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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8078.txt b/8078.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3670f6a --- /dev/null +++ b/8078.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17436 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Homestead, by Ann S. Stephens + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Old Homestead + +Author: Ann S. Stephens + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8078] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on June 12, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HOMESTEAD *** + + + + +Produced by Wendy Crockett, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + +THE OLD HOMESTEAD + +A STORY OF NEW ENGLAND FARM LIFE. + +BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS. + +AUTHOR OF "FASHION AND FAMINE," "THE REIGNING BELLE," "THE GOLD +BRICK," "MABEL'S MISTAKE," "THE WIFE'S SECRET," "BELLEHOOD AND +BONDAGE," "LORD HOPE'S CHOICE," "BERTHA'S ENGAGEMENT," "THE CURSE +OF GOLD," "NORSTON'S REST," "A NOBLE WOMAN," "THE SOLDIER'S ORPHANS," +"THE HEIRESS," "MARRIED IN HASTE," "PALACES AND PRISONS," "DOUBLY +FALSE," "MARY DERWENT," "THE REJECTED WIFE," "RUBY GRAY'S STRATEGY," +"THE OLD COUNTESS," "SILENT STRUGGLES," "WIVES AND WIDOWS," ETC. + +"THE OLD HOMESTEAD" is a superb story of quaint New England farm life +in the vein now so popular both in fiction and on the stage. With +an absorbing plot, effective incidents and characters entirely true +to nature, it holds attention as very few stories do. It possesses +all that powerful attraction which clings to a romance of home, the +family fireside and the people who gather about it. Simplicity and +strength are happily combined in its pages, and no one can begin it +without desiring to read it through. All the works of Mrs. Ann S. +Stephens are books that everybody should read, for in point of real +merit, wonderful ingenuity and absorbing interest they loom far above +the majority of the books of the day. She has a thorough knowledge +of human nature, and so vividly drawn and natural are her characters +that they seem instinct with life. Her plots are models of +construction, and she excels in depicting young lovers, their trials, +troubles, sorrows and joys, while her love scenes fascinate the young +as well as the old. In short, Mrs. Stephens' novels richly merit both +their vast renown and immense popularity, and they should find a place +in every house and in every library. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE FATHER'S RETURN. + + + She kneels beside the pauper bed, + As seraphs bow while they adore! + Advance with still and reverent tread, + For angels have gone in before! + +"I wonder, oh, I wonder if he will come?" + +The voice which uttered these words was so anxious, so pathetic with +deep feeling, that you would have loved the poor child, whose heart +gave them forth, plain and miserable as she was. Yet a more helpless +creature, or a more desolate home could not well be imagined. She +was very small, even for her age. Her little sharp features had no +freshness in them; her lips were thin; her eyes not only heavy, but +full of dull anguish, which gave you an idea of settled pain, both +of soul and body, for no mere physical suffering ever gave that depth +of expression to the eyes of a child. + +But all was of a piece, the garret, and the child that inhabited it. +The attic, which was more especially her home, was crowded under the +low roof of a tenant house, which sloped down so far in front, that +even the child could not stand upright under it, except where it was +perforated with a small attic window, which overlooked the chimneys +and gables of other tenement buildings, hived full of poverty, and +swarming with the dregs of city life. + +This was the prospect on one side. On the other a door with one hinge +broken, led into a low open garret, where smoke-dried rafters slanted +grimly over head, like the ribs of some mammoth skeleton, and loose +boards, whose nails had rusted out, creaked and groaned under foot. +They made audible sounds even beneath the shadowy tread of the little +girl, as she glided toward the top of a stair-case unrailed and out +in the floor like the mouth of a well. Here she sat down, supporting +her head with one hand, in an attitude of touching despondency. + +"I wonder oh, I wonder, if he will come!" she repeated, looking +mournfully downward. + +It was a dreary view, those flights of broken stairs, slippery and +sodden with the water daily carried over them. They led by other +tenement rooms, which sent forth a confusion of mingled voices, but +opened with a glimpse of pure light upon the street below. + +But for this gleam of light, breaking as it were, like a smile through +the repulsive vista, Mary Fuller might have given up in absolute +despair, for she was an imaginative child, and glimpses of light like +that came like an inspiration to her. + +After all, what was it that kept the child chained for an hour to +one spot, gazing so earnestly down toward the opening? Did she expect +any one? + +No, it could not be called expectation, but something more beautiful +still--FAITH. + +Most persons would call it presentiment; but presentiment is not the +growth of prayer, or the conviction which follows that earnest +pleading when the soul is crying for help. + +"Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for +of such is the kingdom of heaven." + +Again and again Mary Fuller had read these words, and always to creep +upon her knees and ask God to let her come, for she was scarcely more +than a little child. + +But even upon her knees the trouble of her soul grew strong. She felt +as if the air around whispered-- + +"But you are not a little child--they have no sins of disobedience +to confess--no vengeful thoughts or unkind words to atone for as you +have." + +And all the evil that had yet taken growth in a soul planted among +evil arose before the child, to startle her from claiming the +privilege of her childhood. + +But though she did not know it, those very feelings were an answer +to the unrevealed want that had become clamorous in her soul; it was +the promise of a bright revelation yet to come; her heart was being +unfolded to the sunshine, leaf by leaf, and God's angels might have +smiled benignly as they watched the development of good in that little +soul, amid the depressing atmosphere that surrounded it. + +From the day that her poor father left home and went up to the +hospital a pauper to die there, these feelings had grown stronger +and stronger within the bosom of the child. His words, unheeded at +the time, came back to her with power. The passages read over so often +to a careless ear from his Bible, seemed to have taken music in their +remembrance, that haunted her all the time. + +She did not know it, but the atmosphere of prayers, unheard save in +heaven, was around her. From its pauper bed at Bellevue a strong +earnest soul was pleading for that child, and thus God sent his angel +down to trouble the waters of life within her. + +As we grow good, a sense of the beautiful always awakens within us; +and this became manifest in Mary Fuller. For the first time the +squalid misery of her home became a subject of self-reproach, and +with a thoughtful cloud upon her brow, she set herself patiently to +work drawing out all the scant elements of comfort that the place +afforded. Out of this grew a longing for the presence of her father, +that he too might enjoy the benefit of her exertion. + +Never in her life had she so yearned for a sight of that pale face. +It seemed as if the trouble and darkness in her soul must turn to +light when he came. With this intense desire arose a thought that +he might return home without warning. The thought grew into hope, +and at last strengthened into faith. + +Mary Fuller not only believed that her father would come, but she +felt sure he would be with her that very night. Thus she sat upon +the stairs waiting. + +But time wore on, and anxiety made the child restless. She began to +doubt--to wonder how she could have expected her father without one +word or promise to warrant the hope. That which had been faith an +hour before, grew into a sharp anxiety. She folded her arms upon her +knees, and burying her face upon them, began to cry. + +At last she arose with her eyes full of tears, and walked sadly into +the attic room where she sat down looking with sorrow on all the +little preparations that she had made. She crept to the window, and +clinging with both hands to the sill, lifted herself up to see, by +the shadows that lay among the chimneys, and the slanting gold of +the sunshine which, thank God, warms the tenement house and the palace +towers alike, how fast the hours wore on. + +"Oh, the sun is up yet, and the long chimney's shadow is only half +way to the eves," she exclaimed, hopefully, dropping down from the +window, while a flush, as of joyful tears, stole around her eyes. + +"Is there anything else I can do?" and she looked eagerly around the +room. + +It had been neatly swept. A fire burned in the little coffee-pot stove +that occupied one corner, and the hum of boiling water stole out from +a tea-kettle that stood upon it. + +"Everything nice and warm as toast--won't he like it--clean sheets +upon the bed, and--and--oh, I forgot--it always lay back of his +pillow--he mustn't miss it"; and opening a worn Bible that had seen +better days, she found a passage that cheered her heart like a +prophecy, and read it with solemn attention as she walked slowly +across the room. + +She placed the Bible reverently beneath the single pillow arranged +so neatly on the bed, and turned away murmuring-- + +"At any rate, I will have everything ready." + +She opened the drawer of a pine table and looked in. Everything was +in order there, and the table itself; she employed another minute +in giving its spotless surface an extra polish; then arranged a +fragment of carpet before the bed, and sat down to wait again. + +It would not do; her poor little heart was getting restless with +impatience. She went into the open garret closing the door after her, +that no heat might escape, and sat down on the upper flight of stairs +again. How she longed to run down--to hang about the door-step, and +even go as far as the corner to meet him! But this would be +disobedience. How often had he told her never to loiter in the street +or about the door? So she sat, stooping downward, and looking through +the gleams of light that came through the open hall over flights of +steps below, thrilled from head to foot with loving expectation. Half +an hour--an hour--and there poor Mary Fuller sat, her heart sinking +lower and lower with each moment. At last she arose, went back to +her room with a dejected air, and sat down by the stove weary with +disappointment. + +An old house cat that lay by the stove looked at her gravely, closed +her eyes an instant as if for reflection, and leaped into her lap. +Anything--the fall of a straw would have set Mary Fuller to crying +then, and she burst into a passion of tears, rocking herself back +and forth and moaning out-- + +"He will not come--it is almost dark now--he will not come. Oh, dear, +how can I wait--how can I wait!" + +As she moaned thus, the cat leaped from her lap and walked into the +garret, stood a moment at the head of the stairs, and came back again +looking at his little mistress wistfully through the door. + +Mary started up. Surely, that was his step! No! there was no firmness +in it. Whoever mounted those stairs, moved with a staggering, unsteady +walk, like that of a drunken person. + +Mary turned very pale and hardly breathed. + +"Oh, if it should be mother," she thought, casting a startled look +back into the little room, "staggering, too!" and trembling with +affright, she stole softly to the top of the stairs and looked down. + +A gush of welcome broke from her lips. She held out her arms, +descending rapidly to meet him. + +"Father! oh, my blessed, blessed father!" + +They came up slowly, the deathly pale man leaning partly on his stick, +partly on the shoulder of the child, whose frame shivered with joy +beneath his pressure, and whose eyes, beaming with affection, were +uplifted to his. + +"Not here, don't sit down here," she cried, resisting his impulse +to rest at the head of the stairs. "I have got a fire--the room is +warm--just five steps more--don't stop till then!" + +He moved on, attempting to smile, though his lips were blue and his +emaciated limbs shivered painfully. + +"There, sit down, father: I borrowed this rocking-chair of Mrs. Ford; +isn't it nice? Let me put the pillow behind your head. Are you very +sick, father?" + +His lips quivered out, "Yes, very!" + +She stooped down and kissed his forehead, then knelt by his side and +kissed his hands, also, with such reverential affection. + +"Oh, father, father, how sorry I am; you will stay with us--you will +stay at home now--they have let you grow worse at the hospital; but +I--your own little girl--see if I don't make you well. You will not +go to Bellevue again, father." + +"No, I shall never go back again; the doctors can do nothing for me, +but I could not die without seeing you again--that wish was stronger +than death." + +"Oh, father, don't." + +The sick man looked down upon her with his glittering eyes, and a +pathetic smile stole over his lips. An ague chill seized upon him, +and ran in a shiver through his limbs; but it had no power to quench +that smile of ineffable affection--that solemn, sweet smile, that +said more softly than words-- + +"Yes, my child, your father must die here in his poverty-stricken +home." + +"No, no!" cried Mary, in fond affright; for the look affected her +more than his words; "it is only the cold, your clothes are so thin, +dear father--it is only the cold; a good warm cup of tea will drive +it off. Here is the kettle, boiling hot; besides, you are hungry--ah, +I thought of that; here are crackers and a dear little sponge-cake, +and such nice bread and butter; of course, it's only the cold and +the hunger. I always feel as if I should die the next minute, when +we've gone without anything to eat a day or two; nothing is so +discouraging as that." + +She ran on thus, striving to cheat her own aching heart, while she +cheered the sick man. As if activity would drive away her fear, she +bustled about, put her tea to drawing by the stove, spread the little +table, and pulled it close to her father, and strove, by a thousand +sweet caressing ways, to entice him into an appetite. The sick man +only glanced at the food with a weary smile; but seizing upon the +warm cup of tea, drank it off eagerly, asking for more. + +This was some consolation to the little nurse; and she stood by, +watching him wistfully through her tears, as he drained the second +cup. It checked the shivering fit somewhat, and he sat upwright a +moment, casting his bright eyes around the room. + +"Isn't it nice and warm?" said Mary, as he leaned back. + +The sick man murmured softly-- + +"Yes, child, it feels like home. God bless you. But your mother--did +she help to do this?" + +Mary's countenance fell. She shrunk away from the glance of those +bright, questioning eyes. + +"Mother has not been home in five or six days," she said, gently. + +The sick man turned his head and closed his eyes. Directly, Mary saw +two great tears press through the quivering lashes, followed by a +faint gasping for breath. + +"I have prayed--I have so hoped to see her before"-- + +He broke off; and Mary could see, by the glow upon his face, that +he was praying then. + +She knelt down, reverently, and leaned her forehead upon the arm of +his chair. + +After a little, Fuller opened his eyes, and lifting one pale hand +from his knee, laid it on his child's shoulder. + +"Mary!" + +She looked up and smiled. There was something so loving and holy in +his face, that the child could not help smiling, even through her +tears. + +"Mary, listen to me while I can speak, for in a little while I shall +be gone." + +"Not to the hospital again--oh, not there!" + +"No, Mary, not there; but look up--be strong, my child, you know what +death is!" + +"Oh, yes," whispered the child with a shudder. + +"Hush, Mary, hush--don't shake so--I must die, very, very soon, I +feel," he added, looking at his fingers and dropping them gently back +to her shoulder; "I feel now that it is very nigh, this death which +makes you tremble so." + +Mary broke forth into a low, wailing sob. + +"Hush! stop crying, Mary; look up!" + +Mary lifted her eyes, filled with touching awe, and choked back the +agony of her grief. + +"Father, I listen." + +Oh, the holy love with which those eyes looked down into hers! + +"Have you read the Bible that I left behind for you?" + +"Yes, father; oh, yes, morning and night." + +"Then, you know that the good meet again, after death?" + +"But I--I am not good. Oh, father, father, I cannot make myself good +enough to see you again; you will go, and I shall be left behind--I +and mother!