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diff --git a/31857-h/31857-h.htm b/31857-h/31857-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cca0d6d --- /dev/null +++ b/31857-h/31857-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8848 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content="HTML Tidy, see www.w3.org"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Strangers and Wayfarers, by Sarah Orne Jewett</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> + p.pg1 {text-align: center;} +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Strangers and Wayfarers, by Sarah Orne Jewett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Strangers and Wayfarers + +Author: Sarah Orne Jewett + +Release Date: April 1, 2010 [EBook #31857] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STRANGERS AND WAYFARERS *** + + + + +Produced by James Adcock. Special thanks to The Internet +Archive: American Libraries. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1 align="center">STRANGERS AND WAYFARERS</h1> +<br> +<h3 align="center">by</h3> +<br> +<h2 align="center">SARAH ORNE JEWETT</h2> +<br> +<p class="pg1"> +Boston and New York<br> +Houghton, Mifflin and Company<br> +<i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge</i><br> +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p class="pg1"> +<small>Copyright, 1890,<br> +By SARAH ORNE JEWETT.</small> +</p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><small> +All rights reserved.</small> +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><small> +The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.<br> +Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.</small> +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p class="pg1"> +<i><small>TO</small></i> +<br> +<br> +S. W. +</p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"> +<i><small>PAINTER OF NEW ENGLAND MEN AND WOMEN<br> +NEW ENGLAND FIELDS AND SHORES</small></i> +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">CONTENTS.</h2> +<br> +<hr width="25%"> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_AWinterCourtship" href= "#a_AWinterCourtship">A Winter Courtship</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_MistressSydenhamPlantation" href= "#a_MistressSydenhamPlantation">The Mistress of Sydenham Plantation</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_TheTownPoor" href= "#a_TheTownPoor">The Town Poor</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_QuestMrTeaby" href= "#a_QuestMrTeaby">The Quest of Mr. Teaby</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_TheLuckBogans" href= "#a_TheLuckBogans">The Luck of the Bogans</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_FairDay" href= "#a_FairDay">Fair Day</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_GoingShrewsbury" href= "#a_GoingShrewsbury">Going to Shrewsbury</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_TakingCaptainBall" href= "#a_TakingCaptainBall">The Taking of Captain Ball</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_ByMorningBoat" href= "#a_ByMorningBoat">By the Morning Boat</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_DarkNewEnglandDays" href= "#a_DarkNewEnglandDays">In Dark New England Days</a></p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_WhiteRoseRoad" href= "#a_WhiteRoseRoad">The White Rose Road</a></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">STRANGERS AND WAYFARERS.</h2> +<br> +<hr width="25%"> +<a name="a_AWinterCourtship"></a> +<br><br> +<h2 align="center">A WINTER COURTSHIP.</h2> +<br> +<p> +The passenger and mail transportation +between the towns of North Kilby and Sanscrit +Pond was carried on by Mr. Jefferson +Briley, whose two-seated covered wagon was +usually much too large for the demands of +business. Both the Sanscrit Pond and +North Kilby people were stayers-at-home, +and Mr. Briley often made his seven-mile +journey in entire solitude, except for the +limp leather mail-bag, which he held firmly +to the floor of the carriage with his heavily +shod left foot. The mail-bag had almost a +personality to him, born of long association. +Mr. Briley was a meek and timid-looking +body, but he held a warlike soul, and encouraged +his fancies by reading awful tales +of bloodshed and lawlessness, in the far +West. Mindful of stage robberies and train +thieves, and of express messengers who died +at their posts, he was prepared for anything; +and although he had trusted to his own +strength and bravery these many years, he +carried a heavy pistol under his front-seat +cushion for better defense. This awful +weapon was familiar to all his regular passengers, +and was usually shown to strangers +by the time two of the seven miles of Mr. +Briley's route had been passed. The pistol +was not loaded. Nobody (at least not Mr. +Briley himself) doubted that the mere sight +of such a weapon would turn the boldest adventurer +aside. +</p><p> +Protected by such a man and such a piece +of armament, one gray Friday morning in +the edge of winter, Mrs. Fanny Tobin was +traveling from Sanscrit Pond to North +Kilby. She was an elderly and feeble-looking +woman, but with a shrewd twinkle in +her eyes, and she felt very anxious about her +numerous pieces of baggage and her own +personal safety. She was enveloped in +many shawls and smaller wrappings, but +they were not securely fastened, and kept +getting undone and flying loose, so that the +bitter December cold seemed to be picking +a lock now and then, and creeping in to steal +away the little warmth she had. Mr. Briley +was cold, too, and could only cheer himself +by remembering the valor of those pony-express +drivers of the pre-railroad days, who +had to cross the Rocky Mountains on the +great California route. He spoke at length +of their perils to the suffering passenger, +who felt none the warmer, and at last gave +a groan of weariness. +</p><p> +"How fur did you say 't was now?" +</p><p> +"I do' know's I said, Mis' Tobin," answered +the driver, with a frosty laugh. +"You see them big pines, and the side of +a barn just this way, with them yellow circus +bills? That's my three-mile mark." +</p><p> +"Be we got four more to make? Oh, +my laws!" mourned Mrs. Tobin. "Urge +the beast, can't ye, Jeff'son? I ain't used +to bein' out in such bleak weather. Seems +if I couldn't git my breath. I'm all +pinched up and wigglin' with shivers now. +'T ain't no use lettin' the hoss go step-a-ty-step, +this fashion." +</p><p> +"Landy me!" exclaimed the affronted +driver. "I don't see why folks expects me +to race with the cars. Everybody that gits +in wants me to run the hoss to death on the +road. I make a good everage o' time, and +that's all I <i>can</i> do. Ef you was to go back +an' forth every day but Sabbath fur eighteen +years, <i>you'd</i> want to ease it all you +could, and let those thrash the spokes out o' +their wheels that wanted to. North Kilby, +Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; Sanscrit +Pond, Tuesdays, Thu'sdays, an' Saturdays. +Me an' the beast's done it eighteen +years together, and the creatur' warn't, so to +say, young when we begun it, nor I neither. +I re'lly didn't know's she'd hold out till +this time. There, git up, will ye, old mar'!" +as the beast of burden stopped short in the +road. +</p><p> +There was a story that Jefferson gave this +faithful creature a rest three times a mile, +and took four hours for the journey by himself, +and longer whenever he had a passenger. +But in pleasant weather the road was +delightful, and full of people who drove their +own conveyances, and liked to stop and talk. +There were not many farms, and the third +growth of white pines made a pleasant shade, +though Jefferson liked to say that when he +began to carry the mail his way lay through +an open country of stumps and sparse underbrush, +where the white pines nowadays completely +arched the road. +</p><p> +They had passed the barn with circus +posters, and felt colder than ever when they +caught sight of the weather-beaten acrobats +in their tights. +</p><p> +"My gorry!" exclaimed Widow Tobin, +"them pore creatur's looks as cheerless as +little birch-trees in snow-time. I hope they +dresses 'em warmer this time o' year. Now, +there! look at that one jumpin' through the +little hoop, will ye?" +</p><p> +"He couldn't git himself through there +with two pair o' pants on," answered Mr. +Briley. "I expect they must have to keep +limber as eels. I used to think, when I was +a boy, that 't was the only thing I could ever +be reconciled to do for a livin'. I set out to +run away an' follow a rovin' showman once, +but mother needed me to home. There +warn't nobody but me an' the little gals." +</p><p> +"You ain't the only one that's be'n disapp'inted +o' their heart's desire," said Mrs. +Tobin sadly. "'T warn't so that I could be +spared from home to learn the dressmaker's +trade." +</p><p> +"'T would a come handy later on, I declare," +answered the sympathetic driver, +"bein' 's you went an' had such a passel o' +gals to clothe an' feed. There, them that's +livin' is all well off now, but it must ha' +been some inconvenient for ye when they +was small." +</p><p> +"Yes, Mr. Briley, but then I've had my +mercies, too," said the widow somewhat +grudgingly. "I take it master hard now, +though, havin' to give up my own home and +live round from place to place, if they be +my own child'en. There was Ad'line and +Susan Ellen fussin' an' bickerin' yesterday +about who'd got to have me next; and, Lord +be thanked, they both wanted me right off +but I hated to hear 'em talkin' of it over. +I'd rather live to home, and do for myself." +</p><p> +"I've got consider'ble used to boardin'," +said Jefferson, "sence ma'am died, but it +made me ache 'long at the fust on't, I tell +ye. Bein' on the road's I be, I couldn't do +no ways at keepin' house. I should want to +keep right there and see to things." +</p><p> +"Course you would," replied Mrs. Tobin, +with a sudden inspiration of opportunity +which sent a welcome glow all over her. +"Course you would, Jeff'son,"—she leaned +toward the front seat; "that is to say, onless +you had jest the right one to do it for ye." +</p><p> +And Jefferson felt a strange glow also, +and a sense of unexpected interest and +enjoyment. +</p><p> +"See here, Sister Tobin," he exclaimed +with enthusiasm. "Why can't ye take the +trouble to shift seats, and come front here +long o' me? We could put one buff'lo top +o' the other,—they're both wearin' thin,—and set +close, and I do' know but we sh'd be +more protected ag'inst the weather." +</p><p> +"Well, I couldn't be no colder if I was +froze to death," answered the widow, with an +amiable simper. "Don't ye let me delay you, +nor put you out, Mr. Briley. I don't know's +I'd set forth to-day if I'd known't was so +cold; but I had all my bundles done up, +and I ain't one that puts my hand to the +plough an' looks back, 'cordin' to Scriptur'." +</p><p> +"You wouldn't wanted me to ride all +them seven miles alone?" asked the gallant +Briley sentimentally, as he lifted her down, +and helped her up again to the front seat. +She was a few years older than he, but they +had been schoolmates, and Mrs. Tobin's +youthful freshness was suddenly revived to +his mind's eye. She had a little farm; there +was nobody left at home now but herself, +and so she had broken up housekeeping for +the winter. Jefferson himself had savings +of no mean amount. +</p><p> +They tucked themselves in, and felt better +for the change, but there was a sudden awkwardness +between them; they had not had +time to prepare for an unexpected crisis. +</p><p> +"They say Elder Bickers, over to East +Sanscrit, 's been and got married again to a +gal that's four year younger than his oldest +daughter," proclaimed Mrs. Tobin presently. +"Seems to me 't was fool's business." +</p><p> +"I view it so," said the stage-driver. +"There's goin' to be a mild open winter for +that fam'ly." +</p><p> +"What a joker you be for a man that's +had so much responsibility!" smiled Mrs. Tobin, +after they had done laughing. "Ain't +you never 'fraid, carryin' mail matter and +such valuable stuff, that you'll be set on an' +robbed, 'specially by night?" +</p><p> +Jefferson braced his feet against the +dasher under the worn buffalo skin. "It is +kind o' scary, or would be for some folks, +but I'd like to see anybody get the better +o' me. I go armed, and I don't care who +knows it. Some o' them drover men that +comes from Canady looks as if they didn't +care what they did, but I look 'em right in +the eye every time." +</p><p> +"Men folks is brave by natur'," said the +widow admiringly. "You know how Tobin +would let his fist right out at anybody that +ondertook to sass him. Town-meetin' days, +if he got disappointed about the way things +went, he'd lay 'em out in win'rows; and ef +he hadn't been a church-member he'd been +a real fightin' character. I was always 'fraid +to have him roused, for all he was so willin' +and meechin' to home, and set round clever +as anybody. My Susan Ellen used to boss +him same's the kitten, when she was four +year old." +</p><p> +"I've got a kind of a sideways cant to +my nose, that Tobin give me when we was +to school. I don't know's you ever noticed +it," said Mr. Briley. "We was scufflin', as +lads will. I never bore him no kind of a +grudge. I pitied ye, when he was taken +away. I re'lly did, now, Fanny. I liked +Tobin first-rate, and I liked you. I used to +say you was the han'somest girl to school." +</p><p> +"Lemme see your nose. 'T is all straight, +for what I know," said the widow gently, +as with a trace of coyness she gave a hasty +glance. "I don't know but what 't is +warped a little, but nothin' to speak of. +You've got real nice features, like your +marm's folks." +</p><p> +It was becoming a sentimental occasion, +and Jefferson Briley felt that he was in for +something more than he had bargained. +He hurried the faltering sorrel horse, and +began to talk of the weather. It certainly +did look like snow, and he was tired of +bumping over the frozen road. +</p><p> +"I shouldn't wonder if I hired a hand +here another year, and went off out West +myself to see the country." +</p><p> +"Why, how you talk!" answered the +widow. +</p><p> +"Yes 'm," pursued Jefferson. "'T is +tamer here than I like, and I was tellin' 'em +yesterday I've got to know this road most +too well. I'd like to go out an' ride in the +mountains with some o' them great clipper +coaches, where the driver don't know one +minute but he'll be shot dead the next. +They carry an awful sight o' gold down +from the mines, I expect." +</p><p> +"I should be scairt to death," said Mrs. +Tobin. "What creatur's men folks be to +like such things! Well, I do declare." +</p><p> +"Yes," explained the mild little man. +"There's sights of desp'radoes makes a +han'some livin' out o' followin' them coaches, +an' stoppin' an' robbin' 'em clean to the +bone. Your money <i>or</i> your life!" and he +flourished his stub of a whip over the sorrel +mare. +</p><p> +"Landy me! you make me run all of a +cold creep. Do tell somethin' heartenin', +this cold day. I shall dream bad dreams +all night." +</p><p> +"They put on black crape over their +heads," said the driver mysteriously. "Nobody +knows who most on 'em be, and like +as not some o' them fellows come o' good +families. They've got so they stop the cars, +and go right through 'em bold as brass. I +could make your hair stand on end, Mis' +Tobin,—I could <i>so!</i>" +</p><p> +"I hope none on 'em 'll git round our +way, I'm sure," said Fanny Tobin. "I +don't want to see none on 'em in their crape +bunnits comin' after me." +</p><p> +"I ain't goin' to let nobody touch a hair +o' your head," and Mr. Briley moved a little +nearer, and tucked in the buffaloes again. +</p><p> +"I feel considerable warm to what I did," +observed the widow by way of reward. +</p><p> +"There, I used to have my fears," Mr. +Briley resumed, with an inward feeling that +he never would get to North Kilby depot a +single man. "But you see I hadn't nobody +but myself to think of. I've got cousins, +as you know, but nothin' nearer, and what +I've laid up would soon be parted out; and—well, +I suppose some folks would think o' +me if anything was to happen." +</p><p> +Mrs. Tobin was holding her cloud over +her face,—the wind was sharp on that bit +of open road,—but she gave an encouraging +sound, between a groan and a chirp. +</p><p> +"'T wouldn't be like nothin' to me not +to see you drivin' by," she said, after a +minute. "I shouldn't know the days o' +the week. I says to Susan Ellen last week +I was sure 't was Friday, and she said no, +'t was Thursday; but next minute you druv +by and headin' toward North Kilby, so we +found I was right." +</p><p> +"I've got to be a featur' of the landscape," +said Mr. Briley plaintively. "This +kind o' weather the old mare and me, we +wish we was done with it, and could settle +down kind o' comfortable. I've been lookin' +this good while, as I drove the road, and +I've picked me out a piece o' land two or +three times. But I can't abide the thought +o' buildin',—'t would plague me to death; +and both Sister Peak to North Kilby and +Mis' Deacon Ash to the Pond, they vie with +one another to do well by me, fear I'll like +the other stoppin'-place best." +</p><p> +"<i>I</i> shouldn't covet livin' long o' neither +one o' them women," responded the passenger +with some spirit. "I see some o' Mis' +Peak's cookin' to a farmers' supper once, +when I was visitin' Susan Ellen's folks, an' +I says 'Deliver me from sech pale-complected +baked beans as them!' and she give +a kind of a quack. She was settin' jest at +my left hand, and couldn't help hearin' of +me. I wouldn't have spoken if I had known, +but she needn't have let on they was hers +an' make everything unpleasant. 'I guess +them beans taste just as well as other folks',' +says she, and she wouldn't never speak to +me afterward." +</p><p> +"Do' know's I blame her," ventured Mr. +Briley. "Women folks is dreadful pudjicky +about their cookin'. I've always heard you +was one o' the best o' cooks, Mis' Tobin. +I know them doughnuts an' things you've +give me in times past, when I was drivin' +by. Wish I had some on 'em now. I never +let on, but Mis' Ash's cookin' 's the best by +a long chalk. Mis' Peak's handy about +some things, and looks after mendin' of me +up." +</p><p> +"It doos seem as if a man o' your years +and your quiet make ought to have a home +you could call your own," suggested the passenger. +"I kind of hate to think o' your +bangein' here and boardin' there, and one +old woman mendin', and the other settin' ye +down to meals that like's not don't agree +with ye." +</p><p> +"Lor', now, Mis' Tobin, le's not fuss +round no longer," said Mr. Briley impatiently. +"You know you covet me same 's +I do you." +</p><p> +"I don't nuther. Don't you go an' say +fo'lish things you can't stand to." +</p><p> +"I've been tryin' to git a chance to put +in a word with you ever sence—Well, I +expected you'd want to get your feelin's +kind o' calloused after losin' Tobin." +</p><p> +"There's nobody can fill his place," said +the widow. +</p><p> +"I do' know but I can fight for ye town-meetin' +days, on a pinch," urged Jefferson +boldly. +</p><p> +"I never see the beat o' you men fur +conceit," and Mrs. Tobin laughed. "I ain't +goin' to bother with ye, gone half the time +as you be, an' carryin' on with your Mis' +Peaks and Mis' Ashes. I dare say you've +promised yourself to both on 'em twenty +times." +</p><p> +"I hope to gracious if I ever breathed a +word to none on 'em!" protested the lover. +"'T ain't for lack o' opportunities set afore +me, nuther;" and then Mr. Briley craftily +kept silence, as if he had made a fair proposal, +and expected a definite reply. +</p><p> +The lady of his choice was, as she might +have expressed it, much beat about. As she +soberly thought, she was getting along in +years, and must put up with Jefferson all +the rest of the time. It was not likely she +would ever have the chance of choosing +again, though she was one who liked variety. +</p><p> +Jefferson wasn't much to look at, but +he was pleasant and appeared boyish and +young-feeling. "I do' know's I should do +better," she said unconsciously and half +aloud. "Well, yes, Jefferson, seein' it's you. +But we're both on us kind of old to change +our situation." Fanny Tobin gave a gentle +sigh. +</p><p> +"Hooray!" said Jefferson. "I was scairt +you meant to keep me sufferin' here a half +an hour. I declare, I'm more pleased than +I calc'lated on. An' I expected till lately +to die a single man!" +</p><p> +"'T would re'lly have been a shame; +'t ain't natur'," said Mrs. Tobin, with confidence. +"I don't see how you held out so +long with bein' solitary." +</p><p> +"I'll hire a hand to drive for me, and +we'll have a good comfortable winter, me +an' you an' the old sorrel. I've been promisin' +of her a rest this good while." +</p><p> +"Better keep her a steppin'," urged +thrifty Mrs. Fanny. "She'll stiffen up +master, an' disapp'int ye, come spring." +</p><p> +"You'll have me, now, won't ye, sartin?" +pleaded Jefferson, to make sure. "You +ain't one o' them that plays with a man's +feelin's. Say right out you'll have me." +</p><p> +"I s'pose I shall have to," said Mrs. +Tobin somewhat mournfully. "I feel for +Mis' Peak an' Mis' Ash, pore creatur's. I +expect they'll be hardshipped. They've +always been hard-worked, an' may have kind +o' looked forward to a little ease. But one +on 'em would be left lamentin', anyhow," +and she gave a girlish laugh. An air of +victory animated the frame of Mrs. Tobin. +She felt but twenty-five years of age. In +that moment she made plans for cutting her +Briley's hair, and making him look smartened-up +and ambitious. Then she wished +that she knew for certain how much money +he had in the bank; not that it would make +any difference now. "He needn't bluster +none before me," she thought gayly. "He's +harmless as a fly." +</p><p> +"Who'd have thought we'd done such a +piece of engineerin', when we started out?" +inquired the dear one of Mr. Briley's heart, +as he tenderly helped her to alight at Susan +Ellen's door. +</p><p> +"Both on us, jest the least grain," answered +the lover. "Gimme a good smack, +now, you clever creatur';" and so they +parted. Mr. Briley had been taken on the +road in spite of his pistol. +</p><p> +<a name="a_MistressSydenhamPlantation"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">THE MISTRESS OF SYDENHAM PLANTATION.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<p> +A high wind was blowing from the water +into the Beaufort streets,—a wind with as +much reckless hilarity as March could give +to her breezes, but soft and spring-like, almost +early-summer-like, in its warmth. +</p><p> +In the gardens of the old Southern houses +that stood along the bay, roses and petisporum-trees +were blooming, with their delicious +fragrance. It was the time of wistarias +and wild white lilies, of the last yellow jas-mines +and the first Cherokee roses. It was +the Saturday before Easter Sunday. +</p><p> +In the quaint churchyard of old St. +Helena's Church, a little way from the bay, +young figures were busy among the graves +with industrious gardening. At first sight, +one might have thought that this pretty +service was rendered only from loving sentiments +of loyalty to one's ancestors, for +under the great live-oaks, the sturdy brick +walls about the family burying-places and +the gravestones themselves were moss-grown +and ancient-looking; yet here and there the +wounded look of the earth appealed to the +eye, and betrayed a new-made grave. The +old sarcophagi and heavy tablets of the historic +Beaufort families stood side by side +with plain wooden crosses. The armorial +bearings and long epitaphs of the one and +the brief lettering of the other suggested the +changes that had come with the war to these +families, yet somehow the wooden cross +touched one's heart with closer sympathy. +The padlocked gates to the small inclosures +stood open, while gentle girls passed in and +out with their Easter flowers of remembrance. +On the high churchyard wall and +great gate-posts perched many a mocking-bird, +and the golden light changed the twilight +under the live-oaks to a misty warmth +of color. The birds began to sing louder; +the gray moss that hung from the heavy +boughs swayed less and less, and gave the +place a look of pensive silence. +</p><p> +In the church itself, most of the palms +and rose branches were already in place for +the next day's feast, and the old organ followed +a fresh young voice that was being +trained for the Easter anthem. The five +doors of the church were standing open. +On the steps of that eastern door which +opened midway up the side aisle, where the +morning sun had shone in upon the white +faces of a hospital in war-time,—in this +eastern doorway sat two young women. +</p><p> +"I was just thinking," one was saying to +the other, "that for the first time Mistress +Sydenham has forgotten to keep this day. +You know that when she has forgotten +everything and everybody else, she has +known when Easter came, and has brought +flowers to her graves." +</p><p> +"Has she been more feeble lately, do you +think?" asked the younger of the two. +"Mamma saw her the other day, and +thought that she seemed more like herself; +but she looked very old, too. She told +mamma to bring her dolls, and she would +give her some bits of silk to make them +gowns. Poor mamma! and she had just +been wondering how she could manage to get +us ready for summer, this year,—Célestine +and me," and the speaker smiled wistfully. +</p><p> +"It is a mercy that the dear old lady did +forget all that happened;" and the friends +brushed some last bits of leaves from their +skirts, and rose and walked away together +through the churchyard. +</p><p> +The ancient church waited through another +Easter Even, with its flowers and long +memory of prayer and praise. The great +earthquake had touched it lightly, time had +colored it softly, and the earthly bodies of +its children were gathered near its walls in +peaceful sleep. +</p><p> +From one of the high houses which stood +fronting the sea, with their airy balconies +and colonnades, had come a small, slender +figure, like some shy, dark thing of twilight +out into the bright sunshine. The street +was empty, for the most part; before one or +two of the cheap German shops a group of +men watched the little old lady step proudly +by. She was a very stately gentlewoman, for +one so small and thin; she was feeble, too, +and bending somewhat with the weight of +years, but there was true elegance and dignity +in the way she moved, and those who +saw her—persons who shuffled when they +walked, and boasted loudly of the fallen +pride of the South—were struck with sudden +deference and admiration. Behind the +lady walked a gray-headed negro, a man +who was troubled in spirit, who sometimes +gained a step or two, and offered an anxious +but quite unheeded remonstrance. He +was a poor, tottering old fellow; he wore a +threadbare evening coat that might have belonged +to his late master thirty years before. +</p><p> +The pair went slowly along the bay street +to the end of a row of new shops, and the +lady turned decidedly toward the water, and +approached the ferry-steps. Her servitor +groaned aloud, but waited in respectful helplessness. +There was a group of negro children +on the steps, employed in the dangerous +business of crab-fishing; at the foot, +in his flat-bottomed boat, sat a wondering +negro lad, who looked up in apprehension +at his passengers. The lady seemed like a +ghost. Old Peter,—with whose scorn of +modern beings and their ways he was partially +familiar,—old Peter was making frantic +signs to him to put out from shore. But +the lady's calm desire for obedience prevailed, +and presently, out of the knot of +idlers that gathered quickly, one, more chivalrous +than the rest, helped the strange +adventurers down into the boat. It was the +fashion to laugh and joke, in Beaufort, when +anything unusual was happening before the +eyes of the younger part of the colored population; +but as the ferryman pushed off from +shore, even the crab-fishers kept awe-struck +silence, and there were speechless, open +mouths and much questioning of eyes that +showed their whites in vain. Somehow or +other, before the boat was out of hail, long +before it had passed the first bank of raccoon +oysters, the tide being at the ebb, it was +known by fifty people that for the first time +in more than twenty years the mistress of +the old Sydenham plantation on St. Helena's +Island had taken it into her poor daft head +to go to look after her estates, her crops, and +her people. Everybody knew that her estates +had been confiscated during the war; +that her people owned it themselves now, in +three and five and even twenty acre lots; +that her crops of rice and Sea Island cotton +were theirs, planted and hoed and harvested +on their own account. All these years she +had forgotten Sydenham, and the live-oak avenue, +and the outlook across the water to the +Hunting Islands, where the deer ran wild; +she had forgotten the war; she had forgotten +her children and her husband, except that +they had gone away,—the graves to which +she carried Easter flowers were her mother's +and her father's graves,—and her life was +spent in a strange dream. +</p><p> +Old Peter sat facing her in the boat; the +ferryman pulled lustily at his oars, and they +moved quickly along in the ebbing tide. +The ferryman longed to get his freight +safely across; he was in a fret of discomfort +whenever he looked at the clear-cut, eager +face before him in the stern. How still and +straight the old mistress sat! Where was +she going? He was awed by her presence, +and took refuge, as he rowed, in needless +talk about the coming of the sandflies and +the great drum-fish to Beaufort waters. But +Peter had clasped his hands together and +bowed his old back, as if he did not dare to +look anywhere but at the bottom of the boat. +Peter was still groaning softly; the old lady +was looking back over the water to the row +of fine houses, the once luxurious summer +homes of Rhetts and Barnwells, of many a +famous household now scattered and impoverished. +The ferryman had heard of more +one than bereft lady or gentleman who lived +in seclusion in the old houses. He knew that +Peter still served a mysterious mistress with +exact devotion, while most of the elderly +colored men and women who had formed the +retinues of the old families were following +their own affairs, far and wide. +</p><p> +"Oh, Lord, ole mis'! what kin I go to +do?" mumbled Peter, with his head in his +hands. "Thar'll be nothin' to see. Po' +ole mis', I do' kno' what you say. Trouble, +trouble!" +</p><p> +But the mistress of Sydenham plantation +had a way of speaking but seldom, and of +rarely listening to what any one was pleased +to say in return. Out of the mistiness of +her clouded brain a thought had come with +unwonted clearness. She must go to the +island: her husband and sons were detained +at a distance; it was the time of year to look +after corn and cotton; she must attend to +her house and her slaves. The remembrance +of that news of battle and of the three deaths +that had left her widowed and childless had +faded away in the illness it had brought. +She never comprehended her loss; she was +like one bewitched into indifference; she +remembered something of her youth, and +kept a simple routine of daily life, and that +was all. +</p><p> +"I t'ought she done fo'git ebryt'ing," +groaned Peter again. "O Lord, hab mercy +on ole mis'!" +</p><p> +The landing-place on Ladies' Island was +steep and sandy, and the oarsman watched +Peter help the strange passenger up the +ascent with a sense of blessed relief. He +pushed off a little way into the stream, for +better self-defense. At the top of the bluff +was a rough shed, built for shelter, and +Peter looked about him eagerly, while his +mistress stood, expectant and imperious, in +the shade of a pride of India tree, that grew +among the live-oaks and pines of a wild +thicket. He was wretched with a sense of +her discomfort, though she gave no sign of +it. He had learned to know by instinct all +that was unspoken. In the old times she +would have found four oarsmen waiting with +a cushioned boat at the ferry; she would +have found a saddle-horse or a carriage +ready for her on Ladies' Island for the five +miles' journey, but the carriage had not come. +The poor gray-headed old man recognized +her displeasure. He was her only slave left, +if she did but know it. +</p><p> +"Fo' Gord's sake, git me some kin' of a +cart. Ole mis', she done wake up and mean +to go out to Syd'n'am dis day," urged Peter. +"Who dis hoss an' kyart in de shed? Who +make dese track wid huffs jus' now, like dey +done ride by? Yo' go git somebody fo' me, +or she be right mad, shore." +</p><p> +The elderly guardian of the shed, who was +also of the old <i>régime</i>, hobbled away quickly, +and backed out a steer that was broken to +harness, and a rickety two-wheeled cart. +Their owner had left them there for some +hours, and had crossed the ferry to Beaufort. +Old mistress must be obeyed, and they +looked toward her beseechingly where she +was waiting, deprecating her disapproval of +this poor apology for a conveyance. The +lady long since had ceased to concern herself +with the outward shapes of things; she +accepted this possibility of carrying out her +plans, and they lifted her light figure to the +chair, in the cart's end, while Peter mounted +before her with all a coachman's dignity,—he +once had his ambitions of being her +coachman,—and they moved slowly away +through the deep sand. +</p><p> +"My Gord A'mighty, look out fo' us +now," said Peter over and over. "Ole mis', +she done fo'git, good Lord, she done fo'git +how de Good Marsa up dere done took f'om +her ebryt'ing; she 'spect now she find Syd'n'am +all de same like's it was 'fo' de war. +She ain't know 'bout what's been sence day +of de gun-shoot on Port Royal and dar-away. +O Lord A'mighty, yo' know how yo' stove +her po' head wid dem gun-shoot; be easy to +ole mis'." +</p><p> +But as Peter pleaded in the love and +sorrow of his heart, the lady who sat behind +him was unconscious of any cause for grief. +Some sweet vagaries in her own mind were +matched to the loveliness of the day. All +her childhood, spent among the rustic scenes +of these fertile Sea Islands, was yielding for +her now an undefined pleasantness of association. +The straight-stemmed palmettos +stood out with picturesque clearness against +the great level fields, with their straight +furrows running out of sight. Figures of +men and women followed the furrow paths +slowly; here were men and horses bending +to the ploughshare, and there women and +children sowed with steady hand the rich +seed of their crops. There were touches of +color in the head kerchiefs; there were +sounds of songs as the people worked,—not +gay songs of the evening, but some repeated +line of a hymn, to steady the patient feet +and make the work go faster,—the unconscious +music of the blacks, who sing as the +beetle drones or the cricket chirps slowly under +the dry grass. It had a look of permanence, +this cotton-planting. It was a thing +to paint, to relate itself to the permanence +of art, an everlasting duty of mankind; +terrible if a thing of force, and compulsion +and for another's gain, but the birthright of +the children of Adam, and not unrewarded +nor unnatural when one drew by it one's +own life from the earth. +</p><p> +Peter glanced through the hedge-rows +furtively, this way and that. What would +his mistress say to the cabins that were +scattered all about the fields now, and that +were no longer put together in the long lines +of the quarters? He looked down a deserted +lane, where he well remembered fifty cabins +on each side of the way. It was gay there +of a summer evening; the old times had +not been without their pleasures, and the +poor old man's heart leaped with the vague +delight of his memories. He had never +been on the block; he was born and bred at +old Sydenham; he had been trusted in +house and field. +</p><p> +"I done like dem ole times de best," +ventures Peter, presently, to his unresponding +companion. "Dere was good 'bout dem +times. I say I like de ole times good as +any. Young folks may be a change f'om me." +</p><p> +He was growing gray in the face with +apprehension; he did not dare to disobey. +</p><p> +The slow-footed beast of burden was carrying +them toward Sydenham step by step, +and he dreaded the moment of arrival. He +was like a mesmerized creature, who can +only obey the force of a directing will; but +under pretense of handling the steer's harness, +he got stiffly to the ground to look at +his mistress. He could not turn to face her, +as he sat in the cart; he could not drive any +longer and feel her there behind him. The +silence was too great. It was a relief to see +her placid face, and to see even a more +youthful look in its worn lines. She had +been a very beautiful woman in her young +days. And a solemn awe fell upon Peter's +tender heart, lest the veil might be lifting +from her hidden past, and there, alone with +him on the old plantation, she would die of +grief and pain. God only knew what might +happen! The old man mounted to his seat, +and again they plodded on. +</p><p> +"Peter," said the mistress,—he was always +frightened when she spoke,—"Peter, +we must hurry. I was late in starting. I +have a great deal to do. Urge the horses." +</p><p> +"Yas, mis',—yas, mis'," and Peter +laughed aloud nervously, and brandished +his sassafras switch, while the steer hastened +a little. They had come almost to the +gates. +</p><p> +"Who are these?" the stately wayfarer +asked once, as they met some persons who +gazed at them in astonishment. +</p><p> +"I 'spect dem de good ladies f'om de +Norf, what come down to show de cullud +folks how to do readin'," answered Peter +bravely. "It do look kind o' comfo'ble +over here," he added wistfully, half to himself. +He could not understand even now +how oblivious she was of the great changes +on St. Helena's. +</p><p> +There were curious eyes watching from +the fields, and here by the roadside an aged +black woman came to her cabin door. +</p><p> +"Lord!" exclaimed Peter, "what kin I +do now? An' ole Sibyl, she's done crazy +too, and dey'll be mischievous together." +</p><p> +The steer could not be hurried past, and +Sibyl came and leaned against the wheel. +"Mornin', mistis," said Sibyl, "an' yo' too, +Peter. How's all? Day ob judgment's +comin' in mornin'! Some nice buttermilk? +I done git rich; t'at's my cow," and she +pointed to the field and chuckled. Peter +felt as if his brain were turning. "Bless +de Lord, I no more slave," said old Sibyl, +looking up with impudent scrutiny at her +old mistress's impassive face. "Yo' know +Mars' Middleton, what yo' buy me f'om? +He my foster-brother; we push away from +same breast. He got trouble, po' gen'elman; +he sorry to sell Sibyl; he give me silver +dollar dat day, an' feel bad. 'Neber +min', I say. I get good mistis, young mistis +at Sydenham. I like her well, I did so. +I pick my two hunderd poun' all days, an' I +ain't whipped. Too bad sold me, po' Mars' +Middleton, but he in trouble. He done +come see me last plantin'," Sibyl went on +proudly. "Oh, Gord, he grown ole and +poor-lookin'. He come in, just in dat do', +an' he say, 'Sibyl, I long an' long to see +you, an' now I see you;' an' he kiss an' kiss +me. An' dere's one wide ribber o' Jordan, +an' we'll soon be dere, black an' white. I +was right glad I see ole Mars' Middleton +'fore I die." +</p><p> +The old creature poured forth the one +story of her great joy and pride; she had +told it a thousand times. It had happened, +not the last planting, but many plantings +ago. It remained clear when everything +else was confused. There was no knowing +what she might say next. She began to +take the strange steps of a slow dance, and +Peter urged his steer forward, while his +mistress said suddenly, "Good-by, Sibyl. I +am glad you are doing so well," with a +strange irrelevancy of graciousness. It was +in the old days before the war that Sibyl +had fallen insensible, one day, in the cotton-field. +Did her mistress think that it was +still that year, and—Peter's mind could +not puzzle out this awful day of anxiety. +</p><p> +They turned at last into the live-oak avenue,—they +had only another half mile to +go; and here, in the place where the lady +had closest association, her memory was suddenly +revived almost to clearness. She began +to hurry Peter impatiently; it was a +mischance that she had not been met at the +ferry. She was going to see to putting the +house in order, and the women were all +waiting. It was autumn, and they were going +to move over from Beaufort; it was +spring next moment, and she had to talk +with her overseers. The old imperiousness +flashed out. Did not Peter know that his +master was kept at the front, and the young +gentlemen were with him, and their regiment +was going into action? It was a +blessing to come over and forget it all, but +Peter must drive, drive. They had taken +no care of the avenue; how the trees were +broken in the storm! The house needed—They +were going to move the next day but +one, and nothing was ready. A party of +gentlemen were coming from Charleston in +the morning!