and roll was about all she +demanded of life; though she had a doll--a sort of a horse's doll--which +at the end of a halter went bounding after her during long afternoons of +violence. + +[Illustration] + +For the Joy we brought down from the attic a little two-wheeled green +doll-buggy, with a phaeton top and a tongue, and this at once became her +chief treasure. She hitched herself to it, flung in her doll, and went +racing up and down, checked up or running free, until her round, fat +face seemed ready to burst, and it became necessary to explain to her +that she had arrived at wherever she was going and must stand hitched in +the shade till she cooled off. It was a drowsy occupation that summer +afternoon. She was presently sitting down--as much as a horse can sit +down--and just a little later was stretched among the long grass and +clover, forgetful of check-rein and hitching-post. Later, when the three +of them were awake at once, they possessed themselves of the big barn +and explored the stalls and tumbled about on the remnant of hay that +still remained in one of the mows. Then they discovered the brook, where +it flowed clear and cool among the willows at the foot of the door-yard. +It was not deep enough to be dangerous, and they were presently wading +and paddling to their hearts' content. + +The brook, in fact, became one of their chief delights. It was never +very warm, but, tempered by August sun and shower, its shady, pleasant +waters were as balm to hot bare legs and burning feet. Flowers of many +kinds grew along its banks, while below the bridge where it crossed the +road there was always a school of minnows eager to be fed, and now and +then one saw something larger dart by--something dark, torpedo-shaped, +swift, touched with white along its propellers--a trout. There is no +end of entertainment in such things. Summer-time, the country, and +childhood--that is a happy combination, and a bit of running water adds +the perfect touch. + + +II + +_Cap'n Ben has an iron door-sill_ + +We did not take full possession of our place immediately. Whatever we +had in the way of household effects was in a New York City flat, and one +must have a few pots and tin things, even for the simple life. Fortune +was good to us: the Westbury household offered us shelter until we were +ready to make at least a primitive beginning, and one could not ask +better than that. Mrs. Westbury was a famous cook, and Westbury's +religion was conveyed in the word plenty. The hospitality and bounty of +their table were things from another and more lavish generation. The Joy +promptly gave our hosts titles. She called them Man and Lady Westbury, +which somehow seemed exactly to fit them. + +Each morning we went up to see what we could find to do, and we never +failed to find plenty. I don't remember distinctly as to all of +Elizabeth's occupations, but I know she has a mania for a broom and a +clothesline. I carry across the years the impression of an almost +continuous sweeping sound--an undertone accompaniment to my discussion +with carpenter and painter--and I see rows of little unpacked dresses +swinging in the sun. + +One of my own early jobs was to clean the cellar. It was a sizable +undertaking, and I engaged Old Pop's Sam to help me. It was a cellar of +the oldest pattern, with no step, having an entrance on a level with the +road, the same being a "rollway" wide enough to admit barrels of cider +and other produce. I don't know how many had been rolled into it during +the century or so before we came, but after a casual look I decided that +very few had been rolled out. The place was packed to the doors with +barrels, boxes, benches, and general lumber of every description. + +[Illustration: _They formed a board of appraisal. All of them knew that +cellar and were intimately acquainted with its contents_] + +About the time we got started an audience assembled. Old Nat, who was +taking a day off, and 'Lias Mullins, who had a weakness in his back and +took most of his days off, drifted in from somewhere and sat on the wall +in the shade to give us counsel. Then presently W. C. Westbury drove up +and became general overseer of the job. They formed a board of +appraisal, with Westbury as chairman. All of them knew that cellar and +were intimately acquainted with its contents. + +I had thought the old collection of value only as kindling, but as we +brought out one selection after another I realized my error. + +"That," said 'Lias Mullins, "is Uncle Joe's pork-barrel. It's wuth a +dollar fifty new, an that one's better 'n new." + +"I used to help Uncle Joe kill, every year," nodded Old Nat, "an' to put +his meat away. I remember that bar'l as well as can be. I'll take it +myself, if you don't want it. + +"Better keep your barrel," Westbury said. "You'll be wanting a pair of +pigs next, and then you'll need it." He looked into it reflectively +and sounded it with his foot. "Many a good mess of pork that old +barrel's had in it," he said. + +The board's ruling being unanimous, the barrel was set aside. Uncle +Joe's ham-barrel came next, and was likewise recognized, carefully +examined, and accepted by the board. Then two cider-barrels, which awoke +an immediate and special interest. + +For cider is the New England staple. Its manufacture and preparation are +matters not to be lightly dismissed. Good seasoned cider-barrels have a +value in no way related to cooperage. It is the flavor, the bouquet, +acquired through a tide of seasons, from apples that grow sweet and rich +through summer sun and shower and find a spicy tang in the first October +frost. Gathered and pressed on the right day; kept in the right +temperature, the mellow juice holds its sweetness and tone far into the +winter, and in the oaken staves leaves something of its savor to the +contents of another year. + +"That's the best cider-cellar I know of," said 'Lias Mullins, "and Uncle +Joe allus had the best bar'ls; but they wa'n't used last year, an I'm +turrible 'fraid they've gone musty." + +"Shouldn't be su'prised," agreed old Nat, mournfully. "An' it's a great +pity." + +"Bet you a quarter apiece they're as sweet as ever," proposed Chairman +Westbury. He took out a great jack-knife and carefully pried out the +bungs. "Smell 'em, 'Lias," he said, yielding precedence to the oldest +member. + +'Lias Mullins carefully steadied himself with his cane, bent close to +the bung-hole of one of the barrels, and took a long and apparently +agreeable whiff. Then after due preparation he bent close to the other +bung-hole and took another and still longer whiff. + +"Seems to me that one's just a leetle bit musty," he said. + +"Now, Nat, it's your turn," said Westbury. + +Whereupon old Nat, gravely and after due preparation, took a long whiff +of first one barrel, then a still longer one of the other barrel. + +"Seems to me it's _t'other_ one that's a _leetle trifle_ musty," he +said. + +W. C. Westbury took two short business-like whiffs at each bung. + +"Sweet as a nut, both of 'em," he announced, definitely. + +That settled it; Westbury was acknowledged authority. Sam rolled out two +vinegar-barrels, both pronounced good. Following there came what seemed +at least a hundred apple-barrels, potato-barrels, turnip-barrels, +ash-barrels, boxes, benches, sections of shelving, and a general heap of +debris, some of it unrecognizable even by 'Lias Mullins, oldest member +of the board. + +"It was a Meeker habit to throw nothing away," commented Westbury, as he +looked over the assortment. "No matter what it was, they thought they +might want it, some day. You'll find the same thing when you get to the +attic." + +At this moment Sam discovered in a dark corner a heap of flat slabs +that, brought to light, proved to be small tombstones. Westbury grinned. + +"Those were put over the cemetery fence," he said, "whenever the +relatives bought bigger ones. Uncle Joe brought a lot of them home to +cool his milk on." + +I looked at them doubtfully. They were nothing but stones, and they had +served their original purpose. Still, it had been a rather particular +purpose and they were carved with certain names and dates. I was not +sure that their owners might not sometime--some weird fall evening, +say--take a notion to claim them. + +They opened the door of history to Westbury. He began to recall +connections and events, and related how a certain Hezekiah Lee, whose +name was on one of them, had decided, some fifty years before, to give +up farming and go to counterfeiting. His career from that moment had +been a busy one; he had been always traveling one way or the other +between affluence and the penitentiary. His last term had been a long +one, and when he got out, styles in national currency had changed a good +deal and Uncle Hezekiah couldn't seem to get the hang of the new +designs. So he took to preaching, and held camp-meetings. He lived to +be eighty-seven, and people had traveled forty miles to his funeral. + +I said I would keep Uncle Hezekiah's headstone. In the end we made an +inside walk of the collection, for the old cellar had a dirt floor and +was not always dry, but we laid them face down. When we had raked and +swept, and brushed and put back the articles accepted by the board, and +all was trim and neat, Westbury looked in. + +"Looks nice," he said, and added, "that's what you've got now, but by +and by you'll have your mess of old truck, too, and the next man will +cart a lot of it to the wood-pile, just as you're carting it now." + +I said I thought we would begin our career with a coat of whitewash. +Westbury noticed something sticking out from an overhead beam, and drew +out a long-handled wrought-iron toasting-fork. Looking and prying about, +we discovered an old pair of brass snuffers, and a pair of hand-made +wrought-iron shears. The old things were pretty rusty, and I could see +that Westbury did not value them highly, but I would not have traded +them for the pork-barrel and the ham-barrel and all the other barrels +and benches reserved from Uncle Joe's collection. 'Lias Mullins, +inspecting them, became reflective: + +"Them's from away back in old Ben Meeker's time," he said, "or mebbe +furder than that. The' ain't been no scissors made by hand in this +country since my time, an' a good while before. I guess old Ben was a +good hand to have things made. I've heard my father tell that when he +was a boy Cap'n Ben, as they called him, one day found his door-sill +split, an' went to the blacksmith shop an' had one made out of iron. +Father said it was a big curiosity, and everybody went to look at it. +That would be fully a hundred years ago, when the' wasn't so much to +talk about. He said that the biggest piece of news in Brook Ridge for a +good while was that Cap'n Ben had an iron door-sill. It was around there +at the side door. I've seen it many a time, an' for all I know it's +there yet." + +We went around there. Sure enough! Cap'n Ben's iron door-sill was still +in place. Brown at the ends, bright and thinner where the step came, it +remained as firmly fixed as when, a hundred years before, it had +supplied the latest bit of gossip to Brook Ridge. + + +III + +_The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements"_ + +Peace of mind is a fleeting thing. We began to be harassed with +uncertainty--to suffer with indecision. In buying the old house we had +not at first considered making it a year-round residence, but merely a +place to put some appropriate furnishings, the things we cared for most, +so that we might have them the best part of the year--from April, say, +to Thanksgiving. It had not occurred to us that we would cut loose +altogether from the town--dynamite our bridges, as it were--and become a +part and parcel of Brook Ridge. + +Every day, neighbors stopped to make our acquaintance and learn our +plans. We interested them, for we were the first new-comers for many a +year to that neglected corner of the township. They were the kindest +people in the world, moved, perhaps, less by curiosity than by concern +for our comfort and happiness. They generally wanted to know how we +liked our place, what changes we were going to make in it, and they +never failed to ask if we intended to make it our home or merely a place +for summer-time. + +Our replies to the last question, at first definite, became vague and +qualified, then again definite, for we admitted that we did not know. As +a matter of fact, the place was getting hold of us, possessing us, +surrounding us on all sides with its fascinations. It was just an old +house, a few broken acres, and a brook--just some old lumber and stones, +some ordinary trees, some every-day water--not much, perhaps, to get +excited over or to change one's scheme of life. Yet we did get excited +over it, daily, and it had suddenly become a main factor in our problem +of life. The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements," with +clanging bells and crashing wheels, and with an expanse of dingy roofs +for scenery, became daily less attractive. True, we would have to spend +a good deal more money on the old house to fit it for cold weather, but +then there would be the saving in rent. + +We began to discuss the matter--quietly, even casually, at first--then +feverishly, positively. We were not always on the same side, and there +were moments when a stranger might have thought our relations slightly +strained. But this would have been to misjudge our method. We are seldom +really violent in argument--though occasionally intense. Besides, we +were too much of a mind, now, for real disagreement. We both yearned too +deeply to set the old house in complete order, to establish ourselves in +it exclusively and live there for ever and ever. Think of Christmas in +it, we said, with the great open fires, the snow outside, and a +Christmas tree brought in from our own woods! + +I said at last that I would make a trip to town, go to the flat, and +ship up a few articles for present use. It would be rather more than a +month until our lease expired, and in that time we could decide +something. I secretly intended to send up a number of vital things that +would make return difficult and costly. I was not going to blow up our +entire bridge--I was only going to remove one or two of its necessary +arches. + +That was what I did. I went in one morning and packed a barrel or two of +important queensware and utensils and a bale of bedding, without which +even the best flat becomes a snare and a mockery. When I had seen it in +the hands of the expressman I had a feeling that our pretty apartment +was no longer home. + +I went over to my club for luncheon. A number of my friends were there, +and I seized an auspicious moment to announce my purchase and to exhibit +a bunch of photographs. They were good fellows who showed a proper +interest. Some of them already owned farms--some had farms in prospect. +The artists among them agreed that the old house was a pretty fair +example of its period and began advising me what to do with it. But, as +they did not agree among themselves, the net result was not valuable. +Somebody asked what I was going to plant. + +'Rye,' I said. + +For some reason everybody laughed. + +"All rye? What's the matter with planting a little Scotch?" + +It was not much of a joke, but they seemed to enjoy it. They were good +fellows, as I have said, but I fear rather light-minded. + +When I got back to Brook Ridge and confessed, Elizabeth did not seem +surprised. In fact, it was as if I had been merely obeying orders. If +there was any further question as to what we were going to do, I do not +recall it. Our landlord in town was notified, our farmer-carpenter was +consulted as to further alterations. We had definitely cast our fortunes +with Brook Ridge. + + +IV + +_The soft feet of the rain on the shingles_ + +When the articles I had chosen from the apartment arrived Westbury +carted them up the hill and we entered into possession of our new +estate--not of the house (some painters had possessed themselves of +that), but of the wood-house and barn. The barn was a big, airy place, +suitable for a summer dormitory. The wood-house was not big, but it was +empty and had been set in order. It had a stove-pipe hole, and Westbury +contributed a stove--the first one ever made, he said, or, at any rate, +the first ever used in that neighborhood. It was a good stove, too, +solidly cast, almost unbreakable. Its legs were gone, which was no great +matter, for we set it up on bricks. With a box for a table, we had a +proper living-room, handy and complete. + +Not entirely complete, either--the old stove had no pipe. But just then +it happened that the groceryman came along, making one of his two trips +a week. He would deliver during the afternoon, he said, and could bring +along some pipe for us. He did that, but it was a kind of pipe that +didn't fit--not very well. + +If there is anything that would make a man forget the Great War it +would be putting up stove-pipe. It seems, somehow, to overshadow all +other misfortunes. Some persons might have enjoyed matching up those +units, but I did not. I have no gift that way. Elizabeth said she would +help, but she didn't seem to use good judgment--not the best. When I was +making a painfully careful adjustment she was possessed to push a +little, or something, and make my efforts futile. Once when the box I +was standing on tipped over and I came down, with the pipe resolved into +joints, she seemed to think it amusing. At times, too, our tribe of +precious ones came racing through. By the time the job was finished +Elizabeth and I were treating each other rather coolly--that is to say, +politely. But this was temporary. The soft purr of a fresh fire, the +pleasant singing of a kettle, set us to laughing at our troubles. Man +Westbury came driving up with some green corn, lettuce, and beans from +the garden; also a chicken and a pie hot from Lady Westbury's oven. +Those blessed neighbors! How good they were to us! In less than no time +the corn and beans were in the pot and I was dressing the lettuce. We +had brought down some of the old chairs from the attic, and the tribe +assembled with a whoop to place them. A little more, and we were seated. +The Hope, aged seven, who had a gift for such things, asked a blessing, +and we had begun life in the new home. I wonder why tears are trying to +come as I write about it. There was never a better meal, or a jollier +one--never a happier, healthier family. + +A shower came up and settled into a gentle rain. The barn, where we were +going to sleep, was a good step away, so that when the time came we put +on our rubbers, took our umbrellas and a lantern, and set out for bed. +There was nothing very wonderful about all this, of course; it only +seemed wonderful to us because it was all so new. The Pride and the Hope +declared they were always going to sleep in the barn, and when we got +inside the big, lofty place, and in the gloom overheard heard the soft +feet of the rain on the shingles, I, too, had a deep-down wish that +there was nothing in the world, but this--that the pleasant night and +soothing patter might never cease. + +Truth obliges me to confess that on that first night our bed was not an +entire success. For convenience and economy we had laid it in a +continuous stretch on the floor, with some hay beneath. There being not +enough mattresses for all, I had built an extension of hay for the elder +members of the family. It was the best hay, but I had used it too +sparingly. I suppose I had not realized how, with adjustment, it would +pack and separate. I know it had hardened considerably by the time I had +made one or two turns as a necessary preparation for sleep. I remarked +each time how delightful it all was, to which Elizabeth agreed, though +she had the courage presently to venture that she didn't think it quite +as soft as one of Lady Westbury's feather beds. The Pride observed that +there seemed to be a certain horsey smell that did not entirely please +her, though the Joy, who was probably imagining herself hitched in one +of the stalls, declared that she liked that best of anything. As for the +Hope--clear of conscience and worn with the riot of the day--she had +plunged without a moment's hesitation into the blessed business of +sleep. It engaged us all, at length, and we must have become adapted by +morning, for when we were all awake and lay in the dim light, listening +to the quiet music of the continuing rain, there was no voice of +discontent. Elizabeth thought it likely that she was considerably +bruised, but, as she made no complaint later, this was perhaps a false +alarm. + +[Illustration] + +When I crept out and pushed open the wide front doors, I found that the +brook had risen and was slipping across the grass of the lower yard. It +had a tempting look, and the rain held all but ceased. I picked my way +down to it, and, hanging my garments on a limb, enjoyed the richest +luxury in the world--that of bathing in the open air, sheltered only by +the sky and the greenery, in one's own brook and one's own door-yard. +Interlacing boughs, birds singing, the cool, slipping water--no +millionaire could have more. I was heir to the best the ages had to +give. + + +V + +_Elizabeth's ideas were not poetic_ + +We were busy with our new plans. We decided to shingle the roof, which +showed an inclination to leak; also the sides, which in numerous places +besides the windows admitted samples of the outdoors. Such things did +not matter so much in summer-time, but New England in winter is +different. Then the roof and door-yard are piled with snow, the +northwest wind seeks out the tiniest crevice in one's armor. How did +those long-ago people manage? Their walls were not sheeted, and they +did not know the use of building-paper. Our old wide siding had been +laid directly on the bare timbers, the studding; every crevice under the +windows, every crack in the plaster, was a short circuit with zero. We +decided to take off the antique siding, cut out the bad places, and +relay it flat, as sheeting. Over it we would lay building-paper, and on +top of this, good substantial shingles, laid wide to the weather in the +old-fashioned way. + +It hurt us to think of covering up that fine original siding--priceless +stuff, a foot wide and of the softest, straightest-grained white pine, +cut from large trees such as no longer grow--but we did not know what +else to do with it. It was a wonderful antique, but we could not afford +to keep a pile of lumber just for exhibition purposes. I said it ought +to be in a museum, and I had some thought of offering it to the +Metropolitan, at a modest valuation, next time I went to town. Elizabeth +discouraged this idea. She suggested that I have it made up into Brook +Ridge souvenirs--little trays and paper-cutters--a wagon-load or two, +then start out and peddle them. The scheme dazzled me for a moment, but +I resisted it. So in the end it became just sheeting. I did pick out one +fine example--a piece with some of the original red paint still on +it--and said I meant to have it framed, but in the course of the work, +at a moment when my back was turned, the carpenter got hold of it, so I +fear there is no exposed scrap of it to-day. It is all there under the +shingles, and will still be there for other shingles when those are +gone. The nails that held it were made by hand, every one of them, and I +did save some of those, for they were really beautiful. But think of the +patient labor of making them. I suppose a skilled and rapid workman +could turn out as many as twenty of those nails in an hour. A detail +like that gives one a sort of measurement of those deliberate days. + +We did not always agree as to our improvements. I don t think our +arguments ever became heated--one might characterize them as, well, +ardent. If Elizabeth thought my ideas sometimes wild, not to say crazy, +I don t remember that she ever put it just in that way. If I thought +hers inclined to be prosaic and earthy, I was careful to be out of range +and hearing before I expressed myself. I remember once suggesting that +we do our cooking and heating entirely in the old way--that is to say, +using the fireplaces and the Dutch oven--and was pained to find that +Elizabeth was contemplating a furnace and a kitchen range. She asked me +rather pointedly who I thought was going to get in wood enough to keep +four fireplaces running, and if I fancied the idea of going to bed in +the big north room up-stairs with the thermometer shrinking below zero. + +It was still August at the moment, and the prospect was not so +disturbing. I said that hardy races always did those things, that the +old builders of this house had probably not minded it at all, and just +see to what great old ages they had lived. I said that as a child I had +even done it myself. + +"So did I," said Elizabeth; "that is why I am not going to do it now." + +She walked out with quite a firm step, and I did not pursue the matter. +I might have done so, but I had a vision, just then, of a boy who had +lived on the Western prairies, in a big box of a house, and had gone to +bed in a room that was about the temperature of the snow-drifted yard. I +could see him madly flinging off a few outer garments, making a spring +into a bed that was like a frozen pond, lying there in a bunch, getting +tolerably warm at last, but all night long fearful of moving an inch +because of his frigid boundaries. As for the matter of wood, well, I had +carried that, too, cords of it, for a fireplace that had devoured it +relentlessly and given nothing adequate in return. I recalled that in +cold weather I had never known what it was to be warm on both sides at +once, that I had scorched my face while my back was freezing, then +turned, like a chicken on a spit, to bake the other side. Without doubt +I had grown used to it, so used to it that it had never occurred to me +that in cold weather any one really could be warm on both sides at once; +also, perhaps, it had hardened me, still-- + +Elizabeth's ideas were not poetic; they did not express art for art's +sake; anybody could see that; but, after all, there would be +days--January days--when a fireplace alone, however beautiful as an +ornament, would not make enough impression on the family circle, and +scarcely any at all on the up-stairs. Coming up rather quietly somewhat +later, she found me sitting under the big maple, surreptitiously +studying a range and furnace catalogue borrowed of Westbury. We decided +on Acme Hummers and I gave the order to the postman next morning. + + +VI + +_Our last night in the barn was not like the others_ + +We lived a full week in the wood-house and barn, a week that is chiefly +memorable to me now because of the kindness of our neighbors. + +I wonder if in every New England neighborhood new-comers are treated as +we were. It was high garden season, and I think not a day passed, that +at least one basket of sweet corn, beans, lettuce, and such noble things +was not set at our doors. + +From all about they came, and how sweet and fresh they were! There had +been no lack of showers that summer, and gardens were at their best. +Nothing is so good as sweet corn, freshly picked and put in the pot. We +had never really had enough of it before. Now we had to strain our +appetites to keep up with the supply. And lima beans, and buttered +beets, and cucumbers and crisp salads, and fresh cabbage slaw! Dear me! +Why must any one have to stay in town where all those things are scarce, +and costly, and days old, and wilted, when he can go to the country and +have them fresh and abundant from the garden--of his neighbor? + +Some of the offerings were really artistic, prettily arranged, and +garnished with flowers. Old Nat of the whitewash came one evening with a +huge round basket, in the center of which was a big yellow pumpkin, the +first of his crop, and ranged about it ears of corn, big red tomatoes, +and heads of lettuce, the whole like some wonderful great flower. But +then Nat was always an artist at heart. + +Our last night in the barn was not like the others. We had become very +comfortable there, for we had built our hay higher, and we had learned +the art of resting in that processional fashion, while the big, airy +place and the patter of the not infrequent rain had grown dear to us. +But that last night was different. It rained, as usual, but it did +something more. I had been asleep an indeterminable time when I was +aroused by a crash of thunder that for a moment I thought had taken off +the roof. In the glimmer of lightning that followed I realized that +Elizabeth was awake--also the Pride, aged twelve. + +It was the sort of storm to make one sit up on his elbow. Elizabeth sat +up on hers, and declined to lie back even when assured that it would be +easier for the lightning to hit her in that half-erect position. The +Pride began asking persistently if the barn was going to be struck. The +Joy, who was next me, suddenly grabbed my arm and clung like a burr, +saying nothing. The Hope, secure in the knowledge of an upright life, +aided by a perfect digestion, slept as one in a trance, while the fierce +pounding grew more alarming as flash followed flash and the crashes came +more promptly and forcibly on the heels of every flare. I don't think I +was exactly afraid, but I could not altogether forget the tradition that +lightning has a mania for striking barns and it was this that had +occurred to Elizabeth. She said she had been reading of storms like this +in Jamaica, and that invariably they had struck barns, though whether +she meant Jamaica of southern waters or the pretty suburb on Long Island +by that name I have not learned to this day. + +There was no wind, but all at once, at the very height of things, when +the flashes and the crashes came together and the very sky seemed about +to explode, one of our wide barn doors swung slowly, silently open, as +if moved by a spirit hand, and at the same instant there came a blaze +and roar that fairly filled the barn. A moment later the great door +silently closed; then once more opened to let in a blinding, deafening +shot. + +[Illustration: _I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a second +later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels_] + +I could tell by what Elizabeth said that the big door ought to be shut +and securely fastened. I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a +second later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels. Then +the clouds must have upset, for there came a downpour that fairly +drowned the world. + +[Illustration] + +But the artillery was passing. Soon flash and roar came farther apart +and modified by distance. Nothing was left at last but a soothing rumble +and the whisper of the receding rain. We slept, and woke to find +ourselves rich, in sunlight, blue sky, and overflowing rain-barrels. +This made it washday for Elizabeth and the tribe, and presently all the +lines were full. It was a glorious storm, but that afternoon we moved +our sleeping-arrangements to the house. The painters had finished +up-stairs, and there was no purpose in exposing ourselves to storms +which for all we knew, came straight from Jamaica, where they had a +mania for hitting barns. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + + +I + +_At the threshold of the past_ + +[Illustration] + +I wonder if you are anything like as anxious to get into our old attic +as we were. That is not likely. To us it meant romance, even a kind of +sorcery--a bodily transmigration into the magic past. + +Now and then during those August days we would open the door below and +look up, perhaps even climb the stair and peer around a little, +possessed by the spell of it, deterred only by our immediate affairs and +the heat. + +[Illustration] + +Then at last came a day, a cool Sunday when it was raining softly, and +the tribe were having a "perfectly _lovelly_" time in the barn, +Elizabeth and I climbed the rickety stairway to the Land of the Long +Ago. There could be no better time for it--the quiet rain overhead, no +workmen, no likelihood of visitors. + +At the top of the stair we hesitated and looked about with something of +the feeling that I suppose the Egyptian explorer had when he looked into +the furnished tomb of Queen Thi. We were at the threshold of the past. + +A small window at each end gave light in plenty. There was a good deal +of dust, and there were some cobwebs in the corners, but these did not +disturb us. Only, we were a little bewildered by the extent of our +possessions. We hardly knew where to begin. + +At first we picked our way about rather aimlessly, pointing to this +thing and that, our voices subdued. There were all the high-backed +chairs--fourteen, we counted, with those already carried down. Most of +them would need new rush bottoms and black paint, but otherwise they had +withstood the generations. They were probably a part of the old house's +original furnishing--these and at least one of the spinning-wheels, of +which there were four, the large kind, used for spinning wool; also the +reel for winding yarn. Then we noticed a low wooden cradle, darkened +with age, its sides polished by the hands that had rocked it--that had +come next, no doubt. We remarked that one of the spinning-wheels was +considerably smaller than the others--a child's wheel. We thought it +might have come later, when one of the early occupants of the cradle had +been taught to do her stint. It made a small, plaintive noise when I +turned it, and I could see a little old-fashioned girl in linsey-woolsey +dress and home-made shoes and stockings, in front of the big fireplace +down-stairs, turning and turning to that droning cadence, through long +winter afternoons. Those other wheels had come for other daughters, or +daughters-in-law, and if there ever was a time when all four were going +at once, the low, long room must have been a busy place. + +From a nail in a rafter hung a rusty tin lantern, through the patterned +holes of which a single candle had once sprinkled with light the +progress of the farmer's evening chores. That, too, had belonged to the +early time, and from a dim corner I drew another important piece of +furniture of that day. At first this appeared to be a nest of wooden +chopping-bowls, oblong as to shape and evidently fashioned by hand. Then +remembering something that Westbury had told me, I recognized these +bowls as trenchers, the kind used in New England when pioneer homes were +rather short in the matter of tableware. The trencher stood in the +middle of the table and contained the dinner--oftenest a boiled dinner, +I suppose--and members of the family helped themselves from it--I +hesitate to say with their fingers, but evidence as to table cutlery in +the pioneer home of that period is very scanty. And, after all, if they +had no plates, what need of cutlery? Their good, active fingers and +stout teeth were made before knives and forks, and they did not enjoy +their dinner the less for having it in that intimate way. I confess a +sneaking weakness myself for an informal chicken bone or spare-rib--for +most anything of the sort, in fact, that I can get a fairly firm hold +of. It is better, of course, to have a handle to one's gravy, and +sometimes, when the family is looking the other way, I can manage a +swipe with a slice of bread, and so get a brief golden sample of the +joys of my ancestors. The two smaller trenchers must have been used when +company came--one for the bread, possibly; the other for pudding. I hope +it was good, firm pudding, so that it could be managed without waste. + +We found the kettle that they made the boiled dinner in, an enormous +three-legged witch-pot, also a number of big iron crane hangers, for +swinging vessels above the open fire. And there were three gridirons of +different patterns, for grilling meat over the coals--one of them round +with a revolving top, another square, sloping, with a little trough at +the bottom to catch the juice of a broiling steak. Elizabeth agreed that +we might use those sometimes and I set them over by the stair. We were +not delving deeply, not by any means--just picking off the nuggets, as +it were. It would be weeks before we would know the full extent of our +collection. + +Pushed back under the eaves there were what appeared to be several +"cord" bedsteads, not the high-posted kind--that would have been too +much to expect--but the low, home-made maple bedsteads such as one often +sees to-day in New England, shortened up into garden seats. There were, +in fact, seven of them, as we discovered later. They would be of the +early period, too, and probably had not been used for a good hundred +years. + +But it was the item we discovered next that would take rank, I think, in +the matter of age. At the moment we did not understand it at all. It was +a section of a hickory-tree, about fifteen inches through and two feet +high, hollowed out at the top to a depth of nearly a foot. It was smooth +inside and looked as if something had been pounded in it, as in a +mortar. Presently we came upon a long, heavy hickory mallet, tapering at +one end, smoothly rounded at the other. It had a short handle, and we +thought it might have been a sort of pestle for the big mortar. But what +had those old people ground in it? + +Westbury told us later; it had been their mill. By a slow, patient +process they had macerated their corn in it until it was fine enough for +bread. + +The old hand-mill would undoubtedly take priority in the matter of +antiquity. Those early settlers could do without beds and chairs and +trenchers and cradles, even without spinning-wheels for a time, but they +must very quickly have bread--corn, and a place to grind it. I think the +old mill was older than the house. I think it came almost with the +earliest camp-fire. + +The articles thus far mentioned were all in one end of the attic. We +were by no means through when we turned to the other end, the space +beyond the great chimney. Here under the eaves were piles of yellow +periodicals--religious papers, the New York _Tribune_, and those weekly +story-papers whose thrilling "romances of real life," like "Parted at +the Altar" and "The Lost Heir of Earlecliffe," were so popular with +those young ladies of slender waists and sloping shoulders who became +our grandmothers. I think none of the numbers dated farther back than +the early forties of the last century, and they were not very inviting, +for they were dusty and discolored and the mice had gnawed holes in the +career of Lord Reginald and the sorrows of Lady Maude. + +But there were better things than these--jugs, jars, and bottles of +marvelous patterns, and a stone churn, and some pewter and luster +teapots, damaged somewhat, it is true, but good for mantel decoration +over our fireplaces, and there were some queer old bandboxes, ornamented +with flowers and landscapes, and finally two small wooden chests and a +fascinating box of odds and ends, metal things, for the most part. + +We looked into the bandboxes. Some of them were empty, but in others +were odds and ends of finery and quaint examples of millinery, the +turban and poke and calash of vanished generations, some of them clearly +copied after the model worn by Lady Maude at the very moment when at the +church door she turned haughtily from Lord Crewston forever. We drew the +chests to the light and took out garments of several sorts and of a +variety of fashions. There were dresses of calico and delaine of the +Civil War days, a curious cape which we thought had been called a +"circular," a pretty silk apron with a bib, once precious to some young +girl. Some of the waists were very slim, closely following the outlines +of Lady Maude. Others were different--oh, very much so. I think these +were of an earlier period, for among other things there were a number of +garments made of stout, hand-woven linen, embroidered with initials +which had not belonged to the house for nearly a century. I hope they +were not a part of a bridal outfit, for no bride, no really popular +bride, ought to be as ample as must have been the owner of those +ch--garments, I mean. One of them, opened out, would be quite wide +enough for a sheet, Elizabeth said, though somewhat lacking in length. +She thought they would do for single beds, turned the other way. There +were sturdy women in those days. + +In the bottom of the chest there was a pair of red and very pointed +dancing-slippers. I don't think they belonged to the same person. +Neither did they belong to the period of Lady Maude, being much older. +They were very small and slim, and daintily made. Where had such pretty +feet found floors on which to dance? + +We laid them back with the other things where they had been put such a +long time ago, and turned to the box of odds and ends. There were knobs +and latches and keys--all of the old pattern--a hand-made padlock, some +flat wrought hinges and some hand-wrought nails, left, perhaps, after +the house was built. We sat flat on the floor to paw over these curious +things, and the dull light, and the rain just overhead, certainly +detracted nothing from our illusions. Every little piece in that box +seemed to us a treasure. The old hinges would go on our new closet +doors, held by the hand-made nails. The padlock was for the outside +cellar door. The knobs would replace certain reproductions on some of +our antique furniture. We knew what such things cost at the shops and +how hard they were to find. And just then Elizabeth came upon a +plated-silver buckle, and then upon another--a pair of them--old shoe or +garter buckles, we could not be sure which. Why, our attic was a regular +treasure island! + +[Illustration] + +We picked out a number of things that seemed of special interest, +including an iron crane we had found, and carried them down-stairs. The +crane fitted the fireplace in the smaller room, which was to become our +kitchen. We hung it and kindled a fire--our first real fire, for it was +our first cool day. There was litter on the floor, but we did not mind +it. We looked into the cheerful blaze, handled over the trifles we had +found, and in quiet voices spoke of the past. During our two hours or so +in the old attic we had been in step with the generations. We had +broken bread at the camp-fire of the pioneer; we had seen him build his +house and provide it with the simple, durable furnishings of his day; we +had shared the easy comfort of his hearty board; we had drawn near to +his good wife as she rocked the cradle or sat spinning in the firelight; +we had watched their descendants attain prosperity and a taste for +finery; we had seen how they had acquired fashion and in time had +patterned their gowns, their bonnets, perhaps even their romances upon +models of Lady Maude. They were all gone now, leaving us to carry on the +story. We also would go our way; others would follow us, and they, too, +would pass. It was a moment to look into the fire and think long, long +thoughts. + + +II + +_Paper-hanging is not a natural gift_ + +One day I measured up our walls, and the next I went to town and bought +the paper that was to cover them. I think it generally pays to do that, +provided you can get somebody to hang it. There is a very pretty margin +in wall-paper, and when you get a good deal of it that margin gnaws into +one's substance. Shopping around the department stores, picking up +remnant bargains, is the thing. I ran onto a lot of bedroom paper of a +quaint chintzy pattern at four cents a roll, or about one-fifth what it +would have cost in the regular way. I took enough of it for all the +upper rooms, with some to spare, and was sorry there were not more +rooms, so I could take it all. Then I found a gorgeous remnant of the +glazed-tile variety for the kitchen, and still another for our +prospective bath-room. A dull-green cartridge-paper for our living-room, +"best" room, and my tiny study behind the chimney cost me eighteen cents +a roll. The total bill was sixteen fifty-nine, and I got at least twice +the pleasure out of the size of that bill that I would have had in +earning double the sum in the time I spent. Figure out the profit in +that transaction if you can. Whatever it was, it was satisfactory, and +indeed few things in life are sweeter than the practice of our pet and +petty economies. We all have them. I once knew a very rich man who would +light a match and race from one gas-jet to another until he burnt his +fingers, lighting as many as he could before striking a second match. He +would generally say something when his fingers began to smoke, but to +have lighted all the jets at both ends of his long room was a triumph +that made this brief inconvenience of small account. I have also seen +him spend more time, and even money, utilizing some worn-out appliance +than a new one would cost. He was not a stingy man, either, not by any +means, but those things were ingrained and vital. They helped to +provide his life with interest and satisfaction--hence, were worth +while. + +To go back to the papering: I bought some tools--that is to say, a +paste-brush, and a smoothing-down brush, and a long pair of scissors, +for I had a suspicion that my painters would be at their fall farming +presently, in which case Westbury, who I was satisfied could do +anything, had agreed to beautify our walls. + +As a matter of fact, I hung most of that sixteen dollars and fifty-nine +cents' worth of paper myself. When I got back, my painters were about to +begin cutting their corn. Westbury came, but at the end of the first +day, when one of the up-stairs rooms was about finished, he also +developed a violent interest in corn-cutting. I was thus abandoned to +fate, also quite deserted. My carpenters were cutting corn; Luther +Merrill, my handsome plowman, was cutting corn; Old Pop and Sam were +cutting corn; while Elizabeth had gone to the apartment in town to begin +preparations for moving, and to put the Pride and the Hope into school. +I was alone--alone with sixteen dollars' worth of paper, a big, flat +paste-brush, and my bare, bare walls. + +Meantime I had trimmed some of the strips for Westbury and had given +some slight attention to his artistic method. It looked rather easy, and +there was still half a pail of paste. In some things I am impulsive, +even daring. With a steady hand, I measured, cut off, and trimmed a +strip of the pretty chintzy paper, laid it face down on the +papering-board which Westbury had made, slapped on the paste with a free +and business-like dash, folded up the end just as Westbury did, picked +it up with an easy, professional swing, and started for the wall. + +[Illustration] + +Being a tall man, I did not need the step-ladder. In those low rooms I +could quite easily stand on the floor and paper from the ceiling down. +Certainly that was an advantage. I discovered, however, that a +step-ladder is not all of a paper-hanger's gifts. When I matched that +piece of paper at the ceiling and started down with it, I realized +presently that it was not going in the direction of the floor. At least +not directly. It was slanting off at a bias to the southeast, leaving a +long, lean, wedge-shaped gap between it and the last strip. I pulled it +off and started again, shifting the angle. But I overdid the thing. This +time it went biasing off in the other direction and left an untidy +smudge of paste on Westbury's nice, clean strip. I reflected that this +would probably dry out--if not, I would hang a picture over it. Then I +gave the strip I was hanging a little twitch, being a trifle annoyed, +perhaps, by this time, and was pained to see that an irregular patch of +it remained on the wall, while the rest of it fell sloppily into my +hands. It appeared that wall-paper became tender with damp paste on it +and should not be jerked about in that nervous way. In seeking to remove +the ragged piece from the plaster, holding up the mutilated strip +meanwhile, something else occurred, I don't quite know what, but I +suddenly felt a damp and gluey mess on my face, and then it was around +my neck, and then I discovered that a portion of it had in some way got +tangled up with my legs, upon which I think I became rather positive, +for I seem to have wadded up several gooey balls of chintzy decoration +and hurled them through the open window, far out upon the sun-flecked +yard. + +I went below and washed up, and for a time sat under the maple shade and +smoked. When more calm I said: "This is nothing--it is only a first +lesson. Paper-hanging requires probationary study and experiment. It is +not a natural gift, an extempore thing like authorship and song. I have +paper enough to afford another lesson. This time I shall consider deeply +and use great care." + +I went back and prepared another strip, humbly and without any attempt +at style. This time, too, I did not consider the line of the ceiling, +but conformed to the vertical edge of Westbury's final strip, allowing +my loose section to dangle like a plumb-line several moments before +permitting it to get its death-grip on the wall. I will not say that +this second attempt was an entire success, but it was a step in that +direction. With a little smudging, a slight wrinkle or two, and a small +torn place, it would do, and I was really quite pleased with myself when +I observed it from across the room and imagined a kindly bureau just +about in that spot. + +I hung another strip, and another. Some went on very well, some with +heavy travail, and with results that made me grateful for our pictures +and furniture. Yet it became fascinating work; it was like piecing out +some vast picture-puzzle, one that might be of some use when finished. I +improved, too. I was several days finishing the up-stairs, and by the +time I got it done I had got back some of the dash I started off with. I +could slap on the paste and swing the strip to the wall so handily that +I was sorry Elizabeth was not there to observe me. + +I went below and papered the kitchen. There were a lot of little shelves +and cubby-nooks there, but they were only a new and pleasant variation +to the picture-puzzle. I did the small room off the kitchen, including +the ceiling, which was a new departure and at first discouraging. I was +earning probably as much as a dollar and a half a day and I was +acquiring at least that much in vanity and satisfaction, besides +learning a new trade which might come handy in a day of need. I had some +thought of proposing to Westbury a partnership in general paper-hanging +and farming, with possibly an annex of antiques. + + +III + +_There is nothing I wouldn't do for a bee--a reasonable bee_ + +Matters did not go so well in the living-room. It was not because the +old walls were more irregular there than elsewhere--I could negotiate +that--it was those pesky bees. Reshingling the sides of the house had +closed their outlets, and they had now found a crevice somewhere around +the big chimney and were pouring in and out, whizzing and buzzing around +the room by the hundred, clinging to the windows in droves, a maddening +distraction on a hot afternoon to a man with his head tipped back, in +the act of laying a long, flimsy strip of wall-paper on a wavy, billowy +old ceiling. They were no longer vicious and dangerous--they were only +disorganized and panic-stricken. A hundred times a day I swept +quantities of them from the windows and released them to the open air. +It was no use to shut the doors, for there still were pecks of them +between the floor and ceiling, and these came pouring out steadily, +while those that I had dismissed hurried back again as soon as they +could get their breath. I began to think we had met disaster in this +unexpected quarter--that those persistent little colonists were going to +dispossess us altogether. + +Old Nat and I had tried smoking them with sulphur, which had quieted +them temporarily while the men were shingling, but it had in no way +discouraged them. In fact, I think there is nothing that will discourage +a bee but sudden death, and that seems a pity, for in his proper sphere +he is one of our most useful citizens. + +He is so wise, so wonderfully skilled and patient. I have read +Maeterlinck's life of him, and there is nothing I would t do for a +bee--a reasonable bee--one that would appreciate a little sound advice. +That's just the trouble--a bee isn't built that way. He is so smart and +capable, and such a wonder in most things, that he won't discuss any +matter quietly and see where he is wrong and go his way in peace. Those +bees thought that, just because they had found a hole in the outside of +an old house, it was their house, and if anybody had to move it wouldn't +be they. I explained the situation over and over and begged them to go +away while the weather was still warm and the going good, but they just +whizzed and raged around the rooms and sickened me with their noise and +obstinacy. + +When Elizabeth and the Joy came up, school matters being arranged, we +decided, among other things, to evict those bees. There was just one way +to do it, Westbury said, which was to saw through the floor up-stairs +and take them out. He thought there would be some honey. We did not +count much on that; what we wanted was to be rid of the pests forever. I +sent word to our carpenter, and Henry Jones came one morning with his +saws. + +In a corner of the upper room where we had heard a great buzzing he +bored a hole through the flinty oak floors. I had the smoker ready and +pumped the sulphur fumes in pretty freely. Then he began to saw. He had +gone only a little way when he said: + +"My saw is running in honey." + +Sure enough, it was coated with the clear sticky substance, which +certainly did not make it run any easier. By hard work he managed to cut +across two of the wide boards, and through them again, adjoining the +next joist. When he was ready to lift out I pumped a new supply of smoke +into the holes, then rather gingerly we pried up the pieces. + +What a sight it was! Covered by a myriad of stupefied bees was layer +upon layer of pure honey, the frightened insects plunging into the +cells, filling themselves with their own merchandise, as is their habit +when alarmed. Lazarus, a small colored assistant whom we had recently +acquired, peered in cautiously (the sulphur fumes being still +suggestive, with a good many bees flying), and I sent him for something +to put the honey in--something large, I said--a dishpan. + +But Elizabeth had no great faith in our bee investigations, or she may +have been inclined to discount Lazarus. She sent a porcelain dish, which +I filled with a few choice pieces. + +"Tell her this is just a sample, and to send the dishpan." + +But still she thought either I or Lazarus was excited, and sent only an +agate stew-pan, which I also