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diff --git a/41188-8.txt b/41188-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 78b0dfc..0000000 --- a/41188-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2476 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Narcissa, or the Road to Rome, by Laura E. Richards - -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/license - - -Title: Narcissa, or the Road to Rome - In Verona - -Author: Laura E. Richards - -Release Date: October 26, 2012 [EBook #41188] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NARCISSA, OR THE ROAD TO ROME *** - - - - -Produced by Mary Akers, Suzanne Shell and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - NARCISSA - OR - THE ROAD TO ROME - - - IN VERONA - - - BY - - LAURA E. RICHARDS - - AUTHOR OF "CAPTAIN JANUARY," "MELODY," - "QUEEN HILDEGARDE," ETC. - - - ELEVENTH THOUSAND - - - BOSTON - ESTES & LAURIAT - 1894 - - - - - _Copyright, 1892_, - BY THE TWO TALES PUBLISHING CO. - - _Copyright, 1894_, - BY LAURA E. RICHARDS. - - _Copyright, 1894_, - BY ESTES AND LAURIAT. - - - _All Rights Reserved._ - - - University Press: - JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - NARCISSA 3 - - I. DREAMING 3 - - II. WAKING 21 - - IN VERONA 43 - - - - -NARCISSA. - - - - -NARCISSA. - -THE ROAD TO ROME. - - - - -Part I. - -DREAMING. - - -Narcissa was sitting in the doorway, feeding the young turkeys. It was -the back door of the old gray house,--no one would have thought of -sitting in the front doorway,--and there were crooked flagstones -leading up to it, cracked and seamed, with grass growing in the -cracks. Close by the door-post, against which the girl was leaning, -stood a great bush of tansy, with waving feathery leaves and yellow -blossoms, like small gold buttons. Narcissa was very fond of this -tansy-bush, and liked to pluck a leaf and crush it in her hands, to -bring out the keen, wholesome smell. She had one in her hand now, and -was wondering if ever any one had a dress of green velvet, -tansy-color, with gold buttons. The minister's wife once had a bow of -green velvet on her black straw bonnet, and Narcissa had loved to look -at it, and to wish it were somewhere else, with things that belonged -to it. She often thought of splendid clothes, though she had never -seen anything finer than the black silk of the minister's wife, and -that always made her think of a newly-blacked stove. When she was -younger, she had made a romance about every scrap of silk or satin in -the crazy-quilt that Aunt Pinker's daughter, the milliner, had sent -her one Christmas. The gown she had had out of that yellow satin--it -did her good to think about it even now!--and there was a scrap of -pale pink silk which came--was it really nothing but fancy?--from a -long, trailing robe, trimmed with filmy lace (the lace in the -story-papers was always filmy), in which she had passed many happy, -dreamy hours. - -It never occurred to Narcissa that she needed no fine clothes to set -off her beauty; in truth, she never dreamed that she had any beauty. -Color meant so much to her, that she had always accepted the general -verdict that she was "pindlin'-lookin'," and joined sincerely in the -chorus of praise which always greeted the rosy cheeks and -solid-looking yellow hair of Delilah Parshley, who lived at the next -house below the old gray one. - -Yet it was true that Narcissa had no need of finery; and it was a -pretty picture she made, sitting in the doorway, leaning against the -door-post. Her hair was nearly black, with no gloss or sparkle, only a -soft, dusky cloudiness. It curled in little rings about her broad, -low forehead, and round her soft, pale cheeks. Her eyes were dusky, -too, but more gray than brown, and the only vivid color was in the -scarlet line of her lips. There was nothing unhealthy in her clear -pallor, no hint of sallowness, but a soft, white glow. The nostrils of -her little straight nose were cut high, which gave them a look of -being always slightly dilated; this caused the neighbors to say that -Narcissa White was proud, though dear knew what she had to be proud -of. As for her dress, it was of blue jean, a good deal faded, but all -the better for that; and her white apron, though coarse, was spotless -and carefully starched. - -The turkeys seemed to approve of her appearance, for they gathered -eagerly round her, trying to get their beaks into the dish she held, -gobbling and fluttering, and making a great commotion. Narcissa was -fond of the turkeys, and had names for all her favorites. The finest -young gobbler was called Black Diamond, and he was apt to take unfair -advantage of his mistress's partiality, and to get more than his -share. So noisy they all were, that Narcissa did not hear the sound of -approaching footsteps, nor know that some one had spoken to her twice -in vain, and was now standing in silent amusement, watching the -struggle for food. - -It was a young man who had come so lightly up the steps of the old -house that no sound had been heard. He had gone first to the front -door, but his knock had brought no answer, and catching the flutter -of Narcissa's apron he had come round to the back porch and was -standing within three feet of the girl and her clamorous brood. - -A very young man, hardly more than a boy, yet with a steady, manly -look in his blue eyes, which contradicted the boyish curves of cheek -and chin. He was plainly but neatly dressed, and he carried in one -hand a small satchel, such as travelling agents affect. His eyes were -bright and quick, and glanced about with keen interest, taking in -every outline of the house, but coming always back to the girl who sat -in the doorway, and who was unlike any girl he had seen before. The -house was dim and gaunt, with a look of great age. One did not often, -in this part of the country, see such tall doors, such quaint -chimneys, such irregular outlines of roof and gable. The green-painted -front door, with its brass knocker, and its huge, old-world hinges, -seemed to him a great curiosity; so did the high stone steps, whose -forlorn dignity suffered perpetual insult from the malapert weeds and -grasses that laughed and nodded through the cracks and seams. - -And in the dim, sunken doorway sat this girl, herself all soft and -shadowy, with a twilight look in her eyes and in her dusky hair. The -turkeys were the only part of it all that seemed to belong to the sort -of life about here, the hard, bustling life of New England -farm-people, such as he had seen at the other houses along the way. -If it were not for the turkeys, he felt that he should hardly find -courage to speak, for fear it might all melt away into the gathering -twilight,--house, maiden, and all,--and leave nothing but the tall -elms that waved their spectral arms over the sunken roofs. - -As it was, however,--as the turkeys were making such a racket that the -girl would never become aware of his presence unless he asserted -himself in some way,--he stepped boldly forward and lifted his hat, -for he had been taught good manners, if he was a tree-agent. - -"Excuse me, lady," he said. "Is this the road to Rome?" - -Narcissa started violently, and came out of her dream. She had -actually been dressed in the green velvet, and was fastening the last -gold button, ready to step into the chariot that was waiting for -her,--she loved the word chariot, though the pictures in the Bible -made her feel uncertain about the manner of riding in one,--and to -drive along the road, the road to Rome. How strange that at this very -moment some one should ask about the road! - -She raised her eyes, still shining with the dream-light, and looked -attentively at the stranger. - -"Yes, sir," she answered. "This is the road,--the road to Rome. But -it's a long way from here," she added, rousing herself, and rising -from her seat. "Shoo! go away, now;" and she waved a signal of -dismissal with her apron which the turkeys understood, and at sight of -which they withdrew, not without angry cluckings and gobblings -directed at the disturber of their evening meal. - -"Won't you set down and rest a spell? It's ben real hot to-day, though -it's some cooler now." - -"It has so!" assented the young man, taking off his hat again to wipe -his brow, and dropping his satchel on the doorstep. - -"I should be pleased to set a few minutes, if I'm not intruding. And -do you suppose I could have a drink of water, if it wouldn't be too -much trouble?" - -Narcissa went away without a word, and brought back the water, -ice-cold and clear as crystal, in a queer brown mug with a twisted -handle, and an inscription in white letters. - -"I'm sorry I haven't got a glass," she said. "But the water is good." - -The young man drank deeply, and then looked curiously at the mug. "I'd -rather have this than a glass," he said. "It's quite a curiosity, -ain't it? 'Be Merry!' Well, that's a good sentiment, I'm sure. Thank -you, lady. I'm ever so much obliged." - -"You no need to," responded Narcissa, civilly. - -"I--I don't suppose you want any trees or plants to set out, do you?" -said the stranger. "I am travelling for a house near Portland, and -I've got some first-rate things,--real chances, I call 'em." - -"I--guess not," said Narcissa, with an apprehensive glance over her -shoulder. "I only keep house for the man here,--he's my father's -uncle,--and he don't buy such things. I wish"--she sighed, and looked -longingly at the black satchel. "I suppose you've got roses, have you, -and all kinds of flowers?" - -"I should think so!" replied the youth, proudly. "Our house is the -greatest one in the State for roses. Let me show you some pictures." -He opened the satchel and took out a black order-book filled with -brilliant pictures. - -"Oh!" cried Narcissa, "I--I guess I'd better not look at 'em. I don't -believe he'd like it. Not but what I'm just as much obliged to you," -she added, hastily. - -But the stranger had already opened the book. - -"Just look here, lady," he said. "Why, it can't do no manner of hurt -for you to look at them. Just see here! Here's the Jacqueminot rose, -the finest in the world, some folks think. Why, we've got beds and -beds of it. Splendid grower, and sweet--well there! I can't give you -any idea of it. Cornelia Cook! that's a great rose nowadays. And -here's a white blush, that looks for all the world like--" - -Here he stopped suddenly; for it was Narcissa's cheek that the rose -was like, he thought, and it came to him suddenly that he did not want -to say such things to this girl. - -The girl at the house below, when he had paid her compliments, had -laughed in his face, well pleased, and seemed to ask for more; but she -was an ordinary girl, like other folks. This soft, shadowy maiden -might shrink away, and vanish in the dusky porch, if he should touch -her rudely. - -He need have had no fear, for Narcissa would hardly have heard or -understood his compliment. She was gazing with hungry eyes at the -bright pictures, drinking in every shade of crimson and scarlet and -gold. - -"Oh, stop!" she cried eagerly. "Oh, may I read about that one? Ain't -it beautiful! May I?" - -"Well, I should think you might!" replied the gallant agent, holding -the book toward her. "Here, lean right over me; I'd like to read it -too." - -"'This grand rose,'" Narcissa read aloud,"'has created an epoch in -rose-growing. Of free habit and luxurious growth, the plants form the -most splendid ornament of garden or hot-house. The beautiful, -perfectly-shaped flowers show a marvellous blending of colors, in -which a rich apricot predominates, shading into light pink, bright -canary, and pale yellow. The outer petals are grandly recurved, -forming a fine contrast to the Camellia-like inner petals. With its -rare and exquisite fragrance, its bold and beautiful foliage, and the -unparalleled profusion with which its splendid blossoms are borne, we -claim that this rose is absolutely _without a rival_.'" - -Narcissa drew a long breath and looked up, her eyes full of awe and -admiration. "Ain't that elegant?" she said simply. "They have great -writers there, don't they?" - -The youth smiled, as he thought of little Mr. Bimsey, who "got up" the -catalogues and kept the accounts; then, reminded by this and by the -fading light that he had still a good way to go before nightfall, he -added, rising reluctantly from his seat,-- - -"I must be going, I guess. You haven't any notion how far it might be -to Rome, have you, lady?" - -Narcissa shook her head. - -"It's a long way," she said. "When Uncle Pinker goes there with the -turkeys in the fall, it takes him the whole day to go and come." - -"You haven't got a map of the county?" persisted the youth. "I'd ought -to have one myself, and I guess I shall have to get me one. I'm a -stranger in these parts." - -Narcissa shook her head again. "We haven't got any kind of a map, as I -know of," she said; but next moment her face brightened. "We've got a -picture of Rome," she said,--"a real handsome picture. Would you like -to see it?" - -"Well, if it ain't too much trouble." - -Narcissa led the way into the house, cautioning the stranger to tread -softly. "Uncle Pinker is asleep," she said. "He's real old, and he -sleeps in the afternoon, most times. He's so deef, he wouldn't hear -you most likely, but you never can count on deef folks. Not but what -he'd be pleased to see you," she added, with a doubtful look at a -closed door as she passed it. - -"I'd ought to make you acquainted with my name, seem's though," said -the agent, following her into a dim, dreary room. "My name's -Patten,--Romulus Patten." He paused, and then went on: "Folks always -ask how I got my name, so I get into the way of firing right ahead -before they ask. My mother got it out of the history book. She was a -great hand for history, my mother was. It seems queer, my going to -Rome, don't it? They made consid'able fun about it, down to our place, -but I'm used to that, and don't mind it." - -There was no answering gleam in Narcissa's lovely eyes. "Romulus? was -he in the Revolution?" she asked. "I had to leave school before we got -through history. I'd only got as far as the Battle of Lexington, when -Aunt Pinker died, and I had to come and keep house for Uncle Pinker. -It was real interestin'," she added, with a little sigh of regret, "I -wish't I could have finished history." - -Romulus Patten flushed with shame and anger,--not at the girl, but at -the sordid people who had kept her in ignorance. He had gone through -General History himself, and having a good memory, considered himself -very well up in such matters. When he came back, he thought, perhaps -he might manage to stop a spell, and tell her a little about things. -Romulus in the Revolution! it was a scandalous shame, and she so sweet -and pretty! - -But here was the picture of Rome, and Narcissa turning with gentle -pride to introduce him to it. - -"Ain't it handsome?" she cried with enthusiasm. "I do like to look at -it the most of anything, seem's though. I think you're real fortunate -to be going there, Mr.