— +</p><p> +They passed the turn of the avenue; +they came out to the open lawn, and the +steer stopped and began to browse. Peter +shook from head to foot. He climbed down +by the wheel, and turned his face slowly. +"Ole mis'!" he said feebly. "<i>Ole mis'!</i>" +</p><p> +She was looking off into space. The cart +jerked as it moved after the feeding steer. +The mistress of Sydenham plantation had +sought her home in vain. The crumbled, +fallen chimneys of the house were there +among the weeds, and that was all. +</p> +<br><br> +<p> +On Christmas Day and Easter Day, +many an old man and woman come into St. +Helena's Church who are not seen there the +rest of the year. There are not a few recluses +in the parish, who come to listen to +their teacher and to the familiar prayers, +read with touching earnestness and simplicity, +as one seldom hears the prayers +read anywhere. This Easter morning +dawned clear and bright, as Easter morning +should. The fresh-bloomed roses and lilies +were put in their places. There was no +touch of paid hands anywhere, and the fragrance +blew softly about the church. As +you sat in your pew, you could look out +through the wide-opened doors, and see the +drooping branches, and the birds as they sat +singing on the gravestones. The sad faces +of the old people, the cheerful faces of the +young, passed by up the aisle. One figure +came to sit alone in one of the pews, to +bend its head in prayer after the ancient +habit. Peter led her, as usual, to the broad-aisle +doorway, and helped her, stumbling +himself, up the steps, and many eyes filled +with tears as his mistress went to her place. +Even the tragic moment of yesterday was +lost already in the acquiescence of her mind, +as the calm sea shines back to the morning +sun when another wreck has gone down. +</p> +<a name="a_TheTownPoor"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">THE TOWN POOR.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<p> +Mrs. William Trimble and Miss Rebecca +Wright were driving along Hampden +east road, one afternoon in early spring. +Their progress was slow. Mrs. Trimble's +sorrel horse was old and stiff, and the wheels +were clogged by day mud. The frost was +not yet out of the ground, although the snow +was nearly gone, except in a few places on +the north side of the woods, or where it had +drifted all winter against a length of fence. +</p><p> +"There must be a good deal o' snow to +the nor'ard of us yet," said weather-wise +Mrs. Trimble. "I feel it in the air; 't is +more than the ground-damp. We ain't +goin' to have real nice weather till the up-country +snow's all gone." +</p><p> +"I heard say yesterday that there was +good sleddin' yet, all up through Parsley," +responded Miss Wright. "I shouldn't like +to live in them northern places. My cousin +Ellen's husband was a Parsley man, an' he +was obliged, as you may have heard, to go +up north to his father's second wife's funeral; +got back day before yesterday. 'T was +about twenty-one miles, an' they started on +wheels; but when they'd gone nine or ten +miles, they found 't was no sort o' use, an' +left their wagon an' took a sleigh. The +man that owned it charged 'em four an' six, +too. I shouldn't have thought he would; +they told him they was goin' to a funeral; +an' they had their own buffaloes an' everything." +</p><p> +</p><p> +"Well, I expect it's a good deal harder +scratching up that way; they have to git +money where they can; the farms is very +poor as you go north," suggested Mrs. +Trimble kindly. "'T ain't none too rich a +country where we be, but I've always been +grateful I wa'n't born up to Parsley." +</p><p> +The old horse plodded along, and the sun, +coming out from the heavy spring clouds, +sent a sudden shine of light along the muddy +road. Sister Wright drew her large veil +forward over the high brim of her bonnet. +She was not used to driving, or to being +much in the open air; but Mrs. Trimble +was an active business woman, and looked +after her own affairs herself, in all weathers. +The late Mr. Trimble had left her a good +farm, but not much ready money, and it was +often said that she was better off in the end +than if he had lived. She regretted his loss +deeply, however; it was impossible for her +to speak of him, even to intimate friends, +without emotion, and nobody had ever +hinted that this emotion was insincere. She +was most warm-hearted and generous, and +in her limited way played the part of Lady +Bountiful in the town of Hampden. +</p><p> +"Why, there's where the Bray girls +lives, ain't it?" she exclaimed, as, beyond +a thicket of witch-hazel and scrub-oak, they +came in sight of a weather-beaten, solitary +farmhouse. The barn was too far away for +thrift or comfort, and they could see long +lines of light between the shrunken boards +as they came nearer. The fields looked both +stony and sodden. Somehow, even Parsley +itself could be hardly more forlorn. +</p><p> +"Yes'm," said Miss Wright, "that's +where they live now, poor things. I know +the place, though I ain't been up here for +years. You don't suppose, Mis' Trimble—I +ain't seen the girls out to meetin' all winter. +I've re'lly been covetin'"— +</p><p> +"Why, yes, Rebecca, of course we could +stop," answered Mrs. Trimble heartily. +"The exercises was over earlier 'n I expected, +an' you're goin' to remain over +night long o' me, you know. There won't +be no tea till we git there, so we can't be +late. I'm in the habit o' sendin' a basket +to the Bray girls when any o' our folks is +comin' this way, but I ain't been to see 'em +since they moved up here. Why, it must +be a good deal over a year ago. I know +'t was in the late winter they had to make the +move. 'T was cruel hard, I must say, an' if +I hadn't been down with my pleurisy fever +I'd have stirred round an' done somethin' +about it. There was a good deal o' sickness +at the time, an'—well, 't was kind o' rushed +through, breakin' of 'em up, an' lots o' folks +blamed the selec'<i>men</i>; but when't was done, +'t was done, an' nobody took holt to undo +it. Ann an' Mandy looked same's ever +when they come to meetin', 'long in the summer,—kind +o' wishful, perhaps. They've +always sent me word they was gittin' on +pretty comfortable." +</p><p> +"That would be their way," said Rebecca +Wright. "They never was any hand to +complain, though Mandy's less cheerful +than Ann. If Mandy 'd been spared such +poor eyesight, an' Ann hadn't got her lame +wrist that wa'n't set right, they'd kep' off +the town fast enough. They both shed tears +when they talked to me about havin' to +break up, when I went to see 'em before I +went over to brother Asa's. You see we +was brought up neighbors, an' we went to +school together, the Brays an' me. 'T was +a special Providence brought us home this +road, I've been so covetin' a chance to git +to see 'em. My lameness hampers me." +</p><p> +"I'm glad we come this way, myself," +said Mrs. Trimble. +</p><p> +"I'd like to see just how they fare," Miss +Rebecca Wright continued. "They give +their consent to goin' on the town because +they knew they'd got to be dependent, an' +so they felt 't would come easier for all than +for a few to help 'em. They acted real dignified +an' right-minded, contrary to what +most do in such cases, but they was dreadful +anxious to see who would bid 'em off, town-meeting +day; they did so hope 't would be +somebody right in the village. I just sat +down an' cried good when I found Abel +Janes's folks had got hold of 'em. They +always had the name of bein' slack an' poor-spirited, +an' they did it just for what they +got out o' the town. The selectmen this +last year ain't what we have had. I hope +they've been considerate about the Bray +girls." +</p><p> +"I should have be'n more considerate +about fetchin' of you over," apologized Mrs. +Trimble. "I've got my horse, an' you 're +lame-footed; 't is too far for you to come. +But time does slip away with busy folks, an' +I forgit a good deal I ought to remember." +</p><p> +"There's nobody more considerate than +you be," protested Miss Rebecca Wright. +</p><p> +Mrs. Trimble made no answer, but took +out her whip and gently touched the sorrel +horse, who walked considerably faster, but +did not think it worth while to trot. It was +a long, round-about way to the house, farther +down the road and up a lane. +</p><p> +"I never had any opinion of the Bray +girls' father, leavin' 'em as he did," said +Mrs. Trimble. +</p><p> +"He was much praised in his time, though +there was always some said his early life +hadn't been up to the mark," explained +her companion. "He was a great favorite +of our then preacher, the Reverend Daniel +Longbrother. They did a good deal for +the parish, but they did it their own way. +Deacon Bray was one that did his part +in the repairs without urging. You know +'t was in his time the first repairs was made, +when they got out the old soundin'-board an' +them handsome square pews. It cost an +awful sight o' money, too. They hadn't +done payin' up that debt when they set to +alter it again an' git the walls frescoed. +My grandmother was one that always spoke +her mind right out, an' she was dreadful +opposed to breakin' up the square pews +where she'd always set. They was countin' +up what 't would cost in parish meetin', an' +she riz right up an' said 't wouldn't cost +nothin' to let 'em stay, an' there wa'n't a +house carpenter left in the parish that could +do such nice work, an' time would come +when the great-grandchildren would give +their eye-teeth to have the old meetin'-house +look just as it did then. But haul the inside +to pieces they would and did." +</p><p> +"There come to be a real fight over it, +didn't there?" agreed Mrs. Trimble soothingly. +"Well, 't wa'n't good taste. I remember +the old house well. I come here +as a child to visit a cousin o' mother's, an' +Mr. Trimble's folks was neighbors, an' we +was drawed to each other then, young's we +was. Mr. Trimble spoke of it many's the +time,—that first time he ever see me, in a +leghorn hat with a feather; 't was one that +mother had, an' pressed over." +</p><p> +"When I think of them old sermons that +used to be preached in that old meetin'-house +of all, I'm glad it's altered over, so's not +to remind folks," said Miss Rebecca Wright, +after a suitable pause. "Them old brimstone +discourses, you know, Mis' Trimble. +Preachers is far more reasonable, nowadays. +Why, I set an' thought, last Sabbath, as +I listened, that if old Mr. Longbrother an' +Deacon Bray could hear the difference they 'd +crack the ground over 'em like pole beans, an' +come right up 'long side their headstones." +</p><p> +Mrs. Trimble laughed heartily, and shook +the reins three or four times by way of emphasis. +"There's no gitting round you," +she said, much pleased. "I should think +Deacon Bray would want to rise, any way, +if 't was so he could, an' knew how his poor +girls was farin'. A man ought to provide +for his folks he's got to leave behind him, +specially if they're women. To be sure, +they had their little home; but we've seen +how, with all their industrious ways, they +hadn't means to keep it. I s'pose he +thought he'd got time enough to lay by, +when he give so generous in collections; +but he didn't lay by, an' there they be. +He might have took lessons from the +squirrels: even them little wild creator's +makes them their winter hoards, an' men-folks +ought to know enough if squirrels +does. 'Be just before you are generous:' +that's what was always set for the B's in +the copy-books, when I was to school, and it +often runs through my mind." +</p><p> +"'As for man, his days are as grass,'—that +was for A; the two go well together," +added Miss Rebecca Wright soberly. "My +good gracious, ain't this a starved-lookin' +place? It makes me ache to think them +nice Bray girls has to brook it here." +</p><p> +The sorrel horse, though somewhat puzzled +by an unexpected deviation from his homeward +way, willingly came to a stand by the +gnawed corner of the door-yard fence, which +evidently served as hitching-place. Two or +three ragged old hens were picking about +the yard, and at last a face appeared at the +kitchen window, tied up in a handkerchief, +as if it were a case of toothache. By the +time our friends reached the side door next +this window, Mrs. Janes came disconsolately +to open it for them, shutting it again +as soon as possible, though the air felt more +chilly inside the house. +</p><p> +"Take seats," said Mrs. Janes briefly. +"You'll have to see me just as I be. I +have been suffering these four days with the +ague, and everything to do. Mr. Janes is +to court, on the jury. 'T was inconvenient +to spare him. I should be pleased to have +you lay off your things." +</p><p> +Comfortable Mrs. Trimble looked about +the cheerless kitchen, and could not think +of anything to say; so she smiled blandly +and shook her head in answer to the invitation. +"We'll just set a few minutes +with you, to pass the time o' day, an' then +we must go in an' have a word with the +Miss Brays, bein' old acquaintance. It +ain't been so we could git to call on 'em before. +I don't know's you're acquainted +with Miss R'becca Wright. She's been out +of town a good deal." +</p><p> +"I heard she was stopping over to Plainfields +with her brother's folks," replied Mrs. +Janes, rocking herself with irregular motion, +as she sat close to the stove. "Got back +some time in the fall, I believe?" +</p><p> +"Yes'm," said Miss Rebecca, with an +undue sense of guilt and conviction. +"We've been to the installation over to the +East Parish, an' thought we'd stop in; we +took this road home to see if 't was any +better. How is the Miss Brays gettin' on?" +</p><p> +"They're well's common," answered +Mrs. Janes grudgingly. "I was put out +with Mr. Janes for fetchin' of 'em here, +with all I've got to do, an' I own I was +kind o' surly to 'em 'long to the first of it. +He gits the money from the town, an' it +helps him out; but he bid 'em off for five +dollars a month, an' we can't do much for +'em at no such price as that. I went an' +dealt with the selec'men, an' made 'em +promise to find their firewood an' some other +things extra. They was glad to get rid o' +the matter the fourth time I went, an' +would ha' promised 'most anything. But +Mr. Janes don't keep me half the time in +oven-wood, he's off so much, an' we was +cramped o' room, any way. I have to store +things up garrit a good deal, an' that keeps +me trampin' right through their room. I +do the best for 'em I can, Mis' Trimble, +but 't ain't so easy for me as 't is for you, +with all your means to do with." +</p><p> +The poor woman looked pinched and miserable +herself, though it was evident that +she had no gift at house or home keeping. +Mrs. Trimble's heart was wrung with pain, +as she thought of the unwelcome inmates of +such a place; but she held her peace bravely, +while Miss Rebecca again gave some brief +information in regard to the installation. +</p><p> +"You go right up them back stairs," the +hostess directed at last. "I'm glad some +o' you church folks has seen fit to come an' +visit 'em. There ain't been nobody here +this long spell, an' they've aged a sight +since they come. They always send down a +taste out of your baskets, Mis' Trimble, an' +I relish it, I tell you. I'll shut the door +after you, if you don't object. I feel every +draught o' cold air." +</p><p> +"I've always heard she was a great hand +to make a poor mouth. Wa'n't she from +somewheres up Parsley way?" whispered +Miss Rebecca, as they stumbled in the half-light. +</p><p> +</p><p> +"Poor meechin' body, wherever she come +from," replied Mrs. Trimble, as she knocked +at the door. +</p><p> +There was silence for a moment after +this unusual sound; then one of the Bray +sisters opened the door. The eager guests +stared into a small, low room, brown with +age, and gray, too, as if former dust and +cobwebs could not be made wholly to disappear. +The two elderly women who stood +there looked like captives. Their withered +faces wore a look of apprehension, and the +room itself was more bare and plain than +was fitting to their evident refinement of +character and self-respect. There was an +uncovered small table in the middle of the +floor, with some crackers on a plate; and, +for some reason or other, this added a great +deal to the general desolation. +</p><p> +But Miss Ann Bray, the elder sister, who +carried her right arm in a sling, with piteously +drooping fingers, gazed at the visitors +with radiant joy. She had not seen them +arrive. +</p><p> +The one window gave only the view at +the back of the house, across the fields, and +their coming was indeed a surprise. The +next minute she was laughing and crying +together. "Oh, sister!" she said, "if here +ain't our dear Mis' Trimble!—an' my +heart o' goodness, 't is 'Becca Wright, too! +What dear good creatur's you be! I've +felt all day as if something good was goin' +to happen, an' was just sayin' to myself +'t was most sundown now, but I wouldn't +let on to Mandany I'd give up hope quite +yet. You see, the scissors stuck in the +floor this very mornin' an' it's always a reliable +sign. There, I've got to kiss ye both +again!" +</p><p> +"I don't know where we can all set," +lamented sister Mandana. "There ain't but +the one chair an' the bed; t' other chair's +too rickety; an' we've been promised another +these ten days; but first they've forgot +it, an' next Mis' Janes can't spare it,—one +excuse an' another. I am goin' to git +a stump o' wood an' nail a board on to it, +when I can git outdoor again," said Mandana, +in a plaintive voice. "There, I ain't +goin' to complain o' nothin', now you've +come," she added; and the guests sat down, +Mrs. Trimble, as was proper, in the one +chair. +</p><p> +"We've sat on the bed many's the time +with you, 'Beeca, an' talked over our girl +nonsense, ain't we? You know where 't was—in +the little back bedroom we had when +we was girls, an' used to peek out at our +beaux through the strings o' mornin'-glories," +laughed Ann Bray delightedly, her +thin face shining more and more with +joy. "I brought some o' them mornin'-glory +seeds along when we come away, we'd +raised 'em so many years; an' we got 'em +started all right, but the hens found 'em +out. I declare I chased them poor hens, +foolish as 't was; but the mornin'-glories +I'd counted on a sight to remind me o' home. +You see, our debts was so large, after my +long sickness an' all, that we didn't feel +'t was right to keep back anything we could +help from the auction." +</p><p> +It was impossible for any one to speak +for a moment or two; the sisters felt their +own uprooted condition afresh, and their +guests for the first time really comprehended +the piteous contrast between that +neat little village house, which now seemed +a palace of comfort, and this cold, unpainted +upper room in the remote Janes farmhouse. +It was an unwelcome thought to Mrs. Trimble +that the well-to-do town of Hampden +could provide no better for its poor than +this, and her round face flushed with resentment +and the shame of personal responsibility. +"The girls shall be well settled in +the village before another winter, if I pay +their board myself," she made an inward +resolution, and took another almost tearful +look at the broken stove, the miserable bed, +and the sisters' one hair-covered trunk, on +which Mandana was sitting. But the poor +place was filled with a golden spirit of hospitality. +</p><p> +Rebecca was again discoursing eloquently +of the installation; it was so much easier +to speak of general subjects, and the sisters +had evidently been longing to hear some +news. Since the late summer they had not +been to church, and presently Mrs. Trimble +asked the reason. +</p><p> +"Now, don't you go to pouring out our +woes, Mandy!" begged little old Ann, looking +shy and almost girlish, and as if she +insisted upon playing that life was still +all before them and all pleasure. "Don't +you go to spoilin' their visit with our complaints! +They know well's we do that +changes must come, an' we'd been so +wonted to our home things that this come +hard at first; but then they felt for us, I +know just as well's can be. 'T will soon be +summer again, an' 't is real pleasant right +out in the fields here, when there ain't too +hot a spell. I've got to know a sight o' +singin' birds since we come." +</p><p> +"Give me the folks I've always known," +sighed the younger sister, who looked older +than Miss Ann, and less even-tempered. +"You may have your birds, if you want 'em. +I do re'lly long to go to meetin' an' see folks +go by up the aisle. Now, I will speak of it, +Ann, whatever you say. We need, each of +us, a pair o' good stout shoes an' rubbers,—ours +are all wore out; an' we've asked an' +asked, an' they never think to bring 'em, +an'"— +</p><p> +Poor old Mandana, on the trunk, covered +her face with her arms and sobbed aloud. +The elder sister stood over her, and patted +her on the thin shoulder like a child, +and tried to comfort her. It crossed Mrs. +Trimble's mind that it was not the first time +one had wept and the other had comforted. +The sad scene must have been repeated +many times in that long, drear winter. +She would see them forever after in her +mind as fixed as a picture, and her own +tears fell fast. +</p><p> +"You didn't see Mis' Janes's cunning +little boy, the next one to the baby, did +you?" asked Ann Bray, turning round +quickly at last, and going cheerfully on +with the conversation. "Now, hush, Mandy, +dear; they'll think you're childish! +He's a dear, friendly little creatur', an' +likes to stay with us a good deal, though we +feel's if it 't was too cold for him, now we +are waitin' to get us more wood." +</p><p> +"When I think of the acres o' woodland +in this town!" groaned Rebecca Wright. +"I believe I'm goin' to preach next Sunday, +'stead o' the minister, an' I'll make +the sparks fly. I've always heard the saying, +'What's everybody's business is nobody's +business,' an' I've come to believe +it." +</p><p> +"Now, don't you, 'Becca. You've happened +on a kind of a poor time with us, but +we've got more belongings than you see +here, an' a good large cluset, where we can +store those things there ain't room to have +about. You an' Miss Trimble have happened +on a kind of poor day, you know. +Soon's I git me some stout shoes an' rubbers, +as Mandy says, I can fetch home +plenty o' little dry boughs o' pine; you remember +I was always a great hand to roam in +the woods? If we could only have a front +room, so 't we could look out on the road an' +see passin', an' was shod for meetin', I don' +know's we should complain. Now we're just +goin' to give you what we've got, an' make +out with a good welcome. We make more +tea 'n we want in the mornin', an' then let +the fire go down, since 't has been so mild. +We've got a <i>good</i> cluset" (disappearing +as she spoke), "an' I know this to be good +tea, 'cause it's some o' yourn, Mis' Trimble. +An' here's our sprigged chiny cups that +R'becca knows by sight, if Mis' Trimble +don't. We kep' out four of 'em, an' put +the even half dozen with the rest of the auction +stuff. I've often wondered who 'd got +'em, but I never asked, for fear 't would be +somebody that would distress us. They was +mother's, you know." +</p><p> +The four cups were poured, and the little +table pushed to the bed, where Rebecca +Wright still sat, and Mandana, wiping her +eyes, came and joined her. Mrs. Trimble +sat in her chair at the end, and Ann trotted +about the room in pleased content for a while, +and in and out of the closet, as if she still +had much to do; then she came and stood +opposite Mrs. Trimble. She was very short +and small, and there was no painful sense +of her being obliged to stand. The four cups +were not quite full of cold tea, but there was +a clean old tablecloth folded double, and a +plate with three pairs of crackers neatly +piled, and a small—it must be owned, a +very small—piece of hard white cheese. +Then, for a treat, in a glass dish, there was +a little preserved peach, the last—Miss Rebecca +knew it instinctively—of the household +stores brought from their old home. It +was very sugary, this bit of peach; and as +she helped her guests and sister Mandy, +Miss Ann Bray said, half unconsciously, as +she often had said with less reason in the +old days, "Our preserves ain't so good as +usual this year; this is beginning to candy." +Both the guests protested, while Rebecca +added that the taste of it carried her back, +and made her feel young again. The Brays +had always managed to keep one or two +peach-trees alive in their corner of a garden. +"I've been keeping this preserve for a +treat," said her friend. "I'm glad to have +you eat some, 'Becca. Last summer I often +wished you was home an' could come an' see +us, 'stead o' being away off to Plainfields." +</p><p> +The crackers did not taste too dry. Miss +Ann took the last of the peach on her own +cracker; there could not have been quite a +small spoonful, after the others were helped, +but she asked them first if they would not +have some more. Then there was a silence, +and in the silence a wave of tender feeling +rose high in the hearts of the four elderly +women. At this moment the setting sun +flooded the poor plain room with light; the +unpainted wood was all of a golden-brown, +and Ann Bray, with her gray hair and +aged face, stood at the head of the table in a +kind of aureole. Mrs. Trimble's face was all +aquiver as she looked at her; she thought of +the text about two or three being gathered +together, and was half afraid. +</p><p> +"I believe we ought to 've asked Mis' +Janes if she wouldn't come up," said Ann. +"She's real good feelin', but she's had it +very hard, an' gits discouraged. I can't find +that she's ever had anything real pleasant +to look back to, as we have. There, next +time we'll make a good heartenin' time for +her too." +</p> +<br> +<hr width="25%"> +<br><br> +<p> +The sorrel horse had taken a long nap by +the gnawed fence-rail, and the cool air after +sundown made him impatient to be gone. +The two friends jolted homeward in the +gathering darkness, through the stiffening +mud, and neither Mrs. Trimble nor Rebecca +Wright said a word until they were out of +sight as well as out of sound of the Janes +house. Time must elapse before they could +reach a more familiar part of the road and +resume conversation on its natural level. +</p><p> +"I consider myself to blame," insisted +Mrs. Trimble at last. "I haven't no words +of accusation for nobody else, an' I ain't +one to take comfort in calling names to the +board o' selec'<i>men</i>. I make no reproaches, +an' I take it all on my own shoulders; but +I'm goin' to stir about me, I tell you! I +shall begin early to-morrow. They're goin' +back to their own house,—it's been stand-in' +empty all winter,—an' the town's goin' +to give 'em the rent an' what firewood they +need; it won't come to more than the board's +payin' out now. An' you an' me 'll take this +same horse an' wagon, an' ride an' go afoot +by turns, an' git means enough together to +buy back their furniture an' whatever was +sold at that plaguey auction; an' then we'll +put it all back, an' tell 'em they've got to +move to a new place, an' just carry 'em right +back again where they come from. An' +don't you never tell, R'becca, but here I be +a widow woman, layin' up what I make from +my farm for nobody knows who, an' I'm +goin' to do for them Bray girls all I'm a +mind to. I should be sca't to wake up in +heaven, an' hear anybody there ask how the +Bray girls was. Don't talk to me about the +town o' Hampden, an' don't ever let me hear +the name o' town poor! I'm ashamed to go +home an' see what's set out for supper. I +wish I'd brought 'em right along." +</p><p> +"I was goin' to ask if we couldn't git the +new doctor to go up an' do somethin' for +poor Ann's arm," said Miss Rebecca. "They +say he's very smart. If she could get so's +to braid straw or hook rugs again, she'd +soon be earnin' a little somethin'. An' may +be he could do somethin' for Mandy's eyes. +They did use to live so neat an' ladylike. +Somehow I couldn't speak to tell 'em there +that 't was I bought them six best cups an' +saucers, time of the auction; they went very +low, as everything else did, an' I thought I +could save it some other way. They shall +have 'em back an' welcome. You're real +whole-hearted, Mis' Trimble. I expect +Ann 'll be sayin' that her father's child'n +wa'n't goin' to be left desolate, an' that all +the bread he cast on the water's comin' back +through you." +</p><p> +"I don't care what she says, dear creatur'!" +exclaimed Mrs. Trimble. "I'm full +o' regrets I took time for that installation, +an' set there seepin' in a lot o' talk this whole +day long, except for its kind of bringin' us +to the Bray girls. I wish to my heart 't was +to-morrow mornin' a'ready, an' I a-startin' +for the selec'<i>men</i>." +</p> +<a name="a_QuestMrTeaby"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">THE QUEST OF MR. TEABY.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<p> +The trees were bare on meadow and hill, +and all about the country one saw the warm +brown of lately fallen leaves. There was +still a cheerful bravery of green in sheltered +places,—a fine, live green that flattered +the eye with its look of permanence; the +first three quarters of the year seemed to +have worked out their slow processes to +make this perfect late-autumn day. In such +weather I found even the East Wilby railroad +station attractive, and waiting three +hours for a slow train became a pleasure; +the delight of idleness and even booklessness +cannot be properly described. +</p><p> +The interior of the station was bleak and +gravelly, but it would have been possible to +find fault with any interior on such an out-of-doors +day; and after the station-master +had locked his ticket-office door and tried +the handle twice, with a comprehensive look +at me, he went slowly away up the road to +spend some leisure time with his family. +He had ceased to take any interest in the +traveling public, and answered my questions +as briefly as possible. After he had +gone some distance he turned to look back, +but finding that I still sat on the baggage +truck in the sunshine, just where he left me, +he smothered his natural apprehensions, and +went on. +</p><p> +One might spend a good half hour in watching +crows as they go southward resolutely +through the clear sky, and then waver and +come straggling back as if they had forgotten +something; one might think over all +one's immediate affairs, and learn to know +the outward aspect of such a place as East +Wilby as if born and brought up there. +But after a while I lost interest in both past +and future; there was too much landscape +before me at the moment, and a lack of figures. +The weather was not to be enjoyed +merely as an end, yet there was no temptation +to explore the up-hill road on the left, or the +level fields on the right; I sat still on my +baggage truck and waited for something to +happen. Sometimes one is so happy that +there is nothing left to wish for but to be +happier, and just as the remembrance of +this truth illuminated my mind, I saw two +persons approaching from opposite directions. +The first to arrive was a pleasant-looking +elderly countrywoman, well wrapped +in a worn winter cloak with a thick plaid +shawl over it, and a white worsted cloud tied +over her bonnet. She carried a well-preserved +bandbox,—the outlines were perfect +under its checked gingham cover,—and had +a large bundle beside, securely rolled in a +newspaper. From her dress I felt sure that +she had made a mistake in dates, and expected +winter to set in at once. Her face +was crimson with undue warmth, and what +appeared in the end to have been unnecessary +haste. She did not take any notice +of the elderly man who reached the platform +a minute later, until they were near enough +to take each other by the hand and exchange +most cordial greetings. +</p><p> +"Well, this is a treat!" said the man, +who was a small and shivery-looking person. +He carried a great umbrella and a thin, +enameled-cloth valise, and wore an ancient +little silk hat and a nearly new greenish +linen duster, as if it were yet summer. "I +was full o' thinkin' o' you day before yisterday; +strange, wa'n't it?" he announced +impressively, in a plaintive voice. "I was +sayin' to myself, if there was one livin' bein' +I coveted to encounter over East Wilby +way, 't was you, Sister Pinkham." +</p><p> +"Warm to-day, ain't it?" responded Sister +Pinkham. "How's your health, Mr. +Teaby? I guess I'd better set right down +here on the aidge of the platform; sha'n't +we git more air than if we went inside the +depot? It's necessary to git my breath before +I rise the hill." +</p><p> +"You can't seem to account for them +foresights," continued Mr. Teaby, putting +down his tall, thin valise and letting the +empty top of it fold over. Then he stood +his umbrella against the end of my baggage +truck, without a glance at me. I was glad +that they were not finding me in their way. +"Well, if this ain't very sing'lar, I never +saw nothin' that was," repeated the little +man. "Nobody can set forth to explain +why the thought of you should have been so +borne in upon me day before yisterday, your +livin' countenance an' all, an' here we be today +settin' side o' one another. I've come +to rely on them foresights; they've been of +consider'ble use in my business, too." +</p><p> +"Trade good as common this fall?" inquired +Sister Pinkham languidly. "You +don't carry such a thing as a good palm-leaf +fan amon'st your stuff, I expect? It does +appear to me as if I hadn't been more het +up any day this year." +</p><p> +"I should ha' had the observation to offer +it before," said Mr. Teaby, with pride. +"Yes, Sister Pinkham, I've got an excellent +fan right here, an' you shall have it." +</p><p> +He reached for his bag; I heard a clink, +as if there were bottles within. Presently +his companion began to fan herself with that +steady sway and lop of the palm-leaf which +one sees only in country churches in midsummer +weather. Mr. Teaby edged away +a little, as if he feared such a steady trade-wind. +</p><p> +</p><p> +"We might ha' picked out a shadier spot, +on your account," he suggested. "Can't +you unpin your shawl?" +</p><p> +"Not while I'm so het," answered Sister +Pinkham coldly. "Is there anything new +recommended for rheumatic complaints?" +</p><p> +"They're gittin' up new compounds right +straight along, and sends sights o' printed +bills urgin' of me to buy 'em. I don't beseech +none o' my customers to take them +strange nostrums that I ain't able to recommend." +</p><p> +"Some is new cotches made o' the good +old stand-bys, I expect," said Sister Pink-ham, +and there was a comfortable silence +of some minutes. +</p><p> +"I'm kind of surprised to meet with you +to-day, when all's said an' done; it kind +of started me when I see 't was you, after +dwellin' on you so day before yisterday," +insisted Mr. Teaby; and this time Sister +Pinkham took heed of the interesting coincidence. +</p><p> +</p><p> +"Thinkin' o' me, was you?" and she +stopped the fan a moment, and turned to +look at him with interest. +</p><p> +"I was so. Well, I never see nobody +that kep' her looks as you do, and be'n a +sufferer too, as one may express it." +</p><p> +Sister Pinkham sighed heavily, and began +to ply the fan again. "You was sayin' +just now that you found them foresight notions +work into your business." +</p><p> +"Yes'm; I saved a valu'ble life this last +spring. I was puttin' up my vials to start +out over Briggsville way, an' 't was impressed +upon me that I'd better carry a portion +o' opodildack. I was loaded up heavy, +had all I could lug of spring goods; salts +an' seny, and them big-bottle spring bitters +o' mine that folks counts on regular. I +couldn't git the opodildack out o' my mind +noway, and I didn't want it for nothin' nor +nobody, but I had to remove a needed vial +o' some kind of essence to give it place. +When I was goin' down the lane t'wards +Abel Dean's house, his women folks come +flyin' out. 'Child's a-dyin' in here,' says +they; 'tumbled down the sullar stairs.' +They was like crazy creatur's; I give 'em +the vial right there in the lane, an' they +run in an' I followed 'em. Last time I was +there the child was a-playin' out; looked +rugged and hearty. They've never forgot +it an' never will," said Mr. Teaby impressively, +with a pensive look toward the horizon. +"Want me to stop over night with +'em any time, or come an' take the hoss, or +anything. Mis' Dean, she buys four times +the essences an' stuff she wants; kind o' +gratified, you see, an' didn't want to lose +the child, I expect, though she's got a number +o' others. If it hadn't be'n for its +bein' so impressed on my mind, I should +have omitted that opodildack. I deem it a +winter remedy, chiefly." +</p><p> +"Perhaps the young one would ha' come +to without none; they do survive right +through everything, an' then again they seem +to be taken away right in their tracks." +Sister Pinkham grew more talkative as she cooled. "Heard any news as you come +along?" +</p><p> +"Some," vaguely responded Mr. Teaby. +"Folks ginerally relates anythin' that's occurred +since they see me before. I ain't no +great hand for news, an' never was." +</p><p> +"Pity 'bout <i>you</i>, Uncle Teaby! There, +anybody don't like to have deaths occur an' +them things, and be unawares of 'em, an' +the last to know when folks calls in." Sister +Pinkham laughed at first, but said her +say with spirit. +</p><p> +"Certain, certain, we ought all of us to +show an interest. I did hear it reported +that Elder Fry calculates to give up preachin' +an' go into the creamery business another +spring. You know he's had means +left him, and his throat's kind o' give out; +trouble with the pipes. I called it brown +caters, an' explained nigh as I could without +hurtin' of his pride that he'd bawled more 'n +any pipes could stand. I git so wore out +settin' under him that I feel to go an' lay +right out in the woods arterwards, where +it's still. 'T won't never do for him to deal +so with callin' of his cows; they'd be so +aggravated 't would be more 'n any butter +business could bear." +</p><p> +"You hadn't ought to speak so light now; +he's a very feelin' man towards any one +in trouble," Sister Pinkham rebuked the +speaker. "I set consider'ble by Elder Fry. +You sort o' divert yourself dallying round +the country with your essences and remedies, +an' you ain't never sagged down with no settled +grievance, as most do. Think o' what +the Elder's be'n through, a-losin' o' three +good wives. I'm one o' them that ain't +found life come none too easy, an' Elder +Fry's preachin' stayed my mind consider'ble." +</p><p> +"I s'pose you're right, if you think you +be," acknowledged the little man humbly. +"I can't say as I esteem myself so fortunate +as most. I 'in a lonesome creatur', an' +always was; you know I be. I did expect +somebody 'd engage my affections before +this." +</p><p> +"There, plenty 'd be glad to have ye." +</p><p> +"I expect they would, but I don't seem +to be drawed to none on 'em," replied Mr. +Teaby, with a mournful shake of his head. +"I've spoke pretty decided to quite a number +in my time, take 'em all together, but it +always appeared best not to follow it up; +an' so when I'd come their way again I'd +laugh it off or somethin', in case 't was referred +to. I see one now an' then that I +kind o' fancy, but 't ain't the real thing." +</p><p> +"You mustn't expect to pick out a handsome +gal, at your age," insisted Sister Pinkham, +in a business-like way. "Time's past +for all that, an' you've got the name of a +rover. I've heard some say that you was +rich, but that ain't every thin'. You must +take who you can git, and look you up a +good home; I would. If you was to be +taken down with any settled complaint, +you'd be distressed to be without a place o' +your own, an' I'm glad to have this chance +to tell ye so. Plenty o' folks is glad to take +you in for a short spell, an' you've had an +excellent chance to look the ground over +well. I tell you you're beginnin' to git +along in years." +</p><p> +"I know I be," said Mr. Teaby. "I +can't travel now as I used to. I have to favor +my left leg. I do' know but I be spoilt +for settlin' down. This business I never +meant to follow stiddy, in the fust place; +'t was a means to an end, as one may say." +</p><p> +"Folks would miss ye, but you could +take a good long trip, say spring an' fall, +an' live quiet the rest of the year. What +if they do git out o' essence o' lemon an' +pep'mint! There's sufficient to the stores; +'t ain't as 't used to be when you begun." +</p><p> +"There's Ann Maria Hart, my oldest +sister's daughter. I kind of call it home +with her by spells and when the travelin' 's +bad." +</p><p> +"Good King Agrippy! if that's the best +you can do, I feel for you," exclaimed the +energetic adviser. "She's a harmless creatur' +and seems to keep ploddin, but slack +ain't no description, an' runs on talkin' +about nothin' till it strikes right in an' +numbs ye. She's pressed for house room, +too. Hart ought to put on an addition long +ago, but he's too stingy to live. Folks was +tellin' me that somebody observed to him how +he'd got a real good, stiddy man to work +with him this summer. 