filled. + +"Take it down, Lazarus, and tell her that we still need the dishpan." + +So then at last it came up, and we filled that, too. + +We were not through, however. There was a heavy buzzing near the center +of the room, and again we bored and smoked and sawed, and presently +uncovered another swarm, with another surplus stock, this time a +wash-boiler full, most of it fine and white, though some of the pieces +were discolored, showing age. Elizabeth left her occupations and came up +to investigate. Our old house had proven a regular honey-mine. We had +enough for an indefinite period, and some for the neighbors. I suppose +if we had left an outside hole for those bees they would have gone on +multiplying and eventually would have packed our floors and walls solid +full of honey, and we should have had, in truth, "the very sweetest +house in all the world." + +I confess we felt sorry for those poor bees. A quantity of them refused +to leave the premises and persisted on squeezing into the house if a +door or window was left open. A clot of them formed on an old +fence-post--around their queen, perhaps--and would not go away, though +they knew quite well we had hardened our hearts against them and would +not relent. If I had it to do over again I would bring down an old hive +made from a hollow log, which we found up in the attic, and put into it +some honey and some comb and invite them to set up business again in a +small way. But my wounds were too fresh. They had daubed some of my new +paper, driven me nearly frantic with their commotion, and stung me in +several localities. The old fence-post was quite loose. In the evening I +softly lifted it out, carried it to a remote place, and left it, just as +any other heartless person would drop an unwelcome kitten. When I passed +that way the following spring they were gone. + +A last word about our papering. To this day I am proud of the job and +don't wish to dismiss it in any casual way. I left our square "best" +room till the last; it made a dramatic ending. + +I believe I have not mentioned before that I washed down the old plaster +with a solution of vinegar (a remnant from one of Uncle Joe's barrels) +in order to kill the lime, which, Westbury said, was bad for the +sticking qualities of the paste. Perhaps I made my solution a bit too +strong for the "best"-room walls, or it may be that the plaster there +was different--I don t know. I know that I worked till nearly midnight +to get done, Elizabeth holding a pair of lamps, and that when we came +down next morning to admire our beautiful green walls by daylight, they +were no longer green--at least, not solidly so, not definitely so. What +seemed to us at first a sorrowful mottled complaint in yellow had +every-where broken through, and I had the sickening feeling that my work +was wasted and must be done over. But presently Elizabeth said, +reflectively: + +"It isn't so bad just as it is." + +And I said, "Why, no! it's a kind of a pattern." + +And then we both said, "Why, it's really artistic and beautiful." + +And so it was. Over the dull green a large, irregular lacework of dull +yellow had spread itself, and the more we looked the better we liked it. +Just why the chemical affinity between plaster and paper should produce +that particular effect we could not imagine, but there it was and there +it stayed, for the process did not go any farther. Later on, when our +furniture and pictures were in place, visitors used to say, "_Wherever_ +did you get that wonderful paper?" If they were true friends and worthy, +we told them. Otherwise we would vaguely hint of a special pattern, and +that there was no more to be had of the kind. + + +IV + +_There was a place we sometimes visited to see the trout_ + +I suppose about the most beautiful thing in life is novelty. In it is +the chief charm of youth and travel and honeymoons. I will not say it is +the most valuable thing there is, and it is likely to be about the most +transient. But while it lasts it is precious, and inspiring beyond +words. + +No other autumn could ever be quite like that first one of our new +possession, none could ever have the halo and the bloom of novelty that +made us revel in all the things we could do and moved us to undertake +them all. Days to come would be more peaceful and abundantly satisfying, +happier, even, in the fullness of accomplishment, but never again would +we know quite the thrill that each day brought during our first golden +September at Brook Ridge. + +To begin with, it was September, and golden. The rains of August had +ceased and their lavish abundance had filled brook and river and left +the world a garden of wild aster and goldenrod, with red apples swinging +from the trees, massed umbels of dark elderberries, and pink and purple +grapes ripening in the sun. Our satisfaction with everything was +unbounded. A New England farm, with its brook and springs and gray walls +and odd corners, seemed to us, of all possessions, the most desirable. +We took long walks through our quiet woods where there were hickory and +chestnut trees, and oaks and hemlocks, and slender white birches that +were like beautiful spirits, and tall maples, and even apple-trees, wild +seedlings, planted by the birds, but thrifty and bearing. We had never +seen that in the West. The fruit was not very tender, but well flavored +and made delicious sauce. + +"Why, it must be the Garden of Eden," we said, "if the apple-tree grows +wild!" + +We carried baskets and gathered in infinite variety. Apples, +hickory-nuts, berries, mushrooms--especially mushrooms, for we were fond +of them and had carefully acquainted ourselves with the deadly kinds. +Those, by the way, are all that one needs to know. All the others may be +eaten. Some of them may taste like gall and wormwood, or living and +enduring fire, and an occasional specimen may make the experimenter feel +briefly unwell, but if he will acquaint himself with the virulent +amanita varieties, and shun them, he will not die--not from poison. I do +not guarantee against indigestion. + +We would bring home as many as seventeen sorts of those edible +toadstools, beautiful things in creamy white, brown, purple, yellow, +coral, and vivid scarlet, and get out our _Book of a Thousand Kinds_, +and patiently identify them, tasting for the flavor and sometimes +getting a hot one or a bitter one, but often putting as many as a dozen +kinds into the chafing-dish. Even if the result was occasionally a bit +"woodsy" as to savor, we did not mind much, not in those days of +novelty, though Elizabeth did once think she felt a "little dizzy" after +an unusually large collection, and I had a qualm or two myself. But when +we looked up and found that mushroom poison does not begin to destroy +for several hours, we fell to discussing other matters, and did not +remember our slight inconvenience until long after we should have been +dead, by the book limitation. + +There was a gap in the stone wall where we passed from our land into +Westbury's, and beyond it an open place that was a mushroom-garden. +Green and purple russulas grew there as if they had been planted, beds +of coral-hued "Tom Thumbs" that were like strawberries, and a big, +bitter variety of boletus, worthless but beautiful, having the size and +appearance of a pie--a meringue pie, well browned. A path led to another +garden where in a hidden nook we one day discovered a quantity of +chanterelles that were like wonderful black morning-glories. It was +duskily shaded there, and through the flickering green we noticed a +vivid, red spot that was like a flame. We pushed out to it and came upon +a tiny, silent brook slipping through a bed of cowslip and water-arum, +and at its margin a scarlet cardinal-flower, burning a star upon the +afternoon. + +[Illustration] + +There was a place which we sometimes visited to see the trout. You +crossed the bean-lot and came to a little secluded land where there were +slim cedars and grass and asters and goldenrod, a spot so still and +unvisited that it was like a valley that one might find in a dream. Our +brook flowed through it and in one place there was a quiet pool and an +overhanging rock. Willows and alders sheltered it, and if you slipped +through without noise and lay very still, you were pretty sure to see a +school of trout, for it was their favorite haunt. Once we counted +twenty-two there, lying head up-stream, gently fanning their tails and +white-edged fins. They were a handsome lot, ranging in size from eight +to twelve inches, and we would not have parted with them for the cost of +the farm. + +[Illustration] + +The "precious ones" joined in some of these excursions, but our +diversions were too tame for them, as a rule. Wading, racing up and +down, tumbling on the hay, with now and then a book in the shade, was +more to their liking. When the two older ones had gone to school and the +Joy was with us alone, she invented plays of her own, plays in which a +capering horse--that is to say, herself--had the star part. Once I found +her sitting by a tub of water, sailing a wonderful boat in it--one that +she had made for herself, out of a chip and a nail, using a stone for a +hammer. She wore one of the antique bonnets brought down from the attic, +and seemed lost in contemplation of her handiwork. Without her noticing, +I made a photograph. How it carries me back, to-day. + +I have mentioned our varied undertakings. When wild grapes ripened on +the roadside walls--the big, fragrant wild grapes of New England--we +made a real business of gathering them. They were in endless quantity, +three colors--pink, purple, and white--and their rich odor betrayed +them. Placing some stones in the brook one afternoon, I became conscious +of a thick wave of that sweet perfume, and, looking up, discovered a +natural trellis of clusters just above my head. I don't know how many +bushels we gathered in all, or how many quarts of jelly and jam and +sweet wine we made. I found in the attic, which we named our "Swiss +Family Robinson," because it was provided with everything we needed, an +old pair of "pressers," and squeezed out grape juice and elderberry +juice and blackberry juice, while Elizabeth stirred and boiled and put +away, for we were New England farmers now, and were going to do all the +things, and have preserves and nuts and apples laid away for winter. How +we worked--played, I mean, for with novelty one does not work, but +becomes a child again, and plays. And the more toys we can find, and the +longer we can make each one last, the happier and better and younger we +shall be. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + + +I + +_There is compensation even for moving_ + +[Illustration] + +On the 1st of October we moved. Ah, me! How easily one may dismiss in +words an epic thing like that. Yet it is better so. Moves, like +earthquakes, are all a good deal alike, except as to size and the extent +of destruction. Few care for the details. I still have an impression of +two or three nightmarish days that began with some attempt at real +packing and ended with a desperate dropping of anything into any +convenient box or barrel or bureau drawer, and of a final fevered +morning when two or more criminals in the guise of moving-men bumped and +scraped our choicest pieces down tortuous stairways and slammed them +into their cavernous vans, leaving on the pavement certain unsightly, +disreputable articles for every passer-by to scorn. + +[Illustration] + +It is true that this time we had a box-car--we had never before risen to +that dignity--and I recall a weird traveling to and fro with the vans, +and intervals of anguish when I watched certain precious, and none too +robust, examples of the antique fired almost bodily into its deeper +recesses. Oh, well, never mind; it came to an end. Our goods arrived at +the Brook Ridge station, and Westbury and his teams transported +them--not to the house, but to the barn, for among other things in Brook +Ridge we had unearthed an old cabinet-maker whom we had engaged for the +season to put us in order before we set our possessions in place. He +erected a bench in the barn, and there for a month he glued and scraped +and polished and tacked, and as each piece was finished we brought it in +and tried it in one place and another, discovering all over again how +handsome it was, restored and polished, and now at last in its proper +setting. + +There was compensation even for moving in getting settled in that +progressive way, each evening marking a step toward completion. When our +low book shelves were ranged in the spaces about the walls, the books +wiped and put into them; when our comfortable chairs were drawn about +the fireplaces; when our tall clock with a shepherdess painted on the +dial had found its place between the windows and was ticking +comfortably--we felt that our dream of that first day was coming true, +and that the reality was going to be even better than the dream. + +[Illustration: _Sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning +embers, and watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading +autumn fields_] + +Of course the old living-room was the best of all. Its length and low +ceiling and the great fireplace would insure that. We had ranged a row +of blue plates, with some of the ancient things from the attic, along +the narrow mantel, and it somehow seemed as if they had been there from +the beginning. The low double windows were opposite the fireplace. We +had our large table there, and between meal-times the Joy liked to +spread her toys on it. She wore her hair cut in the Dutch fashion, and +sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning embers and +watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading autumn fields, I +had the most precious twilight illusion of having stepped backward at +least a hundred years. + +We thought our color scheme good, and I suppose there is really no +better background for old mahogany than dull green. Golden brown is +handsome with it, and certain shades of blue, but there is something +about the green with antique furniture that seems literally to give it a +soul. Never had our possessions shown to such an advantage (no pun +intended, though they did shine) and never, we flattered ourselves, had +the old house been more fittingly appointed. With the pictures and +shades put up, the rugs put down, and the fires lit, it seemed to us +just about perfect. It was a jewel, we thought, and to-day, remembering +it, I think so still. + + +II + +_There is work about making apple-butter_ + +Perhaps I am making it all sound too easy and comfortable. The past has +a way of submerging its sorrows. With a little effort, however, I can +still recall some of them. Our transition period was not all picnic and +poetry. There were days of stress--hard, nerve-racking days when it +seemed that never in the wide world would things get into shape--as +when, for instance, the new kitchen range arrived and would not go +through any of the kitchen doors; when our grandfather clock had been +found an inch too tall for any of our rooms; when our big fireplace had +poured out smoke until we were blind and asphyxiated. Any one of these +things would be irritating, and coming together, as they did, one +gloomy, chilly morning, they had presented an aspect almost of failure. +Then, being resolute and in good health, we proceeded to correct +matters. We stripped the range for action, took out a sash, and brought +it in edgewise through a window. We mortised down an inch into the +flinty oak floor and let in the legs of the old clock so that its top +ornament would just clear the ceiling. + +The fireplace problem was more serious. We knew that the chimney was big +enough, for we could look up it at a three-foot square of sky, and our +earlier fires had given us no trouble. We solved the mystery when we +threw open an outside door to let out the smoke. The smoke did not go +out; it rushed back to the big fireplace and went up the chimney, where +it belonged. We understood, then--in the old days air had poured in +through a hundred cracks and crevices. Now we had tightened our walls +and windows until the big chimney could no longer get its breath. It +must have a vent, an air-supply which must come from the outside, yet +not through the room. + +Here was a chance for invention. I went down cellar to reflect and +investigate. I decided that a stove-pipe could be carried from a small +cellar window to the old chimney base, and by prying up the thick stone +hearth we could excavate beneath it a passage which would admit the pipe +to one end of the fireplace, where it could be covered and made sightly +by a register. Old Pop came with his crowbar and pick, and Westbury +brought the galvanized pipe and the grating. It was quite a strenuous +job while it lasted, but it was the salvation of our big fireplace, and +I was so proud of the result that I did not greatly mind the mashed foot +I got through Old Pop's allowing the thousand-pound stone hearth to rest +on it while he attended to another matter. + +I have given the details of this non-smoke device because any one buying +and repairing an old house is likely to be smoked out and might not +immediately stumble upon the simple remedy. I know when later, at the +club, I explained it to an architectural friend, he confessed that the +notion had not occurred to him, adding, with some shame, that he had +more than once left a considerable crack under a door as an air-supply. +Imagine! + +So these troubles passed, and others in kind and variety. Those were +busy days. We were doing so many things, we hardly had time to enjoy the +fall scenery, the second stage of it, as it were, when the goldenrod and +queen's-lace-handkerchief were gone, the blue wild asters fading, and +leaves beginning to fall, though the hilltops were still ablaze with +crimson and gold. Once we stole an afternoon and climbed a ridge that +looked across a valley to other ridges swept by the flame of autumn. It +was really our first wide vision of the gorgeous fall colorings of New +England, and they are not surpassed, I think, anywhere this side of +heaven. + +We gathered our apples. We had a small orchard of red Baldwins across +the brook, and some old, scattering trees such as you will find on every +New England farm. These last were very ancient, and of varieties +unknown to-day. One, badly broken by the wind, we cut, and its rings +gave it one hundred and fifty years. Putnam's soldiers could have hooked +apples from that tree, and probably did so, for it was not in plain view +of the house. + +We put the Baldwins away and made cider of the others, it being now the +right moment, when there was a tang of frost in the morning air. We +picked up enough to fill both of Uncle Joe's cider-barrels, Westbury and +I hauled them to the mill, and the next day Elizabeth was boiling down +the sweet juice into apple-butter, which is one of the best things in +the world. + +There is work about making apple-butter. It is not just a simple matter +of putting on some juice and letting it boil. Apples must go into it, +too, a great many of them, and those apples must be peeled and sliced, +and stirred and stirred eternally. And then you will find that you need +more apples, more peeling and slicing, and more stirring and stirring, +oh yes, indeed. Elizabeth stirred, I stirred, and Lazarus, our small +colored vassal, stirred. I said if I had time I would invent an +apple-butter machine, and Elizabeth declared she would never undertake +such a job again, never in the world! But that was mere momentary +rebellion. When it was all spiced and done and some of it spread on +slices of fresh bread and butter, discontent and weariness passed, and +next day she and Lazarus were making pickles and catsup and apple jelly, +while Old Pop and I were hauling all the flat stones we could find and +paving the wide space between the house and the stone curb which already +we had built around the well. Oh, there is plenty to do when one has +bought an old farm and wants to have all the good things, and the +livable things; and October is the time to do them, when the mornings +are brisk, and the days are balmy, and evening brings solace by the open +fire. + + +III + +_Lazarus's downfall was a matter of pigs_ + +It was Lazarus, I think, who most enjoyed the open fire. Stretched full +length on the hearth, flat on his stomach, his chin in his hands, +baking himself, he might have been one of his own ancestors of the +African forest, for he was desperately black, and true to type. A runty +little spindle-legged darky of thirteen, Lazarus had come to us +second-hand, so to speak, from the county home. A family in the +neighborhood was breaking up, and Lazarus's temporary adoption in the +household was at an end. He had come on an errand one evening, and our +interview then had led to his being transferred to our account. + +"I goin' away nex' week," he said. + +"Where are you going, Lazarus?" + +"Back to de home, where I come from." + +"What do you get for your work where you are now?" + +"Boa'd and clo's an' whatever dey min' to give." + +"What do you do?" + +"Bring wood, wash dishes, and whatever dey wants me to." + +"How would you like to come up here for a while?" + +He had his eye on my target-rifle as he replied, "Yassah, I'd like +it--what sort o' gun yo' got?" + +I explained my firearm to him and let him handle it. His willingness to +come grew. + +"Are you a pretty good boy, Lazarus?" + +"Oh, yassah--is--is yo' goin' to le' me shoot yo' gun ef I come?" + +"Very likely, but never mind that now. What happens if you're not good?" + +He eyed me rather furtively. "De rule is yo cain't whip," he said. "You +kin only send back to de home." + +We agreed on these terms, and Lazarus arrived the day after the auction +that closed out his former employers. As an aside I may mention that Old +Pop laid off a day to attend the said auction, and bought a pink +chenille portière and a Japanese screen. + +I want to be fair to Lazarus, and I confess, before going farther, that +I think we did not rate him at his worth. He had artistic value--he was +good literary material. I feel certain of that now, and I think I +vaguely realized it at the time. But I was not at the moment doing +anything in color, and for other purposes he was not convincing. His +dish-washing was far from brilliant and his sweeping was a mess. Also, +his appetite for bringing wood had grown dull. There is an old saying +which closely associates a colored person with a wood-pile, but our +particular Senegambian was not of that variety. The only time he really +cared for wood was when it was blazing in the big fireplace, and the +picture he made in front of it was about all that we thought valuable. +It is true that he made a good audience and would accompany me to the +fuel-heap and openly admire and praise my strength in handling the big +logs, but his own gifts lay elsewhere. He approved of my gun and would +have spent whole days firing it into the sky or the tree-tops, or at the +barn or at birds, or into an expansive random, to the general danger of +the neighborhood, if I had let him. He had a taste for jewelry, +especially for my scarf-pins. When he saw one loosely lying about he +carefully laid it away to prevent accident, using a very private little +box he had, as a proper and safe place for it. When he discussed this +matter he told me quite casually that he spected something _would_ +happen to him some day, as his father and uncle, and I think he said his +grandfather, were at the moment in the penitentiary. He was inclined to +exaggerate and may have been boasting, but I think his ancestry was of +that turn. + +Lazarus's own chief treasure was a clock. I do not recall now where he +said it came from, but he valued it highly. It was a round tin clock, +with an alarm attachment. He kept it by his bed, and the alarm was his +especial joy. He loved the sound of it, I do not know why. Perhaps it +echoed some shrill, raucous cry of the jungle that had stirred his +ancestors, and something hereditary in him still answered to it. He +never seemed to realize that it was attached to the clock for any +special purpose, such as rousing him to the affairs of the day. To him +it was music, inspiration, even solace. When its strident concatenation +of sounds smote the morning air Lazarus would let it rave on +interminably, probably hugging himself with the fierce joy of it, +lulled by its final notes to a relapse of dreams. It did not on any +occasion stimulate him to rise and dress. That was a more strenuous +matter--one requiring at times physical encouragement on my part. Had +his bulk been in proportion to his trance, I should have needed a block +and tackle and a derrick to raise this later Lazarus. + +Lazarus's downfall was a matter of pigs. We did not expect to embark in +pig culture when we settled at Brook Ridge, but Westbury encouraged the +notion, and our faith in Westbury was strong. He said that pigs had a +passion for dish-water and garbage, and that our kitchen surplus, +modestly supplemented with "shorts," would maintain a side-line of two +pigs, which would grow into three-hundred-pounders and fill up Uncle +Joe's pork and ham barrels by the end of another season. + +The idea was alluring. A neighbor had small pigs for sale, and I ordered +a pair. There was an old pen near the barn, and I spent a day setting it +in order for our guests. I repaired the outlets, swept it, and put in +nice clean hay. I built a yard easy of access from the pen, and +installed a generous and even handsome trough. Westbury said our +preparations were quite complete. I could see that our pigs also +approved of it. They capered about, oof-oofing, and enjoyed their trough +and contents. True, their manners left something to be desired, but that +is often the case with the young. + +What round, cunning, funny little things they were! We named them Hans +and Gretel, and were tempted to take them into the house, as pets. We +might have done so, only that I remembered the story of the Arab who +invited his camel to put his head in the tent. I had a dim suspicion +that those two pigs would own the house presently, and that we should +have no place to go but the pen. Lazarus was fascinated by them. He hung +over the side of their private grounds and wanted to carry them +refreshments constantly. + +"Dem cert'ney make mighty fine shotes by spring," he announced to +everybody that came along, "an' by killin'-time dey grow as big as dat +barn. I gwine to feed 'em all day an' see how fat dey gits." + +[Illustration] + +"You're elected, Lazarus," I said. "It's your job. You look after Hans +and Gretel and we'll look after you." + +"Yo' des watch 'em grow," said Lazarus. + +For a while we did. We went out nearly every day to look at our +prospective ham and bacon supply, and it did seem to be coming along. +Then I had some special work which took me away for a fortnight, and +concurrently a bad spell of weather set in. Elizabeth, occupied with +the hundred supplementary details of getting established, and general +domestic duties, could not give Hans and Gretel close personal +attention, and they fell as a monopoly to Lazarus. With his passion for +pigs, she thought he might overfeed them, but as she had never heard of +any fatalities in that direction he was not restrained. + +But it may be this idea somehow got hold of Lazarus. I came home one +evening and asked about the pigs. Elizabeth was doubtful. She had been +out that day to look at them and was not encouraged by their appearance. +She thought they had grown somewhat--in length. When I inspected them +next morning, I thought so, too. I said that Hans and Gretel were no +longer pigs they were turning into ant-eaters. Their bodies appeared to +have doubled in length and halved in bulk. Their pudgy noses had become +beaks. I was reminded of certain wild, low-bred pigs which I had seen +splitting the hazel-brush of the West, the kind that Bill Nye once +pictured as outrunning the fast mail. I said I feared our kitchen +by-product was not rich enough for Hans and Gretel. Possibly that was +true. Still, it would, have been better than nothing, which it appeared +was chiefly what those poor porkers had been living on. + +Lazarus's love had waned and died. On chilly, stormy evenings it had +been easier to fling the contents of his pail and pan out back of the +wood-house than to carry them several times farther to the pen, while +the supplementary "shorts" had been shortened unduly for Hans and +Gretel. The physical evidence was all against Lazarus--the fascinations +of the big open fire had won him; he had been untrue to the pigs. When +he appeared, they charged him in chorus with his perfidy, and he could +frame no adequate reply. Westbury came, and I persuaded him to take them +at a reduction, and threw in Uncle Joe's pork and ham barrels. I said we +wanted Hans and Gretel to have a good home--that we had not been worthy +of them. + +They found it at Westbury's. There they were in a sort of heaven. When I +saw them at the end of another two weeks they were again +unrecognizable--they were once more pigs. + +We parted, with Lazarus about the same time. Our régime was not suited +to his needs. It was a pity. With his gifts, the right people might have +modeled him into a politician, or something, but we couldn't. We had +neither the equipment nor the time. Nor, according to agreement, could +we administer that discipline which, from our old-fashioned point of +view, he sometimes seemed to require. We could only "send back to de +home." Perhaps to-day he is "somewhere in France," making a good +soldier. I hope so. + + +IV + +_Westbury had advised against wheat_ + +But if our venture in pig culture had not been an entire success, our +agriculture gave better promise. Our rye and grass seed had come up +abundantly, and by November the fields, viewed from a little distance, +were a mass of vivid green. There is something approaching a thrill in +seeing the seed of your own sowing actually break ground and spring up +and wax strong with promise. You seem somehow to have had a hand in the +ancient miracle of life. + +Our rye had such a sturdy look that I said it was pretty sure to turn +out something fancy in the way of grain, and that we could probably sell +it as "seed" rye, which always brought a better price than the regular +crop. Then, as the idea expanded, I said that with our few acres we +could cultivate intensively and raise seed crops entirely. That would be +something really aristocratic in the farming line. We would begin with +seed rye and wheat, of which latter grain I had put in a modest sowing. +Next year we would go in for seed potatoes, oats, corn, and the like. We +could have a neat sign on the stone wall in front, announcing our line +of goods. Very likely buyers would come from a considerable distance for +them--I had myself driven seven miles with Westbury for the seed rye. A +business like that would grow. We could go in for new varieties of +things, and in time set up a shipping-station, with a packing-house and +a bookkeeper. No doubt Henderson and Hiram Sibley and Ferry and those +other seed magnates had begun in some such modest way. + +I don't think Elizabeth responded entirely to this particular +enthusiasm, and I could see that she was doubtful about the sign in +front, but on a winy, windless November day, warmed by a mellow sun, all +things seem possible, and she graciously admitted that one never could +tell--that stranger things had happened. Then we came to our small +wheat-field, and the new seed enthusiasm received a slight check. +Westbury had advised against wheat. He said it did not do well in that +section. This, I had insisted, must be a superstition, and I had gone to +considerable expense to have the ground properly prepared, and to obtain +the best seed. + +The result, as it appeared now, was not promising. Here and there a +spindling blade had come through, and some of those seemed about to turn +into grass. I do not know why wheat acts like that in Connecticut. I did +not follow up the scientific phases of the case, but I confided to +Elizabeth that perhaps, after all, we would not announce "Seed Wheat" +on the neat sign planned for the outer wall. + +Late October winds had changed the aspect of our world. Our woods were +no longer deep, vast, and mysterious. We could see straight through them +and read their most hidden secrets. We discovered one day, what we had +never suspected, that at one place our brook turned and came back almost +to the road. All that summer it had supped silently through that brushy +corner which for some reason we had never penetrated. We discovered, +too, a little to one side of our former excursions, a rocky acclivity, a +place of pretty hemlock-trees and seclusion--a spot for a summer tent. + +There were not many mushrooms any more, but we gathered gay red berries +for decoration, bunches of late fern, sprays of bittersweet; we raked +over the leaves for nuts, and sometimes found bits of spicy wintergreen +or checkerberry, the kind that always flavored old-fashioned lozenges +which our grandmothers bought in little rolls for a penny, on the way to +school. You may guess that this was pleasant play to us who for ten +years had known only city or suburban life at this season, and not the +least pleasant part of it was the quiet noise the leaves made as we +strode through them, the _fruis-sas-se-ar_, as the French of the +Provence call it, and the word as they speak it conveys the sound. +Astride a stick horse, of which on our new back porch she kept a full +stable, the Joy went racing this way and that, kicking high the loose +brown drift of summer, stirred to a sort of ecstasy by its pleasant +noise and the spicy autumn air. + +The November woods had fewer voices than those of the earlier season, +but there was more visible life. Many of the birds remained, and they +could no longer hide so easily. A hawk or an owl on a bare bough was +sharply outlined. Rabbits darted among the trees, or stood erect, +staring at us with questioning eyes. Squirrels scampering over the limbs +gave exhibitions of acrobatic skill. There were two kinds of +squirrels--the fat gray ones, of which there were not many, and the +venomous little red ones, of which there seemed an overproduction. They +were cute little wretches, but we did not care for them. They were +pugnacious pirates; they robbed their unmilitant gray relative and +chased him from the premises. Earlier in the season they had thrown down +quantities of green nuts to be wasted, and we were told they robbed +birds' nests, not only of their eggs, but of their young. Those red +rovers had no food value, or they would have been fewer. They were a +mere furry skin drawn over a bunch of wires and strings, and not worth a +charge of powder. + + +V + +_Deer--wild deer--on our own farm!_ + +Animal life is still plentiful in New England--far more so than in the +newer states of the Middle West. With the decrease of population in many +districts the wild things have wandered back to their old haunts. They +are not very persistently hunted, and some of them, like the deer, are +protected. Now and again in our walks we saw a fox, wary and +silent-footed, and often on sharp nights, on the hill above the house, +one barked anxiously at the moon. At least that is the poetic form, +though I really think he was barking for the same reason that I often +sing when others of the family are not present. The others claim they do +not care for it--I often wonder why. I suppose that fox's family was the +same way, so he went out there alone in a dark, safe place to enjoy his +music unrestrained. Yet no place seems entirely safe when one wants to +sing, and I fear something happened to that fox, for by and by we did +not hear him any more. Very likely one of his relatives crept up on him +with a brick. We were sorry, for we had learned to like his music--it +gave us a wild, primeval feeling. + +I think there were no wolves or bears in our immediate neighborhood, +though there came reports of them, now and then--exaggerated, I dare +say--from adjoining ridges. The nearest thing we had to bears were some +very fat and friendly woodchucks, who at a little distance, sitting on +their haunches, looked very much like small grizzlies. They dug their +holes a few yards from the house and sometimes came quite to the back +door, probably intending to call, but when we approached them their +courage failed and they went "galumphing" back to their houses. There +they would sit up for a moment, staring at us, then, if we approached +suddenly, would dive to lower recesses. I explained to the Joy that they +most likely had cozy little houses down there, with chairs and tables +and a nice stove to cook their food things on. She was sure it was all +true, except about the stove, which seemed doubtful, because no smoke +ever came from their chimneys. + +Most of the animals were friendly to us, and I think made our house a +sort of center. I remember one pleasant Sunday afternoon, when we were +sitting outside, we noticed simultaneously two woodchucks playing in the +field just across the road; a red squirrel pursuing a gray one along our +stone wall, almost within arm's-reach; a blue heron among the willows by +the brook, probably prospecting for trout; some bob-whites running along +by the roadside; while in the woods just beyond a partridge was drumming +up further recruits for the exhibition. + +The deer did not call as soon as the others. They were reserved and +aristocratic and would seem to have looked us over a good while before +they accepted us. We frequently saw their tracks, and hoped for one of +the glimpses reported by our neighbors. + +It came one morning, very early. A cow in an adjoining field was making +an unusual sound. Elizabeth looked out and beckoned me to the window. +There they were, at last! two reddish-tan, shy creatures--a doe and a +half-grown fawn--stepping mincingly down to the brook to drink. We could +have hugged ourselves with the delight of it--deer--wild deer--on our +own farm, drinking from our own brook, here in this old, old land! + +I wonder if they heard us, or perhaps sensed us. Or they may not have +liked the noise of greeting, or protest, made by the neighbor's cow. +Whatever the reason, they suddenly threw up their heads, seemed to look +straight at us, turned lightly, and simply floated away. What I mean by +that is that their movement was not like that of any other animal, or +like a bird's--it suggested thistledown. They drifted over the stone +wall and clumps of bushes without haste and seemingly without weight. It +was as if we had seen phantoms of the dawn. + +We saw them often, after that. Sometimes at evening they grazed in our +lower meadow. Once, three of them in full daylight crossed the upland +just above the house. They were not fifty yards away, moving +deliberately, looking neither to the right nor to the left. + +We felt the honor of it--they had admitted us to their charmed circle. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + + +I + +_But Sarah was biding her time_ + +[Illustration] + +I have not mentioned, I think, a small building that, when we came, +stood just across the road from our house--a rather long, low structure +with sliding windows, called "the shop." Red raspberries of a large, +sweet variety were ripening about it, and within was a short box +counter, a shoemaker's work-bench, a cutting-board, a great bag of +wooden shoe-pegs, and a quantity of leather scraps, for it had, in fact, +been a shop during the two generations preceding our ownership. Before +that it appeared to have served as a sort of office for Captain Ben +Meeker, who also had been not merely a farmer, as certain records +proved. Captain Ben may have built the shop, though I think it was +older, for when we examined the picturesque little building, with a view +to restoration, it proved to be too far gone--too much a structure of +decay. So we tore down "the shop," and, incidentally, Old Pop, who did +the tearing, found a Revolutionary bayonet in the loft; also a more +recent, and particularly hot, hornets' nest which caused him to leap +through the window and spring into the air several times on the way to +the bushes by the brook. But that is another story. We have already had +the bee history; hornets would be in the nature of a repetition. + +[Illustration] + +We found something of still greater interest in the old shop. One day, +digging over the leather scraps, we uncovered the records above +mentioned--that is to say, the old account-books of Captain Ben Meeker +and the two generations of shoemakers who had followed him. These +ancient folios, stoutly made and legibly written, correlate a good deal +of Brook Ridge history for a hundred years. The names of the dead are +there, and the items of their forgotten activities. + +From Westbury and others we already knew that Benjamin Meeker and Sarah, +his wife, had occupied our house at the beginning of the last +century--young married folks then--and that there had been a little girl +(owner of the small brass-nailed trunk, maybe) who in due time had grown +up and married the young shoemaker, Eli Brayton, of "distant parts," he +being from eastern New York, as much as fifty miles away. Brayton had +remained in the family, set up his bench in one end of the building +across the road, and there for a generation made the boots of the +countryside, followed in the trade by his son, the "Uncle Joe" who at +eighty-five had laid down the hammer and the last a year prior to our +coming. This was good history in outline, and Westbury had supplied +episodes, here and there, embellished in his improving fashion. The old +books came now as a supplement--an extension course, as it were, in the +history of Captain Ben and his successors. + +While not recorded, we may assume that Captain Ben belonged to the +militia, hence his title. That he had another official position we learn +from certain items of entry: + + To serving one summon on S. Davis 3 shillin + To serving one tachment on J. Fillow 2 shillin + To fees: execushun Eli Sherwood 2 shillin 6 pnc. + +Evidently a constable or deputy sheriff, and I think we may assume that +the last item records a process, and not a performance. The fees are +reassuring. Eli could hardly have been dismissed mortally for two and +six. + +Captain Ben had still other activities. He owned teams for hire; he +dealt in livestock; in addition to his farm he owned a sawmill on the +brook; he even went out at day's labor--certainly a busy man, requiring +carefully kept accounts, and an office. + +The accounts begin in 1797 and are sometimes kept in dollars and cents, +sometimes in the English fashion, as above. Sometimes the charges are +made in one form, the credits in another. It was just as he got started, +I suppose, both moneys being in about equal circulation. + +Captain Ben's spelling is interesting. He was by no means illiterate. +His writing is trim, his accounts in good form and correctly figured. +But it was more a fashion in that day to spell as pronounced, and his +orthography gives us a personal sense of the period. + +"To plowin garding ... 2 shillin." You can almost hear him say that, +while "To haulin stun" likewise carries the fine old flavor. + +We have heard much of the "good old times when things were cheap," but +Captain Ben's book proves that not all commodities were cheap in his +day. Calico, for instance, is set down at three and six a yard--that is, +eighty-five cents. Handkerchiefs at two shillings thrippence each, +sugar at a shilling per pound, which is more than double our war-time +prices. It is not well to complain, even to-day, remembering those +rates, especially when we note that in 1805 Captain Ben's labor brought +him only four shillings a day (six with team), and his sawing, in small +lots, but a trifle. Labor was, in fact, cheap at that period; also +unfortunately for Captain Ben--rum and brandy. + +The book does not say where Ezekial Jackson kept his general store, but +that was where Captain Ben dealt, and his items of purchase are +faithfully set down. A good many men "swear off" on the New Year, but +Captain Ben didn't. He bought a "decantur," price two and six (ah me! it +would be an antique, now), and promptly started in having it filled. +Behold the startling credits to Ezekial Jackson during the first ten +days of 1806: + + Jan. 1, By 2 lb. sugar 2 shillin + " 1, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + " 5, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + " 6, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + " 10, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + +But perhaps this was too costly a pace, for the next entry is, "Jan. 15, +1 jug, 1 shillin," and on the same date, "One gallon of rum, 6 shillin." +That, you see, was somewhat cheaper and required fewer trips to town. On +January 20th the jug was filled again, and on the same date we find set +down "four and a half yards of chintz and one scane of silk." That +chintz and "scane" of silk look suspicious--they look like tranquilizers +for Sarah, his wife. + +Through that month and the three following the liquid items follow with +alarming monotony, only separated here and there by entries of "tee" and +sugar and certain yards of "cotting" and "scanes" of silk for Sarah. + +But Sarah was biding her time. The book does not say that the minister +was asked to call, or that he came. It does not need to. We may guess it +from the next entry: + + May 2, By 1 famly bible 1 poun, 13 shillin + +That ended the rum chapter. There is not another spirituous entry in all +of Ezekial Jackson's credits. "By one mometer" comes next, May 6th. +Probably Captain Ben felt himself cooling down pretty rapidly for the +season, and wanted to take the temperature. Then follows "two combs"--he +was going to keep slicked up--also earthenware, indigo, "cotting," and +more scanes of silk, mainly for Sarah, no doubt, and so on to the end, +when the account is closed and underneath is written: + + This day made all even betwixt Ezekial Jackson and myself. + + B. M. + +Captain Ben's accounts close in 1829, but the shoemaking records had +long since begun. They are more prosaic, but they have an interest, too. +A book with charges against Joel Barlow and Aaron Burr could hardly fail +of that, though the said Joel Barlow is not the poet-diplomat who wrote +the "Columbiad" and shone in European courts, nor Aaron Burr the +corrupter of Blennerhassett and the slayer of Alexander Hamilton. At +least, I judge they were not, for this Barlow and this Burr had cobbling +charges against them as late as 1840, when the intriguing Aaron and the +gifted Joel no longer needed earthly repairs. Nevertheless, they were of +the same families, for Joel Barlow, the poet, was born just over the +hill from us, and the name of Aaron Burr was known in Connecticut long +before it found doubtful distinction in New Jersey. + +The shoemaker's accounts reflect a life that is now all but gone. Some +of the charges were offset with potatoes, some with rye, some with +labor, a few of them with cash. A pair of boots in 1828 brought two +dollars and fifty cents. Repairs ranged from six cents up, many of the +charges being set down in half-cents. Those were exact, frugal days. + + +II + +_We often cooked by our fireplace_ + +One hundred and fifty Thanksgivings must have preceded ours in the old +house, but I think out of them all you could not have picked a better +one. I would not like to say a more bountiful one, for I suppose in the +earlier day they had great wild turkeys and perhaps a haunch of venison, +braces of partridges and other royal fare. Even so, they could hardly +have eaten it all, and I think their noble turkey did not taste any +better than ours. Moreover, we were glad that our deer and partridges +were still running free. + +We did not lack of native dishes. Our mince and pumpkin pies were home +products, as well as our apple-butter and a variety of other preserves. +Also, I had discovered a bed of wild cress in the brook and our brown +turkey was garnished with that piquant green. Certainly there was an +old-fashioned feeling about our first New England holiday--something +precious and genuine, that made all effort and cost worth while. + +The Pride and the Hope had come home for a week's vacation and were +reveling in the house, which they now for the first time saw in order. +Of course their rooms had to be personally adjusted, their own special +belongings inspected and put away. Their treasures, after two months of +absence, were all new and fresh to them. The Pride, reveling in her own +"cozy corner," or curled up in a big chair by the log fire, reread her +favorite books; the Hope and the Joy played paper-doll "ladies" on the +deep couch, cutting out a whole new generation with up-to-date wardrobes +from the costume pages of some marvelous new fashion magazines. +Oblivious to the grosser world about them, they caused their respective +families to telephone and give parties and visit back and forth, and to +discuss openly their most private affairs and move into new houses and +make improvements and purchases that would have wrecked Rockefeller if +the bills had ever fallen due. That is the glory of make-believe--one +may go as far as he likes, building his castles and his kingdoms, with +never a cent to pay. It is only when one tries to realize in acres and +bricks and shingles that the accounts come in. A spiritistic friend of +mine told me recently that the latest communications from the shadow +world indicate the life there to be purely mental, that each spirit +entity creates its own environment and habitation by thought alone. In +a word, it is a world, he said, where imagination is reality and all the +dreams come true. Ah me! I hope he is not mistaken! What dreams of +empires we have all put away, what air-castles we have seen melt and +vanish because of the cost! A place where one may build and plant and +renew by the processes of thought alone, unchecked by acreage boundaries +or any sordid limitations of ways and means! I cannot think of a better +or more reasonable hereafter than that. We get a glimpse of it here in +the play of children--little children who perhaps have left the truth +not so far behind. + +"Fashion ladies" must relax now and then. Even in late November there +were pleasant sunny days when the Hope and the Joy roamed the fields or +laid a long board across a tumbled wall and teetered away vacation hours +to the tune of + + Seesaw, Marjory Daw, + Sold her bed and laid on straw, + +which was probably first sung a good way back--by Cain and Abel, maybe, +in some corner of Eden. No, it would be outside of Eden, for their +parents had moved, as I remember, before their arrival. And I wonder if +little Cain and Abel had a fire to gather around when the fall evenings +began to close in, before the lamps were lit, and if they ever had cakes +and toast and sandwiches, with hot chocolate, from an old blue china set +from a corner cupboard, and were as hungry as bears, and rocked while +they ate and drank and watched the firelight dance on the tea-things and +table-legs. If not, I am afraid they missed something, and perhaps it is +not to be wondered at that little Cain became gloomy and savage and +outcast when he grew up. A fireplace with a cozy cup of chocolate and a +bite of something filling will civilize children about as quickly as +anything I know of, and would, I am sure, have been good for Cain. + +[Illustration] + +We often cooked by our fireplace. We hung a kettle over it for tea and +toasted bread on Captain Ben Meeker's long iron toasting-fork. Then at +supper-time we would rake out the coals, and on one of the old +gridirons brought down from the attic would broil a big steak, or some +chops, and if they did not taste better than any other steak or chops we +certainly imagined they did, and I am still inclined to think we were +right. Then there was popcorn, and potatoes roasted in the ashes, and +apples on sticks, though this was likely to be later in the evening, +when the tribe was hungry again, for children in vacation are always +hungry, just little savages, and the best way to civilize them is to +feed them, as I have said. It was too bad they must go back to school, +and sometimes we wished there were never any such things as schools; and +then again, when the house was one wild riot and hurrah, just at a +moment when I wanted to reflect, I could appreciate quite fully the +beauties of education and certain remote places where under careful +direction it could be acquired. But how silent and lonely the house +seemed when the Pride and the Hope were gone! How glad we were that +Christmas was only a month away! + + +III + +_Under the spell of the white touch_ + +In an earlier chapter I have spoken of our attic as an almost unfailing +source of supply. Any sort of vessel or implement we might happen to +need was pretty certain to turn up there if we looked long enough. It +provided us with jugs and jars, and by and by, when the snow came, a +wooden shovel and a bootjack for our rubber boots. I said that probably +some day we should find a horse and buggy and harness up there, which +was about all that we needed, now. It was just one of those careless +remarks we all make on occasion. It never occurred to me that it was +tinged with prophecy. + +We did not find the horse, harness, and buggy in the attic, but we found +them--heired them, to use a good New England word, just as we had heired +the other things. The automobile had not yet reached Brook Ridge, but +it was arriving in the centers and suburbs, upsetting old traditions, +severing old ties. Once we had been commuters on Long Island, and in our +happy suburb there still lived a friend to whom the years had brought +prosperity and motor-machines. In the earlier, more deliberate years he +had found comfort and sufficient speed in an enviable surrey, attached +to a faithful family horse which now, alas! was too slow, too deliberate +for the pace of wealth and the honk-honk of style. So the old horse +stood in the stable, for his owners did not wish to see him go to +strangers. But then one day they heard how we had turned ourselves into +farmers, and presently word came that if we needed Old Beek (shortened +from Lord Beaconsfield), surrey, and harness complete, they were ours to +command. They would be delivered to us in the city, the message said, +from which point we could drive, or ship, them to the farm. It was a +windfall from a clear sky--we said it must be our lucky year. We +accepted the quickest way, and were presently in the city to receive +Lord Beaconsfield. + +Had it been earlier in the year, during those magic days of September, +or even in October, when the drifting leaves had turned the highways +into thoroughfares of gold, we should have driven by easy stages the +sixty miles, across the hills and far away, to Brook Ridge, resting +where the night found us. It was too late for that now. The roadsides +were no longer flower-decked or golden. An early snowfall had left them +in rather a mixed condition, and the air had a chill in it that did not +invite extended travel. We could ship by boat to our nearest Sound port, +and the fifteen-mile drive from there seemed no great matter. + +We admired the dignity with which His Lordship drew up in front of our +New York hotel. He was a large, handsome animal, sorrel as to color, and +of a manner befitting his station and advanced years. It was evident +that we were not of his class, but with the gentle tact of true nobility +he never, either then or later, permitted this difference in rank to +make us uncomfortable. He even allowed us to call him "Beek," "Old +Beek," "good Old Beek," especially when there was a lump of sugar in +prospect. He was very human. + +But I anticipate. We were delighted with Lord Beaconsfield and his +appurtenances. As for the Joy, she was quite beside herself. Anything +with the semblance of a horse would excite the Joy. I got in with the +driver, and we made our way to the river-front, where I saw His Lordship +to his state-room and the surrey stored away. I don't suppose in all his +twenty years he had ever taken a voyage before, but he showed no +nervousness or undue surprise, and that night at the port of arrival he +came stepping down the gang-plank as unconcernedly as the oldest +traveler. We were up and away rather early next morning, for we wished +to travel leisurely, and we were not familiar with the road. + +On inquiry we learned there were two roads--one to the east and one to +the west of a little river, the same that formed a mill-pond in +Westbury's door-yard, and here a wide orderly stream flowed into the +sea. The "Glen" road--the one to the east--was thought to be the +shorter, so we chose that. It was a good selection, so far as scenery +was concerned, but if I had the same drive to make again I would go the +other way. With the exception of a small box of lunch crackers for the +Joy, we had provided no food for the journey, for we said we could stop +at a village inn when the time came and get something warm. That was a +good idea, only there were no villages. There was not even a country +store in that lost land of forest and hill and rocky cliff and desolate +open field. Now and then we came to a house, but so dead and forbidding +was its aspect that we did not dare even to ask our way. Never a soul +appeared in the door-yard, and if smoke came from the chimney it was a +thin, blue wisp as from dying embers. The land was asleep, under the +spell of the white touch. To knock at one of those houses would have +been, as it seemed, to call its occupants from their winter trance. + +We traveled slowly, for the roads were sticky, and there were many +hills. We could not ask Lord Beaconsfield to do more than walk, which he +did sturdily enough, tugging up the long hills, though they were +probably the first he had ever seen, for his part of Long Island had +been level ground. What must he have thought of that chaotic desolation, +where most of the woods and a good many of the fields were set up at +foolish angles against other woods and fields and where there was no +sign of food for man or beast? + +But if we were timid about making inquiries, His Lordship was not. When +his appetite became urgent he forgot that he had come of a proud race, +and soon after noon-time began to trumpet his demands, and his alarm, +like an ordinary horse. His stable at home must have been red, for at +every barn of that friendly color--and most of them were of that hue--he +sent a clarion neigh across the echoing hills. The Joy, bundled warmly, +munched her crackers and made little complaint. Her elders diverted +themselves by admiring the winter scenery--the bared woods, lightly +dressed with snow, the rocky cliffs and ledges, the tumbling black river +that now and again came into view. + +As the afternoon wore on and we arrived nowhere, we became disturbed by +doubts as to our direction. It was true that we seemed to be following +the general course of the river, but was it the right river? Hadn't we +gone trailing off somewhere on a second-class tributary that had been +leading us all day through a weird, bedeviled territory that probably +wasn't on the map at all? The brief daylight was fading and it was +important that we arrive somewhere, pretty soon. We must make inquiry. +It would be better to rouse even one of the seven sleepers than to +wander aimlessly into the night. At the next house, I said, we would +knock. + +But at the next house we actually discovered something moving--something +outside. As we came nearer it took the form of a man, a sad man, +dragging a crooked limb from a wood-pile. I drew up. + +[Illustration: _"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we +are?"