--Mr. Patten." - -She was silent, gazing with delight that was fresh every time her eyes -rested on the beloved picture; and Romulus Patten was silent too. - -What was it he saw? - -A steel engraving, dim and gray, like the house, like the walls on -which it hung; framed in dingy gold, spotted and streaked. Within, as -in a dull mirror, appeared towers and temples, columned porticos and -triumphal arches: the whole seemed to be steeped in pale sunshine; in -the background rose a monstrous shape which Romulus' practised eye, -familiar with the illustrations in the General History, recognized as -the Coliseum. "That's Rome!" said Narcissa, softly. "Ain't it -elegant?" - -The young man glanced at her, with a light of sympathetic amusement in -his eyes. This was her little joke; he had hardly thought she would -make jokes, she was so quiet. But the smile faded into a look of -bewilderment, which quickly strove to efface itself; for Narcissa was -not in jest. She was gazing at the picture with a rapt look, with -almost passionate enjoyment. She had forgotten him for the moment, and -had entered the city of her dreams as she so often entered it, robed -in velvet and satin (it was the tansy-colored velvet this time, and -the buttons were very splendid indeed, and she had a bunch of roses in -her hand), riding in a chariot. She was passing under those wonderful -arches; that soft, mysterious sunshine wrapped her in a cloud of -glory. Presently she would meet other beings, splendidly dressed like -herself, who would greet her with smiles, and tell her of other -strange and beautiful things that she was going to see. Ah, to be in -Rome! to be really going there! - -"Ain't it handsome?" she repeated, turning her soft eyes on her -companion. "You're real fortunate to be going there." - -Romulus Patten stammered. "You--you're sure that is Rome?" he said. -"This same Rome, down east here? It don't hardly seem just like a -down-east place, does it?" - -The soft eyes grew wide, and the lips smiled a little. "Why, it says -so!" said Narcissa. "See here, right under the picture, 'ROME.' So it -couldn't be any place else, could it?" - -"I--I suppose not," murmured Romulus, hanging his head, like one -found in an unpardonable ignorance. - -"I hope to go there some day," the girl went on. "It's never been so I -could, yet; and folks don't go much from about here. Ain't it queer? -They'll go the other way, to Tupham, and Cyrus, and other places -that's just like--like to home here,--" and she gave a little -disparaging glance along the bleak road, with its straggling willows -and birches,--"and there's scarcely anybody goes to Rome. And it like -that!" she added, with another look of loving reverence at the old -picture. - -"You said something about your uncle going," suggested Romulus. -"Hasn't he ever told you about the place,--whether it's like the -picture?" - -Narcissa shook her head. "I asked him last time he come back," she -said. "I've asked him two or three times; but all he does is nod his -head and laugh, the way he has. He ain't one to talk, Uncle Pinker -ain't. He goes to Rome once every fall, when he kills the turkeys. The -biggest part of 'em goes the other way, to Tupham and on beyond, but -he allers takes some portion to Rome. He says they're great on turkeys -there. I should think they would be, shouldn't you?" - -This was a long speech for Narcissa, and she relapsed into silence and -the picture. - -"And you live all alone here with a deef old man who don't talk?" -said Romulus Patten. "Excuse _me_, Miss--well, you haven't told me -your name, have you?" and he laughed a little. - -"Narcissa," was the reply. "Narcissa White." - -"Thank you!" said the well-mannered Romulus. "You live all alone with -him, and don't see no company? It's lonesome for you, ain't it?" - -"I--don't--know," Narcissa answered thoughtfully. "I never thought -much about it's bein' lonesome. I have the turkeys, and they're a good -deal of company: and I--I think about things." A faint color stole -into her clear white cheek, as she remembered the velvet gown. She -supposed a man would consider such thoughts "triflin'." - -"Don't you see anything of the neighbors?" the young man persisted. -"There's a young lady down at the next house, half a mile below -here,--wide-awake looking girl, with yeller hair and red cheeks, looks -some like a geranium; don't you know her?" - -"That's Delilah Parshley!" said Narcissa. "She's real handsome, don't -you think so? No, I don't see her, only to meetin' sometimes. I guess -she don't care to go much with folks up this way. Her friends is -mostly the other way, on the Tupham road. Their house sets on the -corner, you know." - -Narcissa did not know--how should she?--that Delilah Parshley and the -other girls of her sort considered her "a little wanting," because she -was silent, and never seemed interested in the doings of the -neighbors, or of such stray travellers as came along the road to Rome. -She felt kindly toward the Parshleys, as toward all the "meetin' -folks;" but she rarely held speech with them, and was "gettin' as dumb -as the old man was deef," the neighbors were beginning to say. - -"But haven't you got any folks of your own?" this persistent young man -went on. "I--I hope I'm not too forth-puttin', Miss White, but I'd -like to know." - -"I'm sure you're real kind to ask!" replied Narcissa, who was not used -to having any one care to ask her questions. - -"Yes, I've got _some_ folks. Father's livin', but he's married again, -and there's more children, and he was glad to have me find a chance; -and it was so that I was glad, too," she added, with no resentment in -her tone, but a touch of sadness, which made the ready color come into -those tell-tale cheeks of Romulus Patten. - -"It ain't right," he said hotly. "I'll be switched if it's right. -Ain't there a better chance you could get, somewheres round here, if -you don't feel to go fur away? If you did feel to make a change, -there's lots of chances down our way. I'd be real pleased to be of -assistance, if there was any ways I could; I would, now, Miss White." - -Narcissa looked a little alarmed. - -"You're real good," she said. "But I ain't thinkin' of any change. -Uncle Pinker means well by me, and the work ain't too hard, 'cept come -hayin' time, and along through the spring, sometimes, when I have to -help in the gardin. I'm sure I'm obliged to _you_!" she added -gratefully, with a shy, sweet look in her eyes that made Romulus feel -as if the day had grown suddenly warm again. - -"Well!" he said, with an effort, "I reely must be going, I suppose. -I've had a good rest, and I must be getting on." - -But Narcissa was not ready to have him go now. Her heart had been -stirred by the unwonted kindness, the interest which this handsome -stranger with the kind eyes had shown in her, Narcissa White, who was -of no account to any one in the world. Her heart was stirred, and now -she must show her gratitude in such simple wise as she could. She made -him sit down at the table, and brought him doughnuts and milk, and the -prettiest apples she could find in the cellar. In fear and trembling -she took from the cupboard a tumbler of apple jelly, wondering as she -did so what Uncle Pinker would say, and whether he would call it -stealing. She had made the sweetmeat herself, and had earned the money -to buy a half-dozen tumblers, by braiding rugs for Mrs. Parshley. She -had picked the apples, too. Altogether, she thought she had a right to -offer the jelly to the kind stranger. - -He was delighted with his little feast, and pronounced the jelly the -best he had ever tasted. She made it herself? he wanted to know! girls -were smart on the road to Rome, he guessed. He drank her health from -the brown mug, and again she apologized for not having a glass to give -him. "There is good glasses," she said with a blush, "but Uncle Pinker -keeps 'em locked up. I broke one when I first come here, two years -ago, and he's never let me touch one sence." - -Romulus Patten muttered something in confidence to the brown mug, but -Narcissa did not hear it. She was too happy to think that other people -might consider Uncle Pinker a mean old curmudgeon. She felt a warmth -about the heart, wholly strange to her starved and barren life. It had -been dear and precious to dream, oh, yes! but here was reality. Here -was some one like the people she dreamed about, only real flesh and -blood, instead of shadows. He cared, this wonderful person, really -cared, to be kind to her, to say pleasant words, and smile, and look -at her with his bright, gentle eyes. And he was going to Rome! that -was almost the best part of all, for now she could fancy him there, -and would have some one to speak to, when she made her shadowy -journeys to the Dream City. - -She was hardly sorry when, the simple feast over, her new friend rose -to go. It could not last forever, and Uncle Pinker would be waking up -soon, and was apt to be "a little set," as she charitably expressed -it, when he first woke. She made apologies for not having roused the -old man, and was sure he would have been "real pleased" to see Mr. -Patten, if it had been any other time of the day. She was a little -startled when Romulus held out his hand at parting. She had an idea -that people only shook hands at funerals; but she laid her little -brown palm in the warm, strong one held out to her, and felt a cordial -pressure that brought the tears to her eyes,--the sweet, forlorn gray -eyes that never guessed at their own sweetness or sadness! Romulus -Patten looked long into them before he let the little hand go. - -"I sha'n't forget you, Miss White," he cried. "You may be sure of -that; and I hope you won't forget me, either, for a spell. I may -stop on my way back, if I don't have to go round another way when I -leave Rome. I'll try my best to fix it so as I can come back this -way, and then--then perhaps you'll let me call you Narcissa. -Good-by--Narcissa!" - -"Good-by!" echoed Narcissa; and then she stood on the doorstep and -watched him, her new friend, the first friend she had ever had, as -looking back often, and waving his hand once and twice in sign of -farewell, he passed along down the road to Rome. - - - - -Part II. - -WAKING. - - -"Good mornin', sir; can I sell you anything this mornin'?" - -It was a strong, clear voice that broke rudely in upon Uncle Pinker's -morning meditations as he sat in the doorway (the same setting that -had framed Narcissa yesterday, but how different a picture!), smoking -his short black pipe. - -"Can I sell you anything?" repeated the voice, with an imperious -intonation. Uncle Pinker looked up. The sound was a mere murmur in his -ears; but when he saw the figure before him, he recognized it for one -he had sometimes seen on the road, and knew instinctively what was -wanted. "Ga-a-ah!" said Uncle Pinker. - -This remark was a favorite one of the old gentleman's, and though no -one knew its precise derivation, there was no doubt of its being the -quintessence of scornful refusal. He used it constantly, but it never -had such bitter force as when he was asked to spend money. "Ga-a-ah!" -said Uncle Pinker again. - -"What might you mean by that?" asked the newcomer, with some asperity. -"That ain't no form of salutation ever I heard yet. Haven't you a -civil tongue to use, old gentleman? You're ancient enough to have -learned manners, if you'll excuse me sayin' so." - -The old man snarled again. "I'm stone deef!" he said. "I don't hear -nothin' you say, nor yet I don't want to hear. You needn't waste no -time, fur as I'm concerned." - -"Stone deef, be you?" returned the pedlar. "Well, that has its -compensations, too. You wouldn't buy anything if you had the hearin' -of ten, and now I can have the pleasure of tellin' you what I -think of you. You skinny, starved old weasel, you're about the -wickedest-lookin' piece I ever set eyes on. Real old screw, you are, -if ever I saw one. Pity your folks, if you've got any; more likely -you've starved 'em all off, though, and are skeered of dyin' yourself, -fear of havin' another funeral to pay for. The Lord leaves folks like -you for a warnin' to others, understand?