'He's called a +very pious man, too, great hand in meetin's, +Mr. Hart,' says they; an' says he, 'I'd have +you rec'lect he's a-prayin' out o' my time!' +Said it hasty, too, as if he meant it." +</p><p> +"Well, I can put up with Hart; he's +near, but he uses me well, an' I try to do +the same by him. I don't bange on 'em; I +pay my way, an' I feel as if everything was +temp'rary. I did plan to go way over North +Dexter way, where I've never be'n, an' see +if there wa'n't somebody, but the weather +ain't be'n settled as I could wish. I'm always +expectin' to find her, I be so,"—at +which I observed Sister Pinkham's frame +shake. +</p><p> +I felt a slight reproach of conscience at +listening so intently to these entirely private +affairs, and at this point reluctantly left my +place and walked along the platform, to remind +Sister Pinkham and confiding Mr. +Teaby of my neighborhood. They gave no +sign that there was any objection to the +presence of a stranger, and so I came back +gladly to the baggage truck, and we all kept +silence for a little while. A fine flavor of +extracts was wafted from the valise to where +I sat. I pictured to myself the solitary and +hopeful wanderings of Mr. Teaby. There +was an air about him of some distinction; +he might have been a decayed member of +the medical profession. I observed that his +hands were unhardened by any sort of rural +work, and he sat there a meek and appealing +figure, with his antique hat and linen +duster, beside the well-wadded round shoulders +of friendly Sister Pinkham. The expression +of their backs was most interesting. +</p><p> +"You might express it that I've got quite +a number o' good homes; I've got me sorted +out a few regular places where I mostly +stop," Mr. Teaby explained presently. "I +like to visit with the old folks an' speak o' +the past together; an' the boys an' gals, +they always have some kind o' fun goin' on +when I git along. They always have to git +me out to the barn an' tell me, if they're +a-courtin', and I fetch an' carry for 'em in +that case, an' help out all I can. I've made +peace when they got into some o' their misunderstanding, +an' them times they set a +good deal by Uncle Teaby; but they ain't +all got along as well as they expected, and +that's be'n one thing that's made me desirous +not to git fooled myself. But I do' +know as folks would be reconciled to my +settlin' down in one place. I've gathered a +good many extry receipts for things, an' folks +all calls me somethin' of a doctor; you know +my grand'ther was one, on my mother's +side." +</p><p> +"Well, you've had my counsel for what +'t is wuth," said the woman, not unkindly. +"Trouble is, you want better bread than's +made o' wheat." +</p><p> +"I'm 'most ashamed to ask ye again if +'t would be any use to lay the matter before +Hannah Jane Pinkham?" This was spoken +lower, but I could hear the gentle suggestion. +</p><p> +"I'm obleeged to <i>you</i>" said the lady of +Mr. Teaby's choice, "but I ain't the right +one. Don't you go to settin' your mind on +me: 't ain't wuth while. I'm older than +you be, an' apt to break down with my +rheumatic complaints. You don't want nobody +on your hands. I'd git a younger +woman, I would so." +</p><p> +"I've be'n a-lookin' for the right one a +sight o' years, Hannah Jane. I've had a +kind o' notion I should know her right off +when I fust see her, but I'm afeared it +ain't goin' to be that way. I've seen a +sight o' nice, smart women, but when the +thought o' you was so impressed on my mind +day before yisterday"— +</p><p> +"I'm sorry to disobleege you, but if I +have anybody, I'm kind o' half promised +to Elder Fry," announced Sister Pinkham +bravely. "I consider it more on the off side +than I did at first. If he'd continued preachin' +I'd favor it more, but I dread havin' to +'tend to a growin' butter business an' to +sense them new machines. 'T ain't as if he'd +'stablished it. I've just begun to have +things easy; but there, I feel as if I had a +lot o' work left in me, an' I don't know's +'t is right to let it go to waste. I expect +the Elder would preach some, by spells, an' +we could ride about an' see folks; an' he'd +always be called to funerals, an' have some +variety one way an' another. I urge him +not to quit preachin'." +</p><p> +"I'd rather he ondertook 'most anythin' +else," said Mr. Teaby, rising and trying to +find the buttons of his linen duster. +</p><p> +I could see a bitter shade of jealousy +cloud his amiable face; but Sister Pinkham +looked up at him and laughed. "Set down, +set down," she said. "We ain't in no great +hurry;" and Uncle Teaby relented, and lingered. +"I'm all out o' rose-water for the +eyes," she told him, "an' if you've got a +vial o' lemon left that you'll part with reasonable, +I do' know but I'll take that. I'd +rather have caught you when you was outward +bound; your bag looks kind o' slim." +</p><p> +"Everythin' 's fresh-made just before I +started, 'cept the ginger, an' that I buy, but +it's called the best there is." +</p><p> +The two sat down and drove a succession +of sharp bargains, but finally parted the best +of friends. Mr. Teaby kindly recognized +my presence from a business point of view, +and offered me a choice of his wares at reasonable +prices. I asked about a delightful +jumping-jack which made its appearance, +and wished very much to become the owner, +for it was curiously whittled out and fitted +together by Mr. Teaby's own hands. He +exhibited the toy to Sister Pinkham and me, +to our great pleasure, but scorned to sell such +a trifle, it being worth nothing; and beside, +he had made it for a little girl who lived two +miles farther along the road he was following. +I could see that she was a favorite of +the old man's, and said no more about the +matter, but provided myself, as recommended, +with an ample package of court-plaster, +"in case of accident before I got to +where I was going," and a small bottle of +smelling-salts, described as reviving to the +faculties. +</p><p> +Then we watched Mr. Teaby plod away, +a quaint figure, with his large valise nearly +touching the ground as it hung slack from +his right hand. The greenish-brown duster +looked bleak and unseasonable as a cloud +went over the sun; it appeared to symbolize +the youthful and spring-like hopes of the +wearer, decking the autumn days of life. +</p><p> +"Poor creatur'!" said Sister Pinkham. +"There, he doos need somebody to look after +him." +</p><p> +She turned to me frankly, and I asked +how far he was going. +</p><p> +"Oh, he'll put up at that little gal's +house an' git his dinner, and give her the +jumpin'-jack an' trade a little; an' then he'll +work along the road, callin' from place to +place. He's got a good deal o' system, an' +was a smart boy, so that folks expected he +was goin' to make a doctor, but he kind o' +petered out. He's long-winded an' harpin', +an' some folks prays him by if they can; +but there, most likes him, an' there's nobody +would be more missed. He don't make +no trouble for 'em; he'll take right holt an' +help, and there ain't nobody more gentle +with the sick. Always has some o' his nonsense +over to me." +</p><p> +This was added with sudden consciousness +that I must have heard the recent conversation, +but we only smiled at each other, and +good Sister Pinkham did not seem displeased. +We both turned to look again at the small +figure of Mr. Teaby, as he went away, with +his queer, tripping gait, along the level road. +</p><p> +"Pretty day, if 't wa'n't quite so warm," +said Sister Pinkham, as she rose and reached +for her bandbox and bundle, to resume her +own journey. "There, if here ain't Uncle +Teaby's umbrilla! He forgits everything +that belongs to him but that old valise. +Folks wouldn't know him if he left that. +You may as well just hand it to Asa Briggs, +the depot-master, when he gits back. Like's +not the old gentleman 'll think to call for it +as he comes back along. Here's his fan, too, +but he won't be likely to want that this +winter." +</p><p> +She looked at the large umbrella; there +was a great deal of good material in it, but +it was considerably out of repair. +</p><p> +"I don't know but I'll stop an' mend it +up for him, poor old creatur'," she said +slowly, with an apologetic look at me. Then +she sat down again, pulled a large rolled-up +needlebook from her deep and accessible +pocket, and sewed busily for some time with +strong stitches. +</p><p> +I sat by and watched her, and was glad to +be of use in chasing her large spool of linen +thread, which repeatedly rolled away along +the platform. Sister Pinkham's affectionate +thoughts were evidently following her old +friend. +</p><p> +"I've a great mind to walk back with the +umbrilla; he may need it, an' 't ain't a great +ways," she said to me, and then looked up +quickly, blushing like a girl. I wished she +would, for my part, but it did not seem best +for a stranger to give advice in such serious +business. "I'll tell you what I will do," +she told me innocently, a moment afterwards. +"I'll take the umbrilla along with +me, and leave word with Asa Briggs I've +got it. I go right by his house, so you +needn't charge your mind nothin' about it." +</p><p> +By the time she had taken off her gold-bowed +spectacles and put them carefully +away and was ready to make another start, +she had learned where I came from and +where I was going and what my name was, +all this being but poor return for what I +had gleaned of the history of herself and +Mr. Teaby. I watched Sister Pinkham +until she disappeared, umbrella in hand, over +the crest of a hill far along the road to the +eastward. +</p> +<a name="a_TheLuckBogans"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">THE LUCK OF THE BOGANS.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">I.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +The old beggar women of Bantry streets +had seldom showered their blessings upon +a departing group of emigrants with such +hearty good will as they did upon Mike Bogan +and his little household one May morning. +</p><p> +Peggy Muldoon, she of the game leg and +green-patched eye and limber tongue, +steadied herself well back against the battered +wall at the street corner and gave her +whole energy to a torrent of speech unusual +to even her noble powers. She would not +let Mike Bogan go to America unsaluted +and unblessed; she meant to do full honor +to this second cousin, once removed, on the +mother's side. +</p><p> +"Yirra, Mike Bogan, is it yerself thin, +goyn away beyant the says?" she began +with true dramatic fervor. "Let poor owld +Peg take her last look on your laughing face +me darlin'. She'll be under the ground +this time next year, God give her grace, and +you far away lavin' to strange spades the +worruk of hapin' the sods of her grave. +Give me one last look at me darlin' lad wid +his swate Biddy an' the shild. Oh that I +live to see this day!" +</p><p> +Peg's companions, old Marget Dunn and +Biddy O'Hern and no-legged Tom Whinn, +the fragment of a once active sailor who +propelled himself by a low truckle cart and +two short sticks; these interesting members +of society heard the shrill note of their +leader's eloquence and suddenly appeared +like beetles out of unsuspected crevices near +by. The side car, upon which Mike Bogan +and his wife and child were riding from +their little farm outside the town to the +place of departure, was stopped at the side +of the narrow street. A lank yellow-haired +lad, with eyes red from weeping sat swinging +his long legs from the car side, another +car followed, heavily laden with Mike's sister's +family, and a mourning yet envious +group of acquaintances footed it in the rear. +It was an excited, picturesque little procession; +the town was quickly aware of its presence, +and windows went up from house to +house, and heads came out of the second +and third stories and even in the top attics +all along the street. The air was thick with +blessings, the quiet of Bantry was permanently +broken. +</p><p> +"Lard bliss us and save us!" cried Peggy, +her shrill voice piercing the chatter and +triumphantly lifting itself in audible relief +above the din,—"Lard bliss us an' save +us for the flower o' Bantry is lavin' us this +day. Break my heart wid yer goyn will ye +Micky Bogan and make it black night to +the one eye that's left in me gray head this +fine mornin' o' spring. I that hushed the +mother of you and the father of you babies +in me arms, and that was a wake old woman +followin' and crapin' to see yerself christened. +Oh may the saints be good to you +Micky Bogan and Biddy Flaherty the wife, +and forgive you the sin an' shame of turning +yer proud backs on ould Ireland. +Ain't there pigs and praties enough for ye +in poor Bantry town that her crabbedest +childer must lave her. Oh wisha wisha, I'll +see your face no more, may the luck o' the +Bogans follow you, that failed none o' the +Bogans yet. May the sun shine upon you +and grow two heads of cabbage in the same +sprout, may the little b'y live long and get +him a good wife, and if she ain't good to +him may she die from him. May every +hair on both your heads turn into a blessed +candle to light your ways to heaven, but not +yit me darlin's—not yit!" +</p><p> +The jaunting car had been surrounded by +this time and Mike and his wife were shaking +hands and trying to respond impartially to +the friendly farewells and blessings of their +friends. There never had been such a +leave-taking in Bantry. Peggy Muldoon +felt that her eloquence was in danger of being +ignored and made a final shrill appeal. +"Who'll bury me now?" she screamed +with a long wail which silenced the whole +group; "who'll lay me in the grave, Micky +bein' gone from me that always gave me the +kind word and the pinny or trippence ivery +market day, and the wife of him Biddy +Flaherty the rose of Glengariff; many's the +fine meal she's put before old Peggy Muldoon +that is old and blind." +</p><p> +"Awh, give the ould sowl a pinny now," +said a sympathetic voice, "'t will bring you +luck, more power to you." And Mike Bogan, +the tears streaming down his honest +cheeks, plunged deep into his pocket and +threw the old beggar a broad five-shilling +piece. It was a monstrous fortune to +Peggy. Her one eye glared with joy, the +jaunting car moved away while she fell flat +on the ground in apparent excess of emotion. +The farewells were louder for a minute—then +they were stopped; the excitable +neighborhood returned to its business +or idleness and the street was still. Peggy +rose rubbing an elbow, and said with the +air of a queen to her retinue, "Coom away +now poor crathurs, so we'll drink long life +to him." And Marget Dunn and Biddy +O'Hern and no-legged Tom Whinn with +his truckle cart disappeared into an alley. +</p><p> +"What's all this whillalu?" asked a sober-looking, +clerical gentleman who came +riding by. +</p><p> +"'T is the Bogans going to Ameriky, yer +reverence," responded Jim Kalehan, the +shoemaker, from his low window. "The +folks gived them their wake whilst they +were here to enjoy it and them was the +keeners that was goin' hippety with lame +legs and fine joy down the convanient alley +for beer, God bless the poor souls!" +</p><p> +Mike Bogan and Biddy his wife looked +behind them again and again. Mike +blessed himself fervently as he caught a +last glimpse of the old church on the hill +where he was christened and married, +where his father and his grandfather had +been christened and married and buried. +He remembered the day when he had first +seen his wife, who was there from Glengariff +to stay with her old aunt, and coming +to early mass, had looked to him like a +strange sweet flower abloom on the gray +stone pavement where she knelt. The old +church had long stood on the steep height +at the head of Bantry street and watched +and waited for her children. He would +never again come in from his little farm in +the early morning—he never again would +be one of the Bantry men. The golden +stories of life in America turned to paltry +tinsel, and a love and pride of the old country, +never forgotten by her sons and daughters, +burned with fierce flame on the inmost +altar of his heart. It had all been very +easy to dream fine dreams of wealth and +landownership, but in that moment the +least of the pink daisies that were just +opening on the roadside was dearer to the +simple-hearted emigrant than all the world +beside. +</p><p> +"Lave me down for a bit of sod," he +commanded the wondering young driver, +who would have liked above all things to sail +for the new world. The square of turf from +the hedge foot, sparkling with dew and green +with shamrock and gay with tiny flowers, +was carefully wrapped in Mike's best Sunday +handkerchief as they went their way. +Biddy had covered her head with her shawl—it +was she who had made the plan of +going to America, it was she who was eager +to join some successful members of her +family who had always complained at home +of their unjust rent and the difficulties of +the crops. Everybody said that the times +were going to be harder than ever that summer, +and she was quick to catch at the inflammable +speeches of some lawless townsfolk +who were never satisfied with anything. +As for Mike, the times always seemed alike, +he did not grudge hard work and he never +found fault with the good Irish weather. +His nature was not resentful, he only +laughed when Biddy assured him that the +gorse would soon grow in the thatch of his +head as it did on their cabin chimney. It +was only when she said that, in America +they could make a gentleman of baby Dan, +that the father's blue eyes glistened and a +look of determination came into his face. +</p><p> +"God grant we'll come back to it some +day," said Mike softly. "I didn't know, +faix indeed, how sorry I'd be for lavin' the +owld place. Awh Biddy girl 't is many the +weary day we'll think of the home we've +left," and Biddy removed the shawl one instant +from her face only to cover it again +and burst into a new shower of tears. The +next day but one they were sailing away +out of Queenstown harbor to the high seas. +Old Ireland was blurring its green and purple +coasts moment by moment; Kinsale +lay low, and they had lost sight of the +white cabins on the hillsides and the pastures +golden with furze. Hours before the +old women on the wharves had turned +away from them shaking their great cap +borders. Hours before their own feet had +trodden the soil of Ireland for the last time. +Mike Bogan and Biddy had left home, they +were well on their way to America. Luckily +nobody had been with them at last to +say good-by—they had taken a more or +less active part in the piteous general leave-taking +at Queenstown, but those were not +the faces of their own mothers or brothers +to which they looked back as the ship slid +away through the green water. +</p><p> +"Well, sure, we're gone now," said Mike +setting his face westward and tramping the +steerage deck. "I like the say too, I belave, +me own grandfather was a sailor, an' +'t is a fine life for a man. Here's little Dan +goin' to Ameriky and niver mistrustin'. +We'll be sindin' the gossoon back again, +rich and fine, to the owld place by and by, +'tis thrue for us, Biddy." +</p><p> +But Biddy, like many another woman, +had set great changes in motion and then +longed to escape from their consequences. +She was much discomposed by the ship's +unsteadiness. She accused patient Mike of +having dragged her away from home and +friends. She grew very white in the face, +and was helped to her hard steerage berth +where she had plenty of time for reflection +upon the vicissitudes of seafaring. As for +Mike, he grew more and more enthusiastic +day by day over their prospects as he sat +in the shelter of the bulkhead and tended +little Dan and talked with his companions +as they sailed westward. +</p><p> +Who of us have made enough kindly allowance +for the homesick quick-witted ambitious +Irish men and women, who have +landed every year with such high hopes on +our shores. There are some of a worse sort, +of whom their native country might think +itself well rid—but what thrifty New England +housekeeper who takes into her home +one of the pleasant-faced little captive maids, +from Southern Ireland, has half understood +the change of surroundings. That was a +life in the open air under falling showers +and warm sunshine, a life of wit and humor, +of lavishness and lack of provision for more +than the passing day—of constant companionship +with one's neighbors, and a +cheerful serenity and lack of nervous anticipation +born of the vicinity of the Gulf +Stream. The climate makes the characteristics +of Cork and Kerry; the fierce energy +of the Celtic race in America is forced and +stimulated by our own keen air. The +beauty of Ireland is little hinted at by an +average orderly New England town—many +a young girl and many a blundering sturdy +fellow is heartsick with the homesickness +and restraint of his first year in this golden +country of hard work. To so many of them +a house has been but a shelter for the night—a +sleeping-place: if you remember that, +you do not wonder at fumbling fingers or +impatience with our houses full of trinkets. +Our needless tangle of furnishing bewilders +those who still think the flowers that grow +of themselves in the Irish thatch more beautiful +than anything under the cover of our +prosaic shingled roofs. +</p><p> +"Faix, a fellow on deck was telling me a +nate story the day," said Mike to Biddy Bogan, +by way of kindly amusement. "Says +he to me, 'Mike,' says he, 'did ye ever hear +of wan Pathrick O'Brien that heard some +bla'guard tell how in Ameriky you picked +up money in the streets?' 'No,' says I. +'He wint ashore in a place,' says he, 'and +he walked along and he come to a sign on +a wall. Silver Street was on it. "I 'ont +stap here," says he, "it ain't wort my while +at all, at all. I'll go on to Gold Street," +says he, but he walked ever since and he +ain't got there yet.'" +</p><p> +Biddy opened her eyes and laughed feebly. +Mike looked so bronzed and ruddy +and above all so happy, that she took heart. +"We're sound and young, thanks be to +God, and we'll earn an honest living," said +Mike, proudly. "'T is the childher I'm +thinkin' of all the time, an' how they'll get +a chance the best of us niver had at home. +God bless old Bantry forever in spite of it. +An' there's a smart rid-headed man that has +every bother to me why 'ont I go with him +and keep a tidy bar. He's been in the +same business this four year gone since he +come out, and twenty pince in his pocket +when he landed, and this year he took a +month off and went over to see the ould +folks and build 'em a dacint house intirely, +and hire a man to farm wid 'em now the +old ones is old. He says will I put in my +money wid him, an he'll give me a great +start I wouldn't have in three years else." +</p><p> +"Did you have the fool's head on you +then and let out to him what manes you +had?" whispered Biddy, fiercely and lifting +herself to look at him. +</p><p> +"I did then; 't was no harm," answered +the unsuspecting Mike. +</p><p> +"'T was a black-hearted rascal won the +truth from you!" and Biddy roused her +waning forces and that very afternoon appeared +on deck. The red-headed man knew +that he had lost the day when he caught her +first scornful glance. +</p><p> +"God pity the old folks of him an' their +house," muttered the sharp-witted wife to +Mike, as she looked at the low-lived scheming +fellow whom she suspected of treachery. +</p><p> +"He said thim was old clothes he was +wearin' on the sea," apologized Mike for his +friend, looking down somewhat consciously +at his own comfortable corduroys. He and +Biddy had been well to do on their little farm, +and on good terms with their landlord the +old squire. Poor old gentleman, it had been +a sorrow to him to let the young people go. +He was a generous, kindly old man, but he +suffered from the evil repute of some shortsighted +neighbors. "If I gave up all I had +in the world and went to the almshouse myself, +they would still damn me for a landlord," +he said, desperately one day. "But I +never thought Mike Bogan would throw up +his good chances. I suppose some worthless +fellow called him stick-in-the-mud and off he +must go." +</p><p> +There was some unhappiness at first for +the young people in America. They went +about the streets of their chosen town for a +day or two, heavy-hearted with disappointment. +Their old neighbors were not housed +in palaces after all, as the letters home had +suggested, and after a few evenings of visiting +and giving of messages, and a few days +of aimless straying about, Mike and Biddy +hired two rooms at a large rent up three +flights of stairs, and went to housekeeping. +Litte Dan rolled down one flight the first +day; no more tumbling on the green turf +among the daisies for him, poor baby boy. +His father got work at the forge of a carriage +shop, having served a few months with +a smith at home, and so taking rank almost +as a skilled laborer. He was a great favorite +speedily, his pay was good, at least it would +have been good if he had lived on the old +place among the fields, but he and Biddy did +not know how to make the most of it here, +and Dan had a baby sister presently to keep +him company, and then another and another, +and there they lived up-stairs in the heat, in +the cold, in daisy time and snow time, and +Dan was put to school and came home with +a knowledge of sums in arithmetic which set +his father's eyes dancing with delight, but +with a knowledge besides of foul language +and a brutal way of treating his little sisters +when nobody was looking on. +</p><p> +Mike Bogan was young and strong when +he came to America, and his good red blood +lasted well, but it was against his nature to +work in a hot half-lighted shop, and in a +very few years he began to look pale about +the mouth and shaky in the shoulders, and +then the enthusiastic promises of the red-headed +man on the ship, borne out, we must +allow, by Mike's own observation, inclined +him and his hard earned capital to the purchase +of a tidy looking drinking shop on a +side street of the town. The owner had died +and his widow wished to go West to live with +her son. She knew the Bogans and was a +respectable soul in her way. She and her +husband had kept a quiet place, everybody +acknowledged, and everybody was thankful +that since drinking shops must be kept, so +decent a man as Mike Bogan was taking up +the business. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">II.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +The luck of the Bogans proved to be +holding true in this generation. Their proverbial +good fortune seemed to come rather +from an absence of bad fortune than any +special distinction granted the generation or +two before Mike's time. The good fellow +sometimes reminded himself gratefully of +Peggy Muldoon's blessing, and once sent her +a pound to keep Christmas upon. If he had +only known it, that unworthy woman bestowed +curses enough upon him because he +did not repeat it the next year, to cancel any +favors that might have been anticipated. +Good news flew back to Bantry of his prosperity, +and his comfortable home above the +store was a place of reception and generous +assistance to all the westward straying children +of Bantry. There was a bit of garden +that belonged to the estate, the fences were +trig and neat, and neither Mike nor Biddy +were persons to let things look shabby while +they had plenty of money to keep them clean +and whole. It was Mike who walked behind +the priest on Sundays when the collection +was taken. It was Mike whom good Father +Miles trusted more than any other member +of his flock, whom he confided in and consulted, +whom perhaps his reverence loved +best of all the parish because they were both +Bantry men, born and bred. And nobody +but Father Miles and Biddy and Mike +Bogan knew the full extent of the father's +and mother's pride and hope in the cleverness +and beauty of their only son. Nothing +was too great, and no success seemed impossible +when they tried to picture the glorious +career of little Dan. +</p><p> +Mike was a kind father to his little +daughters, but all his hope was for Dan. +It was for Dan that he was pleased when +people called him Mr. Bogan in respectful +tones, and when he was given a minor place +of trust at town elections, he thought with +humble gladness that Dan would have less +cause to be ashamed of him by and by when +he took his own place as gentleman and +scholar. For there was something different +about Dan from the rest of them, plain Irish +folk that they were. Dan was his father's +idea of a young lord; he would have liked to +show the boy to the old squire, and see his +look of surprise. Money came in at the +shop door in a steady stream, there was +plenty of it put away in the bank and Dan +must wear well-made clothes and look like +the best fellows at the school. He was +handsomer than any of them, he was the +best and quickest scholar of his class. The +president of the great carriage company had +said that he was a very promising boy more +than once, and had put his hand on Mike's +shoulder as he spoke. Mike and Biddy, +dressed in their best, went to the school examinations +year after year and heard their +son do better than the rest, and saw him +noticed and admired. For Dan's sake no +noisy men were allowed to stay about the +shop. Dan himself was forbidden to linger +there, and so far the boy had clear honest +eyes, and an affectionate way with his father +that almost broke that honest heart with +joy. They talked together when they went +to walk on Sundays, and there was a plan, +increasingly interesting to both, of going to +old Bantry some summer—just for a treat. +Oh happy days! They must end as summer +days do, in winter weather. +</p><p> +There was an outside stair to the two upper +stories where the Bogans lived above +their place of business, and late one evening, +when the shop shutters were being clasped +together below, Biddy Bogan heard a familiar +heavy step and hastened to hold her +brightest lamp in the doorway. +</p><p> +"God save you," said his reverence Father +Miles, who was coming up slowly, and +Biddy dropped a decent courtesy and devout +blessing in return. His reverence +looked pale and tired, and seated himself +wearily in a chair by the window—while +Biddy coasted round by a bedroom door to +"whist" at two wakeful daughters who +were teasing each other and chattering in +bed. +</p><p> +"'T is long since we saw you here, sir," +she said, respectfully. "'T is warm weather +indade for you to be about the town, and +folks sick an' dyin' and needing your help, +sir. Mike'll be up now, your reverence. +I hear him below." +</p><p> +Biddy had grown into a stout mother of +a family, red-faced and bustling; there was +little likeness left to the rose of Glengariff +with whom Mike had fallen in love at early +mass in Bantry church. But the change +had been so gradual that Mike himself had +never become conscious of any damaging +difference. She took a fresh loaf of bread +and cut some generous slices and put a piece +of cheese and a knife on the table within +reach of Father Miles's hand. "I suppose +'tis waste of time to give you more, so it is," +she said to him. "Bread an' cheese and no +better will you ate I suppose, sir," and she +folded her arms across her breast and stood +looking at him. +</p><p> +"How is the luck of the Bogans to-day?" +asked the kind old man. "The head of the +school I make no doubt?" and at this moment +Mike came up the stairs and greeted +his priest with reverent affection. +</p><p> +"You're looking faint, sir," he urged. +"Biddy get a glass now, we're quite by ourselves +sir—and I've something for sickness +that's very soft and fine entirely." +</p><p> +"Well, well, this once then," answered +Father Miles, doubtfully. "I've had a hard +day." +</p><p> +He held the glass in his hand for a moment +and then pushed it away from him +on the table. "Indeed it's not wrong in +itself," said the good priest looking up presently, +as if he had made something clear to +his mind. "The wrong is in ourselves to +make beasts of ourselves with taking too +much of it. I don't shame me with this +glass of the best that you've poured for me. +My own sin is in the coffee-pot. It wilds +my head when I've got most use for it, and +I'm sure of an aching pate—God forgive +me for indulgence; but I must have it for +my breakfast now, and then. Give me a bit +of bread and cheese; yes, that's what I +want Bridget," and he pushed the glass still +farther away. +</p><p> +"I've been at a sorry place this night," +he went on a moment later, "the smell of +the stuff can't but remind me. 'T is a comfort +to come here and find your house so +clean and decent, and both of you looking +me in the face. God save all poor sinners!" +and Mike and his wife murmured assent. +</p><p> +"I wish to God you were out of this business +and every honest man with you," said +the priest, suddenly dropping his fatherly, +Bantry good fellowship and making his host +conscious of the solemnity of the church altar. +"'T is a decent shop you keep, Mike, +my lad, I know. I know no harm of it, but +there are weak souls that can't master themselves, +and the drink drags them down. +There's little use in doing away with the +shops though. We've got to make young +men strong enough to let drink alone. The +drink will always be in the world. Here's +your bright young son; what are they teaching +him at his school, do ye know? Has +his characther grown, do ye think Mike Bogan, +and is he going to be a man for good, +and to help decent things get a start and +bad things to keep their place? I don't +care how he does his sums, so I don't, if he +has no characther, and they may fight about +beer and fight about temperance and carry +their Father Matthew flags flying high, so +they may, and it's all no good, lessen we +can raise the young folks up above the place +where drink and shame can touch them. +God grant us help," he whispered, dropping +his head on his breast. "I'm getting to be +an old man myself, and I've never known +the temptation that's like a hounding devil +to many men. I can let drink alone, God +pity those who can't. Keep the young lads +out from it Mike. You're a good fellow, +you're careful, but poor human souls are +weak, God knows!" +</p><p> +"'T is thrue for you indade sir!" responded +Biddy. Her eyes were full of tears +at Father Miles's tone and earnestness, but +she could not have made clear to herself +what he had said. +</p><p> +"Will I put a dhrap more of wather in +it, your riverence?" she suggested, but the +priest shook his head gently, and, taking a +handful of parish papers out of his pocket, +proceeded to hold conference with the master +of the house. Biddy waited a while and +at last ventured to clear away the good +priest's frugal supper. She left the glass, +but he went away without touching it, and +in the very afterglow of his parting blessing +she announced that she had the makings +of a pain within, and took the cordial with +apparent approval. +</p><p> +Mike did not make any comment; he was +tired and it was late, and long past their +bedtime. +</p><p> +Biddy was wide awake and talkative from +her tonic, and soon pursued the subject of +conversation. +</p><p> +"What set the father out wid talking I +do' know?" she inquired a little ill-humoredly. +"'T was thrue for him that we +kape a dacint shop anyhow, an' how will it +be in the way of poor Danny when it's finding +the manes to put him where he is?" +</p><p> +"'T wa'n't that he mint at all," answered +Mike from his pillow. "Didn't ye hear +what he said?" after endeavoring fruitlessly +to repeat it in his own words—"He's right, +sure, about a b'y's getting thim books and +having no characther. He thinks well of +Danny, and he knows no harm of him. +Wisha! what 'll we do wid that b'y, Biddy, +I do' know! 'Fadther,' says he to me today, +'why couldn't ye wait an' bring me +into the wurruld on American soil,' says he +'and maybe I'd been prisident,' says he, +and 't was the thruth for him." +</p><p> +"I'd rather for him to be a priest meself," +replied the mother. +</p><p> +"That's what Father Miles said himself +the other day," announced Mike wide awake +now. "'I wish he'd the makings of a good +priest,' said he. 'There'll soon be need of +good men and hard picking for 'em too,' +said he, and he let a great sigh. ''T is +money they want and place they want, most +o' them bla'guard b'ys in the siminary. +'T is the old fashioned min like mesilf that +think however will they get souls through +this life and through heaven's gate at last, +wid clane names and God-fearin', dacint +names left after them.' Thim was his own +words indade." +</p><p> +"Idication was his cry always," said Bridget, +blessing herself in the dark. "'T was +only last confission he took no note of me +own sins while he redded himself in the +face with why don't I kape Mary Ellen to +the school, and myself not an hour in the +day to rest my poor bones. 'I have to kape +her in, to mind the shmall childer,' says I, +an' 't was thrue for me, so it was." She +gave a jerk under the blankets, which represented +the courtesy of the occasion. She +had a great respect and some awe for Father +Miles, but she considered herself to +have held her ground in that discussion. +</p><p> +"We'll do our best by them all, sure," answered +Mike. "'T is tribbling me money I +am ivery day," he added, gayly. "The lord-liftinant +himsilf is no surer of a good bury-in' +than you an' me. What if we made a +priest of Dan intirely?" with a great outburst +of proper pride. "A son of your own +at the alther saying mass for you, Biddy +Flaherty from Glengariff!" +</p><p> +"He's no mind for it, more's the grief," +answered the mother, unexpectedly, shaking +her head gloomily on the pillow, "but +marruk me wuds now, he'll ride in his carriage +when I'm under the sods, give me +grace and you too Mike Bogan! Look at +the airs of him and the toss of his head. +'Mother,' says he to me, 'I'm goin' to be a +big man!' says he, 'whin I grow up. D' ye +think anybody 'll take me fer an Irishman?'" +</p><p> +"Bad cess to the bla'guard fer that then!" +said Mike. "It's spoilin' him you are. 