_] + +"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we are?" + +"Why, yes," he grunted, as he worked and pulled at the limb. "You're at +Valley Forge." + +Valley Forge! Heavens! We were within twenty miles of Philadelphia, +on the Schuylkill. At the pace we had been going it did not seem +reasonable. This must be enchantment, sure enough. + +"Look here," I said, "you don't mean that this is Valley Forge where +Washington was quartered." + +"Don't know anything about that," he said, still grunting over the +crooked limb, "but I've been quartered here for more 'n sixty years, an' +it's always been the same Valley Forge in my time." + +"Is--is this Connecticut?" + +"That's what it is." + +I breathed easier. If he had said Pennsylvania it would have meant that +we were a hundred and fifty miles from home. + +"Do you know of any place called the Glen?" + +"Of course; right up ahead a few miles. Where'd you folks come from, +anyway? You don't appear to know much about locations." + +I side-stepped, thanking him profusely. We were all right, then, but it +seemed a narrow escape. + +At last we entered the Glen and recognized certain landmarks. It was a +somber place now--its aspect weirdly changed since the first days of our +coming. Then it had been a riot of summer-time, the cliffs a mat and +tangle of green that had shut us in. On this dull December evening, with +its vines and shrubs and gaunt trees bare, its pointed cedars and +hemlocks the only green, its dark water swirling under overhanging +rocks, it had become an entrance to Valhalla, the dim abode of the gods. + +How friendly Westbury's lights looked when we crossed the bridge by the +mill and turned into the drive, and what gracious comfort there was in +his bright fire and warm, waiting supper. We did not go up the hill that +night. Good Old Beek found rest and food and society in Westbury's big +red barn. + + +IV + +_The difficulty was to get busy_ + +I have referred more than once, I am sure, to my study behind the +chimney, a tiny place of about seven by nine feet, once, no doubt, the +"parlor bedroom." I selected it chiefly because of its size. I said one +could condense his thoughts so much better in a limited area. I shelved +one side and end of it to the ceiling, put dull-green paper on the +walls, padded its billowy floor with excelsior, put down dull-green +denim as a rug basis, and painted the woodwork to match. Then I set my +work-table in the center, where I could reach almost anything without +getting up; and certainly with its capable fireplace it was as cozy and +inviting a work-room as one would find in a week's travel. + +The difficulty was to get busy at the condensing process. Work was +pressing. Not exactly the work, either, but the need of it. No, I mean +the necessity of it. It was the need of funds that was pressing--that is +what I have been trying to convey. With all the buying and improving, +and the loads of new indispensables that Westbury was constantly +bringing from the nearest town of size, the exchequer was running low. I +am not really so lazy, once I get started, but I have a constitutional +hesitancy in the matter of getting started. My will and enthusiasm are +both in good supply, but my ability to sit down and really begin is +elusive. + +It was especially so that winter; there were so many excuses for not +getting started. Mornings I would rise firm in the resolve that the day +and hour were at hand. After breakfast I would determinedly start for +the room behind the chimney. Unfortunately I had to pass through our +"best room" to get there. There was certain to be a picture or something +a little out of place in that room. Whatever it was, it must be attended +to. It would annoy me to leave a thing like that unremedied. One's mind +must be quite untrammeled to condense. Sometimes I had to rearrange +several of the pictures, and straighten the books, and pull the rugs +around a little, before I felt ready for the condensing process. But +then I would be certain to notice something out in the yard that was not +in place. We took a pride in our yard. Once outside, one thing generally +led to another, and in the course of time I would be pawing over stuff +in the barn. Then it was about luncheon-time--it would hardly be worth +starting the condensing business till afterward. + +Perhaps I would actually get into the room behind the chimney after +luncheon, but one could not begin work until the fire was replenished +and a supply of wood brought. Then while one was at it one might as well +get in a supply of fuel for the other fires, so as to have a clear +afternoon for a good substantial beginning. + +Oh, well, you see where all those paltry subterfuges ended. It was the +easiest thing in the world to remember something I wanted to tell +Westbury--something important--and our telephone lines were not yet +connected. It would be about five when I got back, and of course one +could not start a piece of work late in the day when one was all worn +out. To-morrow, bright and early, would be the time. + +Then, just as likely as not, to-morrow would be one of those bad-luck +days. In a diary which I kept at the time I find a record of a day of +that sort. + + Began this morning by breaking a lamp chimney before I was dressed. + I continued by stepping on Pussum's tail on the way down-stairs in + the dark, which caused me to slide and scrape the rest of the way. + Elizabeth came to the head of the stairs with a fresh lamp and the + remark that she thought I had given up using such language. In + applying the liniment I upset the greasy stuff on the living-room + rug and it required an hour's brisk rubbing to get it out. Not + being satisfied with this, I turned over a bottle of ink when I sat + down after breakfast to dash off an important note before + mail-time. Nobody could think consecutively after a series like + that, so I went out for some fresh air and decided to clean up a + rough corner by the brook. I scratched my nose, strained my wrist, + and mashed my finger with a stone. Only a 100-per-cent. Christian + could remain calm on such a day. To-morrow I shall go warily and + softly, and really begin work. + +I did, in fact, against all intention and good judgment, begin one +evening just about bedtime, and worked until quite late. It was not a +bad beginning, either, as such things go--at least, I have tried harder +and made worse ones. After that the condensing process went better. I +could any time find excuses for not working, but I did not hunt for +them so anxiously. I was pretty fairly under way by Christmas, and the +room behind the chimney had all at once become the most alluring place +in the world. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + + +I + +_The magic of the starlit tree_ + +[Illustration] + +We have always had a tree for Christmas. Long ago, far back in our early +flat-dwelling days, we had our first one, and I remember we shopped for +it Christmas Eve among the bright little Harlem groceries where they had +them ranged outside, picking very carefully for one symmetrical in shape +and small of size and price, to fit our tiny flat and, oh yes, indeed, +our casual income. I remember, too, that when it was finally bought I +put it on my shoulder with a proud feeling, and we drifted farther, +picking up the trimmings--the tinsel and gay ornaments, the small gifts +for the one very small person who had so recently come to live with us, +discussing each purchase with due deliberation, going home at last with +rather more than we could afford, I fear, for I recall further that we +did not have enough left next morning to buy butter for breakfast. How +young we were then, and how poor, and how happy! and Christmas morning, +with its twinkling mystery, was the most precious thing of the whole +year. + +It still remained so. Time could not dim the magic of the starlit tree. +Another little person had come, and another. A larger tree and more +decorations were needed, and the presents grew in number and variety, +but the old charm of secret preparation, and morning gifts, and the +lights that first twinkled around a manger, did not fade. + +[Illustration] + +We did not buy a tree at Brook Ridge. There was no need. Across the +road, partway up the slope, was a collection of green and shapely little +cedars--a regular Santa Claus grove--and on the afternoon before +Christmas, a gray, still afternoon, heavy with mystic portent, Elizabeth +and I took a small ax and climbed up there, and picked and selected, +just as we had done in those earlier years, and came home with our tree, +stealthily carrying it in the back way, to the wood-house, and fitting +it to the small green stand that we had used and preserved from year to +year. The little girl for whom we had bought the first tree was the +Pride, now aged twelve, and no longer without knowledge of the Christmas +saint, but the romance of not knowing, of still believing in it all, was +too precious to be put away yet, and she was off to bed with the others +to bring more quickly the joyous morning. Alone, as heretofore, +Elizabeth and I tied and marked the tissue packages, and in some of the +books wrote rhymes, such as only Santa Claus can think of when he has +finished his remote year of toil and has started out with his loaded +sleigh to strew happiness around the world. + +I suppose there is no more delightful employment than to watch the thing +that will give a splendid joy to one's children grow and glisten under +one's hands--to view it at different angles during the process; to note +how it begins to look "Christmasy," to add a touch here, a brightness +there, to see it at last radiant and complete, ready for the morning +illumination. On the topmost branch each year there was always the same +little hanging ornament, a swinging tinseled cherub that we had bought +for the very first little tree and the very first little girl, in the +days when we had been so young, so poor, and so happy. + +It was midnight when the last touch was given and the cherub was +swinging at the top, and it was only a wink or two afterward, it seemed, +that there were callings back and forth from small beds and a general +demand for investigation. A hurried semi-dressing, a fire blazing up the +chimney, a door thrown open upon a sparkling, spangled tree. Eager +exclamations, moments of awed silence, after which the thrilling +distribution of gifts. Human life holds few things better or happier +than such a Christmas morning. Whatever else the Christ-child brought to +the world, that alone would make his coming a boon to mankind. + +On our wall hung a quaint framed print of the first Christmas family, +and under it some verses by the now all-but-forgotten poet, Edwin Waugh. +In those days it was our custom, when the distribution was over and the +morning light filled the room, to gather in front of the picture and +sing the verses to a simple tune of our own. It was a poor little +ceremony, but, remembering it now, I am glad that we thought it worth +while. The verses are certainly so, and I want to preserve them +here--they are so little known. + +CHRISTMAS CAROL + +BY EDWIN WAUGH + + Long time ago in Palestine, + Upon a wintry morn, + All in a lowly cattle-shed + The Prince of Peace was born. + + The clouds fled from the gloomy sky, + The winds in silence lay, + And the stars shone bright with strange delight + To welcome in that day. + + His parents they were simple folk + And simple lives they led, + And in the ways of righteousness + This little child was bred. + + In gentle thought and gentle deed + His early days went by, + And the light His youthful steps did lead + Came down from heaven on high. + + He was the friend of all the poor + That wander here below; + It was His only joy on earth + To ease them of their woe. + + In pain He trod His holy path, + By sorrow sorely tried; + It was for all mankind He lived, + And for mankind He died. + + Like Him let us be just and pure, + Like Him be true alway, + That we may find the peace of mind + That never fades away. + + +II + +_Westbury dropped in_ + +So came the deeps of winter--January in New England. With the Pride and +the Hope back at school, Elizabeth and I, with the Joy, shut away from +most of the sounds and strivings of men, looked out on the heaping +drifts and gathered about blazing logs, piled sometimes almost to the +chimney throat. + +It was our refreshment and exercise to bring in the logs. We were told +that in a former day they had been dragged in by a horse, who drew them +right up to the wide stone hearth. But we did not use Lord Beaconsfield +for this work. For one thing, he would have been too big to get through +the door; besides, we were strong, and liked the job. We had two pairs +of ice-tongs, and we would put on our rubber boots, and take the tongs, +and go out into the snow, and fasten to a log--one at each end--and drag +it across Captain Ben's iron door-sill, and lift it in and swing it +across the stout andirons with a skill that improved with each day's +practice. They were good, lusty sticks--some of them nearly two feet +through. These were the back-logs, and they would last two or three +days, buried in the ashes, breaking at last into a mass of splendid +coals. + +In New England one builds a fire scientifically, if he expects to keep +warm by it. There must be a fore-stick and a back-stick, and a pyramid +of other sticks, with proper draught below and flame outlets above. And +he must not spare fuel--not if he expects heat. Westbury dropped in one +afternoon just when we had completed a masterpiece in fire-building. He +went up to warm his hands and regarded the blazing heap of hickory with +critical appraisal. + +"That fire cost you two dollars," he remarked, probably recalling the +number of days it had taken Old Pop and Sam to cut and cord the big +hickory across the brook. + +"It's worth it," I said. "I've paid many a two dollars for luxuries that +weren't worth five minutes of this." + +Westbury dropped into a comfortable chair, took out his knife, and +picked up a piece of pine kindling. + +"You think this beats city life?" he observed, whittling slowly. + +"Well, that depends on what you want. If you like noise and action, the +city's the place. We once lived in a flat where there was a piano at +one end of the hall and two phonographs at the other. Then there was a +man across the air-shaft who practised on the clarinet, and a +professional singer up-stairs. Besides this, when the season was right, +we had a hand-organ concert every few minutes on the street. When +everything was going at once it was quite a combination. The trolley in +front and the Elevated railway behind helped out, too, besides the +automobiles, and the newsboys and more or less babies that were trying +to do their part. Some people would be lonesome without those things, I +suppose." + +Westbury whittled reflectively. + +"I like to be where it's busy," he commented, "but I guess a fellow +could get tired of too much of it. It's pretty nice to live where you +can look out on the snow and the woods, and where you can hear it rain, +and in the spring wake up in the night and listen to the frogs sing." +Westbury's eye ranged about the room, taking in the pictures and +bric-à-brac and the bookshelves along the wall. "I wonder what Captain +Ben Meeker would think to see his old kitchen turned into a library," +he went on, thoughtfully. "Not many books in his day, I guess; maybe one +or two on the parlor table, mostly about religion. They were pretty +strong on religion, back in that time, though Captain Ben, I guess, +didn't go in on it as heavy as his wife. Captain Ben was more for +hunting, and horses, and dogs, and the man that could cut the most grass +in a day. The story goes that when Eli Brayton, the shoemaker, wanted to +marry Molly Meeker, Captain Ben wouldn't give her to him because he said +Eli hadn't proved himself a man yet. Brayton was boarding in the family +and working in the little shop that used to stand across the road. Aunt +Sarah Meeker, Captain Ben's wife, wanted the shoemaker in the family +because he was religious; but Captain Ben said, 'No, sir, he's got to +prove himself a man before he can have Molly.' Well, one day Eli Brayton +saw a fox up in the timber, and came down to the house and told Captain +Ben about it. 'Let me have your gun,' he said, 'and I'll go up and get +that chap that's been killing your chickens lately.' 'All right,' says +Captain Ben, 'but you won't get him.' Eli didn't say anything, but took +the old musket and slipped up there, and by and by they heard a shot and +pretty soon he came down the hill with Mr. Fox over his shoulder. They +went out on the step to meet him, and he threw the fox down in front of +Molly Meeker. 'There's some fur for you,' he said, 'and I guess he won't +catch any more chickens.' Captain Ben went up to Eli and slapped him on +the shoulder. 'Now you've proved yourself a man,' he says, 'and you can +have Molly.' That was my wife's grandmother. She was an only child and +the Meekers and the Braytons lived here together. Eli Brayton grew to be +quite a character himself. When they came around to him to collect money +for the church he'd contribute some of his unpaid shoe accounts. He knew +the people that owed them would pay the church, because they'd be afraid +not to. Old Deacon Timothy Todd used to do the collecting. He had a +high-keyed voice and no front teeth, and always chewed as he talked. +He'd pull out the bill and shake it at the man that owed it and say: 'A +debt to the church is registered above. Not to pay it is a mortal sin. +To perish in sin is to be burned with brimstone and eaten by the worm +that dieth not.' Before Deacon Todd got through that sinner was ready to +come across." + +Westbury in childhood had seen Deacon Timothy Todd and could imitate his +speech and manner. He enjoyed doing it as much as we enjoyed hearing +him. + +"Deacon Todd had two boys," he went on, "Jim and Tim, and he used to +say, 'My Jim is a good boy, but Tim proved himself a bad one when he +slapped his mother with an eel-skin.' Deacon Todd married a second time. +He lent some money to a woman to set up a business in Westport, and a +little while after his wife died he went down to collect it. Somebody +met him on the road and asked him where he was going. 'Well,' he said, +'I'm just going down to Westport to collect a little money I loaned a +young woman, and I'll bring back the money or the young woman, one of +the two,' and he did. He was back with her next day. Timothy Todd was a +great old chap. When the Civil War broke out he didn't want to go. He +was getting along pretty well, then--forty or so--and had already lost +two of his front teeth and claimed he couldn't bite off the ca'tridges. +They used to have to bite off the paper ends of them for muzzle-loading +guns. Then the draft came and he was scared up for fear they'd get him. +They didn't, though, but they got about all the others that were left, +and Deacon Todd went down to see them off. When the train came and he +saw them all get on, and the train starting, he forgot all about not +wanting to go, and jumped on with them, and went. 'I saw all my friends +was goin',' he said, 'an' th'd be nobody left in the country but me. "I +reckon I can bite them ca'tridges off with my eye-teeth, if I really +want to do it," I says, an' I was on the train an' half-way to Danbury +before I recollected that Mrs. Todd had told me to bring home a dime's +wuth o' coffee an' a pound o' sugar. I didn't get back with 'em fer two +years, an' then I come in limpin' with a bullet in my left hind leg. +"Here's that pound o' coffee and dime's wuth o' sugar," I says. "I +waited fer 'em to git cheaper."'" + +Westbury's visits did much to brighten up the somber days, while our +blazing hearth and the sturdy little furnace down-stairs kept us warm and +cozy. Looking out on a landscape that was like a Christmas card, and +remembering the drabble and jangle of the town, we were not sorry to be +among the clean white hills. + + +III + +_No animal except man digs and plants_ + +It was only a little after Christmas that we began planning for our +spring garden. As commuters, we had once possessed a garden--a bit of +ground, thirty-five feet square, but fruitful beyond belief. Now we had +broad, enriched spaces that in our fancy we saw luxuriant with vegetable +and bright with flower. + +I suppose one of the most deeply seated of human instincts is to plant +and till the soil. It is the thing that separates us most widely from +other animal life. The beasts and birds and insects build houses, lay up +food, and some of them, even if unwittingly, change the style of their +clothing with the seasons. But no animal except man digs and plants and +cultivates the flower and fruit and vegetable that nourish his body and +soul. It is something that must date back to creation, for in the +deepest winter, when the ground is petrified and the skies are low and +gray, the very thought of turning up the earth, and raking and planting, +awakens a thrill in the innermost recesses of the normal human heart, +while a new seed-catalogue, filled with gay pictures and gaudy promises, +becomes a poem, nothing less. + +What gardens we anticipate when the snow lies deep and we pore over +those seductive lists by a blazing fire! Never a garden this side of +Paradise so fair as they. For there are no weeds in our gardens of +anticipation, nor pests, nor drought, nor any blight. The sun always +shines there, and purple flowers are waving in the wind. No real garden +will ever be so beautiful, because it will never quite be bathed in the +tender light, never wave with quite the loveliness of those fair, frail +gardens of our dreams. + +We planted many dream gardens that winter. Splendid catalogues came +every little while, and each had its magic of color and special +offers--"Six rare roses for a dollar," "Six papers of seeds for ten +cents"--six of anything to make the heart happy, for a ridiculously +small sum. The rich level behind the barn was to us no longer hard with +frost and buried beneath the drifts, but green and waving. Some days we +walked out to look over the ground a little and pick the places where we +would have things, but our imagination seemed to work better in the +house by the big fireplace, especially when we rattled the +buff-and-green seed-packets that presently began to come and were kept +handy in the sideboard drawer. + +Our former garden had been so small that we feared we should not have +enough for these new areas, and almost daily we increased certain +staples and discovered something we had overlooked, some "New Wonder" +tomato, or "Murphy's Miracle" melon. Being strong for melons, I pinned +my faith to Murphy's Miracle, and ordered several packets of the seeds +that would produce it. Then I began to have doubts. I said if half those +seeds sprouted and did half as well as the catalogue promised, the level +behind the barn would fall a prey to Murphy and become just a heap of +melons. Elizabeth suggested that I add another acre and devote my summer +vacation to peddling them. + +Elizabeth was mainly for salads. Anything that could be served with +French dressing or mayonnaise found a place on her list. She got a new +copy of her favorite Iowa catalogue, and when she found in it a special +combination offer of "Twelve new things to eat raw" (it had formerly +been nine) she was moved almost to tears. + +In the matter of sweet corn and beans our souls were as one--a sort of +spiritual succotash, as it were--and we encouraged one another in any +new departure that would increase or prolong this staple supply. Flowers +we would have pretty much every-where--hollyhocks in odd corners; +delphinium and foxglove along the stone walls; bunches of calliopsis and +bleeding-heart and peonies; borders of phlox and alyssum; beds of +sweet-williams and corn-flowers and columbines--all those lovely, +old-fashioned things, with the loveliest old-fashioned names in the +world. Where did they get those names, I wonder? for they are among the +most wonderful in the language--each one a strain of word music. We +ordered hollyhock roots and hollyhock seed, and delphinium roots and +delphinium seed, and all the others in roots and seeds that could be had +in both ways, and roses and roses and roses, till I found it desirable +to lay aside the fascinating catalogues now and then for certain +industries in the little room behind the chimney, which I called my +study, in order to be able to provide the "inclosed stamps or check, in +payment for the same." + +But I believe there is no money that one spends so willingly as that +invested in garden seeds. That is because the normal human being is a +visionary, a speculator in futures, a dealer in dreams. For every penny +he spends in winter he pictures an overflowing return in beauty or +substance, in flower and fruit, the glorious harvest of radiant summer +days. + + +IV + +_Then came Bella--and Gibbs_ + +We had other entertainments. I have not thus far mentioned the domestic +service that followed Lazarus. There was a hiatus of brief duration, and +then came Bella--Bella and Gibbs. Bella was from town and of literary +association. We inherited her from authors whose ideals perhaps did not +accord with hers--I do not know. At all events, she tried ours for a +period. I know that she was considerably middle-aged, hard of hearing, +and short of sight, and that when I tried to recall her name I could not +think of anything but "Hunka-munka." Heaven knows why--it must have +expressed her, I suppose. + +But Hunka-munka--Bella, I mean--had resources. Her specialties were +Kipling and deep-dish apple pie. We could have worried along without +Kipling, but her deep-dish pie with whipped cream on it was a poem that +won our hearts. I must be fair. Hunka-munka's cooking was all good, as +to taste, and if her vision had been a bit more extended it might have +been of better appearance. I suppose the steam collected on her +super-thick glasses and she had to work somewhat by guess. Never mind--I +still recall her substantial and savory dinners with deep gratitude, +especially the pie of the deep dish with whipped cream atop. + +[Illustration] + +Gibbs came when we acquired Lord Beaconsfield and the furnace. My gifts +do not run to the care of a horse and an egg-coal fire. I don t know +where Gibbs had matriculated, but he professed to have taken high +degrees in those functions, and thus became a part of our establishment. +I think he overestimated his powers in the directions named, but he was +not without talents. He could wash and wipe dishes and, incredible as +it may seem, he was also literary. Like attracts like, by some law past +understanding. To me it still seems a wonderful thing that this little +waif of a man with a taste for Tolstoy and a passion for long words +should have just then landed upon us. + +Gibbs had a warm and fairly snug room in the barn--"a veritable bijou of +an apartment," he called it, though it was, I think, something less, and +he declared that the aroma of the hay and the near presence of Lord +Beaconsfield gave him a "truly bucolic emotion" that was an inspiration. +Nevertheless, Gibbs could not resist Bella and her domain. This was +proper enough. He was convenient to hand her things, to help with the +dishes and to discuss deeply and at length their favorite authors. When +our meals were in preparation or safely over there was more literature, +five to one, in the kitchen than in any other part of the house. + +Sometimes the drift of it came to us. It was necessary for Gibbs to +speak up pretty smartly to get his remarks into Hunka-munka's +consciousness. Once in the heat of things we heard him say: "One may not +really compare or contrast the literary emanations of Tolstoy and +Kipling except as to the net human residuum. Difference in environment +would preclude any cosmic psychology of interrelationship." + +As this noble sentence came hurtling through the door I felt poor and +disheartened. Never could I hope to reach such a height. And here was +Gibbs washing dishes and tossing off those things without a thought. +Hunka-munka's reply was lost on us. Like many persons of defective +hearing, she had the habit of speaking low, but I do not think her +remarks were in the gaudy class of her associate's. + +Their discussions were not entirely of Tolstoy and Kipling. There was a +neighborhood library and they took books from it--books which I judge +became more romantic as the weeks went by. I judge this because Gibbs +grew more careful in the matter of dress, and when the days became +pleasanter the two walked down to the bridge across the brook and looked +over into the water, after the manner of heroes and heroines in the +novels of Mrs. Southworth and Bertha M. Clay. + +What might have been the outcome of the discussions, the dish-washings, +the walks, the leanings over the bridge at the trysting-place, we may +only speculate now. For a time the outlook for this "romance of real +life" seemed promising, then came disillusion. Gibbs, alas, had a bent +which at first we did not suspect, but which in time became only too +manifest. It had its root in a laudable desire--the desire to destroy +anything resembling strong drink. Only, I think he went at it in the +wrong way. His idea was to destroy it by drinking it up. He +miscalculated his capacity. It took no great quantity of strong waters +to partially destroy Gibbs, and at such times he was neither literary +nor romantic, no fit mate for Hunka-munka, who had a tidy sum in savings +laid away and did not wish to invest it in the destroying process. I do +not know what she said to him, at last, but there came a day when he +vanished from our sight and knowledge, and the kitchen after dinner was +silent. I suppose the change was too much for Hunka-munka, for she +saddened and lost vigor. Her deep-dish pies became savorless, the +whipped cream smeary and sad of taste. She went the way of all cooks, +and if it had not been spring, with the buds breaking and the birds +calling and the trout leaping in the brook, we should have grieved as +over a broken song. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + + +I + +_We planted a number of things_ + +[Illustration] + +The whistle of a bird means spring; the poking through of the +skunk-cabbage in low ground, the growing green mist upon the woods. But +there is one thing that has more positive spring in it than any of +these--more of the stir and throb of awakening, something identified +with that earliest impulse that prompted some remote ancestor to make +the first garden. I mean the smell of freshly turned earth with the sun +on it. Nothing else is like that; there is a kind of madness in it. +Elizabeth said it was a poem. It is that and something more--a pæan, a +marching song--a summons to battle. + +Luther Merrill came up to plow the space back of the barn. When he had +turned up a furrow or so to the warm April sun, and I got a whiff of it, +reason fled. I began capering about with a rake and a hoe, shouting to +Elizabeth to bring the seeds--all the seeds--also the catalogues, so +that we might order more. Why, those little packages were only a +beginning! We must have pounds, quarts, bushels. And we must have other +things--sweet-potatoes, for instance, and asparagus--we have overlooked +those. + +Elizabeth came, and was bitten by that smell, too, but she partially +kept her balance. She was in favor of the asparagus and sweet-potatoes, +but she said she thought we had better plant what we had of the other +things and see how far they would go, before ordering more. She said the +seed-houses would probably have enough to go around even a week or so +later, and we could use what we had on hand in making what the +catalogues referred to as the "first sowing." I was not entirely +satisfied, but I submitted. I was too much excited, too glad, to oppose +anything. Luther Merrill plowed around and around, and then harrowed +and cross-harrowed, while we sorted the yellow packets and picked the +earliest things and were presently raking and marking on beds and rows, +warm with the fever of tillage. + +We did not always agree as to the order of planting. In our small +commuter garden we had been restricted by space limitations and had +fallen into the habit of planting rows a good deal closer together than +the directions on the packets said--an economy of ground, but not of +toil. I had frequently weeded the beds, and had found that my feet were +not suited to working between rows six inches apart, while even a +baby-sized hoe had to be handled with great care. I said, now that we +had the space, we would separate our rows of beets and radishes and +salad full ten to fourteen inches, as advised by the authorities who had +written the package directions, and thus give both the plants and the +gardener more room. + +But Elizabeth had acquired the economy habit. She declared that such +rows gave more room for the weeds and that it was too bad to waste the +rich ground in that way. I had to draw the most pathetic picture of +myself bending over in the hot sun, working with a toy hoe, and pulling +weeds with my fingers, through long July days, to effect a compromise. +Experience had taught me that this was the best way to get concessions +from Elizabeth. Little could be gained by polemic argument. Besides, it +was dangerous. She would resign, and a good deal more than half the joy +would go out of that precious employment if I was left to finish it +alone. Women are so volatile. It is their main attraction. + +The Joy helped us. That is, she had a little hoe and insisted on digging +with it in the very places where we were raking and marking and sowing +and patting down the fragrant earth that was presently to wax green with +fruitfulness. She was not satisfied to go off in a remote corner and +make a garden of her own. She was strong for community life, and +required close watching. It was necessary, at last, to let her plant a +crooked little row without direction or artistic balance. Then she +suddenly remembered that she was not a gardener, but a horse, and +plowed and harrowed back and forth across the mellow ground. + +We planted a number of things that first day of our gardening in Brook +Ridge--long rows of lettuce and radishes and pease--the last named two +kinds, the bush and dwarf varieties. Pease cannot be sown too early, nor +the other things, for that matter. I have known the ground to freeze +solid after lettuce and radishes had begun to sprout, without serious +resulting damage. We put in some beets, too, and some onions, but we +postponed the corn and bean planting. There is nothing gained by putting +those tender things in too early. Even if they sprout, they do not +thrive unless the weather is really warm, while a light frost lays them +low. More than once I have tried very early corn-planting, but never +with much result. Once I had quite a patch of it up about three inches +high when the wind suddenly went to the north and it was certain that +the night would bring frost. I gathered up all the old cans and boxes +and hats on the premises and covered every hill of it. That was a good +scheme, and most of my corn survived, but six weeks later, when it was +green and waving, a neighbor's cow got in and ate it to the last piece. +No, fate is against early corn-planting. + +We had seed enough for all we wanted to plant that first day, and a good +deal more than enough of some things. It's remarkable how many lettuce +seeds there are in a buff packet. I sowed and sowed without being able +to use up two packets. I don't see how they can raise and gather so many +for five cents. It was the same with most of the other things. I did not +need to reorder, and by night I did not particularly want to. It had +been a pretty long day of raking and digging and patting down, and I had +got over some of the intoxication of the earth smell. Also, I was lame. +I could see that tending a garden of the size we had planned--along, +say, in July--was going to be a chore. No one as yet had come to replace +our ex-domestic staff: if no one came that chore would fall to me. In +the gray of the evening my enthusiasm was at rather low ebb. It was all +I could do to make out an order for asparagus and sweet-potato plants. +A cool, quiet bed, in a spring land where frogs are peeping in the moist +places, is sweet after such a day. + + +II + +_Out of the blue_ + +We were not permanently abandoned, however. Bella and Gibbs, our +literary forces, were presently replaced by Lena and William. Lena and +William were not literary. William was just plain Tipperary, and Lena +was a Finn. I extracted Lena one day from a "Norsk Employment Agency," +selecting her chiefly for her full-moon smile and her inability to speak +any English word. The smile had a permanent look, and I reasoned that an +inability to speak English would be a bar to her getting away. We should +not mind it much ourselves. Having had everything from a Pole to a +Patagonian, we were experts on sign language, and rather favored it +after the flow of English we had just survived. I personally conducted +Lena to the train and landed her safely at Brook Ridge. + +William came to us out of the blue. One morning I drew a tin pail of +water, bright and splashing from the well, and turned to pour a little +of it into the birds drinking-trough, a stone hollowed out at the top. I +did not do so, however, for a good reason--a man was sitting on the +stone. He had not been there a moment before, and I had heard no sound. +He was gaunt, pale, and dilapidated, and looked as if he had been in a +sort of general dog fight. He had a wild cast in his eyes and was in no +way prepossessing. His appearance suggested a burglar on sick-leave. + +I confess I was startled by this apparition. I set down the pail rather +weakly. + +"Why, good morning!" I said. + +He replied in a high-keyed Irish intonation, at the moment rather feeble +in volume. + +"C'u'd ye give a man a bite to eat fer some worrk, now?" he asked. + +I was relieved. If he had demanded my purse I should not have been +surprised. I nodded eagerly. + +"Yes, indeed. We need some wood. If you'll cut a little, I'll see that +you have some breakfast. You'll find the wood-pile and the ax down there +by the barn." + +He rose by a sort of slow unfolding process, and I was impressed by his +height. I gave him some specifications as to the wood needed, and he was +presently swinging the ax, though without force. He lacked "pep," I +could see that, and as soon as the food was ready I called him. He ate +little, but he emptied the pot of hot coffee in record time. Then he +came down to where I was trimming some rose-bushes. + +"W'u'd ye let me lie a bit on the hay?" he said. "Thin I'll do some more +of the little shtove-shticks fer yeh. I'm feelin' none too brisk this +mornin'." + +"Been sick?" I asked. + +"Naw, just a trrifle weery with trav'lin' an' losin' of sleep." + +Inside I hesitated. It was probably overtime at housebreaking that had +told on him. I pointed at the barn, however. + +"All right," I said, "take a nap--only, don t smoke in there." + +He vanished, and some three hours later when I had forgotten him I +suddenly heard a sound of great chopping. Our guest had reappeared at +the wood-pile, transformed. He was no longer pale and listless. His face +was ruddy--in fact, tanned. The cast in his eye had taken on fire. Every +movement was of amazing vigor and direction. The wood-pile was +disappearing and the little heap of "stove-sticks" growing in a most +astonishing way. I called Elizabeth out to see. + +"If coffee and a nap will make him do that." I said, "we'd better give +him dinner and get enough wood to last all summer." I went down there. +"What is your name?" I asked. + +"William--William Deegan." + +"Well, William, you seem to understand work. Come up to dinner +presently, and if you want to go on cutting this afternoon I'll pay you +for it." + +He came, and there was nothing the matter with his appetite this time. +Ham and eggs, potatoes, beans, corn-bread, pie--whatever came went. +William was the apostle of the clean plate. Reflecting somewhat on the +matter, I reached the conclusion (and it was justified by later events) +that William had perhaps been entertaining himself with friends the +night before--during several nights before, I judge--and was suffering +from temporary reaction when he had appeared on our horizon. Coffee and +a nap had restored him. He was quick on recovery, I will say that. + +You never saw such a hole in a wood-pile as he made that afternoon. When +I went down to settle with him and announce supper he was still in full +swing, apparently intending to go on all night. + +"William," I said, "you're a boss hand with an ax." + +"Well, sur," said William, his Celtic timbre pitched to the sky, "if I +could be shtayin' a day or two longer I'd finish the job fer ye." + +Was this a proposition to rob the house and murder us in our beds? I +looked at the wood-pile and at William. There was something about their +intimate relations that had an honest look. I remembered the extensive +garden that would have to be hoed in July. + +"Where would you go from here?" I said. + +"I don't know, sur. I'll be lookin' fer a job." + +"Do you understand gardening and taking care of a horse and cow?" + +"Yes, sur, I do that." + +I had an impulse to ask him about his last job, but I checked it. It was +a question that could lead to embarrassment. I would accept him on his +demonstration, or not at all. + +"So you want a summer job, at general farm-work?" + +"Yes, sur, I do." + +"Well, William, you've found one, right here." + +Even after the lapse of a dozen years I cannot write of William without +a tugging at the heart. We never knew his antecedents--never knew where +behind the sky-line he had been concealed all those years before that +morning when he appeared, pale and unannounced, at the well. We got the +impression, as time passed, that he had once been married and that he +had at some time been somewhere on a peach-farm. With the exception of +certain brief intervals--of which I may speak later--he remained with us +three years, and that was as much as we ever knew, for he talked little, +and not at all of the past. His face value was certainly not much, and +some of his habits could have been improved, but a more faithful and +honest soul than William Deegan never lived. + + +III + +_"Ah, the bonny cow!"_ + +We had acquired Mis' Cow a few weeks before William's arrival. It was +partly on account of the milk that we wanted her, partly because there +was an empty stall next to Old Beek's and we thought she would be +company for him, partly because we wanted a cow in the landscape--a +moving picture of her in the green pasture across the road--finally (and +I believe principally) because we have a mania for restoring things and +Mis' Cow looked as if she needed to be restored. + +She was owned by a man who was moving away--moving because he had not +made a success of chicken-farming by book, and still less of Mis' Cow. +He was not her first owner, nor her second, nor her third. I don't know +what his number was on her list of owners, but I know if he had kept her +much longer he would have been her last one. More than once we had +bought the mere frame of a haircloth couch, and taken an esthetic +pleasure in having it polished and upholstered, and made into a thing of +beauty and service. It was with this view that we acquired Mis Cow, who +at the moment was a mere frame with a patchy Holstein covering and a +feebly hanging tail. We gave thirty-five dollars for her, and the man +who was moving because he had not made a success of chickens threw in a +single buggy that broke down the week after he left. + +We consulted Westbury on the matter of Mis' Cow's past history, and it +was the only time I ever knew W. C. Westbury to be inexact as to the +age and habits of any animal in Brook Ridge. He said he had always known +her as a good milker, but that she had been unfortunate of late years in +her owners. He couldn't remember her age, but he didn't think it was +enough to hurt her. My opinion is that he could have given her exact +birthday and record had he really tried, but that kindness of heart +prompted him to encourage a trade that might improve her fortunes. I +suspect that they had played together in childhood. + +We managed to get Mis' Cow up the hill and into her stall, where we +could provide her with upholstery material. The little pasture across +the road was getting green and she presently had the full run of it. The +restoring progress began, as it were, overnight. If ever an article of +furniture paid a quick return in the matter of looks, she did. She could +never be a very fat Mis' Cow--she was not of that build. But a few days +of good food and plenty of it certainly worked wonders. She filled out +several of the most alarming hollows around her hips and along her +ridge-pole, she seemingly took on height and length. She grew smooth, +even glossy; her tail no longer hung on her like a bell-cord, but became +a lithe weapon of defense that could swat a fly with fatal precision on +any given spot of her black-and-white area. It was only a little while +until we were really proud to have her in the landscape, and the picture +she made grazing against the green or standing in the apple shade was +really gratifying. When the trees were pink and white with bloom and +Mis' Cow rested under them, chewing in time to her long reflections, we +often called one another out to admire the pastoral scene. A visiting +friend of Scotch ancestry was moved to exclaim, "Ah, the bonny cow!" + +Then there was the matter of milk--she certainly justified Westbury's +reputation in that respect. From a quart or two of thin, pale unusable +fluid her daily dividend grew into gallons of foaming richness that +became pitchers of cream and pounds of butter; for Elizabeth, like +myself, had known farming in an earlier day, and rows of milk-pans and a +churn went with her idea of the simple life. All day Mis' Cow munched +the new grass, and night and morning yielded a brimming pail. She was a +noble worker, I will say that. + +But there was another side to Mis' Cow--a side which Westbury forgot to +mention. Mis' Cow was an acrobat. When she had been on bran mash and +clover for a few weeks she showed a decided tendency to be gay--to caper +and kick up her heels--to break away into the woods or down the road, if +one was not watching. But this was not all--this was mere ordinary cow +nature, which is more foolish and contrary than any other kind of nature +except that which goes with a human being or a hen. I was not surprised +at these things--they were only a sign that she was getting tolerably +restored, according to specifications. But when one day I saw her going +down the road, soon after I had turned her into the pasture and +carefully put up the bars, I realized that she had special gifts. Stone +walls did not a prison make--not for her. Elizabeth and I rounded her up +and got her back into the pasture, and from concealment I watched her. +She fed peacefully enough, for some time, then, doubtless believing +herself unobserved, she took a brief promenade along the wall until she +came to what looked like a promising place, and simply walked over it, +like a goat. + +We herded her into the barn, and I engaged a man to put a string of wire +above the wall. That was effective as long as it was in repair. But it +was Mis' Cow's business to see that it did not remain in repair +permanently. She would examine it during idle moments, pick out a weak +spot in the entanglement, and pull it flat with her horns. Or where the +wall was broad enough at the top she would climb up and walk it, just +for exercise, stepping over when she got ready. If she could have been +persuaded to do those things to order I could have sold her to a circus. +It was necessary to reinforce the wire and add another string. + +Even that was not always a cure. I came home from the city one night, +after a hard day. Elizabeth and the Joy, with Old Beek, had met me at +the station, and as we drove up the hill in the dim evening I said how +glad I was to get home, and that Elizabeth had milked, so that I could +drop into a chair and eat my supper and rest, the minute I entered the +house. We reached the top of the hill just then, and a dim gray shadow +met and passed us in the velvet dusk. It was Mis' Cow, starting out to +spend the night. She was moving with a long, swinging trot, and in +another second I was out and after her. + +She had several rods' start and could run downhill better than I could, +especially in the dark. It seemed to me that every step I went plunging +out into space. My empty stomach became demoralized, the blood rushed to +my head. "Gosh dern a cow, anyway!" By the time we had reached +Westbury's and started up the next hill I had made up my mind to sell +her--to give her away--to drive her off the premises. Some people were +standing in front of the next house and they laughed as we went by, we +being about neck and neck at the time. Westbury was in that crowd, and +for the moment our friendship was in grave danger. But then we came to +the house of the man who had made a failure of book chicken-farming, +and she darted in. She had remembered it as her home and wanted to +return to it. Imagine wanting to go back to such a home! + +Westbury came, and we got a rope on her and led her uphill. I suppose I +felt better in the morning, and it was about this time that William +arrived on the scene. William loved Mis' Cow and did not mind chasing +her up and down the road and through the bushes, though sometimes during +the summer, when he had had a hard day with her, and our windows were +open, we could hear him still hi-hi-ing and whooping in his sleep, +chasing Mis' Cow through the woods of dream. + + +IV + +_Strawberries and trout. How is that for a combination?