--set up, kind of, to show how -ugly a critter can be when he tries. Oh, you needn't snarl at me. I'm -enjoyin' myself real well, I tell you. There's other ways to have a -good time besides sellin', if it is my trade. Guess I'll set down a -spell, uncle, sence you _are_ so pressin'." - -Uncle Pinker was almost foaming with rage by this time. He could hear -no distinct words, but the insulting nature of the stranger's speech -was evident from look and gesture. He was just wondering whether his -strength would suffice to throw himself on the intruder, when a new -figure appeared on the scene,--Narcissa, who had been busy in the back -kitchen, and catching some high note of the stranger's scornful -speech, now came hurrying out to see what was the matter. - -She found Uncle Pinker quivering in his chair, his lean, veined hands -clutching the arms, his little red eyes starting from his head with -impotent fury; and sitting on the doorstep, looking up into his face -with a smile of calm amusement, was the strangest figure Narcissa had -ever seen. - -A person of middle age, with strongly marked features, and a -countenance of keen intelligence, but dressed in a singular manner. A -suit of brown cloth, rather worn, but well-brushed and neat; loose -trousers, and an odd, long-skirted coat, reaching to the knees, both -coat and trousers trimmed with rows of narrow black-velvet ribbon. The -person's hair was cropped short; the person's head was surmounted by a -curious structure, half cap, half helmet, like that worn by Miss -Deborah in "Cranford," only of far humbler materials. Beside the -person, on the doorstep, lay a bag, of the kind affected by pedlars, -lank and shiny, and particularly unattractive in appearance. - -Such was the individual at whom Narcissa White was now staring with -eyes very wide open, her stare being returned by a quizzical gaze, -half smiling, and wholly shrewd and observant. - -"Mornin', young lady," said the strong, clear voice. "Wonderin' what -I be, are ye? fish or flesh, or red herrin', or what, hey? Well, I'll -put you out of your misery. I'm a woman, that's what I am; the folks -calls me Bloomer Joe. Now, then, do you want to buy anything of me?" - -Here her tone changed, and her voice rose and fell in a kind of chant, -dwelling with dramatic emphasis on a telling phrase here and there. - -"Buy any lace, threads, or needles, pins--_or_--essences? Here's a -looking-glass to see your face in--prettiest face I've seen along the -road! (I tell that to every girl I see, and most of 'em believe it; -but you ain't that kind, so you shall have the joke instead.) Real -celluloid ivory combs, fit for the President's wife, sure enough. Gold -beads, stockin'-supporters, teeth-brushes,--_and_--stickin'-plaster." - -Here she dropped back into a conversational tone, opening her bag as -she did so, and drawing forth some of its treasures. - -"Just look at this lace, young lady! strong enough to hang yourself -with, if you was feelin' that way, or to hang the old gentleman here, -if you was feelin' another. I know which way I'd feel, quick enough. -Not your father, is he?" she added, seeing a look of distress in -Narcissa's eyes. - -"Oh, no," said Narcissa, speaking for the first time. "But--he's my -uncle,--at least, my father's uncle; and I--guess you'd better not -talk so, please." - -"All right," said the stranger. "I won't, not if it is any trouble to -you. It would be meat and potatoes and apple-pie for me, if he was my -uncle, to hear him get his rights for once in a way; but I see you're -one of the soft-hearted ones. Want any salve? Here's a kind that will -cure corns, bunions, rheumatism, croup, sore-throat, backache, -horse-ail, and colic; cure most anything except a broken heart, and -won't do a mite of harm to that. But you don't need any salve, and the -old gentleman, he's past it. Well, then, here's ribbons, all colors of -the rainbow,--red, yeller, blue, see? handsome they are, and cheap as -good counsel. Aha! you'd like to see them, hey?" - -Narcissa had indeed changed color at sight of the bright ribbons, and -she now gave an anxious glance at Uncle Pinker, who was still fuming -and snorting in his chair. - -"You, Narcissy White, send this critter away, can't ye?" he snarled; -"or else go into the house yourself, and go to work, not stand foolin' -here, with the work all on the floor. Go 'long, d' ye hear? This -woman, or feller, or whatever she calls herself, can talk till she's -hoarse; she won't hurt me, nor she won't get nothin' out of me." - -"Could I get a drink of water, do you s'pose?" the pedlar asked -quietly, paying no attention to the angry old man. "Needn't trouble to -bring it out; I'll go right into the house with you, if you've no -objections." - -She followed Narcissa into the house before the latter could make any -remonstrance, and shut the door after her. - -"He don't reelly disturb me," she said, "not a mite; but we can trade -better in here. Let me try some of the ribbons on your hair. I don't -often see such hair as this on my tramps, and that's no compliment, -but the plain truth." - -"Oh!" cried Narcissa, in distress. "You're real kind, but please -don't. I haven't got any money to buy things with, and I couldn't take -your time for nothing. They are handsome, ain't they? Oh, that yellow -is just elegant, isn't it? It's like the buttons; I mean like the -tansy blossoms. I thank you for showin' them to me, I'm sure, but it -ain't any use for you to." - -"Don't he pay you for workin' here?" asked the pedlar, with a sharp -glance. - -"Yes, he does pay me," Narcissa answered,--"a dollar and a half a -week. But--but I don't get it very reg'lar, sometimes, and I'm saving -up to buy me a dress. I need one bad, to wear to meetin'." - -The pedlar frowned. It was against her principles to leave any house -where she knew there was money, without selling at least a box of -salve; but this seemed a hard case. - -"A dollar and a half a week!" she muttered scornfully. "The old -caraway seed! he'd better go and live in Rome, and be done with it. -He'll find plenty of company there." - -Narcissa looked up with wide-open eyes. - -"Why do you say that?" she asked. - -"Because Rome is the skinniest place on this round earth," was the -reply; "and I think 'twould suit your uncle down to the ground." - -Still the girl gazed. "I guess you're mistaken," she said quietly. "I -guess you never was there, was you?" - -"Never till yesterday," replied the woman, "and never want to be there -again. You see, this isn't my own country at all, as you may say. I -belong in another part of the State, and most generally keep to my own -beat, havin' my regular customers, understand? and goin' round amongst -'em. But oncet in a while the fancy takes me to roam a little, and see -other parts; and so I come round through Damascus and Solon, and -passed through Rome yesterday." - -"Oh!" cried Narcissa, breathlessly. "You did? do tell me! and wasn't -it elegant? I don't see how you could come away. Did you walk about, -and see all them handsome buildings? and did you see the folks?" - -The pedlar gazed at her in wonder. The girl's eyes were like stars, -her whole face alight with enthusiasm. What did it mean? - -"Handsome buildin's?" she repeated. "In Rome? I'll tell you what I -saw, child, and then you'll know. I saw the forlornest place on this -earth, I don't care where the next may be. I saw rocks and turkeys, -and turkeys and rocks. The street (if you can call it a street; -'twould be called a hog-wallow, down where I come from) is solid rock -where it ain't mud, and solid mud where it ain't rock. There's a house -here and a house there, and they all look as if they was tryin' to get -away from each other, but didn't darse to move for fear of fallin' -down. - -"The folks I saw were as lean as their own turkeys, and I can't say no -further than that. I tried to sell 'em some of my salve; told 'em -'twould heal the skin where 'twas broke with the bones comin' through, -but they was past jokin' with. - -"I tell you, child, Rome is the--Why, what's the matter?" The good -woman stopped suddenly, for Narcissa was trembling all over, and her -face shone white in the dim, half-lighted room. - -"I--I don't understand you!" she cried wildly. "There's some mistake; -you went to the wrong place, and never saw Rome at all. Look here!" -and she led the way swiftly across the hall, into the other room, the -room into which she had taken Romulus Patten the day before. She -almost ran up to the picture, and motioned the pedlar, with an -imperious gesture, strange in so gentle a creature, to look at it. -"That is Rome!" cried Narcissa. "You went to the wrong place, I tell -you. This--this is Rome!" - -The woman drew out a pair of spectacles, and fitted them on her nose -with exasperating deliberation. She took a long look at the picture, -and then turned to the trembling girl, with a kind light of pity in -her eyes struggling with amusement. - -"You poor--deluded--child!" she said at length. "Who ever told you -that was Rome, I should like to know?" - -"But it says so!" cried Narcissa. "Can't you read? 'ROME.' There it -is, in plain letters; and I--don't--" she wanted to say "I don't -believe you!" but the blue eyes that met hers steadily showed nothing -but truth and kindness. - -"So it is Rome, dear!" said the pedlar, speaking now very gently. "But -it's ancient Rome, over in Europe; Italy, they call the country. Where -the ancient Romans lived, don't you know? Julius Cæsar, and all those -fellers who cut up such didoes, hundreds of years ago? Don't tell me -you never went to school, nor learned any history." - -"I--I went for a spell!" Narcissa faltered. "I had to leave when I was -fourteen, because I was wanted to home, and we hadn't only got to the -Battle of Lexington in history. I did hope to learn about the -Revolution, to home, but father's wife didn't think much of readin', -and she burned up the book." - -There was a silence, and then the good-natured pedlar began fumbling -in her bag. - -"It's a livin' shame!" she cried indignantly. "Here--no, it ain't, -neither. Well! I did think, much as could be, that I had two or three -little books here, and I should have been pleased to give you one, -dear, just for keeps, you know. But they don't seem to be here. Well, -never mind! I was goin' to ask if you wouldn't like this piece of -yeller ribbon you seemed to take to. It's a real good piece, and I -should be pleased--I declare, child, I do feel bad to have spoiled -your pretty notion of Rome. I s'pose you thought likely you'd go there -some day, hey? well, well! sit down, and let me put this ribbon on -your hair. You no need to be scairt of me. I act kind o' wild -sometimes, like I did with your uncle, but it's four parts fun. I'm -well known up our way, and anybody'll tell you I come of good stock, -if I am crazy enough to wear sensible clothes, that don't hender me -walkin' nor settin'. Mis' Transom, my name is. And he called you -Narcissy, didn't he? Why, I had a cousin once, name of Narcissy; it's -not a common name either, and I allers thought it was real pretty. Set -down here, dear, and let's talk a spell." - -Thus the kind woman rattled on, watching the girl keenly the while. -She was making time for her, giving her a chance to recover from what -was evidently a heavy blow. - -But Narcissa scarcely heard her. She was dazed; her dream was -shattered, her glorious city laid in ruins, the beauty and romance of -her whole life dashed away, as a rude touch dashes the dew from the -morning grass. - -As she sat, trying to realize it, trying to think that it really was -not so much, that there would be other pleasant things, perhaps, to -fill the barren working days, and gild the grayness of the long lonely -Sabbaths,--as she sat thus, a new thought flashed into her mind, -piercing like the thrust of a sword. - -Her friend, Romulus Patten! She had sent him off on a false scent, had -lied to him about the place, the city--she could hardly bear even to -think of its dishonored name now. He had gone there, thinking to find -what she had told him about,--the stately houses, the arches, the soft -sunshine gilding all. What would he think of her when he found it was -all a cheat, a lie? He had been kind to her, had seemed to care about -her as nobody had ever done in her forlorn young life; and this was -how she had repaid him! - -She started up, shrinking as if from some cruel sting. "I must go and -tell him!" she cried. "I lied to him, though I didn't know it was a -lie. I must go and find him, and tell him I didn't mean to." - -"Tell who?" cried the pedlar, catching her by the arm. "What is it -troubles you so, Narcissy? Who did you lie to, I should like to know? -Don't believe she could tell a decent lie if 'twas to save her own -soul," she added to herself. - -But Narcissa did not heed her. - -She had