'T is +me own pride of heart to come from old +Bantry, an' he lied to me yesterday gone, +saying would I take him to see the old +place. Wisha! he's got too much tongue, +and he's spindin' me money for me." +</p><p> +But Biddy pretended to be falling asleep. +This was not the first time that the honest +pair had felt anxiety creeping into their pride +about Dan. He frightened them sometimes; +he was cleverer than they, and the mother +had already stormed at the boy for his misdemeanors, +in her garrulous fashion, but covered +them from his father notwithstanding. +She felt an assurance of the merely temporary +damage of wild oats; she believed it +was just as well for a boy to have his freedom +and his fling. She even treated his +known lies as if they were truth. An easy-going +comfortable soul was Biddy, who with +much shrewdness and only a trace of shrewishness +got through this evil world as best +she might. +</p><p> +The months flew by. Mike Bogan was a +middle-aged man, and he and his wife looked +somewhat elderly as they went to their pew in +the broad aisle on Sunday morning. Danny +usually came too, and the girls, but Dan +looked contemptuous as he sat next his +father and said his prayers perfunctorily. +Sometimes he was not there at all, and Mike +had a heavy heart under his stiff best coat. +He was richer than any other member of +Father Miles's parish, and he was known +and respected everywhere as a good citizen. +Even the most ardent believers in the temperance +cause were known to say that little +mischief would be done if all the rumsellers +were such men as Mr. Bogan. He was generous +and in his limited way public spirited. +He did his duty to his neighbor as he saw it. +Every one used liquor more or less, somebody +must sell it, but a low groggery was as much +a thing of shame to him as to any man. He +never sold to boys, or to men who had had too +much already. His shop was clean and wholesome, +and in the evening when a dozen or +more of his respectable acquaintances gathered +after work for a social hour or two and +a glass of whiskey to rest and cheer them +after exposure, there was not a little good +talk about affairs from their point of view, +and plenty of honest fun. In their own +houses very likely the rooms were close and +hot, and the chairs hard and unrestful. The +wife had taken her bit of recreation by daylight +and visited her friends. This was their +comfortable club-room, Mike Bogan's shop, +and Mike himself the leader of the assembly. +There was a sober-mindedness in the +man; his companions were contented though +he only looked on tolerantly at their fun, for +the most part, without taking any active +share himself. +</p><p> +One cool October evening the company was +well gathered in, there was even a glow +of wood fire in the stove, and two of the old +men were sitting close beside it. Corny Sullivan +had been a soldier in the British army +for many years, he had been wounded at +last at Sebastopol, and yet here he was, full +of military lore and glory, and propped by a +wooden leg. Corny was usually addressed +an Timber-toes by his familiars; he was an +irascible old follow to deal with, but as clean +as a whistle from long habit and even stately +to look at in his arm-chair. He had a +nephew with whom he made his home, who +would give him an arm presently and get him +home to bed. His mate was an old sailor +much bent in the back by rheumatism, Jerry +Bogan; who, though no relation, was tenderly +treated by Mike, being old and poor. +His score was never kept, but he seldom +wanted for his evening grog. Jerry Bogan +was a cheerful soul; the wit of the Celts and +their pathetic wilfulness were delightful in +him. The priest liked him, the doctor half +loved him, this old-fashioned Irishman who +had a graceful compliment or a thrust of +wit for whoever came in his way. What a +treasury of old Irish lore and legend was +this old sailor! What broadness and good +cheer and charity had been fostered in his +sailor heart! The delight of little children +with his clever tales and mysterious performances +with bits of soft pine and a sharp +jackknife, a very Baron Munchausen of adventure, +and here he sat, round backed and +head pushed forward like an old turtle, +by the fire. The other men sat or stood +about the low-walled room. Mike was serving +his friends; there was a clink of glass +and a stirring and shaking, a pungent odor +of tobacco, and much laughter. +</p><p> +"Soombody, whoiver it was, thrun a cat +down in Tom Auley's well las' night," announced +Corny Sullivan with more than +usual gravity. +</p><p> +"They'll have no luck thin," says Jerry. +"Anybody that meddles wid wather 'ill have +no luck while they live, faix they 'ont thin." +</p><p> +"Tom Auley's been up watchin' this three +nights now," confides the other old gossip. +"Thim dirty b'y's troublin' his pigs in the +sthy, and having every stramash about the +place, all for revinge upon him for gettin' +the police afther thim when they sthole his +hins. 'T was as well for him too, they're +dirty bligards, the whole box and dice of +them." +</p><p> +"Whishper now!" and Jerry pokes his +great head closer to his friend. "The divil +of 'em all is young Dan Bogan, Mike's son. +Sorra a bit o' good is all his schoolin', and +Mike's heart 'll be soon broke from him. I +see him goin' about wid his nose in the air. +He's a pritty boy, but the divil is in him an' +'t is he ought to have been a praste wid his +chances and Father Miles himself tarkin and +tarkin wid him tryin' to make him a crown +of pride to his people after all they did for +him. There was niver a spade in his hand +to touch the ground yet. Look at his poor +father now! Look at Mike, that's grown +old and gray since winther time." And they +turned their eyes to the bar to refresh their +memories with the sight of the disappointed +face behind it. +</p><p> +There was a rattling at the door-latch just +then and loud voices outside, and as the old +men looked, young Dan Bogan came stumbling +into the shop. Behind him were two +low fellows, the worst in the town, they had +all been drinking more than was good for +them, and for the first time Mike Bogan saw +his only son's boyish face reddened and +stupid with whiskey. It had been an unbroken +law that Dan should keep out of the +shop with his comrades; now he strode forward +with an absurd travesty of manliness, +and demanded liquor for himself and his +friends at his father's hands. +</p><p> +Mike staggered, his eyes glared with +anger. His fatherly pride made him long +to uphold the poor boy before so many witnesses. +He reached for a glass, then he +pushed it away—and with quick step +reached Dan's side, caught him by the collar, +and held him. One or two of the spectators +chuckled with weak excitement, but +the rest pitied Mike Bogan as he would have +pitied them. +</p><p> +The angry father pointed his son's companions +to the door, and after a moment's +hesitation they went skulking out, and father +and son disappeared up the stairway. Dan +was a coward, he was glad to be thrust into +his own bedroom upstairs, his head was +dizzy, and he muttered only a feeble oath. +Several of Mike Bogan's customers had +kindly disappeared when he returned trying +to look the same as ever, but one after +another the great tears rolled down his +cheeks. He never had faced despair till +now; he turned his back to the men, and +fumbled aimlessly among the bottles on the +shelf. Some one came, in unconscious of the +pitiful scene, and impatiently repeated his +order to the shopkeeper. +</p><p> +"God help me, boys, I can't sell more +this night!" he said brokenly. "Go home +now and lave me to myself." +</p><p> +They were glad to go, though it cut the +evening short. Jerry Bogan bundled his +way last with his two canes. "Sind the b'y +to say," he advised in a gruff whisper. +"Sind him out wid a good captain now, +Mike,'t will make a man of him yet." +</p><p> +A man of him yet! alas, alas—for the +hopes that had been growing so many years. +Alas for the pride of a simple heart, alas +for the day Mike Bogan came away from +sunshiny old Bantry with his baby son in +his arms for the sake of making that son a +gentleman. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">III.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +Winter had fairly set in, but the snow +had not come, and the street was bleak and +cold. The wind was stinging men's faces +and piercing the wooden houses. A hard +night for sailors coming on the coast—a +bitter night for poor people everywhere. +</p><p> +From one house and another the lights +went out in the street where the Bogans +lived; at last there was no other lamp than +theirs, in a window that lighted the outer +stairs. Sometimes a woman's shadow passed +across the curtain and waited there, drawing +it away from the panes a moment as if +to listen the better for a footstep that did +not come. Poor Biddy had waited many a +night before this. Her husband was far +from well, the doctor said that his heart +was not working right, and that he must be +very careful, but the truth was that Mike's +heart was almost broken by grief. Dan +was going the downhill road, he had been +drinking harder and harder, and spending a +great deal of money. He had smashed more +than one carriage and lamed more than one +horse from the livery stables, and he had +kept the lowest company in vilest dens. Now +he threatened to go to New York, and it had +come at last to being the only possible joy +that he should come home at any time of +night rather than disappear no one knew +where. He had laughed in Father Miles's +face when the good old man, after pleading +with him, had tried to threaten him. +</p><p> +Biddy was in an agony of suspense as the +night wore on. She dozed a little only to +wake with a start, and listen for some welcome +sound out in the cold night. Was +her boy freezing to death somewhere? +Other mothers only scolded if their sons +were wild, but this was killing her and +Mike, they had set their hopes so high. +Mike was groaning dreadfully in his sleep +to-night—the fire was burning low, and +she did not dare to stir it. She took her +worn rosary again and tried to tell its beads. +"Mother of Pity, pray for us!" she said, +wearily dropping the beads in her lap. +</p><p> +There was a sound in the street at last, +but it was not of one man's stumbling feet, +but of many. She was stiff with cold, she +had slept long, and it was almost day. She +rushed with strange apprehension to the +doorway and stood with the flaring lamp +in her hand at the top of the stairs. The +voices were suddenly hushed. "Go for +Father Miles!" said somebody in a hoarse +voice, and she heard the words. They were +carrying a burden, they brought it tip to +the mother who waited. In their arms lay +her son stone dead; he had been stabbed in +a fight, he had struck a man down who had +sprung back at him like a tiger. Dan, little +Dan, was dead, the luck of the Bogans, +the end was here, and a wail that pierced +the night, and chilled the hearts that heard +it, was the first message of sorrow to the +poor father in his uneasy sleep. +</p><p> +The group of men stood by—some of +them had been drinking, but they were all +awed and shocked. You would have believed +every one of them to be on the side +of law and order. Mike Bogan knew that +the worst had happened. Biddy had rushed +to him and fallen across the bed; for one +minute her aggravating shrieks had stopped; +he began to dress himself, but he was shaking +too much; he stepped out to the kitchen +and faced the frightened crowd. +</p><p> +"Is my son dead, then?" asked Mike +Bogan of Bantry, with a piteous quiver of +the lip, and nobody spoke. There was +something glistening and awful about his +pleasant Irish face. He tottered where he +stood, he caught at a chair to steady himself. +"The luck o' the Bogans is it?" and +he smiled strangely, then a fierce hardness +came across his face and changed it utterly. +"Come down, come down!" he shouted, +and snatching the key of the shop went +down the stairs himself with great sure-footed +leaps. What was in Mike? was he +crazy with grief? They stood out of his +way and saw him fling out bottle after bottle +and shatter them against the wall. +They saw him roll one cask after another to +the doorway, and out into the street in the +gray light of morning, and break through +the staves with a heavy axe. Nobody dared +to restrain his fury—there was a devil in +him, they were afraid of the man in his +blinded rage The odor of whiskey and +gin filled the cold air—some of them would +have stolen the wasted liquor if they could, +but no man there dared to move or speak, +and it was not until the tall figure of Father +Miles came along the street, and the patient +eyes that seemed always to keep vigil, and +the calm voice with its flavor of Bantry +brogue, came to Mike Bogan's help, that he +let himself be taken out of the wrecked shop +and away from the spilt liquors to the shelter +of his home. +</p><p> +A week later he was only a shadow of his +sturdy self, he was lying on his bed dreaming +of Bantry Bay and the road to Glengariff—the +hedge roses were in bloom, and +he was trudging along the road to see +Biddy. He was working on the old farm +at home and could not put the seed potatoes +in their trench, for little Dan kept falling in +and getting in his way. "Dan's not going +to be plagued with the bad craps," he muttered +to Father Miles who sat beside the bed. +"Dan will be a fine squire in Ameriky," +but the priest only stroked his hand as it +twitched and lifted on the coverlet. What +was Biddy doing, crying and putting the +candles about him? Then Mike's poor +brain grew steady. +</p><p> +"Oh, my God, if we were back in Bantry! +I saw the gorse bloomin' in the +t'atch d' ye know. Oh wisha wisha the poor +ould home an' the green praties that day +we come from it—with our luck smilin' us +in the face." +</p><p> +"Whist darlin': kape aisy darlin'!" +mourned Biddy, with a great sob. Father +Miles sat straight and stem in his chair +by the pillow—he had said the prayers for +the dying, and the holy oil was already +shining on Mike Bogan's forehead. The +keeners were swaying themselves to and fro, +there where they waited in the next room. +</p> +<a name="a_FairDay"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">FAIR DAY.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<p> +Widow Mercy Bascom came back alone +into the empty kitchen and seated herself in +her favorite splint-bottomed chair by the +window, with a dreary look on her face. +</p><p> +"I s'pose I be an old woman, an' past +goin' to cattle shows an' junketings, but +folks needn't take it so for granted. I'm +sure I don't want to be on my feet all day, +trapesin' fair grounds an' swallowin' everybody's +dust; not but what I'm as able as +most, though I be seventy-three year old." +</p><p> +She folded her hands in her lap and +looked out across the deserted yard. There +was not even a hen in sight; she was left +alone for the day. "Tobias's folks," as she +called the son's family with whom she made +her home—Tobias's folks had just started +for a day's pleasuring at the county fair, ten +miles distant. She had not thought of going +with them, nor expected any invitation; she +had even helped them off with her famous +energy; but there was an unexpected reluctance +at being left behind, a sad little feeling +that would rise suddenly in her throat as she +stood in the door and saw them drive away +in the shiny, two-seated wagon. Johnny, +the youngest and favorite of her grandchildren, +had shouted back in his piping voice, +"I wish you was goin', Grandma." +</p><p> +"The only one on 'em that thought of +me," said Mercy Bascom to herself, and then +not being a meditative person by nature, she +went to work industriously and proceeded to +the repairing of Tobias's work-day coat. It +was sharp weather now in the early morning, +and he would soon need the warmth of it. +Tobias's placid wife never anticipated and +always lived in a state of trying to catch up +with her work. It never had been the elder +woman's way, and Mercy reviewed her own +active career with no mean pride. She had +been left a widow at twenty-eight, with four +children and a stony New Hampshire farm, +but had bravely won her way, paid her +debts, and provided the three girls and their +brother Tobias with the best available +schooling. +</p><p> +For a woman of such good judgment and +high purpose in life, Mrs. Bascom had made +a very unwise choice in marrying Tobias +Bascom the elder. He was not even the +owner of a good name, and led her a terrible +life with his drunken shiftlessness, and hindrance +of all her own better aims. Even +while the children were babies, however, and +life was at its busiest and most demanding +stages, the determined soul would not be +baffled by such damaging partnership. She +showed the plainer of what stuff she was +made, and simply worked the harder and +went her ways more fiercely. If it were sometimes +whispered that she was unamiable, her +wiser neighbors understood the power of will +that was needed to cope with circumstances +that would have crushed a weaker woman. +As for her children, they were very fond of +her in the undemonstrative New England +fashion. Only the two eldest could remember +their father at all, and after he was removed +from this world Tobias Bascom left +but slight proofs of having ever existed at +all, except in the stern lines and premature +aging of his wife's face. +</p><p> +The years that followed were years of +hard work on the little farm, but diligence +and perseverance had their reward. When +the three daughters came to womanhood +they were already skilled farmhouse keepers, +and were dispatched for their own homes +well equipped with feather-beds and homespun +linen and woolen. Mercy Bascom was +glad to have them well settled, if the truth +were known. She did not like to have her +own will and law questioned or opposed, and +when she sat down to supper alone with her +son Tobias, after the last daughter's wedding, +she had a glorious feeling of peace and +satisfaction. +</p><p> +"There's a sight o' work left yet in the +old ma'am," she said to Tobias, in an unwontedly +affectionate tone. "I guess we +shall keep house together as comfortable as +most folks." But Tobias grew very red in +the face and bent over his plate. +</p><p> +"I don' know's I want the girls to get +ahead of me," he said sheepishly. "I ain't +meanin' to put you out with another wedding +right away, but I've been a-lookin' round, +an' I guess I've found somebody to suit +<i>me</i>." +</p><p> +Mercy Bascom turned cold with misery +and disappointment. "Why T'bias," she +said, anxiously, "folks always said that you +was cut out for an old bachelor till I come +to believe it, an' I've been lottin' on"— +</p><p> +"Course nobody's goin' to wrench me an' +you apart," said Tobias gallantly. "I made +up my mind long ago you an' me was yoke-mates, +mother. An' I had it in my mind to +fetch you somebody that would ease you o' +quite so much work now 'Liza's gone off." +</p><p> +"I don't want nobody," said the grieved +woman, and she could eat no more supper; +that festive supper for which she had cooked +her very best. Tobias was sorry for her, +but he had his rights, and now simply felt +light-hearted because he had freed his mind +of this unwelcome declaration. Tobias was +slow and stolid to behold, but he was a man +of sound ideas and great talent for farming. +He had found it difficult to choose between +his favorites among the marriageable girls, +a bright young creature who was really too +good for him, but penniless, and a weaker +damsel who was heiress to the best farm in +town. The farm won the day at last; and +Mrs. Bascom felt a thrill of pride at her son's +worldly success; then she asked to know +her son's plans, and was wholly disappointed. +Tobias meant to sell the old place; he had +no idea of leaving her alone as she wistfully +complained; he meant to have her make a +new home at the Bassett place with him and +his bride. +</p><p> +That she would never do: the old place +which had given them a living never should +be left or sold to strangers. Tobias was not +prepared for her fierce outburst of reproach +at the mere suggestion. She would live alone +and pay her way as she always had done, +and so it was, for a few years of difficulties. +Tobias was never ready to plough or plant +when she needed him; his own great farm +was more than he could serve properly. It +grew more and more difficult to hire workmen, +and they were seldom worth their +wages. At last Tobias's wife, who was a +kindly soul, persuaded her reluctant mother-in-law +to come and spend a winter; the old +woman was tired and for once disheartened; +she found herself deeply in love with her +grandchildren, and so next spring she let +the little hill farm on the halves to an impecunious +but hard-working young couple. +</p><p> +To everybody's surprise the two women +lived together harmoniously. Tobias's wife +did everything to please her mother-in-law +except to be other than a Bassett. And +Mercy, for the most part, ignored this misfortune, +and rarely was provoked into calling +it a fault. Now that the necessity for +hard work and anxiety was past, she appeared +to have come to an Indian summer +shining-out of her natural amiability and tolerance. +She was sometimes indirectly reproachful +of her daughter's easy-going ways, +and set an indignant example now and then +by a famous onslaught of unnecessary work, +and always dressed and behaved herself in +plainest farm fashion, while Mrs. Tobias was +given to undue worldliness and style. But +they worked well together in the main, for, to +use Mercy's own words, she "had seen enough +of life not to want to go into other folks' +houses and make trouble." +</p><p> +As people grow older their interests are +apt to become fewer, and one of the thoughts +that came oftenest to Mercy Bascom in her +old age was a time-honored quarrel with one +of her husband's sisters, who had been her +neighbor many years before, and then moved +to greater prosperity at the other side of the +county. It is not worth while to tell the long +story of accusations and misunderstandings, +but while the two women did not meet for +almost half a lifetime the grievance was as +fresh as if it were yesterday's. Wrongs of +defrauded sums of money and contested +rights in unproductive acres of land, wrongs +of slighting remarks and contempt of equal +claims; the remembrance of all these was +treasured as a miser fingers his gold. Mercy +Bascom freed herself from the wearisome +detail of every-day life whenever she could +find a patient listener to whom to tell the +long story. She found it as interesting as a +story of the Arabian Nights, or an exciting +play at the theatre. She would have you +believe that she was faultless in the matter, +and would not acknowledge that her sister-in-law +Ruth Bascom, now Mrs. Parlet, was +also a hard-working woman with dependent +little children at the time of the great fray. +Of late years her son had suspected that +his mother regretted the alienation, but he +knew better than to suggest a peace-making. +"Let them work—let them work!" he told +his wife, when she proposed one night to +bring the warring sisters-in-law unexpectedly +together. It may have been that old +Mercy began to feel a little lonely and would +be glad to have somebody of her own age +with whom to talk over old times. She never +had known the people much in this Bassett +region, and there were few but young folks +left at any rate. +</p><p> +As the pleasure-makers hastened toward +the fair that bright October morning Mercy +sat by the table sewing at a sufficient patch +in the old coat. There was little else to do +all day but to get herself a luncheon at noon +and have supper ready when the family +came home cold and tired at night. The +two cats came purring about her chair; one +persuaded her to open the cellar door, and +the other leaped to the top of the kitchen table +unrebuked, and blinked herself to sleep +there in the sun. This was a favored kitten +brought from the old home, and seemed like +a link between the old days and these. Her +mistress noticed with surprise that pussy was +beginning to look old, and she could not resist +a little sigh. "Land! the next world +may seem dreadful new too, and I've got to +get used to that," she thought with a grim +smile of foreboding. "How do folks live +that wants always to be on the go? There +was Ruth Parlet, that must be always a visitin' +and goin'—well, I won't say that there +wasn't a time when I wished for the chance." +Justice always won the day in such minor +questions as this. +</p><p> +Ruth Parlet's name started the usual +thoughts, but somehow or other Mercy could +not find it in her heart to be as harsh as +usual. She remembered one thing after another +about their girlhood together. They +had been great friends then, and the animosity +may have had its root in the fact that +Ruth helped forward her brother's marriage. +But there were years before that of friendly +foregathering and girlish alliances and rivalries; +spinning and herb gathering and quilting. +It seemed, as Mercy thought about it, +that Ruth was good company after all. But +what did make her act so, and turn right +round later on? +</p><p> +The morning grew warm, and at last Mrs. +Bascom had to open the window to let out +the buzzing flies and an imprisoned wild +bee. The patch was finished and the elbow +would serve Tobias as good as new. She +laid the coat over a chair and put her bent +brass thimble into the paper-collar box that +served as work-basket. She used to have a +queer splint basket at the old place, but it +had been broken under something heavier +when her household goods were moved. +Some of the family had long been tired of +hearing that basket regretted, and another +had never been found worthy to take its +place. The thimble, the smooth mill bobbin +on which was wound black linen thread, the +dingy lump of beeswax, and a smart leather +needle-book, which Johnny had given her the +Christmas before, all looked ready for use, +but Mrs. Bascom pushed them farther back +on the table and quickly rose to her feet. +"'T ain't nine o'clock yet," she said, exultantly. +"I'll just take a couple o' crackers +in my pocket and step over to the old place. +I'll take my time and be back soon enough +to make 'em that pan o' my hot gingerbread +they'll be counting on for supper." +</p><p> +Half an hour later one might have seen a +bent figure lock the side door of the large +farmhouse carefully, trying the latch again +and again to see if it were fast, putting the +key into a safe hiding-place by the door, and +then stepping away up the road with eager +determination. "I ain't felt so like a jaunt +this five year," said Mercy to herself, "an' +if Tobias was here an' Ann, they'd take all +the fun out fussin' and talkin', an' bein' +afeard I'd tire myself, or wantin' me to ride +over. I do like to be my own master once +in a while." +</p><p> +The autumn day was glorious, with a fine +flavor of fruit and ripeness in the air. The +sun was warm, there was a cool breeze from +the great hills, and far off across the wide +valley the old woman could see her little +gray house on its pleasant eastern slope; +she could even trace the outline of the two +small fields and large pasture. "I done well +with it, if I wasn't nothin' but a woman +with four dependin' on me an' no means," +said Mercy proudly as she came in full sight +of the old place. It was a long drive from +one farm to the other by roundabout highways, +but there was a footpath known to the +wayfarer which took a good piece off the distance. +"Now, ain't this a sight better than +them hustlin' fairs?" Mercy asked gleefully +as she felt herself free and alone in the wide +meadow-land. She had long been promising +little Johnny to take him over to Gran'ma's +house, as she loved to call it still. She could +not help thinking longingly how much he +would enjoy this escapade. "Why, I'm +running away just like a young-one, that's +what I be," she exclaimed, and then laughed +aloud for very pleasure. +</p><p> +The weather-beaten farmhouse was deserted +that day, as its former owner suspected. +She boldly gathered some of her +valued spice-apples, with an assuring sense +of proprietorship as she crossed the last narrow +field. The Browns, man and wife and +little boy and baby, had hied them early to +the fair with nearly the whole population of +the countryside. The house and yard and +out-buildings never had worn such an aspect +of appealing pleasantness as when Mercy +Bascom came near. She felt as if she were +going to cry for a minute, and then hurried +to get inside the gate. She saw the outgoing +track of horses' feet with delight, but +went discreetly to the door and knocked, to +make herself perfectly sure that there was +no one left at home. Out of breath and +tired as she was, she turned to look off at the +view. Yes, there was Tobias's place, prosperous +and white-painted; she could just get +a glimpse of the upper roofs and gables. It +was always a sorrow and complaint that a +low hill kept her from looking up at this +farm from any of the windows, but now that +she was at the farm itself she found herself +regarding Tobias's home with a good deal of +affection. She looked sharply with an apprehension +of fire, but there was no whiff of +alarming smoke against the dear sky. +</p><p> +"Now I must git me a drink o' that water +first of anything," and she hastened to the +creaking well-sweep and lowered the bucket. +There was the same rusty, handleless tin dipper +that she had left years before, standing +on the shelf inside the well-curb. She was +proud to find that the bucket was no heavier +than ever, and was heartily thankful for the +clear water. There never was such a well +as that, and it seemed as if she had not +been away a day. "What an old gal I be," +said Mercy, with plaintive merriment. +"Well, they ain't made no great changes +since I was here last spring," and then she +went over and held her face close against +one of the kitchen windows, and took a hungry +look at the familiar room. The bedroom +door was open and a new sense of attachment +to the place filled her heart. "It +seems as if I was locked out o' my own +home," she whispered as she looked in. +</p><p> +There were the same old spruce and pine +boards that she had scrubbed so many +times and trodden thin as she hurried to +and fro about her work. It was very +strange to see an unfamiliar chair or two, +but the furnishings of a farm kitchen were +much the same, and there was no great +change. Even the cradle was like that cradle +in which her own children had been +rocked. She gazed and gazed, poor old +Mother Bascom, and forgot the present as +her early life came back in vivid memories. +At last she turned away from the window +with a sigh. +</p><p> +The flowers that she had planted herself +long ago had bloomed all summer in the +garden; there were still some ragged +sailors and the snowberries and phlox and +her favorite white mallows, of which she +picked herself a posy. "I'm glad the old +place is so well took care of," she thought, +gratefully. "An' they've new-silled the old +barn I do declare, and battened the cracks +to keep the dumb creatures warm. 'T was +a sham-built barn anyways, but 't was the +best I could do when the child'n needed +something every handturn o' the day. It +put me to some expense every year, tinkering +of it up where the poor lumber warped +and split. There, I enjoyed try'n to cope +with things and gettin' the better of my disadvantages! +The ground's too rich for me +over there to Tobias's; I don't want things +too easy, for my part. I feel most as young +as ever I did, and I ain't agoin' to play +helpless, not for nobody. +</p><p> +"I declare for 't, I mean to come up here +by an' by a spell an' stop with the young +folks, an' give 'em a good lift with their +work. I ain't needed all the time to Tobias' +s now, and they can hire help, while +these can't. I've been favoring myself till +I'm as soft as an old hoss that's right out +of pasture an' can't pull two wheels without +wheezin'." +</p><p> +There was a sense of companionship in +the very weather. The bees were abroad as +if it were summer, and a flock of little birds +came fluttering down close to Mrs. Bascom +as she sat on the doorstep. She remembered +the biscuits in her pocket and ate +them with a hunger she had seldom known +of late, but she threw the crumbs generously +to her feathered neighbors. The +soft air, the brilliant or fading colors of the +wide landscape, the comfortable feeling of +relationship to her surroundings all served +to put good old Mercy into a most peaceful +state. There was only one thought that +would not let her be quite happy. She +could not get her sister-in-law Ruth Parlet +out of her mind. And strangely enough +the old grudge did not present itself with +the usual power of aggravation; it was of +their early friendship and Ruth's good fellowship +that memories would come. +</p><p> +"I declare for 't, I wouldn't own up to +the folks, but I should like to have a good +visit with Ruth if so be that we could set +aside the past," she said, resolutely at last. +"I never thought I should come to it, but +if she offered to make peace I wouldn't do +nothin' to hinder it. Not to say but what I +should have to free my mind on one or two +points before we could start fair. I've +waited forty year to make one remark to +Ruthy Parlet. But there! we're gettin' +to be old folks." Mercy rebuked herself +gravely. "I don't want to go off with hard +feelins' to nobody." Whether this was the +culmination of a long, slow process of reconciliation, +or whether Mrs. Bascom's +placid satisfaction helped to hasten it by +many stages, nobody could say. As she sat +there she thought of many things; her life +spread itself out like a picture; perhaps +never before had she been able to detach +herself from her immediate occupation in +this way. She never had been aware of +her own character and exploits to such a +degree, and the minutes sped by as she +thought with deep interest along the course +of her own history. There was nothing she +was ashamed of to an uncomfortable degree +but the long animosity between herself and +the children's aunt. How harsh she had +been sometimes; she had even tried to prejudice +everybody who listened to these tales +of an offender. "I wa'n't more 'n half +right, now I come to look myself full in the +face," said Mercy Bascom, "and I never +owned it till this day." +</p><p> +The sun was already past noon, and the +good woman dutifully rose and with instant +consciousness of resource glanced in at the +kitchen window to tell the time by a familiar +mark on the floor. "I needn't start +just yet," she muttered. "Oh my! how I +do wish I could git in and poke round into +every corner! 'T would make this day just +perfect." +</p><p> +"There now!" she continued, "p'raps +they leave the key just where our folks +used to." And in another minute the key +lay in Mercy's worn old hand. She gave +a shrewd look along the road, opened the +door, which creaked what may have been a +hearty welcome, and stood inside the dear +old kitchen. She had not been in the house +alone since she left it, but now she was +nobody's guest. It was like some shell-fish +finding its own old shell again and settling +comfortably into the convolutions. Even we +must not follow Mother Bascom about from +the dark cellar to the hot little attic. She +was not curious about the Browns' worldly +goods; indeed, she was nearly unconscious +of anything but the comfort of going up +and down the short flight of stairs and looking +out of her own windows with nobody to +watch. +</p><p> +"There's the place where Tobias scratched +the cupboard door with a nail. Didn't I +thrash him for it good?" she said once +with a proud remembrance of the time when +she was a lawgiver and proprietor and he +dependent. +</p><p> +At length a creeping fear stole over her +lest the family might return. She stopped +one moment to look back into the little bedroom. +"How good I did use to sleep here," +she said. "I worked as stout as I could +the day through, and there wa'n't no wakin' +up by two o'clock in the morning, and +smellin' for fire and harkin' for thieves like +I have to nowadays." +</p><p> +Mercy stepped away down the long sloping +field like a young woman. It was a +long walk back to Tobias's, even if one followed +the pleasant footpaths across country. +She was heavy-footed, but entirely light-hearted +when she came safely in at the gate +of the Bassett place. "I've done extra for +me," she said as she put away her old shawl +and bonnet; "but I'm goin' to git the best +supper Tobias's folks have eat for a year," +and so she did. +</p><p> +"I've be'n over to the old place to-day," +she announced bravely to her son, who had +finished his work and his supper and was +now tipped back in his wooden arm-chair +against the wall. +</p><p> +"You ain't, mother!" responded Tobias, +with instant excitement. "Next fall, then, +I won't take no for an answer but what +you'll go to the fair and see what's goin'. +You ain't footed it way over there?" +</p><p> +Mother Bascom nodded. "I have," she +answered solemnly, a minute later, as if the +nod were not enough. +</p><p> +"T'bias, son," she +added, lowering her voice, "I ain't one to +give in my rights, but I was thinkin' it all +over about y'r Aunt Ruth Parlet"— +</p><p> +"Now if that ain't curi's!" exclaimed +Tobias, bringing his chair down hastily upon +all four legs. "I didn't know just how +you'd take it, mother, but I see Aunt Ruth +to-day to the fair, and she made everything +o' me and wanted to know how you was, and +she got me off from the rest, an' says she: +'I declare I should like to see your marm +again. I wonder if she won't agree to let +bygones be bygones.'" +</p><p> +"My sakes!" said Mercy, who was startled +by this news. "'T is the hand o' Providence! +How did she look, son?" +</p><p> +"A sight older 'n you look, but kind of +natural too. One o' her sons' wives that +she's made her home with, has led her a +dance, folks say." +</p><p> +"Poor old creatur'! we'll have her over +here, if your folks don't find fault. I've +had her in my mind"— +</p><p> +Tobias's folks, in the shape of his wife +and little Johnny, appeared from the outer +kitchen. "I haven't had such a supper I +don't know when," repeated the younger +woman for at least the fifth time. "You +must have been keepin' busy all day, +Mother Bascom." +</p><p> +But Mother Bascom and Tobias looked at +each other and laughed. +</p><p> +"I ain't had such a good time I don't +know when, but my feet are all of a fidget +now, and I've got to git to bed. I've +be'n runnin' away since you've be'n gone, +Ann!" said the pleased old soul, and then +went away, still laughing, to her own room. +She was strangely excited and satisfied, as +if she had at last paid a long-standing debt. +She could trudge across pastures as well as +anybody, and the old grudge was done with. +Mercy hardly noticed how her fingers trembled +as she unhooked the old gray gown. +The odor of sweet fern shook out fresh and +strong as she smoothed and laid it carefully +over a chair. There was a little rent in the +skirt, but she could mend it by daylight. +</p><p> +The great harvest moon was shining high +in the sky, and she needed no other light in +the bedroom. "I've be'n a smart woman +to work in my day, and I've airnt a little +pleasurin'," said Mother Bascom sleepily to +herself. "Poor Ruthy! so she looks old, +does she? I'm goin' to tell her right out, +'t was I that spoke first to Tobias." +</p> +<a name="a_GoingShrewsbury"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">GOING TO SHREWSBURY.