--I and mother!" + +"Have you been patient with your mother--respectful to her?" he asked, +sadly. + +"There--there it is. I have tried and tried, but when she strikes +me, or brings those people here, or comes home with that horrible +bottle under her shawl, I cannot be respectful--I get angry and long +to hide away when she comes up stairs." + +"Hush, my child, hush; these are wicked words!" + +"I know it, father; it seems to me as if no one ever was so +wicked--try ever so much, I cannot be good. I thought when you came"-- + +"Well, my child." + +"I thought that you would tell me how, and you talk of--. Don't, +father, don't; I want you so much." + +"It is God who takes me," said Fuller, gently; "He will teach you +how to be good." + +"Oh, but it takes so long; I have asked and asked so often." + +Again that beautiful smile beamed over the dying man's face. + +"He will hear you--He has heard you--I felt that you had need of me, +and came; see how God has answered your want in this, my child!" + +"But I can do nothing alone; when you are with me, I feel strong; +but if you leave me, what can I do?" + +"Pray without ceasing; and in everything give thanks," said that faint +gentle voice once more. + +"But I have prayed till my heart seemed full of tears." + +"They were sweet tears, Mary." + +"No, no; my heart grew heavy with them; and--mother, how could I give +thanks when she came home so--!" + +"Hush, hush, Mary--it is your mother!" + +"But I can't give thanks for that, when I remember how she let you +suffer--how miserable everything was--how she left you to starve, +day by day, spending all the money you had laid up in drink!" + +"Oh, my child, my child!" cried the dying man, sweeping the tears +from his eyes with one pale hand, and dropping it heavily on her +shoulder. + +She cowered beneath the pressure. + +"It is wrong--I know it," she said, clasping her hands and dropping +them heavily before her, as if weighed down by a sense of her utter +unworthiness. "But oh, father, what shall I do! what _shall_ I do!" + +"Honor your mother!" + +"How can I honor her, when she degrades and abuses us all!" + +"God does not make you the judge of your parents, but commands you +unconditionally to honor them." + +Mary dropped her eyes and stooped more humble downward. She saw now +why the darkness had hung so long over her prayers. Filled with +unforgiving bitterness against her mother she had asked God to forgive +her, scarcely deeming her fault one to be repented of. A brief +struggle against the memory of bitter ill-usage and fierce wrong +inflicted by her mother, and Mary drew a deep free breath. Her eyes +filled, and meekly folding her hands she held them toward her father. + +"What shall I do, father?" + +He drew her toward him, and a look of holy faith lay upon his face. + +"Listen to me, Mary; God may yet help you to save this woman, your +mother and my wife; for next to God I always loved her." + +"But what can I do? She hates me because I am so small and ugly. She +will never let me love her, and without that what can a poor little +thing like me do?" + +"My child, there is no human being so weak or so humble that it is +incapable of doing good, of being happy, and of making others happy +also. The power of doing good does not rest so much in what we +possess, as in what we are. Gentle words, kind acts are more precious +than gold. These are the wealth of the poor; more precious than +worldly wealth, because it is never exhausted. The more you give, +the more you possess." + +A strange beautiful light came into Mary's eyes, as she listened. + +"Go on, father, say more." + +She drew a deep breath. + +"Then the good are never poor!" + +"Never, my child." + +"And never unhappy?" + +"Never utterly miserable, as the wicked are--never without hope." + +"Oh, father, tell me more; ask God to help me--He will listen to you." + +He laid his pale hands upon her head, and as a flower folds itself +beneath the night shadow, Mary sunk to her knees. She clasped her +little hands, and dropping them upon her father's knee, buried her +face there; then the lips of that dying man parted, and the last +pulses of his life glowed out in a prayer so fervent, so powerful +in its faith, that the very angels of heaven must have veiled their +faces as they listened to that blending of eternal faith and human +sorrow. + +Mary listened at first tremblingly, and with strange awe; then the +burning words began to thrill her, heart and limb, and yielding to +the might of a spirit which his prayer had drawn down from heaven. +She also broke forth with a cry of the same holy anguish; and the +voice of father and child rose and swelled together up to the throne +of God. + +As he prayed, the face of the sick man grew sublime in its paleness, +and the death sweat rolled over it like rain, while that of the child +grew strangely luminous. Gradually mouth, eyes and forehead kindled +with glorious joy, and instead of that heart-rending petition that +broke from her at first, her voice mellowed into soft throes and +murmurs of praise. + +The sick man hushed his soul and listened; his exhausted voice broke +into sighs, and thus, after a little time, they both sunk into +silence--the child filled with strange ecstasy--the father bowing +with calm joy beneath the hand of death. + +"Let me lie down. I am very, very weak," he said, attempting to rise. + +Mary stood up and helped him. She had grown marvellously strong within +the last hour, and her soul, better than that slight form, supported +the dying man. + +He lay down. She placed the pillow under his head and knelt again. +It seemed as if her heart could give forth its silent gratitude to +God best in that position. + +He laid his hand upon her head. It was growing cold. + +"And you are willing now that I should die?" + +"Yes, my father, only---," and here a human throb broke in her voice, +"if I could but go with you!" + +"No, my child, it is but a little time, at most. For _her_ sake be +content to wait." + +"Father, I am content." + +"And happy?" + +"Very, very happy, father!" + +The dying man closed his eyes, and a faint murmur rose to his lips. + +"Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes +have seen thy salvation." + +His hand was still upon her head, and there it rested till the purple +shadows died off into cold grey tints, and upon his still face there +rose a smile pure as moonlight, luminous as waters that gush from +the throne of heaven. + +The same holy spirit must have touched the living and the dead, for +when the little girl lifted her face, the pale, pinched features were +radiant as those of an angel. She had gone close to the gate of heaven +with her father, soul and body. She was bathed in the holy light that +had gushed through the portals. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE MAYOR AND THE POLICEMAN. + + + When the strong man turns, with a haughty lip, + On poverty, stern and grim, + When he seizes the fiend with a ruthless grip, + Ye need not fear for him. + But when poverty comes to a little child, + Freezing its bloom away-- + When its cheeks are thin and its eyes are wild, + Give pity its gentle sway. + +It was a bitter cold night--a myriad of stars hung in the sky, clear +and glittering, as if burnished by the frost. The moon sent down a +pale, freezing brilliancy that whitened all the ground, as if a +sprinkling of snow had fallen, but there was not a flake on the earth +or in the air. Little wind was abroad, but that little pierced through +mufflers and overcoats, like a swarm of invisible needles, sharp and +stinging. It was rather late in the evening, and in such weather few +persons were tempted abroad. Those who had comfortable hearths +remained at home, and even the street beggars crept within their +alleys and cellars; many of them driven to seek shelter in their +rags, without hope of fire or food. + +But there was one man in New York city, who could neither seek rest +nor shelter till a given time, however inclement the weather might +be. With a thick pilot cloth overcoat buttoned to the chin, and his +glittering police star catching the moonbeams as they fell upon his +breast, he strode to and fro on his beat, occasionally pausing, with +his eyes lifted towards the stars, to ponder over some thought in +his mind, but speedily urged to motion again by the sharp tingling +of his feet and hands. + +A feeling and thoughtful man was this policeman; he possessed much +originality of mind, which had received no small share of cultivation. +He had been connected with a mercantile house till symptoms of a +pulmonary disease drove him from his desk; then, by the kind aid of +a politician, who had not entirely lost all human feelings in the +council chamber, he was enrolled in the city police. To a mind less +nobly constructed, this minor position might have been a cause of +depression and annoyance, but John Chester, though not yet thirty-two, +had learned to think for himself. He felt that no occupation could +degrade an honorable man, and that gentlemanly habits, integrity and +intelligence were certain to shine out with greater lustre when found +in the humbler spheres of life. + +Chester possessed both education and refinement, but having no better +means of support, accepted that which Providence presented, not with +grumbling condescension, but with that grateful alacrity which was +a sure proof that his duties would be faithfully performed; and that, +though capable of higher things, he was not one to neglect the most +humble, when they became duties. + +To a man like Chester, the solitude of his night watches was at times +a luxury. When the great city lay slumbering around him, his mind +found subjects of deep thought in itself and in surrounding things. +Even on the night when we present him to the reader, the cold air, +while it chilled his body, seemed only to invigorate his mind. Instead +of brooding gloomily over his own position, certainly very inferior +to what it had been, he had many a compassionate thought for those +poorer than himself, without one envious feeling for the thousands +and thousands who would have deemed his small income of ten dollars +a week absolute poverty. + +The ward in which he was stationed exhibited in a striking degree +the two great extremes of social life. Blocks of palatial buildings +loomed imposingly along the broad streets. Each dwelling, with its +spacious rooms and luxurious accommodations, was occupied by a single +family, sometimes of not more than two or three persons. Here plate +glass, silver mounted doors, and rich traceries in bronze and iron, +gave brilliant evidence of wealth; while many small gardens thrown +together, rich with shrubbery and vines in their season of verdure, +threw a fresh glow of nature around the rich man's dwelling. Resources +of enjoyment were around him on every hand. Each passing cloud seemed +to turn its silver lining upon these dwellings, as it rolled across +the heavens. + +You had but to turn a corner, and lo! the very earth seemed vital +and teeming with human beings. Poor men and the children of poor men, +disputed possession of every brick upon the sidewalks. Every hole +in those dilapidated buildings swarmed with a family; every corner +of the leaky garrets and damp cellars was full of poverty-stricken +life. Here were no green trees, no leaf-clad vines climbing upon the +walls; empty casks, old brooms, and battered wash-tubs littered the +back yards, which the sweet fresh grass should have carpeted. Ash +pans and tubs of kitchen offal choked up the areas. The very light, +as it struggled through those dingy windows, seemed pinched and smoky. + +All this contrast of poverty and wealth lay in the policeman's beat. +Now he was with the rich, almost warmed by the light that came like +a flood of wine through some tall window muffled in crimson damask. +The smooth pavements under his feet glowed with brilliant gas-light. +The next moment, and a few smoky street lamps failed to reveal the +broken flagging on which he trod. Now and then the gleam of a coarse +tallow candle swaling gloomily away by some sick bed, threw its murky +light across his path. Still, but for the cold moonlight, Chester +would have found much difficulty in making his rounds in the poor +man's district. Yet here he remained longest; here his step always +grew heavy and his brow thoughtful. Surrounded by suffering, shut +out from his eyes only by those irregular walls, and clouded, as it +were, with the slumbering sorrow around him, this dark place always +cast him into painful thought. That cold night he was more than +usually affected by the suffering which he knew was close to him, +and only invisible to the eye. + +The night before, he had entered one of those dismal houses and had +taken from thence a woman who, squalid and degraded as she was, had +evidently once been in the higher walks of life. As he passed her +dwelling, the remembrance of this woman sent a thrill of mingled pity +and disgust through his heart. The miserable destitution of her home, +the glimpses of refinement that broke through her outbursts of +passion, the state of revolting intoxication in which she was +plunged--all arose vividly to his mind. He paused before the house +with a feeling of vague interest. The night before, a scene of perfect +riot greeted him as he approached the door. Now the inmates seemed +numbed, silent and torpid with cold. + +As Chester stood gazing on the house, he saw that the door was open, +and fancied that some object was moving in the hall. It seemed at +first like a lame animal creeping down the steps. As it came forth +into the moonlight, Chester saw that it was a child with a singular, +crouching appearance, muffled in an old red cloak that had belonged +to some grown person. With a slow and painful effort the child dragged +itself along the pavement, its face bent down, and stooping, as if +it had some burden to conceal. The old cloak brushed Chester's +garments, yet the child seemed quite unconscious of his presence, +but moved on, breathing hard and shuddering with the cold, till he +could hear her teeth knock together. Chester did not speak, but softly +followed the child. + +The Mayor of New York at that time lived within Chester's beat, and +toward his dwelling the little wanderer bent her way. As she drew +near the steps, the child lifted her face for the first time, and +reaching forth a little wan hand, held herself up by the railing. +She was not seeking that particular house, but there her strength +gave way, and she clung to the cold iron, faint and trembling, with +her eyes lifted wildly towards the drawing-room windows. + +The plate glass was all in a blaze from a chandelier that hung within, +and the genial glow fell upon that little frost-bitten face, lighting +it up with intense lustre. The face was not beautiful--those features +were too pale--the eyes large and hollow, while black lashes of +unusual length gave them a wild depth of color that was absolutely +fearful. Still there was something in the expression of those wan +features indescribably touching--a look of meek suffering and of moral +strength unnatural in its development. It was the face of a child, +suffering, feeble, with the expression of a holy spirit breaking +through, holy but tortured. + +The child clung to the railing, waving to and fro, but holding on +with a desperate grasp. She seemed struggling to lift herself to an +upright position, but without sufficient strength. Chester advanced +a step to help her, but drew back, for, without perceiving him, she +was creeping feebly up the steps, with her face shrouded in darkness +again. She reached the bell with difficulty, and drew the silver knob. + +Scarcely had the child taken her hand from the cold metal, when the +shadow of a man crossed the drawing-room window, and his measured +step sounded along the oilcloth in the hall. The door was unfastened, +and the Mayor himself stood in the opening. The child lifted her eyes, +and saw standing before, or rather above her, a tall man with light +hair turning grey, and a cast of features remarkable only for an +absence of all generous expression. He fixed his cold eyes on the +little wanderer with a look that chilled her worse than the frost. +As he prepared to speak, she could see the corners of his mouth curve +haughtily downward, and when his voice fell upon her ear, though not +particularly loud, it was cold and repelling. + +"Well, what are you doing here? What do you want?" said the great +man, keeping his eyes immovably on the shivering child, enraged at +himself for having opened the door for a miserable beggar like that. + +He was in the habit of extending these little condescensions to the +voters of his ward; it had a touch of republicanism in it that looked +well; but from that wretched little thing what was to be gained? Still +the child might have a father, and that father might be a citizen, +one of the sovereign people, possessed of that inestimable +privilege--a vote. So the Mayor was cautious, as usual, about +exhibiting any positive traces of the ill-humor that possessed him. +He had not groped and