taken down her sunbonnet from a nail, and was tying it under -her chin with trembling fingers, with a feverish haste that took no -note of anything. - -"Where are you going?" cried Mrs. Transom, now beginning to be -frightened at the girl's distracted looks. "You're never going out of -the house feeling like this? You'll have a fit of sickness, sure as -you're alive, and then where'll you be? and 'tis all foolishness, too, -I'll be bound. I can't understand a word you say. And there's a storm -coming up, too. I see it as I was coming along, and was reckoning on -finding shelter here when I fust stopped to speak to the old -gentleman. There, hear the thunder this very minute! Narcissy! Why, -good land of deliverance, she's gone!" - - * * * * * - -The storm came on very suddenly,--first, a low bank of cloud heaving -in sight on the western horizon, long and misshapen, like the back of -a kraken; then the whole monster revealed, rising across the sky, -tossing monstrous arms about, showing ugly tints of yellow, ugly -depths of purple and black. - -There was no lightning at first, only low mutterings of thunder, and -every now and then a pale lifting of the darkness, as if the monster -were opening his cavernous jaws, showing glimpses of dim horror -within. Then, of a sudden, with no note of warning, the whole sky -sprang into flame, the whole air was a roar and a bellow, deafening -the ears, stunning the senses,--and the storm broke over the road to -Rome. - -The rain struck aslant, driving a spray before it, as of a mountain -stream. In five minutes no road was to be seen,--only a long stretch -of brown water, hissing and writhing under the scourge of the rain and -wind. A horse came plodding carefully along, crouching together as -well as he could, picking his way through the water. The two men in -the buggy behind him were crouching, too, and trying to hide behind -the rubber boot. It was some comfort to think that they were trying to -keep dry, though both knew that they were already drenched to the -skin. - -"It's lucky for me that I met you," said the younger of the two, -shaking himself, and sending a shower of spray in all directions. - -"P'r'aps 'tis just as well," replied the other man, with a chuckle. -"You'd hardly have known yourself from a muskrat by this time, if -you'd had to foot it from Rome here. Been stoppin' there?" - -"Stopping as long as I cared to," said the youth, who was no other -than our friend Romulus Patten. "I got there last night, and was good -and ready to come away this morning. I'm travelling for Brown's -Nurseries, and there don't seem to be any call for any of our goods in -Rome. Stone-crop's the only plant they raise much of, I guess." - -"Well, that's so," said the elder man. "That's so, every time. I never -knew but one man that could make anything grow in Rome, and he carted -all the dirt three miles, over from North Podley, before he could make -a seed grow. Yes, sir, he did so. Mighty poor country up that way. -Some say the Rome folks don't see any garden-truck from year's end to -year's end, and that if you ask a Rome girl to cook you up a mess of -string beans, she takes the store beans and runs 'em on a string, and -boils 'em that way; but I dono. I'm from Vi-enny way myself." - -"My gracious! what's that?" - -The whole world had turned to livid white for a moment, dazzling and -blinding them; but still they had seen something on the road, -something like a human form, torn and buffeted by the wind and the -furious rain, but staggering on towards them with uncertain steps. - -"My God! it's a woman!" cried Romulus Patten. "Stop your horse, and -let me get out. A woman, alone in this storm!" - -He sprang to the ground, and holding his arm before his face to keep -off the blinding rain, made his way towards the forlorn figure -splashing through the water, now ankle deep in the road, stumbling, -often on the point of falling. - -"Hold up, lady!" he called out, in his cheery voice. "There's friends -here! Hold up just a minute!" - -At the sound of his voice the woman stopped and seemed to shudder and -clasp her hands. "I never meant it!" she cried out wildly. "I can't -see you, I'm most blind, but I know your voice. I never meant to lie -to you about Rome. I--thought--'twas all true; and when I found out, -I--came--to tell you. I never meant to send you there on a lie." - -"Narcissa!" cried Romulus Patten. "Oh, Lord! Oh, you poor little -thing! and you thought I didn't know? I'd ought to be shot, that's -what I ought to be. Here, you poor little thing, let me take your -hands! They're like wet ice, and you're shivering all over. Oh, dear -me! come with me, and get right into this buggy out of the rain. Oh, -Lord! and I let you go on thinking I didn't know!" - -Half leading, half carrying her, he made his way to the buggy, and -then fairly lifted her in his strong young arms to lay her on the -seat; but here an obstacle was interposed in the shape of another arm -as strong as his, and a good deal bigger. "Easy, there!" said the -owner of the buggy. "Seems to me you're makin' yourself rather too -free, young feller. Do you think I'm goin' to have that gal brought in -here, runnin' all the rivers of Babylon? Who in Jerusalem is she, -anyway? Some of your folks?" - -Romulus Patten's face was streaming with cold rain, but he flushed as -if a flame had swept over him. - -"She's the young lady I'm going to marry," he said. "Will you take -her in, or shall I carry her home this way?" - -"Now you're talking!" the stranger said, removing his arm and making -way. "Why didn't you speak up before, sonny? Here, give me a holt of -her!" He lifted Narcissa gently into the buggy, and drew her close to -his side, laying her head well up on his shoulder so that she could -breathe easily. "Family man," he explained. "Gals of my own. Now you -reach under the seat there, and bring out a shawl you'll find." - -Romulus obeyed, and half angry, half pleased, watched the stranger as -he deftly wrapped the shawl round the fainting girl, and put her -dripping hair tenderly off her face. - -"Allers take a shawl along," he explained further. "Wife enjoys poor -health, and have to be ready for a change of wind. Comes in handy, -don't it? Now get in, young feller, and tell me where to drive to. You -needn't look down in the mouth, either, 'cause you don't know -everything in creation yet. Time enough to learn, and you're likely to -learn easy, I should say. - -"And you rest comfortable, my dear," he added, speaking to Narcissa as -if she were a small child. "Here's your friend alongside of you, and -you're just as safe as you would be in the best stuffed chair in the -settin'-room at home. Fetch your breath, like a good girl, and try to -look about you." - -But Narcissa heard never a word, for she had fainted. - -An hour later, Romulus Patten and Mrs. Transom were sitting by -Narcissa's bedside, watching her. She had fallen into a deep, -childlike sleep, and their low voices did not disturb her. - -"The old gentleman was so mad he was all cheesed up," the pedlar was -saying. "There! I was fairly sorry for him, old weasel as he is; so I -let him go on for a spell, till he was clean tuckered out, and then I -e'en took him up and put him to bed, same as if he was a child. Glad -enough he was to get there too, if he was mad. Then I took and made -him some warm drink, and gave him to understand I'd stay by till -Narcissy come back, and here I be. And now, young man," she added, -fixing her keen blue eyes on Romulus's face, "I've got a word to say -to you. You let fall something when you was bringin' this child in--I -won't say that I wasn't mighty glad to see her, and you, too,--but you -let on something about keepin' company with her. Now, I want to know -right here, what you meant, and who you are, and all about it. Oh, you -may look at my pants much as you're a mind to. I come of good folks, -and I dress as seems fit to me, and I don't care in any way, shape, or -manner what folks say or think. I've been snoopin' round some, since I -put that old man to bed, and I found the family Bible; and this child -is the lawful daughter of my cousin, Narcissy Merrill, that I haven't -heard of this twenty years. Bein' so, I'm goin' to stand by her, as is -right and proper; so, now I'll hear what you've got to say. I've as -good a right to do for her as that old skimp-jack in there, if he is -her father's uncle." - -Romulus Patten spoke out frankly. He had "taken to" Narcissa from the -first moment he saw her. When was that? Well, it wasn't long ago, it -was true. It was only yesterday; but he wasn't one to change, and he -had never seen a girl yet that he would look twice at. And when she -came, in all that awful storm, just to tell him,--here the young man -choked a little, and the woman liked him the better for it,--he made -up his mind then, he went on, all in a minute, that she should be his -wife; and she should, if so be she was willing. He would go back to -the place and see if he could get a job in the garden; he might have -had one now, but he was some tired and had thought it would rest him -to travel a spell. He would quit travelling now, and had little doubt -that he could have a good place. - -He knew of a pleasant rent--in that part of the country a hired -tenement is known as a "rent"--with four rooms, that belonged to a -friend of his, and he could get that, he guessed. In short, the sooner -Narcissa got away from Uncle Pinker the better, in his opinion, and he -was ready to take her, the first day she would go. That was all he -had to say for himself; but he presumed Mr. Brown would give him a -character if he was asked. He had worked for Browns three years, and -had no reason to think they weren't satisfied with him. - -When Romulus had finished his little speech, which left him flushed -and tremulous, yet with a brave light in his eyes, and a tender look -as he glanced towards his love where she lay sleeping quietly, Mrs. -Transom gazed at him for a while in silence; then she held out her -hand and grasped his heartily. - -"I guess you'll do," she said. "I guess you're the right sort. Now, -I'll tell you what. You go along and get your place, and see about -your rent. Don't engage it, but get the refusal of it, if it belongs -to a friend, as you say. Then you come back here and find your girl -all well and peart again, and you say your say, and let her say hers. -You don't want to take advantage of her being sick and weakly -now--now, you no need to flare up! I say you don't want to, and I mean -it. You'll need a box of my salve, if you're so thin-skinned as all -that comes to. - -"You go along, I say, and when you come back, come over to my place, -Tupham Corner, third house from the cross-road, white house with a -yeller door. Everybody knows Mis' Transom's house. You'll find your -gal there, and you'll marry her there, with her mother's cousin to -stand up with her. There, don't be scairt! Pity some gals haven't got -the trick of blushin' as you have, young man. I've got as good a black -silk as any in Tupham or Cyrus, and nobody's goin' to say 'Bloomer -Joe' round where my own folks live, you'd better believe. What say? -Like my idee, or have you got a better one yourself?" - -"You're real good!" Romulus cried. "Poor little Narcissa! It does seem -as if she had found all her friends at once, and she never having any -in her life before, as you may say. I tell you, Mis' Transom, I'll -treat her as well as I know how. If she was a queen, she shouldn't -have any more care than what I'll give her. I--I think a sight of -her!" he added simply. "Seems as if she always belonged to me, -somehow." - -"That's right!" said Mrs. Transom, who was as romantic as any lady in -silk and satin. "That's right, young man. We'll get her away from this -old rathole, and then I guess it'll be a good while before either you -or I travels this way again, hey?" - -"I don't know as I have anything to say against the country," said -Romulus Patten, with another loving look at the sleeper. "It isn't -exactly the place to sell trees, but yet there's good things to be -found on this road,--the road to Rome." - - - - -IN VERONA. - - - - -IN VERONA. - - -First of all, let me correct the mistaken impression that my title -cannot fail to make upon the patient reader. On reading the words, "In -Verona," his mind instantly conjures up a vision of white palaces; of -narrow streets across which the tall houses nod at each other, hinting -at the mysteries they dare not reveal; of ancient fountains, embowered -in myrtle and laurel; finally, of Juliet's tomb, and a thousand -memories of the immortal lovers. - -All this is natural, but it will not do. Here in Verona are no -fountains, but half a dozen old well-sweeps, and all the rest -cucumber-wood pumps; no palaces, but neat white houses with green -blinds, and flowers in their front-yards; no laurel, but good honest -sunflowers instead; finally, no tomb of Juliet, for our Juliet did not -die; briefly, and to have done with mystery, our Verona is in the -State of Maine. - -I have often wondered what manner of men they were, who named the -towns in the good old State. Lyceum teachers for the most part, one -would think,--men who had read books, and whose hearts yearned for -the historic glories of the old world, glories which their narrow -lives might never see. So, disagreeing