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<p> +The train stopped at a way station with +apparent unwillingness, and there was barely +time for one elderly passenger to be hurried +on board before a sudden jerk threw her almost +off her unsteady old feet and we moved +on. At my first glance I saw only a perturbed +old countrywoman, laden with a large +basket and a heavy bundle tied up in an +old-fashioned bundle-handkerchief; then I +discovered that she was a friend of mine, +Mrs. Peet, who lived on a small farm, several +miles from the village. She used to be +renowned for good butter and fresh eggs +and the earliest cowslip greens; in fact, she +always made the most of her farm's slender +resources; but it was some time since I had +seen her drive by from market in her ancient +thorough-braced wagon. +</p><p> +The brakeman followed her into the +crowded car, also carrying a number of packages. +I leaned forward and asked Mrs. Peet +to sit by me; it was a great pleasure to see +her again. The brakeman seemed relieved, +and smiled as he tried to put part of his burden +into the rack overhead; but even the +flowered carpet-bag was much too large, and +he explained that he would take care of +everything at the end of the car. Mrs. Peet +was not large herself, but with the big basket, +and the bundle-handkerchief, and some +possessions of my own we had very little +spare room. +</p><p> +"So this 'ere is what you call ridin' in the +cars! Well, I do declare!" said my friend, +as soon as she had recovered herself a little. +She looked pale and as if she had been in +tears, but there was the familiar gleam of +good humor in her tired old eyes. +</p><p> +"Where in the world are you going, Mrs. +Peet?" I asked. +</p><p> +"Can't be you ain't heared about me, +dear?" said she. "Well, the world's bigger +than I used to think 't was. I've broke +up,—'t was the only thing <i>to</i> do,—and I'm +a-movin' to Shrewsbury." +</p><p> +"To Shrewsbury? Have you sold the +farm?" I exclaimed, with sorrow and surprise. +Mrs. Peet was too old and too characteristic +to be suddenly transplanted from +her native soil, +"'T wa'n't mine, the place wa'n't." Her +pleasant face hardened slightly. "He was +coaxed an' over-persuaded into signin' off +before he was taken away. Is'iah, son of +his sister that married old Josh Peet, come +it over him about his bein' past work and +how he'd do for him like an own son, an' +we owed him a little somethin'. I'd paid +off everythin' but that, an' was fool enough +to leave it till the last, on account o' Is'iah's +bein' a relation and not needin' his pay much +as some others did. It's hurt me to have +the place fall into other hands. Some +wanted me to go right to law; but 't wouldn't +be no use. Is'iah's smarter 'n I be about +them matters. You see he's got my name +on the paper, too; he said 't was somethin' +'bout bein' responsible for the taxes. We +was scant o' money, an' I was wore out with +watchin' an' being broke o' my rest. After +my tryin' hard for risin' forty-five year to +provide for bein' past work, here I be, dear, +here I be! I used to drive things smart, you +remember. But we was fools enough in '72 +to put about everythin' we had safe in the +bank into that spool factory that come to +nothin'. But I tell ye I could ha' kept myself +long's I lived, if I could ha' held the +place. I'd parted with most o' the woodland, +if Is'iah 'd coveted it. He was welcome +to that, 'cept what might keep me in oven-wood. +I've always desired to travel an' see +somethin' o' the world, but I've got the +chance now when I don't value it no great." +</p><p> +"Shrewsbury is a busy, pleasant place," +I ventured to say by way of comfort, though +my heart was filled with rage at the trickery +of Isaiah Peet, who had always looked like +a fox and behaved like one. +</p><p> +"Shrewsbury's be'n held up consid'able +for me to smile at," said the poor old soul, +"but I tell ye, dear, it's hard to go an' live +twenty-two miles from where you've always +had your home and friends. It may divert +me, but it won't be home. You might as +well set out one o' my old apple-trees on the +beach, so 't could see the waves come in,—there +wouldn't be no please to it." +</p><p> +"Where are you going to live in Shrewsbury?" +I asked presently. +</p><p> +"I don't expect to stop long, dear creatur'. +I'm 'most seventy-six year old," and Mrs. +Peet turned to look at me with pathetic +amusement in her honest wrinkled face. "I +said right out to Is'iah, before a roomful o' +the neighbors, that I expected it of him to +git me home an' bury me when my time +come, and do it respectable; but I wanted +to airn my livin', if 't was so I could, till +then. He'd made sly talk, you see, about +my electin' to leave the farm and go 'long +some o' my own folks; but"—and she +whispered this carefully—"he didn't give +me no chance to stay there without hurtin' +my pride and dependin' on him. I ain't said +that to many folks, but all must have suspected. +A good sight on 'em's had money +of Is'iah, though, and they don't like to do +nothin' but take his part an' be pretty soft +spoken, fear it'll git to his ears. Well, +well, dear, we'll let it be bygones, and not +think of it no more;" but I saw the great +tears roll slowly down her cheeks, and she +pulled her bonnet forward impatiently, and +looked the other way. +</p><p> +"There looks to be plenty o' good farmin' +land in this part o' the country," she said, a +minute later. "Where be we now? See +them handsome farm buildings; he must be +a well-off man." But I had to tell my companion +that we were still within the borders +of the old town where we had both been +born. Mrs. Peet gave a pleased little laugh, +like a girl. "I'm expectin' Shrewsbury to +pop up any minute. I'm feared to be kerried +right by. I wa'n't never aboard of the +cars before, but I've so often thought about +em' I don't know but it seems natural. +Ain't it jest like flyin' through the air? I +can't catch holt to see nothin'. Land! and +here's my old cat goin' too, and never mistrustin'. +I ain't told you that I'd fetched +her." +</p><p> +"Is she in that basket?" I inquired with +interest. +</p><p> +"Yis, dear. Truth was, I calculated to +have her put out o' the misery o' movin', an +spoke to one o' the Barnes boys, an' he +promised me all fair; but he wa'n't there +in season, an' I kind o' made excuse to myself +to fetch her along. She's an' old creatur', +like me, an' I can make shift to keep +her some way or 'nuther; there's probably +mice where we're goin', an' she's a proper +mouser that can about keep herself if there's +any sort o' chance. 'T will be somethin' o' +home to see her goin' an' comin', but I expect +we're both on us goin' to miss our old +haunts. I'd love to know what kind o' +mousin' there's goin' to be for me." +</p><p> +"You mustn't worry," I answered, with +all the bravery and assurance that I could +muster. "Your niece will be thankful to +have you with her. Is she one of Mrs. +Winn's daughters?" +</p><p> +"Oh, no, they ain't able; it's Sister +Wayland's darter Isabella, that married the +overseer of the gre't carriage-shop. I ain't +seen her since just after she was married; +but I turned to her first because I knew she +was best able to have me, and then I can see +just how the other girls is situated and make +me some kind of a plot. I wrote to Isabella, +though she <i>is</i> ambitious, and said 't was so +I'd got to ask to come an' make her a visit, +an' she wrote back she would be glad to have +me; but she didn't write right off, and her +letter was scented up dreadful strong with +some sort o' essence, and I don't feel heartened +about no great of a welcome. But +there, I've got eyes, an' I can see <i>how</i> 't is +when I git <i>where</i> 't is. Sister Winn's gals +ain't married, an' they've always boarded, +an' worked in the shop on trimmin's. Isabella' +s well off; she had some means from +her father's sister. I thought it all over by +night an' day, an' I recalled that our folks +kept Sister Wayland's folks all one winter, +when he'd failed up and got into trouble. +I'm reckonin' on sendin' over to-night an' +gittin' the Winn gals to come and see me +and advise. Perhaps some on 'em may +know of somebody that 'll take me for what +help I can give about house, or some clever +folks that have been lookin' for a smart cat, +any ways; no, I don't know's I could let +her go to strangers." +</p><p> +"There was two or three o' the folks +round home that acted real warm-hearted +towards me, an' urged me to come an' winter +with 'em," continued the exile; "an' this +mornin' I wished I'd agreed to, 't was so +hard to break away. But now it's done I +feel more 'n ever it's best. I couldn't bear +to live right in sight o' the old place, and +come spring I shouldn't 'prove of nothing +Is'iah ondertakes to do with the land. Oh, +dear sakes! now it comes hard with me not +to have had no child'n. When I was young +an' workin' hard and into everything, I felt +kind of free an' superior to them that was +so blessed, an' their houses cluttered up from +mornin' till night, but I tell ye it comes +home to me now. I'd be most willin' to +own to even Is'iah, mean's he is; but I tell +ye I'd took it out of him 'fore he was a +grown man, if there 'd be'n any virtue in +cow-hidin' of him. Folks don't look like +wild creator's for nothin'. Is'iah's got fox +blood in him, an' p'r'haps 't is his misfortune. +His own mother always favored the +looks of an old fox, true's the world; she +was a poor tool,—a poor tool! I d' know's +we ought to blame him same's we do. +</p><p> +"I've always been a master proud woman, +if I was riz among the pastures," Mrs. +Peet added, half to herself. There was no +use in saying much to her; she was conscious +of little beside her own thoughts and +the smouldering excitement caused by this +great crisis in her simple existence. Yet the +atmosphere of her loneliness, uncertainty, +and sorrow was so touching that after scolding +again at her nephew's treachery, and +finding the tears come fast to my eyes as she +talked, I looked intently out of the car window, +and tried to think what could be done +for the poor soul. She was one of the old-time +people, and I hated to have her go away; +but even if she could keep her home she +would soon be too feeble to live there alone, +and some definite plan must be made for her +comfort. Farms in that neighborhood were +not valuable. Perhaps through the agency +of the law and quite in secret, Isaiah Peet +could be forced to give up his unrighteous +claim. Perhaps, too, the Winn girls, who +were really no longer young, might have +saved something, and would come home +again. But it was easy to make such pictures +in one's mind, and I must do what I +could through other people, for I was just +leaving home for a long time. I wondered +sadly about Mrs. Peet's future, and the ambitious +Isabella, and the favorite Sister +Winn's daughters, to whom, with all their +kindliness of heart, the care of so old and +perhaps so dependent an aunt might seem +impossible. The truth about life in Shrewsbury +would soon be known; more than half +the short journey was already past. +</p><p> +To my great pleasure, my fellow-traveler +now began to forget her own troubles in looking +about her. She was an alert, quickly +interested old soul, and this was a bit of neutral +ground between the farm and Shrewsbury, +where she was unattached and irresponsible. +She had lived through the last +tragic moments of her old life, and felt a +certain relief, and Shrewsbury might be as +far away as the other side of the Rocky +Mountains for all the consciousness she had +of its real existence. She was simply a traveler +for the time being, and began to comment, +with delicious phrases and shrewd +understanding of human nature, on two or +three persons near us who attracted her +attention. +</p><p> +"Where do you s'pose they be all goin'?" +she asked contemptuously. "There ain't +none on 'em but what looks kind o' respectable. +I'll warrant they've left work to +home they'd ought to be doin'. I knowed, +if ever I stopped to think, that cars was +hived full o' folks, an' wa'n't run to an' fro +for nothin'; but these can't be quite up to +the average, be they? Some on 'em's real +thrif'less? guess they've be'n shoved out o' +the last place, an' goin' to try the next one,—<i>like +me</i>, I suppose you'll want to say! +Jest see that flauntin' old creatur' that looks +like a stopped clock. There! everybody +can't be o' one goodness, even preachers." +</p><p> +I was glad to have Mrs. Peet amused, and +we were as cheerful as we could be for a few +minutes. She said earnestly that she hoped +to be forgiven for such talk, but there were +some kinds of folks in the cars that she +never had seen before. But when the conductor +came to take her ticket she relapsed +into her first state of mind, and was at a +loss. +</p><p> +"You 'll have to look after me, dear, when +we get to Shrewsbury," she said, after we +had spent some distracted moments in hunting +for the ticket, and the cat had almost +escaped from the basket, and the bundle-handkerchief +had become untied and all its +miscellaneous contents scattered about our +laps and the floor. It was a touching collection +of the last odds and ends of Mrs. Peet's +housekeeping: some battered books, and +singed holders for flatirons, and the faded +little shoulder shawl that I had seen her +wear many a day about her bent shoulders. +There were her old tin match-box spilling +all its matches, and a goose-wing for brushing +up ashes, and her much-thumbed Leavitt's +Almanac. It was most pathetic to see +these poor trifles out of their places. At +last the ticket was found in her left-hand +woolen glove, where her stiff, work-worn +hand had grown used to the feeling of it. +</p><p> +"I shouldn't wonder, now, if I come to +like living over to Shrewsbury first-rate," +she insisted, turning to me with a hopeful, +eager look to see if I differed. "You see +'t won't be so tough for me as if I hadn't +always felt it lurking within me to go off +some day or 'nother an' see how other folks +did things. I do' know but what the Winn +gals have laid up somethin' sufficient for us +to take a house, with the little mite I've got +by me. I might keep house for us all, 'stead +o' boardin' round in other folks' houses. +That I ain't never been demeaned to, but I +dare say I should find it pleasant in some +ways. Town folks has got the upper hand +o' country folks, but with all their work an' +pride they can't make a dandelion. I do' +know the times when I've set out to wash +Monday mornin's, an' tied out the line betwixt +the old pucker-pear tree and the corner +o' the barn, an' thought, 'Here I be with the +same kind o' week's work right over again.' +I'd wonder kind o' f'erce if I couldn't git +out of it noways; an' now here I be out of it, +and an uprooteder creatur' never stood on +the airth. Just as I got to feel I had somethin' +ahead come that spool-factory business. +There! you know he never was a forehanded +man; his health was slim, and he got discouraged +pretty nigh before ever he begun. +I hope he don't know I'm turned out o' the +old place. 'Is'iah's well off; he'll do the +right thing by ye,' says he. But my! I +turned hot all over when I found out what +I'd put my name to,—me that had always +be'n counted a smart woman! I did undertake +to read it over, but I couldn't sense it. +I've told all the folks so when they laid it +off on to me some: but hand-writin' is awful +tedious readin' and my head felt that day as +if the works was gone." +</p><p> +"I ain't goin' to sag on to nobody," she +assured me eagerly, as the train rushed +along. "I've got more work in me now +than folks expects at my age. I may be consid'able +use to Isabella. She's got a family, +an' I'll take right holt in the kitchen or +with the little gals. She had four on 'em, +last I heared. Isabella was never one that +liked house-work. Little gals! I do' know +now but what they must be about grown, +time doos slip away so. I expect I shall +look outlandish to 'em. But there! everybody +knows me to home, an' nobody knows +me to Shrewsbury; 't won't make a mite o' +difference, if I take holt willin'." +</p><p> +I hoped, as I looked at Mrs. Peet, that +she would never be persuaded to cast off the +gathered brown silk bonnet and the plain +shawl that she had worn so many years; +but Isabella might think it best to insist +upon more modern fashions. Mrs. Peet suggested, +as if it were a matter of little consequence, +that she had kept it in mind to buy +some mourning; but there were other things +to be thought of first, and so she had let it +go until winter, any way, or until she should +be fairly settled in Shrewsbury. +</p><p> +"Are your nieces expecting you by this +train?" I was moved to ask, though with +all the good soul's ready talk and appealing +manner I could hardly believe that she was +going to Shrewsbury for more than a visit; +it seemed as if she must return to the worn +old farmhouse over by the sheep-lands. +She answered that one of the Barnes boys +had written a letter for her the day before, +and there was evidently little uneasiness +about her first reception. +</p><p> +We drew near the junction where I must +leave her within a mile of the town. The +cat was clawing indignantly at the basket, +and her mistress grew as impatient of the +car. She began to look very old and pale, +my poor fellow-traveler, and said that she +felt dizzy, going so fast. Presently the +friendly red-cheeked young brakeman came +along, bringing the carpet-bag and other +possessions, and insisted upon taking the +alarmed cat beside, in spite of an aggressive +paw that had worked its way through the +wicker prison. Mrs. Peet watched her +goods disappear with suspicious eyes, and +clutched her bundle-handkerchief as if it +might be all that she could save. Then she +anxiously got to her feet, much too soon, +and when I said good-by to her at the car +door she was ready to cry. I pointed to the +car which she was to take next on the +branch line of railway, and I assured her +that it was only a few minutes' ride to +Shrewsbury, and that I felt certain she +would find somebody waiting. The sight of +that worn, thin figure adventuring alone +across the platform gave my heart a sharp +pang as the train carried me away. +</p><p> +Some of the passengers who sat near +asked me about my old friend with great +sympathy, after she had gone. There was a +look of tragedy about her, and indeed it +had been impossible not to get a good deal +of her history, as she talked straight on in +the same tone, when we stopped at a station, +as if the train were going at full speed, +and some of her remarks caused pity and +amusements by turns. At the last minute +she said, with deep self-reproach, "Why, I +haven't asked a word about your folks; +but you'd ought to excuse such an old stray +hen as I be." +</p><p> +In the spring I was driving by on what +the old people of my native town call the +sheep-lands road, and the sight of Mrs. +Peet's former home brought our former +journey freshly to my mind. I had last +heard from her just after she got to Shrewsbury, +when she had sent me a message. +</p><p> +"Have you ever heard how she got on?" +I eagerly asked my companion. +</p><p> +"Didn't I tell you that I met her in +Shrewsbury High Street one day?" I was +answered. "She seemed perfectly delighted +with everything. Her nieces have +laid up a good bit of money, and are soon +to leave the mill, and most thankful to have +old Mrs. Peet with them. Somebody told +me that they wished to buy the farm here, +and come back to live, but she wouldn't +hear of it, and thought they would miss too +many privileges. She has been going to +concerts and lectures this winter, and insists +that Isaiah did her a good turn." +</p><p> +We both laughed. My own heart was filled +with joy, for the uncertain, lonely face of +this homeless old woman had often haunted +me. The rain-blackened little house did +certainly look dreary, and a whole lifetime +of patient toil had left few traces. The +pucker-pear tree was in full bloom, however, +and gave a welcome gayety to the deserted +door-yard. +</p><p> +A little way beyond we met Isaiah Peet, +the prosperous money-lender, who had +cheated the old woman of her own. I fancied +that he looked somewhat ashamed, as +he recognized us. To my surprise, he +stopped his horse in most social fashion. +</p><p> +"Old Aunt Peet's passed away," he informed +me briskly. "She had a shock, +and went right off sudden yisterday forenoon. +I'm about now tendin' to the funeral +'rangements. She's be'n extry smart, +they say, all winter,—out to meetin' last +Sabbath; never enjoyed herself so complete +as she has this past month. She'd be'n a +very hard-workin' woman. Her folks was +glad to have her there, and give her every +attention. The place here never was good +for nothin'. The old gen'leman,—uncle, +you know,—he wore hisself out tryin' to +make a livin' off from it." +</p><p> +There was an ostentatious sympathy and +half-suppressed excitement from bad news +which were quite lost upon us, and we did +not linger to hear much more. It seemed +to me as if I had known Mrs. Peet better +than any one else had known her. I had +counted upon seeing her again, and hearing +her own account of Shrewsbury life, its +pleasures and its limitations. I wondered +what had become of the cat and the contents +of the faded bundle-handkerchief. +</p> +<a name="a_TakingCaptainBall"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">THE TAKING OF CAPTAIN BALL.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">I.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +There was a natural disinclination to the +cares of housekeeping in the mind of Captain +Ball, and he would have left the sea much +earlier in life if he had not liked much better +to live on board ship. A man was his +own master there, and meddlesome neighbors +and parsons and tearful women-folks +could be made to keep their distance. But +as years went on, and the extremes of +weather produced much affliction in the +shape of rheumatism, this, and the decline +of the merchant service, and the degeneracy +of common seamen, forced Captain Ball to +come ashore for good. He regretted that +he could no longer follow the sea, and, in +spite of many alleviations, grumbled at his +hard fate. He might have been condemned +to an inland town, but in reality his house +was within sight of tide-water, and he found +plenty of companionship in the decayed seaport +where he had been born and bred. +There were several retired shipmasters who +closely approached his own rank and dignity. +They all gave other excuses than +that of old age and infirmity for being out +of business, took a sober satisfaction in +their eleven o'clock bitters, and discussed +the shipping list of the morning paper with +far more interest than the political or general +news of the other columns. +</p><p> +While Captain Asaph Ball was away on his +long voyages he had left his house in charge +of an elder sister, who was joint owner. +She was a grim old person, very stern in +matters of sectarian opinion, and the captain +recognized in his heart of hearts that +she alone was his superior officer. He endeavored +to placate her with generous offerings +of tea and camel's-hair scarfs and East +Indian sweetmeats, not to speak of unnecessary +and sometimes very beautiful china for +the parties that she never gave, and handsome +dress patterns with which she scorned +to decorate her sinful shape of clay. She +pinched herself to the verge of want in order +to send large sums of money to the +missionaries, but she saved the captain's +money for him against the time when his +willful lavishness and improvidence might +find him a poor man. She was always looking +forward to the days when he would be +aged and forlorn, that burly seafaring +brother of hers. She loved to remind him +of his latter end, and in writing her long +letters that were to reach him in foreign +ports, she told little of the neighborhood +news and results of voyages, but bewailed, +in page after page, his sad condition of impenitence +and the shortness of time. The +captain would rather have faced a mutinous +crew any day than his sister's solemn +statements of this sort, but he loyally read +them through with heavy sighs, and worked +himself into his best broadcloth suit, at +least once while he lay in port, to go to +church on Sunday, out of good New England +habit and respect to her opinions. It +was not his sister's principles but her +phrases that the captain failed to comprehend. +Sometimes when he returned to +his ship he took pains to write a letter to +dear sister Ann, and to casually mention +the fact of his attendance upon public +worship, and even to recall the text and +purport of the sermon. He was apt to fall +asleep in his humble place at the very back +of the church, and his report of the services +would have puzzled a far less keen theologian +than Miss Ann Ball. In fact these +poor makeshifts of religious interest did +not deceive her, and the captain had an uneasy +consciousness that, to use his own expression, +the thicker he laid on the words, +the quicker she saw through them. And +somehow or other that manly straightforwardness +and honesty of his, that free-handed +generosity, that true unselfishness +which made him stick by his ship when the +crew had run away from a poor black cook +who was taken down with the yellow-fever, +which made him nurse the frightened beggar +as tenderly as a woman, and bring him +back to life, and send him packing afterward +with plenty of money in his pocket—all +these fine traits that made Captain +Ball respected in every port where his loud +voice and clumsy figure and bronzed face +were known, seemed to count for nothing +with the stern sister. At least her younger +brother thought so. But when, a few years +after he came ashore for good, she died and +left him alone in the neat old white house, +which his instinctive good taste and his +father's before him had made a museum of +East Indian treasures, he found all his letters +stored away with loving care after they +had been read and reread into tatters, and +among her papers such touching expressions +of love and pride and longing for his soul's +good, that poor Captain Asaph broke down +altogether and cried like a school-boy. +She had saved every line of newspaper +which even mentioned his ships' names. +She had loved him deeply in the repressed +New England fashion, that under a gray +and forbidding crust of manner, like a +chilled lava bed, hides glowing fires of loyalty +and devotion. +</p><p> +Sister Ann was a princess among housekeepers, +and for some time after her death +the captain was a piteous mourner indeed. +No growing school-boy could be more shy +and miserable in the presence of women +than he, though nobody had a readier friendliness +or more off-hand sailor ways among +men. The few intimate family friends who +came to his assistance at the time of his sister's +illness and death added untold misery +to the gloomy situation. Yet he received +the minister with outspoken gratitude in +spite of that worthy man's trepidation. +Everybody said that poor Captain Ball +looked as if his heart was broken. "I tell +ye I feel as if I was tied in a bag of fleas," +said the distressed mariner, and his pastor +turned away to cough, hoping to hide the +smile that would come. "Widders an' old +maids, they're busier than the divil in a +gale o' wind," grumbled the captain. "Poor +Ann, she was worth every one of 'em lashed +together, and here you find me with a head-wind +every way I try to steer." The minister +was a man at any rate; his very presence +was a protection. +</p><p> +Some wretched days went by while Captain +Ball tried to keep his lonely house +with the assistance of one Silas Jenkins, +who had made several voyages with him as +cook, but they soon proved that the best of +sailors may make the worst of housekeepers. +Life looked darker and darker, and when, +one morning, Silas inadvertently overheated +and warped the new cooking stove, which +had been the pride of Miss Ball's heart, the +breakfastless captain dismissed him in a fit +of blind rage. The captain was first cross +and then abject when he went hungry, and +in this latter stage was ready to abase himself +enough to recall Widow Sparks, his +sister's lieutenant, who lived close by in +Ropewalk Lane, forgetting that he had +driven her into calling him an old hog two +days after the funeral. He groaned aloud +as he thought of her, but reached for his +hat and cane, when there came a gentle +feminine rap at the door. +</p><p> +"Let 'em knock!" grumbled the captain, +angrily, but after a moment's reflection, +he scowled and went and lifted the latch. +</p><p> +There stood upon the doorstep a middle-aged +woman, with a pleasant though determined +face. The captain scowled again, +but involuntarily opened his fore-door a +little wider. +</p><p> +"Capt'in Asaph Ball, I presume?" +</p><p> +"The same," answered the captain. +</p><p> +"I've been told, sir, that you need a +housekeeper, owing to recent affliction." +</p><p> +There was a squally moment of resistance +in the old sailor's breast, but circumstances +seemed to be wrecking him on a lee shore. +Down came his flag on the run. +</p><p> +"I can't say but what I do, ma'am," and +with lofty courtesy, such as an admiral +should use to his foe of equal rank, the master +of the house signified that his guest +might enter. When they were seated opposite +each other in the desolate sitting-room +he felt himself the weaker human being of +the two. Five years earlier, and he would +have put to sea before the week's end, if +only to gain the poor freedom of a coastwise +lime schooner. +</p><p> +"Well, speak up, can't ye?" he said, +trying to laugh. "Tell me what's the tax, +and how much you can take hold and do, +without coming to me for orders every +hand's turn o' the day. I've had Silas Jinkins +here, one o' my old ship's cooks; he +served well at sea, and I thought he had +some head; but we've been beat, I tell ye, +and you'll find some work to put things +ship-shape. He's gitting in years, that's +the trouble; I oughtn't to have called on +him," said Captain Ball, anxious to maintain +even so poorly the dignity of his sex. +</p><p> +"I like your looks; you seem a good +steady hand, with no nonsense about ye." +He cast a shy glance at his companion, and +would not have believed that any woman +could have come to the house a stranger, and +have given him such an immediate feeling of +confidence and relief. +</p><p> +"I'll tell ye what's about the worst of +the matter," and the captain pulled a letter +out of his deep coat pocket. His feelings +had been pent up too long. At the sight +of the pretty handwriting and aggravatingly +soft-spoken sentences, Asaph Ball was forced +to inconsiderate speech. The would-be +housekeeper pushed back her rocking-chair +as he began, and tucked her feet under, beside +settling her bonnet a little, as if she +were close-reefed and anchored to ride out +the gale. +</p><p> +"I'm in most need of an able person," +he roared, "on account of this letter's settin' +me adrift about knowing what to do. 'T is +from a gal that wants to come and make +her home here. Land sakes alive, puts herself +right forrard! I don't want her, <i>an' I +won't have her</i>. She may be a great-niece; +I don't say she ain't; but what should I do +with one o' them jiggetin' gals about? In +the name o' reason, why should I be set out +o' my course? I'm left at the mercy o' you +women-folks," and the captain got stiffly to +his feet. "If you've had experience, an' +think you can do for me, why, stop an' try, +an' I'll be much obleeged to ye. You'll +find me a good provider, and we'll let one +another alone, and get along some way or +'nother." +</p><p> +The captain's voice fairly broke; he had +been speaking as if to a brother man; he +was tired out and perplexed. His sister +Ann had saved him so many petty trials, +and now she was gone. The poor man had +watched her suffer and seen her die, and he +was as tender-hearted and as lonely as a +child, however he might bluster. Even +such infrequent matters as family letters +had been left to his busy sister. It happened +that they had inherited a feud with +an elder half-brother's family in the West, +though the captain was well aware of the +existence of this forth-putting great-niece, +who had been craftily named for Miss Ann +Ball, and so gained a precarious hold on her +affections; but to harbor one of the race was +to consent to the whole. Captain Ball was +not a man to bring down upon himself an +army of interferers and plunderers, and he +now threw down the poor girl's well-meant +letter with an outrageous expression of his +feelings. Then he felt a silly weakness, and +hastened to wipe his eyes with his pocket-handkerchief. +</p><p> +"I've been beat, I tell ye," he said brokenly. +</p><p> +There was a look of apparent sympathy, +mingled with victory, on the housekeeper's +face. Perhaps she had known some other +old sailor of the same make, for she rose +and turned her face aside to look out of the +window until the captain's long upper lip +had time to draw itself straight and stern +again. Plainly she was a woman of experience +and discretion. +</p><p> +"I'll take my shawl and bunnit right off, +sir," she said, in a considerate little voice. +"I see a-plenty to do; there'll be time +enough after I get you your dinner to see to +havin' my trunk here; but it needn't stay a +day longer than you give the word." +</p><p> +"That's clever," said the captain. "I'll +step right down street and get us a good +fish, an' you can fry it or make us a chowder, +just which you see fit. It now wants +a little of eleven"—and an air of pleased +anticipation lighted his face—"I must be +on my way." +</p><p> +"If it's all the same to you, I guess we +don't want no company till we get to rights +a little. You're kind of tired out, sir," +said the housekeeper, feelingly. "By-and-by +you can have the young girl come an' +make you a visit, and either let her go or +keep her, 'cordin' as seems fit. I may not +turn out to suit." +</p><p> +"What may I call you, ma'am?" inquired +Captain Ball. "Mis' French? Not +one o' them Fleet Street Frenches?" (suspiciously). +"Oh, come from Massachusetts +way!" (with relief). +</p><p> +"I was stopping with some friends that +had a letter from some o' the minister's folks +here, and they told how bad off you was," +said Mrs. French, modestly. "I was out of +employment, an' I said to myself that I +should feel real happy to go and do for that +Captain Ball. He knows what he wants, +and I know what I want, and no flummery." +</p><p> +"You know somethin' o' life, I do declare," +and the captain fairly beamed. "I +never was called a hard man at sea, but I +like to give my orders, and have folks foller +'em. If it was women-folks that wrote, they +may have set me forth more 'n ordinary. I +had every widder and single woman in town +here while Ann lay dead, and my natural +feelin's were all worked up. I see 'em +dressed up and smirkin' and settin' their +nets to ketch me when I was in an extremity. +I wouldn't give a kentle o' sp'iled fish for +the whole on 'em. I ain't a marryin' man, +there's once for all for ye," and the old +sailor stepped toward the door with some +temper. +</p><p> +"Ef you'll write to the young woman, +sir, just to put off comin' for a couple or +three weeks," suggested Mrs. French. +</p><p> +"<i>This afternoon, ma'am</i>," said the captain, +as if it were the ay, ay, sir, of an able +seaman who sprang to his duty of reefing +the main-topsail. +</p><p> +Captain Ball walked down to the fish shop +with stately steps and measured taps of his +heavy cane. He stopped on the way, a little +belated, and assured two or three retired +ship-masters that he had manned the old +brig complete at last; he even gave a handsome +wink of his left eye over the edge of a +glass, and pronounced his morning grog to +be A No. 1, prime. +</p><p> +Mrs. French picked up her gown at each +side with thumb and finger, and swept the +captain a low courtesy behind his back as he +went away; then she turned up the aforesaid +gown and sought for one of the lamented +Miss Ann Ball's calico aprons, and if ever a +New England woman did a morning's work +in an hour, it was this same Mrs. French. +</p><p> +"'T ain't every one knows how to make +what I call a chowder," said the captain, +pleased and replete, as he leaned back in his +chair after dinner. "Mis' French, you shall +have everything to do with, an' I ain't no +kitchen colonel myself to bother ye." +</p><p> +There was a new subject for gossip in that +seaport town. More than one woman had +felt herself to be a fitting helpmate for the +captain, and was confident that if time had +been allowed, she could have made sure of +even such wary game as he. When a stranger +stepped in and occupied the ground at +once, it gave nobody a fair chance, and Mrs. +French was recognized as a presuming adventuress +by all disappointed aspirants for +the captain's hand. The captain was afraid +at times that Mrs. French carried almost too +many guns, but she made him so comfortable +that she kept the upper hand, and at last he +was conscious of little objection to whatever +this able housekeeper proposed. Her only +intimate friends were the minister and his +wife, and the captain himself was so won +over to familiarity by the kindness of his +pastor in the time of affliction, that when +after some weeks Mrs. French invited the +good people to tea, Captain Ball sat manfully +at the foot of his table, and listened +with no small pleasure to the delighted exclamations +of the parson's wife over his store +of china and glass. There was a little feeling +of guilt when he remembered how many +times in his sister's day he had evaded such +pleasant social occasions by complaint of inward +malady, or by staying boldly among +the wharves until long past supper-time, and +forcing good Miss Ann to as many anxious +excuses as if her brother's cranky ways were +not as well known to the guests as to herself. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">II.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +Mrs. Captain Topliff and Miss Miranda +Hull were sitting together one late summer +afternoon in Mrs. Topliff's south chamber. +They were at work upon a black dress which +was to be made over, and each sat by a front +window with the blinds carefully set ajar. +</p><p> +"This is a real handy room to sew in," +said Miranda, who had come early after dinner +for a good long afternoon. "You git +the light as long as there is any; and I do +like a straw carpet; I don't feel's if I made +so much work scatterin' pieces." +</p><p> +"Don't you have no concern about pieces," +answered Mrs. Topliff, amiably. "I was +precious glad to get you right on the sudden +so. You see, I counted on my other dress +lasting me till winter, and sort of put this +by to do at a leisure time. I knew 't wa'n't +fit to wear as 't was. Anyway, I've done +dealin' with Stover; he told me, lookin' me +right in the eye, that it was as good a wearin' +piece o' goods as he had in the store. +'T was a real cheat; you can put your finger +right through it." +</p><p> +"You've got some wear but of it," ventured +Miranda, meekly, bending over her +work. "I made it up quite a spell ago, I +know. Six or seven years, ain't it, Mis' +Topliff?" +</p><p> +"Yes, to be sure," replied Mrs. Topliff, +with suppressed indignation; "but this we're +to work on I had before the Centennial. I +know I wouldn't take it to Philadelphy +because 't was too good. An' the first two +or three years of a dress don't count. You +know how 't is; you just wear 'em to meetin' +a pleasant Sunday, or to a funeral, p'r'aps, +an' keep 'em in a safe cluset meanwhiles." +</p><p> +"Goods don't wear as 't used to," agreed +Miranda; "but 't is all the better for my +trade. Land! there's some dresses in this +town I'm sick o' bein' called on to make +good's new. Now I call you reasonable +about such things, but there's some I could +name"—Miss Hull at this point put several +pins into her mouth, as if to guard a +secret. +</p><p> +Mrs. Topliff looked up with interest. "I +always thought Ann Ball was the meanest +woman about such expense. She always +looked respectable too, and I s'pose she 'd +said the heathen was gittin' the good o' +what she saved. She must have given away +hundreds o' dollars in that direction." +</p><p> +"She left plenty too, and I s'pose Cap'n +Asaph's Mis' French will get the good of +it now," said Miranda through the pins. +"Seems to me he's gittin' caught in spite +of himself. Old vain creatur', he seemed +to think all the women-folks in town was in +love with him." +</p><p> +"Some was," answered Mrs. Topliff. "I +think any woman that needed a home would +naturally think 't was a good chance." She +thought that Miranda had indulged high +hopes, but wished to ignore them now. +</p><p> +"Some that had a home seemed inclined +to bestow their affections, I observed," retorted +the dressmaker, who had lost her little +property by unfortunate investment, but +would not be called homeless by Mrs. Topliff. +Everybody knew that the widow had +set herself down valiantly to besiege the +enemy; but after this passage at arms between +the friends they went on amiably with +their conversation. +</p><p> +"Seems to me the minister and Mis' Calvinn +are dreadful intimate at the Cap'n's. +I wonder if the Cap'n's goin' to give as +much to the heathen as his sister did?" said +Mrs. Topliff, presently. +</p><p> +"I understood he told the minister that +none o' the heathen was wuth it that ever +he see," replied Miranda in a pinless voice +at last. "Mr. Calvinn only laughed; he +knows the Cap'n's ways. But I shouldn't +thought Asaph Ball would have let his hired +help set out and ask company to tea just +four weeks from the day his only sister was +laid away. 'T wa'n't feelin'." +</p><p> +"That Mis' French wanted to get the +minister's folks to back her up, don't you +understand?" was Mrs. Topliff's comment. +"I should think the Calvinns wouldn't want +to be so free and easy with a woman from +nobody knows where. She runs in and out +o' the parsonage any time o' day, as Ann +Ball never took it upon her to do. Ann +liked Mis' Calvinn, but she always had to +go through with just so much, and be formal +with everybody." +</p><p> +"I'll tell you something that exasperated +<i>me</i>," confided the disappointed Miranda. +"That night they was there to tea, Mis' +Calvinn was praising up a handsome flowered +china bowl that was on the table, with +some new kind of a fancy jelly in it, and +the Cap'n told her to take it along when she +went home, if she wanted to, speakin' right +out thoughtless, as men do; and that Mis' +French chirped up, 'Yes, I'm glad; you +ought to have somethin' to remember the +cap'n's sister by,' says she. Can't you hear +just how up an' comin' it was?" +</p><p> +"I can so," said Mrs. Topliff. "I see +that bowl myself on Miss Calvinn's card-table, +when I was makin' a call there day before +yesterday. I wondered how she come +by it. 