grovelled his way to the Mayoralty, without +knowing how and when to exhibit the evil feelings of his heart. Those +that were not evil he very prudently left to themselves, knowing that +they could never obtain strength enough in his barren nature to become +in the slightest degree troublesome. + +Had kindly feelings still lived in his bosom, they must have been +aroused by the sweet, humble voice that answered him. + +"They have turned me out of doors. I am hungry, sir. I am very cold." + +"Turned you out of doors! Where is your father? Can't he take care +of you?" + +"I have no father--he is dead." + +No father, no vote! The little beggar had not the most indirect claim +for sympathy or forbearance from the Mayor of New York. He could +afford to be angry with her; nay, better, to seem angry also, and +that was an uncommon luxury with him. + +"Well, why didn't you go to the basement?" + +"It was dark there--and through that window everything looked so +warm--I could not help it!" + +"Could not help it, indeed! Go away! I never encourage street beggars. +It would be doing a wrong to the people who look up to me for an +example. Go away this minute--how dare you come up to this door? You +are a bad little girl, I dare say!" + +"No sir--no--no, I am _not_ bad! Please not to say that. It hurts me +worse than the cold!" said the child, raising her sweet voice and +clasping her little wan hands, while over her features many a wounded +feeling trembled, though she gave no signs of weeping. + +What a contrast there was between the heartless face of that man, +and the meek, truthful look of the child! How cold and harsh seemed +his voice after the troubled melody of hers! + +"I tell you, there is no use in attempting to deceive me. Station +houses are built on purpose for little thieves that prowl about at +night!" and the cold-hearted man half closed the door, adding, "go +away--go away! Some policeman will take you to a station house, though +I dare be sworn you know how to find one without help." + +The door was closed with these words, shutting the desolate child +into the cold night again. She neither complained nor wept; but +sinking on the stone, gathered her frail limbs in a heap and buried +her face in the old cloak. + +Chester heard the whole conversation; he saw the expression of meek +despair which fell upon the child as the door closed against her, +and with a swelling heart mounted the steps. + +"My little girl," he said very gently, touching the crouching form +with his hand, "my poor, little girl!" + +The child looked up wildly, for the very benevolence of his voice +frightened her, she was so unused to anything of the kind; but the +instant her eyes fell upon his bosom, where the silver star glittered +in the moonlight, she uttered a faint shriek. + +"Oh, do not--do not take me--I am not a thief--I am not wicked!" and +she shrunk back into a corner of the iron railing shuddering, and +with her wild eyes bent upon him like some little wounded animal +hunted down by fierce dogs. + +"Don't be frightened--I will take care of you--I"-- + +"They took _her_--the policemen, I mean. Where is she? What have you +done with her?" + +"But I wish to be kind," said Chester, greatly distressed; she +interrupted him, pointing to his star with her finger. + +"Kind? see--see. I tell you I am not a thief!" + +"I know, I am sure you are not," was the compassionate answer. + +"Then why take me up if I am not a thief?" + +"But you will perish with the cold!" + +"No--no; it's not so very cold here since the gentleman went away!" +cried the child in a faint voice, muffling the old cloak close around +her, and trying to smile. "Only--only"-- + +Her voice grew fainter. She had just strength to draw up her knees, +clasp the little thin hands over them, and in attempting to rock +herself upon the cold stone to prove how comfortable she was, fell +forward dizzy and insensible. + +"Great Heavens! this is terrible," cried Chester, gathering up the +child in his arms. + +Agitated beyond all self-control, he gave the bell-knob a jerk that +made the Mayor start from his seat with a violence that threw one +of his well-trodden slippers half across the hearth-rug. + +"Who is coming now?" muttered the great man, thrusting his foot into +the truant slipper with a peevish jerk, for he had taken supper at +the City Hall that evening, and after a temperance movement of that +kind, the luxurious depth of his easy-chair was always inviting. + +"Will that bell never have done? These gas-lights--I verily believe +they entice beggars to the door; besides, that great Irish girl has +lighted double the number I ordered," and, with a keen regard to the +economy of his household, the Chief Magistrate of New York mounted +a chair and turned off four of the six burners that had been lighted +in the chandelier. Another sharp ring brought him to the carpet, and +to the street-door again. There he found Chester with the little +beggar girl in his arms, her eyes shut and her face pale as death, +save where a faint violet color lay about the mouth. + +"Sir, this child, you have driven her from your door--she is dying!" +said Chester, passing with his burden into the hall and moving towards +the drawing-room, from which the light of an anthracite fire glowed +warm; and ruddily "she needs warmth. I believe in my soul she is +starving!" + +"Well, sir, why do you bring her here--who are you? Is there no +station-house? I do not receive beggars in my drawing-room!" said +the Mayor, following the policeman. + +Chester, heedless of his remonstrance, strode across the carpet and +laid the wretched child tenderly into the great crimson chair which +"his honor" had just so reluctantly abandoned. Wheeling the chair +close to the fire, he knelt on the rug and began to chafe those thin +purple hands between his own. + +"I could not take her anywhere else--she was dying with cold--a minute +was life or death to her," said Chester, lifting his fine eyes to +the sullen countenance of the Mayor, and speaking in a tone of +apology. + +The Mayor bent his eyes on that manly face, so warm and eloquent with +benevolent feeling; then, just turned his glance over the deathly +form of the child. + +"You will oblige me by moving that bundle of rags from my chair!" +he said. + +"But she is dying!" cried the policeman, trembling all over with +generous indignation; "she may be dead now!" + +"Very well, this is no place for a coroner's inquest," was the terse +reply. + +The policeman half started up, and in his indignation almost crushed +one of the little hands that he had been chafing. + +"Sir, this is inhuman--it is shameful." + +"Do you know where you are?--whom you are speaking to?" said the great +man, growing pale about the mouth, but subduing his passion with +wonderful firmness. + +"Yes, I know well enough. This is your house, and you are the Mayor +of New York!" + +"And you--may I have the honor of knowing who it is that favors my +poor dwelling, and with company like that!" said the Mayor, pointing +to the child, while his upper lip contracted and the corners of his +mouth drooped into a cold sneer. + +"Yes, sir, you can know: I am a policeman of this ward, appointed +by your predecessor--a just and good man; my name is John Chester. +Taking pity on this forlorn little creature, I followed her from a +house whence she had crept out into the cold, hoping to be of some +use; she came up here, and rang at your door. I heard what passed +between you. As a citizen, I should have been ashamed, had I +unfortunately been among those who placed you in power; I must say +it--your conduct to this poor starved thing, shocked me beyond +utterance. I thank God that no vote of mine aided to lift you where +you are." + +"And so you are a policeman of this ward. Very well," said the Mayor; +and the sneer upon his face died away while he began to pace the room, +the soft fall of his slippers upon the carpet giving a cat-like +stillness to his movements. + +He felt that a man who could thus fearlessly speak out his just +indignation, was not the kind of person to persecute openly. Besides, +it was not in this man's nature to do anything openly. Like a mole, +he burrowed out his plans under ground, and when forced to brave the +daylight, always cunningly allowed some pliant tool to remove the +earth that was unavoidably cast up in his passage. His genius lay +in that low cunning and prudent management, with which small men of +little intellect and no heart sometimes deceive the world. He had +long outlived all feelings sufficiently strong to render him +impetuous, and was utterly devoid of that generous self-respect which +prompts a man to repel an attack fearlessly and at once. In short, +he was one of those who _lie still and wait_, like the crafty pointer +dogs that creep along the grass, hunting out game for others to shoot +down for them, and devouring the spoil with a keener relish than the +noble hound that makes the forest ring as he plunges upon his prey. + +True to his character and his system, the Mayor paused in his walk, +and, bending over the child, said coldly, but still with some +appearance of feeling-- + +"She seems to be getting better--probably it will be nothing serious!" + +Chester looked up, and a smile illuminated his face. Always willing +to look on the bright side of human nature, his generous heart smote +him for having perhaps judged too harshly. The little hand which he +was chafing began to warm with life; this relieved him of the terrible +excitement which the moment before had rendered his words, if just, +more than imprudent. + +"Thank you, sir, she _is_ better," he said, with an expression of +frank gratitude beaming over every feature, "I think she will live +now, so we will only trouble you a few minutes longer." + +"My family are in bed--and these street beggars are so little to be +relied upon," observed the Mayor, evidently wishing to offer some +excuse for his former harshness, without doing so directly; "but this +seems a case of real distress." + +Chester was subdued by this speech. More and more he regretted the +excitement of his former language. He longed to make some reparation +to a man who, after all, might be only prudent, not unfeeling. + +"If," said he, looking at the child, whose features began to quiver +in the glowing fire-light, "if I had a drop of wine now." + +"Oh, we are temperance people here, you know," replied the Mayor, +coldly. + +"Or anything warm," persisted Chester, as the child opened her eyes +with a famished look. + +"You can get wine at the station-house. My girls are in bed." + +"I am afraid she will have small hopes of help at the station-house. +The Common Council make no provision for medical aid where the sick +or starving are brought in at night. It is a great omission, sir." + +"The Common Council cannot do everything," replied the Mayor, becoming +impatient, but still subduing himself. + +"I know sir, but its first duty is to the poor." + +"Oh, yes, no one denies that;" replied the Mayor, observing with +satisfaction that Chester was preparing to remove the little intruder. +"You will not have a very long walk," he added. "The station-house +is not more than eight or ten blocks off. She will be strong enough, +I fancy, to get so far." + +"Don't, don't take me there! I am not a thief!" murmured the child, +and two great tears rolled over her cheek slowly, as if the fire-light +had with difficulty thawed them out from her heart. + +They were answered--God bless the policeman--they were answered by +a whole gush of tears that sprang into his fine eyes, and sparkled +there like so many diamonds. + +"No," he said, taking off his overcoat, and wrapping it around the +child, his hands and arms shaking with eager pity as he lifted her +from the chair. "She shall go home with me for one night at least. +I will say to my wife, 'Here is a little hungry thing whom God has +sent you from the street.' She will be welcome, sir. I am sure she +will be as welcome as if I were to carry home a casket of gold in +my bosom. Will you go home with me, little girl?" + +The child turned her large eyes upon him; a smile of ineffable +sweetness floated over her face, and drawing a deep breath, she said: + +"Oh, yes, I will go!" + +"You will excuse the trouble," said Chester, turning with his burden +toward the Mayor as he went out, "the case seemed so urgent!" + +"Oh, it is all excused," replied his honor, bowing stiffly as he +walked towards the door, "but I shall remember--never doubt that!" +he muttered with a smile, in which all the inward duplicity of his +nature shone out. + +That instant a carriage drove up to the door, and after some bustle +a lady entered, followed by a young lad, who paused a moment on the +upper step and gave some orders to the coachman in a clear, cheerful +voice, that seemed out of place in that house. + +"Why don't you come in?" cried the lady, folding her rose-colored +opera-cloak closely around her, "you fill the whole house with cold." + +"In a moment--in a moment," cried the boy, breaking into a snatch +of opera music as if haunted by some melody; "but pray send Tim out +a glass of wine, or he will freeze on the box this Greenland night." + +"Nonsense! come in!" cried the mother, entering the drawing-room and +approaching the fire. Here she threw back her opera-cloak, revealing +a rich brocade dress underneath, lighted up with jewels and covered +as with a mist of fine lace! "he'll do well enough--come to the fire!" +she continued, holding out her hands in their snowy gloves for warmth. + +The lady had not noticed Chester, who stood back in the hall, that +she might pass. Applicants of all kinds were so common at her +dwelling, even at late hours, that she seldom paused, even to regard +a stranger. But the noble-looking lad was far more quick-sighted. +As he turned reluctantly to close the door, Chester advanced with +the little girl in his arms, and would have passed. + +"What is this?--what is the matter?--is she sick?" inquired the boy, +earnestly. + +"She is a poor, homeless child, half frozen and almost famished," +answered Chester. + +"Homeless on a night like this!--hungry and cold!" exclaimed the lad, +throwing off his Spanish cloak and tossing his cap to the hall table. +"Come back, till she gets thoroughly warm, and I'll soon ransack the +kitchen for eatables; a glass of Madeira now to begin with. Lady +Mother, come and look at this little girl--it's a sin and a shame +to see anything with a soul reduced to this." + +"What is it, Fred?" cried the lady, sweeping across the drawing-room; +"oh, I see, a little beggar girl! Why don't you let the man pass? +He's taken her up for something, I dare say." + +"No," said Chester with a faint hope of getting food; "it is want, +nothing worse--she is frozen and starved." + +"What a pity, and the authorities make such provision for the poor, +too! I declare, Mr. Farnham, you ought to stop this sort of thing--it +is scandalous to have one's house haunted with such frightful +objects." + +Young Farnham drew toward his mother, flushed and eager. + +"If the girls are in bed, let me go down and search for something, +the poor child looks so forlorn." + +As he pleaded with his mother the hall light lay full upon him, and +never did benevolence look more beautiful on a young face. It must +have been a cold-hearted person, indeed, who could have resisted those +fine, earnest eyes, and that manner so full of generous grace. + +"Come, mother, music should open one's heart--may I go?" + +"Nonsense, Fred, what would you be at? The man is in a hurry to go. +Why can't you be reasonable for once," replied the weak woman, +glancing at her husband, who was walking angrily up and down the +drawing-room; and sinking her voice she added: + +"See, your father is out of sorts; do come in!" + +"In a moment--in a moment," answered, the youth, moving up the hall +and searching eagerly in his pockets--"stop, my dear fellow, don't +be in such a confounded hurry--oh, here it is." + +The lad drew forth a portmonnaie, and emptied the only bit of gold +it contained into his hand. + +"Here, here," he said, blushing to the temples and forcing it upon +Chester; "I haven't a doubt that everything is eaten up in the house, +but this will go a little way. You are a fine fellow, I can see that; +don't let the poor thing suffer--if help is wanted, I'm always on +hand for a trifle like that; but good night, good night, the governor +is getting fractious, and my lady mother will take cold--good night." + +Chester grasped the hand so frankly extended, and moved down the +steps, cheered by the noble sympathy so unexpected in that place. + +"You will understand," said the Mayor, turning short upon poor Fred, +as he entered the room, "you will please to understand, sir, that +to station yourself on my door-steps and call for wine as if you were +in a tavern, is an insult to your father's principles. It is not to +be supposed that this house contains Madeira or any other alcoholic +drink. Remember, sir, that your father is the chief magistrate of +New York, and the head of a popular principle." + +"But why