_ + +[Illustration: _I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic +summer, and, on the whole, a successful one_] + +I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic summer, and, on the +whole, a successful one. Our early garden grew--also the second +planting and the third. William Deegan made it his business to see that +they did. I realized presently that my special forte lay in directing a +sizable garden like that rather than in performing the actual labor, +especially when June arrived and the sun began to approach the +perpendicular and take on callithump. You probably don't know what +callithump is, but you will find out if you undertake to hoe sod-ground +potatoes in July. It has something to do with brazen trumpets and +violence. + +I became acquainted with callithump when I straightened out the +asparagus-bed. The weeds had got a master start there, and the feeble +feathery asparagus shoots were quite overtopped and lost. I said the job +required a microscopic eye and a delicate hand. I would set the +asparagus-bed in order myself. + +It is surprising how much ground a hundred asparagus roots can cover. +Elizabeth had superintended their planting, during a period when I had +been absent, and, remembering my mania for having things far apart, she +had let herself go in the matter of space. She had made it rich, too, +and the weeds just loved it. Some of them were up to my waist. I said +they would have to be pulled by hand and I would get up in the cool of +the morning and do it. + +It is almost impossible to beat the sun up in June. I was out there at +five o'clock, but the sun was already busy and had got the range. By the +time I had pulled half-way down one row I could feel the callithump +working. Also something else. We claimed to have no mosquitoes in Brook +Ridge, so it could not have been those. Whatever it was kept me swearing +steadily, and pawing and slapping and sweating blood. When I had +finished a row I crept in, got some fresh clothes and a towel, and made +a dash for the brook. I had cleaned out a special pool behind the +ice-house, and built a little dressing-platform. In less than a minute I +was in the water, looking up at the sky and hearing the birds sing. Talk +about luxury! After breakfast I took Elizabeth out to show her my +progress. + +"It looks nice," she said, "and how easily you did it!" + +It took me four memorable mornings to finish the asparagus-bed, and, +proud as I was of the job, I resigned, after that, in favor of William. +The brazen trumpets of the sky even at high noon could not phase W. +Deegan. Often in July I have sat in the maple shade, with pride watching +him carry out my directions concerning weeds and potato-bugs. I admired +and honored William. I have the greatest respect for honorable toil, but +even more for callithump. + +Sometimes in the early morning I went trout-fishing. There is more +fascination and less waste tissue in that. I would creep down while the +house was still and get my rod and basket, and take a sheltered lane +that was like a green tunnel through the woods, where the birds were +just tuning up for a concert, then out across the "bean-lot," to strike +the brook at about the head of navigation--for trout. + +They were plenty enough and just of the right size--that is to say, +eight to eleven inches long--and easy enough to get if one was very +careful. You could not cast for them; the brook was too small and +brushy for that. You had to use a very short line, and wind it around +the end of the rod, and work it through the branches, and then +carefully, very carefully, unwind and let the hook drop lightly on the +water. Then as likely as not there would be a swift, tingling tug, and, +if you were lucky, an instant later you would have a beautiful +red-speckled fellow landed among the grass and field flowers, his gay +colors glancing in the sun. + +The open places also required maneuvering. One does not walk up to the +bank and fish for wild trout--not in a stream that is as clear as glass +and where every fish in it can see the slightest movement on the bank. +To fish such a place is to lie flat on the stomach and work forward inch +by inch through the grass, Indian fashion, until the water is in reach. +Even then you must not look, but feel, unwinding the line slowly, +slowly, until the fly or worm taps the water. Then if you have done it +well and the trout is there, and it is June, there will be +results--sharp, quick, sudden results that insure the best breakfast in +the world--hot fried trout, fresh from a New England brook. + +The Joy went with me on some of these excursions. She liked to have me +call her early and go tiptoing and whispering about our preparations and +to wade off through the dewy grass in her rubber boots, leaving the rest +of the house asleep. She generally carried the basket, and was deeply +interested in my maneuvers when the cry of the "teacher"-bird and the +call of the wood-thrush did not distract her attention. I can still see +the grass up to her fat little waist, her comical blue apron, her +dimpled round face and the sunlight on her hair. She had a deep pity for +the trout, but her sporting instinct was deeper still. Sometimes when +there was a slip, and a big shining fellow would go bouncing and +splashing back into the brook, she would jump up and down and demand, +excitedly: + +"Why didn't you catch that one, Daddy? Why didn't you catch him? That +was a big, big, _big_ one?" And she walked very proudly when we had six +or more to carry back for breakfast. + +Strawberries and trout--how is that for a breakfast combination in June? +Trout just from the water and strawberries fresh from the garden. We had +planted a good patch of strawberries the August of our arrival and they +had done wonderfully well for the first year. Often by the time we had +come from fishing Elizabeth had been out and filled a bowl, and +sometimes even made a short-cake, for we were old-fashioned enough to +love short-cake--old-fashioned short-cake made with biscuit dough (not +the sweet-cake kind) for breakfast. And breakfast with trout and +short-cake--short-cake with cream, mind you!--in New England in June, +when the windows open on the grass and the wood-thrushes are calling, is +just about as near paradise as you can get in this old world. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + + +I + +_Fate produced a man who had chickens to sell_ + +[Illustration] + +With June the Pride and the Hope came home from school. The brook, the +barn, Old Beek, and Mis' Cow all had their uses then--also a tent in the +yard, a swing, hammock and whatnot. When God made the country He made it +especially for children. Burning suns, a weedy garden and potato blight +may dismay the old, but such things do not fret the young mind. As long +as the brook is cool and the fields are sweet and there is fresh milk +and succotash on the table, happy childhood is indifferent to care. + +[Illustration] + +We were given to picnics. Often we packed some food things into a basket +and went into the woods and spread them in a shady place. Lena, the +Finn, sometimes accompanied these excursions and went quite mad with the +delight of them, racing about and digging up flowers and shrubs to plant +in the door-yard, fairly whooping it up in joyful Finnish and such +English words as she had acquired. I believe the aspect of our woods +reminded her of Finland. + +Lena was a good soul, that is certain, and measurably instructive. We +learned from her how priceless is the gift of good nature, which was the +chief thing that kept her with us; also, to eat a number of dishes quite +new to us, and that an apple-tree--or perhaps it was an apple, baked or +in dumpling--was, in her speech, an "ominy poo." She was not strong on +desserts, but she could always fall back on the ominy poo--meaning in a +general way the big sweet-apple tree that grew by the barn and was +loaded to the breaking-point with delicious fruit. Any baked apple is +good, but a big, cold, baked sweet-apple--"punkin sweets," Westbury +called them--with cold cream, plenty of it, and a sprinkle of sugar, is +about the most blithesome thing in the world. Hurrah for the ominy poo! +whether it be the tree, or the fruit, baked or in dumplings. When the +strawberry passed and was not, the ominy poo reigned gloriously. I don't +know what Lena called certain other dishes that from time to time she +tried to substitute--some other kind of poo, maybe--I know we gradually +persuaded her away from them into a better way of life. + +Sometimes we joined our picnics with the Westburys'--loaded our baskets +into a little hand-express wagon, or into the surrey behind Lord +Beaconsfield--and these were quite elaborate affairs that required a +good deal of preparation and meant a general holiday. More than once we +spread long tables on the green of Westbury's shaded lawn that sloped +down to the river and the mill, and was a picture-place, if ever there +was one. Other days we went over the hills for huckleberries--and came +home with pails of the best fruit that grows for pies, bar none. Happy +days--days of peace--a true golden age, as it seems now. Will the world, +I wonder, ever be so happy and golden again? + + * * * * * + +We had no intention of embarking in chickens when we settled in Brook +Ridge. Neither of us had any love for chickens on foot, and we had no +illusions about the fortunes that, according to certain books, could be +made from a setting of eggs and a tin hen--an incubator, I mean. Also, +our experiment with pigs had cooled us in the matter of live stock for +profit. + +Still, we did love chickens in their proper place--that is to say, with +dumplings or dressing and some of the nice jellies and things which +Elizabeth had made during those autumn months of our arrival. It seemed +extravagant to have them often; chickens had become chickens since our +long-ago early acquaintance with them, when "two bits" had been a fancy +price for broilers and old hens. Elizabeth finally conceded that perhaps +a few chickens--a very few, kept in a neat inclosure away from the +garden--might be desirable. It would be so handy to have one when we +wanted it. She even hinted that the sound of a satisfied and reflective +hen singing about the barn would add a rural note to our pastoral +harmony. Then, of course, there would be the eggs. + +Fate produced a man, just at that moment, who had chickens to sell. He +had been called away, and would let his flock go cheap--he had about a +dozen, he thought, assorted as to age and condition. We could have them +for fifty cents each. It seemed an opportunity. William Deegan was +instructed to prepare the neat inclosure, which he did with enthusiasm, +William being enamoured of anything that was alive. + +The man who had been called away had made a poor count of his flock. He +arrived with nearly twice as many as he said, but we were in the mood by +that time, and took over the bunch. They were not a very inspiring lot. +They were of no special breed, but just chickens--a long-legged, +roostery set, with a mixture of frazzled hens of years and experience. +We said, however, that food and care would improve them. Remember what +it had done for Mis' Cow. + +"Ye'll be after eatin' thim roosters, prisently," William commented, as +we looked at them through the inclosing wire, "before they be gettin' +much older. Ye'll be wantin' eggs from the hins." + +William's remark seemed wise. We were wanting the eggs, all right, and +those ten or twelve speedy-looking roosters ought to go to the platter +without much delay. We would feed liberally and begin on the best ones, +forthwith. + +Still, we did not have chicken that day, nor the next. There is nothing +so perverse as the human appetite. Those were not really bad chickens, +and in a few days they were much better. If any one of those middle-aged +roosters had been brought to us by the butcher we would have paid the +usual dollar for it, and, baked and browned and served with fixings, it +would have gone well enough, even though a trifle muscular and somewhat +resilient. + +But somehow this was a different proposition. I don't believe I can +explain just why. There was something about the aggregation as a whole +that was discouraging. I suspect William's remark that they must be +eaten "prisently" had something to do with it. Eating those chickens was +not to be an entertainment, a pastime, but a job--a job that increased, +for the "old hins" did not lay, or very sparingly--an egg a day being +about the average. William brought it in solemnly. We had got to devour +that entire flock of chickens, and the thought became daily less +attractive. Even our tribe of precious ones, who had always been +chicken-hungry before, suddenly became indifferent to the idea of +chicken fried, baked, or in fricassee. I said, at last, we would have to +have a series of picnics. Anything would taste good at a picnic. + +I don't remember how many we used up in that way, but I know the +business of getting rid of those chickens seemed interminable. We tried +working them off on William and Lena, but even _they_ balked before the +end was reached. I have heard it stated that no one can eat thirty +quails in thirty days. I don't know about that, but I know that when we +tried to put over a dozen chickens on Lena and William in six weeks it +was a failure. At last we were reduced to one old hen, who by general +consent was made immune. Also free. The garden was too far advanced for +her to damage it. The door of the neat wire inclosure was left open for +her to go and come at will. There was danger of foxes at night, but we +did not shut it. The foxes, however, did not come. Even foxes have to +draw the line somewhere. That venerable old lady wandered about the +place, pecking and contentedly singing, and in that part we really +became fond of her. I think she died at last of old age. + + +II + +_I planted some canterbury-bells_ + +I believe our agriculture may be said to have been successful. William +was a faithful gardener. His corn, beans, pease, and potatoes were +abundant, and all the other good things, whether to eat boiled, raw, or +roasted. Our table was almost embarrassed by these riches, which perhaps +helped us to weaken on the chicken idea. + +I think our favorite staple was corn--green sweet corn, carried directly +from the patch to the pot, and from the pot to the table. If you have +not eaten it under these conditions you have never really known what +green corn should be like. The flavor of corn begins to go the moment it +is pulled from the stalk, also the moment it leaves the pot. Cooked +instanter, buttered, with salt and pepper, eaten the moment it does not +blister your mouth, it is the pride of the garden. Cooked the next day +and eaten when it has become cool and flabby, it becomes a reproach. It +is different with beans. Beans keep, and, hot or cold or warmed over, +they are never to be despised. The heaping platters of corn and the +bowls of beans that our family could destroy after a morning of hearty +exercise were rather staggering. Then presently the cantaloups +came--fragrant, juicy ones, and all the salads, and--oh, well, never +mind the list--I have heard of living like a lord, but I can't imagine +any lord ever living as near to the sap and savor of life's luxuries as +we did. + +I must not overlook our rye. By June it was a cloth of gold, and of such +elevation that I could barely see over it. There is something stately +and wonderful about standing rye, when one is close enough to see the +individual stalks. They are so tall and slim that you cannot understand +why the lightest wind does not lay them flat. Yet all day long they sway +and ripple and billow in the summer wind, and unless the heavy, driving +storm comes the ranks remain unbroken to the last and face the sickle in +golden dress parade. + +Westbury came with a force of men one blazing morning, and the sound of +the cutting-machine was a music that carried me back to days when I had +followed the reaper in the Mississippi Valley, from the first ray of +sunrise to the last ray of sunset, eaten five times a day, drunk water +out of a jug under the shock, and once picked up a bundle with a snake +in it and jumped fourteen feet, more or less, straight up in the air. It +was not that I was afraid, you understand, but just surprised. Snakes +nearly always surprise me. I remember once when I was a little boy, on +the way to visit a friend about my size, I took a short cut across a +little clearing, and was hopping and singing along when I hopped onto +something firm that moved twistingly under my bare foot. I did not jump +or run that time; I merely opened out my wings and flew. Corn-rows, +brush-piles, fences, were as nothing. I sailed over them like a gnat +till I reached the big main road. I was not interested in short cuts, +after that, and I didn't cross that field again for years. I was not +afraid, but I did not wish to be surprised again. I recall another +time-- + +But this is not a snake story. I told Westbury that I could bind as well +as ever, and would give them an exhibition of a few rounds. But it was +impressively hot and at about the third bundle I remembered an important +memorandum I wanted to make, and excused myself. It was quite pleasant +in my study, and I kept on making memorandums until by and by Westbury +sent the Hope to tell me that they'd like me to come out and give the +rest of the exhibition. It was not very considerate of Westbury when I +was busy that way, and I ignored his suggestion. + +We did not go in for selling seed rye, as I had once contemplated, but I +think we might have done so if there had been a demand. Westbury and +the men put it into the barn, and later flailed it out on the barn +floor, after the manner of Abraham and Boaz and Bildad the Shuhite, +beating the flails in time and singing a song that Bildad himself +composed. Who would have a dusty, roaring thrashing-machine when one can +listen to the beating flails and be back with Boaz and Bildad in the +days when the world was new? + + * * * * * + +Just a word more of our vegetable experiments. For one thing, our +asparagus-bed thrived. Those hot mornings I put in paid the biggest +return of any early-morning investment I ever made. Each year it came +better and better--in May and June we could not keep up with it and +shared it with our neighbors. The farm-dweller who does not plant an +asparagus-bed as quickly as he can get the ground ready, and the plants +for it, makes a grave mistake. + +Perhaps I ought to record here that our sweet-potatoes were a success. +We were told that they would not grow in New England, but they grew for +us and were sweet and plentiful. + +The waning of the year in a garden is almost the best of it, I think. +Spring with its thrill of promise, summer with its fulfilment--meager or +abundant, according to the season--are over. Then comes September and +October, the season of cool, even brisk, mornings and mellow afternoons. +It is remnant-day in the garden, the time to take a basket and go +bargain-hunting on the "as is" counter. Where the carrots have been +gathered there are always a few to be found, if one looks carefully, and +in the melon-patch there is sure to be one or two that still hold the +bouquet of summer, with something added that has come with the first +spicy mornings of fall. Also, if one is lucky, he will find along the +yellowing rows a few ears of corn, tender enough and sweet enough for +the table, with not quite the flavor of July, perhaps, but with +something that appeals as much to the imagination, that belongs with the +spectral sunlight, the fading stalks and vines, and carries the memory +back to that first day of April planting. To bring in a basket, however +scanty, of those odds and ends and range them side by side on the +kitchen table affords a gratification that is not entirely material, I +believe, for there is a sort of pensive sadness in it that I have been +told is related to poetry. + + * * * * * + +I have said little of our flowers, but they were a large part--sometimes +I think the largest part--of our happiness. Going back through the +summers now, I cannot quite separate those of that first year from those +of the summers that followed. It does not matter; sooner or later we had +all the old-fashioned things: hollyhocks in clusters and corners, and on +the high ground in a long row against the sky; poppies and +bleeding-heart, columbine and foxglove, bunches of crimson bee-balm and +rows of tall delphinium in marvelous shades of blue. And we had banks of +calliopsis and sunflowers--the small sunflowers of Kansas, that bloom a +hundred or more to a stalk--and tall phlox whose fragrance carries one +back to some far, forgotten childhood. Then there were the roses--the +tea-roses that one must be careful of in winter and the hardy +climbers--the Dorothy Perkins and ramblers clambering over the walls. As +I look back now through the summers I seem to see a tangle of color +stretching across the years. It is our garden--our flowers--always a +riot of disorder, always a care and a trial, always beloved and +glorious. + +One year I planted some canterbury-bells--the blue and the white. They +are biennials, and bloom the second year. The blue ones came +wonderfully, but the white ones apparently failed. I did not plant them +again, for I went in mainly for perennials that, once established, come +year after year. I tried myosotis, too, but that also disappeared after +the second year. Our garden, such as it was, was a hardy garden, where +only the fittest survived. + +There was an accompaniment to our garden. It was the brook. Nearly +always, as I dug and planted, I could hear its voice. Sometimes it rose +strong and insistent--in spring, when rains were plenty; sometimes in +August when the sky for weeks had been hard and dry, it sank to a low +murmur, but it was seldom silent. All the year through its voice was a +lilting undertone, and the seasons ran away to the thread of its silver +song. + +After all, a garden in any season is whatever it seems to its owner. To +one who plans and plants it, tends and loves it, any garden is a world +in little, a small realm of sentient personalities, of quaint and lovely +associations, of anxious strivings and concerns, of battles, of +triumphs, and of defeats. To one who makes a garden under compulsion it +is merely an inclosure of dirt and persistent weeds, a place of sun and +sweat and some more or less perverse and reluctant vegetables that would +be much more pleasantly obtained from the market-wagon. There is no +personality in it to him, nor any poetry. I know this, because I was +once that kind of a gardener myself. It was when I was a boy and had to +hoe one every Saturday forenoon, when there were a number of other +things I wanted to do. It was almost impossible to study lovingly the +miracle of the garden when duty was calling me to play short-stop on +the baseball nine that I knew was assembling on the common, with some +irresponsible one-gallus substitute in my place. Yet even in those days +I loved the fall garden. The hoeing was all done then, the weeds were no +longer my enemies. One could dig around among them and find a belated +melon, and in the mellow sunlight, between faded corn-rows, scoop out +its golden or ruby heart and reflect on many things. + + +III + +_And how the family did grow up!_ + +As I look back now, that first year on our abandoned farm seems a good +deal like the years that followed it; but it could not have been so, for +when I consider to-day's aspect and circumstance I realize that each of +our twelve years of ownership furnished events that were to us unusual, +some of them, at the time, even startling. + +We must have enjoyed a kind of prosperity, I suppose, for we seem always +to have been planning or doing something to enlarge the house or +improve its surroundings, and quite a good deal of money can be spent in +that way. I think it was about the second year that for the sake of +light and air we let out three dormer windows on the long roof, and I +remember that in order not to make a mistake in their architecture we +drove thirty miles one morning to see a house like ours which had owned +its windows from the beginning. We loved our old house, you see, and did +not wish to do it an injury. I think it was about the same time that we +pulled off the plaster from the living-room ceiling and left the exposed +beams--old hewn timbers which we tinted down with a dull stain. William +Deegan and I stained those beams together, and our friendship ripened +during that employment. William had been with us about a year at this +period--not steadily, because now and then would come a day when with +sadness and averted eyes he would say, "I think I'll be goin' now, for a +little while," after which the effacement of William for perhaps a week, +followed by his return some morning, pale, delapidated, as on the +morning of his first arrival. + +In the beginning I had argued, even remonstrated, but without effect. +William only said, humbly: "It comes over me to be goin', and I have to +do it. I'll be dacent ag'in, whin I get back." + +During one such period of absence there came a telephone call from the +sheriff of the nearest town of size. + +"Do you know a man named William Deegan?" + +"We do." + +"He is in the calaboose here. His fine and costs amount to five dollars. +Do you want to redeem him?" + +"We do." + +Clearly William's vacation had been unusual, even for him. We sent up +the money and William was home that night, more crushed, more pale, more +dilapidated than ever. He had worn a new suit away. He returned with a +mere rag. We thought this might cure him, but nothing could do that. We +could redeem William, but he could not redeem himself. These occasional +lapses were the only drawback of that faithful, industrious soul, and we +let them go. We had been unable to forgive them in the light-headed, +literary Gibbs. + +But William here is a digression; I was speaking of our improvements. We +decided one year that we must have more flowers--a real garden. We made +it on the side of the house where before had been open field--walled in +a space where there was an apple-tree, a place large enough to assemble +all the things we loved most and that grew with an economy of care. In a +little while it was a glorious tangle that we admired exceedingly, and +that our artist friends tried to paint. + +Another year we converted my study behind the chimney into a pantry, +opened it into the kitchen, made the "best room" into a dining-room, and +left the long living-room with the big fireplace for library use only. +That was a radical change and I had to build me a study over on a cedar +slope--a good deal of a house, in fact, where I could gather my traps +about me, for with the years my work had somehow invited a +paraphernalia of shelves and files, and a variety of other furniture +that required room. It was better for a growing-up family, too. With me +out of the house, they had more freedom to grow up in, which, after all, +was their human right, and the growing-up machinery could revolve as +noisily as it pleased without furnishing a procrastinating author an +added excuse for not working. No author with a growing-up family should +work in his own home. He is impossible enough under even the best +conditions. + +[Illustration] + +And how the family did grow up. Why, once when they were home from +school I came from the study one day to find a young man in the house--a +strange young man, from somewhere in the school neighborhood. I couldn't +imagine what he was doing there until I was taken aside and it was +explained to me that he was there to see our eldest, the Pride. That +little girl, imagine! It is true she was eighteen--I counted, up on my +fingers to see--but the Pride! why, only yesterday she was bare-footed, +wading in the brook. Somehow I couldn't make it seem right. + + +IV + +_And then one eventful day_ + +I suppose it was about that time that we acquired a car--it would be +likely to be about that time. 'Most everybody was getting cars, and Lord +Beaconsfield, good Old Beek, was getting slower each year and could no +longer keep up even with our deliberate progress. Furthermore, I learned +to drive the car, in time. It is true I knocked some splinters from the +barn, put a crimp in a mud-guard, and smashed another man's tail-light +in the process, but nothing fatal occurred, though I found it a pretty +good plan to stick fairly close to my new study on the cedar slope if I +wanted to keep up with the garage and damage bills. Those bills startled +me, at first, and then, like everybody else, I became callous and +reckless, and we did without a good many other things in order that the +car might not go unshod or climb limpingly the stiff New England hills. + +And then at last, one eventful day--a day far back in that happy, +halcyon age when ships sailed as freely across the ocean as ferry-boats +across the North River and men roved at will among the nations of the +earth--one sunny August morning, eight years after the day of our +coming, we locked the old house behind us and drove away in the car to a +New York pier and sailed with it (the car, I mean, not the pier) to the +Mediterranean, and the shores of France. In that fair land, while the +world was still at peace, we wandered for more than a year, resting +where we chose, as long as we chose, all the more unhurried and happy +for not knowing that we were seeing the end of the Golden Age. Oh, those +lovely days when we went gipsying along the roads of Provence and +Picardy and Touraine! I cannot write of them now, for in to-day's shock +of battle they have already become unreal and dreamlike. I touch them +and the bloom vanishes. But sometimes when I do not try to write, and +only lean back and close my eyes, I can catch again a little of their +breath and sweetness; I can see the purpling vineyards and the poppied +fields; I can drift once more with Elizabeth and our girls through the +wonderland of France. + +[Illustration: _It was on a winter evening that I drove our car back to +its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by land and sea_] + +War came and brought the ruin of the world. It was late in the year when +we returned to America, and it was on a winter evening that I drove our +car back to its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by +land and sea. Our old house had remained faithful. A fire roaring up the +chimney made it home. + +We went to Westbury's, however, for the holidays. Westbury with the +years had become a prosperous contractor, for Brook Ridge was no longer +an abandoned land, but a place of new and beautiful homes. Westbury's +prosperity, however, had not made him proud--not too proud to offer us +old-time Christmas hospitality at his glowing fireside. + + +V + +_Was it the spirit of our garden?_ + +Summer found us back in the old house, almost as if we had not left it. +Almost, but not quite. Somehow the world had changed. Perhaps it was +just the war--perhaps it was because we were all older--our girls +beginning to have lives of their own--because the family unit was +getting ready to dissolve. + +The dissolving began at last one sunny June day when the Pride left us. +It was the young man whom I had noticed around the house a year or two +before who took her away. She seemed to prefer to go with him than to +stay with us, I could not exactly make out why, but I did not think it +best, or safe, to argue the question, and I drove them to the train +afterward. + +Then the Hope and the Joy got the notion of spending their summers in +one of those camps that are so much the fashion now, and at last there +came a day that the Hope, who such a little while ago was running +care-free and happy-hearted in the sun, bade us good-by and sailed +away--sailed back across the ocean to France, an enlisted soldier, to do +her part where the world's bravest were battling for the world's +freedom. + +For us, indeed, the world had changed; we had little need any more for +the old house that on a July day twelve years before we had found and +made our home. It had seen our brief generation pass; it was ready for +the next. And when, one day, there came a young man and his bride, just +starting on the way we had come, and seeing the beauty of the spot, just +as we had seen it, wanted to own and enjoy it, just as we had owned and +enjoyed it, we yielded it to them gladly, even if sorrowfully, for one +must give up everything, some time or other, and it is an economy of +regret to give to the right person, at the right time. + +And now just here I want to record a curious thing. Earlier in these +pages I have spoken of planting one year some white canterbury-bells +that did not grow, or at least, so far as we could discover, did not +bloom. In six seasons we never saw any sign of them, yet on the day we +were leaving our house, closing it for the last time, I found on the +spot where they had been planted, in full bloom, a stalk of white +canterbury-bells! Had the seed germinated after all those years? Was it +the spirit of our garden, sprung up there to tell us good-by? Who can +answer? + +[Illustration] + +Our abandoned farm is no longer ours. We, too, have abandoned it. Only +the years that we spent there remain to us--a tender and beautiful +memory. Whatever there was of shadow or misfortune has long since +passed, by. I see now all our summers there bathed in mellow sunlight, +all the autumns aglow with red and gold, all the winters clean with +sparkling snow, all the springs green with breaking buds and white with +bloom. If those seasons were not flawless at the time, they have become +so, now when they are added to the past. + +And I know that they were indeed happy, for they make my heart ache +remembering, and it is happiness, and not misery, that makes the heart +ache--when it is gone. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWELLERS IN ARCADY*** + + +******* This file should be named 28027-8.txt or 28027-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/0/2/28027 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: Dwellers in Arcady + The Story of an Abandoned Farm + + +Author: Albert Bigelow Paine + + + +Release Date: February 8, 2009 [eBook #28027] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWELLERS IN ARCADY*** + + +E-text prepared by Annie McGuire + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 28027-h.htm or 28027-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/0/2/28027/28027-h/28027-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/0/2/28027/28027-h.zip) + + + + + +DWELLERS IN ARCADY + + * * * * * + +_Books by_ + +ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + +_For Young Readers_ + + THE BOYS' LIFE OF MARK TWAIN + HOLLOW TREE NIGHTS AND DAYS + THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP-WOODS BOOK + THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK + +_Small books of several stories each, selected from the above Hollow + Tree books:_ + + HOW MR. DOG GOT EVEN + HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL + MR. RABBIT'S BIG DINNER + MAKING UP WITH MR. DOG + MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT BALLOON TRIP + WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY + MR. RABBIT'S WEDDING + MR. CROW AND THE WHITEWASH + MR. TURTLE'S FLYING ADVENTURE + +_For Grown-ups_ + + DWELLERS IN ARCADY + MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS + MARK TWAIN: A BIOGRAPHY + TH. NAST: HIS PERIOD AND HIS PICTURES + THE SHIP-DWELLERS (Humorous travel) + THE TENT-DWELLERS (Humorous camping) + FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER (Humorous, home life) + PEANUT (Story of a boy) + +HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: _Once more it was a habitation and a home_] + +[Illustration] + +DWELLERS IN ARCADY + +The Story of an Abandoned Farm + +by + +Albert Bigelow Paine + +_Author of_ "From Van-Dweller to Commuter" +"The Ship-Dwellers" "The Tent Dwellers" +Etc. + +With Illustrations by Thomas Fogarty + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + +Harper & Brothers Publishers +New York and London + +Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers +Printed in the United States of America +Published March, 1919 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + _Once more it was a habitation and a home_ _Frontispiece_ + + _"And here is your house," said William C. + Westbury_ 6 + + _They formed a board of appraisal. All of them + knew that cellar and were intimately acquainted + with its contents_ 44 + + _I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a + second later had it hooked and was back, + the lightning at my heels_ 68 + + _Sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by + the waning embers, and watched her moving + to and fro between me and the fading + autumn fields_ 110 + + _"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us + where we are?"_ 156 + + _I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic + summer, and, on the whole, a + successful one_ 206 + + _It was on a winter evening that I drove our + car back to its old place in the barn, after + its long journeyings by land and sea_ 238 + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + + +I + +_All my life I had dreamed of owning a brook_ + +[Illustration] + +Just below the brow of the hill one of the traces broke (it was in the +horse-and-wagon days of a dozen years or so ago), and, if our driver had +not been a prompt man our adventure might have come to grief when it was +scarcely begun. As it was, we climbed on foot to the top, and waited +while he went into a poor old wreck of a house to borrow a string for +repairs. + +We wondered if the house we were going to see would be like this one. It +was of no special design and it had never had a period. It was just a +house, built out of some one's urgent need and a lean purse. In the +fifty years or so of its existence it had warped and lurched and become +sway-backed and old--oh, so old and dilapidated--without becoming in the +least antique, but just dismal and disreputable--a veritable pariah of +architecture. We thought this too bad, for the situation, with its view +down a little valley and in the distance the hazy hills, was the sort of +thing that, common as it is in Connecticut, never loses its charm. Never +mind, we said, perhaps "our house" would have a view, too. + +But then our trace was mended and we went along--happily, for it was +sunny weather and summer-time, and, though parents of a family of three, +we were still young enough to find pleasure in novelty and a surprise at +every turn. Our driver was not a communicative spirit, but we drew from +him that a good many houses were empty in this part--"people dead or +gone away, and city folks not begun to come yet"--he didn't know why, +for it was handy enough to town--sixty miles by train--and a +nice-enough country, and healthy--just overlooked, he guessed. + +We agreed readily with this view; we were passing, just then, along a +deep gorge that had a romantic, even dangerous, aspect; we descended to +a pretty valley by a road so crooked that twice it nearly crossed +itself; we followed up a clear, foaming little river to a place where +there was a mill and a waterfall, also an old-fashioned white house +surrounded by trees. Just there we crossed a bridge and our driver +pulled up. + +"The man you came to see lives here," he said. "The house is ahead, up +the next hill." + +"The man" must have seen us coming, for the door opened and he came +through the trees, a youngish, capable-looking person who said he was +the same to whom we had written--that is to say, Westbury--William C. +Westbury, of Brook Ridge, Fairfield County. + +Had we suspected then how large a part of our daily economies William C. +Westbury was soon to become we should have given him a closer +inspection. However, he did not devote himself to us. He appeared to be +on terms of old acquaintance with our driver, climbed into the front +seat beside him, and lost himself in news from the outlying districts. +The telephone had not then reached the countryside, and our driver +brought the latest bulletins. The death of a horse in Little Boston, the +burning of a barn in Sanfordtown, the elopement of an otherwise +estimable lady with a peddler, marked the beginning of our intimacy with +the affairs of Brook Ridge. + +The hill was steep, and in the open field at one side a little cascade +leaped and glistened as it went racing to the river below. + +"That's the brook that runs through your farm," Mr. Westbury said, quite +casually, in the midst of his interchanges with the driver. + +"Our farm!" I felt a distinct thrill. And a brook on it! All my life I +had dreamed of owning a brook. + +"Any trout in it?" I ventured, trying to be calm. + +"Best trout-brook in the township. Ain't it, Ed?"--to the driver. + +"Has that name," Ed assented, nodding. "I never fish, myself, but I've +seen some good ones they said come out of it." + +[Illustration] + +We were up the hill by this time, and Mr. Westbury waved his hand to a +sloping meadow at the left. + +"That's one of the fields. Over there on the right is some of your +timber, and up the hill yonder is the rest of it. Thirty-one acres, more +or less. The brook runs through all of it--crosses the road yonder where +you see that bridge." + +I could feel my pulse getting quicker. There was no widely extended +view, but there was a snug coziness about these neighborly meadows and +wooded slopes, with the brook winding between; this friendly road with +its ancient stone walls, all but concealed now by a mass of ferns or +brake on one side, and on the other by a tangle of tall grass, +goldenrod, purple-plumed Joe Pye weed, wild grape with big mellowing +clusters, wild clematis in full bloom. New England in summer-time! What +other land is like it? Our brook, our farm, here in the land of our +fathers! There were a warmth, a glow, a poetry in the thought that +cannot be put down in words--something to us new and wonderful, yet as +old as human wandering and return. + +But then all at once we were pulling up abreast of two massive +maple-trees and some stone steps. + +[Illustration: _"And here is your house," said William C. Westbury_] + +"And here is your house," said William C. Westbury. + + +II + +_Ghosts like good architecture_ + +I believe I cannot quite give to-day my first impression of the house. +In the years that have followed it has blended into so many other +impressions that I could never be sure I was getting the right one. I +had better confine myself to its physical appearance and what was +perhaps a reflex impression--say, number two. + +One glance was enough to show that it was all that the other old house +was not. It did not sag, or lurch, or do any of those disreputable +things. It stood up as straight and was as firm on its foundations as on +the day when its last hand-wrought nail had been driven home, a century +or so before. No mistaking its period or architecture--it was the +long-roofed salt-box type, the first Connecticut habitation that +followed the pioneer cabin; its vast central chimney had held it +unshaken during the long generations of sun and storm. + +Not that it was intact--oh, by no means. Its wide weather-boards were +broken and falling; the red paint they had once known had become a mere +memory, its shingles were moss-grown and curling, the grass was uncut. +The weeds about the entrances and rotting well-curb grew tall and dank; +the appearance of things in general was far from gay. Clouds had +overcast the sky, and on that dull afternoon a sort of still deadliness +hung about the premises. No cheap, common house can be a haunted house. +Ghosts like good architecture, especially when it has become pretty +antique, and they have a passion for neglected door-yards. The place +lacked nothing that I could see to make it attractive to even the most +fastidious wandering wraith. As I say, I think this was not my first +impression, but certainly it was about the next one, and I could see by +her face that it was Elizabeth's. + +"Place wants trimming up," said Mr. Westbury, producing a big brass key, +"and the house needs some work on it, but the frame is as sound as ever +it was. Been standing there going on two hundred years--hewn oak and +hard as iron. We'll go inside." + +We climbed down rather silently. I felt a tendency to step softly, for +fear of waking something. The big key fitted the back door, and we +followed Mr. Westbury. He told us, as we entered, that the place +belonged to his wife and her sister--that they had been born there; +also, their father, their grandmother, and their great-grandfather, +which was as far back as they knew, though the house had always been in +the family. Through a little hallway we entered a square room of +considerable size. It had doors opening into two smaller rooms, and to +one much larger--long and low, so low that, being a tall person, my hair +brushed the plaster. Just in the corner where we entered there was an +astonishingly big fireplace to which Mr. Westbury waved a sort of +salute. + +"There is a real antique for you," he said. + +There was no question as to that. The opening, which included a Dutch +oven, was fully seven feet wide, and the chimney-breast no less than +ten. The long, narrow mantel-shelf was scarcely a foot below the +ceiling. It took our breath a little--it was so much better than +anything we had hoped for. We forgot that this was a haunted house. It +had become all at once a sort of a dream house in which mentally we +began placing all the ancient furnishings we had been gathering since +our far-off van-dwelling days. There was a big hole in the plaster, but +it was a small matter. We hardly saw it. What we saw was the long, low +room, with its wide wainscoting and quaint double windows, and ranged +about its walls--restored and tinted down to match--our low bookshelves; +on the old oak floor were our mellow rugs, and here and there tables and +desk and couches, with deep easy-chairs gathered about a wide open fire +of logs. Oh, there is nothing more precious in this world than the dream +of a possibility like that, when one is still young enough, and strong +enough to make it come true! + +"This was the kitchen in the old days," Mr. Westbury said. "They cooked +over the fire and baked in that oven. Old Uncle Phineas Todd, over at +Lonetown, who is ninety years old, and remembers when his mother cooked +that way, says that nothing has ever tasted so good since as the meat +and bread that came out of those ovens. The meat was rich with juice +and the bread had a crust on it an inch thick. That would be +seventy-five years ago, and it's about that long, I guess, since this +one was used." Mr. Westbury opened a door to another square room of +considerable size. "This was their best room," he said. "They opened the +front door only for funerals and weddings. I was married over there in +that corner twelve years ago. That was the last wedding. My wife's +father lived here till last year. That was the last funeral. He was +eighty-five when he died. People get to be old folks up here." + +There was a smaller fireplace in this room, and another in a little room +behind the chimney, and still another in the first we had entered--four +in all--one on each side of the great stone chimney-base. For the most +part the walls seemed in good condition--the plaster having been made +from oyster shells, Westbury said, hauled fifteen miles from Long Island +Sound. + +We returned to the long, low room and climbed the stair to a sort of +half-room--unfinished, the roof sloping to the eaves. Westbury called it +the kitchen-chamber, and it led to bedrooms--a large one and three +small ones. Also, to a tiny one which in our dream we promptly converted +into a bath-room. Then we climbed still another stair--a tortuous, +stumbling ascent--to the attic. + +We had expected it to be an empty place, of dust, cobwebs, and darkness. +It was dusty enough and none too light, but it was far from empty. Four +spinning-wheels of varying sizes were in plain view between us and the +front window. A dozen or more of black, straight-backed chairs of the +best and oldest pattern were mingled with a mass of other ancient +relics--bandboxes, bird-cages, queer-shaped pots and utensils, +trenchers, heaps of old periodicals, boxes of trinkets, wooden chests of +mystery--a New England garret collection such as we had read of, but +never seen, the accumulation of a century and a half of time and change. +We looked at it greedily, for we had long ago acquired a hunger for such +drift as that, left by the human tide. I said in a dead, hopeless tone: + +"I suppose it will all be taken away when the place is sold." + +William C. Westbury sighed. "Oh yes, we'll clear out whatever you don't +care for," he said, gloomily, "but it all goes with the house, if +anybody wants it." + +I gasped. "The--the spinning-wheels and the--the chairs?" + +"Everything--just as it is. We've got an attic full of such truck down +the hill now--from _my_ family. I've hauled around about all that old +stuff I ever want to." + +Our dream began to acquire extensive additions. We saw ourselves on +rainy days pulling over that treasure-house, making priceless +discoveries. Reluctantly we descended to the door-yard, taking another +glance at the rooms as we went down. We whispered to each other that the +place certainly had great possibilities, but it was mainly the attic we +were thinking of. + +We went outside. Somehow the door-yard seemed a good deal brighter, and +we agreed that an hour or two's brisk exercise with a scythe would work +wonders. We walked down to the brook, and Mr. Westbury pulled back the +willows from the swift water, and something darted away--trout, he +said, and if he had declared them to weigh a pound apiece we should have +accepted his appraisal, for we were still under the spell of that magic +collection up there under the roof and his statement that everything +went with the house. + +The price for the thirty-one acres--"more or less," as the New England +deeds phrase it, for there are no exact boundaries or measurements among +those hoary hills--with the house, which for the moment seemed to us +mainly composed of attic and contents, though we still remembered the +long, low room and spacious fireplaces; a barn--I was near forgetting +the barn, though it was larger than the house, and as old and solid; the +trout-brook; the woods; the meadow; the orchard--all complete was (ah, +me! I fear those days are gone!) a thousand dollars, and I cannot to +this day understand how we ever got away without closing the trade. I +suppose we wanted to talk about it awhile, and bargain, for the years +had brought us more prudence than money. In the end we agreed on nine +hundred, and went up one day to "pass papers"--which we did after +taking another look at the attic, to make certain that it was not just a +dream, after all. I remember the transaction quite clearly, for it +rained that day, world without end, and Elizabeth and I, caught in a +sudden shower, made for a great tree and had shelter under it while the +elements raged about us. How young we must have been to make it all seem +so novel and delightful! I recall that we discussed our attic and what +we would do with the fireplace room, as we stood there getting wet to +the skin. We had found accommodations at a neighbor's, and we decided to +remain a few days and make some plans. We were so engrossed that we +hardly knew when the rain was over. + +[Illustration] + +It was about sunset when I walked up alone for a casual look at our new +possession. It was still and deserted up there, and as the light faded +into dusk, the ancient overgrown place certainly had an air about it +that was not quite canny. I decided that I would not remain any longer, +and was about to go when I noticed an old, white-haired man standing a +few feet away. I had heard no step, and his pale, grave face was not +especially reassuring. I began to feel goose-flesh. + +"G-good evening," I said. + +He nodded and advanced a step. I noticed that he limped, and I had been +told that my predecessor who had passed away the year before at +eighty-five had walked in that way. + +"Don't pay too much for this place," he said, in a hollow, solemn voice. +"Don't pay too much. It was 'prised in the settlement at nine hundred, +and it tain't wuth any more." + +"I--I've already bought it," I said, weakly. + +"Yeh didn't pay more 'n nine hundred, did yeh?" he questioned, +anxiously. + +"No, I didn't pay more than that." + +"I'm glad," he said, "for it wasn't 'prised any more. I like to see +things in this world done fair. When yeh git moved I'll come to see yeh +again. Good night." + +He limped through the long grass and disappeared over the hill. On the +way down I stopped at the Westbury home and reported my visitor. Mrs. +Westbury, a handsome, spirited woman, laughed. + +"That was old Nat, who lives just back of you. He's a good old body, but +queer." + +"I'm glad he's a body," I said. "I wasn t sure." + + +III + +_Our debt to William C. Westbury_ + +Before going deeper into this history I think I ought definitely to +introduce William C. Westbury, who sold us the place. How few and +lagging would have been our accomplishments without Westbury; how +trifling seems our repayment as I review the years. Not only did he sell +us the house, but he made its habitation possible; you will understand +this as the pages pass. + +Westbury was a native of natives. By a collateral branch he, like his +wife, had descended from our original owners, the ancient and honorable +Meeker stock, who had acquired from the Crown a grant of one of the long +lots (so called because, although of limited width, they had each a +shore front on Long Island Sound) a fifteen-mile stretch of wood and +hill and running water. His own homestead at the foot of the hill--the +old-fashioned white house already mentioned--had been built a generation +or two after ours, when with prosperity, or at least the means of easier +accomplishment, the younger stock had gone in for a more pretentious +setting. + +Whatever there was to know about Brook Ridge, Westbury knew--an all-wide +Providence could scarcely know more. He knew every family, its history +and inter-relationships. His favorite diversion was to take up and +pursue some genealogical thread, to follow its mazy