'Tis an elegant bowl. Ann must +have set the world by it, poor thing. Wonder +if he ain't goin' to give remembrances +to those that knew his sister ever since they +can remember? Mirandy Hull, that Mis' +French is a fox!" +</p><p> +"'T was Widow Sparks gave me the particulars," +continued Mrs. Topliff. "She +declared at first that never would she step +foot inside his doors again, but I always +thought the cap'n put up with a good deal. +Her husband's havin' been killed in one o' +his ships by a fall when he was full o' liquor, +and her bein' there so much to help Ann, +and their havin' provided for her all these +years one way an' another, didn't give her +the right to undertake the housekeepin' and +direction o' everything soon as Ann died. +She dressed up as if 't was for meetin', and +'tended the front door, and saw the folks +that came. You'd thought she was ma'am +of everything; and to hear her talk up to +the cap'n! I thought I should die o' laughing +when he blowed out at her. You know +how he gives them great whoos when he's +put about. 'Go below, can't ye, till your +watch's called,' says he, same's 't was +aboard ship; but there! everybody knew he +was all broke down, and everything tried +him. But to see her flounce out o' that +back door!" +</p><p> +"'T was the evenin' after the funeral," +Miranda said, presently. "I was there, too, +you may rec'lect, seeing what I could do. +The cap'n thought I was the proper one to +look after her things, and guard against +moths. He said there wa'n't no haste, but +I knew better, an' told him I'd brought +some camphire right with me. Well, +did you git anything further out o' Mis' +Sparks?" +</p><p> +"That French woman made all up with +her, and Mis' Sparks swallowed her resentment. +She's a good-feelin', ignorant kind +o' woman, an' she needed the money bad," +answered Mrs. Topliff. "If you'll never +repeat, I'll tell you somethin' that'll make +your eyes stick out, Miranda." +</p><p> +Miranda promised, and filled her mouth +with pins preparatory to proper silence. +</p><p> +"You know the Balls had a half-brother +that went off out West somewhere in New +York State years ago. I don't remember +him, but he brought up a family, and some +of 'em came here an' made visits. Ann used +to get letters from 'em sometimes, she's told +me, and I dare say used to do for 'em. Well, +Mis' Sparks says that there was a smart +young Miss Ball, niece, or great-niece o' the +cap'n, wrote on and wanted to come an' live +with him for the sake o' the home—his own +blood and kin, you see, and very needy—and +Mis' Sparks heard 'em talk about her, +and that wicked, low, offscourin' has got +round Asaph Ball till he's consented to put +the pore girl off. You see, she wants to +contrive time to make him marry her, and +then she'll do as she pleases about his folks. +Now ain't it a shame? When I see her parade +up the broad aisle, I want to stick out +my tongue at her—I do so, right in meetin'. +If the cap'n's goin' to have a shock within a +year, I could wish it might be soon, to disappoint +such a woman. Who is she, anyway? +She makes me think o' some carr'on +bird pouncin' down on us right out o' the +air." Mrs. Topliff sniffed and jerked about +in her chair, having worked herself into a +fine fit of temper. +</p><p> +"There ain't no up nor down to this material, +is there?" inquired Miranda, meekly. +She was thinking that if she were as well off +as Mrs. Topliff, and toward seventy years of +age, she would never show a matrimonial +disappointment in this open way. It was +ridiculous for a woman who had any respect +for herself and for the opinion of society. +Miranda had much more dignity, and tried +to cool off Mrs. Topliff's warmth by discussion +of the black gown. +</p><p> +"'T ain't pleasant to have such a character +among us. Do you think it is, Mirandy?" +asked Mrs. Topliff, after a few minutes of +silence. "She's a good-looking person, but +with something sly about her. I don't mean +to call on her again until she accounts for +herself. Livin' nearer than any of Ann's +friends, I thought there would be a good +many ways I could oblige the cap'n if he'd +grant the opportunity, but 't ain't so to be. +Now Mr. Topliff was such an easy-goin', +pleasant-tempered man, that I take time to +remember others is made different." +</p><p> +Miranda smiled. Her companion had suffered +many things from a most trying husband; +it was difficult to see why she was +willing to risk her peace of mind again. +</p><p> +"Cap'n Asaph looks now as meek as +Moses," she suggested, as she pared a newly +basted seam with her creaking scissors. +"Mis' French, whoever she may be, has got +him right under her thumb. I, for one, believe +she'll never get him, for all her pains. +He's as sharp as she is any day, when it +comes to that; but he's made comfortable, +and she starches his shirt bosoms so's you +can hear 'em creak 'way across the meeting-house. +I was in there the other night—she +wanted to see me about some work—and 't was neat as wax, and an awful good +scent o' somethin' they'd had for supper." +</p><p> +"That kind's always smart enough," +granted the widow Topliff. "I want to +know if she cooks him a hot supper every +night? Well, she'll catch him if anybody +can. Why don't you get a look into some +o' the clusets, if you go there to work? Ann +was so formal I never spoke up as I wanted +to about seeing her things. They must have +an awful sight of china, and as for the linen +and so on that the cap'n and his father before +him fetched home from sea, you couldn't +find no end to it. Ann never made 'way +with much. I hope the mice ain't hivin' +into it and makin' their nests. Ann was +very particular, but I dare say it wore her +out tryin' to take care o' such a houseful." +</p><p> +"I'm going there Wednesday," said Miranda. +"I'll spy round all I can, but I +don't like to carry news from one house to +another. I never was one to make trouble; +'t would make my business more difficult +than't is a'ready." +</p><p> +"I'd trust you," responded Mrs. Topliff, +emphatically. "But there, Mirandy, you +know you can trust me too, and anything +you say goes no further." +</p><p> +"Yes'm," returned Miranda, somewhat +absently. "To cut this the way you want +it is going to give the folds a ter'ble skimpy +look." +</p><p> +"I thought it would from the first," was +Mrs. Topliff's obliging answer. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">III.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +The captain could not believe that two +months had passed since his sister's death, +but Mrs. French assured him one evening +that it was so. He had troubled himself +very little about public opinion, though hints +of his housekeeper's suspicious character +and abominable intentions had reached his +ears through more than one disinterested +tale-bearer. Indeed, the minister and his +wife were the only persons among the old +family friends who kept up any sort of intercourse +with Mrs. French. The ladies of +the parish themselves had not dared to +asperse her character to the gruff captain, +but were contented with ignoring her existence +and setting their husbands to the fray. +"Why don't you tell him what folks think?" +was a frequent question; but after a first +venture even the most intimate and valiant +friends were sure to mind their own business, +as the indignant captain bade them. +Two of them had been partially won over to +Mrs. French's side by a taste of her good +cooking. In fact, these were Captain Dunn +and Captain Allister, who, at the eleven +o'clock rendezvous, reported their wives as +absent at the County Conference, and were +promptly bidden to a chowder dinner by the +independent Captain Ball, who gloried in +the fact that neither of his companions would +dare to ask a friend home unexpectedly. +Our hero promised his guests that what they +did not find in eatables they should make up +in drinkables, and actually produced a glistening +decanter of Madeira that had made +several voyages in his father's ships while +he himself was a boy. There were several +casks and long rows of cobwebby bottles in +the cellar, which had been provided against +possible use in case of illness, but the captain +rarely touched them, though he went +regularly every morning for a social glass of +what he frankly persisted in calling his grog. +The dinner party proved to be a noble occasion, +and Mrs. French won the esteem of +the three elderly seamen by her discreet behavior, +as well as by the flavor of the chowder. +</p><p> +They walked out into the old garden when +the feast was over, and continued their somewhat +excited discussion of the decline of +shipping, on the seats of the ancient latticed +summer-house. There Mrs. French surprised +them by bringing out a tray of coffee, +served in the handsome old cups which the +captain's father had brought home from +France. She was certainly a good-looking +woman, and stepped modestly and soberly +along the walk between the mallows and +marigolds. Her feminine rivals insisted that +she looked both bold and sly, but she minded +her work like a steam-tug, as the captain +whispered admiringly to his friends. +</p><p> +"Ain't never ascertained where she came +from last, have ye?" inquired Captain Alister, +emboldened by the best Madeira and +the good-fellowship of the occasion. +</p><p> +"I'm acquainted with all I need to know," +answered Captain Ball, shortly; but his face +darkened, and when his guests finished their +coffee they thought it was high time to go +away. +</p><p> +Everybody was sorry that a jarring note +had been struck on so delightful an occasion, +but it could not be undone. On the whole, +the dinner was an uncommon pleasure, and +the host walked back into the house to compliment +his housekeeper, though the sting +of his friend's untimely question expressed +itself by a remark that they had made most +too much of an every-day matter by having +the coffee in those best cups. +</p><p> +Mrs. French laughed. "'T will give 'em +something to talk about; 't was excellent +good coffee, this last you got, anyway," and +Captain Asaph walked away, restored to a +pleased and cheerful frame of mind. When +he waked up after a solid after-dinner nap, +Mrs. French, in her decent afternoon gown, +as calm as if there had been no company +to dinner, was just coming down the front +stairs. +</p><p> +She seated herself by the window, and +pretended to look into the street. The captain +shook his newspaper at an invading +fly. It was early September and flies were +cruelly persistent. Somehow his nap had +not entirely refreshed him, and he watched +his housekeeper with something like disapproval. +</p><p> +"I want to talk with you about something, +sir," said Mrs. French. +</p><p> +"She's going to raise her pay," the captain +grumbled to himself. "Well, speak +out, can't ye ma'am?" he said. +</p><p> +"You know I've been sayin' all along +that you ought to get your niece"— +</p><p> +"She's my <i>great</i>-niece," blew the captain, +"an' I don't know as I want her." The +awful certainty came upon him that those +hints were well-founded about Mrs. French's +determination to marry him, and his stormy +nature rose in wild revolt. "Can't you +keep your place, ma'am?" and he gave a +great <i>whoo!</i> as if he were letting off superabundant +steam. She might prove to carry +too many guns for him, and he grew very +red in the face. It was a much worse moment +than when a vessel comes driving at +you amidships out of the fog. +</p><p> +"Why, yes, sir, I should be glad to keep +my place," said Mrs. French, taking the less +grave meaning of his remark by instinct, if +not by preference; "only it seems your duty +to let your great-niece come some time or +other, and I can go off. Perhaps it is an +untimely season to speak, about it, but, you +see, I have had it in mind, and now I've +got through with the preserves, and there's +a space between now and house-cleaning, I +guess you'd better let the young woman +come. Folks have got wind about your refusing +her earlier, and think hard of me: +my position isn't altogether pleasant," and +she changed color a little, and looked him +full in the face. +</p><p> +The captain's eyes fell. He did owe her +something. He never had been so comfortable +in his life, on shore, as she had made +him. She had heard some cursed ill-natured +speeches, and he very well knew that a more +self-respecting woman never lived. But now +her moment of self-assertion seemed to have +come, and, to use his own words, she had him +fast. Stop! there was a way of escape. +</p><p> +"Then I <i>will</i> send for the gal. Perhaps +you're right, ma'am. I've slept myself into +the doldrums. <i>Whoo! whoo!</i>" he said, +loudly—anything to gain a little time. +"Anything you say, ma'am," he protested. +"I've got to step down-town on some business," +and the captain fled with ponderous +footsteps out through the dining-room to the +little side entry where he hung his hat; then +a moment later he went away, clicking his +cane along the narrow sidewalk. +</p><p> +He had escaped that time, and wrote the +brief note to his great-niece, Ann Ball—how +familiar the name looked!—with a +sense of victory. He dreaded the next interview +with his housekeeper, but she was +business-like and self-possessed, and seemed +to be giving him plenty of time. Then the +captain regretted his letter, and felt as if +he were going to be broken up once more in +his home comfort. He spoke only when it +was absolutely necessary, and simply nodded +his head when Mrs. French said that she +was ready to start as soon as she showed +the young woman about the house. But +what favorite dishes were served the captain +in those intervening days! and there +was one cool evening beside, when the housekeeper +had the social assistance of a fire in +the Franklin stove. The captain thought +that his only safety lay in sleep, and promptly +took that means of saving himself from a +dangerous conversation. He even went to +a panorama on Friday night, a diversion +that would usually be quite beneath his +dignity. It was difficult to avoid asking +Mrs. French to accompany him, she helped +him on with his coat so pleasantly, but +"she'd git her claws on me comin' home +perhaps," mused the self-distrustful mariner, +and stoutly went his way to the panorama +alone. It was a very dull show indeed, and +he bravely confessed it, and then was angry +at a twinkle in Mrs. French's eyes. Yet he +should miss the good creature, and for the +life of him he could not think lightly of her. +"She well knows how able she is to do for +me. Women-folks is cap'ns ashore," sighed +the captain as he went upstairs to bed. +</p><p> +"Women-folks is cap'ns ashore," he repeated, +in solemn confidence to one of his +intimate friends, as they stood next day on +one of the deserted wharves, looking out +across the empty harbor roads. There was +nothing coming in. How they had watched +the deep-laden ships enter between the outer +capes and drop their great sails in home +waters! How they had ruled those ships, +and been the ablest ship-masters of their +day, with nobody to question their decisions! +There is no such absolute monarchy as a sea-captain's. +He is a petty king, indeed, as he +sails the high seas from port to port. +</p><p> +There was a fine easterly breeze and a +bright sun that day, but Captain Ball came +toiling up the cobble-stoned street toward his +house as if he were vexed by a headwind. He +carried a post-card between his thumb and +finger, and grumbled aloud as he stumped +along. "Mis' French!" he called, loudly, +as he opened the door, and that worthy woman +appeared with a floured apron, and a +mind divided between her employer's special +business and her own affairs of pie-making. +</p><p> +"She's coming this same day," roared the +captain. "Might have given some notice, +I'm sure. 'Be with you Saturday afternoon,' +and signed her name. That's all she's +written. Whoo! whoo! 'tis a dreadful close +day," and the poor old fellow fumbled for +his big silk handkerchief. "I don't know +what train she'll take. I ain't going to hang +round up at the depot; my rheumatism +troubles me." +</p><p> +"I wouldn't, if I was you," answered Mrs. +French, shortly, and turned from him with a +pettish movement to open the oven door. +</p><p> +The captain passed into the sitting-room, +and sat down heavily in his large chair. On +the wall facing him was a picture of his old +ship the Ocean Rover leaving the harbor of +Bristol. It was not valuable as a marine +painting, but the sea was blue in that picture, +and the white canvas all spread to the +very sky-scrapers; it was an emblem of that +freedom which Captain Asaph Ball had once +enjoyed. Dinner that day was a melancholy +meal, and after it was cleared away the master +of the house forlornly watched Mrs. +French gather an armful of her own belongings, +and mount the stairs as if she were going +to pack her box that very afternoon. It +did not seem possible that she meant to leave +before Monday, but the captain could not +bring himself to ask any questions. He was +at the mercy of womankind. "A jiggeting +girl. I don't know how to act with her. She +sha'n't rule me," he muttered to himself. +"She and Mis' French may think they've +got things right to their hands, but I'll +stand my ground—I'll stand my ground," +and the captain gently slid into the calmer +waters of his afternoon nap. +</p><p> +When he waked the house was still, and +with sudden consciousness of approaching +danger, and a fear lest Mrs. French might +have some last words to say if she found him +awake, he stole out of his house as softly as +possible and went down-town, hiding his secret +woes and joining in the long seafaring +reminiscences with which he and his friends +usually diverted themselves. As he came up +the street again toward supper-time, he saw +that the blinds were thrown open in the parlor +windows, and his heart began to beat +loudly. He could hear women's voices, and +he went in by a side gate and sought the +quiet garden. It had suffered from a touch +of frost; so had the captain. +</p><p> +Mrs. French heard the gate creak, and +presently she came to the garden door at the +end of the front entry. "Come in, won't ye, +cap'n?" she called, persuasively, and with a +mighty sea oath the captain rose and obeyed. +</p><p> +The house was still. He strode along the +entry lite a brave man: there was nothing +of the coward about Asaph Ball when he +made up his mind to a thing. There was +nobody in the best parlor, and he turned +toward the sitting-room, but there sat smiling +Mrs. French. +</p><p> +"Where is the gal?" blew the captain. +</p><p> +"Here I be, sir," said Mrs. French, with +a flushed and beaming face. "I thought +'t was full time to put you out of your +misery." +</p><p> +"What's all this mean? <i>Whoo! whoo!</i>" +</p><p> +"Here I be; take me or leave me, uncle," +answered the housekeeper: she began to be +anxious, the captain looked so bewildered +and irate. "Folks seemed to think that you +was peculiar, and I was impressed that it +would be better to just come first without a +word's bein' said, and find out how you an' +me got on; then, if we didn't make out, +nobody 'd be bound. I'm sure I didn't +want to be." +</p><p> +"Who was that I heard talking with ye +as I come by?" blew the captain very loud. +</p><p> +"That was Mis' Cap'n Topliff; an' an +old cat she is," calmly replied Mrs. French. +"She hasn't been near me before this three +months, but plenty of stories she's set goin' +about us, and plenty of spyin' she's done. I +thought I'd tell you who I was within a week +after I come, but I found out how things was +goin', and I had to spite 'em well before I +got through. I expected that something +would turn up, an' the whole story get out. +But we've been middlin' comfortable, haven't +we, sir? an' I thought 't was 'bout time +to give you a little surprise. Mis' Calvinn +and the minister knows the whole story," +she concluded: "I wouldn't have kep' it +from them. Mis' Calvinn said all along +'t would be a good lesson"— +</p><p> +"Who wrote that card from the post-office?" +demanded the captain, apparently but +half persuaded. +</p><p> +"I did," said Mrs. French. +</p><p> +"Good Hector, you women-folks!" but +Captain Ball ventured to cross the room and +establish himself in his chair. Then, being +a man of humor, he saw that he had a round +turn on those who had spitefufly sought to +question him. +</p><p> +"You needn't let on, that you haven't +known me all along," suggested Mrs. French. +"I should be pleased if you would call me +by my Christian name, sir. I was married +to Mr. French only a short time; he was +taken away very sudden. The letter that +came after aunt's death was directed to my +maiden name, but aunt knew all about me. +I've got some means, an' I ain't distressed +but what I can earn my living." +</p><p> +"They don't call me such an old Turk, +I hope!" exclaimed the excited captain, +deprecating the underrated estimate of himself +which was suddenly presented. "I +ain't a hard man at sea, now I tell ye," and +he turned away, much moved at the injustice +of society. "I've got no head for geneology. +Ann usually set in to give me the +family particulars when I was logy with +sleep a Sunday night. I thought you was +a French from Massachusetts way." +</p><p> +"I had to say somethin'," responded the +housekeeper, promptly. +</p><p> +"Well, well!" and a suppressed laugh +shook the captain like an earthquake. He +was suddenly set free from his enemies, +while an hour before he had been hemmed +in on every side. +</p><p> +They had a cheerful supper, and Ann +French cut a pie, and said, as she passed +him more than a quarter part of it, that she +thought she should give up when she was +baking that morning, and saw the look on +his face as he handed her the post-card. +</p><p> +"You're fit to be captain of a privateer," +acknowledged Captain Asaph Ball, handsomely. +The complications of shore life +were very astonishing to this seafaring man +of the old school. +</p><p> +Early on Monday morning he had a delightful +sense of triumph. Captain Allister, +who was the chief gossip of the waterside +club, took it upon himself—a cheap thing +to do, as everybody said afterwards—to +ask many questions about those unvalued +relatives of the Balls, who had settled long +ago in New York State. Were there any +children left of the captain's half-brother's +family? +</p><p> +"I've got a niece living—a great-niece +she is," answered Captain Ball, with a broad +smile—"makes me feel old. You see, my +half-brother was a grown man when I was +born. I never saw him scarcely; there was +some misunderstanding an' he always lived +with his own mother's folks; and father, he +married again, and had me and Ann thirty +year after. Why, my half-brother 'd been +'most a hundred; I don't know but more." +</p><p> +Captain Ball spoke in a cheerful tone; +the audience meditated, and Captain Allister +mentioned meekly that time did slip away. +</p><p> +"Ever see any of 'em?" he inquired. +In some way public interest was aroused in +the niece. +</p><p> +"Ever see any of 'em?" repeated the +captain, in a loud tone. "You fool, Allister, +who's keepin' my house this minute? Why, +Ann French; Ann Ball that was, and a +smart, likely woman she is. I ain't a marryin' +man: there's been plenty o' fools to +try me. I've been picked over well by you +and others, and I thought if 't pleased you, +you could take your own time." +</p><p> +The honest captain for once lent himself +to deception. One would have thought +that he had planned the siege himself. He +took his stick from where it leaned against +a decaying piece of ship-timber and went +clicking away. The explanation of his +housekeeping arrangements was not long in +flying about the town, and Mrs. Captain +Topliff made an early call to say that she +had always suspected it from the first, from +the family likeness. +</p><p> +From this time Captain Ball submitted +to the rule of Mrs. French, and under her +sensible and fearless sway became, as everybody +said, more like other people than ever +before. As he grew older it was more and +more convenient to have a superior officer +to save him from petty responsibilities. +But now and then, after the first relief at +finding that Mrs. French was not seeking +his hand in marriage, and that the jiggeting +girl was a mere fabrication, Captain +Ball was both surprised and a little ashamed +to discover that something in his heart had +suffered disappointment in the matter of the +great-niece. Those who knew him well +would have as soon expected to see a flower +grow out of a cobble-stone as that Captain +Asaph Ball should hide such a sentiment in +his honest breast. He had fancied her a +pretty girl in a pink dress, who would make +some life in the quiet house, and sit and +sing at her sewing by the front window, in +all her foolish furbelows, as he came up +the street. +</p> +<a name="a_ByMorningBoat"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">BY THE MORNING BOAT.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<p> +On the coast of Maine, where many green +islands and salt inlets fringe the deep-cut +shore line; where balsam firs and bayberry +bushes send their fragrance far seaward, and +song-sparrows sing all day, and the tide runs +plashing in and out among the weedy ledges; +where cowbells tinkle on the hills and herons +stand in the shady coves,—on the +lonely coast of Maine stood a small gray +house facing the morning light. All the +weather-beaten houses of that region face +the sea apprehensively, like the women who +live in them. +</p><p> +This home of four people was as bleached +and gray with wind and rain as one of the +pasture rocks close by. There were some +cinnamon rose bushes under the window at +one side of the door, and a stunted lilac at +the other side. It was so early in the cool +morning that nobody was astir but some shy +birds, that had come in the stillness of +dawn to pick and flutter in the short grass. +</p><p> +They flew away together as some one softly +opened the unlocked door and stepped out. +This was a bent old man, who shaded his +eyes with his hand, and looked at the west +and the east and overhead, and then took a +few lame and feeble steps farther out to see +a wooden vane on the barn. Then he sat +down on the doorstep, clasped his hands together +between his knees, and looked steadily +out to sea, scanning the horizon where +some schooners had held on their course all +night, with a light westerly breeze. He +seemed to be satisfied at sight of the weather, +as if he had been anxious, as he lay unassured +in his north bedroom, vexed with the +sleeplessness of age and excited by thoughts +of the coming day. The old seaman dozed +as he sat on the doorstep, while dawn came +up and the world grew bright; and the little +birds returned, fearfully at first, to finish +their breakfast, and at last made bold to hop +close to his feet. +</p><p> +After a time some one else came and stood +in the open door behind him. +</p><p> +"Why, father! seems to me you've got +an early start; 't ain't but four o'clock. I +thought I was foolish to get up so soon, but +'t wa'n't so I could sleep." +</p><p> +"No, darter." The old man smiled as he +turned to look at her, wide awake on the instant. +"'T ain't so soon as I git out some +o' these 'arly mornin's. The birds wake me +up singin', and it's plenty light, you know. +I wanted to make sure 'Lisha would have a +fair day to go." +</p><p> +"I expect he'd have to go if the weather +wa'n't good," said the woman. +</p><p> +"Yes, yes, but 'tis useful to have fair +weather, an' a good sign some says it is. +This is a great event for the boy, ain't it?" +</p><p> +"I can't face the thought o' losin' on him, +father." The woman came forward a step +or two and sat down on the doorstep. She +was a hard-worked, anxious creature, whose +face had lost all look of youth. She was +apt, in the general course of things, to hurry +the old man and to spare little time for talking, +and he was pleased by this acknowledged +unity of their interests. He moved +aside a little to give her more room, and +glanced at her with a smile, as if to beg her +to speak freely. They were both undemonstrative, +taciturn New Englanders; their +hearts were warm with pent-up feeling, that +summer morning, yet it was easier to understand +one another through silence than +through speech. +</p><p> +"No, I couldn't git much sleep," repeated +the daughter at last. "Some things I +thought of that ain't come to mind before +for years,—things I don't relish the feelin' +of, all over again." +</p><p> +"'T was just such a mornin' as this, pore +little 'Lisha's father went off on that last +v'y'ge o' his," answered the old sailor, with +instant comprehension. "Yes, you've had +it master hard, pore gal, ain't you? I advised +him against goin' off on that old vessel +with a crew that wa'n't capable." +</p><p> +"Such a mornin' as this, when I come +out at sun-up, I always seem to see her top-s'ils +over there beyond the p'int, where she +was to anchor. Well, I thank Heaven +'Lisha was averse to goin' to sea," declared +the mother. +</p><p> +"There's dangers ashore, Lucy Ann," +said the grandfather, solemnly; but there +was no answer, and they sat there in silence +until the old man grew drowsy again. +</p><p> +"Yisterday was the first time it fell onto +my heart that 'Lisha was goin' off," the mother +began again, after a time had passed. +"P'r'aps folks was right about our needing +of him. I've been workin' every way I +could to further him and git him a real good +chance up to Boston, and now that we've +got to part with him I don't see how to put +up with it." +</p><p> +"All nateral," insisted the old man. "My +mother wept the night through before I was +goin' to sail on my first v'y'ge; she was kind +of satisfied, though, when I come home next +summer, grown a full man, with my savin's +in my pocket, an' I had a master pretty +little figured shawl I'd bought for her to +Bristol." +</p><p> +"I don't want no shawls. Partin' is partin' +to me," said the woman. +</p><p> +"'T ain't everybody can stand in her fore-door +an' see the chimbleys o' three child'n's +houses without a glass," he tried eagerly to +console her. "All ready an' willin' to do +their part for you, so as you could let 'Lisha +go off and have his chance." +</p><p> +"I don't know how it is," she answered, +"but none on 'em never give me the rooted +home feelin' that 'Lisha has. They was +more varyin' and kind o' fast growin' and +scatterin'; but 'Lisha was always 'Lisha +when he was a babe, and I settled on him +for the one to keep with me." +</p><p> +"Then he's just the kind to send off, one +you ain't got to worry about. They're all +good child'n," said the man. "We've reason +to be thankful none on 'em's been like +some young sprigs, more grief 'n glory to +their folks. An' I ain't regrettin' 'Lisha's +goin' one mite; I believe you'd rather go +on doin' for him an' cossetin'. I think 't was +high time to shove him out o' the nest." +</p><p> +"You ain't his mother," said Lucy Ann. +</p><p> +"What be you goin' to give him for his +breakfast?" asked the stern grandfather, in +a softened, less business-like voice. +</p><p> +"I don't know's I'd thought about it, +special, sir. I did lay aside that piece o' +apple pie we had left yisterday from dinner," +she confessed. +</p><p> +"Fry him out a nice little crisp piece o' +pork, Lucy Ann, an' 't will relish with his +baked potatoes. He'll think o' his breakfast +more times 'n you expect. I know a +lad's feelin's when home's put behind him." +</p><p> +The sun was up clear and bright over the +broad sea inlet to the eastward, but the shining +water struck the eye by its look of vacancy. +It was broad daylight, and still so +early that no sails came stealing out from the +farmhouse landings, or even from the gray +groups of battered fish-houses that overhung, +here and there, a sheltered cove. Some +crows and gulls were busy in the air; it was +the time of day when the world belongs more +to birds than to men. +</p><p> +"Poor 'Lisha!" the mother went on compassionately. +"I expect it has been a long +night to him. He seemed to take it in, as +he was goin' to bed, how 't was his last night +to home. I heard him thrashin' about kind +o' restless, sometimes." +</p><p> +"Come, Lucy Ann, the boy ought to be +stirrin'!" exclaimed the old sailor, without +the least show of sympathy. "He's got to +be ready when John Sykes comes, an' he +ain't so quick as some lads." +</p><p> +The mother rose with a sigh, and went +into the house. After her own sleepless +night, she dreaded to face the regretful, +sleepless eyes of her son; but as she opened +the door of his little bedroom, there lay +Elisha sound asleep and comfortable to behold. +She stood watching him with gloomy +tenderness until he stirred uneasily, his consciousness +roused by the intentness of her +thought, and the mysterious current that +flowed from her wistful, eager eyes. +</p><p> +But when the lad waked, it was to a joyful +sense of manliness and responsibility; +for him the change of surroundings was coming +through natural processes of growth, not +through the uprooting which gave his mother +such an aching heart. +</p><p> +A little later Elisha came out to the +breakfast-table, arrayed in his best sandy-brown +clothes set off with a bright blue satin +cravat, which had been the pride and delight +of pleasant Sundays and rare holidays. He +already felt unrelated to the familiar scene +of things, and was impatient to be gone. +For one thing, it was strange to sit down to +breakfast in Sunday splendor, while his mother +and grandfather and little sister Lydia +were in their humble every-day attire. They +ate in silence and haste, as they always did, +but with a new constraint and awkwardness +that forbade their looking at one another. +At last the head of the household broke the +silence with simple straightforwardness. +</p><p> +"You've got an excellent good day, +'Lisha. I like to have a fair start myself. +'T ain't goin' to be too hot; the wind's +working into the north a little." +</p><p> +"Yes, sir," responded Elisha. +</p><p> +"The great p'int about gittin' on in life +is bein' able to cope with your headwinds," +continued the old man earnestly, pushing +away his plate. "Any fool can run before +a fair breeze, but I tell ye a good seaman is +one that gits the best out o' his disadvantages. +You won't be treated so pretty as +you expect in the store, and you'll git +plenty o' blows to your pride; but you keep +right ahead, and if you can't run before the +wind you can always beat. I ain't no hand +to preach, but preachin' ain't goin' to sarve +ye now. We've gone an' fetched ye up the +best we could, your mother an' me, an' you +can't never say but you've started amongst +honest folks. If a vessel's built out o' sound +timber an' has got good lines for sailin', why +then she's seaworthy; but if she ain't, she +ain't; an' a mess o' preachin' ain't goin' to +alter her over. Now you're standin' out to +sea, my boy, an' you can bear your home in +mind and work your way, same's plenty of +others has done." +</p><p> +It was a solemn moment; the speaker's +voice faltered, and little Lydia dried her +tearful blue eyes with her gingham apron. +Elisha hung his head, and patted the old +spotted cat which came to rub herself against +his trowsers-leg. The mother rose hastily, +and hurried into the pantry close by. She +was always an appealing figure, with her +thin shoulders and faded calico gowns; it +was difficult to believe that she had once +been the prettiest girl in that neighborhood. +But her son loved her in his sober, undemonstrative +way, and was full of plans for coming +home, rich and generous enough to make +her proud and happy. He was half pleased +and half annoyed because his leave-taking +was of such deep concern to the household. +</p><p> +"Come, Lyddy, don't you take on," he +said, with rough kindliness. "Let's go out, +and I'll show you how to feed the pig and +'tend to the chickens. You'll have to be +chief clerk when I'm gone." +</p><p> +They went out to the yard, hand in hand. +Elisha stopped to stroke the old cat again, +as she ran by his side and mewed. "I wish +I was off and done with it; this morning +does seem awful long," said the boy. +</p><p> +"Ain't you afraid you'll be homesick +an' want to come back?" asked the little +sister timidly; but Elisha scorned so poor +a thought. +</p><p> +"You'll have to see if grandpa has 'tended +to these things, the pig an' the chickens," he +advised her gravely. "He forgets 'em sometimes +when I'm away, but he would be cast +down if you told him so, and you just keep +an eye open, Lyddy. Mother's got enough +to do inside the house. But grandsir'll +keep her in kindlin's; he likes to set and +chop in the shed rainy days, an' he'll do a +sight more if you'll set with him, an' let +him get goin' on his old seafarin' times." +</p><p> +Lydia nodded discreetly. +</p><p> +"An', Lyddy, don't you loiter comin' +home from school, an' don't play out late, an' +get 'em fussy, when it comes cold weather. +And you tell Susy Draper,"—the boy's +voice sounded unconcerned, but Lydia +glanced at him quickly,—"you tell Susy +Draper that I was awful sorry she was over +to her aunt's, so I couldn't say good-by." +</p><p> +Lydia's heart was the heart of a woman, +and she comprehended. Lydia nodded +again, more sagely than before. +</p><p> +"See here," said the boy suddenly. "I'm +goin' to let my old woodchuck out." +</p><p> +Lydia's face was blank with surprise. "I +thought you promised to sell him to big Jim +Hooper." +</p><p> +"I did, but I don't care for big Jim +Hooper; you just tell him I let my wood-chuck +go." +</p><p> +The brother and sister went to their favorite +playground between the ledges, not +far from the small old barn. Here was a +clumsy box with wire gratings, behind which +an untamed little wild beast sat up and chittered +at his harmless foes. "He's a whopping +old fellow," said Elisha admiringly. +"Big Jim Hooper sha'n't have him!" and +as he opened the trap, Lydia had hardly time +to perch herself high on the ledge, before +the woodchuck tumbled and scuttled along +the short green turf, and was lost among the +clumps of juniper and bayberry just beyond. +</p><p> +"I feel just like him," said the boy. "I +want to get up to Boston just as bad as that. +See here, now!" and he flung a gallant cart-wheel +of himself in the same direction, and +then stood on his head and waved his legs +furiously in the air. "I feel just like that." +</p><p> +Lydia, who had been tearful all the morning, +looked at him in vague dismay. Only a +short time ago she had never been made to +feel that her brother was so much older than +herself. They had been constant playmates; +but now he was like a grown man, and cared +no longer for their old pleasures. There +was all possible difference between them +that there can be between fifteen years and +twelve, and Lydia was nothing but a child. +</p><p> +"Come, come, where be ye?" shouted the +old grandfather, and they both started guiltily. +Elisha rubbed some dry grass out of +his short-cropped hair, and the little sister +came down from her ledge. At that moment +the real pang of parting shot through +her heart; her brother belonged irrevocably +to a wider world. +</p><p> +"Ma'am Stover has sent for ye to come +over; she wants to say good-by to ye!" +shouted the grandfather, leaning on his two +canes at the end of the bam. "Come, step +lively, an' remember you ain't got none too +much time, an' the boat ain't goin' to wait a +minute for nobody." +</p><p> +"Ma'am Stover?" repeated the boy, with +a frown. He and his sister knew only too +well the pasture path between the two houses. +Ma'am Stover was a bedridden woman, who +had seen much trouble,—a town charge in +her old age. Her neighbors gave to her +generously out of their own slender stores. +Yet with all this poverty and dependence, +she held firm sway over the customs and +opinions of her acquaintance, from the uneasy +bed where she lay year in and year out, +watching the far sea line beyond a pasture +slope. +</p><p> +The young people walked fast, sometimes +running a little way, light-footed, the boy +going ahead, and burst into their neighbor's +room out of breath. +</p><p> +She was calm and critical, and their excitement +had a sudden chill. +</p><p> +"So the great day's come at last, 'Lisha?" +she asked; at which 'Lisha was conscious +of unnecessary aggravation. +</p><p> +"I don't know's it's much of a day—to +anybody but me," he added, discovering a +twinkle in her black eyes that was more +sympathetic than usual. "I expected to +stop an' see you last night; but I had to go +round and see all our folks, and when I got +back 't was late and the tide was down, an' +I knew that grandsir couldn't git the boat +up all alone to our lower landin'." +</p><p> +"Well, I didn't forgit you, but I thought +p'r'aps you might forgit me, an' I'm goin' +to give ye somethin'. 