may I not request wine for a poor child suffering for warmth +and food, when we have it every now and then on the dinner table?" +inquired the boy seriously. + +"You are mistaken; you are too young for explanations of this kind," +answered the father sternly; "we never have wine on the table, except +when certain men are here. When did you ever see even an empty glass +there, when our temperance friends visit us?" + +The boy did not answer, but kept his fine honest eyes fixed on his +father, and their half astonished, half grieved expression disturbed +the politician, who really loved his son. + +"You are not old enough to understand the duties of a public station +like mine, Frederick; a politician, to be successful, must be a little +of all things to all men." + +"Then I, for one, will never be a politician," exclaimed the boy, +while childish tears were struggling with manly indignation. + +"God forbid that you ever should," was the thought that rose in the +father's heart; for there was yet one green spot in his nature kept +fresh by love of his only son. + +"And," continued the boy still more impetuously, "I will never drink +another glass of wine in my life. What is wrong for the poor is wrong +for the rich. What I may not give to a suffering child, I will not +drink myself." + +"Now that is going a little too far, I should say, Fred," interposed +Mrs. Farnham, softly withdrawing her gloves, and allowing the +fire-light to flash over her diamond rings; "my opinion has long been +that whisky punches, brandy what-do-you-call-'ems, and things of that +sort, are decidedly immoral; but champaigne and Madeira, sherry +coblers--a vulgar name that--always puts one in mind of low +shoemakers--don't it Mr. Farnham? if it wasn't for the glass tubes +and cut-crystal goblets, that beverage ought to be legislated on. +Well, Fred, as I was saying, refreshments like these are gentlemanly, +and I rather approve of them, so don't let me hear more nonsense about +your drinking wine in a quiet way, you know, and with the right set. +Isn't this about the medium, Mr. Farnham?" + +The Mayor, who usually allowed the wisdom of his lady to flow by him +like the wind, did not choose to answer this sapient appeal, but +observed curtly, that he had some writing to do, and should like, +as soon as convenient, to be left to himself. Upon this the lady +folded her white gloves spitefully and left the room, tossing her +head till the marabouts on each side of her coiffure trembled like +drifting snow-flakes, while she muttered something about husbands +and bears, which sounded very much as if she mingled the two +unpleasantly together in her ideas of natural history. + +Frederick followed his mother with a serious and grieved demeanor, +taking leave of his father with a respectful "good night," which the +Mayor, dissatisfied with himself, and consequently angry, did not +deign to notice. + +When left to himself, the Mayor impatiently rang a bell connected +with the kitchen. This brought a hard-faced Irish woman to the room, +who was ordered to wheel the easy-chair into the hall, and have it +thoroughly aired the first thing in the morning. After that he gave +her a brief reprimand for exceeding his directions regarding the +gas-lights, and dismissed her for the night. + +After she disappeared, the Mayor continued to pace up and down the +room, meditating over the scene that had just transpired. + +"I was right in smoothing the thing over," he muttered; "one never +cares for the report of a little beggar like that. Who would believe +her? But this Chester might tell the thing in a way that would prove +awkward; a man like him has no business in the police. He thinks for +himself and acts for himself, I'll be sworn; besides, he is a fine, +gentlemanly-looking fellow, and somehow the people get attached to +such men, and are influenced by them. It always pleases me to twist +the star from a breast like that. It shall be done!" he added, +suddenly. "His language to me, a magistrate, is reason enough for +breaking him; but then I must not bring the complaint. It can be +managed without that." + +Thus gently musing over his hopes of vengeance on a man, who, +belonging to an adverse party, had dared to speak the truth rather +too eloquently in his presence, the Mayor spent perhaps half an hour +very much in his usual way; for he had always some small plot to ripen +just before retiring for the night, and his plan of vengeance on poor +Chester was only a little more piquant than others, because it was +more directly personal. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE POLICEMAN'S GUEST. + + + "Home, sweet home, + Be it ever so humble there is no place like home." + +Home is emphatically the poor man's paradise. The rich, with their +many resources, too often live away from the hearth-stone, in heart, +if not in person; but to the virtuous poor, domestic ties are the +only legitimate and positive source of happiness short of that holier +Heaven which is the soul's home. + +The wife of Chester sat up for him that winter's night. It was so +intensely cold that she could not find the heart to seek rest while +he was exposed to the weather. The room in which she sat was a small +chamber in the second story of a dwelling that contained two other +families. Around her were many little articles of comfort tastefully +arranged, and bearing a certain degree of elegance that always betrays +the residence of a refined woman, however poor she may be. A well +worn but neatly darned carpet covered the floor. The chairs, with +their white rush bottoms, were without stain or dust. A mahogany +breakfast-table, polished like a mirror, stood beneath a pretty +looking-glass, whose guilt frame shone through a net-work of golden +tissue-paper. Curtains of snow-white cotton, starched till they looked +clear and bright as linen, were looped back from the windows, with +knots of green riband. A pot or two of geraniums stood beneath the +curtains, and near one of the windows hung a Canary bird sleeping +upon its perch, with its feathers ruffled up like a ball of yellow +silk. + +All these objects, nothing in themselves, but so combined that an +air of comfort and even elegance reigned over them, composed a most +beautiful domestic picture; especially when Mrs. Chester, obeying +the gentle sway of her Boston rocking-chair, passed to and fro before +the lamp by which she was sewing--cutting off the light from some +object, and then allowing it to flow back again--giving a sort of +animation to the stillness, peculiarly cheerful. + +Now and then Jane Chester would lift her eyes to the clock, which, +with a tiny looking-glass, framed in the mahogany beneath its dial, +stood directly before her upon the mantle-piece. As the pointer +approached the half hour before midnight, she laid the child's dress +which she had been mending upon the little oblong candle-stand that +held her lamp, and put a shovelful of coal on the grate of her little +cooking-stove. Then she took a tea-kettle bright as silver from the +stove, and went into a closet room at hand, where you could hear the +clink of thin ice as it flowed from the water-pail into the +tea-kettle. + +When Mrs. Chester entered the room again with the kettle in her hand, +a soft glow was on her cheek, and it would be difficult to imagine +a lovelier or more cheerful face than hers. You could see by the +rising color and the sweet expression of her mouth, that her heart +was beginning to beat in a sort of fond tumult, as the time of her +husband's return drew near. The fire was darting in a thousand bright +flashes, through the black mass that had just been cast upon it, +shooting out here and there a gleam of gold on the polished blackness +of the stove, and curling up in little prismatic eddies around the +tea-kettle as she placed it on the grate. The lamp, clean and bright +as crystal could be made, was urged to a more brilliant flame by the +point of her scissors, and then with another glance at the clock, +the pretty housekeeper sat down in her chair again, and with one +finely-shaped foot laced in its trim gaiter resting upon the stove +hearth, she began to rock to and fro just far enough to try the spring +of her ankle, without, however, once removing her boot from its +pressure on the hearth. + +"In twenty minutes more," she said aloud, lifting her fine eyes to the +dial with a smile that told how impatiently she was coquetting with +the time. "In twenty minutes. There, one has gone--another--five!--so +now I may go to work in earnest." + +She started up as if it delighted her to be in a hurry, and rolling +up the child's frock removed it with a little work basket to the +table. Then she spread a spotless cloth upon the stand, smoothing +it lightly about the edges with both hands, and opening a little +cupboard where you might have caught glimpses of a tea-set, all of +snow-white china, and six bright silver spoons in a tumbler, spread +out like a fan, with various other neat and useful things, part of +which she busily transferred to the stand. + +By the time her little supper table was ready, the kettle began to +throw up a cloud of steam from its bright spout. A soft, mellow hum +arose with it, rushing out louder and louder, like an imprisoned bird +carousing in the vapor. The fire glowed up around it red, and +cheerfully throwing its light in a golden circle on the carpet, the +stand, and on the placid face of Jane Chester as she knelt before +the grate, holding a slice of bread before the coals, now a little +nearer, then further off, that every inch of the white surface might +be equally browned. + +When everything was ready--the plate of toast neatly buttered--the +tea put to soak in the drollest little china tea-pot you ever set +eyes on, old fashioned, but bearing in every painted rose that +clustered around it the most convincing evidence that Mrs. Chester +must at least have had a grand mother--when all was ready, and while +Mrs. Chester stood by the little supper stand pondering in her mind +if anything had been omitted, she heard the turn of her husband's +latchkey in the door. + +"Just in time," she said, with one of those smiles which one never +sees in perfect beauty away from home. + +But as she leaned her head gently on one side to listen, the smile +left her face. There was something heavy and unnatural in her +husband's tread that troubled her. She was turning toward the door, +when Chester opened it and entered the room with his overcoat off, +and bearing in his arms a mysterious burden. + +"Why, Chester, how is this?--the night so cold, and your forehead +all in a perspiration. What is this wrapped in your coat?" + +As Mrs. Chester spoke, her husband sat down near the door, still +holding the child. She took off his hat and touched her lips to his +damp forehead, while he gently opened his overcoat and revealed the +little thin face upon his bosom. + +"See here, Jane, it is a poor little girl I found in the street +freezing to death." + +"Poor thing! poor little creature!" said Mrs. Chester, filled with +compassion, as she encountered the glance of the great wild eyes that +seemed to illuminate the whole of that miserable face, "here, let +her sit in the rocking-chair close up to the fire--dear me!" + +This last exclamation broke from Mrs. Chester, as she drew the great +coat from around the child, and saw how miserably she was clad; but +checking her astonishment, she placed her guest in the rocking-chair, +took off the old cloak, and was soon kneeling on the carpet holding +a saucer of warm tea to the pale lips of the child. + +"Give me a piece of the toast, John," she said, holding the saucer +in one hand, and reaching forth the other towards her husband, who +had seated himself at the supper table. "This is all she wants--a +good fire and something to eat. Please pour out your own tea, while +I take care of her. She hasn't had a good warm drink before, this +long time, I dare say--have you, little girl?" + +"No," said the child, faintly, "I never tasted anything so good as +that before in my life." + +Mrs. Chester laughed, and the tears came into her eyes. + +"Poor thing! it is only because she is starved, that this tea and +toast seem so delicious," she said, looking at her husband; "a small +piece more. I must be careful, you know, John, and not give her too +much at once," and breaking off what she deemed a scant portion of +the toast, the kind woman gave it into the eager hands of the child. + +The little girl swallowed the morsel of toast greedily, and held out +her hand again. + +Mrs. Chester shook her head and smiled through the tears that filled +her eyes. A look of meek self-denial settled on the child's face. +She dropped her hand, drew a deep breath, and tried to be content; +but in spite of herself, those strange eyes wandered toward the food +with intense craving. + +"No," said Chester, answering the appealing glance of his wife, "it +might do harm." + +The little girl gently closed her eyes, and thus shut out the sight +of food. + +"Are you sleepy?" said Mrs. Chester. + +"No," replied the child, almost with a sob. "I only would rather not +look that way; it makes me long for another piece." + +Tears gushed through her black eyelashes as she spoke, and rolled +down her cheek. + +"Wait a little while. In an hour--shall I say an hour, John?" said +Mrs. Chester, deeply moved. + +Chester nodded his head; he did not like to trust his voice just then. + +"Well," said the generous woman; "in an hour you shall have something +more; a cake, perhaps, and a cup of warm milk." + +The child opened her eyes, and through their humid lashes flashed +a gleam that made Mrs. Chester's heart thrill. + +"Now," she said, rising cheerfully, "we must make up some sort of +a nest for the little creature. Let me see, the bolster and pillows +from our bed, with a thick blanket folded under them, and four chairs +for a bedstead; that will do very nicely. You remember, Chester, when +our Isabel was ill, she fancied that sort of bed before anything. +Would you like to sleep that way, my dear?" + +"I don't know, ma'am; I ain't used to sleeping in a bed, lately," +faltered the little girl, bewildered by all the gentle kindness that +she was receiving. + +"Not used to sleeping in a bed!" cried Mrs. Chester, looking at her +husband; "just fancy our Isabel saying that, Chester." + +And with fresh tears in her eyes the gentle housewife proceeded to +make up the temporary couch, which she had so ingeniously contrived +for her little beggar-guest. She entered her bed-room for the pillows. +The light in her hand shed its beams full upon a little girl, whose +long raven curls lay in masses over the pillow, and down upon her +night-dress, till they were lost among the bed-clothes. The child +might be ten years of age, and nothing more beautiful could well be +imagined than the sweet and oval cast of her countenance. Color soft +and rich as the downy side of a peach, bloomed upon her cheek, which +rested against the palm of one plump little hand. Her chin was +dimpled, and around her pretty mouth lay a soft smile that just parted +its redness, as the too ardent sunbeam cleaves open a cherry. + +"Isabel, bless the darling," murmured Mrs. Chester, as she bent over +her child, passing one hand under her beautiful head very carefully, +that her fingers might not get entangled in those rich tresses and +thus arouse the little sleeper. + +She gently removed the pillow, and permitting the head to fall softly +back, stole away. The child murmured in her sleep, and feeling the +change of position, turned indolently. One hand and a portion of her +tresses fell over the side of the bed, her curls sweeping downward +half-way to the floor. When Mrs. Chester returned she found her child +in this position, partly out of bed, and with the quilt thrown back. +With a kiss and a murmured thanksgiving for the rosy health so visible +in that sleeping form, the happy mother covered up those little white +shoulders. + +The little miserable child seemingly about her own daughter's age, +sat in the rocking-chair, following her with those singular eyes and +with that wan smile upon her lips. The contrast was too striking--her +own child so luxuriant in health and beauty--that little homeless +being with cheeks so thin and eyes so full of intelligence. It seemed +to her that moment as if the fate of these two children would be +jostled together--as if they, so unlike, would travel the same path +and suffer with each other. Nothing could be more improbable than +this; but it was a passing thought, full of pain, which the mother +could not readily fling from her heart. For a moment it made her +breathe quick, and she sat down gazing upon the strange child as if +fascinated, holding the warm hand of Isabel with both of hers. + +Chester wondered at the stillness and called to his wife. She came +forth looking rather sad, but soon arranged the pillows, the blankets +and snowy sheets, which she brought with her, into a most inviting +little nest in one corner of the room. The little stranger watched +her earnestly, with a wan smile playing about