meanderings down the +generations, dropping in curious bits of unwritten history--some of it +spicy enough, some of it boisterously funny, some of it somber and +gruesome, but all of it alive with the very color and savor of the land +that was a part of himself, his inheritance from the generations of +sturdy pioneers. Possibly Westbury's history was not always authentic, +but if at times he drew on his imagination he tapped a noble source, for +his narrative flowed clear, limpid, refreshing, and inexhaustible. When +the days grew cooler and a fire was going in the big chimney, Westbury +would drop in and, pulling up a big chair, would take out his knife and, +selecting a soft, straight-grained piece of pine kindling, would whittle +and look into the fire while he unwound the skein that threaded through +the years from Azariah Meeker, or Ahab Todd, down to the few and +scattering remnants that still flecked the huckleberry hills. + +But I run ahead of my story--it is a habit. It was Westbury's practical +knowledge that first claimed our gratitude. It was complete and +infallible. He knew every horse and horned beast and vehicle in the +township, and had owned most of them, for he was an inveterate trader. +He knew their exact condition and capabilities, and those of their +owners--where we could get just the right man and team to do our fall +plowing; where we could hire a yoke of oxen if needed; where, in the +proper season, we could buy a cow. He introduced me to a man whose +specialty was cutting brush, because he had heavy, stooped shoulders and +preternaturally long, powerful arms--a sort of anthropoid specimen who +wielded a keen one-handed ax that cut a sizable sapling clean through +at one stroke. He produced a carpenter properly qualified for repairs on +an old house, because he had always lived in one and had been repairing +it most of the time since childhood. He found us the right men to clean +our well, to do our painting, to trim and rehabilitate our frowsy +door-yard. He took me in his buggy to see some of these men; the rest he +sent for. If you have ever undertaken a job like ours you have a pretty +good idea of our debt to William C. Westbury. + +And this was not all--oh, by no means! Westbury kept cows, in those +days, and made an almost daily trip with milk to the nearest sizable +town, by virtue of which he became the natural purchasing agent of the +thousand and one things we needed in that day of our beginning, and the +most reliable and efficient I have ever known. Nothing was too small or +too big for Westbury to remember, and I can see him now swing his team +up to the front step and hear him call out, "Hey, there!" as a +preparation to unloading crockery and tinware, dry-goods and notions, +garden tools and food-stuff, his wagon full, his pockets full, without +ever an oversight or a poor selection. If you have ever lived in the +country you know what a thing like that is worth. It was my opinion that +Westbury was a genius, and he has since proved it. + +But I am still going too fast. The family did not immediately come to +Brook Ridge, and perhaps I should say here that the "family," besides +Elizabeth, consisted of three hardy daughters, whom I shall name as the +Pride, the Hope, and the Joy, aged twelve, seven, and two, respectively. +They were boarding at a pleasant farm some twenty miles away, and it was +thought advisable for them to remain there with Elizabeth a week or such +a matter while I came over and stopped with Westbury and his capable +wife, to get things started. + + +IV + +_Those were lovely days_ + +My impression is that our carpenter came first, though the exact +sequence is unimportant. He was not exclusively a carpenter, being also +a farmer during a considerable portion of the year. He would have to +knock off, now and then, he said, to look after his corn and potatoes, +while his assistant, it appeared, served in the double capacity of +helper and hired man. + +But they were a suitable team for the work in hand--reconstruction on an +old house that had been put up mainly with an ax and a trowel, by thumb +measure, having probably never known anything so prosaic as a +spirit-level and a square. We began on the large room--that is to say, +the old kitchen, which was to be the new living-room, and in a very +little while had the prehistoric pantry and sink ripped out and the big +hole patched in the plaster, for our boss carpenter was a gifted man, +qualified for general repairs. + +No, on second thought, we did not rip out quite all the old pantry. +There were some whitewood shelves that had been put there to stay, and +in the century or so of their occupancy appeared to have grown to the +other woodwork. Considering them a little, and the fact that it would +require an ax and perhaps dynamite to dislodge them, I had an +inspiration. Modified a little, they would make excellent bric-a-brac +and book shelves and serve a new and beautiful use through all the +centuries we expected to live there. I feverishly began drawing designs, +and the chief carpenter and I undertook this fine-art and literary +corner at once, so that it might be finished and a surprise for +Elizabeth and the others when they came. It was well that we did so, for +it was no light matter to reduce the width of those shelves. Whitewood +is not hard when fresh, but this had seasoned with the generations until +it was as easy to saw as dried horn--just about--and we took turns at +it, and the sweat got in my eyes, and I would have sent for the ax and +the dynamite if I hadn't passed my word. + +Meantime, the helper, whose name was Henry Jones, was hewing an oaken +cross-beam which supported the ceiling, and which I could not pass under +without violently knocking my head. I am satisfied that the original +builders of that house were short people, or they would have planned +the old kitchen a few inches higher. But then I am always knocking my +head nearly off against something. I have left gleanings from it on the +sharp edges of a thousand swinging signs and on the cruel filigree of as +many low-hung chandeliers. My slightly bald spot, due to severe mental +effort, or something, if examined closely would be found to resemble an +old battlefield in France. But this is digression. As I was saying, +Henry Jones was hewing at the big old cross-beam, trying to raise its +lower sky-line a couple of inches with a foot-adz. I had not supposed +that the job would be especially difficult. I did not realize that the +old white-oak beam in a century and a half had petrified. We were having +a pretty toilsome time with our shelves, but I never saw a man sweat and +carry on like Henry Jones. He had to work straight up, with his head +tipped back, and his neck was rather short, with no proper hinge in it. +Besides, it was August, and pretty still and intense, and then some bees +that had taken up residence between the floors did not like the noise +he made, and occasionally came down to see about it. At such times he +made what was in the nature of a spring for the door, explaining later +that he had been to sharpen his adz. During quieter moments I went over, +at his suggestion, to measure up and see if the beam wasn t high enough. +It was on the afternoon of the second day that I told him that if he +would now trim up and round off the corners a little I thought I might +be able to pass under it without butting my remaining brains out. You +never saw a man so relieved. I think he considered me over-particular +about a small matter. As a reward I set him to elevating the beam across +the top of the door leading to the kitchen--quite an easy job. He only +had to put in a few hours of patient overhead sawing and split out the +chunks with wedges and a maul. + +Observing Henry Jones though fully, I became convinced that the oaken +frame of our house was nearly indestructible. When I found time I +examined its timbers rather carefully. They were massive as to size, +hand hewn, and held together with big wooden pins. No worm had been +indiscreet enough to tackle those timbers. The entire structure was +anchored in the masonry of the huge chimney, and as a whole was about as +solid as the foundations of the world. There were builders in those +days. + +I have mentioned the "ancient mariner" who appeared in the dusk of the +evening to warn me against over-payment for the place--old Nat. It +turned out that he was a farmer, but with artistic leanings in the +direction of whitewash. He appeared one morning in a more substantial +form, and was presently making alabaster of our up-stairs ceilings, for +if ever there was an old master in whitewash it was Nat. Never a streak +or a patchy place, and he knew the secret of somehow making the second +coat gleam like frosting on a wedding-cake. + +Things were happening all about. Old Pop, the brush-cutter, had arrived, +with his deadly one-handed ax, and was busy in the lower brook lot--a +desperate place of briers and brush and poison ivy. He was a savage +worker. The thorns stung him to a pitch of fighting madness, and he +went after them, careless of mishap. Each evening he came up out of that +vicious swamp, bleeding at every pore, his massive shoulders hunched +forward, his super-normal arms hanging until his huge hands nearly swept +the ground. + +[Illustration] + +Pop in action was a fascinating sight. Few things could be finer than to +see him snatch away a barbed-wire entanglement of blackberry-bushes, +clutch a three-inch thorn sapling with his hairy left, and with one +swing of his terrible right cut the taproot through. I had figured that +it would take a month to clear away that mess along the brook, but on +the evening of the fifth day Pop had the last bit of its tangle cut and +piled. Of such stuff were warriors of the olden time. Given armor and a +battle-ax, and nothing could have stood before him. One could imagine +him at Crecy, at Agincourt, at Patay. Joan of Arc would have kept him at +her side. + +Pop had another name, but everybody called him "Old Pop" and he seemed +to prefer it. He was seventy years old and a pensioner. There was a week +when his check came that he did no work, but remained dressed up, and I +fear did not always get the worth of his money. Never mind, he had +earned relaxation. An ancient hickory-tree in the brook meadow had been +broken by a March storm. Old Pop and his son Sam had it cut, split, and +sawed into fireplace lengths in a little while. That is, comparatively. +I think they were two or three days at it, while it had taken nature a +full hundred and sixty years to get the old tree ready for them. I +counted the rings. The figures impressed me. + +It was--let us say--as old as the old house. It had been a straight +young tree of thirty years or so when the Revolutionary began, and it +saw the recruits of Brook Ridge march by to join Putnam, who had a camp +on a neighboring hill. There were Reeds and Meekers and Burrs and Todds +and Sanfords in that little detachment, and their uniforms were not very +uniform, and their knapsacks none too well filled. There was no rich +government behind them to vote billions for defense, no camps that were +cities sprung up in a night, no swift trains to whirl them to their +destination. Where they went they walked, through dust or mud and over +the stony hills. The old tree saw them pass--in its youth and +theirs--and by and by saw them return--fewer in numbers, and foot-sore, +but triumphant. I mentioned it to Pop. He said: + +"Yeah--I was in the Civil War. It wa'n't much fun, but I'm lookin' for +my pension to be increased next year." + +When there was no more brush or chopping I set Pop to laying stone wall +and said I would employ him steadily for a year. But that was a +mistake. Old Pop was a free lance, a knight errant. Anything that +savored of permanency smelled to him of vassalage. He laid a rod of +stone wall--solid wall that will be there for Gabriel to stand on when +he plays his last trump--blows it, I mean--in that neighborhood. But +then he collected, one evening, and vanished, and I did not see him any +more. I never carried the wall any farther. As Pop left it, so it +remains to this day. + +[Illustration] + +My plowman was a young man--a handsome, high-born-looking youth who came +one Sunday evening to arrange terms. He was stylishly dressed, and I +took him for a college lad on vacation. He assured me, however, that his +schooling had been acquired in the neighborhood, that he was a farmer on +his own account, with a team of his own, and that he was accustomed to +plowing rocky land. His name was Luther Merrill, and if I had thought +him handsome in his fine clothes, I considered him really superb when he +arrived next morning in work attire and started his great plow and big +white horses around the furrows. There had been a shower in the night +and the summer foliage was fresh--the leaves shining. Against a gleaming +green background of maple, alder, and wild clematis, Luther Merrill in +shirt and trousers, his collar open, his sleeves turned back, bending to +the plow and calling directions to his sturdy team, was something to +make one's heart leap for joy. I photographed him unobserved. I longed +to paint him. + +My admiration grew as I observed the character of his plowing. A Western +boy wouldn't have stood it five minutes. The soil was at least half +stone, and the stones were not all loose. Every other rod the plow +brought up with a jerk that nearly flung the plowman over the top of it. +Then he had to yank and haul it out, lift it over, and start again. He +did not lose his temper, even when he broke one of his plow points, of +which, it seemed, he had brought a supply, in anticipation. He merely +called something encouraging to his horses and went on. I know about +plowing, and I once plowed a small blackberry-patch that was mostly +roots, and nearly swore my teeth loose in the half a day it took me. But +that had been nothing to this, and this was continual. I decided that +nothing could feaze Luther Merrill. + +Still, he was not absolute proof against bees. I have mentioned the +swarm between the floors of the old house, and in the course of the +morning Luther's plowing took him near the corner where it seems they +had their entrance. It was a bright, hot day and they were quite busy, +but not busy enough to prevent them from giving prompt attention to us +as we came along. + +I was holding one handle of the plow at the moment, pretending to help, +when I noticed a peculiar high-pitched note close to my ear, and a +certain pungent "mad smell" which bees know how to make. Something told +me just then that I had business in the upper corner of the lot and I +set out to attend to it. Two of those bees came along. They hurried a +good deal--they had to, to keep up with me. I discouraged them as much +as possible with an earnest fanning or beating motion and sharp words. I +was not entirely successful. I felt something hot and sudden on the lobe +of one ear just as I dove beneath the bushes that draped the upper wall, +and I had an almost immediate sensation of its becoming hard and +pear-shaped. + +I peered out presently to see what had become of Luther Merrill. He had +not basely deserted his team--he was too high-class for that, but he was +moving from the point of attack with as little delay as possible, +grasping the lines with one hand and pawing the air with the other. By +the time I reached him he was plowing in a rather remote corner, and he +had lost some of his beauty--one eye was quite closed. He said he would +plow down there by the house late in the evening, or on the next wet +day. + +Luther plowed and harrowed and sowed for us--two fields of rye and +timothy mixed, to insure a future meadow, this on Westbury's advice. A +part of one field had great boulders in it, which he suggested we take +out. I said we would drop the boulders into the brook at intervals to +make the pretty falls it now lacked. Next morning, Luther Merrill came +with a heavy chain and a stone-boat (an immense sled without runners) +and for two happy days we reconstructed the world, dislocating and +hauling boulders that had not stirred since the ice age. + +Luther was an expert at chaining out boulders, and he loved the job. +When we got one to the brook, and after great prying and grunting +finally boosted it in with a mighty splash, Luther would wave his arms, +jump about, and laugh like the high-hearted boy that he was. Those were +lovely days. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + + +I + +_We carried down a little hair trunk_ + +[Illustration] + +I was in the midst of the improvements mentioned when the family--that +is to say, Elizabeth and the girls--arrived on the scene. It was a fine +August day--the 21st, to be quite exact--and I borrowed a horse and +light wagon from Westbury and drove the three miles of brook and woods +and meadow to the station to meet them. + +There was just one business house at the station--a general store--and I +suddenly found myself deeply interested, in things I had barely noticed +heretofore. Why, there was a broom! Sure enough, we would need a broom; +also, a rake--that was highly necessary; and a hatchet, and some nails, +and a shovel, and a water-pail, and a big galvanized tub, and--by the +time the train came it took careful arrangement to fit in the family and +the baggage among my purchases. The Pride had to sit on the water-pail, +the Joy, aged two, in the galvanized tub, while the Hope, who was seven, +sat on a trunk at the back, dangled her legs, waved her arms, and +whooped her delight as we joggled along, for the Hope was a care-free, +unrestrained soul, and the world to her just a perpetual song and dance. + +[Illustration] + +They were in a mood to take things as they found them; even the Pride, +who at twelve was critical, expressed herself as satisfied with the +house, and, with the Hope, presently made a dash for the attic, our +story of which had stirred them deeply. It was necessary to restrain +them somewhat. In the first place, our attic was not a possession to be +pawed over by careless and undiscerning childhood. Besides, it was hot +up there under the roof, and gray with the dust of years. It was a place +for a cool, rainy day and not for a mid-August afternoon. + +We carried down a little hair trunk with brass nails in it, and under +the shade of one of the big maples the "tribe," as we sometimes call +them, spread out the treasures of some little old-fashioned girl who +long, long ago had put them away for the last time. There were doll +dresses, made of the quaint prints of another day, and their gay posy +patterns had remained fresh, though the thread of the long childish +stitches had grown yellow with the years. They had very full skirts, and +waists that opened in front, and there was an apron with a wonderful +bib, and a little split sun-bonnet, probably for every-day wear, also +another bonnet which must have been for occasions, for its material was +silk and it was one of those grand, flaring coal-scuttle affairs such as +fashionable dolls wore a very long time ago. + +The doll was not there. Long since she had gone the way of all dolls; +but the Pride and the Hope decked their own dolls in the little old +wardrobe, and thought it all delightful and amusing, while we watched +them with long thoughts, trying to picture the little girl who had one +day put her treasures away to become a young lady, and in time a wife, +and a mother, and a grandmother, and was now resting on the sunny slope +where the road turns, beyond the hill. Later generations of little girls +appeared to have added nothing to the hair trunk. Doubtless they had +dolls, with dresses and styles of their own, and trunks of a newer +pattern, and had scorned these as being a little out of date. Even the +Pride and the Hope would not have permitted their dolls to appear in +those gowns in public, I think--at any rate, not in the best +society--though carefully preserving them with a view perhaps to +fancy-dress occasions. + +The Joy was not deeply impressed with the hair trunk. Neither its art +nor its sentimental value appealed to her. She had passed something more +than two years in our society, and during most of this period had +imagined herself a horse. A fairly level green place, where she could +race up and down and whinny and snort and roll was about all she +demanded of life; though she had a doll--a sort of a horse's doll--which +at the end of a halter went bounding after her during long afternoons of +violence. + +[Illustration] + +For the Joy we brought down from the attic a little two-wheeled green +doll-buggy, with a phaeton top and a tongue, and this at once became her +chief treasure. She hitched herself to it, flung in her doll, and went +racing up and down, checked up or running free, until her round, fat +face seemed ready to burst, and it became necessary to explain to her +that she had arrived at wherever she was going and must stand hitched in +the shade till she cooled off. It was a drowsy occupation that summer +afternoon. She was presently sitting down--as much as a horse can sit +down--and just a little later was stretched among the long grass and +clover, forgetful of check-rein and hitching-post. Later, when the three +of them were awake at once, they possessed themselves of the big barn +and explored the stalls and tumbled about on the remnant of hay that +still remained in one of the mows. Then they discovered the brook, where +it flowed clear and cool among the willows at the foot of the door-yard. +It was not deep enough to be dangerous, and they were presently wading +and paddling to their hearts' content. + +The brook, in fact, became one of their chief delights. It was never +very warm, but, tempered by August sun and shower, its shady, pleasant +waters were as balm to hot bare legs and burning feet. Flowers of many +kinds grew along its banks, while below the bridge where it crossed the +road there was always a school of minnows eager to be fed, and now and +then one saw something larger dart by--something dark, torpedo-shaped, +swift, touched with white along its propellers--a trout. There is no +end of entertainment in such things. Summer-time, the country, and +childhood--that is a happy combination, and a bit of running water adds +the perfect touch. + + +II + +_Cap'n Ben has an iron door-sill_ + +We did not take full possession of our place immediately. Whatever we +had in the way of household effects was in a New York City flat, and one +must have a few pots and tin things, even for the simple life. Fortune +was good to us: the Westbury household offered us shelter until we were +ready to make at least a primitive beginning, and one could not ask +better than that. Mrs. Westbury was a famous cook, and Westbury's +religion was conveyed in the word plenty. The hospitality and bounty of +their table were things from another and more lavish generation. The Joy +promptly gave our hosts titles. She called them Man and Lady Westbury, +which somehow seemed exactly to fit them. + +Each morning we went up to see what we could find to do, and we never +failed to find plenty. I don't remember distinctly as to all of +Elizabeth's occupations, but I know she has a mania for a broom and a +clothesline. I carry across the years the impression of an almost +continuous sweeping sound--an undertone accompaniment to my discussion +with carpenter and painter--and I see rows of little unpacked dresses +swinging in the sun. + +One of my own early jobs was to clean the cellar. It was a sizable +undertaking, and I engaged Old Pop's Sam to help me. It was a cellar of +the oldest pattern, with no step, having an entrance on a level with the +road, the same being a "rollway" wide enough to admit barrels of cider +and other produce. I don't know how many had been rolled into it during +the century or so before we came, but after a casual look I decided that +very few had been rolled out. The place was packed to the doors with +barrels, boxes, benches, and general lumber of every description. + +[Illustration: _They formed a board of appraisal. All of them knew that +cellar and were intimately acquainted with its contents_] + +About the time we got started an audience assembled. Old Nat, who was +taking a day off, and 'Lias Mullins, who had a weakness in his back and +took most of his days off, drifted in from somewhere and sat on the wall +in the shade to give us counsel. Then presently W. C. Westbury drove up +and became general overseer of the job. They formed a board of +appraisal, with Westbury as chairman. All of them knew that cellar and +were intimately acquainted with its contents. + +I had thought the old collection of value only as kindling, but as we +brought out one selection after another I realized my error. + +"That," said 'Lias Mullins, "is Uncle Joe's pork-barrel. It's wuth a +dollar fifty new, an that one's better 'n new." + +"I used to help Uncle Joe kill, every year," nodded Old Nat, "an' to put +his meat away. I remember that bar'l as well as can be. I'll take it +myself, if you don't want it. + +"Better keep your barrel," Westbury said. "You'll be wanting a pair of +pigs next, and then you'll need it." He looked into it reflectively +and sounded it with his foot. "Many a good mess of pork that old +barrel's had in it," he said. + +The board's ruling being unanimous, the barrel was set aside. Uncle +Joe's ham-barrel came next, and was likewise recognized, carefully +examined, and accepted by the board. Then two cider-barrels, which awoke +an immediate and special interest. + +For cider is the New England staple. Its manufacture and preparation are +matters not to be lightly dismissed. Good seasoned cider-barrels have a +value in no way related to cooperage. It is the flavor, the bouquet, +acquired through a tide of seasons, from apples that grow sweet and rich +through summer sun and shower and find a spicy tang in the first October +frost. Gathered and pressed on the right day; kept in the right +temperature, the mellow juice holds its sweetness and tone far into the +winter, and in the oaken staves leaves something of its savor to the +contents of another year. + +"That's the best cider-cellar I know of," said 'Lias Mullins, "and Uncle +Joe allus had the best bar'ls; but they wa'n't used last year, an I'm +turrible 'fraid they've gone musty." + +"Shouldn't be su'prised," agreed old Nat, mournfully. "An' it's a great +pity." + +"Bet you a quarter apiece they're as sweet as ever," proposed Chairman +Westbury. He took out a great jack-knife and carefully pried out the +bungs. "Smell 'em, 'Lias," he said, yielding precedence to the oldest +member. + +'Lias Mullins carefully steadied himself with his cane, bent close to +the bung-hole of one of the barrels, and took a long and apparently +agreeable whiff. Then after due preparation he bent close to the other +bung-hole and took another and still longer whiff. + +"Seems to me that one's just a leetle bit musty," he said. + +"Now, Nat, it's your turn," said Westbury. + +Whereupon old Nat, gravely and after due preparation, took a long whiff +of first one barrel, then a still longer one of the other barrel. + +"Seems to me it's _t'other_ one that's a _leetle trifle_ musty," he +said. + +W. C. Westbury took two short business-like whiffs at each bung. + +"Sweet as a nut, both of 'em," he announced, definitely. + +That settled it; Westbury was acknowledged authority. Sam rolled out two +vinegar-barrels, both pronounced good. Following there came what seemed +at least a hundred apple-barrels, potato-barrels, turnip-barrels, +ash-barrels, boxes, benches, sections of shelving, and a general heap of +debris, some of it unrecognizable even by 'Lias Mullins, oldest member +of the board. + +"It was a Meeker habit to throw nothing away," commented Westbury, as he +looked over the assortment. "No matter what it was, they thought they +might want it, some day. You'll find the same thing when you get to the +attic." + +At this moment Sam discovered in a dark corner a heap of flat slabs +that, brought to light, proved to be small tombstones. Westbury grinned. + +"Those were put over the cemetery fence," he said, "whenever the +relatives bought bigger ones. Uncle Joe brought a lot of them home to +cool his milk on." + +I looked at them doubtfully. They were nothing but stones, and they had +served their original purpose. Still, it had been a rather particular +purpose and they were carved with certain names and dates. I was not +sure that their owners might not sometime--some weird fall evening, +say--take a notion to claim them. + +They opened the door of history to Westbury. He began to recall +connections and events, and related how a certain Hezekiah Lee, whose +name was on one of them, had decided, some fifty years before, to give +up farming and go to counterfeiting. His career from that moment had +been a busy one; he had been always traveling one way or the other +between affluence and the penitentiary. His last term had been a long +one, and when he got out, styles in national currency had changed a good +deal and Uncle Hezekiah couldn't seem to get the hang of the new +designs. So he took to preaching, and held camp-meetings. He lived to +be eighty-seven, and people had traveled forty miles to his funeral. + +I said I would keep Uncle Hezekiah's headstone. In the end we made an +inside walk of the collection, for the old cellar had a dirt floor and +was not always dry, but we laid them face down. When we had raked and +swept, and brushed and put back the articles accepted by the board, and +all was trim and neat, Westbury looked in. + +"Looks nice," he said, and added, "that's what you've got now, but by +and by you'll have your mess of old truck, too, and the next man will +cart a lot of it to the wood-pile, just as you're carting it now." + +I said I thought we would begin our career with a coat of whitewash. +Westbury noticed something sticking out from an overhead beam, and drew +out a long-handled wrought-iron toasting-fork. Looking and prying about, +we discovered an old pair of brass snuffers, and a pair of hand-made +wrought-iron shears. The old things were pretty rusty, and I could see +that Westbury did not value them highly, but I would not have traded +them for the pork-barrel and the ham-barrel and all the other barrels +and benches reserved from Uncle Joe's collection. 'Lias Mullins, +inspecting them, became reflective: + +"Them's from away back in old Ben Meeker's time," he said, "or mebbe +furder than that. The' ain't been no scissors made by hand in this +country since my time, an' a good while before. I guess old Ben was a +good hand to have things made. I've heard my father tell that when he +was a boy Cap'n Ben, as they called him, one day found his door-sill +split, an' went to the blacksmith shop an' had one made out of iron. +Father said it was a big curiosity, and everybody went to look at it. +That would be fully a hundred years ago, when the' wasn't so much to +talk about. He said that the biggest piece of news in Brook Ridge for a +good while was that Cap'n Ben had an iron door-sill. It was around there +at the side door. I've seen it many a time, an' for all I know it's +there yet." + +We went around there. Sure enough! Cap'n Ben's iron door-sill was still +in place. Brown at the ends, bright and thinner where the step came, it +remained as firmly fixed as when, a hundred years before, it had +supplied the latest bit of gossip to Brook Ridge. + + +III + +_The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements"_ + +Peace of mind is a fleeting thing. We began to be harassed with +uncertainty--to suffer with indecision. In buying the old house we had +not at first considered making it a year-round residence, but merely a +place to put some appropriate furnishings, the things we cared for most, +so that we might have them the best part of the year--from April, say, +to Thanksgiving. It had not occurred to us that we would cut loose +altogether from the town--dynamite our bridges, as it were--and become a +part and parcel of Brook Ridge. + +Every day, neighbors stopped to make our acquaintance and learn our +plans. We interested them, for we were the first new-comers for many a +year to that neglected corner of the township. They were the kindest +people in the world, moved, perhaps, less by curiosity than by concern +for our comfort and happiness. They generally wanted to know how we +liked our place, what changes we were going to make in it, and they +never failed to ask if we intended to make it our home or merely a place +for summer-time. + +Our replies to the last question, at first definite, became vague and +qualified, then again definite, for we admitted that we did not know. As +a matter of fact, the place was getting hold of us, possessing us, +surrounding us on all sides with its fascinations. It was just an old +house, a few broken acres, and a brook--just some old lumber and stones, +some ordinary trees, some every-day water--not much, perhaps, to get +excited over or to change one's scheme of life. Yet we did get excited +over it, daily, and it had suddenly become a main factor in our problem +of life. The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements," with +clanging bells and crashing wheels, and with an expanse of dingy roofs +for scenery, became daily less attractive. True, we would have to spend +a good deal more money on the old house to fit it for cold weather, but +then there would be the saving in rent. + +We began to discuss the matter--quietly, even casually, at first--then +feverishly, positively. We were not always on the same side, and there +were moments when a stranger might have thought our relations slightly +strained. But this would have been to misjudge our method. We are seldom +really violent in argument--though occasionally intense. Besides, we +were too much of a mind, now, for real disagreement. We both yearned too +deeply to set the old house in complete order, to establish ourselves in +it exclusively and live there for ever and ever. Think of Christmas in +it, we said, with the great open fires, the snow outside, and a +Christmas tree brought in from our own woods! + +I said at last that I would make a trip to town, go to the flat, and +ship up a few articles for present use. It would be rather more than a +month until our lease expired, and in that time we could decide +something. I secretly intended to send up a number of vital things that +would make return difficult and costly. I was not going to blow up our +entire bridge--I was only going to remove one or two of its necessary +arches. + +That was what I did. I went in one morning and packed a barrel or two of +important queensware and utensils and a bale of bedding, without which +even the best flat becomes a snare and a mockery. When I had seen it in +the hands of the expressman I had a feeling that our pretty apartment +was no longer home. + +I went over to my club for luncheon. A number of my friends were there, +and I seized an auspicious moment to announce my purchase and to exhibit +a bunch of photographs. They were good fellows who showed a proper +interest. Some of them already owned farms--some had farms in prospect. +The artists among them agreed that the old house was a pretty fair +example of its period and began advising me what to do with it. But, as +they did not agree among themselves, the net result was not valuable. +Somebody asked what I was going to plant. + +'Rye,' I said. + +For some reason everybody laughed. + +"All rye? What's the matter with planting a little Scotch?" + +It was not much of a joke, but they seemed to enjoy it. They were good +fellows, as I have said, but I fear rather light-minded. + +When I got back to Brook Ridge and confessed, Elizabeth did not seem +surprised. In fact, it was as if I had been merely obeying orders. If +there was any further question as to what we were going to do, I do not +recall it. Our landlord in town was notified, our farmer-carpenter was +consulted as to further alterations. We had definitely cast our fortunes +with Brook Ridge. + + +IV + +_The soft feet of the rain on the shingles_ + +When the articles I had chosen from the apartment arrived Westbury +carted them up the hill and we entered into possession of our new +estate--not of the house (some painters had possessed themselves of +that), but of the wood-house and barn. The barn was a big, airy place, +suitable for a summer dormitory. The wood-house was not big, but it was +empty and had been set in order. It had a stove-pipe hole, and Westbury +contributed a stove--the first one ever made, he said, or, at any rate, +the first ever used in that neighborhood. It was a good stove, too, +solidly cast, almost unbreakable. Its legs were gone, which was no great +matter, for we set it up on bricks. With a box for a table, we had a +proper living-room, handy and complete. + +Not entirely complete, either--the old stove had no pipe. But just then +it happened that the groceryman came along, making one of his two trips +a week. He would deliver during the afternoon, he said, and could bring +along some pipe for us. He did that, but it was a kind of pipe that +didn't fit--not very well. + +If there is anything that would make a man forget the Great War it +would be putting up stove-pipe. It seems, somehow, to overshadow all +other misfortunes. Some persons might have enjoyed matching up those +units, but I did not. I have no gift that way. Elizabeth said she would +help, but she didn't seem to use good judgment--not the best. When I was +making a painfully careful adjustment she was possessed to push a +little, or something, and make my efforts futile. Once when the box I +was standing on tipped over and I came down, with the pipe resolved into +joints, she seemed to think it amusing. At times, too, our tribe of +precious ones came racing through. By the time the job was finished +Elizabeth and I were treating each other rather coolly--that is to say, +politely. But this was temporary. The soft purr of a fresh fire, the +pleasant singing of a kettle, set us to laughing at our troubles. Man +Westbury came driving up with some green corn, lettuce, and beans from +the garden; also a chicken and a pie hot from Lady Westbury's oven. +Those blessed neighbors! How good they were to us! In less than no time +the corn and beans were in the pot and I was dressing the lettuce. We +had brought down some of the old chairs from the attic, and the tribe +assembled with a whoop to place them. A little more, and we were seated. +The Hope, aged seven, who had a gift for such things, asked a blessing, +and we had begun life in the new home. I wonder why tears are trying to +come as I write about it. There was never a better meal, or a jollier +one--never a happier, healthier family. + +A shower came up and settled into a gentle rain. The barn, where we were +going to sleep, was a good step away, so that when the time came we put +on our rubbers, took our umbrellas and a lantern, and set out for bed. +There was nothing very wonderful about all this, of course; it only +seemed wonderful to us because it was all so new. The Pride and the Hope +declared they were always going to sleep in the barn, and when we got +inside the big, lofty place, and in the gloom overheard heard the soft +feet of the rain on the shingles, I, too, had a deep-down wish that +there was nothing in the world, but this--that the pleasant night and +soothing patter might never cease. + +Truth obliges me to confess that on that first night our bed was not an +entire success. For convenience and economy we had laid it in a +continuous stretch on the floor, with some hay beneath. There being not +enough mattresses for all, I had built an extension of hay for the elder +members of the family. It was the best hay, but I had used it too +sparingly. I suppose I had not realized how, with adjustment, it would +pack and separate. I know it had hardened considerably by the time I had +made one or two turns as a necessary preparation for sleep. I remarked +each time how delightful it all was, to which Elizabeth agreed, though +she had the courage presently to venture that she didn't think it quite +as soft as one of Lady Westbury's feather beds. The Pride observed that +there seemed to be a certain horsey smell that did not entirely please +her, though the Joy, who was probably imagining herself hitched in one +of the stalls, declared that she liked that best of anything. As for the +Hope--clear of conscience and worn with the riot of the day--she had +plunged without a moment's hesitation into the blessed business of +sleep. It engaged us all, at length, and we must have become adapted by +morning, for when we were all awake and lay in the dim light, listening +to the quiet music of the continuing rain, there was no voice of +discontent. Elizabeth thought it likely that she was considerably +bruised, but, as she made no complaint later, this was perhaps a false +alarm. + +[Illustration] + +When I crept out and pushed open the wide front doors, I found that the +brook had risen and was slipping across the grass of the lower yard. It +had a tempting look, and the rain held all but ceased. I picked my way +down to it, and, hanging my garments on a limb, enjoyed the richest +luxury in the world--that of bathing in the open air, sheltered only by +the sky and the greenery, in one's own brook and one's own door-yard. +Interlacing boughs, birds singing, the cool, slipping water--no +millionaire could have more. I was heir to the best the ages had to +give. + + +V + +_Elizabeth's ideas were not poetic_ + +We were busy with our new plans. We decided to shingle the roof, which +showed an inclination to leak; also the sides, which in numerous places +besides the windows admitted samples of the outdoors. Such things did +not matter so much in summer-time, but New England in winter is +different. Then the roof and door-yard are piled with snow, the +northwest wind seeks out the tiniest crevice in one's armor. How did +those long-ago people manage? Their walls were not sheeted, and they +did not know the use of building-paper. Our old wide siding had been +laid directly on the bare timbers, the studding; every crevice under the +windows, every crack in the plaster, was a short circuit with zero. We +decided to take off the antique siding, cut out the bad places, and +relay it flat, as sheeting. Over it we would lay building-paper, and on +top of this, good substantial shingles, laid wide to the weather in the +old-fashioned way. + +It hurt us to think of covering up that fine original siding--priceless +stuff, a foot wide and of the softest, straightest-grained white pine, +cut from large trees such as no longer grow--but we did not know what +else to do with it. It was a wonderful antique, but we could not afford +to keep a pile of lumber just for exhibition purposes. I said it ought +to be in a museum, and I had some thought of offering it to the +Metropolitan, at a modest valuation, next time I went to town. Elizabeth +discouraged this idea. She suggested that I have it made up into Brook +Ridge souvenirs--little trays and paper-cutters--a wagon-load or two, +then start out and peddle them. The scheme dazzled me for a moment, but +I resisted it. So in the end it became just sheeting. I did pick out one +fine example--a piece with some of the original red paint still on +it--and said I meant to have it framed, but in the course of the work, +at a moment when my back was turned, the carpenter got hold of it, so I +fear there is no exposed scrap of it to-day. It is all there under the +shingles, and will still be there for other shingles when those are +gone. The nails that held it were made by hand, every one of them, and I +did save some of those, for they were really beautiful. But think of the +patient labor of making them. I suppose a skilled and rapid workman +could turn out as many as twenty of those nails in an hour. A detail +like that gives one a sort of measurement of those deliberate days. + +We did not always agree as to our improvements. I don t think our +arguments ever became heated--one might characterize them as, well, +ardent. If Elizabeth thought my ideas sometimes wild, not to say crazy, +I don t remember that she ever put it just in that way. If I thought +hers inclined to be prosaic and earthy, I was careful to be out of range +and hearing before I expressed myself. I remember once suggesting that +we do our cooking and heating entirely in the old way--that is to say, +using the fireplaces and the Dutch oven--and was pained to find that +Elizabeth was contemplating a furnace and a kitchen range. She asked me +rather pointedly who I thought was going to get in wood enough to keep +four fireplaces running, and if I fancied the idea of going to bed in +the big north room up-stairs with the thermometer shrinking below zero. + +It was still August at the moment, and the prospect was not so +disturbing. I said that hardy races always did those things, that the +old builders of this house had probably not minded it at all, and just +see to what great old ages they had lived. I said that as a child I had +even done it myself. + +"So did I," said Elizabeth; "that is why I am not going to do it now." + +She walked out with quite a firm step, and I did not pursue the matter. +I might have done so, but I had a vision, just then, of a boy who had +lived on the Western prairies, in a big box of a house, and had gone to +bed in a room that was about the temperature of the snow-drifted yard. I +could see him madly flinging off a few outer garments, making a spring +into a bed that was like a frozen pond, lying there in a bunch, getting +tolerably warm at last, but all night long fearful of moving an inch +because of his frigid boundaries. As for the matter of wood, well, I had +carried that, too, cords of it, for a fireplace that had devoured it +relentlessly and given nothing adequate in return. I recalled that in +cold weather I had never known what it was to be warm on both sides at +once, that I had scorched my face while my back was freezing, then +turned, like a chicken on a spit, to bake the other side. Without doubt +I had grown used to it, so used to it that it had never occurred to me +that in cold weather any one really could be warm on both sides at once; +also, perhaps, it had hardened me, still-- + +Elizabeth's ideas were not poetic; they did not express art for art's +sake; anybody could see that; but, after all, there would be +days--January days--when a fireplace alone, however beautiful as an +ornament, would not make enough impression on the family circle, and +scarcely any at all on the up-stairs. Coming up rather quietly somewhat +later, she found me sitting under the big maple, surreptitiously +studying a range and furnace catalogue borrowed of Westbury. We decided +on Acme Hummers and I gave the order to the postman next morning. + + +VI + +_Our last night in the barn was not like the others_ + +We lived a full week in the wood-house and barn, a week that is chiefly +memorable to me now because of the kindness of our neighbors. + +I wonder if in every New England neighborhood new-comers are treated as +we were. It was high garden season, and I think not a day passed, that +at least one basket of sweet corn, beans, lettuce, and such noble things +was not set at our doors. + +From all about they came, and how sweet and fresh they were! There had +been no lack of showers that summer, and gardens were at their best. +Nothing is so good as sweet corn, freshly picked and put in the pot. We +had never really had enough of it before. Now we had to strain our +appetites to keep up with the supply. And lima beans, and buttered +beets, and cucumbers and crisp salads, and fresh cabbage slaw! Dear me! +Why must any one have to stay in town where all those things are scarce, +and costly, and days old, and wilted, when he can go to the country and +have them fresh and abundant from the garden--of his neighbor? + +Some of the offerings were really artistic, prettily arranged, and +garnished with flowers. Old Nat of the whitewash came one evening with a +huge round basket, in the center of which was a big yellow pumpkin, the +first of his crop, and ranged about it ears of corn, big red tomatoes, +and heads of lettuce, the whole like some wonderful great flower. But +then Nat was always an artist at heart. + +Our last night in the barn was not like the others. We had become very +comfortable there, for we had built our hay higher, and we had learned +the art of resting in that processional fashion, while the big, airy +place and the patter of the not infrequent rain had grown dear to us. +But that last night was different. It rained, as usual, but it did +something more. I had been asleep an indeterminable time when I was +aroused by a crash of thunder that for a moment I thought had taken off +the roof. In the glimmer of lightning that followed I realized that +Elizabeth was awake--also the Pride, aged twelve. + +It was the sort of storm to make one sit up on his elbow. Elizabeth sat +up on hers, and declined to lie back even when assured that it would be +easier for the lightning to hit her in that half-erect position. The +Pride began asking persistently if the barn was going to be struck. The +Joy, who was next me, suddenly grabbed my arm and clung like a burr, +saying nothing. The Hope, secure in the knowledge of an upright life, +aided by a perfect digestion, slept as one in a trance, while the fierce +pounding grew more alarming as flash followed flash and the crashes came +more promptly and forcibly on the heels of every flare. I don't think I +was exactly afraid, but I could not altogether forget the tradition that +lightning has a mania for striking barns and it was this that had +occurred to Elizabeth. She said she had been reading of storms like this +in Jamaica, and that invariably they had struck barns, though whether +she meant Jamaica of southern waters or the pretty suburb on Long Island +by that name I have not learned to this day. + +There was no wind, but all at once, at the very height of things, when +the flashes and the crashes came together and the very sky seemed about +to explode, one of our wide barn doors swung slowly, silently open, as +if moved by a spirit hand, and at the same instant there came a blaze +and roar that fairly filled the barn. A moment later the great door +silently closed; then once more opened to let in a blinding, deafening +shot. + +[Illustration: _I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a second +later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels_] + +I could tell by what Elizabeth said that the big door ought to be shut +and securely fastened. I made about three leaps and grabbed it, and a +second later had it hooked and was back, the lightning at my heels. Then +the clouds must have upset, for there came a downpour that fairly +drowned the world. + +[Illustration] + +But the artillery was passing. Soon flash and roar came farther apart +and modified by distance. Nothing was left at last but a soothing rumble +and the whisper of the receding rain. We slept, and woke to find +ourselves rich, in sunlight, blue sky, and overflowing rain-barrels. +This made it washday for Elizabeth and the tribe, and presently all the +lines were full. It was a glorious storm, but that afternoon we moved +our sleeping-arrangements to the house. The painters had finished +up-stairs, and there was no purpose in exposing ourselves to storms +which for all we knew, came straight from Jamaica, where they had a +mania for hitting barns. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + + +I + +_At the threshold of the past_ + +[Illustration] + +I wonder if you are anything like as anxious to get into our old attic +as we were. That is not likely. To us it meant romance, even a kind of +sorcery--a bodily transmigration into the magic past. + +Now and then during those August days we would open the door below and +look up, perhaps even climb the stair and peer around a little, +possessed by the spell of it, deterred only by our immediate affairs and +the heat. + +[Illustration] + +Then at last came a day, a cool Sunday when it was raining softly, and +the tribe were having a "perfectly _lovelly_" time in the barn, +Elizabeth and I climbed the rickety stairway to the Land of the Long +Ago. There could be no better time for it--the quiet rain overhead, no +workmen, no likelihood of visitors. + +At the top of the stair we hesitated and looked about with something of +the feeling that I suppose the Egyptian explorer had when he looked into +the furnished tomb of Queen Thi. We were at the threshold of the past. + +A small window at each end gave light in plenty. There was a good deal +of dust, and there were some cobwebs in the corners, but these did not +disturb us. Only, we were a little bewildered by the extent of our +possessions. We hardly knew where to begin. + +At first we picked our way about rather aimlessly, pointing to this +thing and that, our voices subdued. There were all the high-backed +chairs--fourteen, we counted, with those already carried down. Most of +them would need new rush bottoms and black paint, but otherwise they had +withstood the generations. They were probably a part of the old house's +original furnishing--these and at least one of the spinning-wheels, of +which there were four, the large kind, used for spinning wool; also the +reel for winding yarn. Then we noticed a low wooden cradle, darkened +with age, its sides polished by the hands that had rocked it--that had +come next, no doubt. We remarked that one of the spinning-wheels was +considerably smaller than the others--a child's wheel. We thought it +might have come later, when one of the early occupants of the cradle had +been taught to do her stint. It made a small, plaintive noise when I +turned it, and I could see a little old-fashioned girl in linsey-woolsey +dress and home-made shoes and stockings, in front of the big fireplace +down-stairs, turning and turning to that droning cadence, through long +winter afternoons. Those other wheels had come for other daughters, or +daughters-in-law, and if there ever was a time when all four were going +at once, the low, long room must have been a busy place. + +From a nail in a rafter hung a rusty tin lantern, through the patterned +holes of which a single candle had once sprinkled with light the +progress of the farmer's evening chores. That, too, had belonged to the +early time, and from a dim corner I drew another important piece of +furniture of that day. At first this appeared to be a nest of wooden +chopping-bowls, oblong as to shape and evidently fashioned by hand. Then +remembering something that Westbury had told me, I recognized these +bowls as trenchers, the kind used in New England when pioneer homes were +rather short in the matter of tableware. The trencher stood in the +middle of the table and contained the dinner--oftenest a boiled dinner, +I suppose--and members of the family helped themselves from it--I +hesitate to say with their fingers, but evidence as to table cutlery in +the pioneer home of that period is very scanty. And, after all, if they +had no plates, what need of cutlery? Their good, active fingers and +stout teeth were made before knives and forks, and they did not enjoy +their dinner the less for having it in that intimate way. I confess a +sneaking weakness myself for an informal chicken bone or spare-rib--for +most anything of the sort, in fact, that I can get a fairly firm hold +of. It is better, of course, to have a handle to one's gravy, and +sometimes, when the family is looking the other way, I can manage a +swipe with a slice of bread, and so get a brief golden sample of the +joys of my ancestors. The two smaller trenchers must have been used when +company came--one for the bread, possibly; the other for pudding. I hope +it was good, firm pudding, so that it could be managed without waste. + +We found the kettle that they made the boiled dinner in, an enormous +three-legged witch-pot, also a number of big iron crane hangers, for +swinging vessels above the open fire. And there were three gridirons of +different patterns, for grilling meat over the coals--one of them round +with a revolving top, another square, sloping, with a little trough at +the bottom to catch the juice of a broiling steak. Elizabeth agreed that +we might use those sometimes and I set them over by the stair. We were +not delving deeply, not by any means--just picking off the nuggets, as +it were. It would be weeks before we would know the full extent of our +collection. + +Pushed back under the eaves there were what appeared to be several +"cord" bedsteads, not the high-posted kind--that would have been too +much to expect--but the low, home-made maple bedsteads such as one often +sees to-day in New England, shortened up into garden seats. There were, +in fact, seven of them, as we discovered later. They would be of the +early period, too, and probably had not been used for a good hundred +years. + +But it was the item we discovered next that would take rank, I think, in +the matter of age. At the moment we did not understand it at all. It was +a section of a hickory-tree, about fifteen inches through and two feet +high, hollowed out at the top to a depth of nearly a foot. It was smooth +inside and looked as if something had been pounded in it, as in a +mortar. Presently we came upon a long, heavy hickory mallet, tapering at +one end, smoothly rounded at the other. It had a short handle, and we +thought it might have been a sort of pestle for the big mortar. But what +had those old people ground in it? + +Westbury told us later; it had been their mill. By a slow, patient +process they had macerated their corn in it until it was fine enough for +bread. + +The old hand-mill would undoubtedly take priority in the matter of +antiquity. Those early settlers could do without beds and chairs and +trenchers and cradles, even without spinning-wheels for a time, but they +must very quickly have bread--corn, and a place to grind it. I think the +old mill was older than the house. I think it came almost with the +earliest camp-fire. + +The articles thus far mentioned were all in one end of the attic. We +were by no means through when we turned to the other end, the space +beyond the great chimney. Here under the eaves were piles of yellow +periodicals--religious papers, the New York _Tribune_, and those weekly +story-papers whose thrilling "romances of real life," like "Parted at +the Altar" and "The Lost Heir of Earlecliffe," were so popular with +those young ladies of slender waists and sloping shoulders who became +our grandmothers. I think none of the numbers dated farther back than +the early forties of the last century, and they were not very inviting, +for they were dusty and discolored and the mice had gnawed holes in the +career of Lord Reginald and the sorrows of Lady Maude. + +But there were better things than these--jugs, jars, and bottles of +marvelous patterns, and a stone churn, and some pewter and luster +teapots, damaged somewhat, it is true, but good for mantel decoration +over our fireplaces, and there were some queer old bandboxes, ornamented +with flowers and landscapes, and finally two small wooden chests and a +fascinating box of odds and ends, metal things, for the most part. + +We looked into the bandboxes. Some of them were empty, but in others +were odds and ends of finery and quaint examples of millinery, the +turban and poke and calash of vanished generations, some of them clearly +copied after the model worn by Lady Maude at the very moment when at the +church door she turned haughtily from Lord Crewston forever. We drew the +chests to the light and took out garments of several sorts and of a +variety of fashions. There were dresses of calico and delaine of the +Civil War days, a curious cape which we thought had been called a +"circular," a pretty silk apron with a bib, once precious to some young +girl. Some of the waists were very slim, closely following the outlines +of Lady Maude. Others were different--oh, very much so. I think these +were of an earlier period, for among other things there were a number of +garments made of stout, hand-woven linen, embroidered with initials +which had not belonged to the house for nearly a century. I hope they +were not a part of a bridal outfit, for no bride, no really popular +bride, ought to be as ample as must have been the owner of those +ch--garments, I mean. One of them, opened out, would be quite wide +enough for a sheet, Elizabeth said, though somewhat lacking in length. +She thought they would do for single beds, turned the other way. There +were sturdy women in those days. + +In the bottom of the chest there was a pair of red and very pointed +dancing-slippers. I don't think they belonged to the same person. +Neither did they belong to the period of Lady Maude, being much older. +They were very small and slim, and daintily made. Where had such pretty +feet found floors on which to dance? + +We laid them back with the other things where they had been put such a +long time ago, and turned to the box of odds and ends. There were knobs +and latches and keys--all of the old pattern--a hand-made padlock, some +flat wrought hinges and some hand-wrought nails, left, perhaps, after +the house was built. We sat flat on the floor to paw over these curious +things, and the dull light, and the rain just overhead, certainly +detracted nothing from our illusions. Every little piece in that box +seemed to us a treasure. The old hinges would go on our new closet +doors, held by the hand-made nails. The padlock was for the outside +cellar door. The knobs would replace certain reproductions on some of +our antique furniture. We knew what such things cost at the shops and +how hard they were to find. And just then Elizabeth came upon a +plated-silver buckle, and then upon another--a pair of them--old shoe or +garter buckles, we could not be sure which. Why, our attic was a regular +treasure island! + +[Illustration] + +We picked out a number of things that seemed of special interest, +including an iron crane we had found, and carried them down-stairs. The +crane fitted the fireplace in the smaller room, which was to become our +kitchen. We hung it and kindled a fire--our first real fire, for it was +our first cool day. There was litter on the floor, but we did not mind +it. We looked into the cheerful blaze, handled over the trifles we had +found, and in quiet voices spoke of the past. During our two hours or so +in the old attic we had been in step with the generations. We had +broken bread at the camp-fire of the pioneer; we had seen him build his +house and provide it with the simple, durable furnishings of his day; we +had shared the easy comfort of his hearty board; we had drawn near to +his good wife as she rocked the cradle or sat spinning in the firelight; +we had watched their descendants attain prosperity and a taste for +finery; we had seen how they had acquired fashion and in time had +patterned their gowns, their bonnets, perhaps even their romances upon +models of Lady Maude. They were all gone now, leaving us to carry on the +story. We also would go our way; others would follow us, and they, too, +would pass. It was a moment to look into the fire and think long, long +thoughts. + + +II + +_Paper-hanging is not a natural gift_ + +One day I measured up our walls, and the next I went to town and bought +the paper that was to cover them. I think it generally pays to do that, +provided you can get somebody to hang it. There is a very pretty margin +in wall-paper, and when you get a good deal of it that margin gnaws into +one's substance. Shopping around the department stores, picking up +remnant bargains, is the thing. I ran onto a lot of bedroom paper of a +quaint chintzy pattern at four cents a roll, or about one-fifth what it +would have cost in the regular way. I took enough of it for all the +upper rooms, with some to spare, and was sorry there were not more +rooms, so I could take it all. Then I found a gorgeous remnant of the +glazed-tile variety for the kitchen, and still another for our +prospective bath-room. A dull-green cartridge-paper for our living-room, +"best" room, and my tiny study behind the chimney cost me eighteen cents +a roll. The total bill was sixteen fifty-nine, and I got at least twice +the pleasure out of the size of that bill that I would have had in +earning double the sum in the time I spent. Figure out the profit in +that transaction if you can. Whatever it was, it was satisfactory, and +indeed few things in life are sweeter than the practice of our pet and +petty economies. We all have them. I once knew a very rich man who would +light a match and race from one gas-jet to another until he burnt his +fingers, lighting as many as he could before striking a second match. He +would generally say something when his fingers began to smoke, but to +have lighted all the jets at both ends of his long room was a triumph +that made this brief inconvenience of small account. I have also seen +him spend more time, and even money, utilizing some worn-out appliance +than a new one would cost. He was not a stingy man, either, not by any +means, but those things were ingrained and vital. They helped to +provide his life with interest and satisfaction--hence, were worth +while. + +To go back to the papering: I bought some tools--that is to say, a +paste-brush, and a smoothing-down brush, and a long pair of scissors, +for I had a suspicion that my painters would be at their fall farming +presently, in which case Westbury, who I was satisfied could do +anything, had agreed to beautify our walls. + +As a matter of fact, I hung most of that sixteen dollars and fifty-nine +cents' worth of paper myself. When I got back, my painters were about to +begin cutting their corn. Westbury came, but at the end of the first +day, when one of the up-stairs rooms was about finished, he also +developed a violent interest in corn-cutting. I was thus abandoned to +fate, also quite deserted. My carpenters were cutting corn; Luther +Merrill, my handsome plowman, was cutting corn; Old Pop and Sam were +cutting corn; while Elizabeth had gone to the apartment in town to begin +preparations for moving, and to put the Pride and the Hope into school. +I was alone--alone with sixteen dollars' worth of paper, a big, flat +paste-brush, and my bare, bare walls. + +Meantime I had trimmed some of the strips for Westbury and had given +some slight attention to his artistic method. It looked rather easy, and +there was still half a pail of paste. In some things I am impulsive, +even daring. With a steady hand, I measured, cut off, and trimmed a +strip of the pretty chintzy paper, laid it face down on the +papering-board which Westbury had made, slapped on the paste with a free +and business-like dash, folded up the end just as Westbury did, picked +it up with an easy, professional swing, and started for the wall. + +[Illustration] + +Being a tall man, I did not need the step-ladder. In those low rooms I +could quite easily stand on the floor and paper from the ceiling down. +Certainly that was an advantage. I discovered, however, that a +step-ladder is not all of a paper-hanger's gifts. When I matched that +piece of paper at the ceiling and started down with it, I realized +presently that it was not going in the direction of the floor. At least +not directly. It was slanting off at a bias to the southeast, leaving a +long, lean, wedge-shaped gap between it and the last strip. I pulled it +off and started again, shifting the angle. But I overdid the thing. This +time it went biasing off in the other direction and left an untidy +smudge of paste on Westbury's nice, clean strip. I reflected that this +would probably dry out--if not, I would hang a picture over it. Then I +gave the strip I was hanging a little twitch, being a trifle annoyed, +perhaps, by this time, and was pained to see that an irregular patch of +it remained on the wall, while the rest of it fell sloppily into my +hands. It appeared that wall-paper became tender with damp paste on it +and should not be jerked about in that nervous way. In seeking to remove +the ragged piece from the plaster, holding up the mutilated strip +meanwhile, something else occurred, I don't quite know what, but I +suddenly felt a damp and gluey mess on my face, and then it was around +my neck, and then I discovered that a portion of it had in some way got +tangled up with my legs, upon which I think I became rather positive, +for I seem to have wadded up several gooey balls of chintzy decoration +and hurled them through the open window, far out upon the sun-flecked +yard. + +I went below and washed up, and for a time sat under the maple shade and +smoked. When more calm I said: "This is nothing--it is only a first +lesson. Paper-hanging requires probationary study and experiment. It is +not a natural gift, an extempore thing like authorship and song. I have +paper enough to afford another lesson. This time I shall consider deeply +and use great care." + +I went back and prepared another strip, humbly and without any attempt +at style. This time, too, I did not consider the line of the ceiling, +but conformed to the vertical edge of Westbury's final strip, allowing +my loose section to dangle like a plumb-line several moments before +permitting it to get its death-grip on the wall. I will not say that +this second attempt was an entire success, but it was a step in that +direction. With a little smudging, a slight wrinkle or two, and a small +torn place, it would do, and I was really quite pleased with myself when +I observed it from across the room and imagined a kindly bureau just +about in that spot. + +I hung another strip, and another. Some went on very well, some with +heavy travail, and with results that made me grateful for our pictures +and furniture. Yet it became fascinating work; it was like piecing out +some vast picture-puzzle, one that might be of some use when finished. I +improved, too. I was several days finishing the up-stairs, and by the +time I got it done I had got back some of the dash I started off with. I +could slap on the paste and swing the strip to the wall so handily that +I was sorry Elizabeth was not there to observe me. + +I went below and papered the kitchen. There were a lot of little shelves +and cubby-nooks there, but they were only a new and pleasant variation +to the picture-puzzle. I did the small room off the kitchen, including +the ceiling, which was a new departure and at first discouraging. I was +earning probably as much as a dollar and a half a day and I was +acquiring at least that much in vanity and satisfaction, besides +learning a new trade which might come handy in a day of need. I had some +thought of proposing to Westbury a partnership in general paper-hanging +and farming, with possibly an annex of antiques. + + +III + +_There is nothing I wouldn't do for a bee--a reasonable bee_ + +Matters did not go so well in the living-room. It was not because the +old walls were more irregular there than elsewhere--I could negotiate +that--it was those pesky bees. Reshingling the sides of the house had +closed their outlets, and they had now found a crevice somewhere around +the big chimney and were pouring in and out, whizzing and buzzing around +the room by the hundred, clinging to the windows in droves, a maddening +distraction on a hot afternoon to a man with his head tipped back, in +the act of laying a long, flimsy strip of wall-paper on a wavy, billowy +old ceiling. They were no longer vicious and dangerous--they were only +disorganized and panic-stricken. A hundred times a day I swept +quantities of them from the windows and released them to the open air. +It was no use to shut the doors, for there still were pecks of them +between the floor and ceiling, and these came pouring out steadily, +while those that I had dismissed hurried back again as soon as they +could get their breath. I began to think we had met disaster in this +unexpected quarter--that those persistent little colonists were going to +dispossess us altogether. + +Old Nat and I had tried smoking them with sulphur, which had quieted +them temporarily while the men were shingling, but it had in no way +discouraged them. In fact, I think there is nothing that will discourage +a bee but sudden death, and that seems a pity, for in his proper sphere +he is one of our most useful citizens. + +He is so wise, so wonderfully skilled and patient. I have read +Maeterlinck's life of him, and there is nothing I would t do for a +bee--a reasonable bee--one that would appreciate a little sound advice. +That's just the trouble--a bee isn't built that way. He is so smart and +capable, and such a wonder in most things, that he won't discuss any +matter quietly and see where he is wrong and go his way in peace. Those +bees thought that, just because they had found a hole in the outside of +an old house, it was their house, and if anybody had to move it wouldn't +be they. I explained the situation over and over and begged them to go +away while the weather was still warm and the going good, but they just +whizzed and raged around the rooms and sickened me with their noise and +obstinacy. + +When Elizabeth and the Joy came up, school matters being arranged, we +decided, among other things, to evict those bees. There was just one way +to do it, Westbury said, which was to saw through the floor up-stairs +and take them out. He thought there would be some honey. We did not +count much on that; what we wanted was to be rid of the pests forever. I +sent word to our carpenter, and Henry Jones came one morning with his +saws. + +In a corner of the upper room where we had heard a great buzzing he +bored a hole through the flinty oak floors. I had the smoker ready and +pumped the sulphur fumes in pretty freely. Then he began to saw. He had +gone only a little way when he said: + +"My saw is running in honey." + +Sure enough, it was coated with the clear sticky substance, which +certainly did not make it run any easier. By hard work he managed to cut +across two of the wide boards, and through them again, adjoining the +next joist. When he was ready to lift out I pumped a new supply of smoke +into the holes, then rather gingerly we pried up the pieces. + +What a sight it was! Covered by a myriad of stupefied bees was layer +upon layer of pure honey, the frightened insects plunging into the +cells, filling themselves with their own merchandise, as is their habit +when alarmed. Lazarus, a small colored assistant whom we had recently +acquired, peered in cautiously (the sulphur fumes being still +suggestive, with a good many bees flying), and I sent him for something +to put the honey in--something large, I said--a dishpan. + +But Elizabeth had no great faith in our bee investigations, or she may +have been inclined to discount Lazarus. She sent a porcelain dish, which +I filled with a few choice pieces. + +"Tell her this is just a sample, and to send the dishpan." + +But still she thought either I or Lazarus was excited, and sent only an +agate stew-pan, which I also filled. + +"Take it down, Lazarus, and tell her that we still need the dishpan." + +So then at last it came up, and we filled that, too. + +We were not through, however. There was a heavy buzzing near the center +of the room, and again we bored and smoked and sawed, and presently +uncovered another swarm, with another surplus stock, this time a +wash-boiler full, most of it fine and white, though some of the pieces +were discolored, showing age. Elizabeth left her occupations and came up +to investigate. Our old house had proven a regular honey-mine. We had +enough for an indefinite period, and some for the neighbors. I suppose +if we had left an outside hole for those bees they would have gone on +multiplying and eventually would have packed our floors and walls solid +full of honey, and we should have had, in truth, "the very sweetest +house in all the world." + +I confess we felt sorry for those poor bees. A quantity of them refused +to leave the premises and persisted on squeezing into the house if a +door or window was left open. A clot of them formed on an old +fence-post--around their queen, perhaps--and would not go away, though +they knew quite well we had hardened our hearts against them and would +not relent. If I had it to do over again I would bring down an old hive +made from a hollow log, which we found up in the attic, and put into it +some honey and some comb and invite them to set up business again in a +small way. But my wounds were too fresh. They had daubed some of my new +paper, driven me nearly frantic with their commotion, and stung me in +several localities. The old fence-post was quite loose. In the evening I +softly lifted it out, carried it to a remote place, and left it, just as +any other heartless person would drop an unwelcome kitten. When I passed +that way the following spring they were gone. + +A last word about our papering. To this day I am proud of the job and +don't wish to dismiss it in any casual way. I left our square "best" +room till the last; it made a dramatic ending. + +I believe I have not mentioned before that I washed down the old plaster +with a solution of vinegar (a remnant from one of Uncle Joe's barrels) +in order to kill the lime, which, Westbury said, was bad for the +sticking qualities of the paste. Perhaps I made my solution a bit too +strong for the "best"-room walls, or it may be that the plaster there +was different--I don t know. I know that I worked till nearly midnight +to get done, Elizabeth holding a pair of lamps, and that when we came +down next morning to admire our beautiful green walls by daylight, they +were no longer green--at least, not solidly so, not definitely so. What +seemed to us at first a sorrowful mottled complaint in yellow had +every-where broken through, and I had the sickening feeling that my work +was wasted and must be done over. But presently Elizabeth said, +reflectively: + +"It isn't so bad just as it is." + +And I said, "Why, no! it's a kind of a pattern." + +And then we both said, "Why, it's really artistic and beautiful." + +And so it was. Over the dull green a large, irregular lacework of dull +yellow had spread itself, and the more we looked the better we liked it. +Just why the chemical affinity between plaster and paper should produce +that particular effect we could not imagine, but there it was and there +it stayed, for the process did not go any farther. Later on, when our +furniture and pictures were in place, visitors used to say, "_Wherever_ +did you get that wonderful paper?" If they were true friends and worthy, +we told them. Otherwise we would vaguely hint of a special pattern, and +that there was no more to be had of the kind. + + +IV + +_There was a place we sometimes visited to see the trout_ + +I suppose about the most beautiful thing in life is novelty. In it is +the chief charm of youth and travel and honeymoons. I will not say it is +the most valuable thing there is, and it is likely to be about the most +transient. But while it lasts it is precious, and inspiring beyond +words. + +No other autumn could ever be quite like that first one of our new +possession, none could ever have the halo and the bloom of novelty that +made us revel in all the things we could do and moved us to undertake +them all. Days to come would be more peaceful and abundantly satisfying, +happier, even, in the fullness of accomplishment, but never again would +we know quite the thrill that each day brought during our first golden +September at Brook Ridge. + +To begin with, it was September, and golden. The rains of August had +ceased and their lavish abundance had filled brook and river and left +the world a garden of wild aster and goldenrod, with red apples swinging +from the trees, massed umbels of dark elderberries, and pink and purple +grapes ripening in the sun. Our satisfaction with everything was +unbounded. A New England farm, with its brook and springs and gray walls +and odd corners, seemed to us, of all possessions, the most desirable. +We took long walks through our quiet woods where there were hickory and +chestnut trees, and oaks and hemlocks, and slender white birches that +were like beautiful spirits, and tall maples, and even apple-trees, wild +seedlings, planted by the birds, but thrifty and bearing. We had never +seen that in the West. The fruit was not very tender, but well flavored +and made delicious sauce. + +"Why, it must be the Garden of Eden," we said, "if the apple-tree grows +wild!" + +We carried baskets and gathered in infinite variety. Apples, +hickory-nuts, berries, mushrooms--especially mushrooms, for we were fond +of them and had carefully acquainted ourselves with the deadly kinds. +Those, by the way, are all that one needs to know. All the others may be +eaten. Some of them may taste like gall and wormwood, or living and +enduring fire, and an occasional specimen may make the experimenter feel +briefly unwell, but if he will acquaint himself with the virulent +amanita varieties, and shun them, he will not die--not from poison. I do +not guarantee against indigestion. + +We would bring home as many as seventeen sorts of those edible +toadstools, beautiful things in creamy white, brown, purple, yellow, +coral, and vivid scarlet, and get out our _Book of a Thousand Kinds_, +and patiently identify them, tasting for the flavor and sometimes +getting a hot one or a bitter one, but often putting as many as a dozen +kinds into the chafing-dish. Even if the result was occasionally a bit +"woodsy" as to savor, we did not mind much, not in those days of +novelty, though Elizabeth did once think she felt a "little dizzy" after +an unusually large collection, and I had a qualm or two myself. But when +we looked up and found that mushroom poison does not begin to destroy +for several hours, we fell to discussing other matters, and did not +remember our slight inconvenience until long after we should have been +dead, by the book limitation. + +There was a gap in the stone wall where we passed from our land into +Westbury's, and beyond it an open place that was a mushroom-garden. +Green and purple russulas grew there as if they had been planted, beds +of coral-hued "Tom Thumbs" that were like strawberries, and a big, +bitter variety of boletus, worthless but beautiful, having the size and +appearance of a pie--a meringue pie, well browned. A path led to another +garden where in a hidden nook we one day discovered a quantity of +chanterelles that were like wonderful black morning-glories. It was +duskily shaded there, and through the flickering green we noticed a +vivid, red spot that was like a flame. We pushed out to it and came upon +a tiny, silent brook slipping through a bed of cowslip and water-arum, +and at its margin a scarlet cardinal-flower, burning a star upon the +afternoon. + +[Illustration] + +There was a place which we sometimes visited to see the trout. You +crossed the bean-lot and came to a little secluded land where there were +slim cedars and grass and asters and goldenrod, a spot so still and +unvisited that it was like a valley that one might find in a dream. Our +brook flowed through it and in one place there was a quiet pool and an +overhanging rock. Willows and alders sheltered it, and if you slipped +through without noise and lay very still, you were pretty sure to see a +school of trout, for it was their favorite haunt. Once we counted +twenty-two there, lying head up-stream, gently fanning their tails and +white-edged fins. They were a handsome lot, ranging in size from eight +to twelve inches, and we would not have parted with them for the cost of +the farm. + +[Illustration] + +The "precious ones" joined in some of these excursions, but our +diversions were too tame for them, as a rule. Wading, racing up and +down, tumbling on the hay, with now and then a book in the shade, was +more to their liking. When the two older ones had gone to school and the +Joy was with us alone, she invented plays of her own, plays in which a +capering horse--that is to say, herself--had the star part. Once I found +her sitting by a tub of water, sailing a wonderful boat in it--one that +she had made for herself, out of a chip and a nail, using a stone for a +hammer. She wore one of the antique bonnets brought down from the attic, +and seemed lost in contemplation of her handiwork. Without her noticing, +I made a photograph. How it carries me back, to-day. + +I have mentioned our varied undertakings. When wild grapes ripened on +the roadside walls--the big, fragrant wild grapes of New England--we +made a real business of gathering them. They were in endless quantity, +three colors--pink, purple, and white--and their rich odor betrayed +them. Placing some stones in the brook one afternoon, I became conscious +of a thick wave of that sweet perfume, and, looking up, discovered a +natural trellis of clusters just above my head. I don't know how many +bushels we gathered in all, or how many quarts of jelly and jam and +sweet wine we made. I found in the attic, which we named our "Swiss +Family Robinson," because it was provided with everything we needed, an +old pair of "pressers," and squeezed out grape juice and elderberry +juice and blackberry juice, while Elizabeth stirred and boiled and put +away, for we were New England farmers now, and were going to do all the +things, and have preserves and nuts and apples laid away for winter. How +we worked--played, I mean, for with novelty one does not work, but +becomes a child again, and plays. And the more toys we can find, and the +longer we can make each one last, the happier and better and younger we +shall be. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + + +I + +_There is compensation even for moving_ + +[Illustration] + +On the 1st of October we moved. Ah, me! How easily one may dismiss in +words an epic thing like that. Yet it is better so. Moves, like +earthquakes, are all a good deal alike, except as to size and the extent +of destruction. Few care for the details. I still have an impression of +two or three nightmarish days that began with some attempt at real +packing and ended with a desperate dropping of anything into any +convenient box or barrel or bureau drawer, and of a final fevered +morning when two or more criminals in the guise of moving-men bumped and +scraped our choicest pieces down tortuous stairways and slammed them +into their cavernous vans, leaving on the pavement certain unsightly, +disreputable articles for every passer-by to scorn. + +[Illustration] + +It is true that this time we had a box-car--we had never before risen to +that dignity--and I recall a weird traveling to and fro with the vans, +and intervals of anguish when I watched certain precious, and none too +robust, examples of the antique fired almost bodily into its deeper +recesses. Oh, well, never mind; it came to an end. Our goods arrived at +the Brook Ridge station, and Westbury and his teams transported +them--not to the house, but to the barn, for among other things in Brook +Ridge we had unearthed an old cabinet-maker whom we had engaged for the +season to put us in order before we set our possessions in place. He +erected a bench in the barn, and there for a month he glued and scraped +and polished and tacked, and as each piece was finished we brought it in +and tried it in one place and another, discovering all over again how +handsome it was, restored and polished, and now at last in its proper +setting. + +There was compensation even for moving in getting settled in that +progressive way, each evening marking a step toward completion. When our +low book shelves were ranged in the spaces about the walls, the books +wiped and put into them; when our comfortable chairs were drawn about +the fireplaces; when our tall clock with a shepherdess painted on the +dial had found its place between the windows and was ticking +comfortably--we felt that our dream of that first day was coming true, +and that the reality was going to be even better than the dream. + +[Illustration: _Sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning +embers, and watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading +autumn fields_] + +Of course the old living-room was the best of all. Its length and low +ceiling and the great fireplace would insure that. We had ranged a row +of blue plates, with some of the ancient things from the attic, along +the narrow mantel, and it somehow seemed as if they had been there from +the beginning. The low double windows were opposite the fireplace. We +had our large table there, and between meal-times the Joy liked to +spread her toys on it. She wore her hair cut in the Dutch fashion, and +sometimes at the end of the day, as I sat by the waning embers and +watched her moving to and fro between me and the fading autumn fields, I +had the most precious twilight illusion of having stepped backward at +least a hundred years. + +We thought our color scheme good, and I suppose there is really no +better background for old mahogany than dull green. Golden brown is +handsome with it, and certain shades of blue, but there is something +about the green with antique furniture that seems literally to give it a +soul. Never had our possessions shown to such an advantage (no pun +intended, though they did shine) and never, we flattered ourselves, had +the old house been more fittingly appointed. With the pictures and +shades put up, the rugs put down, and the fires lit, it seemed to us +just about perfect. It was a jewel, we thought, and to-day, remembering +it, I think so still. + + +II + +_There is work about making apple-butter_ + +Perhaps I am making it all sound too easy and comfortable. The past has +a way of submerging its sorrows. With a little effort, however, I can +still recall some of them. Our transition period was not all picnic and +poetry. There were days of stress--hard, nerve-racking days when it +seemed that never in the wide world would things get into shape--as +when, for instance, the new kitchen range arrived and would not go +through any of the kitchen doors; when our grandfather clock had been +found an inch too tall for any of our rooms; when our big fireplace had +poured out smoke until we were blind and asphyxiated. Any one of these +things would be irritating, and coming together, as they did, one +gloomy, chilly morning, they had presented an aspect almost of failure. +Then, being resolute and in good health, we proceeded to correct +matters. We stripped the range for action, took out a sash, and brought +it in edgewise through a window. We mortised down an inch into the +flinty oak floor and let in the legs of the old clock so that its top +ornament would just clear the ceiling. + +The fireplace problem was more serious. We knew that the chimney was big +enough, for we could look up it at a three-foot square of sky, and our +earlier fires had given us no trouble. We solved the mystery when we +threw open an outside door to let out the smoke. The smoke did not go +out; it rushed back to the big fireplace and went up the chimney, where +it belonged. We understood, then--in the old days air had poured in +through a hundred cracks and crevices. Now we had tightened our walls +and windows until the big chimney could no longer get its breath. It +must have a vent, an air-supply which must come from the outside, yet +not through the room. + +Here was a chance for invention. I went down cellar to reflect and +investigate. I decided that a stove-pipe could be carried from a small +cellar window to the old chimney base, and by prying up the thick stone +hearth we could excavate beneath it a passage which would admit the pipe +to one end of the fireplace, where it could be covered and made sightly +by a register. Old Pop came with his crowbar and pick, and Westbury +brought the galvanized pipe and the grating. It was quite a strenuous +job while it lasted, but it was the salvation of our big fireplace, and +I was so proud of the result that I did not greatly mind the mashed foot +I got through Old Pop's allowing the thousand-pound stone hearth to rest +on it while he attended to another matter. + +I have given the details of this non-smoke device because any one buying +and repairing an old house is likely to be smoked out and might not +immediately stumble upon the simple remedy. I know when later, at the +club, I explained it to an architectural friend, he confessed that the +notion had not occurred to him, adding, with some shame, that he had +more than once left a considerable crack under a door as an air-supply. +Imagine! + +So these troubles passed, and others in kind and variety. Those were +busy days. We were doing so many things, we hardly had time to enjoy the +fall scenery, the second stage of it, as it were, when the goldenrod and +queen's-lace-handkerchief were gone, the blue wild asters fading, and +leaves beginning to fall, though the hilltops were still ablaze with +crimson and gold. Once we stole an afternoon and climbed a ridge that +looked across a valley to other ridges swept by the flame of autumn. It +was really our first wide vision of the gorgeous fall colorings of New +England, and they are not surpassed, I think, anywhere this side of +heaven. + +We gathered our apples. We had a small orchard of red Baldwins across +the brook, and some old, scattering trees such as you will find on every +New England farm. These last were very ancient, and of varieties +unknown to-day. One, badly broken by the wind, we cut, and its rings +gave it one hundred and fifty years. Putnam's soldiers could have hooked +apples from that tree, and probably did so, for it was not in plain view +of the house. + +We put the Baldwins away and made cider of the others, it being now the +right moment, when there was a tang of frost in the morning air. We +picked up enough to fill both of Uncle Joe's cider-barrels, Westbury and +I hauled them to the mill, and the next day Elizabeth was boiling down +the sweet juice into apple-butter, which is one of the best things in +the world. + +There is work about making apple-butter. It is not just a simple matter +of putting on some juice and letting it boil. Apples must go into it, +too, a great many of them, and those apples must be peeled and sliced, +and stirred and stirred eternally. And then you will find that you need +more apples, more peeling and slicing, and more stirring and stirring, +oh yes, indeed. Elizabeth stirred, I stirred, and Lazarus, our small +colored vassal, stirred. I said if I had time I would invent an +apple-butter machine, and Elizabeth declared she would never undertake +such a job again, never in the world! But that was mere momentary +rebellion. When it was all spiced and done and some of it spread on +slices of fresh bread and butter, discontent and weariness passed, and +next day she and Lazarus were making pickles and catsup and apple jelly, +while Old Pop and I were hauling all the flat stones we could find and +paving the wide space between the house and the stone curb which already +we had built around the well. Oh, there is plenty to do when one has +bought an old farm and wants to have all the good things, and the +livable things; and October is the time to do them, when the mornings +are brisk, and the days are balmy, and evening brings solace by the open +fire. + + +III + +_Lazarus's downfall was a matter of pigs_ + +It was Lazarus, I think, who most enjoyed the open fire. Stretched full +length on the hearth, flat on his stomach, his chin in his hands, +baking himself, he might have been one of his own ancestors of the +African forest, for he was desperately black, and true to type. A runty +little spindle-legged darky of thirteen, Lazarus had come to us +second-hand, so to speak, from the county home. A family in the +neighborhood was breaking up, and Lazarus's temporary adoption in the +household was at an end. He had come on an errand one evening, and our +interview then had led to his being transferred to our account. + +"I goin' away nex' week," he said. + +"Where are you going, Lazarus?" + +"Back to de home, where I come from." + +"What do you get for your work where you are now?" + +"Boa'd and clo's an' whatever dey min' to give." + +"What do you do?" + +"Bring wood, wash dishes, and whatever dey wants me to." + +"How would you like to come up here for a while?" + +He had his eye on my target-rifle as he replied, "Yassah, I'd like +it--what sort o' gun yo' got?" + +I explained my firearm to him and let him handle it. His willingness to +come grew. + +"Are you a pretty good boy, Lazarus?" + +"Oh, yassah--is--is yo' goin' to le' me shoot yo' gun ef I come?" + +"Very likely, but never mind that now. What happens if you're not good?" + +He eyed me rather furtively. "De rule is yo cain't whip," he said. "You +kin only send back to de home." + +We agreed on these terms, and Lazarus arrived the day after the auction +that closed out his former employers. As an aside I may mention that Old +Pop laid off a day to attend the said auction, and bought a pink +chenille portiere and a Japanese screen. + +I want to be fair to Lazarus, and I confess, before going farther, that +I think we did not rate him at his worth. He had artistic value--he was +good literary material. I feel certain of that now, and I think I +vaguely realized it at the time. But I was not at the moment doing +anything in color, and for other purposes he was not convincing. His +dish-washing was far from brilliant and his sweeping was a mess. Also, +his appetite for bringing wood had grown dull. There is an old saying +which closely associates a colored person with a wood-pile, but our +particular Senegambian was not of that variety. The only time he really +cared for wood was when it was blazing in the big fireplace, and the +picture he made in front of it was about all that we thought valuable. +It is true that he made a good audience and would accompany me to the +fuel-heap and openly admire and praise my strength in handling the big +logs, but his own gifts lay elsewhere. He approved of my gun and would +have spent whole days firing it into the sky or the tree-tops, or at the +barn or at birds, or into an expansive random, to the general danger of +the neighborhood, if I had let him. He had a taste for jewelry, +especially for my scarf-pins. When he saw one loosely lying about he +carefully laid it away to prevent accident, using a very private little +box he had, as a proper and safe place for it. When he discussed this +matter he told me quite casually that he spected something _would_ +happen to him some day, as his father and uncle, and I think he said his +grandfather, were at the moment in the penitentiary. He was inclined to +exaggerate and may have been boasting, but I think his ancestry was of +that turn. + +Lazarus's own chief treasure was a clock. I do not recall now where he +said it came from, but he valued it highly. It was a round tin clock, +with an alarm attachment. He kept it by his bed, and the alarm was his +especial joy. He loved the sound of it, I do not know why. Perhaps it +echoed some shrill, raucous cry of the jungle that had stirred his +ancestors, and something hereditary in him still answered to it. He +never seemed to realize that it was attached to the clock for any +special purpose, such as rousing him to the affairs of the day. To him +it was music, inspiration, even solace. When its strident concatenation +of sounds smote the morning air Lazarus would let it rave on +interminably, probably hugging himself with the fierce joy of it, +lulled by its final notes to a relapse of dreams. It did not on any +occasion stimulate him to rise and dress. That was a more strenuous +matter--one requiring at times physical encouragement on my part. Had +his bulk been in proportion to his trance, I should have needed a block +and tackle and a derrick to raise this later Lazarus. + +Lazarus's downfall was a matter of pigs. We did not expect to embark in +pig culture when we settled at Brook Ridge, but Westbury encouraged the +notion, and our faith in Westbury was strong. He said that pigs had a +passion for dish-water and garbage, and that our kitchen surplus, +modestly supplemented with "shorts," would maintain a side-line of two +pigs, which would grow into three-hundred-pounders and fill up Uncle +Joe's pork and ham barrels by the end of another season. + +The idea was alluring. A neighbor had small pigs for sale, and I ordered +a pair. There was an old pen near the barn, and I spent a day setting it +in order for our guests. I repaired the outlets, swept it, and put in +nice clean hay. I built a yard easy of access from the pen, and +installed a generous and even handsome trough. Westbury said our +preparations were quite complete. I could see that our pigs also +approved of it. They capered about, oof-oofing, and enjoyed their trough +and contents. True, their manners left something to be desired, but that +is often the case with the young. + +What round, cunning, funny little things they were! We named them Hans +and Gretel, and were tempted to take them into the house, as pets. We +might have done so, only that I remembered the story of the Arab who +invited his camel to put his head in the tent. I had a dim suspicion +that those two pigs would own the house presently, and that we should +have no place to go but the pen. Lazarus was fascinated by them. He hung +over the side of their private grounds and wanted to carry them +refreshments constantly. + +"Dem cert'ney make mighty fine shotes by spring," he announced to +everybody that came along, "an' by killin'-time dey grow as big as dat +barn. I gwine to feed 'em all day an' see how fat dey gits." + +[Illustration] + +"You're elected, Lazarus," I said. "It's your job. You look after Hans +and Gretel and we'll look after you." + +"Yo' des watch 'em grow," said Lazarus. + +For a while we did. We went out nearly every day to look at our +prospective ham and bacon supply, and it did seem to be coming along. +Then I had some special work which took me away for a fortnight, and +concurrently a bad spell of weather set in. Elizabeth, occupied with +the hundred supplementary details of getting established, and general +domestic duties, could not give Hans and Gretel close personal +attention, and they fell as a monopoly to Lazarus. With his passion for +pigs, she thought he might overfeed them, but as she had never heard of +any fatalities in that direction he was not restrained. + +But it may be this idea somehow got hold of Lazarus. I came home one +evening and asked about the pigs. Elizabeth was doubtful. She had been +out that day to look at them and was not encouraged by their appearance. +She thought they had grown somewhat--in length. When I inspected them +next morning, I thought so, too. I said that Hans and Gretel were no +longer pigs they were turning into ant-eaters. Their bodies appeared to +have doubled in length and halved in bulk. Their pudgy noses had become +beaks. I was reminded of certain wild, low-bred pigs which I had seen +splitting the hazel-brush of the West, the kind that Bill Nye once +pictured as outrunning the fast mail. I said I feared our kitchen +by-product was not rich enough for Hans and Gretel. Possibly that was +true. Still, it would, have been better than nothing, which it appeared +was chiefly what those poor porkers had been living on. + +Lazarus's love had waned and died. On chilly, stormy evenings it had +been easier to fling the contents of his pail and pan out back of the +wood-house than to carry them several times farther to the pen, while +the supplementary "shorts" had been shortened unduly for Hans and +Gretel. The physical evidence was all against Lazarus--the fascinations +of the big open fire had won him; he had been untrue to the pigs. When +he appeared, they charged him in chorus with his perfidy, and he could +frame no adequate reply. Westbury came, and I persuaded him to take them +at a reduction, and threw in Uncle Joe's pork and ham barrels. I said we +wanted Hans and Gretel to have a good home--that we had not been worthy +of them. + +They found it at Westbury's. There they were in a sort of heaven. When I +saw them at the end of another two weeks they were again +unrecognizable--they were once more pigs. + +We parted, with Lazarus about the same time. Our regime was not suited +to his needs. It was a pity. With his gifts, the right people might have +modeled him into a politician, or something, but we couldn't. We had +neither the equipment nor the time. Nor, according to agreement, could +we administer that discipline which, from our old-fashioned point of +view, he sometimes seemed to require. We could only "send back to de +home." Perhaps to-day he is "somewhere in France," making a good +soldier. I hope so. + + +IV + +_Westbury had advised against wheat_ + +But if our venture in pig culture had not been an entire success, our +agriculture gave better promise. Our rye and grass seed had come up +abundantly, and by November the fields, viewed from a little distance, +were a mass of vivid green. There is something approaching a thrill in +seeing the seed of your own sowing actually break ground and spring up +and wax strong with promise. You seem somehow to have had a hand in the +ancient miracle of life. + +Our rye had such a sturdy look that I said it was pretty sure to turn +out something fancy in the way of grain, and that we could probably sell +it as "seed" rye, which always brought a better price than the regular +crop. Then, as the idea expanded, I said that with our few acres we +could cultivate intensively and raise seed crops entirely. That would be +something really aristocratic in the farming line. We would begin with +seed rye and wheat, of which latter grain I had put in a modest sowing. +Next year we would go in for seed potatoes, oats, corn, and the like. We +could have a neat sign on the stone wall in front, announcing our line +of goods. Very likely buyers would come from a considerable distance for +them--I had myself driven seven miles with Westbury for the seed rye. A +business like that would grow. We could go in for new varieties of +things, and in time set up a shipping-station, with a packing-house and +a bookkeeper. No doubt Henderson and Hiram Sibley and Ferry and those +other seed magnates had begun in some such modest way. + +I don't think Elizabeth responded entirely to this particular +enthusiasm, and I could see that she was doubtful about the sign in +front, but on a winy, windless November day, warmed by a mellow sun, all +things seem possible, and she graciously admitted that one never could +tell--that stranger things had happened. Then we came to our small +wheat-field, and the new seed enthusiasm received a slight check. +Westbury had advised against wheat. He said it did not do well in that +section. This, I had insisted, must be a superstition, and I had gone to +considerable expense to have the ground properly prepared, and to obtain +the best seed. + +The result, as it appeared now, was not promising. Here and there a +spindling blade had come through, and some of those seemed about to turn +into grass. I do not know why wheat acts like that in Connecticut. I did +not follow up the scientific phases of the case, but I confided to +Elizabeth that perhaps, after all, we would not announce "Seed Wheat" +on the neat sign planned for the outer wall. + +Late October winds had changed the aspect of our world. Our woods were +no longer deep, vast, and mysterious. We could see straight through them +and read their most hidden secrets. We discovered one day, what we had +never suspected, that at one place our brook turned and came back almost +to the road. All that summer it had supped silently through that brushy +corner which for some reason we had never penetrated. We discovered, +too, a little to one side of our former excursions, a rocky acclivity, a +place of pretty hemlock-trees and seclusion--a spot for a summer tent. + +There were not many mushrooms any more, but we gathered gay red berries +for decoration, bunches of late fern, sprays of bittersweet; we raked +over the leaves for nuts, and sometimes found bits of spicy wintergreen +or checkerberry, the kind that always flavored old-fashioned lozenges +which our grandmothers bought in little rolls for a penny, on the way to +school. You may guess that this was pleasant play to us who for ten +years had known only city or suburban life at this season, and not the +least pleasant part of it was the quiet noise the leaves made as we +strode through them, the _fruis-sas-se-ar_, as the French of the +Provence call it, and the word as they speak it conveys the sound. +Astride a stick horse, of which on our new back porch she kept a full +stable, the Joy went racing this way and that, kicking high the loose +brown drift of summer, stirred to a sort of ecstasy by its pleasant +noise and the spicy autumn air. + +The November woods had fewer voices than those of the earlier season, +but there was more visible life. Many of the birds remained, and they +could no longer hide so easily. A hawk or an owl on a bare bough was +sharply outlined. Rabbits darted among the trees, or stood erect, +staring at us with questioning eyes. Squirrels scampering over the limbs +gave exhibitions of acrobatic skill. There were two kinds of +squirrels--the fat gray ones, of which there were not many, and the +venomous little red ones, of which there seemed an overproduction. They +were cute little wretches, but we did not care for them. They were +pugnacious pirates; they robbed their unmilitant gray relative and +chased him from the premises. Earlier in the season they had thrown down +quantities of green nuts to be wasted, and we were told they robbed +birds' nests, not only of their eggs, but of their young. Those red +rovers had no food value, or they would have been fewer. They were a +mere furry skin drawn over a bunch of wires and strings, and not worth a +charge of powder. + + +V + +_Deer--wild deer--on our own farm!