'T is for your folks' +sake; I want ye to tell 'em so. I don't +want ye never to part with it, even if it fails +to work and you git proud an' want a new +one. It's been a sight o' company to me." +She reached up, with a flush on her wrinkled +cheeks and tears in her eyes, and took a +worn old silver watch from its nail, and +handed it, with a last look at its white face +and large gold hands, to the startled boy. +</p><p> +"Oh, I can't take it from ye, Ma'am +Stover. I'm just as much obliged to you," +he faltered. +</p><p> +"There, go now, dear, go right along." +said the old woman, turning quickly away. +"Be a good boy for your folks' sake. If so +be that I'm here when you come home, you +can let me see how well you've kep' it." +</p><p> +The boy and girl went softly out, leaving +the door wide open, as Ma'am Stover liked +to have it in summer weather, her windows +being small and few. There were neighbors +near enough to come and shut it, if a heavy +shower blew up. Sometimes the song sparrows +and whippoorwills came hopping in +about the little bare room. +</p><p> +"I felt kind of'shamed to carry off her +watch," protested Elisha, with a radiant face +that belied his honest words. +</p><p> +"Put it on," said proud little Lydia, trotting +alongside; and he hooked the bright +steel chain into his buttonhole, and looked +down to see how it shone across his waistcoat. +None of his friends had so fine a +watch; even his grandfather's was so poor +a timekeeper that it was rarely worn except +as a decoration on Sundays or at a funeral. +They hurried home. Ma'am Stover, lying +in her bed, could see the two slight figures +nearly all the way on the pasture path; flitting +along in their joyful haste. +</p><p> +It was disappointing that the mother and +grandfather had so little to say about the +watch. In fact, Elisha's grandfather only +said "Pore creatur'" once or twice, and +turned away, rubbing his eyes with the back +of his hand. If Ma'am Stover had chosen +to give so rich a gift, to know the joy of +such generosity, nobody had a right to protest. +Yet nobody knew how much the poor +wakeful soul would miss the only one of +her meagre possessions that seemed alive +and companionable in lonely hours. Somebody +had said once that there were chairs +that went about on wheels, made on purpose +for crippled persons like Ma'am Stover; +and Elisha's heart was instantly filled with +delight at the remembrance. Perhaps before +long, if he could save some money and +get ahead, he would buy one of those chairs +and send it down from Boston; and a new +sense of power filled his honest heart. He +had dreamed a great many dreams already +of what he meant to do with all his money, +when he came home rich and a person of +consequence, in summer vacations. +</p><p> +The large leather valise was soon packed, +and its owner carried it out to the roadside, +and put his last winter's overcoat and a great +new umbrella beside it, so as to be ready +when John Sykes came with the wagon. He +was more and more anxious to be gone, and +felt no sense of his old identification with +the home interests. His mother said sadly +that he would be gone full soon enough, +when he joined his grandfather in accusing +Mr. Sykes of keeping them waiting forever +and making him miss the boat. There were +three rough roundabout miles to be traveled +to the steamer landing, and the Sykes horses +were known to be slow. But at last the +team came nodding in sight over a steep +hill in the road. +</p><p> +Then the moment of parting had come, +the moment toward which all the long late +winter and early summer had looked. The +boy was leaving his plain little home for the +great adventure of his life's fortunes. Until +then he had been the charge and anxiety of +his elders, and under their rule and advice. +Now he was free to choose; his was the +power of direction, his the responsibility; +for in the world one must be ranked by his +own character and ability, and doomed by +his own failures. The boy lifted his burden +lightly, and turned with an eager smile to +say farewell. But the old people and little +Lydia were speechless with grief; they could +not bear to part with the pride and hope and +boyish strength, that were all their slender +joy. The worn-out old man, the anxious +woman who had been beaten and buffeted +by the waves of poverty and sorrow, the +little sister with her dreaming heart, stood +at the bars and hungrily watched him go +away. They feared success for him almost +as much as failure. The world was before +him now, with its treasures and pleasures, +but with those inevitable disappointments +and losses which old people know and fear; +those sorrows of incapacity and lack of +judgment which young hearts go out to meet +without foreboding. It was a world of love +and favor to which little Lydia's brother had +gone; but who would know her fairy prince, +in that disguise of a country boy's bashfulness +and humble raiment from the cheap +counter of a country store? The household +stood rapt and silent until the farm wagon +had made its last rise on the hilly road and +disappeared. +</p><p> +"Well, he's left us now," said the sorrowful, +hopeful old grandfather. "I expect +I've got to turn to an' be a boy again myself. +I feel to hope 'Lisha'll do as well as +we covet for him. I seem to take it in, all +my father felt when he let me go off to sea. +He stood where I'm standin' now, an' I was +just as triflin' as pore 'Lisha, and felt full as +big as a man. But Lord! how I give up +when it come night, an' I took it in I was +gone from home!" +</p><p> +"There, don't ye, father," said the pale +mother gently. She was, after all, the +stronger of the two. "'Lisha's good an' +honest-hearted. You'll feel real proud a +year from now, when he gits back. I'm so +glad he's got his watch to carry,—he did +feel so grand. I expect them poor hens is +sufferin'; nobody's thought on 'em this +livin' mornin'. You'd better step an' feed +'em right away, sir." She could hardly +speak for sorrow and excitement, but the +old man was diverted at once, and hobbled +away with cheerful importance on his two +canes. Then she looked round at the poor, +stony little farm almost angrily. "He'd no +natural turn for the sea, 'Lisha hadn't; but +I might have kept him with me if the land +was good for anything." +</p><p> +Elisha felt as if lie were in a dream, now +that his great adventure was begun. He +answered John Sykes's questions mechanically, +and his head was a little dull and +dazed. Then he began to fear that the slow +plodding of the farm horses would make him +too late for the steamboat, and with sudden +satisfaction pulled out the great watch to see +if there were still time enough to get to the +landing. He was filled with remorse because +it was impossible to remember whether +he had thanked Ma'am Stover for her gift. +It seemed like a thing of life and consciousness +as he pushed it back into his tight +pocket. John Sykes looked at him curiously. +"Why, that's old Ma'am Stover's timepiece, +ain't it? Lend it to ye, did she?" +</p><p> +"Gave it to me," answered Elisha proudly. +</p><p> +"You be careful of that watch," said the +driver soberly; and Elisha nodded. +</p><p> +"Well, good-day to ye; be a stiddy lad," +advised John Sykes, a few minutes afterward. +"Don't start in too smart an' scare 'm up to +Boston. Pride an' ambition was the downfall +o' old Cole's dog. There, sonny, the +bo't ain't nowheres in sight, for all your +fidgetin'!" +</p><p> +They both smiled broadly at the humorous +warning, and as the old wagon rattled +away, Elisha stood a moment looking after +it; then he went down to the wharf by +winding ways among piles of decayed timber +and disused lobster-pots. A small group +of travelers and spectators had already assembled, +and they stared at him in a way +that made him feel separated from his kind, +though some of them had come to see him depart. +One unenlightened acquaintance inquired +if Elisha were expecting friends by +that morning's boat; and when he explained +that he was going away himself, asked +kindly whether it was to be as far as Bath. +Elisha mentioned the word "Boston" with +scorn and compassion, but he did not feel +like discussing his brilliant prospects now, +as he had been more than ready to do the +week before. Just then a deaf old woman +asked for the time of day. She sat next +him on the battered bench. +</p><p> +"Be you going up to Bath, dear?" she +demanded suddenly; and he said yes. +"Guess I'll stick to you, then, fur's you +go; 't is kind o' blind in them big places." +Elisha faintly nodded a meek but grudging +assent; then, after a few moments, he boldly +rose, tall umbrella in hand, and joined the +talkative company of old and young men at +the other side of the wharf. They proceeded +to make very light of a person's going to +Boston to enter upon his business career; +but, after all, their thoughts were those of +mingled respect and envy. Most of them +had seen Boston, but no one save Elisha +was going there that day to stay for a whole +year. It made him feel like a city man. +</p><p> +The steamer whistled loud and hoarse before +she came in sight, but presently the +gay flags showed close by above the pointed +spruces. Then she came jarring against the +wharf, and the instant bustle and hurry, the +strange faces of the passengers, and the loud +rattle of freight going on board, were as confusing +and exciting as if a small piece of +Boston itself had been dropped into that +quiet cove. +</p><p> +The people on the wharf shouted cheerful +good-byes, to which the young traveler responded; +then he seated himself well astern +to enjoy the views, and felt as if he had +made a thousand journeys. He bought a +newspaper, and began to read it with much +pride and a beating heart. The little old +woman came and sat beside him, and talked +straight on whether he listened or not, until +he was afraid of what the other passengers +might think, but nobody looked that way, +and he could not find anything in the paper +that he cared to read. Alone, but unfettered +and aflame with courage; to himself he was +not the boy who went away, but the proud +man who one day would be coming home. +</p><p> +"Goin' to Boston, be ye?" asked the old +lady for the third time; and it was still a +pleasure to say yes, when the boat swung +round, and there, far away on its gray and +green pasture slope, with the dark evergreens +standing back, were the low gray +house, and the little square barn, and the +lines of fence that shut in his home. He +strained his eyes to see if any one were +watching from the door. He had almost +forgotten that they could see him still. He +sprang to the boat's side: yes, his mother +remembered; there was something white +waving from the doorway. The whole landscape +faded from his eyes except that faraway +gray house; his heart leaped back +with love and longing; he gazed and gazed, +until a height of green forest came between +and shut the picture out. Then the country +boy went on alone to make his way in +the wide world. +</p> +<a name="a_DarkNewEnglandDays"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">IN DARK NEW ENGLAND DAYS.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">I.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +The last of the neighbors was going +home; officious Mrs. Peter Downs had lingered +late and sought for additional housework +with which to prolong her stay. She +had talked incessantly, and buzzed like a +busy bee as she helped to put away the best +crockery after the funeral supper, while the +sisters Betsey and Hannah Knowles grew +every moment more forbidding and unwilling +to speak. They lighted a solitary small +oil lamp at last, as if for Sunday evening +idleness, and put it on the side table in the +kitchen. +</p><p> +"We ain't intending to make a late evening +of it," announced Betsey, the elder, +standing before Mrs. Downs in an expectant, +final way, making an irresistible opportunity +for saying good-night. "I'm sure +we're more than obleeged to ye,—ain't we, +Hannah?—but I don't feel's if we ought +to keep ye longer. We ain't going to do no +more to-night, but set down a spell and kind +of collect ourselves, and then make for bed." +</p><p> +Susan Downs offered one more plea. "I'd +stop all night with ye an' welcome; 't is gettin' +late—an' dark," she added plaintively; +but the sisters shook their heads quickly, +while Hannah said that they might as well +get used to staying alone, since they would +have to do it first or last. In spite of herself +Mrs. Downs was obliged to put on her +funeral best bonnet and shawl and start on +her homeward way. +</p><p> +"Closed-mouthed old maids!" she grumbled +as the door shut behind her all too soon +and denied her the light of the lamp along the +footpath. Suddenly there was a bright ray +from the window, as if some one had pushed +back the curtain and stood with the lamp +close to the sash. "That's Hannah," said +the retreating guest. "She'd told me somethin' +about things, I know, if it hadn't 'a' +been for Betsey. Catch me workin' myself to +pieces again for 'em." But, however grudgingly +this was said, Mrs. Downs's conscience +told her that the industry of the past two +days had been somewhat selfish on her part; +she had hoped that in the excitement of this +unexpected funeral season she might for +once be taken into the sisters' confidence. +More than this, she knew that they were +certain of her motive, and had deliberately +refused the expected satisfaction. "'T ain't +as if I was one o' them curious busy-bodies +anyway," she said to herself pityingly; "they +might 'a' neighbored with somebody for once, +I do believe." Everybody would have a +question ready for her the next day, for it +was known that she had been slaving herself +devotedly since the news had come of +old Captain Knowles's sudden death in his +bed from a stroke, the last of three which +had in the course of a year or two changed +him from a strong old man to a feeble, +chair-bound cripple. +</p><p> +Mrs. Downs stepped bravely along the +dark country road; she could see a light in +her own kitchen window half a mile away, +and did not stop to notice either the penetrating +dampness, or the shadowy woods at +her right. It was a cloudy night, but there +was a dim light over the open fields. She +had a disposition of mind towards the exciting +circumstances of death and burial, and +was in request at such times among her +neighbors; in this she was like a city person +who prefers tragedy to comedy, but not +having the semblance within her reach, she +made the most of looking on at real griefs +and departures. +</p><p> +Some one was walking towards her in the +road; suddenly she heard footsteps. The +figure stopped, then it came forward again. +</p><p> +"Oh, 't is you, ain't it?" with a tone of +disappointment. "I cal'lated you'd stop all +night, 't had got to be so late, an' I was just +going over to the Knowles gals'; well, to +kind o' ask how they be, an'"—Mr. Peter +Downs was evidently counting on his visit. +</p><p> +"They never passed me the compliment," +replied the wife. "I declare I didn't covet +the walk home; I'm most beat out, bein' +on foot so much. I was 'most put out with +'em for letten' of me see quite so plain +that my room was better than my company. +But I don't know's I blame 'em; they want +to look an' see what they've got, an' kind +of git by theirselves, I expect. 'T was natural." +</p><p> +Mrs. Downs knew that her husband +would resent her first statements, being a +sensitive and grumbling man. She had +formed a pacific habit of suiting her remarks +to his point of view, to save an outburst. +He contented Himself with calling +the Knowles girls hoggish, and put a direct +question as to whether they had let fall any +words about their situation, but Martha +Downs was obliged to answer in the negative. +</p><p> +"Was Enoch Holt there after the folks +come back from the grave?" +</p><p> +"He wa'n't; they never give <i>him</i> no encouragement +neither." +</p><p> +"He appeared well, I must say," continued +Peter Downs. "He took his place +next but one behind us in the procession, +'long of Melinda Dutch, an' walked to an' +from with her, give her his arm, and then +I never see him after we got back; but I +thought he might be somewhere in the house, +an' I was out about the barn an' so on." +</p><p> +"They was civil to him. I was by when +he come, just steppin' out of the bedroom +after we'd finished layin' the old Cap'n into +his coffin. Hannah looked real pleased +when she see Enoch, as if she hadn't really +expected him, but Betsey stuck out her +hand's if 't was an eend o' board, an' drawed +her face solemner 'n ever. There, they had +natural feelin's. He was their own father +when all was said, the Cap'n was, an' I don't +know but he was clever to 'em in his way, +'ceptin' when he disappointed Hannah about +her marryin' Jake Good'in. She l'arned to +respect the old Cap'n's foresight, too." +</p><p> +"Sakes alive, Marthy, how you do knock +folks down with one hand an' set 'em up +with t' other," chuckled Mr. Downs. They +next discussed the Captain's appearance as +he lay in state in the front room, a subject +which, with its endless ramifications, would +keep the whole neighborhood interested for +weeks to come. +</p><p> +An hour later the twinkling light in the +Downs house suddenly disappeared. As +Martha Downs took a last look out of doors +through her bedroom window she could see +no other light; the neighbors had all gone +to bed. It was a little past nine, and the +night was damp and still. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">II.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +The Captain Knowles place was eastward +from the Downs's, and a short turn in +the road and the piece of hard-wood growth +hid one house from the other. At this unwontedly +late hour the elderly sisters were +still sitting in their warm kitchen; there +were bright coals under the singing tea-kettle +which hung from the crane by three or +four long pothooks. Betsey Knowles objected +when her sister offered to put on +more wood. +</p><p> +"Father never liked to leave no great of a +fire, even though he slept right here in the +bedroom. He said this floor was one that +would light an' catch easy, you r'member." +</p><p> +"Another winter we can move down +and take the bedroom ourselves—'t will be +warmer for us," suggested Hannah; but +Betsey shook her head doubtfully. The +thought of their old father's grave, unwatched +and undefended in the outermost +dark field, filled their hearts with a strange +tenderness. They had been his dutiful, patient +slaves, and it seemed like disloyalty +to have abandoned the poor shape; to be sitting +there disregarding the thousand requirements +and services of the past. More than +all, they were facing a free future; they +were their own mistresses at last, though +past sixty years of age. Hannah was still +a child at heart. She chased away a dread +suspicion, when Betsey forbade the wood, +lest this elder sister, who favored their father' +s looks, might take his place as stern +ruler of the household. +</p><p> +"Betsey," said the younger sister suddenly, +"we'll have us a cook stove, won't +we, next winter? I expect we're going to +have something to do with?" +</p><p> +Betsey did not answer; it was impossible +to say whether she truly felt grief or only +assumed it. She had been sober and silent +for the most part since she routed neighbor +Downs, though she answered her sister's +prattling questions with patience and sympathy. +Now, she rose from her chair and +went to one of the windows, and, pushing +back the sash curtain, pulled the wooden +shutter across and hasped it. +</p><p> +"I ain't going to bed just yet," she explained. +"I've been a-waiting to make sure +nobody was coming in. I don't know's +there'll be any better time to look in the +chest and see what we've got to depend on. +We never'll get no chance to do it by day." +</p><p> +Hannah looked frightened for a moment, +then nodded, and turned to the opposite window +and pulled that shutter with much difficulty; +it had always caught and hitched and +been provoking—a warped piece of red oak, +when even-grained white pine would have +saved strength and patience to three generations +of the Knowles race. Then the sisters +crossed the kitchen and opened the bedroom +door. Hannah shivered a little as the colder +air struck her, and her heart beat loudly. +Perhaps it was the same with Betsey. +</p><p> +The bedroom was clean and orderly for the +funeral guests. Instead of the blue homespun +there was a beautifully quilted white coverlet +which had been part of their mother's wedding +furnishing, and this made the bedstead +with its four low posts-look unfamiliar and +awesome. The lamplight shone through the +kitchen door behind them, not very bright +at best, but Betsey reached under the bed, +and with all the strength she could muster +pulled out the end of a great sea chest. The +sisters tugged together and pushed, and made +the most of their strength before they finally +brought it through the narrow door into the +kitchen. The solemnity of the deed made +them both whisper as they talked, and Hannah +did not dare to say what was in her timid +heart—that she would rather brave discovery +by daylight than such a feeling of being +disapprovingly watched now, in the dead of +night. There came a slight sound outside +the house which made her look anxiously at +Betsey, but Betsey remained tranquil. +</p><p> +"It's nothing but a stick falling down the +woodpile," she answered in a contemptuous +whisper, and the younger woman was reassured. +</p><p> +Betsey reached deep into her pocket and +found a great key which was worn smooth +and bright like silver, and never had been +trusted willingly into even her own careful +hands. Hannah held the lamp, and the two +thin figures bent eagerly over the lid as it +opened. Their shadows were waving about +the low walls, and looked like strange shapes +bowing and dancing behind them. +</p><p> +The chest was stoutly timbered, as if it +were built in some ship-yard, and there +were heavy wrought-iron hinges and a large +escutcheon for the keyhole that the ship's +blacksmith might have hammered out. On +the top somebody had scratched deeply the +crossed lines for a game of fox and geese, +which had a trivial, irreverent look, and +might have been the unforgiven fault of some +idle ship's boy. The sisters had hardly dared +look at the chest or to signify their knowledge +of its existence, at unwary times. They +had swept carefully about it year after year, +and wondered if it were indeed full of gold +as the neighbors used to hint; but no matter +how much found a way in, little had found +the way out. They had been hampered all +their lives for money, and in consequence +had developed a wonderful facility for spinning +and weaving, mending and making. +Their small farm was an early example of +intensive farming; they were allowed to use +its products in a niggardly way, but the +money that was paid for wool, for hay, for +wood, and for summer crops had all gone +into the chest. The old captain was a hard +master; he rarely commended and often +blamed. Hannah trembled before him, but +Betsey faced him sturdily, being amazingly +like him, with a feminine difference; as like +as a ruled person can be to a ruler, for the +discipline of life had taught the man to aggress, +the woman only to defend. In the +chest was a fabled sum of prize-money, besides +these slender earnings of many years; +all the sisters' hard work and self-sacrifice +were there in money and a mysterious largess +besides. All their lives they had been looking +forward to this hour of ownership. +</p><p> +There was a solemn hush in the house; +the two sisters were safe from their neighbors, +and there was no fear of interruption +at such an hour in that hard-working community, +tired with a day's work that had +been early begun. If any one came knocking +at the door, both door and windows were +securely fastened. +</p><p> +The eager sisters bent above the chest, +they held their breath and talked in softest +whispers. With stealthy tread a man came +out of the woods near by. +</p><p> +He stopped to listen, came nearer, stopped +again, and then crept close to the old house. +He stepped upon the banking, next the window +with the warped shutter; there was a +knothole in it high above the women's heads, +towards the top. As they leaned over the +chest, an eager eye watched them. If they +had turned that way suspiciously, the eye +might have caught the flicker of the lamp +and betrayed itself. No, they were too busy: +the eye at the shutter watched and watched. +</p><p> +There was a certain feeling of relief in the +sisters' minds because the contents of the +chest were so commonplace at first sight. +There were some old belongings dating back +to their father's early days of seafaring. +They unfolded a waistcoat pattern or two of +figured stuff which they had seen him fold +and put away again and again. Once he had +given Betsey a gay China silk handkerchief, +and here were two more like it. They had +not known what a store of treasures might +be waiting for them, but the reality so far was +disappointing; there was much spare room +to begin with, and the wares within looked +pinched and few. There were bundles of +papers, old receipts, some letters in two not +very thick bundles, some old account books +with worn edges, and a blackened silver can +which looked very small in comparison with +their anticipation, being an heirloom and +jealously hoarded and secreted by the old +man. The women began to feel as if his lean +angry figure were bending with them over +the sea chest. +</p><p> +They opened a package wrapped in many +layers of old soft paper—a worked piece of +Indian muslin, and an embroidered red scarf +which they had never seen before. "He +must have brought them home to mother," +said Betsey with a great outburst of feeling. +"He never was the same man again; +he never would let nobody else have them +when he found she was dead, poor old father!" +</p><p> +Hannah looked wistfully at the treasures. +She rebuked herself for selfishness, but she +thought of her pinched girlhood and the delight +these things would have been. Ah yes! +it was too late now for many things besides +the sprigged muslin. "If I was young as I +was once there's lots o' things I'd like to do +now I'm free," said Hannah with a gentle +sigh; but her sister checked her anxiously—it +was fitting that they should preserve a +semblance of mourning even to themselves. +</p><p> +The lamp stood in a kitchen chair at the +chest's end and shone full across their faces. +Betsey looked intent and sober as she turned +over the old man's treasures. Under the India +mull was an antique pair of buff trousers, +a waistcoat of strange old-fashioned foreign +stuff, and a blue coat with brass buttons, +brought home from over seas, as the women +knew, for their father's wedding clothes. +They had seen him carry them out at long +intervals to hang them in the spring sunshine; +he had been very feeble the last time, +and Hannah remembered that she had longed +to take them from his shaking hands. +</p><p> +"I declare for 't I wish 't we had laid him +out in 'em, 'stead o' the robe," she whispered; +but Betsey made no answer. She +was kneeling still, but held herself upright +and looked away. It was evident that she +was lost in her own thoughts. +</p><p> +"I can't find nothing else by eyesight," +she muttered. "This chest never 'd be so +heavy with them old clothes. Stop! Hold +that light down, Hannah; there's a place +underneath here. Them papers in the till +takes a shallow part. Oh, my gracious! See +here, will ye? Hold the light, hold the +light!" +</p><p> +There was a hidden drawer in the chest's +side—a long, deep place, and it was full of +gold pieces. Hannah had seated herself in +the chair to be out of her sister's way. She +held the lamp with one hand and gathered +her apron on her lap with the other, while +Betsey, exultant and hawk-eyed, took out +handful after handful of heavy coins, letting +them jingle and chink, letting them shine +in the lamp's rays, letting them roll across +the floor—guineas, dollars, doubloons, old +French and Spanish and English gold! +</p><p> +<i>Now, now! Look! The eye at the window!</i> +</p><p> +At last they have found it all; the bag of +silver, the great roll of bank bills, and the +heavy weight of gold—the prize-money that +had been like Robinson Crusoe's in the cave. +They were rich women that night; their +faces grew young again as they sat side by +side and exulted while the old kitchen grew +cold. There was nothing they might not do +within the range of their timid ambitions; +they were women of fortune now and their +own mistresses. They were beginning at last +to live. +</p><p> +The watcher outside was cramped and +chilled. He let himself down softly from the +high step of the winter banking, and crept +toward the barn, where he might bury himself +in the hay and think. His fingers were +quick to find the peg that opened the little +barn door; the beasts within were startled +and stumbled to their feet, then went back +to their slumbers. The night wore on; the +light spring rain began to fall, and the sound +of it on the house roof close down upon the +sisters' bed lulled them quickly to sleep. +Twelve, one, two o'clock passed by. +</p><p> +They had put back the money and the +clothes and the minor goods and treasures +and pulled the chest back into the bedroom +so that it was out of sight from the kitchen; +the bedroom door was always shut by day. +The younger sister wished to carry the +money to their own room, but Betsey disdained +such precaution. The money had +always been safe in the old chest, and there +it should stay. The next week they would +go to Riverport and put it into the bank; +it was no use to lose the interest any longer. +Because their father had lost some invested +money in his early youth, it did not follow +that every bank was faithless. Betsey's self-assertion +was amazing, but they still whispered +to each other as they got ready for +bed. With strange forgetfulness Betsey +had laid the chest key on the white coverlet +in the bedroom and left it there. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">III.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +In August of that year the whole countryside +turned out to go to court. +</p><p> +The sisters had been rich for one night; +in the morning they waked to find themselves +poor with a bitter pang of poverty of +which they had never dreamed. They had +said little, but they grew suddenly pinched +and old. They could not tell how much +money they had lost, except that Hannah's +lap was full of gold, a weight she could not +lift nor carry. After a few days of stolid +misery they had gone to the chief lawyer of +their neighborhood to accuse Enoch Holt of +the robbery. They dressed in their best and +walked solemnly side by side across the fields +and along the road, the shortest way to the +man of law. Enoch Holt's daughter saw +them go as she stood in her doorway, and +felt a cold shiver run through her frame as +if in foreboding. Her father was not at +home; he had left for Boston late on the +afternoon of Captain Knowles's funeral. +He had had notice the day before of the +coming in of a ship in which he owned a +thirty-second; there was talk of selling the +ship, and the owners' agent had summoned +him. He had taken pains to go to the +funeral, because he and the old captain had +been on bad terms ever since they had +bought a piece of woodland together, and +the captain declared himself wronged at the +settling of accounts. He was growing feeble +even then, and had left the business to the +younger man. Enoch Holt was not a trusted +man, yet he had never before been openly +accused of dishonesty. He was not a professor +of religion, but foremost on the secular +side of church matters. Most of the +men in that region were hard men; it was +difficult to get money, and there was little +real comfort in a community where the +sterner, stingier, forbidding side of New +England life was well exemplified. +</p><p> +The proper steps had been taken by the +officers of the law, and in answer to the writ +Enoch Holt appeared, much shocked and +very indignant, and was released on bail +which covered the sum his shipping interest +had brought him. The weeks had dragged +by; June and July were long in passing, and +here was court day at last, and all the townsfolk +hastening by high-roads and by-roads +to the court-house. The Knowles girls themselves +had risen at break of day and walked +the distance steadfastly, like two of the three +Fates: who would make the third, to cut +the thread for their enemy's disaster? Public +opinion was divided. There were many +voices ready to speak on the accused man's +side; a sharp-looking acquaintance left his +business in Boston to swear that Holt was +in his office before noon on the day following +the robbery, and that he had spent most +of the night in Boston, as proved by several +minor details of their interview. As for +Holt's young married daughter, she was a +favorite with the townsfolk, and her husband +was away at sea overdue these last +few weeks. She sat on one of the hard court +benches with a young child in her arms, born +since its father sailed; they had been more +or less unlucky, the Holt family, though +Enoch himself was a man of brag and +bluster. +</p><p> +All the hot August morning, until the +noon recess, and all the hot August afternoon, +fly-teased and wretched with the heavy +air, the crowd of neighbors listened to the +trial. There was not much evidence +brought; everybody knew that Enoch Holt +left the funeral procession hurriedly, and +went away on horseback towards Boston. +His daughter knew no more than this. The +Boston man gave his testimony impatiently, +and one or two persons insisted that they +saw the accused on his way at nightfall, several +miles from home. +</p><p> +As the testimony came out, it all tended +to prove his innocence, though public opinion +was to the contrary. The Knowles sisters +looked more stern and gray hour by hour; +their vengeance was not to be satisfied; their +accusation had been listened to and found +wanting, but their instinctive knowledge of +the matter counted for nothing. They must +have been watched through the knot-hole of +the shutter; nobody had noticed it until, +some years before, Enoch Holt himself had +spoken of the light's shining through on a +winter's night as he came towards the house. +The chief proof was that nobody else could +have done the deed. But why linger over +<i>pros</i> and <i>cons?</i> The jury returned directly +with a verdict of "not proven," and the +tired audience left the court-house. +</p><p> +But not until Hannah Knowles with +angry eyes had risen to her feet. +</p><p> +The sterner elder sister tried to pull her +back; every one said that they should have +looked to Betsey to say the awful words that +followed, not to her gentler companion. It +was Hannah, broken and disappointed, who +cried in a strange high voice as Enoch Holt +was passing by without a look: +</p><p> +"You stole it, you thief! You know it +in your heart!" +</p><p> +The startled man faltered, then he faced +the women. The people who stood near +seemed made of eyes as they stared to see +what he would say. +</p><p> +"I swear by my right hand I never +touched it." +</p><p> +"Curse your right hand, then!" cried +Hannah Knowles, growing tall and thin like +a white flame drawing upward. "Curse +your right hand, yours and all your folks' +that follow you! May I live to see the +day!" +</p><p> +The people drew back, while for a moment +accused and accuser stood face to face. +Then Holt's flushed face turned white, and +he shrank from the fire in those wild eyes, +and walked away clumsily down the courtroom. +Nobody followed him, nobody shook +hands with him, or told the acquitted man +that they were glad of his release. Half +an hour later, Betsey and Hannah Knowles +took their homeward way, to begin their hard +round of work again. The horizon that had +widened with such glory for one night, had +closed round them again like an iron wall. +</p><p> +Betsey was alarmed and excited by her +sister's uncharacteristic behavior, and she +looked at her anxiously from time to time. +Hannah had become the harder-faced of the +two. Her disappointment was the keener, +for she had kept more of the unsatisfied desires +of her girlhood until that dreary morning +when they found the sea-chest rifled and +the treasure gone. +</p><p> +Betsey said inconsequently that it was a +pity she did not have that black silk gown +that would stand alone. They had planned +for it over the open chest, and Hannah's was +to be a handsome green. They might have +worn them to court. But even the pathetic +facetiousness of her elder sister did not bring +a smile to Hannah Knowles's face, and the +next day one was at the loom and the other +at the wheel again. The neighbors talked +about the curse with horror; in their minds +a fabric of sad fate was spun from the bitter +words. +</p><p> +The Knowles sisters never had worn silk +gowns and they never would. Sometimes +Hannah or Betsey would stealthily look over +the chest in one or the other's absence. One +day when Betsey was very old and her mind +had grown feeble, she tied her own India +silk handkerchief about her neck, but they +never used the other two. They aired the +wedding suit once every spring as long as +they lived. They were both too old and forlorn +to make up the India mull. Nobody +knows how many times they took everything +out of the heavy old clamped box, and +peered into every nook and corner to see if +there was not a single gold piece left. They +never answered any one who made bold to +speak of their misfortune. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">IV.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +Enoch Holt had been a seafaring man in +his early days, and there was news that the +owners of a Salem ship in which he held a +small interest wished him to go out as supercargo. +He was brisk and well in health, +and his son-in-law, an honest but an unlucky +fellow, had done less well than usual, so that +nobody was surprised when Enoch made +ready for his voyage. It was nearly a year +after the theft, and nothing had come so +near to restoring him to public favor as his +apparent lack of ready money. He openly +said that he put great hope in his adventure +to the Spice Islands, and when he said farewell +one Sunday to some members of the +dispersing congregation, more than one person +wished him heartily a pleasant voyage +and safe return. He had an insinuating +tone of voice and an imploring look that +day, and this fact, with his probable long +absence and the dangers of the deep, won +him much sympathy. It is a shameful thing +to accuse a man wrongfully, and Enoch Holt +had behaved well since the trial; and, what +is more, had shown no accession to his means +of living. So away he went, with a fair +amount of good wishes, though one or two +persons assured remonstrating listeners that +they thought it likely Enoch would make a +good voyage, better than common, and show +himself forwarded when he came to port. +Soon after his departure, Mrs. Peter Downs +and an intimate acquaintance discussed the +ever-exciting subject of the Knowles robbery +over a friendly cup of tea. +</p><p> +They were in the Downs kitchen, and +quite by themselves. Peter Downs himself +had been drawn as a juror, and had been +for two days at the county town. Mrs. +Downs was giving herself to social interests +in his absence, and Mrs. Forder, an asthmatic +but very companionable person, had arrived +by two o'clock that afternoon with her knitting +work, sure of being welcome. The two +old friends had first talked over varied subjects +of immediate concern, but when supper +was nearly finished, they fell back upon the +lost Knowles gold, as has been already said. +</p><p> +"They got a dreadful blow, poor gals," +wheezed Mrs. Forder, with compassion. +"'T was harder for them than for most +folks; they'd had a long stent with the ol' +gentleman; very arbitrary, very arbitrary." +</p><p> +"Yes," answered Mrs. Downs, pushing +back her tea-cup, then lifting it again to see +if it was quite empty. "Yes, it took holt +o' Hannah, the most. I should 'a' said Betsey +was a good deal the most set in her +ways an' would 'a' been most tore up, but +'t wa'n't so." +</p><p> +"Lucky that Holt's folks sets on the other +aisle in the meetin'-house, I do consider, so 't +they needn't face each other sure as Sabbath +comes round." +</p><p> +"I see Hannah an' him come face to face +two Sabbaths afore Enoch left. So happened +he dallied to have a word 'long o' +Deacon Good'in, an' him an' Hannah stepped +front of each other 'fore they knowed what +they's about. I sh'd thought her eyes 'd +looked right through him. No one of 'em +took the word; Enoch he slinked off pretty +quick." +</p><p> +"I see 'em too," said Mrs. Forder; "made +my blood run cold." +</p><p> +"Nothin' ain't come of the curse yit,"—Mrs. +Downs lowered the tone of her voice,—"least, +folks says so. It kind o' worries +pore Phœbe Holt—Mis' Dow, I would say. +She was narved all up at the time o' the +trial, an' when her next baby come into the +world, first thin' she made out t' ask me was +whether it seemed likely, an' she gived me a +pleadin' look as if I'd got to tell her what +she hadn't heart to ask. 