her mouth. + +Mrs. Chester saw that the strange child, though thinly clad, was clean +in her attire, and that some rents in her old calico frock had been +neatly mended. + +"What is your name?" she said, gently taking the child's hand and +drawing her into the bed-room, "we have not asked your name yet, +little girl." + +"Mary Fuller, that is my name ma'am," replied the child, in her sweet, +low voice. + +"And have you got a mother?" + +"I don't know," faltered the child, and a spot of crimson sprang into +her pinched cheek. + +"Don't know!" + +"Please not to ask me about it," said the child, meekly. "I don't +like to talk about my mother." + +"But your father," said Mrs. Chester, remarking the color that glowed +with such unnatural brightness on the child's face with a thrill of +pain, for it seemed to her as if a corpse had blushed. + +"My father! Oh, he is dead." + +The color instantly went out from her cheek, like a flash of fire +suddenly extinguished there, and the child clasped her hands in a +sort of thoughtful ecstasy, as if the mention of her father's name +had lifted her soul to a communion with the dead. + +Mrs. Chester sat down by a bureau, and searched for one of Isabel's +night-gowns in the drawer, now and then casting wistful glances on +her singular guest. + +"Come," she said, gently, after a few minutes had elapsed, "let me +take off your frock, then say your prayers and go to bed." + +"I have said my prayers," replied the child, lifting her eyes with +a look that thrilled through and through Mrs. Chester. "When I think +of my father, then I always say the prayers that he taught me, over +in my heart." + +"Then you loved your father?" + +"Loved him!" replied the child, with a look of touching despondency. +"My dear dead father--did you ask me if I loved him? What else in +the wide, wide world had I to love?" + +"Your mother," said Mrs. Chester. + +That flush of crimson shot over the child's face again, and bowing +her head with a look of the keenest anguish, she faltered out, + +"My mother!" + +"Well, my poor child," said Mrs. Chester, compassionating the strange +feeling whose source she could only guess at, "I will not ask any +more questions to-night. Keep up a good heart. You are almost an +orphan, and God takes care of little orphans, you know." + +"Oh, yes, God will take care of me," answered the child, turning her +large eyes downward upon her person, with a look that said more +plainly than words, "helpless and ugly as I am." + +"It is the helpless--it is children whom our Saviour--you know about +our Saviour?" + +"Oh, yes, I know." + +"Well, it was such little helpless creatures as you are whom our +Saviour meant, when he said, 'Of such is the kingdom of Heaven.'" + +"Yes, such as I am, ma'am." + +The child again glanced at her person, and then with a look of tearful +humility at Mrs. Chester. + +Mrs. Chester bent over the drawer she was searching, to conceal her +tears; there was something strangely pathetic in the child's looks +and words. + +"I thought," said the child, lifting her face and pointing to little +Isabel, with a look of thrilling admiration, "I thought when I came +in here, that Heaven must be full of little children like her." + +"And why like her?" + +"Because she looks in her sleep like the picture which I have seen +of Heaven, where beautiful, curly-headed children just like her, lie +dreaming on the clouds." + +"Then you think she is like those little angels?" said Mrs. Chester, +unable to suppress a feeling of maternal pride, and smiling through +her tears as she gazed on her daughter's beauty. + +"I never saw an ugly little girl in those pictures in my whole life, +and I have looked for one a great many times," said the child, sadly. + +"Yes, but these pictures are only according to the artist's +fancy--they are not the real Heaven." + +"I know; but then those who make these pictures do not so much as +fancy a little girl like--like me, among the angels." + +"But I can fancy them there," said Mrs. Chester, carried away by the +strange language of the child--"remember, little girl, that it is +our souls--the spirit that makes us love and think--which God takes +home to Heaven." + +"I know," said the little girl, shaking her head with a mournful +smile, "but she would not like to leave all those curls and that red +upon her mouth behind her, would she?" + +Mrs. Chester shook her head and tried to smile; the child puzzled +her with these singular questions. + +"And I--I should not like either, to leave my body behind!" + +"Indeed--why not, little girl?" said Mrs. Chester, amazed. + +"Oh, we have suffered so much together, my soul and this poor body!" +replied the child, sadly. + +"This is all very strange and very mournful," murmured Mrs. Chester, +deeply moved. But she checked herself, and drawing the child toward +her, began to untie her dress. A faint exclamation of surprise and +pity broke from her lips as she loosened the garment and observed +that it was the only one which the little creature had on. + +"Oh, this _is_ destitution," she said, covering her eyes with one hand +as little Mary crouched down and put on the nightdress. "What if she, +my own child, were left thus,"--and dashing aside her tears, Mrs. +Chester went to the bed and covered the little Isabel with kisses. + +The strange child stood by in her long night-gown. A smile of singular +pleasure lay about her mouth as she attempted with her little pale +hands to arrange the plaited ruffles around her neck and bosom. +Drawing close to Mrs. Chester, she took hold of her dress, and looked +earnestly in her face. Mrs. Chester turned away her head; her lips +were yet tremulous with the caresses which she had bestowed upon her +child; and it seemed as if those large eyes reproached her. + +"You are cold," she said, looking down upon the child. + +"No, ma'am." + +"Well, what is it you want--the milk I promised you?" + +"No, not that. I will give up the milk, if you will only--only"-- + +"Only what, child?" + +"If you will only kiss my forehead just once as you kissed hers," +answered the child. And after one yearning look, her head drooped +upon her bosom. She seemed completely overpowered by her own boldness. + +Mrs. Chester stood gazing on her in silent surprise. There was +something in the request that startled and pained her. Here stood +a poor, miserable orphan, begging with a voice of unutterable +desolation for a few moments of that affection which she saw profusely +lavished upon a happier child. Her silence seemed to strike the little +girl with terror. She lifted her eyes with a look of humble +deprecation, and said: + +"Nobody has kissed me since my father died!" + +Mrs. Chester conquered the repugnance, that spite of herself arose +in her heart, at the thought of chilling the lips yet warm from the +rosy mouth of her child, by contact with anything less dear, and +bending down, she pressed a tremulous kiss upon the uplifted forehead +of the little stranger. + +Mary drew an uneven breath; an expression of exquisite content spread +over her face, and giving her hand to Mrs. Chester, she allowed +herself to be lead toward the pretty couch, made up so temptingly +in a corner of the outer room. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION + + + Oh, it is hard for rich men in their pride, + To know how dear a thing it is to give; + When, for sweet charity, the poor divide + The little pittance upon which they live, + And from their scanty comforts take a share, + To save a wretched brother from despair. + +Chester was sitting by the fire, and a serious expression settled +on his features--he was pondering over the events of the evening; +his mind reverting constantly in spite of himself to the conversation +which he had held with the Mayor. Like most excitable persons, he +found, on reviving his own words, much to regret in them. His impulse +had been kind, his intention good, but notwithstanding this, he was +compelled to admit that his entrance into the Mayor's house must have +seemed singular and his words imprudent. Both were certainly justified +by the occasion. Still, Chester felt that he had made an enemy of +one who had the power to injure him deeply, and this thought gave +a serious cast to his features. + +Jane Chester had put her little charge to bed. She now drew a chair +close to her husband, and placed her hand upon his. + +"You are tired, John," she said. "You seem worn out. Has anything +gone wrong that you look so grave?" + +"I fear, Jane," said Chester, turning his eyes upon the benign face +of his wife, with a look of anxious affection; "I fear that I have +not acted in the wisest manner to-night--by a few rash words I may +have made an enemy." + +"An enemy, and of whom?" inquired the wife, entering as she always +did, heart and soul, into any subject that disturbed her husband. + +Seeing her look of anxiety, Chester told her of his interview with +the Mayor, and the rash words which he had used regarding the little +girl. As Jane Chester listened, the anxious expression on her face +gave way to a glow of generous indignation. + +"Why, what else could you have done with the poor little thing in +that dreadful state, and the station-house so far off? Surely, the +Mayor deserved all that you said and more--he must be conscious of +this, and glad enough to forget it." + +"I don't know," said Chester, thoughtfully; "I should think him +capable of anything, but a frank and honest feeling of forgiveness." + +"Well," said Jane Chester, hopefully, "we must not anticipate evil +in this way. Let the Mayor be ever so angry, he really has no power +to harm us. You can only be broken for bad conduct, and there we can +defy him, you know." + +Chester smiled, but more at the trust and exulting love that beamed +in his wife's face, than from any confidence excited by her words. +He had relieved his mind by this little confidential chat, and made +an effort to be cheerful again. + +Mrs. Chester turned and glanced toward the bed where her little guest +lay quite still, and to all appearance asleep. She looked so +comfortable in her snow-white gown and the little cap of spotted +muslin, with its border of cheap lace falling softly around the high +forehead and hollow temples, that Mrs. Chester could not help smiling. + +"How contented she looks," murmured the happy wife, pressing her +husband's hand, and thus drawing his attention toward the little bed. +"Did you ever see such a change in your life?" + +"She does sleep very quietly and looks almost pretty, now that she +is comfortable and quiet. You are pleased that I brought her home, +Jane?" + +"Pleased, why yes, of course I am pleased, but then this is only for +one night, John. What will become of her to-morrow?" and Mrs. Chester +looked with a sort of pleading earnestness into her husband's face, +as if she had something on her mind which he might not quite sanction. + +"I know--it was that partly which made me a little downhearted just +now. It will be hard for her to go away to-morrow--she will feel it +very much after you have made her so snug and comfortable." + +"But why send her away?" said Mrs. Chester softly, as if she were +proposing something very wrong, only that her eyes were brim full +of kindness, and a world of gentle persuasion lay in the smile with +which she met his surprised look--it was a smile of audacious +benevolence, if we may use the term. + +"If we could afford it," said Chester, heaving a sigh; "but no--no, +Jane, we must not think of this, remember I am in debt still. Let +us be just before we are charitable. We have no right to give while +we owe a cent which is not yet earned." + +The smile left Jane Chester's face--she sighed and looked gravely +in the fire; this view of the matter dampened her spirits. After a +little her face brightened up. + +"Well, John, I suppose you are right, but then what if I manage to +keep the child, and save just as much as usual at the end of the week? +then it would be my own little charity, you know." + +"But how can you manage that, Jane?" + +"Well, now, promise to let me have my own way--just promise that +before we go another step--and I will manage it; you shall see." + +Chester shook his head, and was about to speak, but his wife rose +just then half leaning on his chair, her arm somehow got around his +neck, and bending her red lips close to his cheek she raised the only +hand that was disengaged and folded the fingers over his mouth. + +"Not a word, John--not a word; only promise to let me have my own +way--I will have it--you know that well enough!" + +"Well," said Chester, laughing, and trying to speak through the +fingers that held his lips, "well, go on--I promise--only don't quite +stop my breath!" + +"Very well," said Jane Chester, removing her hand, and clasping it +with the other that fell over his shoulder; "now you shall hear." + +"With our little family, you know, I have a great deal of spare time." + +"I don't know any such thing, Jane--you are always at work." + +"Oh, yes, stitching your shirt-bosoms in plaits so fine that nobody +can see them; ruffling Isabel's pantalets, and knitting lace to trim +morning-gowns and frocks--but what does that amount to?" + +"Why, nothing, only you and Isabel always look so pretty and lady-like +with these things." + +"Very well--but does all this stitching and so on, help to pay your +debts?" + +"No, perhaps not; but then it pleases me--it sends us into the world +well dressed, and"-- + +"Gratifies your pride a little, hey!" said Mrs. Chester, interrupting +him. "Very well, this shall not be all my own charity. You and Isabel +shall help--we will all adopt the little girl." + +"Well, what do you mean--what would you be at?" + +"Why, just this--all the extra work that occupies me so much, we must +do without; you shall be content with clean white linen, and Isabel's +frocks and things must go with less trimming--she is pretty enough +without them, you know--then I can take in sewing, and earn enough +to pay for what the poor little thing will eat. Perhaps she knows +how to sew a little; at any rate, she and Isabel will be handy about +the house, and give me more time. There, now, isn't my plan a good +one? after all, I shall only do about the same work as ever. You and +Isabel will make all the sacrifices." + +"I'm afraid not," replied Chester, drawing his wife towards him and +kissing her forehead; "but we shall make some, for I have often +thought how dreadful it would be to have you--so pretty, so well +educated--obliged to go round from shop to shop inquiring for work; +and have felt with some pride, perhaps, that while I lived you should +never come to this." + +"But," said Mrs. Chester, with animation, "if we had no other way--if +Isabel were crying for bread, then you would not object--you would +give up this feeling of pride--for after all, it is only that." + +"No, it is something more than pride, Jane," said Chester, tenderly. +"I love to feel that your comforts are all earned by my own strength; +that I am soul and body your protector; were I able, you should never +soil these hands with labor again!" + +Mrs. Chester lifted the hand which she held to her lips, and her eyes +beamed with joy through the tears that filled them. + +"I know all this, John, and it makes me love you! oh, how dearly; +but then it is wrong--very, very delightful, but still wrong." + +"Why wrong, Jane, I cannot understand that?" + +"Wrong--why because it might, if I were only selfish enough to take +advantage of your tenderness, make me a very useless, gossiping, idle +sort of person." + +"You would never come to that, Jane." + +"No, I should not like to become one of those worthless drones in +the great hive of human life, who exist daintily on their husbands' +energies, making him the slave of capricious wants that would never +arise but for the idea that it is refined and feminine to be useless. +I would be a wife; a companion; a help to my husband." + +"And so you are, all these and more," said Chester, gazing with +delight on her animated face. "God bless you, Jane, for you have been +to me a noble and a true wife." + +"Well, then, of course I am to have my own way now. This poor child, +I shall not mind in the least asking about work, when it is for her." + +"But the shopkeepers, they will not know why you do this." + +"Well, what need I care for them?" + +"They will think you have a very shiftless, or perhaps dissipated +husband, who obliges you to go about among them begging for work." + +"No--no, these miseries are not written in my face, John, they will +never think that of me." + +"Or a widow, perhaps!" rejoined Chester, with a faint smile. + +"Don't talk in that way," and Mrs. Chester's eyes filled with tears. +"A widow--your widow--I should never live to be that. The very thought +makes my heart stand still. With you I can do anything--but alone--a +widow--John, never mention that word again!" + +Chester drew down his wife's head and kissed her cheek very tenderly, +smoothing her bright tresses with his hand the while. + +"Why you should learn to think of these things without so much terror, +Jane," he said, in a voice full of tenderness, but still sad, as if +some unconquerable presentiment were overshadowing him. + +"No--no--I cannot! Talk of something else, John; the little girl, +we have forgotten her." + +The husband and wife both looked toward the couch. Mary had half +risen, and with her elbow resting on the pillow, was regarding them +intently with her large and glittering eyes. + +"We have disturbed her!" said Jane Chester. "How wide wake she is," +and she went up to the couch. + +"I could not help listening," said the child, falling back on the +pillow as Jane came up. "Besides I want to say something. I can sew +very nicely, and wash dishes, and sweep, and a great many other +things--if you will only let me stay!" + +"You shall stay--now go to sleep--you shall stay. Is it not so, John?" +said Mrs. Chester turning to her husband. + +"Yes," said Chester, "the child shall stay with us; let her go to +sleep." + +They all slept sweetly that night; Chester, his wife, little Isabel, +and the orphan, and such dreams as they had--such soft, bright dreams. +Could you have seen them slumbering beneath the humble roof, smiling +tranquilly on their pillows, you might have fancied that those little +rooms were swarming with invisible angels--spirits from paradise that +had come down to make a little heaven of the poor man's home. Indeed, +I am not quite sure that the idea would have been all fancy--for +Charity, that brightest spirit of heaven, was there, and what a +glorious troop she always brings in her train. Talk of flinging your +bread upon the waters, waiting for it to be cast up after many +days--why the very joy of casting the bread you have earned with your +own strength upon the bright waves of humanity, is reward enough for +the true heart. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE MAYOR AND THE ALDERMAN. + + + A smooth and subtle man was he-- + Of crafty heart and Christian mien; + His wisdom--cheating sophistry, + Flung o'er his sins a mocking sheen. + +Chester had business with the Chief of Police, and about nine o'clock +the next morning, after his adventure with the orphan, he passed into +the Park, through the south entrance, on his way to the Chief's +office. At the same moment, his Honor the Mayor came through a gate +near the corner of Chambers street, and walked with calm and stately +deliberation toward the City Hall. Nothing could have been more +precise or perfect than the outward man, which his honor exhibited +to the gaze of his constituents. Neatly-fitting boots, square toed, +and of the most elaborate manufacture, encased his feet. Not a speck +defiled their high polish; the very dust and mud which introduces +itself cosily into the habiliments of your common, warm hearted men, +seemed to shrink away chilled and repulsed by the immaculate coldness +that clung like an atmosphere around the Mayor of New York. The nap +of his hat lay shining and smooth as satin; so deeply and thoroughly +was it brushed down into the stock, that it seemed as if a whirlwind +would have failed to ripple the fur. His black coat, his satin vest +and plaited linen presented a glossy and spotless surface to the +winter sun. His black gloves--in New York we have a great many public +funerals, and the city supplies mourning gloves to the Common +Council--his black gloves were neatly buttoned, and above them lay +his snow-white wristbands, folded carefully over the cuffs of his +coat, and his right hand grasped a prudish-looking cane which seemed +part and parcel of the man. + +A sublime picture of official dignity was the Mayor as he crossed +the Park that morning. An expression of bland courtesy lay upon his +features; all the proprieties of life were elaborated in his slightest +movement. Nothing, save heart and principle, was lacking that could +ensure popularity; but this deficiency, if it does not render a man +absolutely unpopular, chills all enthusiasm regarding him. + +A man must possess fire in himself before he can kindle up the +electricity that thrills the great popular heart. With all his +propriety--with all his silky and subtle efforts, our Mayor was +generally regarded with indifference. He was neither loved nor hated +sufficiently for the populace to know or care much about him. Oily +Gammon himself could not have presented a more perfect surface to +the people. Still this man could hate like an Indian and sting like +a viper. You would not have doubted that, had you seen him when he +first encountered Chester in the Park. There was a glitter in his +eye which you could not have, mistaken. During the moment when he +saw Chester turning an angle of the City Hall, this flash came and +went, leaving his face unmoved as before, only that he almost smiled +as the policeman drew near. + +"And how is your little charge this morning?" inquired his honor, +pausing in the walk where it curves to the back entrance of the City +Hall. "Better, I hope?" + +"Oh, yes, sir, much better," answered Chester with generous warmth. +"I thank your honor for inquiring." + +"I suppose you are going to the Alms House Commissioner," rejoined +the Mayor, glancing toward the old building which ran along Chambers +street, where many of the public offices were held; "she will be well +cared for at Bellevue." + +Chester blushed as if he were confessing some fraud, and answered +with embarrassment that the little girl would remain with him, at +least for the present. + +The Mayor looked perfectly satisfied with the answer, bowed and walked +forward. On his way up the steps and along the lobby, he occasionally +saluted some lawyer that plunged by him with a load of calf-bound +volumes pressed ostentatiously under his arm, and paused once or twice +to exchange words with a street inspector or petty official, who +formed the small wires of his political machinery. + +The Mayor spent half an hour in his private office, closeted with +his chief clerk, who had been busy over night preparing a speech which +his honor was to deliver before some distinguished city guest the +next day. In these matters the chief magistrate proved rather hard +to please, as he was fond of high-sounding words and poetical ideas, +but found them very difficult to commit to memory. + +In this case the clerk had done wonders, and taking a copy for study, +his honor disposed himself in the great easy-chair of his private +room, with the manuscript before him, as if profoundly occupied with +some intricate law opinion, and commenced the arduous task of +committing the ideas of a better cultivated mind to his own sterile +brain. While he was thus occupied, a man entered with a good-humored, +blustering air, and threw himself into a seat by the fire, carelessly +shaking the Mayor's hand as he passed, as if quite certain of a good +reception at all times. + +"Busy making out a new veto case, I dare say?" observed the visitor, +glancing at the sheet of manuscript which his honor held. + +The Mayor folded up his unlearned speech, and turning quietly in his +seat, dropped into a desultory conversation with this man about city +matters, talking in a circle, and gradually drawing toward the subject +which he had at heart, till it seemed to drop in quite by accident. + +"Speaking of policemen," said the Mayor, "there is a man in our ward, +Alderman, whom I have heard of very often, lately, a tall, gentlemanly +sort of a fellow--Chester, I think that is his name. Do you happen +to know anything about him?" + +"Chester--Chester--yes, I should think so. A fellow that reads like +a minister and writes like a clerk; he is a perfect nuisance in the +ward. You have no idea what mischief he does with his gentlemanly +airs." + +"What! a strong politician is he?" + +"I hardly know; but he is not one of us, that is certain." + +"It is due to the party--the fellow ought to be removed," said the +Mayor. "I wonder some one has never preferred charges against him." + +"Plenty of our people have been lying in wait for him, but he is not +to be trapped; he understands all the rules, and lives up to them. +Never drinks--is always respectful--appears on his beat punctual as +a clock. In short, it is a hopeless case." + +"Then it must be a very singular one," said the Mayor, with a meaning +smile. "Is there no good friend of your own who would be glad of the +situation?" + +"Oh, yes--one to whom I have made a half promise, but we can get no +hold on this Chester, he will baffle us, depend on it." + +"Perhaps not. Let your friend, who is waiting for the situation, +continue vigilant. If he is keen-sighted, his evidence will have +weight with me." + +Our Alderman looked hard at the Mayor, somewhat doubtful if he +understood the whole meaning conveyed, more in the glance than in +the words of that honorable gentleman, who saw his perplexity and +spoke again. + +"You know, my dear friend, how far I would strain a point to serve +you, but there must be some evidence--something, however slight, you +understand--which can be readily obtained against any man." + +The Mayor saw by the smile that disturbed the lip of his friend, that +he was at length thoroughly understood. + +"You know that there is no appeal from my decision," he added, with +a smile, "and I decide alone!" + +"I comprehend," replied the Alderman, standing up and rubbing his +palms pleasantly together. "This is very kind of you, very kind, +indeed. I shall not forget it." + +"I think your friend may be sure of his situation," was the amiable +reply; "you know it is our duty to watch these people well. I think +your friend may deem himself secure." + +"No doubt of it, now that we have a friend at court." + +"Oh, not a word of that," said the Mayor, lifting his hand +reprovingly, "everything must be in order, according to rule, you +know." + +The Mayor smiled, while his friend laughed outright, repeating to +himself between each chuckle--"Oh, yes, according to rule, according +to rule;" and eager to undertake his new enterprise, the elated +Alderman took his leave, walking through the outer room with an +exaggeration of his previous blustering importance, that quite +astonished the clerks. + +The Mayor looked after him with a bland smile, but when the worthy +official was out of sight, the smile glided into a contemptuous sneer, +and he muttered to himself--"The pompous blockhead, he is so easily +cajoled that one scarcely feels a pleasure in using him." + +With these characteristic words the noble-hearted magistrate betook +himself to the manuscript again, certain that the wire he had pulled, +would never cease to vibrate till poor Chester was ruined. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE DRAM SHOP PLOT + + + The stars hang burning in the skies, + The earth gives back their diamond light, + Where like a radiant bride it lies + Reposing in that glorious night. + +Again the night was intensely cold. There had been a storm of sleet +and rain during two whole days, and now came on a keen frost, sheeting +the pavements, the trees and the housetops with ice. + +Chester was pacing his rounds, as on the first night when we presented +him to the reader. Sometimes he paused to remark the delicate tracery +of ice that hung in fretted masses over the gutters, or was frozen +in waves along the curb-stones, or looked upwards to the tall trees +that seemed absolutely dripping with light, as the moonbeams streamed +over them, while the gas from the street lanterns sent up golden +gleams through the lower branches and along the glittering trunks. + +Intensely cold as the night was, Chester could not resist that +exquisite sense of the beautiful, which objects so novel and +picturesque were sure to excite in his imaginative mind. There was +something so purely ideal in those massive branches, stripped of +leaves and laden down with crystalline spray, while the wind swayed +them heavily about, and the moonlight flooded them through and +through, that even a duller man than Chester must have paused to +admire. + +Through the glittering arcade--for along the rich man's district the +trees grew thick and high--Chester could see the bright winter stars +shining, and the deep blue Heavens slumbering afar off, while with +folded arms and eyes uplifted he paced along the street, forgetful, +for the time, that the night was so cold, or that his own frame was +yet too feeble for unnecessary exposure. + +In going to the poor man's district, Chester was obliged to pass one +of those majestic old elms which our forefathers planted, still to +be found here and there scattered over the great city. This elm stood +on a corner, and beneath its great pendent branches a small dram-shop +desecrated the soil which gave nourishment to the brave old forest +tree. This was the squalid object that fell upon Chester's gaze as +he glanced reluctantly from those long pendent branches, flashing +and shivering as it were with a fruitage of diamonds, to the dull +and dirty windows. + +The dram-shop seemed to be full, for he could see the shadows of +several men passing to and fro behind the murky windows, and when +the door opened to let out a woman, who passed him with a small +pitcher in her hand, he saw that many others were left within the +building. There was something startling in the contrast between the +sublime beauty of the sky and the vice hovel underneath, and Chester +stopped to gaze on it, pondering in his thoughts how it was that men, +upright and honorable in other things, should ever become so lost +to all sense of humanity, as to legalize the vicious traffic which +this old elm, rising so nobly and so free against the sky, was obliged +to shelter. + +As these thoughts occupied his mind, two men came out of the store, +arm in arm, and passed the place where he was standing. One of the +men looked keenly at him as he went by, but Chester scarcely observed +him, and remained as before, with his mind wholly engrossed. + +"It is he!" said one of the men to his companion, "and looking toward +the corner, as if it would not be a hard job to get him in." + +"Hush! he will hear you," replied the other. "Let us walk round the +block and go in from the other street; he will not know us again!" + +"If we could but get him in for once, just long enough to taste one +glass, that would settle his business," was the rejoinder. "Move +slower, and let us talk it over. Jones will go in with us through +thick and thin, for the fellow has hurt his business more than a +little, reformed a great many of his best customers, and persuaded +others to be off. We shall find Jones ready for anything." + +The two men walked forward, feeling their way along the slippery +sidewalk, and conversing earnestly until they reached the dram-shop +again. + +Chester was still there, pondering the ideas of blended pleasure and +pain, which the scene had presented to him with unusual force that +evening. The dram-shop had opened two or three times while he was +standing there, and when the two men passed in he saw without closely +observing them. + +At length, he was about to move forward, when the shop, that had been +up to that time remarkably quiet, became a scene of some strange +tumult. Three or four persons left abruptly, and the sound of loud, +angry voices reached him through the door whenever it was flung open +to allow persons to pass out. After a few minutes there came running +across the street a little boy, who seemed quite breathless with haste +and terror. + +"Oh! you are a policeman, sir; I am so glad, pray come with me!" he +cried, seizing hold of Chester's coat. "They are quarreling--two men +are quarreling in there, and one of them has a knife drawn." + +Chester hastened across the street, for the angry voices were becoming +louder, and there really seemed to be some danger threatened. He +entered the store, and to his surprise, found only two persons +present, besides the owner, who stood back of a little imitation +marble counter with his arms folded, evidently enjoying a scene of +altercation that was carried on, it appeared, with some effort between +his guests; for as one of the men was thrown back against the counter +in the scuffle, he merely circled two or three half empty decanters +with his arm, and laughingly told them not to interfere with their +best friends; then throwing half his weight upon the counter again, +he seemed to enter heart and soul into the dispute. + +"There, there," said the owner, rising as Chester came in, "we have +had enough of this--here is the police. Give up, give up, both of +you. Shake hands and take a drink--that is the way to settle these +little matters. Come, Mr. Policeman, help me to pacify these two +hot-heads; what do you say to my recommendation, brandy and water +all round?" + +"That would be the last thing that I should recommend," said Chester, +speaking in his usual bland and gentlemanly manner. "These two +persons, I doubt not, will listen to the reason without firing up +their blood with more strong drink." + +"With more strong drink!" cried one of the men, laughing rudely as +he cast his antagonist carelessly from him; "why we haven't had a +drop yet. It was thirst, sheer thirst that made us both so