_ + +Animal life is still plentiful in New England--far more so than in the +newer states of the Middle West. With the decrease of population in many +districts the wild things have wandered back to their old haunts. They +are not very persistently hunted, and some of them, like the deer, are +protected. Now and again in our walks we saw a fox, wary and +silent-footed, and often on sharp nights, on the hill above the house, +one barked anxiously at the moon. At least that is the poetic form, +though I really think he was barking for the same reason that I often +sing when others of the family are not present. The others claim they do +not care for it--I often wonder why. I suppose that fox's family was the +same way, so he went out there alone in a dark, safe place to enjoy his +music unrestrained. Yet no place seems entirely safe when one wants to +sing, and I fear something happened to that fox, for by and by we did +not hear him any more. Very likely one of his relatives crept up on him +with a brick. We were sorry, for we had learned to like his music--it +gave us a wild, primeval feeling. + +I think there were no wolves or bears in our immediate neighborhood, +though there came reports of them, now and then--exaggerated, I dare +say--from adjoining ridges. The nearest thing we had to bears were some +very fat and friendly woodchucks, who at a little distance, sitting on +their haunches, looked very much like small grizzlies. They dug their +holes a few yards from the house and sometimes came quite to the back +door, probably intending to call, but when we approached them their +courage failed and they went "galumphing" back to their houses. There +they would sit up for a moment, staring at us, then, if we approached +suddenly, would dive to lower recesses. I explained to the Joy that they +most likely had cozy little houses down there, with chairs and tables +and a nice stove to cook their food things on. She was sure it was all +true, except about the stove, which seemed doubtful, because no smoke +ever came from their chimneys. + +Most of the animals were friendly to us, and I think made our house a +sort of center. I remember one pleasant Sunday afternoon, when we were +sitting outside, we noticed simultaneously two woodchucks playing in the +field just across the road; a red squirrel pursuing a gray one along our +stone wall, almost within arm's-reach; a blue heron among the willows by +the brook, probably prospecting for trout; some bob-whites running along +by the roadside; while in the woods just beyond a partridge was drumming +up further recruits for the exhibition. + +The deer did not call as soon as the others. They were reserved and +aristocratic and would seem to have looked us over a good while before +they accepted us. We frequently saw their tracks, and hoped for one of +the glimpses reported by our neighbors. + +It came one morning, very early. A cow in an adjoining field was making +an unusual sound. Elizabeth looked out and beckoned me to the window. +There they were, at last! two reddish-tan, shy creatures--a doe and a +half-grown fawn--stepping mincingly down to the brook to drink. We could +have hugged ourselves with the delight of it--deer--wild deer--on our +own farm, drinking from our own brook, here in this old, old land! + +I wonder if they heard us, or perhaps sensed us. Or they may not have +liked the noise of greeting, or protest, made by the neighbor's cow. +Whatever the reason, they suddenly threw up their heads, seemed to look +straight at us, turned lightly, and simply floated away. What I mean by +that is that their movement was not like that of any other animal, or +like a bird's--it suggested thistledown. They drifted over the stone +wall and clumps of bushes without haste and seemingly without weight. It +was as if we had seen phantoms of the dawn. + +We saw them often, after that. Sometimes at evening they grazed in our +lower meadow. Once, three of them in full daylight crossed the upland +just above the house. They were not fifty yards away, moving +deliberately, looking neither to the right nor to the left. + +We felt the honor of it--they had admitted us to their charmed circle. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + + +I + +_But Sarah was biding her time_ + +[Illustration] + +I have not mentioned, I think, a small building that, when we came, +stood just across the road from our house--a rather long, low structure +with sliding windows, called "the shop." Red raspberries of a large, +sweet variety were ripening about it, and within was a short box +counter, a shoemaker's work-bench, a cutting-board, a great bag of +wooden shoe-pegs, and a quantity of leather scraps, for it had, in fact, +been a shop during the two generations preceding our ownership. Before +that it appeared to have served as a sort of office for Captain Ben +Meeker, who also had been not merely a farmer, as certain records +proved. Captain Ben may have built the shop, though I think it was +older, for when we examined the picturesque little building, with a view +to restoration, it proved to be too far gone--too much a structure of +decay. So we tore down "the shop," and, incidentally, Old Pop, who did +the tearing, found a Revolutionary bayonet in the loft; also a more +recent, and particularly hot, hornets' nest which caused him to leap +through the window and spring into the air several times on the way to +the bushes by the brook. But that is another story. We have already had +the bee history; hornets would be in the nature of a repetition. + +[Illustration] + +We found something of still greater interest in the old shop. One day, +digging over the leather scraps, we uncovered the records above +mentioned--that is to say, the old account-books of Captain Ben Meeker +and the two generations of shoemakers who had followed him. These +ancient folios, stoutly made and legibly written, correlate a good deal +of Brook Ridge history for a hundred years. The names of the dead are +there, and the items of their forgotten activities. + +From Westbury and others we already knew that Benjamin Meeker and Sarah, +his wife, had occupied our house at the beginning of the last +century--young married folks then--and that there had been a little girl +(owner of the small brass-nailed trunk, maybe) who in due time had grown +up and married the young shoemaker, Eli Brayton, of "distant parts," he +being from eastern New York, as much as fifty miles away. Brayton had +remained in the family, set up his bench in one end of the building +across the road, and there for a generation made the boots of the +countryside, followed in the trade by his son, the "Uncle Joe" who at +eighty-five had laid down the hammer and the last a year prior to our +coming. This was good history in outline, and Westbury had supplied +episodes, here and there, embellished in his improving fashion. The old +books came now as a supplement--an extension course, as it were, in the +history of Captain Ben and his successors. + +While not recorded, we may assume that Captain Ben belonged to the +militia, hence his title. That he had another official position we learn +from certain items of entry: + + To serving one summon on S. Davis 3 shillin + To serving one tachment on J. Fillow 2 shillin + To fees: execushun Eli Sherwood 2 shillin 6 pnc. + +Evidently a constable or deputy sheriff, and I think we may assume that +the last item records a process, and not a performance. The fees are +reassuring. Eli could hardly have been dismissed mortally for two and +six. + +Captain Ben had still other activities. He owned teams for hire; he +dealt in livestock; in addition to his farm he owned a sawmill on the +brook; he even went out at day's labor--certainly a busy man, requiring +carefully kept accounts, and an office. + +The accounts begin in 1797 and are sometimes kept in dollars and cents, +sometimes in the English fashion, as above. Sometimes the charges are +made in one form, the credits in another. It was just as he got started, +I suppose, both moneys being in about equal circulation. + +Captain Ben's spelling is interesting. He was by no means illiterate. +His writing is trim, his accounts in good form and correctly figured. +But it was more a fashion in that day to spell as pronounced, and his +orthography gives us a personal sense of the period. + +"To plowin garding ... 2 shillin." You can almost hear him say that, +while "To haulin stun" likewise carries the fine old flavor. + +We have heard much of the "good old times when things were cheap," but +Captain Ben's book proves that not all commodities were cheap in his +day. Calico, for instance, is set down at three and six a yard--that is, +eighty-five cents. Handkerchiefs at two shillings thrippence each, +sugar at a shilling per pound, which is more than double our war-time +prices. It is not well to complain, even to-day, remembering those +rates, especially when we note that in 1805 Captain Ben's labor brought +him only four shillings a day (six with team), and his sawing, in small +lots, but a trifle. Labor was, in fact, cheap at that period; also +unfortunately for Captain Ben--rum and brandy. + +The book does not say where Ezekial Jackson kept his general store, but +that was where Captain Ben dealt, and his items of purchase are +faithfully set down. A good many men "swear off" on the New Year, but +Captain Ben didn't. He bought a "decantur," price two and six (ah me! it +would be an antique, now), and promptly started in having it filled. +Behold the startling credits to Ezekial Jackson during the first ten +days of 1806: + + Jan. 1, By 2 lb. sugar 2 shillin + " 1, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + " 5, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + " 6, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + " 10, " 1 qt. brandy 2 shillin + +But perhaps this was too costly a pace, for the next entry is, "Jan. 15, +1 jug, 1 shillin," and on the same date, "One gallon of rum, 6 shillin." +That, you see, was somewhat cheaper and required fewer trips to town. On +January 20th the jug was filled again, and on the same date we find set +down "four and a half yards of chintz and one scane of silk." That +chintz and "scane" of silk look suspicious--they look like tranquilizers +for Sarah, his wife. + +Through that month and the three following the liquid items follow with +alarming monotony, only separated here and there by entries of "tee" and +sugar and certain yards of "cotting" and "scanes" of silk for Sarah. + +But Sarah was biding her time. The book does not say that the minister +was asked to call, or that he came. It does not need to. We may guess it +from the next entry: + + May 2, By 1 famly bible 1 poun, 13 shillin + +That ended the rum chapter. There is not another spirituous entry in all +of Ezekial Jackson's credits. "By one mometer" comes next, May 6th. +Probably Captain Ben felt himself cooling down pretty rapidly for the +season, and wanted to take the temperature. Then follows "two combs"--he +was going to keep slicked up--also earthenware, indigo, "cotting," and +more scanes of silk, mainly for Sarah, no doubt, and so on to the end, +when the account is closed and underneath is written: + + This day made all even betwixt Ezekial Jackson and myself. + + B. M. + +Captain Ben's accounts close in 1829, but the shoemaking records had +long since begun. They are more prosaic, but they have an interest, too. +A book with charges against Joel Barlow and Aaron Burr could hardly fail +of that, though the said Joel Barlow is not the poet-diplomat who wrote +the "Columbiad" and shone in European courts, nor Aaron Burr the +corrupter of Blennerhassett and the slayer of Alexander Hamilton. At +least, I judge they were not, for this Barlow and this Burr had cobbling +charges against them as late as 1840, when the intriguing Aaron and the +gifted Joel no longer needed earthly repairs. Nevertheless, they were of +the same families, for Joel Barlow, the poet, was born just over the +hill from us, and the name of Aaron Burr was known in Connecticut long +before it found doubtful distinction in New Jersey. + +The shoemaker's accounts reflect a life that is now all but gone. Some +of the charges were offset with potatoes, some with rye, some with +labor, a few of them with cash. A pair of boots in 1828 brought two +dollars and fifty cents. Repairs ranged from six cents up, many of the +charges being set down in half-cents. Those were exact, frugal days. + + +II + +_We often cooked by our fireplace_ + +One hundred and fifty Thanksgivings must have preceded ours in the old +house, but I think out of them all you could not have picked a better +one. I would not like to say a more bountiful one, for I suppose in the +earlier day they had great wild turkeys and perhaps a haunch of venison, +braces of partridges and other royal fare. Even so, they could hardly +have eaten it all, and I think their noble turkey did not taste any +better than ours. Moreover, we were glad that our deer and partridges +were still running free. + +We did not lack of native dishes. Our mince and pumpkin pies were home +products, as well as our apple-butter and a variety of other preserves. +Also, I had discovered a bed of wild cress in the brook and our brown +turkey was garnished with that piquant green. Certainly there was an +old-fashioned feeling about our first New England holiday--something +precious and genuine, that made all effort and cost worth while. + +The Pride and the Hope had come home for a week's vacation and were +reveling in the house, which they now for the first time saw in order. +Of course their rooms had to be personally adjusted, their own special +belongings inspected and put away. Their treasures, after two months of +absence, were all new and fresh to them. The Pride, reveling in her own +"cozy corner," or curled up in a big chair by the log fire, reread her +favorite books; the Hope and the Joy played paper-doll "ladies" on the +deep couch, cutting out a whole new generation with up-to-date wardrobes +from the costume pages of some marvelous new fashion magazines. +Oblivious to the grosser world about them, they caused their respective +families to telephone and give parties and visit back and forth, and to +discuss openly their most private affairs and move into new houses and +make improvements and purchases that would have wrecked Rockefeller if +the bills had ever fallen due. That is the glory of make-believe--one +may go as far as he likes, building his castles and his kingdoms, with +never a cent to pay. It is only when one tries to realize in acres and +bricks and shingles that the accounts come in. A spiritistic friend of +mine told me recently that the latest communications from the shadow +world indicate the life there to be purely mental, that each spirit +entity creates its own environment and habitation by thought alone. In +a word, it is a world, he said, where imagination is reality and all the +dreams come true. Ah me! I hope he is not mistaken! What dreams of +empires we have all put away, what air-castles we have seen melt and +vanish because of the cost! A place where one may build and plant and +renew by the processes of thought alone, unchecked by acreage boundaries +or any sordid limitations of ways and means! I cannot think of a better +or more reasonable hereafter than that. We get a glimpse of it here in +the play of children--little children who perhaps have left the truth +not so far behind. + +"Fashion ladies" must relax now and then. Even in late November there +were pleasant sunny days when the Hope and the Joy roamed the fields or +laid a long board across a tumbled wall and teetered away vacation hours +to the tune of + + Seesaw, Marjory Daw, + Sold her bed and laid on straw, + +which was probably first sung a good way back--by Cain and Abel, maybe, +in some corner of Eden. No, it would be outside of Eden, for their +parents had moved, as I remember, before their arrival. And I wonder if +little Cain and Abel had a fire to gather around when the fall evenings +began to close in, before the lamps were lit, and if they ever had cakes +and toast and sandwiches, with hot chocolate, from an old blue china set +from a corner cupboard, and were as hungry as bears, and rocked while +they ate and drank and watched the firelight dance on the tea-things and +table-legs. If not, I am afraid they missed something, and perhaps it is +not to be wondered at that little Cain became gloomy and savage and +outcast when he grew up. A fireplace with a cozy cup of chocolate and a +bite of something filling will civilize children about as quickly as +anything I know of, and would, I am sure, have been good for Cain. + +[Illustration] + +We often cooked by our fireplace. We hung a kettle over it for tea and +toasted bread on Captain Ben Meeker's long iron toasting-fork. Then at +supper-time we would rake out the coals, and on one of the old +gridirons brought down from the attic would broil a big steak, or some +chops, and if they did not taste better than any other steak or chops we +certainly imagined they did, and I am still inclined to think we were +right. Then there was popcorn, and potatoes roasted in the ashes, and +apples on sticks, though this was likely to be later in the evening, +when the tribe was hungry again, for children in vacation are always +hungry, just little savages, and the best way to civilize them is to +feed them, as I have said. It was too bad they must go back to school, +and sometimes we wished there were never any such things as schools; and +then again, when the house was one wild riot and hurrah, just at a +moment when I wanted to reflect, I could appreciate quite fully the +beauties of education and certain remote places where under careful +direction it could be acquired. But how silent and lonely the house +seemed when the Pride and the Hope were gone! How glad we were that +Christmas was only a month away! + + +III + +_Under the spell of the white touch_ + +In an earlier chapter I have spoken of our attic as an almost unfailing +source of supply. Any sort of vessel or implement we might happen to +need was pretty certain to turn up there if we looked long enough. It +provided us with jugs and jars, and by and by, when the snow came, a +wooden shovel and a bootjack for our rubber boots. I said that probably +some day we should find a horse and buggy and harness up there, which +was about all that we needed, now. It was just one of those careless +remarks we all make on occasion. It never occurred to me that it was +tinged with prophecy. + +We did not find the horse, harness, and buggy in the attic, but we found +them--heired them, to use a good New England word, just as we had heired +the other things. The automobile had not yet reached Brook Ridge, but +it was arriving in the centers and suburbs, upsetting old traditions, +severing old ties. Once we had been commuters on Long Island, and in our +happy suburb there still lived a friend to whom the years had brought +prosperity and motor-machines. In the earlier, more deliberate years he +had found comfort and sufficient speed in an enviable surrey, attached +to a faithful family horse which now, alas! was too slow, too deliberate +for the pace of wealth and the honk-honk of style. So the old horse +stood in the stable, for his owners did not wish to see him go to +strangers. But then one day they heard how we had turned ourselves into +farmers, and presently word came that if we needed Old Beek (shortened +from Lord Beaconsfield), surrey, and harness complete, they were ours to +command. They would be delivered to us in the city, the message said, +from which point we could drive, or ship, them to the farm. It was a +windfall from a clear sky--we said it must be our lucky year. We +accepted the quickest way, and were presently in the city to receive +Lord Beaconsfield. + +Had it been earlier in the year, during those magic days of September, +or even in October, when the drifting leaves had turned the highways +into thoroughfares of gold, we should have driven by easy stages the +sixty miles, across the hills and far away, to Brook Ridge, resting +where the night found us. It was too late for that now. The roadsides +were no longer flower-decked or golden. An early snowfall had left them +in rather a mixed condition, and the air had a chill in it that did not +invite extended travel. We could ship by boat to our nearest Sound port, +and the fifteen-mile drive from there seemed no great matter. + +We admired the dignity with which His Lordship drew up in front of our +New York hotel. He was a large, handsome animal, sorrel as to color, and +of a manner befitting his station and advanced years. It was evident +that we were not of his class, but with the gentle tact of true nobility +he never, either then or later, permitted this difference in rank to +make us uncomfortable. He even allowed us to call him "Beek," "Old +Beek," "good Old Beek," especially when there was a lump of sugar in +prospect. He was very human. + +But I anticipate. We were delighted with Lord Beaconsfield and his +appurtenances. As for the Joy, she was quite beside herself. Anything +with the semblance of a horse would excite the Joy. I got in with the +driver, and we made our way to the river-front, where I saw His Lordship +to his state-room and the surrey stored away. I don't suppose in all his +twenty years he had ever taken a voyage before, but he showed no +nervousness or undue surprise, and that night at the port of arrival he +came stepping down the gang-plank as unconcernedly as the oldest +traveler. We were up and away rather early next morning, for we wished +to travel leisurely, and we were not familiar with the road. + +On inquiry we learned there were two roads--one to the east and one to +the west of a little river, the same that formed a mill-pond in +Westbury's door-yard, and here a wide orderly stream flowed into the +sea. The "Glen" road--the one to the east--was thought to be the +shorter, so we chose that. It was a good selection, so far as scenery +was concerned, but if I had the same drive to make again I would go the +other way. With the exception of a small box of lunch crackers for the +Joy, we had provided no food for the journey, for we said we could stop +at a village inn when the time came and get something warm. That was a +good idea, only there were no villages. There was not even a country +store in that lost land of forest and hill and rocky cliff and desolate +open field. Now and then we came to a house, but so dead and forbidding +was its aspect that we did not dare even to ask our way. Never a soul +appeared in the door-yard, and if smoke came from the chimney it was a +thin, blue wisp as from dying embers. The land was asleep, under the +spell of the white touch. To knock at one of those houses would have +been, as it seemed, to call its occupants from their winter trance. + +We traveled slowly, for the roads were sticky, and there were many +hills. We could not ask Lord Beaconsfield to do more than walk, which he +did sturdily enough, tugging up the long hills, though they were +probably the first he had ever seen, for his part of Long Island had +been level ground. What must he have thought of that chaotic desolation, +where most of the woods and a good many of the fields were set up at +foolish angles against other woods and fields and where there was no +sign of food for man or beast? + +But if we were timid about making inquiries, His Lordship was not. When +his appetite became urgent he forgot that he had come of a proud race, +and soon after noon-time began to trumpet his demands, and his alarm, +like an ordinary horse. His stable at home must have been red, for at +every barn of that friendly color--and most of them were of that hue--he +sent a clarion neigh across the echoing hills. The Joy, bundled warmly, +munched her crackers and made little complaint. Her elders diverted +themselves by admiring the winter scenery--the bared woods, lightly +dressed with snow, the rocky cliffs and ledges, the tumbling black river +that now and again came into view. + +As the afternoon wore on and we arrived nowhere, we became disturbed by +doubts as to our direction. It was true that we seemed to be following +the general course of the river, but was it the right river? Hadn't we +gone trailing off somewhere on a second-class tributary that had been +leading us all day through a weird, bedeviled territory that probably +wasn't on the map at all? The brief daylight was fading and it was +important that we arrive somewhere, pretty soon. We must make inquiry. +It would be better to rouse even one of the seven sleepers than to +wander aimlessly into the night. At the next house, I said, we would +knock. + +But at the next house we actually discovered something moving--something +outside. As we came nearer it took the form of a man, a sad man, +dragging a crooked limb from a wood-pile. I drew up. + +[Illustration: _"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we +are?"_] + +"Good afternoon," I said. "Can you tell us where we are?" + +"Why, yes," he grunted, as he worked and pulled at the limb. "You're at +Valley Forge." + +Valley Forge! Heavens! We were within twenty miles of Philadelphia, +on the Schuylkill. At the pace we had been going it did not seem +reasonable. This must be enchantment, sure enough. + +"Look here," I said, "you don't mean that this is Valley Forge where +Washington was quartered." + +"Don't know anything about that," he said, still grunting over the +crooked limb, "but I've been quartered here for more 'n sixty years, an' +it's always been the same Valley Forge in my time." + +"Is--is this Connecticut?" + +"That's what it is." + +I breathed easier. If he had said Pennsylvania it would have meant that +we were a hundred and fifty miles from home. + +"Do you know of any place called the Glen?" + +"Of course; right up ahead a few miles. Where'd you folks come from, +anyway? You don't appear to know much about locations." + +I side-stepped, thanking him profusely. We were all right, then, but it +seemed a narrow escape. + +At last we entered the Glen and recognized certain landmarks. It was a +somber place now--its aspect weirdly changed since the first days of our +coming. Then it had been a riot of summer-time, the cliffs a mat and +tangle of green that had shut us in. On this dull December evening, with +its vines and shrubs and gaunt trees bare, its pointed cedars and +hemlocks the only green, its dark water swirling under overhanging +rocks, it had become an entrance to Valhalla, the dim abode of the gods. + +How friendly Westbury's lights looked when we crossed the bridge by the +mill and turned into the drive, and what gracious comfort there was in +his bright fire and warm, waiting supper. We did not go up the hill that +night. Good Old Beek found rest and food and society in Westbury's big +red barn. + + +IV + +_The difficulty was to get busy_ + +I have referred more than once, I am sure, to my study behind the +chimney, a tiny place of about seven by nine feet, once, no doubt, the +"parlor bedroom." I selected it chiefly because of its size. I said one +could condense his thoughts so much better in a limited area. I shelved +one side and end of it to the ceiling, put dull-green paper on the +walls, padded its billowy floor with excelsior, put down dull-green +denim as a rug basis, and painted the woodwork to match. Then I set my +work-table in the center, where I could reach almost anything without +getting up; and certainly with its capable fireplace it was as cozy and +inviting a work-room as one would find in a week's travel. + +The difficulty was to get busy at the condensing process. Work was +pressing. Not exactly the work, either, but the need of it. No, I mean +the necessity of it. It was the need of funds that was pressing--that is +what I have been trying to convey. With all the buying and improving, +and the loads of new indispensables that Westbury was constantly +bringing from the nearest town of size, the exchequer was running low. I +am not really so lazy, once I get started, but I have a constitutional +hesitancy in the matter of getting started. My will and enthusiasm are +both in good supply, but my ability to sit down and really begin is +elusive. + +It was especially so that winter; there were so many excuses for not +getting started. Mornings I would rise firm in the resolve that the day +and hour were at hand. After breakfast I would determinedly start for +the room behind the chimney. Unfortunately I had to pass through our +"best room" to get there. There was certain to be a picture or something +a little out of place in that room. Whatever it was, it must be attended +to. It would annoy me to leave a thing like that unremedied. One's mind +must be quite untrammeled to condense. Sometimes I had to rearrange +several of the pictures, and straighten the books, and pull the rugs +around a little, before I felt ready for the condensing process. But +then I would be certain to notice something out in the yard that was not +in place. We took a pride in our yard. Once outside, one thing generally +led to another, and in the course of time I would be pawing over stuff +in the barn. Then it was about luncheon-time--it would hardly be worth +starting the condensing business till afterward. + +Perhaps I would actually get into the room behind the chimney after +luncheon, but one could not begin work until the fire was replenished +and a supply of wood brought. Then while one was at it one might as well +get in a supply of fuel for the other fires, so as to have a clear +afternoon for a good substantial beginning. + +Oh, well, you see where all those paltry subterfuges ended. It was the +easiest thing in the world to remember something I wanted to tell +Westbury--something important--and our telephone lines were not yet +connected. It would be about five when I got back, and of course one +could not start a piece of work late in the day when one was all worn +out. To-morrow, bright and early, would be the time. + +Then, just as likely as not, to-morrow would be one of those bad-luck +days. In a diary which I kept at the time I find a record of a day of +that sort. + + Began this morning by breaking a lamp chimney before I was dressed. + I continued by stepping on Pussum's tail on the way down-stairs in + the dark, which caused me to slide and scrape the rest of the way. + Elizabeth came to the head of the stairs with a fresh lamp and the + remark that she thought I had given up using such language. In + applying the liniment I upset the greasy stuff on the living-room + rug and it required an hour's brisk rubbing to get it out. Not + being satisfied with this, I turned over a bottle of ink when I sat + down after breakfast to dash off an important note before + mail-time. Nobody could think consecutively after a series like + that, so I went out for some fresh air and decided to clean up a + rough corner by the brook. I scratched my nose, strained my wrist, + and mashed my finger with a stone. Only a 100-per-cent. Christian + could remain calm on such a day. To-morrow I shall go warily and + softly, and really begin work. + +I did, in fact, against all intention and good judgment, begin one +evening just about bedtime, and worked until quite late. It was not a +bad beginning, either, as such things go--at least, I have tried harder +and made worse ones. After that the condensing process went better. I +could any time find excuses for not working, but I did not hunt for +them so anxiously. I was pretty fairly under way by Christmas, and the +room behind the chimney had all at once become the most alluring place +in the world. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + + +I + +_The magic of the starlit tree_ + +[Illustration] + +We have always had a tree for Christmas. Long ago, far back in our early +flat-dwelling days, we had our first one, and I remember we shopped for +it Christmas Eve among the bright little Harlem groceries where they had +them ranged outside, picking very carefully for one symmetrical in shape +and small of size and price, to fit our tiny flat and, oh yes, indeed, +our casual income. I remember, too, that when it was finally bought I +put it on my shoulder with a proud feeling, and we drifted farther, +picking up the trimmings--the tinsel and gay ornaments, the small gifts +for the one very small person who had so recently come to live with us, +discussing each purchase with due deliberation, going home at last with +rather more than we could afford, I fear, for I recall further that we +did not have enough left next morning to buy butter for breakfast. How +young we were then, and how poor, and how happy! and Christmas morning, +with its twinkling mystery, was the most precious thing of the whole +year. + +It still remained so. Time could not dim the magic of the starlit tree. +Another little person had come, and another. A larger tree and more +decorations were needed, and the presents grew in number and variety, +but the old charm of secret preparation, and morning gifts, and the +lights that first twinkled around a manger, did not fade. + +[Illustration] + +We did not buy a tree at Brook Ridge. There was no need. Across the +road, partway up the slope, was a collection of green and shapely little +cedars--a regular Santa Claus grove--and on the afternoon before +Christmas, a gray, still afternoon, heavy with mystic portent, Elizabeth +and I took a small ax and climbed up there, and picked and selected, +just as we had done in those earlier years, and came home with our tree, +stealthily carrying it in the back way, to the wood-house, and fitting +it to the small green stand that we had used and preserved from year to +year. The little girl for whom we had bought the first tree was the +Pride, now aged twelve, and no longer without knowledge of the Christmas +saint, but the romance of not knowing, of still believing in it all, was +too precious to be put away yet, and she was off to bed with the others +to bring more quickly the joyous morning. Alone, as heretofore, +Elizabeth and I tied and marked the tissue packages, and in some of the +books wrote rhymes, such as only Santa Claus can think of when he has +finished his remote year of toil and has started out with his loaded +sleigh to strew happiness around the world. + +I suppose there is no more delightful employment than to watch the thing +that will give a splendid joy to one's children grow and glisten under +one's hands--to view it at different angles during the process; to note +how it begins to look "Christmasy," to add a touch here, a brightness +there, to see it at last radiant and complete, ready for the morning +illumination. On the topmost branch each year there was always the same +little hanging ornament, a swinging tinseled cherub that we had bought +for the very first little tree and the very first little girl, in the +days when we had been so young, so poor, and so happy. + +It was midnight when the last touch was given and the cherub was +swinging at the top, and it was only a wink or two afterward, it seemed, +that there were callings back and forth from small beds and a general +demand for investigation. A hurried semi-dressing, a fire blazing up the +chimney, a door thrown open upon a sparkling, spangled tree. Eager +exclamations, moments of awed silence, after which the thrilling +distribution of gifts. Human life holds few things better or happier +than such a Christmas morning. Whatever else the Christ-child brought to +the world, that alone would make his coming a boon to mankind. + +On our wall hung a quaint framed print of the first Christmas family, +and under it some verses by the now all-but-forgotten poet, Edwin Waugh. +In those days it was our custom, when the distribution was over and the +morning light filled the room, to gather in front of the picture and +sing the verses to a simple tune of our own. It was a poor little +ceremony, but, remembering it now, I am glad that we thought it worth +while. The verses are certainly so, and I want to preserve them +here--they are so little known. + +CHRISTMAS CAROL + +BY EDWIN WAUGH + + Long time ago in Palestine, + Upon a wintry morn, + All in a lowly cattle-shed + The Prince of Peace was born. + + The clouds fled from the gloomy sky, + The winds in silence lay, + And the stars shone bright with strange delight + To welcome in that day. + + His parents they were simple folk + And simple lives they led, + And in the ways of righteousness + This little child was bred. + + In gentle thought and gentle deed + His early days went by, + And the light His youthful steps did lead + Came down from heaven on high. + + He was the friend of all the poor + That wander here below; + It was His only joy on earth + To ease them of their woe. + + In pain He trod His holy path, + By sorrow sorely tried; + It was for all mankind He lived, + And for mankind He died. + + Like Him let us be just and pure, + Like Him be true alway, + That we may find the peace of mind + That never fades away. + + +II + +_Westbury dropped in_ + +So came the deeps of winter--January in New England. With the Pride and +the Hope back at school, Elizabeth and I, with the Joy, shut away from +most of the sounds and strivings of men, looked out on the heaping +drifts and gathered about blazing logs, piled sometimes almost to the +chimney throat. + +It was our refreshment and exercise to bring in the logs. We were told +that in a former day they had been dragged in by a horse, who drew them +right up to the wide stone hearth. But we did not use Lord Beaconsfield +for this work. For one thing, he would have been too big to get through +the door; besides, we were strong, and liked the job. We had two pairs +of ice-tongs, and we would put on our rubber boots, and take the tongs, +and go out into the snow, and fasten to a log--one at each end--and drag +it across Captain Ben's iron door-sill, and lift it in and swing it +across the stout andirons with a skill that improved with each day's +practice. They were good, lusty sticks--some of them nearly two feet +through. These were the back-logs, and they would last two or three +days, buried in the ashes, breaking at last into a mass of splendid +coals. + +In New England one builds a fire scientifically, if he expects to keep +warm by it. There must be a fore-stick and a back-stick, and a pyramid +of other sticks, with proper draught below and flame outlets above. And +he must not spare fuel--not if he expects heat. Westbury dropped in one +afternoon just when we had completed a masterpiece in fire-building. He +went up to warm his hands and regarded the blazing heap of hickory with +critical appraisal. + +"That fire cost you two dollars," he remarked, probably recalling the +number of days it had taken Old Pop and Sam to cut and cord the big +hickory across the brook. + +"It's worth it," I said. "I've paid many a two dollars for luxuries that +weren't worth five minutes of this." + +Westbury dropped into a comfortable chair, took out his knife, and +picked up a piece of pine kindling. + +"You think this beats city life?" he observed, whittling slowly. + +"Well, that depends on what you want. If you like noise and action, the +city's the place. We once lived in a flat where there was a piano at +one end of the hall and two phonographs at the other. Then there was a +man across the air-shaft who practised on the clarinet, and a +professional singer up-stairs. Besides this, when the season was right, +we had a hand-organ concert every few minutes on the street. When +everything was going at once it was quite a combination. The trolley in +front and the Elevated railway behind helped out, too, besides the +automobiles, and the newsboys and more or less babies that were trying +to do their part. Some people would be lonesome without those things, I +suppose." + +Westbury whittled reflectively. + +"I like to be where it's busy," he commented, "but I guess a fellow +could get tired of too much of it. It's pretty nice to live where you +can look out on the snow and the woods, and where you can hear it rain, +and in the spring wake up in the night and listen to the frogs sing." +Westbury's eye ranged about the room, taking in the pictures and +bric-a-brac and the bookshelves along the wall. "I wonder what Captain +Ben Meeker would think to see his old kitchen turned into a library," +he went on, thoughtfully. "Not many books in his day, I guess; maybe one +or two on the parlor table, mostly about religion. They were pretty +strong on religion, back in that time, though Captain Ben, I guess, +didn't go in on it as heavy as his wife. Captain Ben was more for +hunting, and horses, and dogs, and the man that could cut the most grass +in a day. The story goes that when Eli Brayton, the shoemaker, wanted to +marry Molly Meeker, Captain Ben wouldn't give her to him because he said +Eli hadn't proved himself a man yet. Brayton was boarding in the family +and working in the little shop that used to stand across the road. Aunt +Sarah Meeker, Captain Ben's wife, wanted the shoemaker in the family +because he was religious; but Captain Ben said, 'No, sir, he's got to +prove himself a man before he can have Molly.' Well, one day Eli Brayton +saw a fox up in the timber, and came down to the house and told Captain +Ben about it. 'Let me have your gun,' he said, 'and I'll go up and get +that chap that's been killing your chickens lately.' 'All right,' says +Captain Ben, 'but you won't get him.' Eli didn't say anything, but took +the old musket and slipped up there, and by and by they heard a shot and +pretty soon he came down the hill with Mr. Fox over his shoulder. They +went out on the step to meet him, and he threw the fox down in front of +Molly Meeker. 'There's some fur for you,' he said, 'and I guess he won't +catch any more chickens.' Captain Ben went up to Eli and slapped him on +the shoulder. 'Now you've proved yourself a man,' he says, 'and you can +have Molly.' That was my wife's grandmother. She was an only child and +the Meekers and the Braytons lived here together. Eli Brayton grew to be +quite a character himself. When they came around to him to collect money +for the church he'd contribute some of his unpaid shoe accounts. He knew +the people that owed them would pay the church, because they'd be afraid +not to. Old Deacon Timothy Todd used to do the collecting. He had a +high-keyed voice and no front teeth, and always chewed as he talked. +He'd pull out the bill and shake it at the man that owed it and say: 'A +debt to the church is registered above. Not to pay it is a mortal sin. +To perish in sin is to be burned with brimstone and eaten by the worm +that dieth not.' Before Deacon Todd got through that sinner was ready to +come across." + +Westbury in childhood had seen Deacon Timothy Todd and could imitate his +speech and manner. He enjoyed doing it as much as we enjoyed hearing +him. + +"Deacon Todd had two boys," he went on, "Jim and Tim, and he used to +say, 'My Jim is a good boy, but Tim proved himself a bad one when he +slapped his mother with an eel-skin.' Deacon Todd married a second time. +He lent some money to a woman to set up a business in Westport, and a +little while after his wife died he went down to collect it. Somebody +met him on the road and asked him where he was going. 'Well,' he said, +'I'm just going down to Westport to collect a little money I loaned a +young woman, and I'll bring back the money or the young woman, one of +the two,' and he did. He was back with her next day. Timothy Todd was a +great old chap. When the Civil War broke out he didn't want to go. He +was getting along pretty well, then--forty or so--and had already lost +two of his front teeth and claimed he couldn't bite off the ca'tridges. +They used to have to bite off the paper ends of them for muzzle-loading +guns. Then the draft came and he was scared up for fear they'd get him. +They didn't, though, but they got about all the others that were left, +and Deacon Todd went down to see them off. When the train came and he +saw them all get on, and the train starting, he forgot all about not +wanting to go, and jumped on with them, and went. 'I saw all my friends +was goin',' he said, 'an' th'd be nobody left in the country but me. "I +reckon I can bite them ca'tridges off with my eye-teeth, if I really +want to do it," I says, an' I was on the train an' half-way to Danbury +before I recollected that Mrs. Todd had told me to bring home a dime's +wuth o' coffee an' a pound o' sugar. I didn't get back with 'em fer two +years, an' then I come in limpin' with a bullet in my left hind leg. +"Here's that pound o' coffee and dime's wuth o' sugar," I says. "I +waited fer 'em to git cheaper."'" + +Westbury's visits did much to brighten up the somber days, while our +blazing hearth and the sturdy little furnace down-stairs kept us warm and +cozy. Looking out on a landscape that was like a Christmas card, and +remembering the drabble and jangle of the town, we were not sorry to be +among the clean white hills. + + +III + +_No animal except man digs and plants_ + +It was only a little after Christmas that we began planning for our +spring garden. As commuters, we had once possessed a garden--a bit of +ground, thirty-five feet square, but fruitful beyond belief. Now we had +broad, enriched spaces that in our fancy we saw luxuriant with vegetable +and bright with flower. + +I suppose one of the most deeply seated of human instincts is to plant +and till the soil. It is the thing that separates us most widely from +other animal life. The beasts and birds and insects build houses, lay up +food, and some of them, even if unwittingly, change the style of their +clothing with the seasons. But no animal except man digs and plants and +cultivates the flower and fruit and vegetable that nourish his body and +soul. It is something that must date back to creation, for in the +deepest winter, when the ground is petrified and the skies are low and +gray, the very thought of turning up the earth, and raking and planting, +awakens a thrill in the innermost recesses of the normal human heart, +while a new seed-catalogue, filled with gay pictures and gaudy promises, +becomes a poem, nothing less. + +What gardens we anticipate when the snow lies deep and we pore over +those seductive lists by a blazing fire! Never a garden this side of +Paradise so fair as they. For there are no weeds in our gardens of +anticipation, nor pests, nor drought, nor any blight. The sun always +shines there, and purple flowers are waving in the wind. No real garden +will ever be so beautiful, because it will never quite be bathed in the +tender light, never wave with quite the loveliness of those fair, frail +gardens of our dreams. + +We planted many dream gardens that winter. Splendid catalogues came +every little while, and each had its magic of color and special +offers--"Six rare roses for a dollar," "Six papers of seeds for ten +cents"--six of anything to make the heart happy, for a ridiculously +small sum. The rich level behind the barn was to us no longer hard with +frost and buried beneath the drifts, but green and waving. Some days we +walked out to look over the ground a little and pick the places where we +would have things, but our imagination seemed to work better in the +house by the big fireplace, especially when we rattled the +buff-and-green seed-packets that presently began to come and were kept +handy in the sideboard drawer. + +Our former garden had been so small that we feared we should not have +enough for these new areas, and almost daily we increased certain +staples and discovered something we had overlooked, some "New Wonder" +tomato, or "Murphy's Miracle" melon. Being strong for melons, I pinned +my faith to Murphy's Miracle, and ordered several packets of the seeds +that would produce it. Then I began to have doubts. I said if half those +seeds sprouted and did half as well as the catalogue promised, the level +behind the barn would fall a prey to Murphy and become just a heap of +melons. Elizabeth suggested that I add another acre and devote my summer +vacation to peddling them. + +Elizabeth was mainly for salads. Anything that could be served with +French dressing or mayonnaise found a place on her list. She got a new +copy of her favorite Iowa catalogue, and when she found in it a special +combination offer of "Twelve new things to eat raw" (it had formerly +been nine) she was moved almost to tears. + +In the matter of sweet corn and beans our souls were as one--a sort of +spiritual succotash, as it were--and we encouraged one another in any +new departure that would increase or prolong this staple supply. Flowers +we would have pretty much every-where--hollyhocks in odd corners; +delphinium and foxglove along the stone walls; bunches of calliopsis and +bleeding-heart and peonies; borders of phlox and alyssum; beds of +sweet-williams and corn-flowers and columbines--all those lovely, +old-fashioned things, with the loveliest old-fashioned names in the +world. Where did they get those names, I wonder? for they are among the +most wonderful in the language--each one a strain of word music. We +ordered hollyhock roots and hollyhock seed, and delphinium roots and +delphinium seed, and all the others in roots and seeds that could be had +in both ways, and roses and roses and roses, till I found it desirable +to lay aside the fascinating catalogues now and then for certain +industries in the little room behind the chimney, which I called my +study, in order to be able to provide the "inclosed stamps or check, in +payment for the same." + +But I believe there is no money that one spends so willingly as that +invested in garden seeds. That is because the normal human being is a +visionary, a speculator in futures, a dealer in dreams. For every penny +he spends in winter he pictures an overflowing return in beauty or +substance, in flower and fruit, the glorious harvest of radiant summer +days. + + +IV + +_Then came Bella--and Gibbs_ + +We had other entertainments. I have not thus far mentioned the domestic +service that followed Lazarus. There was a hiatus of brief duration, and +then came Bella--Bella and Gibbs. Bella was from town and of literary +association. We inherited her from authors whose ideals perhaps did not +accord with hers--I do not know. At all events, she tried ours for a +period. I know that she was considerably middle-aged, hard of hearing, +and short of sight, and that when I tried to recall her name I could not +think of anything but "Hunka-munka." Heaven knows why--it must have +expressed her, I suppose. + +But Hunka-munka--Bella, I mean--had resources. Her specialties were +Kipling and deep-dish apple pie. We could have worried along without +Kipling, but her deep-dish pie with whipped cream on it was a poem that +won our hearts. I must be fair. Hunka-munka's cooking was all good, as +to taste, and if her vision had been a bit more extended it might have +been of better appearance. I suppose the steam collected on her +super-thick glasses and she had to work somewhat by guess. Never mind--I +still recall her substantial and savory dinners with deep gratitude, +especially the pie of the deep dish with whipped cream atop. + +[Illustration] + +Gibbs came when we acquired Lord Beaconsfield and the furnace. My gifts +do not run to the care of a horse and an egg-coal fire. I don t know +where Gibbs had matriculated, but he professed to have taken high +degrees in those functions, and thus became a part of our establishment. +I think he overestimated his powers in the directions named, but he was +not without talents. He could wash and wipe dishes and, incredible as +it may seem, he was also literary. Like attracts like, by some law past +understanding. To me it still seems a wonderful thing that this little +waif of a man with a taste for Tolstoy and a passion for long words +should have just then landed upon us. + +Gibbs had a warm and fairly snug room in the barn--"a veritable bijou of +an apartment," he called it, though it was, I think, something less, and +he declared that the aroma of the hay and the near presence of Lord +Beaconsfield gave him a "truly bucolic emotion" that was an inspiration. +Nevertheless, Gibbs could not resist Bella and her domain. This was +proper enough. He was convenient to hand her things, to help with the +dishes and to discuss deeply and at length their favorite authors. When +our meals were in preparation or safely over there was more literature, +five to one, in the kitchen than in any other part of the house. + +Sometimes the drift of it came to us. It was necessary for Gibbs to +speak up pretty smartly to get his remarks into Hunka-munka's +consciousness. Once in the heat of things we heard him say: "One may not +really compare or contrast the literary emanations of Tolstoy and +Kipling except as to the net human residuum. Difference in environment +would preclude any cosmic psychology of interrelationship." + +As this noble sentence came hurtling through the door I felt poor and +disheartened. Never could I hope to reach such a height. And here was +Gibbs washing dishes and tossing off those things without a thought. +Hunka-munka's reply was lost on us. Like many persons of defective +hearing, she had the habit of speaking low, but I do not think her +remarks were in the gaudy class of her associate's. + +Their discussions were not entirely of Tolstoy and Kipling. There was a +neighborhood library and they took books from it--books which I judge +became more romantic as the weeks went by. I judge this because Gibbs +grew more careful in the matter of dress, and when the days became +pleasanter the two walked down to the bridge across the brook and looked +over into the water, after the manner of heroes and heroines in the +novels of Mrs. Southworth and Bertha M. Clay. + +What might have been the outcome of the discussions, the dish-washings, +the walks, the leanings over the bridge at the trysting-place, we may +only speculate now. For a time the outlook for this "romance of real +life" seemed promising, then came disillusion. Gibbs, alas, had a bent +which at first we did not suspect, but which in time became only too +manifest. It had its root in a laudable desire--the desire to destroy +anything resembling strong drink. Only, I think he went at it in the +wrong way. His idea was to destroy it by drinking it up. He +miscalculated his capacity. It took no great quantity of strong waters +to partially destroy Gibbs, and at such times he was neither literary +nor romantic, no fit mate for Hunka-munka, who had a tidy sum in savings +laid away and did not wish to invest it in the destroying process. I do +not know what she said to him, at last, but there came a day when he +vanished from our sight and knowledge, and the kitchen after dinner was +silent. I suppose the change was too much for Hunka-munka, for she +saddened and lost vigor. Her deep-dish pies became savorless, the +whipped cream smeary and sad of taste. She went the way of all cooks, +and if it had not been spring, with the buds breaking and the birds +calling and the trout leaping in the brook, we should have grieved as +over a broken song. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + + +I + +_We planted a number of things_ + +[Illustration] + +The whistle of a bird means spring; the poking through of the +skunk-cabbage in low ground, the growing green mist upon the woods. But +there is one thing that has more positive spring in it than any of +these--more of the stir and throb of awakening, something identified +with that earliest impulse that prompted some remote ancestor to make +the first garden. I mean the smell of freshly turned earth with the sun +on it. Nothing else is like that; there is a kind of madness in it. +Elizabeth said it was a poem. It is that and something more--a paean, a +marching song--a summons to battle. + +Luther Merrill came up to plow the space back of the barn. When he had +turned up a furrow or so to the warm April sun, and I got a whiff of it, +reason fled. I began capering about with a rake and a hoe, shouting to +Elizabeth to bring the seeds--all the seeds--also the catalogues, so +that we might order more. Why, those little packages were only a +beginning! We must have pounds, quarts, bushels. And we must have other +things--sweet-potatoes, for instance, and asparagus--we have overlooked +those. + +Elizabeth came, and was bitten by that smell, too, but she partially +kept her balance. She was in favor of the asparagus and sweet-potatoes, +but she said she thought we had better plant what we had of the other +things and see how far they would go, before ordering more. She said the +seed-houses would probably have enough to go around even a week or so +later, and we could use what we had on hand in making what the +catalogues referred to as the "first sowing." I was not entirely +satisfied, but I submitted. I was too much excited, too glad, to oppose +anything. Luther Merrill plowed around and around, and then harrowed +and cross-harrowed, while we sorted the yellow packets and picked the +earliest things and were presently raking and marking on beds and rows, +warm with the fever of tillage. + +We did not always agree as to the order of planting. In our small +commuter garden we had been restricted by space limitations and had +fallen into the habit of planting rows a good deal closer together than +the directions on the packets said--an economy of ground, but not of +toil. I had frequently weeded the beds, and had found that my feet were +not suited to working between rows six inches apart, while even a +baby-sized hoe had to be handled with great care. I said, now that we +had the space, we would separate our rows of beets and radishes and +salad full ten to fourteen inches, as advised by the authorities who had +written the package directions, and thus give both the plants and the +gardener more room. + +But Elizabeth had acquired the economy habit. She declared that such +rows gave more room for the weeds and that it was too bad to waste the +rich ground in that way. I had to draw the most pathetic picture of +myself bending over in the hot sun, working with a toy hoe, and pulling +weeds with my fingers, through long July days, to effect a compromise. +Experience had taught me that this was the best way to get concessions +from Elizabeth. Little could be gained by polemic argument. Besides, it +was dangerous. She would resign, and a good deal more than half the joy +would go out of that precious employment if I was left to finish it +alone. Women are so volatile. It is their main attraction. + +The Joy helped us. That is, she had a little hoe and insisted on digging +with it in the very places where we were raking and marking and sowing +and patting down the fragrant earth that was presently to wax green with +fruitfulness. She was not satisfied to go off in a remote corner and +make a garden of her own. She was strong for community life, and +required close watching. It was necessary, at last, to let her plant a +crooked little row without direction or artistic balance. Then she +suddenly remembered that she was not a gardener, but a horse, and +plowed and harrowed back and forth across the mellow ground. + +We planted a number of things that first day of our gardening in Brook +Ridge--long rows of lettuce and radishes and pease--the last named two +kinds, the bush and dwarf varieties. Pease cannot be sown too early, nor +the other things, for that matter. I have known the ground to freeze +solid after lettuce and radishes had begun to sprout, without serious +resulting damage. We put in some beets, too, and some onions, but we +postponed the corn and bean planting. There is nothing gained by putting +those tender things in too early. Even if they sprout, they do not +thrive unless the weather is really warm, while a light frost lays them +low. More than once I have tried very early corn-planting, but never +with much result. Once I had quite a patch of it up about three inches +high when the wind suddenly went to the north and it was certain that +the night would bring frost. I gathered up all the old cans and boxes +and hats on the premises and covered every hill of it. That was a good +scheme, and most of my corn survived, but six weeks later, when it was +green and waving, a neighbor's cow got in and ate it to the last piece. +No, fate is against early corn-planting. + +We had seed enough for all we wanted to plant that first day, and a good +deal more than enough of some things. It's remarkable how many lettuce +seeds there are in a buff packet. I sowed and sowed without being able +to use up two packets. I don't see how they can raise and gather so many +for five cents. It was the same with most of the other things. I did not +need to reorder, and by night I did not particularly want to. It had +been a pretty long day of raking and digging and patting down, and I had +got over some of the intoxication of the earth smell. Also, I was lame. +I could see that tending a garden of the size we had planned--along, +say, in July--was going to be a chore. No one as yet had come to replace +our ex-domestic staff: if no one came that chore would fall to me. In +the gray of the evening my enthusiasm was at rather low ebb. It was all +I could do to make out an order for asparagus and sweet-potato plants. +A cool, quiet bed, in a spring land where frogs are peeping in the moist +places, is sweet after such a day. + + +II + +_Out of the blue_ + +We were not permanently abandoned, however. Bella and Gibbs, our +literary forces, were presently replaced by Lena and William. Lena and +William were not literary. William was just plain Tipperary, and Lena +was a Finn. I extracted Lena one day from a "Norsk Employment Agency," +selecting her chiefly for her full-moon smile and her inability to speak +any English word. The smile had a permanent look, and I reasoned that an +inability to speak English would be a bar to her getting away. We should +not mind it much ourselves. Having had everything from a Pole to a +Patagonian, we were experts on sign language, and rather favored it +after the flow of English we had just survived. I personally conducted +Lena to the train and landed her safely at Brook Ridge. + +William came to us out of the blue. One morning I drew a tin pail of +water, bright and splashing from the well, and turned to pour a little +of it into the birds drinking-trough, a stone hollowed out at the top. I +did not do so, however, for a good reason--a man was sitting on the +stone. He had not been there a moment before, and I had heard no sound. +He was gaunt, pale, and dilapidated, and looked as if he had been in a +sort of general dog fight. He had a wild cast in his eyes and was in no +way prepossessing. His appearance suggested a burglar on sick-leave. + +I confess I was startled by this apparition. I set down the pail rather +weakly. + +"Why, good morning!" I said. + +He replied in a high-keyed Irish intonation, at the moment rather feeble +in volume. + +"C'u'd ye give a man a bite to eat fer some worrk, now?" he asked. + +I was relieved. If he had demanded my purse I should not have been +surprised. I nodded eagerly. + +"Yes, indeed. We need some wood. If you'll cut a little, I'll see that +you have some breakfast. You'll find the wood-pile and the ax down there +by the barn." + +He rose by a sort of slow unfolding process, and I was impressed by his +height. I gave him some specifications as to the wood needed, and he was +presently swinging the ax, though without force. He lacked "pep," I +could see that, and as soon as the food was ready I called him. He ate +little, but he emptied the pot of hot coffee in record time. Then he +came down to where I was trimming some rose-bushes. + +"W'u'd ye let me lie a bit on the hay?" he said. "Thin I'll do some more +of the little shtove-shticks fer yeh. I'm feelin' none too brisk this +mornin'." + +"Been sick?" I asked. + +"Naw, just a trrifle weery with trav'lin' an' losin' of sleep." + +Inside I hesitated. It was probably overtime at housebreaking that had +told on him. I pointed at the barn, however. + +"All right," I said, "take a nap--only, don t smoke in there." + +He vanished, and some three hours later when I had forgotten him I +suddenly heard a sound of great chopping. Our guest had reappeared at +the wood-pile, transformed. He was no longer pale and listless. His face +was ruddy--in fact, tanned. The cast in his eye had taken on fire. Every +movement was of amazing vigor and direction. The wood-pile was +disappearing and the little heap of "stove-sticks" growing in a most +astonishing way. I called Elizabeth out to see. + +"If coffee and a nap will make him do that." I said, "we'd better give +him dinner and get enough wood to last all summer." I went down there. +"What is your name?" I asked. + +"William--William Deegan." + +"Well, William, you seem to understand work. Come up to dinner +presently, and if you want to go on cutting this afternoon I'll pay you +for it." + +He came, and there was nothing the matter with his appetite this time. +Ham and eggs, potatoes, beans, corn-bread, pie--whatever came went. +William was the apostle of the clean plate. Reflecting somewhat on the +matter, I reached the conclusion (and it was justified by later events) +that William had perhaps been entertaining himself with friends the +night before--during several nights before, I judge--and was suffering +from temporary reaction when he had appeared on our horizon. Coffee and +a nap had restored him. He was quick on recovery, I will say that. + +You never saw such a hole in a wood-pile as he made that afternoon. When +I went down to settle with him and announce supper he was still in full +swing, apparently intending to go on all night. + +"William," I said, "you're a boss hand with an ax." + +"Well, sur," said William, his Celtic timbre pitched to the sky, "if I +could be shtayin' a day or two longer I'd finish the job fer ye." + +Was this a proposition to rob the house and murder us in our beds? I +looked at the wood-pile and at William. There was something about their +intimate relations that had an honest look. I remembered the extensive +garden that would have to be hoed in July. + +"Where would you go from here?" I said. + +"I don't know, sur. I'll be lookin' fer a job." + +"Do you understand gardening and taking care of a horse and cow?" + +"Yes, sur, I do that." + +I had an impulse to ask him about his last job, but I checked it. It was +a question that could lead to embarrassment. I would accept him on his +demonstration, or not at all. + +"So you want a summer job, at general farm-work?" + +"Yes, sur, I do." + +"Well, William, you've found one, right here." + +Even after the lapse of a dozen years I cannot write of William without +a tugging at the heart. We never knew his antecedents--never knew where +behind the sky-line he had been concealed all those years before that +morning when he appeared, pale and unannounced, at the well. We got the +impression, as time passed, that he had once been married and that he +had at some time been somewhere on a peach-farm. With the exception of +certain brief intervals--of which I may speak later--he remained with us +three years, and that was as much as we ever knew, for he talked little, +and not at all of the past. His face value was certainly not much, and +some of his habits could have been improved, but a more faithful and +honest soul than William Deegan never lived. + + +III + +_"Ah, the bonny cow!"_ + +We had acquired Mis' Cow a few weeks before William's arrival. It was +partly on account of the milk that we wanted her, partly because there +was an empty stall next to Old Beek's and we thought she would be +company for him, partly because we wanted a cow in the landscape--a +moving picture of her in the green pasture across the road--finally (and +I believe principally) because we have a mania for restoring things and +Mis' Cow looked as if she needed to be restored. + +She was owned by a man who was moving away--moving because he had not +made a success of chicken-farming by book, and still less of Mis' Cow. +He was not her first owner, nor her second, nor her third. I don't know +what his number was on her list of owners, but I know if he had kept her +much longer he would have been her last one. More than once we had +bought the mere frame of a haircloth couch, and taken an esthetic +pleasure in having it polished and upholstered, and made into a thing of +beauty and service. It was with this view that we acquired Mis Cow, who +at the moment was a mere frame with a patchy Holstein covering and a +feebly hanging tail. We gave thirty-five dollars for her, and the man +who was moving because he had not made a success of chickens threw in a +single buggy that broke down the week after he left. + +We consulted Westbury on the matter of Mis' Cow's past history, and it +was the only time I ever knew W. C. Westbury to be inexact as to the +age and habits of any animal in Brook Ridge. He said he had always known +her as a good milker, but that she had been unfortunate of late years in +her owners. He couldn't remember her age, but he didn't think it was +enough to hurt her. My opinion is that he could have given her exact +birthday and record had he really tried, but that kindness of heart +prompted him to encourage a trade that might improve her fortunes. I +suspect that they had played together in childhood. + +We managed to get Mis' Cow up the hill and into her stall, where we +could provide her with upholstery material. The little pasture across +the road was getting green and she presently had the full run of it. The +restoring progress began, as it were, overnight. If ever an article of +furniture paid a quick return in the matter of looks, she did. She could +never be a very fat Mis' Cow--she was not of that build. But a few days +of good food and plenty of it certainly worked wonders. She filled out +several of the most alarming hollows around her hips and along her +ridge-pole, she seemingly took on height and length. She grew smooth, +even glossy; her tail no longer hung on her like a bell-cord, but became +a lithe weapon of defense that could swat a fly with fatal precision on +any given spot of her black-and-white area. It was only a little while +until we were really proud to have her in the landscape, and the picture +she made grazing against the green or standing in the apple shade was +really gratifying. When the trees were pink and white with bloom and +Mis' Cow rested under them, chewing in time to her long reflections, we +often called one another out to admire the pastoral scene. A visiting +friend of Scotch ancestry was moved to exclaim, "Ah, the bonny cow!" + +Then there was the matter of milk--she certainly justified Westbury's +reputation in that respect. From a quart or two of thin, pale unusable +fluid her daily dividend grew into gallons of foaming richness that +became pitchers of cream and pounds of butter; for Elizabeth, like +myself, had known farming in an earlier day, and rows of milk-pans and a +churn went with her idea of the simple life. All day Mis' Cow munched +the new grass, and night and morning yielded a brimming pail. She was a +noble worker, I will say that. + +But there was another side to Mis' Cow--a side which Westbury forgot to +mention. Mis' Cow was an acrobat. When she had been on bran mash and +clover for a few weeks she showed a decided tendency to be gay--to caper +and kick up her heels--to break away into the woods or down the road, if +one was not watching. But this was not all--this was mere ordinary cow +nature, which is more foolish and contrary than any other kind of nature +except that which goes with a human being or a hen. I was not surprised +at these things--they were only a sign that she was getting tolerably +restored, according to specifications. But when one day I saw her going +down the road, soon after I had turned her into the pasture and +carefully put up the bars, I realized that she had special gifts. Stone +walls did not a prison make--not for her. Elizabeth and I rounded her up +and got her back into the pasture, and from concealment I watched her. +She fed peacefully enough, for some time, then, doubtless believing +herself unobserved, she took a brief promenade along the wall until she +came to what looked like a promising place, and simply walked over it, +like a goat. + +We herded her into the barn, and I engaged a man to put a string of wire +above the wall. That was effective as long as it was in repair. But it +was Mis' Cow's business to see that it did not remain in repair +permanently. She would examine it during idle moments, pick out a weak +spot in the entanglement, and pull it flat with her horns. Or where the +wall was broad enough at the top she would climb up and walk it, just +for exercise, stepping over when she got ready. If she could have been +persuaded to do those things to order I could have sold her to a circus. +It was necessary to reinforce the wire and add another string. + +Even that was not always a cure. I came home from the city one night, +after a hard day. Elizabeth and the Joy, with Old Beek, had met me at +the station, and as we drove up the hill in the dim evening I said how +glad I was to get home, and that Elizabeth had milked, so that I could +drop into a chair and eat my supper and rest, the minute I entered the +house. We reached the top of the hill just then, and a dim gray shadow +met and passed us in the velvet dusk. It was Mis' Cow, starting out to +spend the night. She was moving with a long, swinging trot, and in +another second I was out and after her. + +She had several rods' start and could run downhill better than I could, +especially in the dark. It seemed to me that every step I went plunging +out into space. My empty stomach became demoralized, the blood rushed to +my head. "Gosh dern a cow, anyway!" By the time we had reached +Westbury's and started up the next hill I had made up my mind to sell +her--to give her away--to drive her off the premises. Some people were +standing in front of the next house and they laughed as we went by, we +being about neck and neck at the time. Westbury was in that crowd, and +for the moment our friendship was in grave danger. But then we came to +the house of the man who had made a failure of book chicken-farming, +and she darted in. She had remembered it as her home and wanted to +return to it. Imagine wanting to go back to such a home! + +Westbury came, and we got a rope on her and led her uphill. I suppose I +felt better in the morning, and it was about this time that William +arrived on the scene. William loved Mis' Cow and did not mind chasing +her up and down the road and through the bushes, though sometimes during +the summer, when he had had a hard day with her, and our windows were +open, we could hear him still hi-hi-ing and whooping in his sleep, +chasing Mis' Cow through the woods of dream. + + +IV + +_Strawberries and trout. How is that for a combination?_ + +[Illustration: _I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic +summer, and, on the whole, a successful one_] + +I remember that as a golden summer, an enthusiastic summer, and, on the +whole, a successful one. Our early garden grew--also the second +planting and the third. William Deegan made it his business to see that +they did. I realized presently that my special forte lay in directing a +sizable garden like that rather than in performing the actual labor, +especially when June arrived and the sun began to approach the +perpendicular and take on callithump. You probably don't know what +callithump is, but you will find out if you undertake to hoe sod-ground +potatoes in July. It has something to do with brazen trumpets and +violence. + +I became acquainted with callithump when I straightened out the +asparagus-bed. The weeds had got a master start there, and the feeble +feathery asparagus shoots were quite overtopped and lost. I said the job +required a microscopic eye and a delicate hand. I would set the +asparagus-bed in order myself. + +It is surprising how much ground a hundred asparagus roots can cover. +Elizabeth had superintended their planting, during a period when I had +been absent, and, remembering my mania for having things far apart, she +had let herself go in the matter of space. She had made it rich, too, +and the weeds just loved it. Some of them were up to my waist. I said +they would have to be pulled by hand and I would get up in the cool of +the morning and do it. + +It is almost impossible to beat the sun up in June. I was out there at +five o'clock, but the sun was already busy and had got the range. By the +time I had pulled half-way down one row I could feel the callithump +working. Also something else. We claimed to have no mosquitoes in Brook +Ridge, so it could not have been those. Whatever it was kept me swearing +steadily, and pawing and slapping and sweating blood. When I had +finished a row I crept in, got some fresh clothes and a towel, and made +a dash for the brook. I had cleaned out a special pool behind the +ice-house, and built a little dressing-platform. In less than a minute I +was in the water, looking up at the sky and hearing the birds sing. Talk +about luxury! After breakfast I took Elizabeth out to show her my +progress. + +"It looks nice," she said, "and how easily you did it!" + +It took me four memorable mornings to finish the asparagus-bed, and, +proud as I was of the job, I resigned, after that, in favor of William. +The brazen trumpets of the sky even at high noon could not phase W. +Deegan. Often in July I have sat in the maple shade, with pride watching +him carry out my directions concerning weeds and potato-bugs. I admired +and honored William. I have the greatest respect for honorable toil, but +even more for callithump. + +Sometimes in the early morning I went trout-fishing. There is more +fascination and less waste tissue in that. I would creep down while the +house was still and get my rod and basket, and take a sheltered lane +that was like a green tunnel through the woods, where the birds were +just tuning up for a concert, then out across the "bean-lot," to strike +the brook at about the head of navigation--for trout. + +They were plenty enough and just of the right size--that is to say, +eight to eleven inches long--and easy enough to get if one was very +careful. You could not cast for them; the brook was too small and +brushy for that. You had to use a very short line, and wind it around +the end of the rod, and work it through the branches, and then +carefully, very carefully, unwind and let the hook drop lightly on the +water. Then as likely as not there would be a swift, tingling tug, and, +if you were lucky, an instant later you would have a beautiful +red-speckled fellow landed among the grass and field flowers, his gay +colors glancing in the sun. + +The open places also required maneuvering. One does not walk up to the +bank and fish for wild trout--not in a stream that is as clear as glass +and where every fish in it can see the slightest movement on the bank. +To fish such a place is to lie flat on the stomach and work forward inch +by inch through the grass, Indian fashion, until the water is in reach. +Even then you must not look, but feel, unwinding the line slowly, +slowly, until the fly or worm taps the water. Then if you have done it +well and the trout is there, and it is June, there will be +results--sharp, quick, sudden results that insure the best breakfast in +the world--hot fried trout, fresh from a New England brook. + +The Joy went with me on some of these excursions. She liked to have me +call her early and go tiptoing and whispering about our preparations and +to wade off through the dewy grass in her rubber boots, leaving the rest +of the house asleep. She generally carried the basket, and was deeply +interested in my maneuvers when the cry of the "teacher"-bird and the +call of the wood-thrush did not distract her attention. I can still see +the grass up to her fat little waist, her comical blue apron, her +dimpled round face and the sunlight on her hair. She had a deep pity for +the trout, but her sporting instinct was deeper still. Sometimes when +there was a slip, and a big shining fellow would go bouncing and +splashing back into the brook, she would jump up and down and demand, +excitedly: + +"Why didn't you catch that one, Daddy? Why didn't you catch him? That +was a big, big, _big_ one?" And she walked very proudly when we had six +or more to carry back for breakfast. + +Strawberries and trout--how is that for a breakfast combination in June? +Trout just from the water and strawberries fresh from the garden. We had +planted a good patch of strawberries the August of our arrival and they +had done wonderfully well for the first year. Often by the time we had +come from fishing Elizabeth had been out and filled a bowl, and +sometimes even made a short-cake, for we were old-fashioned enough to +love short-cake--old-fashioned short-cake made with biscuit dough (not +the sweet-cake kind) for breakfast. And breakfast with trout and +short-cake--short-cake with cream, mind you!--in New England in June, +when the windows open on the grass and the wood-thrushes are calling, is +just about as near paradise as you can get in this old world. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + + +I + +_Fate produced a man who had chickens to sell_ + +[Illustration] + +With June the Pride and the Hope came home from school. The brook, the +barn, Old Beek, and Mis' Cow all had their uses then--also a tent in the +yard, a swing, hammock and whatnot. When God made the country He made it +especially for children. Burning suns, a weedy garden and potato blight +may dismay the old, but such things do not fret the young mind. As long +as the brook is cool and the fields are sweet and there is fresh milk +and succotash on the table, happy childhood is indifferent to care. + +[Illustration] + +We were given to picnics. Often we packed some food things into a basket +and went into the woods and spread them in a shady place. Lena, the +Finn, sometimes accompanied these excursions and went quite mad with the +delight of them, racing about and digging up flowers and shrubs to plant +in the door-yard, fairly whooping it up in joyful Finnish and such +English words as she had acquired. I believe the aspect of our woods +reminded her of Finland. + +Lena was a good soul, that is certain, and measurably instructive. We +learned from her how priceless is the gift of good nature, which was the +chief thing that kept her with us; also, to eat a number of dishes quite +new to us, and that an apple-tree--or perhaps it was an apple, baked or +in dumpling--was, in her speech, an "ominy poo." She was not strong on +desserts, but she could always fall back on the ominy poo--meaning in a +general way the big sweet-apple tree that grew by the barn and was +loaded to the breaking-point with delicious fruit. Any baked apple is +good, but a big, cold, baked sweet-apple--"punkin sweets," Westbury +called them--with cold cream, plenty of it, and a sprinkle of sugar, is +about the most blithesome thing in the world. Hurrah for the ominy poo! +whether it be the tree, or the fruit, baked or in dumplings. When the +strawberry passed and was not, the ominy poo reigned gloriously. I don't +know what Lena called certain other dishes that from time to time she +tried to substitute--some other kind of poo, maybe--I know we gradually +persuaded her away from them into a better way of life. + +Sometimes we joined our picnics with the Westburys'--loaded our baskets +into a little hand-express wagon, or into the surrey behind Lord +Beaconsfield--and these were quite elaborate affairs that required a +good deal of preparation and meant a general holiday. More than once we +spread long tables on the green of Westbury's shaded lawn that sloped +down to the river and the mill, and was a picture-place, if ever there +was one. Other days we went over the hills for huckleberries--and came +home with pails of the best fruit that grows for pies, bar none. Happy +days--days of peace--a true golden age, as it seems now. Will the world, +I wonder, ever be so happy and golden again? + + * * * * * + +We had no intention of embarking in chickens when we settled in Brook +Ridge. Neither of us had any love for chickens on foot, and we had no +illusions about the fortunes that, according to certain books, could be +made from a setting of eggs and a tin hen--an incubator, I mean. Also, +our experiment with pigs had cooled us in the matter of live stock for +profit. + +Still, we did love chickens in their proper place--that is to say, with +dumplings or dressing and some of the nice jellies and things which +Elizabeth had made during those autumn months of our arrival. It seemed +extravagant to have them often; chickens had become chickens since our +long-ago early acquaintance with them, when "two bits" had been a fancy +price for broilers and old hens. Elizabeth finally conceded that perhaps +a few chickens--a very few, kept in a neat inclosure away from the +garden--might be desirable. It would be so handy to have one when we +wanted it. She even hinted that the sound of a satisfied and reflective +hen singing about the barn would add a rural note to our pastoral +harmony. Then, of course, there would be the eggs. + +Fate produced a man, just at that moment, who had chickens to sell. He +had been called away, and would let his flock go cheap--he had about a +dozen, he thought, assorted as to age and condition. We could have them +for fifty cents each. It seemed an opportunity. William Deegan was +instructed to prepare the neat inclosure, which he did with enthusiasm, +William being enamoured of anything that was alive. + +The man who had been called away had made a poor count of his flock. He +arrived with nearly twice as many as he said, but we were in the mood by +that time, and took over the bunch. They were not a very inspiring lot. +They were of no special breed, but just chickens--a long-legged, +roostery set, with a mixture of frazzled hens of years and experience. +We said, however, that food and care would improve them. Remember what +it had done for Mis' Cow. + +"Ye'll be after eatin' thim roosters, prisently," William commented, as +we looked at them through the inclosing wire, "before they be gettin' +much older. Ye'll be wantin' eggs from the hins." + +William's remark seemed wise. We were wanting the eggs, all right, and +those ten or twelve speedy-looking roosters ought to go to the platter +without much delay. We would feed liberally and begin on the best ones, +forthwith. + +Still, we did not have chicken that day, nor the next. There is nothing +so perverse as the human appetite. Those were not really bad chickens, +and in a few days they were much better. If any one of those middle-aged +roosters had been brought to us by the butcher we would have paid the +usual dollar for it, and, baked and browned and served with fixings, it +would have gone well enough, even though a trifle muscular and somewhat +resilient. + +But somehow this was a different proposition. I don't believe I can +explain just why. There was something about the aggregation as a whole +that was discouraging. I suspect William's remark that they must be +eaten "prisently" had something to do with it. Eating those chickens was +not to be an entertainment, a pastime, but a job--a job that increased, +for the "old hins" did not lay, or very sparingly--an egg a day being +about the average. William brought it in solemnly. We had got to devour +that entire flock of chickens, and the thought became daily less +attractive. Even our tribe of precious ones, who had always been +chicken-hungry before, suddenly became indifferent to the idea of +chicken fried, baked, or in fricassee. I said, at last, we would have to +have a series of picnics. Anything would taste good at a picnic. + +I don't remember how many we used up in that way, but I know the +business of getting rid of those chickens seemed interminable. We tried +working them off on William and Lena, but even _they_ balked before the +end was reached. I have heard it stated that no one can eat thirty +quails in thirty days. I don't know about that, but I know that when we +tried to put over a dozen chickens on Lena and William in six weeks it +was a failure. At last we were reduced to one old hen, who by general +consent was made immune. Also free. The garden was too far advanced for +her to damage it. The door of the neat wire inclosure was left open for +her to go and come at will. There was danger of foxes at night, but we +did not shut it. The foxes, however, did not come. Even foxes have to +draw the line somewhere. That venerable old lady wandered about the +place, pecking and contentedly singing, and in that part we really +became fond of her. I think she died at last of old age. + + +II + +_I planted some canterbury-bells_ + +I believe our agriculture may be said to have been successful. William +was a faithful gardener. His corn, beans, pease, and potatoes were +abundant, and all the other good things, whether to eat boiled, raw, or +roasted. Our table was almost embarrassed by these riches, which perhaps +helped us to weaken on the chicken idea. + +I think our favorite staple was corn--green sweet corn, carried directly +from the patch to the pot, and from the pot to the table. If you have +not eaten it under these conditions you have never really known what +green corn should be like. The flavor of corn begins to go the moment it +is pulled from the stalk, also the moment it leaves the pot. Cooked +instanter, buttered, with salt and pepper, eaten the moment it does not +blister your mouth, it is the pride of the garden. Cooked the next day +and eaten when it has become cool and flabby, it becomes a reproach. It +is different with beans. Beans keep, and, hot or cold or warmed over, +they are never to be despised. The heaping platters of corn and the +bowls of beans that our family could destroy after a morning of hearty +exercise were rather staggering. Then presently the cantaloups +came--fragrant, juicy ones, and all the salads, and--oh, well, never +mind the list--I have heard of living like a lord, but I can't imagine +any lord ever living as near to the sap and savor of life's luxuries as +we did. + +I must not overlook our rye. By June it was a cloth of gold, and of such +elevation that I could barely see over it. There is something stately +and wonderful about standing rye, when one is close enough to see the +individual stalks. They are so tall and slim that you cannot understand +why the lightest wind does not lay them flat. Yet all day long they sway +and ripple and billow in the summer wind, and unless the heavy, driving +storm comes the ranks remain unbroken to the last and face the sickle in +golden dress parade. + +Westbury came with a force of men one blazing morning, and the sound of +the cutting-machine was a music that carried me back to days when I had +followed the reaper in the Mississippi Valley, from the first ray of +sunrise to the last ray of sunset, eaten five times a day, drunk water +out of a jug under the shock, and once picked up a bundle with a snake +in it and jumped fourteen feet, more or less, straight up in the air. It +was not that I was afraid, you understand, but just surprised. Snakes +nearly always surprise me. I remember once when I was a little boy, on +the way to visit a friend about my size, I took a short cut across a +little clearing, and was hopping and singing along when I hopped onto +something firm that moved twistingly under my bare foot. I did not jump +or run that time; I merely opened out my wings and flew. Corn-rows, +brush-piles, fences, were as nothing. I sailed over them like a gnat +till I reached the big main road. I was not interested in short cuts, +after that, and I didn't cross that field again for years. I was not +afraid, but I did not wish to be surprised again. I recall another +time-- + +But this is not a snake story. I told Westbury that I could bind as well +as ever, and would give them an exhibition of a few rounds. But it was +impressively hot and at about the third bundle I remembered an important +memorandum I wanted to make, and excused myself. It was quite pleasant +in my study, and I kept on making memorandums until by and by Westbury +sent the Hope to tell me that they'd like me to come out and give the +rest of the exhibition. It was not very considerate of Westbury when I +was busy that way, and I ignored his suggestion. + +We did not go in for selling seed rye, as I had once contemplated, but I +think we might have done so if there had been a demand. Westbury and +the men put it into the barn, and later flailed it out on the barn +floor, after the manner of Abraham and Boaz and Bildad the Shuhite, +beating the flails in time and singing a song that Bildad himself +composed. Who would have a dusty, roaring thrashing-machine when one can +listen to the beating flails and be back with Boaz and Bildad in the +days when the world was new? + + * * * * * + +Just a word more of our vegetable experiments. For one thing, our +asparagus-bed thrived. Those hot mornings I put in paid the biggest +return of any early-morning investment I ever made. Each year it came +better and better--in May and June we could not keep up with it and +shared it with our neighbors. The farm-dweller who does not plant an +asparagus-bed as quickly as he can get the ground ready, and the plants +for it, makes a grave mistake. + +Perhaps I ought to record here that our sweet-potatoes were a success. +We were told that they would not grow in New England, but they grew for +us and were sweet and plentiful. + +The waning of the year in a garden is almost the best of it, I think. +Spring with its thrill of promise, summer with its fulfilment--meager or +abundant, according to the season--are over. Then comes September and +October, the season of cool, even brisk, mornings and mellow afternoons. +It is remnant-day in the garden, the time to take a basket and go +bargain-hunting on the "as is" counter. Where the carrots have been +gathered there are always a few to be found, if one looks carefully, and +in the melon-patch there is sure to be one or two that still hold the +bouquet of summer, with something added that has come with the first +spicy mornings of fall. Also, if one is lucky, he will find along the +yellowing rows a few ears of corn, tender enough and sweet enough for +the table, with not quite the flavor of July, perhaps, but with +something that appeals as much to the imagination, that belongs with the +spectral sunlight, the fading stalks and vines, and carries the memory +back to that first day of April planting. To bring in a basket, however +scanty, of those odds and ends and range them side by side on the +kitchen table affords a gratification that is not entirely material, I +believe, for there is a sort of pensive sadness in it that I have been +told is related to poetry. + + * * * * * + +I have said little of our flowers, but they were a large part--sometimes +I think the largest part--of our happiness. Going back through the +summers now, I cannot quite separate those of that first year from those +of the summers that followed. It does not matter; sooner or later we had +all the old-fashioned things: hollyhocks in clusters and corners, and on +the high ground in a long row against the sky; poppies and +bleeding-heart, columbine and foxglove, bunches of crimson bee-balm and +rows of tall delphinium in marvelous shades of blue. And we had banks of +calliopsis and sunflowers--the small sunflowers of Kansas, that bloom a +hundred or more to a stalk--and tall phlox whose fragrance carries one +back to some far, forgotten childhood. Then there were the roses--the +tea-roses that one must be careful of in winter and the hardy +climbers--the Dorothy Perkins and ramblers clambering over the walls. As +I look back now through the summers I seem to see a tangle of color +stretching across the years. It is our garden--our flowers--always a +riot of disorder, always a care and a trial, always beloved and +glorious. + +One year I planted some canterbury-bells--the blue and the white. They +are biennials, and bloom the second year. The blue ones came +wonderfully, but the white ones apparently failed. I did not plant them +again, for I went in mainly for perennials that, once established, come +year after year. I tried myosotis, too, but that also disappeared after +the second year. Our garden, such as it was, was a hardy garden, where +only the fittest survived. + +There was an accompaniment to our garden. It was the brook. Nearly +always, as I dug and planted, I could hear its voice. Sometimes it rose +strong and insistent--in spring, when rains were plenty; sometimes in +August when the sky for weeks had been hard and dry, it sank to a low +murmur, but it was seldom silent. All the year through its voice was a +lilting undertone, and the seasons ran away to the thread of its silver +song. + +After all, a garden in any season is whatever it seems to its owner. To +one who plans and plants it, tends and loves it, any garden is a world +in little, a small realm of sentient personalities, of quaint and lovely +associations, of anxious strivings and concerns, of battles, of +triumphs, and of defeats. To one who makes a garden under compulsion it +is merely an inclosure of dirt and persistent weeds, a place of sun and +sweat and some more or less perverse and reluctant vegetables that would +be much more pleasantly obtained from the market-wagon. There is no +personality in it to him, nor any poetry. I know this, because I was +once that kind of a gardener myself. It was when I was a boy and had to +hoe one every Saturday forenoon, when there were a number of other +things I wanted to do. It was almost impossible to study lovingly the +miracle of the garden when duty was calling me to play short-stop on +the baseball nine that I knew was assembling on the common, with some +irresponsible one-gallus substitute in my place. Yet even in those days +I loved the fall garden. The hoeing was all done then, the weeds were no +longer my enemies. One could dig around among them and find a belated +melon, and in the mellow sunlight, between faded corn-rows, scoop out +its golden or ruby heart and reflect on many things. + + +III + +_And how the family did grow up!_ + +As I look back now, that first year on our abandoned farm seems a good +deal like the years that followed it; but it could not have been so, for +when I consider to-day's aspect and circumstance I realize that each of +our twelve years of ownership furnished events that were to us unusual, +some of them, at the time, even startling. + +We must have enjoyed a kind of prosperity, I suppose, for we seem always +to have been planning or doing something to enlarge the house or +improve its surroundings, and quite a good deal of money can be spent in +that way. I think it was about the second year that for the sake of +light and air we let out three dormer windows on the long roof, and I +remember that in order not to make a mistake in their architecture we +drove thirty miles one morning to see a house like ours which had owned +its windows from the beginning. We loved our old house, you see, and did +not wish to do it an injury. I think it was about the same time that we +pulled off the plaster from the living-room ceiling and left the exposed +beams--old hewn timbers which we tinted down with a dull stain. William +Deegan and I stained those beams together, and our friendship ripened +during that employment. William had been with us about a year at this +period--not steadily, because now and then would come a day when with +sadness and averted eyes he would say, "I think I'll be goin' now, for a +little while," after which the effacement of William for perhaps a week, +followed by his return some morning, pale, delapidated, as on the +morning of his first arrival. + +In the beginning I had argued, even remonstrated, but without effect. +William only said, humbly: "It comes over me to be goin', and I have to +do it. I'll be dacent ag'in, whin I get back." + +During one such period of absence there came a telephone call from the +sheriff of the nearest town of size. + +"Do you know a man named William Deegan?" + +"We do." + +"He is in the calaboose here. His fine and costs amount to five dollars. +Do you want to redeem him?" + +"We do." + +Clearly William's vacation had been unusual, even for him. We sent up +the money and William was home that night, more crushed, more pale, more +dilapidated than ever. He had worn a new suit away. He returned with a +mere rag. We thought this might cure him, but nothing could do that. We +could redeem William, but he could not redeem himself. These occasional +lapses were the only drawback of that faithful, industrious soul, and we +let them go. We had been unable to forgive them in the light-headed, +literary Gibbs. + +But William here is a digression; I was speaking of our improvements. We +decided one year that we must have more flowers--a real garden. We made +it on the side of the house where before had been open field--walled in +a space where there was an apple-tree, a place large enough to assemble +all the things we loved most and that grew with an economy of care. In a +little while it was a glorious tangle that we admired exceedingly, and +that our artist friends tried to paint. + +Another year we converted my study behind the chimney into a pantry, +opened it into the kitchen, made the "best room" into a dining-room, and +left the long living-room with the big fireplace for library use only. +That was a radical change and I had to build me a study over on a cedar +slope--a good deal of a house, in fact, where I could gather my traps +about me, for with the years my work had somehow invited a +paraphernalia of shelves and files, and a variety of other furniture +that required room. It was better for a growing-up family, too. With me +out of the house, they had more freedom to grow up in, which, after all, +was their human right, and the growing-up machinery could revolve as +noisily as it pleased without furnishing a procrastinating author an +added excuse for not working. No author with a growing-up family should +work in his own home. He is impossible enough under even the best +conditions. + +[Illustration] + +And how the family did grow up. Why, once when they were home from +school I came from the study one day to find a young man in the house--a +strange young man, from somewhere in the school neighborhood. I couldn't +imagine what he was doing there until I was taken aside and it was +explained to me that he was there to see our eldest, the Pride. That +little girl, imagine! It is true she was eighteen--I counted, up on my +fingers to see--but the Pride! why, only yesterday she was bare-footed, +wading in the brook. Somehow I couldn't make it seem right. + + +IV + +_And then one eventful day_ + +I suppose it was about that time that we acquired a car--it would be +likely to be about that time. 'Most everybody was getting cars, and Lord +Beaconsfield, good Old Beek, was getting slower each year and could no +longer keep up even with our deliberate progress. Furthermore, I learned +to drive the car, in time. It is true I knocked some splinters from the +barn, put a crimp in a mud-guard, and smashed another man's tail-light +in the process, but nothing fatal occurred, though I found it a pretty +good plan to stick fairly close to my new study on the cedar slope if I +wanted to keep up with the garage and damage bills. Those bills startled +me, at first, and then, like everybody else, I became callous and +reckless, and we did without a good many other things in order that the +car might not go unshod or climb limpingly the stiff New England hills. + +And then at last, one eventful day--a day far back in that happy, +halcyon age when ships sailed as freely across the ocean as ferry-boats +across the North River and men roved at will among the nations of the +earth--one sunny August morning, eight years after the day of our +coming, we locked the old house behind us and drove away in the car to a +New York pier and sailed with it (the car, I mean, not the pier) to the +Mediterranean, and the shores of France. In that fair land, while the +world was still at peace, we wandered for more than a year, resting +where we chose, as long as we chose, all the more unhurried and happy +for not knowing that we were seeing the end of the Golden Age. Oh, those +lovely days when we went gipsying along the roads of Provence and +Picardy and Touraine! I cannot write of them now, for in to-day's shock +of battle they have already become unreal and dreamlike. I touch them +and the bloom vanishes. But sometimes when I do not try to write, and +only lean back and close my eyes, I can catch again a little of their +breath and sweetness; I can see the purpling vineyards and the poppied +fields; I can drift once more with Elizabeth and our girls through the +wonderland of France. + +[Illustration: _It was on a winter evening that I drove our car back to +its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by land and sea_] + +War came and brought the ruin of the world. It was late in the year when +we returned to America, and it was on a winter evening that I drove our +car back to its old place in the barn, after its long journeyings by +land and sea. Our old house had remained faithful. A fire roaring up the +chimney made it home. + +We went to Westbury's, however, for the holidays. Westbury with the +years had become a prosperous contractor, for Brook Ridge was no longer +an abandoned land, but a place of new and beautiful homes. Westbury's +prosperity, however, had not made him proud--not too proud to offer us +old-time Christmas hospitality at his glowing fireside. + + +V + +_Was it the spirit of our garden?_ + +Summer found us back in the old house, almost as if we had not left it. +Almost, but not quite. Somehow the world had changed. Perhaps it was +just the war--perhaps it was because we were all older--our girls +beginning to have lives of their own--because the family unit was +getting ready to dissolve. + +The dissolving began at last one sunny June day when the Pride left us. +It was the young man whom I had noticed around the house a year or two +before who took her away. She seemed to prefer to go with him than to +stay with us, I could not exactly make out why, but I did not think it +best, or safe, to argue the question, and I drove them to the train +afterward. + +Then the Hope and the Joy got the notion of spending their summers in +one of those camps that are so much the fashion now, and at last there +came a day that the Hope, who such a little while ago was running +care-free and happy-hearted in the sun, bade us good-by and sailed +away--sailed back across the ocean to France, an enlisted soldier, to do +her part where the world's bravest were battling for the world's +freedom. + +For us, indeed, the world had changed; we had little need any more for +the old house that on a July day twelve years before we had found and +made our home. It had seen our brief generation pass; it was ready for +the next. And when, one day, there came a young man and his bride, just +starting on the way we had come, and seeing the beauty of the spot, just +as we had seen it, wanted to own and enjoy it, just as we had owned and +enjoyed it, we yielded it to them gladly, even if sorrowfully, for one +must give up everything, some time or other, and it is an economy of +regret to give to the right person, at the right time. + +And now just here I want to record a curious thing. Earlier in these +pages I have spoken of planting one year some white canterbury-bells +that did not grow, or at least, so far as we could discover, did not +bloom. In six seasons we never saw any sign of them, yet on the day we +were leaving our house, closing it for the last time, I found on the +spot where they had been planted, in full bloom, a stalk of white +canterbury-bells! Had the seed germinated after all those years? Was it +the spirit of our garden, sprung up there to tell us good-by? Who can +answer? + +[Illustration] + +Our abandoned farm is no longer ours. We, too, have abandoned it. Only +the years that we spent there remain to us--a tender and beautiful +memory. Whatever there was of shadow or misfortune has long since +passed, by. I see now all our summers there bathed in mellow sunlight, +all the autumns aglow with red and gold, all the winters clean with +sparkling snow, all the springs green with breaking buds and white with +bloom. If those seasons were not flawless at the time, they have become +so, now when they are added to the past. + +And I know that they were indeed happy, for they make my heart ache +remembering, and it is happiness, and not misery, that makes the heart +ache--when it is gone. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWELLERS IN ARCADY*** + + +******* This file should be named 28027.txt or 28027.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/0/2/28027 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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