with this same Juliet in the -matter of names, they did what they could, and not being able to go to -Europe, did their best to bring Europe over into their own new -country. So we have here in Maine Rome and Paris, Palermo and Vi-enny -(miscalled "Vienna" by pedants, and those thinking themselves better -than other people), Berlin Falls and South China,--in fact, half the -continent to choose from, all in our own door-yard, as it were. - -You may not find Verona on the county-map; you certainly will not see -it as you flash by on the Maine Central Railway, on your way to Bar -Harbor. But if you travel for a certain length of time on a certain -quiet road, grass-grown for the most part, and with only a few -straggling cottages dotting it here and there,--if, as I say, you -travel long enough, and do not get out of patience and turn back -towards Vi-enny, you will come suddenly round a bend of the road, and -there will be Verona before you, all white and smiling, tucked away -under the great hill-shoulder that curls lovingly round it. The -cleanest, freshest, sleepiest little New England village! No myrtle, -no laurel, not the faintest suggestion of a fountain! Yet here lived -and loved, not so very long ago, Romeo and Juliet. - -They were simple young people; they did not even know their own -names, for Juliet answered to the name of Betsy Garlick, while Romeo -was known only as Bije Green; and they worked for the Bute girls. - -It is well known that the Bute girls--who might better be spoken of, -if the custom of the country allowed it, as the Misses Bute--did not -speak to each other. They lived in two white cottages, side by side, -on the Indiana road; and though they could not avoid seeing each other -every day, no communication had taken place between them since the -time of their mother's death, some ten years ago. Old Mrs. Bute had -been partly responsible, all the neighbors thought, for this -unfortunate state of things. She was a masterful woman, and never -allowed her daughters to call their souls their own, even when they -were middle-aged women. Though both gifted with strong wills, they -lived in absolute subjection to the small withered autocrat who hardly -ever stirred from her armchair in the chimney-corner. - -She persisted in treating her daughters, either of whom could have -picked her up with one hand and set her on the mantelpiece, as if they -were little children; and they accepted the position with meekness. - -It was even said that when Mrs. Bute felt called on to die, as we say -in Verona, she insisted on having her daughters' mourning made and -tried on in her presence, that she might be sure of its being -respectable, and fitting properly. "Neither one of you has sense to -know when a gown wrinkles in the back," she said. "I couldn't lay easy -in my grave, and you going round all hitched up between the -shoulders." - -So the village dressmaker cut the clothes (black stuff dresses, and -black cambric pelisses lined with flannel), and came in fear and -trembling to try them on. It must have been a grim scene: the two -gaunt, middle-aged women standing meekly before the bed, turning this -way and that at command; the dying woman issuing, in halting whispers, -her directions for "seam and gusset and band," while death had her by -the throat, fitting her for the straight white garment which was -making in the next room. Not till she had seen her daughters arrayed -in the completed costumes, with bonnet and veil to match, would Eliza -Bute turn her face to the wall and go, feeling that she had done her -duty. - -Perhaps it was hardly to be wondered at, if, so soon as the iron grasp -was loosened which had held them all their days, the two women went to -the other extreme, and could brook no suggestion of authority from any -one, least of all from each other. Perhaps each was sure that Mother -(awful shade, still hovering on the borders of their life!) would be -of her way of thinking; however it was, the two sisters quarrelled the -day after the funeral. The will was read, and it was found that the -property was to be evenly divided between them. Evenly divided! It was -a dangerous phrase. Miss Duty had her idea of what "even" meant, and -Miss Resigned Elizabeth had hers; and neither was likely to give up to -the other. They listened in grim silence as the lawyer read the will; -and each decided that she knew what Mother meant, and 'twasn't likely -the other did. - -The strife that followed was grim, though not loud. No wrangling was -heard; no neighbor was called in to keep the peace; but after three -days, Miss Resigned Elizabeth sent for a man and a wheelbarrow, and -removed with all her goods and chattels to the house next door, which -was hers by right of inheritance from her grandmother. - -A neighbor calling on Miss Duty the day after the separation, found -her in the spare chamber, seated before the bed, on which were spread -out divers articles of the personal property which had been her -mother's. There was one black lace mitt, six white stockings and six -gray ones, half of an embroidered apron, ditto of a nankeen waistcoat -in which Father Bute had been married; item, one infant's sock; item, -three left-hand shoes. Here, on what was evidently the half of a green -veil, lay a slender store of trinkets: one mosaic earring, one garnet -one, half of a string of gold beads, and--piteous sight!--half of a -hair bracelet, its strands, roughly cut, already half unbraided, and -sticking out in silent protest against the inhuman treatment they had -received. - -The neighbor broke out into indignant inquiry, but was quickly -silenced. Miss Duty was satisfied, and so was her sister; that being -so, she didn't know that the neighbors had any call to be distressed. -Good Mrs. Dill went home in high indignation, and before night all -Verona knew how "ridiklous" the Bute girls had behaved, and joined -with Mrs. Dill in thinking that Old Ma'am Bute had better have left -them a "gardeen," if that was all they knew about how to treat good -stuff, as had cost more money than ever they were likely to earn. - -When Bije Green came to work for Miss Duty Bute, he knew nothing of -the feud between the two houses. He was not a Veronese, but came from -that mysterious region known as "out back," meaning the remote -country. When, working in the garden, he saw on the other side of the -fence an old woman (any person above thirty was old to Bije) who -looked almost exactly like the old woman who had hired him, it seemed -the proper thing to say "hullo!" to her, that being the one form of -salutation known to Bije; but instead of an answering "hullo!" he met -a stony stare, which sent him back in confusion to his potatoes. -"She's deef!" said Bije to himself, charitably. "And my old woman's -nigh about dumb,--quite an asylum between 'em." And he whistled "Old -Dog Tray" till Miss Duty came and told him to stop that racket! - -Poor Bije! he found life dull, at first, on the Indiana road. He was -shy, and not one to make acquaintances easily, even if Miss Duty had -approved of his running down to the village, which she did not. But he -was used to cheerful conversation at home, and felt the need of it -strongly here. His innocent attempts at entertaining Miss Duty were -generally met with a "H'm!" which did not encourage further remarks. -"Nice day!" he would say in a conciliating manner, when he brought in -the wood in the early morning. "H'm!" Miss Duty would reply, with a -frosty glance in his direction. - -"Havin' nice weather right along!" - -If he met with any reply to this suggestion, it would be a "H'm!" even -more forbidding; while a third remark, if he ever ventured on one, -would be answered by swift dismissal to the woodshed, with the -admonition not to be "gormin' round here, with all the work to do." - -These things being so, Bije was sad at heart, and pined for a certain -corner of the fence at home, and his sister Delilah leaning over it, -talking while he hoed. Delilah was only a girl, but she could be some -company; and what was the use of having a tongue, if you never used -it, 'cept just to jaw people? Jawing never did no good that he could -make out, though he didn't know but he'd ruther be jawed than hear -nothing at all from get up to go to bed. - -Such thoughts as these were in Bije's mind one morning, as he -wrestled with the witch-grass on the strip of green near the fence -which divided Miss Duty's lot from her sister's. He did not like -witch-grass; he never could see the use of the pesky stuff. Delilah -was always saying that there was use for everything; Bije wished she -were here, to tell him the use of witch-grass. He guessed--At this -moment the tail of his eye caught a flutter, as of a petticoat, beyond -the dividing fence. Now Miss Resigned Elizabeth's petticoats never -fluttered; they were not full enough. Bije looked up, and saw--a girl. - -She was standing in the porch, polishing the milk-pails. She had -curly, fair hair, which she kept shaking back out of her eyes,--blue -eyes, as bright as the little pond at home, when the sun shone on it -in the morning. The red-and-white of her cheeks was so pure and clear, -that Bije thought at once of a snow-apple; and his hand made an -instinctive movement towards his pocket, though it was not near the -time for "snows." There was not much wind, and yet this girl's things -seemed "all of a flutter;" her pink calico gown, her blue-checked -apron, her flying curls,--all were full of life and dancing motion. -The milk-pails twinkled in the morning sun, catching fresh gleams as -she turned them this way and that. They were not common milk-pails, it -appeared, but pure silver, or they could not twinkle so. Also, the sun -was brighter than usual. Bije stood gazing, with no knowledge that his -mouth was open and his brown eyes staring in a very rude way. The -witch-grass took breath, and rested from the fierce assaults of the -hoe. Bije knew nothing of witch-grass. He had never heard of such a -thing. There were only two things in the whole world, so far as he -knew: a milk-pail and Betsy Garlick. - -When Betsy looked up, as of course she did in a moment, she saw no -fairy vision, but only a boy: a brown boy, in brown overalls, with his -mouth open, staring as if he had never seen a girl in his life before. -Betsy had seen plenty of boys, and she was not in the least afraid of -them; so she returned Bije's stare with a calm survey which took him -all in, from his conscious head to his awkward heels, and then, with a -toss of her curls and a click of pails, disappeared into the house. - -All that day, Bije went about in a dream. When Miss Duty asked him -what he had been doing all the morning, he answered "Milk-pails;" and -when she asked what they used to keep off potato-bugs out his way, he -could only say "Pink calico." At this atrocious statement, Miss Duty -turned sharply on him. "Bijah Green," she said, "if you are goin' -loony, I'll thank you to take yourself off home. I don't want no -naturals round here, so now you know." - -Bije was terribly frightened at this. Yesterday it would have been -rather a good joke to be discharged by the old lady, and go home to -the farm with a month's wages in his pocket; to-day, it seemed the -most dreadful calamity that could happen to him; and he hastened to -give such an eloquent description of the potato-bug war, as carried on -in West Athens (pronounced Aythens) that Miss Duty was mollified, and -reckoned she must try paris green herself. When evening came, Bije -went early for his cow, and milked that good beast with undue haste -and trepidation. Then, having carried the brimming pails into the -kitchen, he returned to the shed, and looked about him with gleaming -eyes. Yes, there it was! the knot-hole that he had found the other -day, when he was brushing down the cobwebs,--just opposite the -back-porch of the house across the way. She would be coming out again -in a minute; it wasn't likely that she had done milking yet. He drew -up a broken stool, and seating himself on it, flattened his face -against the rough boards of the shed, and waited. The door of the -house across the way opened, and Miss Resigned Elizabeth came slowly -out. She was younger than Miss Duty, but she looked older, being -near-sighted, and walking with a stoop and a shuffle. She was rather -good-looking, with soft brown hair, and a little autumnal red in her -thin cheeks; but to Bije's distorted vision, she seemed the most -horrible old hag that had ever darkened the earth. Her scant gray -skirt (made out of her half of a dress of Mother Bute's, who wore her -skirts full), her neck-handkerchief, her carpet slippers, all were an -offence to him; and he could hardly resist the impulse to call out to -her to take herself out of his field of vision, and leave it clear for -the desired one. The dreadful old woman! how she stood round, as if -folks wanted to see her, instead of wishing she was in Jericho. She -was actually sitting down, taking out her old knitting! Such things -ought not to be allowed. There ought to be a law against ugly -women--Hark! what was that? Miss Resigned Elizabeth was calling to -somebody,--to somebody in the house. "Betsy! Betsy Garlick! come out -here, will you?" - -Why, this was not such a horrid old lady after all. Now he thought of -it, she was rather nice-looking, for an