savage. +Come, Smith, here is my hand. Let us drink and make up." + +The man thus addressed rose from the cask against which he had been +thrown, and suddenly took the offered hand of his antagonist. + +Chester saw that the quarrel, if it ever had been serious, was now +at an end, and turned to leave the store; but Jones, the owner, +followed him with an anxious face, and whispered that it was only +fear of the police that had so suddenly quieted the men, and besought +him not to withdraw till they were ready to leave the establishment. +Chester turned back; both the place and company were repugnant to +him, but it was his duty to remain, and he sat down regarding the +two men as they drank at the counter, boisterously knocking their +glasses together in token of renewed fellowship. + +"Come, Mr. Policeman, take a glass," said Smith, who all the while +had been the most noisy. "You look pale as a ghost," and the man took +a glass half full of brandy and brought it to the stove by which +Chester had drawn his chair. + +Chester did indeed look pale, for coming out of the clear night into +a room heated to suffocation by a close stove, and redolent with the +mingled fumes of tobacco smoke and alcohol, the atmosphere oppressed +him with a sickening sensation; his head began to reel, and he sat +unsteadily in his chair. Thus oppressed, he reached forth his hand +and lifted the glass to his lips. The scent of its contents, however, +warned him; he arose without tasting the brandy, and placed it on +the counter. Just then two or three persons came in from the street. +Jones and Smith exchanged triumphant glances, and Chester sat down +again, supporting his forehead upon one hand, sickened with the heat, +and becoming each moment more pallid. + +"Come," said Smith, at length addressing his companion, "let us go +now, we can soon find a place where gentlemen can settle their +disputes without being hunted down by the police!" and the two went +out. + +Jones hastily came round the counter and addressed Chester. + +"They will get up a street fight," he said, with great apparent +anxiety. "Had you not better follow them?" + +Chester arose with difficulty and left the store, scarcely conscious +of his own movements, for he was still faint from the changed +atmosphere. But the cold air revived him, and he walked on beneath +the old elm, passing the two men, who stood on the curb-stone leaning +against its trunk, apparently in excited conversation. The pavement +all around was one glaze of ice, and Chester was obliged to guard +his footsteps with great care, as he moved slowly forward. As he came +near the two men, one of them put forth his foot, and Chester fell +forward with a faint cry, striking his temples against the curb stone +with a violence that sent the broken ice in a shower over his head. + +"Halloo! here is a fallen star," cried Smith, lifting his voice. The +dram-shop was flung open at the sound, and its owner came forth +followed by several persons who had entered the place just as Chester +left it. + +They found the policeman stretched on the ice with the two men, who +had been the cause of his mishap, bending over him with that jeering +expression in their words and features, with which the coarse-minded +usually meet accidents which result from intoxication. + +Chester was much hurt, but he had lost no blood, so the bystanders +turned away with a laugh, and he was left to the mercy of those two +evil men. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE BIRTH-DAY FESTIVAL. + + + Her soul was full of tender thought, + Ardent and strong but gentle, too, + Like gems, in purest gold o'er wrought, + Or flowers that banquet on the dew. + Love seemed more holy in her heart, + Than human passions ever are; + She took from Heaven its purest part, + And found on earth its sweetest care. + +It was Chester's birth-day, always a season of bright joy in his +little household. He had entirely recovered from the ill-effects of +his fall upon the ice. The little stranger, instead of being a burden +upon his narrow resources, became quite a help and comfort to them. +She had now been three weeks in the family, industrious as a bee, +meekly cheerful, and with a sort of homely sweetness in her manner +that won affection without effort. Never boisterous or obtrusive in +her desire to please she moved about the house like some meek and +good spirit, acting, not speaking, the soft gratitude with which her +little heart was brimming over. You could see it in her large and +humid eyes. You could feel it in the quick joy that came and went +over her face, when any one asked a service of her. She seemed +perfectly possessed of that most lovely of all earthly feelings, human +gratitude; yet she uttered but few words, and was always too busy +for extreme sadness. + +Occupation, occupation!--what a glorious thing it is for the human +heart. Those who work hard seldom yield themselves entirely up to +fancied or real sorrow. When grief sits down, folds its hands, and +mournfully feeds upon its own tears, weaving the dim shadows, that +a little exertion might sweep away, into a funeral pall, the strong +spirit is shorn of its might, and sorrow becomes our master. When +troubles flow upon you, dark and heavy, toil not with the +waves--wrestle not with the torrent!--rather seek, by occupation, +to divert the dark waters that threaten to overwhelm you, into a +thousand channels which the duties of life always present. Before +you dream of it, those waters will fertilize the present, and give +birth to fresh flowers that may brighten the future--flowers that +will become pure and holy, in the sunshine which penetrates to the +path of duty, in spite of every obstacle. Grief, after all, is but +a selfish feeling, and most selfish is the man who yields himself +to the indulgence of any passion which brings no joy to his fellow +man. + +If little Mary Fuller did not reason thus--poor thing, she was only +twelve years old--she felt thus, and a good heart is, after all, your +best philosopher. + +She was grateful, and that sweet feeling is, in itself, almost a +happiness. So, in her meekness and her industry, this little girl +might have shamed the fortitude of many a stout man, for there are +no sufferings so sharp as those that sting our childhood, and hers, +both of soul and body, had been bitter indeed. + +It would have done your heart good to witness the pleasant bustle +going on in the policeman's dwelling on his birth-day. Mary Fuller +entered into the preparations with delightful spirit. There was the +kitchen table, spread out with currants and raisins, and boxes of +sugar, and plates of butter--and there was Mrs. Chester, with the +sleeves of her calico dress rolled up from her white arms, and her +slender hands, all snowy with the flour she was measuring out in a +tea-cup, while her sweet smiling lips were in motion as she counted +off each cupful, now of sugar, now of fruit, and now of butter for +the birth-day cake. There was little Isabel beating up eggs in a great +China bowl, and laughing as she shook back her curls, that threatened +every moment to drop into the snowy froth. + +Down on a little seat by the stove, crouched Mary Fuller, with her +lap full of black currants, looking so mild and tranquil as she +gathered up the fruit, and allowed it to flow from one thin hand to +the other, blowing away the dust with her mournful little mouth, and +lifting up her eyes to Mrs. Chester now and then, with a look of such +quiet and trusting affection. + +And now Mrs. Chester lifted up the bright tin-pan half full of golden +and fruit-studded paste between both her hands, with a satisfied and +happy look. Mary Fuller quietly opened the stove door, and the +precious cake was soon browning over, and rising in a soft cone, +almost to the top of the oven. Every other instant Isabel would take +a peep in, and thus fill the room with luscious fragrance, and Mary +was full of curiosity, for the composition of a cake like that was +quite a miracle to her, poor thing! + +Then Mrs. Chester could not quite conceal her anxiety that Isabel +might interrupt the baking by constantly opening the door. In short, +you have no idea what an interest was felt in that birth-day cake. +It kept them quite anxious and animated for a full hour. + +Then all this suspense was followed by such delighted exclamations +when the cake came out, done to a turn, so high, so delicately brown, +and with a light golden fissure breaking through the warm swell, like +the furrow in a hill-side, betraying the perfect lightness and spongy +perfection at the centre--altogether, the whole thing was quite a +household picture, a pleasant domestic scene, full of spirit and +happiness. + +But this was only a preliminary of the day's work. There was the +frosting to put on, and there was a pair of plump little pullets +waiting to be stuffed, and so many things to be done, that with +bringing out little round wooden boxes and bright tin pans, and forks +and spoons, and putting them up again, everything was kept in a state +of pleasant excitement the whole day. + +At nightfall it was perfectly surprising, the bower that lovely +housewife and her children had made of the room. The muslin curtains +were bordered with wreaths of evergreens; festoons of hemlock and +feathery pine tufts fell along the snow-white wall. On a little shelf +under the window, stood a bird cage sheltered by a miniature forest +of tea-roses and ivy geraniums. The golden feathers of its inmate +gleamed out beautifully from among the leaves and crimson flowers; +for the genial warmth seemed to have brought all the buds into blossom +at once, and there was a perfect flush of them among the glossy and +deep green leaves. + +As if quite conscious that there was a birth-day developing in all +these cheerful preparations, the bird was in a joyous state of +excitement, and seemed to enter, with all its little musical soul, +into the spirit of the thing. Instead of going sleepily to his perch +as the sun went down, he kept chirping about, hopping hither and +thither, flinging off the husks from his seed on the bottom of the +cage, or standing on his perch with his head on one side, and eyeing +the tea roses askance, as if questioning them regarding this unusual +commotion. Then, as if satisfied with the blushing silence of the +flowers, he would hop upon his perch and break into a gush of song +that made the leaves around him tremble again, having, to all +appearances, made up his birdly mind not to give up before midnight +at the furthest. + +Now everything was ready, save some petty arrangements of the +table-top which were in a state of progression. + +Mary Fuller, arrayed in a Marino dress, almost as good as new, and +with her hair neatly braided, was busy with Isabel's curls, rolling +their glossy blackness delightedly around her finger, and dropping +them in shining masses over those dimpled shoulders, with far more +exulting pride than the little beauty felt herself. + +She was a lovely creature, that fair Isabel, more beautiful from +contrast with the sallow child that bent over her. The pretty pink +frock looped back from those snowy shoulders, with knots of ribbon, +her embroidered pantalets peeping from beneath it, and those dainty +little slippers on her feet--altogether, the two girls made a charming +picture. The Canary stopped singing to watch them, giving out a chirp +of admiration now and then, as if he approved of the whole thing, +but did not care to make a scene about it. + +At last, Mrs. Chester came forth, her cheeks all in a glow of blushes, +for she was rather shy of appearing before her children in that +pretty, white-muslin dress, fastened over the bosom with bows of pink +ribbon, and with a belt of the same color girding her waist. + +The girls started up with exclamations of delight, for this dress +took them by surprise, and in order to get clear of her awkwardness, +Mrs. Chester kissed them both, while the bird went off in a fit of +musical enthusiasm quite astounding, hopping frantically about his +cage and throwing off gushes of song till his golden throat seemed +ready to burst with a flood of melody. + +Mary Fuller stood, after the first outbreak of admiration, looking +wistfully from her benefactress to the crimson roses. Her keen sense +of the beautiful was excited. + +"May I?" she said, softly bending down one of the crimson flowers. + +Mrs. Chester smiled, and Mary broke off the half-open blossom. + +"Please let _me_ put it in." + +Again Mrs. Chester smiled, and sat down in her rocking chair, while +Mary placed the rose among the snowy folds on her bosom, and Isabel +hovered near, admiring the effect. + +"Isn't she beautiful!" exclaimed Mary, gently exultant, standing back +to enjoy the contrast of the crimson leaves and the white muslin. + +"Isn't she?" cried Isabel, in all the flush of her young beauty, +"Isn't she, my own, dear, pretty mother?" and she held up her arms +for an embrace. + +Mary sighed very gently, for she thought of her mother. + +And now four crystal lamps were lighted, two upon the mantel-piece, +and two before the looking-glass, which of course made four by +reflection, and a splendid illumination all this light made among +the roses and evergreens. + +There was nothing more to arrange, so Mrs. Chester returned to her +rocking-chair. Isabel hung about her, sometimes with an arm around +her neck, sometimes playing with the folds of her dress. After a +little hesitation, Mary drew her stool to the other side and sat +there, smiling softly and with her eyes brimful of contentment, as +Mrs. Chester laid one hand kindly upon her head, while with the other +she caressed the beautiful Isabel. Thus forming a group that might +have served our inimitable Terry for a picture of Charity, Mrs. +Chester waited for her company. + +And for what company was all this preparation made? + +In the third story of the house lived a poor artist, whose eyesight +had become so dim, that he was only capable of doing the very coarsest +work. Sometimes a theatrical scene, or a rude transparency gave him +temporary support; but the little that he was able to do in this way +could not have kept him free from debt, humble as his mode of life +was, had he not possessed some other means of subsistence. His family +consisted of an only son, apparently not more than eleven or twelve +years of age. He was some years older than that, but the extreme +sensitiveness of his character and ill health gave unusual delicacy +to his appearance. A distant relative of the artist lived with these +two as a housekeeper, and by her needle managed to contribute +something toward the general support. The widow was not yet an old +woman, but loneliness and poverty had exhausted the little +cheerfulness of character that she once possessed. So pale and weary +with toil, she lived on, centering all the hopes and energies of her +dull life in the artist and his motherless boy, the object of his +especial love. + +This old man--this worn, tried woman, whose toil was so constant, +and whose amusements were so few--and the delicate boy--these were +the guests that Mrs. Chester expected. Even in her amusements she +loved to blend the exquisite joy of charity. With every dainty +prepared that day, she had given some gentle thought of the rare +pleasure that it would bring to the old man and his family. + +In the lower story of the house there was also a family, to whom Mrs. +Chester had extended her invitation. It was her wish that every one +sheltered under the roof with her husband should be as joyous and +happy as she was; but she entertained serious doubts whether this +invitation would be accepted. + +The man in the attic sometimes went an errand or carried in a load +of wood, thus cheerfully earning a few shillings for the family at +home. The man on the first floor kept a small thread-needle +establishment. The difference was considerable, and the aristocratic +pride of the man who sold needles, might revolt at the idea of sitting +at the same table with the man who carried in wood. + +Misgivings on this subject gave a slight shade of anxiety to Mrs. +Chester's sweet countenance, as she sat waiting for her guests. She +could just hear the two chickens that lay cosily, wing to wing, in +the oven, simmering in their warm nest. The potatoes in a sauce-pan +in front of the stove were slowly lifting up the lid and pouring their +steam about the edges; and everything promised so well that she began +to feel quite anxious that none of her invited guests should be +absent. + +There really was some cause for apprehension, for the thread-needle +man stationed before the parlor grate below was that moment holding +conjugal council with a tall, dark-featured woman, on the very subject +which cast the one little shadow over Mrs. Chester's expectations. +Dear to him, as the apple of his eye, was the pride of his station; +but then the needle-merchant had members of the corporeal frame, +petted and prompted till it was difficult to resist them. He loved +his dignity much, but dignity was, after all, an abstraction, while +in a good supper there was something substantial. He had returned +home fully resolved not to accept Mrs. Chester's invitation, and in +this his tall wife reluctantly concurred, though a black silk dress +and a gay cap fluttering with straw-colored ribbons, revealed very +plainly that her own inclinations had pointed the other way. + +The Chesters were pleasant people, and she felt that it would be +rather tantalizing to sit down stairs alone all the evening, while +they enjoyed themselves heart and soul above. + +When aristocracy is a matter of opinion, not of power, every man of +course feels compelled to guard his claim to position with peculiar +watchfulness; so with a benign conviction that he and his taller half +had made a laudable sacrifice for the good of society, the little +needle-merchant and his wife sat down together over a weak cup of +tea, feeling rather miserable and disconsolate. They had no children; +and a social evening away from home now and then, was a relief to +the conjugal tete-a-tetes, which will sometimes become a little +tiresome when married people have nothing but themselves to talk +about. + +While the worthy needle-merchant and his wife were sitting at the +table the outer door opened, and a light, quick footstep sounded along +the hall and ascended the stairs, seemingly two steps at a time. There +was something so buoyant and cheerful in this springing footstep, +that it quite aroused the needle-merchant, who got up and opening +the door carefully, peeped into the hall. + +"It is Chester just coming home," he said, thrusting his rosy face +through the opening. "How happy the fellow looks. Hark! here comes +his wife to meet him all in white--upon my word she is a handsome +woman--and here is the little girl bounding forward with her arms +out--and, and--really, my dear, it is refreshing to hear a kiss like +that." + +Here the little man turned ardently back, and standing on his toes +made a fruitless attempt to reach the tall lady's face with his little +pursed-up mouth, which his better half resented with great dignity. +"There, they have gone in now," continued the little man, going +sheepishly to the door again. "They cannot have closed the door +though--Laura--Laura! come here, is not this tantalizing?