'Yes, dear,' +says I, 'put up his little hands to me kind +of wonted'; an' she turned a look on me +like another creatur', so pleased an' contented." +</p><p> +"I s'pose you don't see no great of the +Knowles gals?" inquired Mrs. Forder, who +lived two miles away in the other direction. +</p><p> +"They stepped to the door yisterday when +I was passin' by, an' I went in an' set a spell +long of 'em," replied the hostess. "They'd +got pestered with that ol' loom o' theirn. +'Fore I thought, says I, ''T is all worn out, +Betsey,' says I. 'Why on airth don't ye +git somebody to git some o' your own wood +an' season it well so 't won't warp, same's +mine done, an' build ye a new one?' But +Betsey muttered an' twitched away; 't wa'n't +like her, but they're dis'p'inted at every +turn, I s'pose, an' feel poor where they've +got the same's ever to do with. Hannah's +a-coughin' this spring's if somethin' ailed +her. I asked her if she had bad feelin's in +her pipes, an' she said yis, she had, but not +to speak of 't before Betsey. I'm goin' to +fix her up some hoarhound an' elecampane +quick's the ground's nice an' warm an' +roots livens up a grain more. They're limp +an' wizened 'long to the fust of the spring. +Them would be service'ble, simmered away +to a syrup 'long o' molasses; now don't you +think so, Mis' Forder?" +</p><p> +"Excellent," replied the wheezing dame. +"I covet a portion myself, now you speak. +Nothin' cures my complaint, but a new remedy +takes holt clever sometimes, an' eases +me for a spell." And she gave a plaintive +sigh, and began to knit again. +</p><p> +Mrs. Downs rose and pushed the supper-table +to the wall and drew her chair nearer +to the stove. The April nights were chilly. +</p><p> +"The folks is late comin' after me," said +Mrs. Forder, ostentatiously. "I may's well +confess that I told 'em if they was late +with the work they might let go o' fetchin' +o' me an' I'd walk home in the mornin'; +take it easy when I was fresh. Course I +mean ef 't wouldn't put you out: I knowed +you was all alone, an' I kind o' wanted a +change." +</p><p> +"Them words was in my mind to utter +while we was to table," avowed Mrs. Downs, +hospitably. "I ain't reelly afeared, but 't is +sort o' creepy fastenin' up an' goin' to bed +alone. Nobody can't help hearkin', an' +every common noise starts you. I never +used to give nothin' a thought till the +Knowleses was robbed, though." +</p><p> +"'T was mysterious, I do maintain," acknowledged +Mrs. Forder. "Comes over me +sometimes p'raps 't wasn't Enoch; he'd 'a' +branched out more in course o' time. I'm +waitin' to see if he does extry well to sea +'fore I let my mind come to bear on his +bein' clean handed." +</p><p> +"Plenty thought 't was the ole Cap'n +come back for it an' sperited it away. +Enough said that 't wasn't no honest gains; +most on't was prize-money o' slave ships, +an' all kinds o' devil's gold was mixed in. I +s'pose you've heard that said?" +</p><p> +"Time an' again," responded Mrs. Forder; +"an' the worst on't was simple old Pappy +Flanders went an' told the Knowles gals +themselves that folks thought the ole Cap'n +come back an' got it, and Hannah done +wrong to cuss Enoch Holt an' his ginerations +after him the way she done." +</p><p> +"I think it took holt on her ter'ble after +all she'd gone through," said Mrs. Downs, +compassionately. "He ain't near so simple +as he is ugly, Pappy Flanders ain't. I've +seen him set here an' read the paper sober's +anybody when I've been goin' about my +mornin's work in the shed-room, an' when +I'd come in to look about he'd twist it with +his hands an' roll his eyes an' begin to git +off some o' his gable. I think them wander-in' +cheap-wits likes the fun on't an' 'scapes +stiddy work, an' gits the rovin' habit so fixed, +it sp'iles 'em." +</p><p> +"My gran'ther was to the South Seas in +his young days," related Mrs. Forder, impressively, +"an' he said cussin' was common +there. I mean sober spitin' with a cuss. +He seen one o' them black folks git a gredge +against another an' go an' set down an' look +stiddy at him in his hut an' cuss him in his +mind an' set there an' watch, watch, until the +other kind o' took sick an' died, all in a fortnight, +I believe he said; 't would make your +blood run cold to hear gran'ther describe it, +'t would so. He never done nothin' but set +an' look, an' folks would give him somethin' +to eat now an' then, as if they thought 't was +all right, an' the other one 'd try to go an' +come, an' at last he hived away altogether +an' died. I don't know what you'd call it +that ailed him. There's suthin' in cussin' +that's bad for folks, now I tell ye, Mis' +Downs." +</p><p> +"Hannah's eyes always makes me creepy +now," Mrs. Downs confessed uneasily. +"They don't look pleadin' an' childish same +'s they used to. Seems to me as if she'd +had the worst on't." +</p><p> +"We ain't seen the end on't yit," said +Mrs. Forder, impressively. "I feel it within +me, Marthy Downs, an' it's a terrible thing +to have happened right amon'st us in +Christian times. If we live long enough +we're goin' to have plenty to talk over in +our old age that's come o' that cuss. Some +seed's shy o' sproutin' till a spring when the +s'ile's jest right to breed it." +</p><p> +"There's lobeely now," agreed Mrs. +Downs, pleased to descend to prosaic and +familiar levels. "They ain't a good crop +one year in six, and then you find it in a +place where you never observed none to grow +afore, like's not; ain't it so, reelly?" And +she rose to clear the table, pleased with the +certainty of a guest that night. Their conversation +was not reassuring to the heart of +a timid woman, alone in an isolated farmhouse +on a dark spring evening, especially +so near the anniversary of old Captain +Knowles's death. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3 align="center">V.</h3> +<br> +<br> +<p> +Later in these rural lives by many years +two aged women were crossing a wide field +together, following a footpath such as one +often finds between widely separated homes +of the New England country. Along these +lightly traced thoroughfares, the children go +to play, and lovers to plead, and older people +to companion one another in work and pleasure, +in sickness and sorrow; generation after +generation comes and goes again by these +country by-ways. +</p><p> +The footpath led from Mrs. Forder's to +another farmhouse half a mile beyond, +where there had been a wedding. Mrs. +Downs was there, and in the June weather +she had been easily persuaded to go home +to tea with Mrs. Forder with the promise +of being driven home later in the evening. +Mrs. Downs's husband had been dead three +years, and her friend's large family was scattered +from the old nest; they were lonely at +times in their later years, these old friends, +and found it very pleasant now to have a +walk together. Thin little Mrs. Forder, +with all her wheezing, was the stronger and +more active of the two: Downs had +grown heavier and weaker with advancing +years. +</p><p> +They paced along the footpath slowly, Mrs. +Downs rolling in her gait like a sailor, and +availing herself of every pretext to stop and +look at herbs in the pasture ground they +crossed, and at the growing grass in the mowing +fields. They discussed the wedding minutely, +and then where the way grew wider +they walked side by side instead of following +each other, and their voices sank to the +low tone that betokens confidence. +</p><p> +"You don't say that you really put faith +in all them old stories?" +</p><p> +"It ain't accident altogether, noways you +can fix it in your mind," maintained Mrs. +Downs. "Needn't tell me that cussin' don't +do neither good nor harm. I shouldn't want +to marry amon'st the Holts if I was young +ag'in! I r'member when this young man +was born that's married to-day, an' the fust +thing his poor mother wanted to know was +about his hands bein' right. I said yes they +was, but las' year he was twenty year old and +come home from the frontier with one o' them +hands—his right one—shot off in a fight. +They say 't happened to sights o' other fel-lows, +an' their laigs gone too, but I count +'em over on my fingers, them Holts, an' he's +the third. May say that 't was all an accident +his mother's gittin' throwed out o' her +waggin comin' home from meetin', an' her +wrist not bein' set good, an' she, bein' run +down at the time, 'most lost it altogether, +but thar' it is, stiffened up an' no good to her. +There was the second. An' Enoch Holt hisself +come home from the Chiny seas, made +a good passage an' a sight o' money in the +pepper trade, jest's we expected, an' goin' +to build him a new house, an' the frame gives +a kind o' lurch when they was raisin' of it +an' surges over on to him an' nips him under. +'Which arm?' says everybody along the +road when they was comin' an' goin' with the +doctor. 'Right one—got to lose it,' says the +doctor to 'em, an' next time Enoch Holt got +out to meetin' he stood up in the house o' +God with the hymn-book in his left hand, an' +no right hand to turn his leaf with. He +knowed what we was all a-thinkin'." +</p><p> +"Well," said Mrs. Forder, very short-breathed +with climbing the long slope of the +pasture hill, "I don't know but I'd as soon +be them as the Knowles gals. Hannah never +knowed no peace again after she spoke them +words in the co't-house. They come back +an' harnted her, an' you know, Miss Downs, +better 'n I do, being door-neighbors as one +may say, how they lived their lives out like +wild beasts into a lair." +</p><p> +"They used to go out some by night to git +the air," pursued Mrs. Downs with interest. +"I used to open the door an' step right in, +an' I used to take their yarn an' stuff 'long +o' mine an' sell 'em, an' do for the poor stray +creatur's long's they'd let me. They'd be +grateful for a mess o' early pease or potatoes +as ever you see, an' Peter he allays favored +'em with pork, fresh an' salt, when we slaughtered. +The old Cap'n kept 'em child'n long +as he lived, an' then they was too old to l'arn +different. I allays liked Hannah the best till +that change struck her. Betsey she held out +to the last jest about the same. I don't know, +now I come to think of it, but what she felt +it the most o' the two." +</p><p> +"They'd never let me's much as git a look +at 'em," complained Mrs. Forder. "Folks +got awful stories a-goin' one time. I've heard +it said, an' it allays creeped me cold all over, +that there was somethin' come an' lived with +'em—a kind o' black shadder, a cobweb +kind o' a man-shape that followed 'em about +the house an' made a third to them; but +they got hardened to it theirselves, only they +was afraid 't would follow if they went anywheres +from home. You don't believe no +such piece o' nonsense?—But there, I've +asked ye times enough before." +</p><p> +"They'd got shadders enough, poor creatur's," said +Mrs. Downs with reserve. "Wasn't no kind o' need +to make 'em up no spooks, +as I know on. Well, here's these young +folks a-startin'; I wish 'em well, I'm sure. +She likes him with his one hand better than +most gals likes them as has a good sound +pair. They looked prime happy; I hope no +curse won't foller 'em." +</p><p> +The friends stopped again—poor, short-winded +bodies—on the crest of the low hill +and turned to look at the wide landscape, bewildered +by the marvelous beauty and the +sudden flood of golden sunset light that +poured out of the western sky. They could +not remember that they had ever observed +the wide view before; it was like a revelation +or an outlook towards the celestial country, +the sight of their own green farms and +the countryside that bounded them. It was +a pleasant country indeed, their own New +England: their petty thoughts and vain imaginings +seemed futile and unrelated to so +fair a scene of things. But the figure of a +man who was crossing the meadow below +looked like a malicious black insect. It was +an old man, it was Enoch Holt; time had +worn and bent him enough to have satisfied +his bitterest foe. The women could see his +empty coat-sleeve flutter as he walked slowly +and unexpectantly in that glorious evening +light. +</p> +<a name="a_WhiteRoseRoad"></a> +<br> +<br> +<h2 align="center">THE WHITE ROSE ROAD.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<p> +Being a New Englander, it is natural +that I should first speak about the weather. +Only the middle of June, the green fields, +and blue sky, and bright sun, with a touch +of northern mountain wind blowing straight +toward the sea, could make such a day, and +that is all one can say about it. We were +driving seaward through a part of the country +which has been least changed in the last +thirty years,—among farms which have +been won from swampy lowland, and rocky, +stamp-buttressed hillsides: where the forests +wall in the fields, and send their outposts +year by year farther into the pastures. +There is a year or two in the history of these +pastures before they have arrived at the +dignity of being called woodland, and yet +are too much shaded and overgrown by +young trees to give proper pasturage, when +they made delightful harbors for the small +wild creatures which yet remain, and for +wild flowers and berries. Here you send an +astonished rabbit scurrying to his burrow, +and there you startle yourself with a partridge, +who seems to get the best of the encounter. +Sometimes you see a hen partridge +and her brood of chickens crossing your path +with an air of comfortable door-yard security. +As you drive along the narrow, grassy +road, you see many charming sights and delightful +nooks on either hand, where the +young trees spring out of a close-cropped +turf that carpets the ground like velvet. +Toward the east and the quaint fishing village +of Ogunquit, I find the most delightful +woodland roads. There is little left of the +large timber which once filled the region, +but much young growth, and there are hundreds +of acres of cleared land and pasture-ground +where the forests are springing fast +and covering the country once more, as if +they had no idea of losing in their war with +civilization and the intruding white settler. +The pine woods and the Indians seem to be +next of kin, and the former owners of this +corner of New England are the only proper +figures to paint into such landscapes. The +twilight under tall pines seems to be untenanted +and to lack something, at first sight, +as if one opened the door of an empty house. +A farmer passing through with his axe is +but an intruder, and children straying home +from school give one a feeling of solicitude +at their unprotectedness. The pine woods +are the red man's house, and it may be hazardous +even yet for the gray farmhouses to +stand so near the eaves of the forest. I +have noticed a distrust of the deep woods, +among elderly people, which was something +more than a fear of losing their way. It +was a feeling of defenselessness against some +unrecognized but malicious influence. +</p><p> +Driving through the long woodland way, +shaded and chilly when you are out of the +sun; across the Great Works River and its +pretty elm-grown intervale; across the short +bridges of brown brooks; delayed now and +then by the sight of ripe strawberries in +sunny spots by the roadside, one comes to a +higher open country, where farm joins farm, +and the cleared fields lie all along the highway, +while the woods are pushed back a +good distance on either hand. The wooded +hills, bleak here and there with granite +ledges, rise beyond. The houses are beside +the road, with green door-yards and large +barns, almost empty now, and with wide +doors standing open, as if they were already +expecting the hay crop to be brought in. +The tall green grass is waving in the fields +as the wind goes over, and there is a fragrance +of whiteweed and ripe strawberries +and clover blowing through the sunshiny +barns, with their lean sides and their festoons +of brown, dusty cobwebs; dull, comfortable +creatures they appear to imaginative +eyes, waiting hungrily for their yearly +meal. The eave-swallows are teasing their +sleepy shapes, like the birds which flit about +great beasts; gay, movable, irreverent, almost +derisive, those barn swallows fly to +and fro in the still, clear air. +</p><p> +The noise of our wheels brings fewer faces +to the windows than usual, and we lose the +pleasure of seeing some of our friends who +are apt to be looking out, and to whom we +like to say good-day. Some funeral must +be taking place, or perhaps the women may +have gone out into the fields. It is hoeing-time +and strawberry-time, and already we +have seen some of the younger women at +work among the corn and potatoes. One +sight will be charming to remember. On a +green hillside sloping to the west, near one +of the houses, a thin little girl was working +away lustily with a big hoe on a patch of +land perhaps fifty feet by twenty. There +were all sorts of things growing there, as if +a child's fancy had made the choice,—straight +rows of turnips and carrots and +beets, a little of everything, one might say; +but the only touch of color was from a long +border of useful sage in full bloom of dull +blue, on the upper side. I am sure this was +called Katy's or Becky's <i>piece</i> by the elder +members of the family. One can imagine +how the young creature had planned it in +the spring, and persuaded the men to plough +and harrow it, and since then had stoutly +done all the work herself, and meant to send +the harvest of the piece to market, and pocket +her honest gains, as they came in, for some +great end. She was as thin as a grasshopper, +this busy little gardener, and hardly turned +to give us a glance, as we drove slowly up +the hill close by. The sun will brown and +dry her like a spear of grass on that hot +slope, but a spark of fine spirit is in the +small body, and I wish her a famous crop. +I hate to say that the piece looked backward, +all except the sage, and that it was a heavy +bit of land for the clumsy hoe to pick at. +The only puzzle is, what she proposes to do +with so long a row of sage. Yet there may +be a large family with a downfall of measles +yet ahead, and she does not mean to be +caught without sage-tea. +</p><p> +Along this road every one of the old farmhouses +has at least one tall bush of white +roses by the door,—a most lovely sight, +with buds and blossoms, and unvexed green +leaves. I wish that I knew the history of +them, and whence the first bush was brought. +Perhaps from England itself, like a red rose +that I know in Kittery, and the new shoots +from the root were given to one neighbor +after another all through the district. The +bushes are slender, but they grow tall without +climbing against the wall, and sway to +and fro in the wind with a grace of youth +and an inexpressible charm of beauty. How +many lovers must have picked them on Sunday +evenings, in all the bygone years, and +carried them along the roads or by the pasture +footpaths, hiding them clumsily under +their Sunday coats if they caught sight of +any one coming. Here, too, where the sea +wind nips many a young life before its prime, +how often the white roses have been put into +paler hands, and withered there! +In spite of the serene and placid look of +the old houses, one who has always known +them cannot help thinking of the sorrows of +these farms and their almost undiverted toil. +Near the little gardener's plot, we turned +from the main road and drove through lately +cleared woodland up to an old farmhouse, +high on a ledgy hill, whence there is a fine +view of the country seaward and mountain-ward. +There were few of the once large +household left there: only the old farmer, +who was crippled by war wounds, active, +cheerful man that he was once, and two +young orphan children. There has been +much hard work spent on the place. Every +generation has toiled from youth to age +without being able to make much beyond a +living. The dollars that can be saved are +but few, and sickness and death have often +brought their bitter cost. The mistress of +the farm was helpless for many years; +through all the summers and winters she sat +in her pillowed rocking-chair in the plain +room. She could watch the seldom-visited +lane, and beyond it, a little way across the +fields, were the woods; besides these, only +the clouds in the sky. She could not lift +her food to her mouth; she could not be her +husband's working partner. She never went +into another woman's house to see her works +and ways, but sat there, aching and tired, +vexed by flies and by heat, and isolated in +long storms. Yet the whole countryside +neighbored her with true affection. Her +spirit grew stronger as her body grew weaker, +and the doctors, who grieved because they +could do so little with their skill, were never +confronted by that malady of the spirit, a +desire for ease and laziness, which makes the +soundest of bodies useless and complaining. +The thought of her blooms in one's mind +like the whitest of flowers; it makes one +braver and more thankful to remember the +simple faith and patience with which she +bore her pain and trouble. How often she +must have said, "I wish I could do something +for you in return," when she was doing +a thousand times more than if, like her +neighbors, she followed the simple round of +daily life! She was doing constant kindness +by her example; but nobody can tell the +woe of her long days and nights, the solitude +of her spirit, as she was being lifted by such +hard ways to the knowledge of higher truth +and experience. Think of her pain when, +one after another, her children fell ill and +died, and she could not tend them! And +now, in the same worn chair where she lived +and slept sat her husband, helpless too, +thinking of her, and missing her more than +if she had been sometimes away from home, +like other women. Even a stranger would +miss her in the house. +</p><p> +There sat the old farmer looking down the +lane in his turn, bearing his afflictions with +a patient sterness that may have been born +of watching his wife's serenity. There was +a half-withered rose lying within his reach. +Some days nobody came up the lane, and the +wild birds that ventured near the house and +the clouds that blew over were his only entertainment. +He had a fine face, of the +older New England type, clean-shaven and +strong-featured,—a type that is fast passing +away. He might have been a Cumberland +dalesman, such were his dignity, +and self-possession, and English soberness +of manner. His large frame was built for +hard work, for lifting great weights and +pushing his plough through new-cleared +land. We felt at home together, and each +knew many things that the other did of earlier +days, and of losses that had come with +time. I remembered coming to the old +house often in my childhood; it was in this +very farm lane that I first saw anemones, +and learned what to call them. After we +drove away, this crippled man must have +thought a long time about my elders and betters, +as if he were reading their story out of +a book. I suppose he has hauled many a +stick of timber pine down for ship-yards, +and gone through the village so early in the +winter morning that I, waking in my warm +bed, only heard the sleds creak through the +frozen snow as the slow oxen plodded by. +</p><p> +Near the house a trout brook comes +plashing over the ledges. At one place +there is a most exquisite waterfall, to which +neither painter's brush nor writer's pen can +do justice. The sunlight falls through flickering +leaves into the deep glen, and makes +the foam whiter and the brook more golden-brown. +You can hear the merry noise of it +all night, all day, in the house. A little way +above the farmstead it comes through marshy +ground, which I fear has been the cause of +much illness and sorrow to the poor, troubled +family. I had a thrill of pain, as it seemed +to me that the brook was mocking at all +that trouble with all its wild carelessness +and loud laughter, as it hurried away down +the glen. +</p><p> +When we had said good-by and were turning +the horses away, there suddenly appeared +in a footpath that led down from one of the +green hills the young grandchild, just coming +home from school. She was as quick as a +bird, and as shy in her little pink gown, and +balanced herself on one foot, like a flower. +The brother was the elder of the two orphans; +he was the old man's delight and +dependence by day, while his hired man was +afield. The sober country boy had learned +to wait and tend, and the young people were +indeed a joy in that lonely household. +There was no sign that they ever played +like other children,—no truckle-cart in the +yard, no doll, no bits of broken crockery in +order on a rock. They had learned a fashion +of life from their elders, and already +could lift and carry their share of the burdens +of life. +</p><p> +It was a country of wild flowers; the last +of the columbines were clinging to the hillsides; +down in the small, fenced meadows +belonging to the farm were meadow rue just +coming in flower, and red and white clover; +the golden buttercups were thicker than the +grass, while many mulleins were standing +straight and slender among the pine stumps, +with their first blossoms atop. Rudbeckias +had found their way in, and appeared more +than ever like bold foreigners. Their names +should be translated into country speech, and +the children ought to call them "rude-beckies," +by way of relating them to bouncing-bets +and sweet-williams. The pasture +grass was green and thick after the plentiful +rains, and the busy cattle took little notice +of us as they browsed steadily and +tinkled their pleasant bells. Looking off, +the smooth, round back of Great Hill caught +the sunlight with its fields of young grain, +and all the long, wooded slopes and valleys +were fresh and fair in the June weather, +away toward the blue New Hampshire hills +on the northern horizon. Seaward stood +Agamenticus, dark with its pitch pines, and +the far sea itself, blue and calm, ruled the +uneven country with its unchangeable line. +</p><p> +Out on the white rose road again, we saw +more of the rose-trees than ever, and now +and then a carefully tended flower garden, +always delightful to see and think about. +These are not made by merely looking +through a florist's catalogue, and ordering +this or that new seedling and a proper selection +of bulbs or shrubs; everything in a +country garden has its history and personal +association. The old bushes, the perennials, +are apt to have most tender relationship +with the hands that planted them long ago. +There is a constant exchange of such treasures +between the neighbors, and in the +spring, slips and cuttings may be seen rooting +on the window ledges, while the house +plants give endless work all winter long, +since they need careful protection against +frost in long nights of the severe weather. +A flower-loving woman brings back from +every one of her infrequent journeys some +treasure of flower-seeds or a huge miscellaneous +nosegay. Time to work in the little +plot of pleasure-ground is hardly won by the +busy mistress of the farmhouse. The most +appealing collection of flowering plants and +vines that I ever saw was in Virginia, once, +above the exquisite valley spanned by the +Natural Bridge, a valley far too little known +or praised. I had noticed an old log house, +as I learned to know the outlook from the +picturesque hotel, and was sure that it must +give a charming view from its perch on the +summit of a hill. +</p><p> +One day I went there,—one April day, +when the whole landscape was full of color +from the budding trees,—and before I +could look at the view, I caught sight of +some rare vines, already in leaf, about the +dilapidated walls of the cabin. Then across +the low paling I saw the brilliant colors of +tulips and daffodils. There were many rose-bushes; +in fact, the whole top of the hill +was a flower garden, once well cared for and +carefully ordered. It was all the work of an +old woman of Scotch-Irish descent, who had +been busy with the cares of life, and a very +hard worker; yet I was told that to gratify +her love for flowers she would often go afoot +many miles over those rough Virginia roads, +with a root or cutting from her own garden, +to barter for a new rose or a brighter blossom +of some sort, with which she would return +in triumph. I fancied that sometimes +she had to go by night on these charming +quests. I could see her business-like, small +figure setting forth down the steep path, +when she had a good conscience toward her +housekeeping and the children were in order +to be left. I am sure that her friends thought +of her when they were away from home and +could bring her an offering of something +rare. Alas, she had grown too old and feeble +to care for her dear blossoms any longer, +and had been forced to go to live with a +married son. I dare say that she was thinking +of her garden that very day, and wondering +if this plant or that were not in bloom, +and perhaps had a heartache at the thought +that her tenants, the careless colored children, +might tread the young shoots of peony and +rose, and make havoc in the herb-bed. It +was an uncommon collection, made by years +of patient toil and self-sacrifice. +</p><p> +I thought of that deserted Southern garden +as I followed my own New England +road. The flower-plots were in gay bloom +all along the way; almost every house had +some flowers before it, sometimes carefully +fenced about by stakes and barrel staves +from the miscreant hens and chickens which +lurked everywhere, and liked a good scratch +and fluffing in soft earth this year as well as +any other. The world seemed full of young +life. There were calves tethered in pleasant +shady spots, and puppies and kittens adventuring +from the door-ways. The trees +were full of birds: bobolinks, and cat-birds, +and yellow-hammers, and golden robins, and +sometimes a thrush, for the afternoon was +wearing late. We passed the spring which +famous spot in the early settlement of the +country, but many of its old traditions are +now forgotten. One of the omnipresent +regicides of Charles the First is believed to +have hidden himself for a long time under +a great rock close by. The story runs that +he made his miserable home in this den for +several years, but I believe that there is no +record that more than three of the regicides +escaped to this country, and their wanderings +are otherwise accounted for. There is +a firm belief that one of them came to York, +and was the ancestor of many persons now +living there, but I do not know whether he +can have been the hero of the Baker's Spring +hermitage beside. We stopped to drink +some of the delicious water, which never +fails to flow cold and clear under the shade +of a great oak, and were amused with the +sight of a flock of gay little country children +who passed by in deep conversation. What +could such atoms of humanity be talking +about? "Old times," said John, the master +of horse, with instant decision. +</p><p> +We met now and then a man or woman, +who stopped to give us hospitable greeting; +but there was no staying for visits, lest the +daylight might fail us. It was delightful to +find this old-established neighborhood so +thriving and populous, for a few days before +I had driven over three miles of road, and +passed only one house that was tenanted, +and six cellars or crumbling chimneys where +good farmhouses had been, the lilacs blooming +in solitude, and the fields, cleared with +so much difficulty a century or two ago, all +going back to the original woodland from +which they were won. What would the old +farmers say to see the fate of their worthy +bequest to the younger generation? They +would wag their heads sorrowfully, with sad +foreboding. +</p><p> +After we had passed more woodland and +a well-known quarry, where, for a wonder, +the derrick was not creaking and not a single +hammer was clinking at the stone wedges, +we did not see any one hoeing in the fields, +as we had seen so many on the white rose +road, the other side of the hills. Presently +we met two or three people walking sedately, +clad in their best clothes. There was a subdued +air of public excitement and concern, +and one of us remembered that there had +been a death in the neighborhood; this was +the day of the funeral. The man had been +known to us in former years. We had an +instinct to hide our unsympathetic pleasuring, +but there was nothing to be done except +to follow our homeward road straight by the +house. +</p><p> +The occasion was nearly ended by this +time: the borrowed chairs were being set +out in the yard in little groups; even the +funeral supper had been eaten, and the +brothers and sisters and near relatives of the +departed man were just going home. The +new grave showed plainly out in the green +field near by. He had belonged to one of +the ancient families of the region, long settled +on this old farm by the narrow river; +they had given their name to a bridge, and +the bridge had christened the meeting-house +which stood close by. We were much struck +by the solemn figure of the mother, a very +old woman, as she walked toward her old +home with some of her remaining children. +I had not thought to see her again, knowing +her great age and infirmity. She was like a +presence out of the last century, tall and still +erect, dark-eyed and of striking features, +and a firm look not modern, but as if her +mind were still set upon an earlier and simpler +scheme of life. An air of dominion +cloaked her finely. She had long been +queen of her surroundings and law-giver to +her great family. Royalty is a quality, one +of Nature's gifts, and there one might behold +it as truly as if Victoria Regina Imperatrix +had passed by. The natural instincts common +to humanity were there undisguised, +unconcealed, simply accepted. We had seen +a royal progress; she was the central figure +of that rural society; as you looked at the +little group, you could see her only. Now +that she came abroad so rarely, her presence +was not without deep significance, and so she +took her homeward way with a primitive +kind of majesty. +</p><p> +It was evident that the neighborhood was +in great excitement and quite thrown out of +its usual placidity. An acquaintance came +from a small house farther down the road, +and we stopped for a word with him. We +spoke of the funeral, and were told something +of the man who had died. "Yes, and +there's a man layin' very sick here," said +our friend in an excited whisper. "He +won't last but a day or two. There's another +man buried yesterday that was struck +by lightnin', comin' acrost a field when that +great shower begun. The lightnin' stove +through his hat and run down all over him, +and ploughed a spot in the ground." There +was a knot of people about the door; the +minister of that scattered parish stood among +them, and they all looked at us eagerly, as +if we too might be carrying news of a fresh +disaster through the countryside. +</p><p> +Somehow the melancholy tales did not +touch our sympathies as they ought, and we +could not see the pathetic side of them as at +another time, the day was so full of cheer +and the sky and earth so glorious. The +very fields looked busy with their early summer +growth, the horses began to think of +the clack of the oat-bin cover, and we were +hurried along between the silvery willows +and the rustling alders, taking time to gather +a handful of stray-away conserve roses by +the roadside; and where the highway made +a long bend eastward among the farms, two +of us left the carriage, and followed a footpath +along the green river bank and through +the pastures, coming out to the road again +only a minute later than the horses. I believe +that it is an old Indian trail followed +from the salmon falls farther down the river, +where the up-country Indians came to dry +the plentiful fish for their winter supplies. +I have traced the greater part of this deep-worn +footpath, which goes straight as an +arrow across the country, the first day's trail +being from the falls (where Mason's settlers +came in 1627, and built their Great Works +of a saw-mill with a gang of saws, and presently +a grist mill beside) to Emery's Bridge. +I should like to follow the old footpath still +farther. I found part of it by accident a +long time ago. Once, as you came close to +the river, you were sure to find fishermen +scattered along,—sometimes I myself have +been discovered; but it is not much use to +go fishing any more. If some public-spirited +person would kindly be the Frank Buckland +of New England, and try to have the laws +enforced that protect the inland fisheries, he +would do his country great service. Years +ago, there were so many salmon that, as an enthusiastic +old friend once assured me, "you +could walk across on them below the falls;" +but now they are unknown, simply because +certain substances which would enrich the +farms are thrown from factories and tanneries +into our clear New England streams. +Good river fish are growing very scarce. +The smelts, and bass, and shad have all left +this upper branch of the Piscataqua, as the +salmon left it long ago, and the supply of +one necessary sort of good cheap food is lost +to a growing community, for the lack of a +little thought and care in the factory companies +and saw-mills, and the building in some +cases of fish-ways over the dams. I think +that the need of preaching against this bad +economy is very great. The sight of a proud +lad with a string of undersized trout will +scatter half the idlers in town into the pastures +next day, but everybody patiently accepts +the depopulation of a fine clear river, +where the tide comes fresh from the sea +to be tainted by the spoiled stream, which +started from its mountain sources as pure as +heart could wish. Man has done his best +to ruin the world he lives in, one is tempted +to say at impulsive first thought; but after +all, as I mounted the last hill before reaching +the village, the houses took on a new +look of comfort and pleasantness; the fields +that I knew so well were a fresher green +than before, the sun was down, and the provocations +of the day seemed very slight compared +to the satisfaction. I believed that +with a little more time we should grow wiser +about our fish and other things beside. +</p><p> +It will be good to remember the white +rose road and its quietness in many a busy +town day to come. As I think of these +slight sketches, I wonder if they will have +to others a tinge of sadness; but I have seldom +spent an afternoon so full of pleasure +and fresh and delighted consciousness of the +possibilities of rural life. +</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Strangers and Wayfarers, by Sarah Orne Jewett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STRANGERS AND WAYFARERS *** + +***** This file should be named 31857-h.htm or 31857-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/8/5/31857/ + +Produced by James Adcock. 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