old one. The door was opening, -opening wider. There she came with her pails. The wonderful girl! not -flashing and sparkling, as in the morning light, but with the softness -of twilight in her eyes and her lovely waving hair. What was it the -other lad said, over there in the old Verona, at a minute like this? - - "Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! - Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night - Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear!" - -and so on, in his glowing, tropical way. But Bije could not say -anything of that sort. His heart was as high as Borneo's, and seemed -to be beating in his throat, as he gazed at the fair vision; but he -knew nothing of language, and if he had tried to put his thoughts -into words, he would only have said: "Ain't she slick!" A most -un-Shakespearian Bije! an ordinary, good country-boy! But no fiery -gallant of them all was ever thrilled with purer fire than burned now -in his veins. He wanted to do something, something wonderful, for this -girl. What did all those fellers do, in the story-books Delilah was -everlastingly reading? He wished he had read some of the stories, -instead of laughing at them for girl's fool-talk. She was smiling now; -did anybody ever smile like that before? Of course not! He wished he -were Miss Resigned Elizabeth, to be smiled at in that way; he wondered -what it felt like. But no! the poor old lady was deef! (she was not in -the least deaf, be it said, by the way). Deef, and that girl talking -to her! Poor old lady! It was a dreadful thing to be deef. - -And so on, and so on: Ossa on Pelion of rapture and young delight and -wonder, when suddenly a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. The boy -started as if he had been shot. Miss Duty Bute whirled him round, away -from the opening into Paradise,--I should say the knot-hole,--and -stooping down, applied her eye to the aperture. - -The little scene on the porch of the opposite house had no special -charm for Miss Duty: she only saw her sister, Resigned Eliz, as she -had called her in former days, and her hired girl. The butcher had -told her that Resigned Eliz had hired a girl; also, she, Miss Duty, -had rheumatism in her joints, which made stooping painful to her. -Therefore, when she straightened her poor back, and turned once more -upon the trembling Bije, her mood was none of the softest. - -Briefly, he was told that if ever she caught him spying upon the other -house, whensoever or howsoever, he would pack off that moment of time. -He had no more to do with the other house than he had with the Plagues -of Egypt, she'd have him to know; and when she wanted spying done, she -could do it herself, without hiring no shif'less, long-legged, -trifling boys to do it for her. Finally, was she to have any -kindling-wood split that night, or was she not? - -This was very dreadful, and for some days Bije hardly dared to look -over the fence, much less to loiter in the shed for an instant. But -what says the old song, the Lover's song, that perhaps (who knows?) -may have been sung in the streets when Will Shakespeare was a little -naughty boy? - - "Over the mountain, - And over the waves; - Under the fountains, - And under the graves; - Under floods that are deepest, - Which Neptune obey, - Over rocks that are steepest, - Love will find out the way." - -This being so, what could two elderly ladies, who seldom stirred from -their own door-yards, save to go to meeting--what were they to do -against the all-conquering little god, or against Abijah Green, his -soldier and slave? Bije found out the way, unconscious of any -fluttering wings about him, any mischievous, rosy imp with bow and -arrow. - -A posy laid on the fence; then an apple, polished on the coat-sleeve -till it shone again; then two more apples and a posy beside them, to -show that there could be no mistake about it. - -Betsy was only eighteen, and if life was dull at Miss Duty's, it was -not exciting at Miss Resigned Elizabeth's. She, too, had been -cautioned to have nothing to do with "that bold-lookin' boy over t' -the other house!" But Betsy did not think the boy was bold-looking. -Anyhow, she hoped (but her hopes were not expressed aloud) she had -manners enough to say thank you, when any one was pretty-behaved. So -she said thank you, first with her eyes (because Miss Resigned -Elizabeth was close by, watering the flower-beds), then with her lips; -and it became evident to Bije that she had the sweetest voice that -ever was heard in the world. The flowers were real pretty! Betsy -thought a sight o' flowers. They had lots of pansies to home, and she -did miss 'em, so these seemed real homelike. Did Mr.--well, there! -some might think 'twas queer for her to be talkin' to him, and never -knowin' what his name was! Bijah Green? Betsy wanted to know! Why, she -had an uncle named Green, over to South Beulah. Not her own uncle--he -married her aunt Phrony; real nice man, he was. She wondered if he was -any relation. But what she was goin' to say? She didn't suppose Mr. -Green cared for southernwood. There was a great root of it round by -the back-door here; 'twas dretful sweet, and she had to set it over, -Miss Bute said. He could have a piece off the root, just as well as -not; only she didn't s'pose he cared for such common doin's as -southernwood. - -It appeared that southernwood had been Mr. Green's favorite plant from -his cradle, as one might say. If there was one thing he did hanker -after, it was southernwood; but he couldn't see her grubbin' up things -that way. If he knew where the bush was, he could get it himself, just -as easy-- - -Betsy would not hear of that! Besides, _she_ was dretful pernickety -about folks comin' into the yard. There! Betsy didn't know what she'd -say this minute, if she was to see her talkin' to him; but for her, -Betsy's, part, she had allers been brought up to be neighborly. Bije -chimed in eagerly. 'Twas dretful lonesome, specially come evenin's. To -see her ("her" in this case meant Miss Duty) settin' there, knittin' -for dear life, and never a word to say to any one--'twas enough to -make any one feel homesick. Not but what she was good, in her way, -only 'twas a tormentin', up-stiff kind o' way. Drivin' the cow, too! -It did seem as though he should fly, sometimes, drivin' that critter -all alone from pasture. His sister allers went with him, to home; he -s'posed that's why it seemed so lonesome now. Where did _she_ (oh, New -England! oh, poor little hard-worked pronouns! this "she" was Miss -Resigned Elizabeth),--where did she keep her cow? Seem's though-- - -Seems, Bijah? Nay, it is! - -What are cows and country roads made for, I should like to know, save -for the pleasure of youths and maidens? Miss Duty's cow was kept in -the humplety field, as the children called it, a mile and more from -Cuttyhunk, the pasture where Miss Resigned Elizabeth's good Brindle -spent her peaceful days; yet it was strange to see the intimacy that -sprung up between these two creatures in the next few weeks. - -At a certain turn of the road, Brindle would stop and fall to cropping -the grass by the road-side, swinging her body about and switching the -flies off comfortably; while her driver, loitering a few steps behind, -pulled the early golden-rod or plaited sweet rushes together, -apparently absorbed in her task, and only from time to time casting -shy glances down the other road, which led off, over hill and dale, to -Cuttyhunk. But, by-and-by, down this other road would come another -cow,--not a happy, leisurely cow like Brindle, but a breathless and -much-tormented beast who had been hurried out of all nature ever since -she left the pasture, absolutely goaded along the way by urgent word -and gesture, by shakings of her tail, and apostrophes most -unreasonable. - -"Go lang, you old snail! what you gormin' all over the road for? Want -to sleep here, do ye? Of all slow critters ever I see, you're the beat -'em; cold molasses kin gallop, 'longside o' you." - -Poor Molly did not understand this kind of thing from one with whom -she had been so friendly-intimate as Bije. She made such haste as she -could, poor beast, and it was a great relief when she saw Brindle's -horns round the corner; for now, she had already learned from -experience, the hurry was over. Now she and her bovine friend could -take their way along the grassy road, as slowly as any cow could wish. -Bijah, who had come panting along the road, breathless with haste and -repeated adjurations, became suddenly compassionate. The poor beasts -were tired, likely. 'Twouldn't do to hurry them; anyhow, 'twas bad for -the cream. Oh, Bijah! Bijah! what would your pious grandmother say, if -she were witness of your barefaced duplicity on these occasions? - -But what occasions they were! It was a pretty sight, if one had been -there to see. The road was pretty, to begin with,--the Indiana road, -with its overhanging birches and elms, and the fringe of daisies and -golden-rod along the sides. The evening light was soft and sweet, as -if the sun had put on his tenderest gleam to smile on Betsy; and as -the twilight deepened, in rosy gray softening into amethyst, did not -the moon come up, all clear and silver, just to look at Betsy? The -white light shimmered on the girl's soft hair, and deepened the -dimples in her round cheek, and cast strange gleams into her lovely -eyes. Was the other Juliet fairer, I wonder? Possibly; but, on the -other hand, she could not drive cows, nor milk them, either. Surely -the other Romeo was not more passionate than this dark-eyed boy in his -brown jean overalls, walking so sedately by Juliet's--I should say, by -Betsy's--side. Bije felt as if the whole world were light and fire; -the fire within him, the light without. He thought that Betsy gave -light to the moon, not the moon to Betsy. He did not wish he were a -glove upon that hand, for the little brown hand had never worn a -glove, except once, at the wedding of a friend. The gloves were at -home now, wrapped in silver paper; she meant to wear them at her own -wedding. He did not swear by yonder blessed moon, because he was not -in the habit of swearing. "By gosh!" was the only expletive Bije ever -used, and he would not have thought of using that in a lady's -presence. The fire within burned him; but what sweet pain it was! If -he had only had the gift of language, this poor, dear Bije, what -floods of glowing words he would have poured out! How he would have -praised her, the beloved one, and praised the night, and blessed the -moon, and the stars, and the old cows, and everything that came near -him and his happiness! But if he had spoken, Bije could only have said -that it was a sightly night, and Betsy would have responded that it -was so. - -One of these sightly nights Bijah found voice, if not language. They -were pacing slowly along, letting Brindle and Molly have it all their -own way. It was the full of the moon, the harvest-moon, and all the -world lay bathed in silver light. They had been silent for a while, -through sheer peace and content in each other; but suddenly Bije broke -out with, "I wish't I had a snow-apple!" - -"Why, how you startled me!" Betsy responded. "Why do you want a -snow-apple now, of all times in the world? They won't be ripe for nigh -onto two months, Bije." - -"Do you know what I thought of, first time ever I see you?" the boy -went on, with apparent irrelevance. "Well, I thought of a snow-apple -then, and thought you looked the most like one of anything in the -world." - -"Well, of all!" said Betsy. - -"I did! There's nothing else as I know of that's so red and white, and -so round, and so--so sweet, Betsy." - -"Bijah Green, how you do talk!" Betsy cried. "It's time we was gettin' -home with these cows." But she did not quicken her pace, and Bije -noticed that she did not. - -"Do you know what I'd do if you were a snow, Betsy?" Bije came a -little nearer, and his voice grew husky. - -"Eat me, presume likely!" said Betsy, with a little laugh that -trembled as if it were full of tears. - -"No!" cried the boy. "I'd pick you off the tree, though, and have you -for my own, Betsy. I'd carry you off, and run away with you, sure's -the world. Should--should you mind much, Betsy?" - -But for once Betsy had nothing to say. She could only hang her head, -and look more and more like the snow-apple, as Bije's arm stole round -her, and his hand clasped hers. Little Betsy! She was only eighteen; -four years older, it is true, than that creature of fire and perfume -over in the other Verona, but still almost a child, according to New -England ideas. The moon looked down, and probably thought she had seen -the same sort of thing ever since she was an asteroid, and these -children were like all the rest. But what a mistaken old moon she -was,--for there had never been any one like Betsy, and certainly no -one like Bijah, since the world began; and it was all perfectly new -and strange, and--and--they had a very pleasant walk home. - - * * * * * - -"A bird of the air shall carry the matter!" What bird of all that fly -could have had so bad a heart as to tell Miss Resigned Elizabeth of -what was going on? Did a raven come on heavy-flapping wings, and -croak it in her ear? Or was it a magpie, or a chattering jay? Surely -no respectable robin or oriole would think of such a thing! But, -however the news reached her, it was there, and the golden time was -rudely broken in upon. - -Coming in one evening all flushed and radiant with her new joy, the -child was met by her mistress (only we do not say "mistress" in New -England; we say "she" or "her," as the case may be),--she was met, I -say, by Miss Resigned Elizabeth, wearing so stern a face that the -blush froze on Betsy's cheek, and the smile fled from the corners of -her mouth, where it always loved to linger. - -"Betsy Garlick, where have you been with that cow?" - -Betsy faltered. "Been with her, Miss Bute? I've been bringing her back -from pasture, same as I allers do." - -"Same as you allers do? And how's that? Betsy Garlick, ain't you -ashamed to look me in the face, and you goin' with that low-lived -feller over t' the other house?" - -But at this Betsy caught fire. "He ain't no low-lived feller!" she -cried, the blushes coming back again in an angry flood over cheek and -brow and neck. "You can scold me all you're a mind to, Miss Bute, and -I won't say nothin'; but you ain't no call to abuse Bijah." - -"Oh, I ain't, ain't I?" cried Miss Resigned Elizabeth, taking fire in -her turn. "I'm to be shet up in my own house, am I, by a girl from -North Beulah? I'm to have such actions goin' on under my nose, and -never so much as wink at 'em, am I? I should like to know! You go to -your room this minute, Betsy Garlick, and stay there till I tell you -to come out, or you'll find out p'raps more than you like. North -Beulah! Well, of all impudence!" - -Betsy fled to her room, and the angry woman followed and turned the -key upon her. Then, returning to her sitting-room, Miss Resigned -Elizabeth sat down and made out her line of action in this domestic -crisis. She sat for some time, her head shaking with indignation over -the iniquities of this generation; then she went to the writing-desk, -so seldom used, and, with stiff, trembling fingers, wrote two notes. -One of the notes was posted, being intrusted to the care of the -travelling baker, who went jingling by just in the nick of time; the -other was thrust in at Miss Duty's door by a withered hand, which held -it unflinchingly till Miss Duty came and took it, wondering greatly, -but not opening the door an inch wider to catch a glimpse of her -sister's face,--the face she had not looked into for ten years. - -When the hand was withdrawn, Miss Duty proceeded to decipher the note, -her gray hair bristling with indignation as she did so. - - SISTER DUTY,--Your help has been courting my hired girl, and I - don't suppose you want any such doings, any more than I do. I - have shet the girl up in her room till he is gone, and sent for - her stepmother. So no more from your sister. - - R. E. BUTE. - -Who shall paint Miss Duty's wrath? It was more violent than her -sister's, for she was of sterner mould; and it was really a fiery -whirlwind that greeted the delinquent Bijah when he came whistling in -from the barn, cheerfully smiling and at peace with all the world. But -the boy who faced Miss Duty in her fury was a very different person -from the meek, submissive youth whom she had learned to know and -tyrannize over as Bije Green. - -This Bije met her torrent of angry words with head held high, and -smiling countenance. Ashamed? No, he wasn't ashamed, not the least -mite in the world. Pick up his duds and go? Why, of course he -would--just as easy! Should he wait to split the kindling-wood and -bring in the water? Just as she said; it didn't make a mite o' -difference to him. Go right off, this minute of time? Ruther go than -eat, any time. One week's pay--thank her kindly, much obliged. The cow -was fed, and he cal'c'lated she'd find everything pretty slick in the -barn. Real pleasant night for a walk--good evenin'! - -The consequence of which was--what? Certainly not what Miss Duty had -expected, or Miss Resigned, either. - -At daybreak next morning, when the gray heads of these indignant -virgins were still lying on their pillows, taking an interval of peace -with all the world, Bijah was under Betsy's window, like a flame of -fire. Betsy was not asleep. Oh, no! She was crying, poor little soul, -at thought of going back to her stepmother, one of the old-fashioned -kind, and never seeing Bije again. For she would never see him, of -course. Hark! Was that a pebble thrown against the glass? A peep -through the green blinds, up went the little window, softly, softly, -and the dearest girl in the world leaned out, showing her sweet -tear-stained face in the faint gray light,--a sight which made Bije -more fiery than ever. Softly she bade him begone, for she dared not -speak to him. How did he know Miss Bute wasn't looking at him this -minute, out of her window? - -It appeared that Bije did not care if twenty Miss Butes were looking -at him, though one was enough to frighten the crows. Betsy was to put -on her bunnit that minute, and come along with him. Door locked? What -did that matter, he should like to know? He should laugh if she was to -be kept shet up there like a mouse in a trap. Send her home to her -stepmother? He'd like to see them try it, that was all. Never mind the -things! Come right along! She'd ben cryin'! He'd like to get hold of -them as made her cry. There'd be _some_ cryin' round, but it wouldn't -be hers. Come! Why didn't Betsy come? They'd take the cows out to -pasture this once more,--he didn't want the dumb critters to suffer, -and 't wasn't likely the old cats could get any help before -night,--and then they'd go. Go where? Now Betsy knew that well enough. -To Friar Laurence, of course (Bije called him parson instead of friar, -and he spelled his name with a _w_ instead of a _u_, but these are -mere trifles of detail), to get married. Where else should they go? -Wasn't she his Betsy, his own girl? Did she think she was goin' to -stay there and be hectored, while he was round? Parson Lawrence was to -home, Bije saw him only last night. Now could she climb down that -grape-vine? He reckoned she could, and he'd be standin' ready to catch -her if her foot should slip. - -"Oh, Bije! you take my breath away, you're so dretful speedy. Why, I -can't--no way in the world. What--where should I go then, if--if we -did--do what you say? Not that I can--with no clo'es but what I've got -on. The idea!" - -"Go? go home, of course, to mother's. Won't she be glad to see ye? -Won't Delilah half eat ye up, she'll be so pleased? That's all you -know, Betsy. And the help you'll be, and me too! Mother was dretful -onreconciled to my goin' away, but I felt to go and see something of -the world. And now I've seen all I want to, and I'm good and ready to -go home, Betsy; but not alone." - -How silver-sweet, indeed, sound lovers' tongues by night! But no -sweeter than now in the early morning, when all the world was as young -and fresh as Betsy, and as full of love and tenderness. In truth, it -was the hour for a bridal. The air was full of bridal-veils: floating -wreaths of silver fog that hung soft on the trees, and shimmered -against the hill-sides, and here and there began to soften into golden -and rosy tints as the light strengthened. They were all over the -grass, too, these bridal-tokens, in tiny webs of purest spun-silver, -diamond-set. A carpet of pearls was spread for Betsy's little feet, -and she would never cry out, as slug-a-bed maidens do, if the pearls -and diamonds wetted her shoes. Is the bride ready? - - "Red as a rose is she. - Nodding their heads before her goes - The merry minstrelsy." - -Hark to them now! They are tuning their instruments in every branch of -the elm-tree, cheep, twitter, trill; and now they burst out in a -triumphal chorus of song:-- - - "O Hymen, Hymenæe!" - -and Betsy needs neither Mendelssohn nor Wagner to tell her what a -wedding-march is. In very sooth, are there no young people beside -Betsy and Bijah who know enough to be married in the early morning, -and begin their first day together? - -For Betsy can hold out no longer. She retires to put on the pink -calico gown, because Bije will not hear of her being married in any -other. It is a pity that she will put on her best hat, instead of the -pretty sunbonnet; but one cannot expect a girl to be married in a -"slat." She ties up her little bundle with trembling hands, while her -cheeks glow and her heart beats so that she fancies Miss Bute must -hear it in the room below. - -Now she peeps out again, but shrinks back, afraid of the fire in the -brown boy's eyes, and the passion of his outstretched arms. O Romeo! -Romeo! But the whisper, "Betsy, _my_ Betsy!" brings her out again, -with a little proud, tearful smile. Yes, she is his Betsy. He is good -and true; he will take care of her. She would trust all the world to -Bijah. - -Carefully now! The trellis is strong. (Had not Bijah tested it in the -night, when she was sobbing in her sleep, to see that all was safe for -her?) One foot on this round--so! Now down, slowly, carefully; take -care of this step, for it is a weak one! Drop the bundle--there! Safe -at last! At last! "All the world and we two," nothing else beside. As -Betsy's foot touches the ground, up comes the sun to look at her. A -long shaft of golden light touches her fair head, and lies like a -benediction on her brow. The boy gazes at her, and sees no other sun. -Ah, Juliet! if the measure of thy joy be heap'd like mine, and that -thy skill be more to blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath this -neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue unfold the imagin'd -happiness that both receive in either by this dear encounter. Call -softly, though, softly, so as not to wake the old ladies: "Co'boss! -Co'boss!" Push the mossy gate, and let the good, silent creatures out, -the confidants of our love these many weeks. Come, sweet Capulet! -Come, Betsy, and let us drive the cows to pasture! - - * * * * * - -Great was the wrath in the virgin bosoms of the Misses Bute when the -flight of Betsy and her dark-eyed lover was discovered. Miss Duty -relieved her feelings by a furious bout of house-cleaning, and -scrubbed and scoured as if she were determined to purge the house from -the very memory of Bijah Green. But Miss Resigned Elizabeth had a -touch of rheumatism, and could not take refuge in that solace of -womankind. She could only sit and fret, poor soul, and wish she had -some one to talk it over with. Dear to goodness! Come times like this, -one did feel forsaken. Miss Resigned Elizabeth almost felt that she -could make up with her sister, for the sake of the common cause of -anger they now had. She glanced across the way, as she huddled up in -her shawl, taking the sun on the back-porch. If she had seen any -softness in the lines of Miss Duty's back, as she stood washing -windows on her own porch, Miss Resigned Elizabeth almost felt as if -she could cough, or perhaps even speak, just to pass the time of day. -But Miss Duty's back was as rigid as her principles; and though she -knew well enough that her sister was near, she gave no sign of -consciousness. The younger sister felt forlorn and old, and drew her -shawl closer around her, as if a cold air blew from that stiff figure -on the other porch. - -But 'twas warmer here than in the house, anyway. - -The house seemed strangely cold and cheerless since Betsy went away. -There was no one singing in the little pantry, or making a cheerful -clatter among the milk-pails. If Miss Resigned Elizabeth had only -known how things were going to turn out, she would never have hired a -girl; but now, it didn't seem as if she could get along without -one,--coming winter, too. - -But it was not so easy to get a girl in Verona. "Help is turrible -skurce!" was the answer to all Miss Resigned Elizabeth's inquiries; -nor did Miss Duty fare better in her search for a boy to fill the -place of the delinquent Bijah. They both had to send for old John, the -village chore-man, a surly elder, who grumbled bitterly at the -half-mile walk on the Indiana road, and wanted to know what folks -lived out there in the wilderness for, anyway. A sad time the poor -ladies had now. Their pails were mixed up, because old John saw no -reason for giving way to such foolishness on the part of the Bute -girls, with whom he had gone to school forty years before, and who -had never been so all creation as they thought they were, that he -knew of. The indignant maidens found baskets marked with hostile -initials in the shed; and if old John did not find what he wanted on -the premises of one sister, he coolly took it from the other house, -without so much as "by your leave." They could not even tell whether -they were drinking their own cow's milk, or that of the critter over'n -the next yard; for John drove the cows together to whichever pasture -he happened to fancy, and milked them together, whistling defiance as -he did so. Any remonstrance was met with the announcement that he, -John, was only coming to accommodate, and the sooner they found some -one else to do their putterin', the better he should be pleased. - -It was really a dreadful state of things. Why, they might almost as -well be living together again, Miss Duty thought; and Miss Resigned -Elizabeth thought so, too. And so the days wore on, and the weeks, and -made themselves into months; and the Misses Bute mourned in secret for -Betsy Garlick and Bijah Green. - -A year passed, as years do, whether people are comfortable or not. -Miss Duty and Miss Resigned Elizabeth were not comfortable; but nobody -seemed to care, and help continued to be "turrible skurce." Summer had -come again, the late summer even, and the harvest-moon. One evening, -just at sunset, as Miss Duty was straining the milk, there came a -sharp knock at the door. Miss Duty did not altogether approve of -people's knocking at her door at any time, and it was a special -outrage just now, when anybody with brains in his head must know that -she was busy; so she set down the pan and waited to see what would -come next. Another knock came next, so imperious that Miss Duty wiped -her hands on her apron and went to the door, outwardly calm, but -inwardly raging. - -There stood Calvin Parks, the driver of the Beulah stage, with a straw -in his mouth and a twinkle in his eye. - -"Lady out here to see you, Miss Bute," he said. "Very important -business. Good evenin'!" - -He was gone before the indignant lady could say a word. If you came to -think of it, this was shameless impudence. A lady indeed! An agent, -likely, selling some trash that wasn't fit for stove-kindlings. At any -rate, Miss Duty must go and give the woman a piece of her mind, comin' -traipsin' round, just when folks was busy. The idea! - -Out she went, fire in her eye, thunder ready rolling on her tongue. -Out she went, and found--Betsy Garlick. - -Betsy Green, rather; for the maiden Betsy never had this air of -prosperity, this sweet, matronly look; was never dressed like this -young woman, who sat on the boundary-stone that divided Miss Duty's -lot from that of the other house, and smiled,--actually smiled in Miss -Duty's face; and in her sister's too, for Calvin Parks had summoned -Miss Resigned Elizabeth also, and she was approaching with feebler, -slower steps. And who was this, standing by Betsy's side, erect, -beaming, jubilant? Who but the recreant Bijah? - -"Oh, Miss Butes!" cried Betsy, lifting her sweet face to one and then -to the other of the sisters. "Please, Bijah and me couldn't pass -through Verony without stoppin' to pass the time of day, and see how -you was gettin' on. We're real sorry we went off and left you that -way, without notice. 'Twan't right, we know that now; but, then, we -couldn't find no other way to fix it, seemed's though. I hope you -don't bear malice, Miss Butes. We've done real well, Bijah and me. -We're goin' now to look at a farm in Cortez't we've heard of. Bijah's -grandmother has left him quite consid'able of means, for us, and we -want to have a place of our own, though no one couldn't be kinder than -Mother Green and Delilah has been. I--I hope you've both been right -smart, this time, and had good help right along?" - -Oh, wicked little Betsy! You knew very well that they have _not_ been -right smart. Calvin Parks told you and Bijah all about their forlorn -condition, and how old John bullied them (How did he know? Why, what -is the use of being a stage-driver, if you do not know everything?), -and you have come here with the very slyest scheme in your little head -that ever kindness and cleverness concocted. And now you are going to -play your trump-card, seeing that the two ladies are still silent, -each, perhaps, waiting for the other to speak. - -"And another reason we had for stoppin'," says Betsy, looking down at -a great bundle in her lap, from which faint sounds now began to issue. -"Oh, Miss Butes, we--I _did_ feel to have you see Baby, 'cause I don't -believe you ever did see such a darling in this world." With these -words, she drew the shawl aside, and there on her lap lay the child, -all warm and rosy, just waking from his nap, and stretching his little -limbs, and blinking his eyes in the light. - -A baby! When had the Bute ladies seen a baby as near as this? Miss -Resigned Elizabeth felt a tugging at her heart-strings; she had always -been fond of children. Miss Duty felt--she hardly knew what; but she -saw the tears on her sister's cheek; saw, too, how old and feeble she -had grown, and what a pitiful look there was in her pale blue eyes. -And yet she had a look of Mother, too! - -At this moment the baby gave a crow and a kick, and made a grab at -Miss Duty's dress. In the effort, he nearly rolled off his mother's -lap. Instinctively the two sisters bent down to catch him, and as they -did so their heads came together with a smart crack. Miss Resigned -Elizabeth began to cry, she could not tell why, and Miss Duty laughed. -"You ain't fit to live alone, Resigned Eliz!" she said, and she hardly -recognized her own voice. - -"Well, I ain't, sister; that's a fact!" responded Miss Resigned -Elizabeth, meekly. "My eyesight ain't what it was. But he _is_ a -lovely child, Betsy; and--and I'm right glad to see you, Betsy, if you -_didn't_ act quite as you should." - -"Why, you're as blind as a mole!" cried the elder sister, in high good -humor. "And you ain't had the sense to get glasses fitted." (Miss Duty -could read the very smallest print, as well as she could twenty years -ago) "The idea! And that thin dress ain't fit for you to wear this -cold day." Miss Duty seemed to meditate. "Bije Green!" she said -sharply, turning for the first time to her quondam "help." - -"Yes, ma'am!" said Bije, meekly. He had kept silence till now, having -absolute confidence in Betsy's diplomatic powers; but now he stepped -boldly forward, and met Miss Duty's gaze without flinching. - -"You behaved scandalous, Bije Green, when you was here before, as well -you know. But I'm willin' to let bygones be bygones, seein' things is -how they is. You go get the wheelbarrow, and bring it here. Resigned -'Liz," she added, turning to her sister, "go on in, and pack up your -things. I s'pose it's fitting I should see to you, from now on. You -come home, and we'll see. Mebbe I used to be a little cuterin', -sometimes--though you did try me." - -"I know I did, sister!" Miss Resigned Elizabeth cried. "Most prob'ly -the fault was mine, though I did feel your cuttin' up the hair -bracelet. But there! I've been dretful lonesome sence Betsy went. -I--I'd be real glad to come home, sister!" - -"So that's all there is to it," said Miss Duty, in a final manner. "As -for the other house--" - -"Miss Bute!" cried Betsy Green, her eyes sparkling, her breath coming -quickly. "We--we weren't so dretful set on goin' to Cortez. We'd -enough sight ruther find a place nearer home. I never thought--" here -she stopped short, being a truthful Betsy; for she _had_ thought, and -planned, and hoped in her kind little heart, and now here was -everything coming out just as she hoped it would. "I'd ruther live -here than anywhere else in the world!" she said simply. "'Twas here I -saw Bijah first, and all; and you was real kind to me, Miss Bute, and -I do love Brindle." - -"Them cows has been treated scand'lous," said Bije, lifting up his -testimony. "Whoever's had the doin' for 'em! All banged about, same as -if the' was yaller dogs. I took a look at 'em as we come along, and I -felt to pity 'em, now I tell you. I could take care of 'em, Miss Bute, -jest as well as not, with what I had of my own, and they wouldn't -suffer none. I think a sight of that red cow, and the other one, -too." - -"And I could do for both of you," cried Betsy, "all you'd want -done--me and Bije together. I could run over every mornin' and -afternoon, and clean up if you wasn't feelin' smart, and Bije could do -the chores. And--and there'd be Baby for company!" she added, with a -little downward look of heavenly pride,--the very look, I declare, of -a certain Bellini Madonna, who holds her lovely state in Venice. But -now the baby thought his turn had come, and after a careful scrutiny -of the two elderly women, he held out his arms and fairly shouted at -Miss Resigned Elizabeth. - -"You blessed creetur?" cried the poor woman, pouncing upon him with -the pathetic hunger of a woman who was meant for a mother. "Did he -want to come, bless his heart? Well, he should!" and she took the -child up, and hugged and cuddled it "real knowin'," as Betsy said to -herself. Miss Duty looked on in amazement. She had not the mother -nature. "Why, Resigned 'Liz, you're fairly childish. The idea!" She -paused, feeling rebuked, she knew not why, by the joy in her sister's -pinched and faded face. Miss Resigned Elizabeth had not had a joyous -life. - -"Well, if 't is to be so," Miss Duty continued, after a pause, during -which Betsy and the younger sister held their breath and Bije thought -about the cows. "If 't is to be so, so it will be, I s'pose. I dono' -but you can go right in, Betsy, if it's so you can stay. My sister -ain't goin' to spend another night there. Perhaps you'll help her lay -her things together. And Bije, if you feel to milk the cows -to-night--I'm free to say I should like to send that John Peaslee -about his business, after the hectorin' he's give us this late. You'll -find the pails--" - -But Bijah was already gone, whistling joyously. As if he didn't know -where the milk-pails were! - -"Betsy," Miss Duty continued, turning back to instruct the new tenant -as to her course of action. But Betsy was gone, too; flown into the -house with her baby, like a bird into its nest. Only Miss Resigned -Elizabeth remained, looking at her with eyes that seemed to grow more -plaintive and more helpless every minute, as the burden of -responsibility dropped from her tired shoulders. - -"You go right in the house this minute, Resigned 'Liz!" said Miss -Duty, severely. "Gettin' your death out here in this night-air! The -idea!" And with a frown that was better than a smile, she went into -the house, driving her sister before her. - -"A plague o' both your houses?" Nay! only joy on one side and the -other of the white picket-fence. On the one side, content and peaceful -days, with ten years' gossip to talk over, and the sense of being -cared for, and of having "folks" once more. Happy old age coming -softly, bringing with it grace and gentle words, and ways which their -grim youth had never known; finally, the absolute rest which came from -Betsy's and Bijah's watchful love and care, and the strange pleasure -of being called "aunt" by the baby, and the succeeding babies. Yes, -the Bute girls were happy for the first time in their lives. - -And on the other side of the fence? Ah! there it was not the calm -peace of evening, but the fresh joy of morning and of spring. Seeing -that there was no one in the world who could hold a candle to Bijah, -and that Betsy was the best woman there was in these parts, let alone -furrin lands, why should they not have been happy? And beside all -this, had they not the most wonderful children, probably, that had -ever been seen? There was not a doubt of it in Betsy's mind, nor in -Miss Resigned Elizabeth's. Taking these things into consideration, -together with the fact that their cows were most remarkable cows, and -their hens the finest that had ever clucked in Verona, is it to be -wondered at that our little friends were very happy, and the old -ladies so good, and one of 'em an angel if she ever dared to call her -soul her own? - -A blessing on both houses! Peace and good-will, and all loving and -tender thoughts! And may the sun, as he rises over the great -hill-shoulder, always cast his brightest beams on the Indiana road. - - - THE END. - - - - -_Books by Laura E. Richards._ - - - =Melody.= The Story of a Child. 16mo, cloth, - 50 cents. - - Had there never been a "Captain January," "Melody" - would easily take first place.--_Boston Times._ - - The quaintly pretty, touching, old-fashioned story is told - with perfect grace, the few persons who belong to it are - touched in with distinctness and with sympathy.--_Milwaukee - Sentinel._ - - =Captain January.= Square 16mo, cloth (white - back), 50 cents. - - A charming idyl of New England coast life, whose success - has been very remarkable. One reads it, is thoroughly - charmed by it, tells others, and so its fame has been - heralded by its readers, until to-day it is selling by the - thousands, constantly enlarging the circle of its delighted - admirers. - - =Same.= _Illustrated Holiday Edition._ With thirty - half-tone pictures from drawings by Frank T. - Merrill. 4to, cloth, $1.25. - - =Narcissa=, and a companion Story, =In Verona=. - 16mo, cloth, 50 cents. - - =When I was Your Age.= 4to, cloth, gilt top, - $1.25. - - The title most happily introduces the reader to the - charming home life of Dr. Howe and Mrs. Julia Ward - Howe, during the childhood of the author. - - =Glimpses of the French Court.= Sketches from - French History. Illustrated with a series of - portraits in etching and photogravure. Square - 12mo, cloth, $1.50. - - With true literary touch, she gives us the story of some - of the salient figures of this remarkable period. - - =Marie.= Square 16mo, 50 cents. - - -_Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston._ - - * * * * * - - -Transcriber's note: - - Minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been - harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. Bold - text has been marked with =equal signs=. The Advertisement "Books - by Laura E. Richards" was originally at the front of the book and - has been moved to the end. - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Narcissa, or the Road to Rome, by Laura E. 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