--turkey +or chickens, one or the other, I stake my reputation upon it, +and--hot--reeking with gravy and brown as a chestnut, nothing less +could send forth this delicious scent. What do you say, Laura? Speak +the word and I am half a mind to go up, notwithstanding the wood +carrier!" + +"You know he does other things. I dare say it is not often that he +stoops to this!" said the wife brightening up and beginning to arrange +her cap before the glass. + +"Probably not--besides he really is a gentlemanly old fellow enough. +I dare say he would not presume upon it if we did sit down with him +for once." + +"Not in the least," replied the wife, fastening a cameo pin, as large +as the palm of her hand into the worked collar which she had just +arranged about her neck. "It will be our fault if he does! You know +it is easy to keep up a certain reserve, even at the same table!" + +"Certainly--certainly--my dear, as you say, we can be _with_ them and +not _of_ them. Just hand out my satin stock from that drawer and give +my coat a dash with the hand brush!" and inhaling a deep breath, the +little man reluctantly closed the door and began a hasty and vigorous +toilet. + +You never in your life saw a finer-looking fellow than Chester was +that night as he kissed his wife, gave the beautiful Isabel a toss +in the air, and patted little Mary on the head, all in the same +minute. + +"Why Jane, what a winter bower you have made of the room," he cried, +his eyes sparkling with delight and surprise as he glanced at the +evergreens, whose soft shadows were trembling like pencil-work on +the walls. Why the very Canary seems all in a flutter of delight! +Cake too, frosted like a snow-bank, and--here he opened the stove +door, "have you been among the fairies, wife! I for one cannot tell +where you raised the money for all this?" + +"Oh, yes, we have been among the fairies, haven't we, little Mary," +cried Mrs. Chester, delighted with her husband's spirits, "the Jew +fairies that give out collars to stitch, and cloth caps to make." + +Nothing but a tear breaking through the happy flash of John Chester's +eyes, could have rendered them so full of joyous tenderness. + +"And so you have done all this for me. You and the poor little angel? +Why you must have worked night and day!--and Isabel, what portion +of the work has my lady-bird done?" added the happy man, sitting down +and placing the child on his knee. + +"Oh, she has done a great deal!" said Mary in a low but eager voice, +creeping to Chester's side. "You have no idea how very handy she is +about the house, has he, Mrs. Chester?" + +Mrs. Chester laughed and shook her head; but further than this she +had no time to speak, for that moment the old man from up stairs came +in, looking quite neat and gentlemanly in his black silk cravat, and +his darned and well-brushed coat. He led by the hand a tall delicate +boy with light brown hair and sad blue eyes; a smile seemed struggling +with a look of habitual pain on his face. He sat down and glanced +around, greeting Mary with a wan smile. The widow followed; her dress +was poverty-stricken but very neat, and upon her face was a look of +patient endurance, indescribably touching. + +"I have invited them to supper," whispered Mrs. Chester to her +husband. "They came so soon I had no time to tell you. The people +down stairs, I expect them, too." + +Chester comprehended it all in an instant. You would have thought +by the way he placed chairs and shook hands with his guests, that +he had been expecting them with the utmost impatience. His manner +brought a cordial smile to the old man's lips, and even the face of +the widow brightened with a pleasant glow. + +"Let Joseph sit here," said Mary Fuller, rising from her stool with +moist eyes, as she saw a spasm of pain pass over the lad's face. +"Perhaps he would rather stay by me." + +The boy lifted his blue eyes to her face, and his heart yearned toward +one who bore such traces of having suffered like himself. + +"I should be glad to sit by her," he said, appealing to his father. +"She knows what it is." + +The next instant his delicate hand was clasped within hers, and Mary +was soothing him in a low voice that sounded like the whisper of an +angel. + +The table was spread, and the young fowls, plump with a rich load +of dressing, were placed upon it. + +These were supported by a fine oyster pie, plates of vegetables, blood +red beets, and the greenest pickles, with a dish of cranberry sauce, +while a bunch of golden green celery curled in crisp masses over the +crystal goblet that occupied the centre of the table. The little +candle-stand on one side, supported the fruit cake, all one crust +of snowy sugar, with the most delicate little green wreath lying +around the edge. Over all this the four lamps shed their light, which +the looking-glass did its best to multiply. Indeed, nothing could +be more perfect than the whole arrangement, except it might be the +fullness of content which sparkled and shone over the face of everyone +present. + +Just as the company were all standing--for each guest had resigned +a chair, which was placed by the table--the needle-merchant and his +wife made their advent, arm in arm, all pompous with a sense of +personal importance, and looking stiffly condescending as they bowed +to the old gentleman and the widow. + +But it was quite astonishing how soon the bustle of sitting down to +supper, the cheerful faces and the fragrant steam that rose from the +plump pullet as Chester thrust his fork into its bosom, seemed to +soften down and carry off all their superfluous dignity. Before the +little needle-merchant knew it, he found himself quite interested +in the old man at his elbow, for after the ladies, Chester had helped +the artist first, and on his plate was a choice morsel of the +chicken's liver which made the little merchant's mouth water. + +Now what does the old gentleman do but hand over this plate, with +a bow, to his next neighbor, and so handsomely, too, that it was quite +impossible for the little man to resist good fellowship a moment +longer? As the coveted morsel melted away in his mouth, the pride +fled from his heart, and in less than three minutes he was the most +natural and happy person at the table. It was delightful to hear him +complimenting Mrs. Chester, while he helped the children good +naturedly, as if he had been the father of a large and uproarious +family for years! Indeed, he was quite surprised at it himself +afterward, but just then it seemed the most natural thing in the +world. + +There was room enough for all. There was pleasure for all. Even the +suffering boy had sunshine in his eyes and smiles upon his mouth, +as he lifted that delicate face to his widow friend; and for the first +time in months, her pale cheeks grew red, and she met the boy's glance +with a smile that did not threaten to be quenched in tears the next +instant. + +Mrs. Chester luxuriated in all this happiness as a flower brightens +in the sunshine. She seemed to grow more beautiful every moment; the +needle-merchant told her so. Chester only laughed, and his own wife +did not frown, but glanced complacently down to her cameo breast-pin, +feeling confident that there she could defy competition. + +The supper was over, the table cleared away, and around the bright +stove they all gathered in a circle, chatting, laughing and telling +stories. Here the old artist's talent came in play, and he made even +the tall lady shake with merriment behind her broad cameo; and the +gentle boy who had crept close to Mary Fuller again, was absolutely +heard to laugh aloud, while Mary's smile was softer and sweeter than +Isabel's shouts of merriment. + +"I say," whispered Joseph to Mary Fuller, "how happy and bright father +is--wouldn't it be pleasant if we could do something to make all the +rest happy as he does?" + +"But we don't know how, like him," answered Mary. + +"I am worse than that, it makes people sad to look at me, but you +have done something, I dare say, to help make them happy?" + +"I helped get the supper and make that," said Mary, pointing to the +birth-day cake which still lay glistening white beneath its wreath +of evergreens. + +"Ah, that was a great deal for you. Now what if I try a little? Bend +down your head. I have a violin up stairs. Father bought it for me +new year's day. It did not cost much, but there is music in it, and +I have learned to play a little. Now I will just steal away and bring +it down without letting them see me. Won't it astonish them to hear +the music burst up all at once from our corner?" + +The boy's eyes sparkled, and he seemed quite animated with his little +plot. + +"That will be pleasant," replied Mary, equally delighted with the +idea. "Let me go! Where shall I find the violin?" + +"In the corner cupboard--there is a little fire-light--you will not +miss it," answered the lad, smiling gratefully. + +Mary stole away and soon returned with the violin. She contrived to +reach the boy without being seen, and the two sat close together, +while he noiselessly tried the strings and fixed the bow. + +There was a momentary hush in the conversation. + +"Now!" whispered Mary, "now!" + +The boy drew his bow, and such a burst of music poured from the +strings, that even Mary started with astonishment. + +"Ha, my son!" said the artist, "that was well thought of! now do your +best!" + +The boy answered only with a smile, but his slender fingers flew up +and down on the strings, the bow flashed across them like lightning, +and the apartment rung with music. + +Spite of all its good resolutions, the Canary bird had gone to sleep, +with its head under one wing, but with the first note of music it +was all in a flutter of delight, and set up an opposition to the +violin that threatened to rend its quivering little form in twain. + +Isabel, light and graceful as the bird, sprang from her seat and began +to waltz about the room, her curls floating in the air, and her cheeks +bright as a ripe peach. She looked like a fairy excited by the music. + +"Come, what if we all get up a dance?" said Chester, approaching the +needle-merchant's wife. + +She looked at her husband. + +"A capital idea!" cried the little man, all in a glow, seizing upon +the hand of the widow. + +"Indeed, I--I--my dancing days are over," faltered the widow, half +withdrawing her hand, but looking provokingly irresolute. + +"Oh, aunty, let me see you dance once, only this once!" cried the +boy, breaking the strain of his music. + +The widow turned a look of tenderness upon her charge, and with a +blush on her cheek was led to the floor. + +"They want another couple--who will dance with me?" said Mrs. Chester, +casting a smiling challenge at the old gentleman. + +"Oh, father, do," cried the boy, "see, they cannot get along without +you." + +"I shall put you all out--I haven't taken a step in twenty years," +pleaded the old man. + +"Never mind, we will teach you--we will all teach you--so come along," +broke from half a dozen voices, and Mrs. Chester laughingly took the +old man captive, leading him to the floor with a look of playful +triumph. + +Isabel, after a vain effort to persuade Mary to join her, took a side +by herself, quite capable of dancing enough for two at least. + +Then the violin sent forth an air that kindled the blood even in that +old man's veins. The dancers put themselves in motion--right and +left--ladies' chain. It went off admirably. The old man was rather +stiff and awkward at first, but the young folks soon broke him in +and he turned, now the little girls then Mrs. Chester, and then the +tall lady with the cameo; true she was on the side, but then the old +gentleman was not particular, and his ladies' chain became rather +an intricate affair at last, he added so many superfluous links to +it. + +But nothing could daunt him after he once got into the spirit of it, +and he went through the whole like an old hero; the only difficulty +was, he never knew when to stop. + +Just in the height of the dance, when the needle-merchant was all +in a glow, balancing to every lady, and getting up a sort of +extemporaneous affair, made from old remembrances of "The Cheat" and +"The Virginia Reel," the whole company stopped short, and he +exclaimed-- + +"Bless my soul!" + +And drawing forth a red silk handkerchief, he made a motion, as if +his forehead wanted dusting. + +"Bless my soul!" he repeated, "Laura, my dear, have the goodness to +look, my love." + +Mrs. Peters turned, and spite of her cameo defences, blushed guiltily. + +"Dear me, my nephew, Frederick Farnham, who would have expected this?" +she exclaimed, instantly assuming her dignity, and gliding from among +the dancers. + +"I couldn't help it, Aunt Peters, I know it is very impertinent for +me to follow you up here, but how could you expect me to stay down +yonder, with the floor trembling over head, and that violin--? I beg +your pardon, sir," continued young Farnham, addressing Chester, "but +the fact is, everything was so gloomy down stairs, and so brilliant; +up here besides you left the door open as if you'd made up your mind +to tempt a fellow into committing an impertinence." + +"Don't think of it, there's no intrusion--my wife has found a +birth-day, and is making the most of it," answered Chester, advancing +toward the door with his hand frankly extended. + +The youth stepped forward, and the light fell upon his face. His eyes +lighted up splendidly as they fell on Chester. + +"What, my fine fellow, is it you?" he said, with a dash of young +Americanism that was only frank, not assuming, while Chester +exclaimed-- + +"I'm glad to see you--heartily glad to see you--come in, come in." + +"Allow me," said Mrs. Peters, with a stately wave of the hand, "Mr. +Chester, allow me to present Mr. Frederick Farnham, my nephew, and +only son of the Mayor of New York--Mrs. Chester, Mr. Farnham." + +"Never mind all about that, aunt," said the boy, blushing at his +pompous introduction, "this gentleman and I have met before--he knows +my father." + +"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Peters, coming out from his retirement, "I am +delighted to hear it; nothing but this was wanting, my dear Chester. +I'm charmed to have been found enjoying your hospitality. Laura, my +dear, we are both charmed; my brother-in-law, the mayor, will be +charmed also--in short, Fred, we are having a charming time of it." + +"I'm sure of it," answered Fred Farnham, pressing his uncle, and +looking earnestly at Mary Fuller till his face became quite serious, +then, turning to Chester, he said in a low voice, "so you keep the +poor girl; I'm glad of it--that was what brought me here." + +No one had observed the artist while this interruption took place; +but as the youth stepped into the light and spoke, a vertigo seized +upon the old man, and staggering back to the wall he leaned against +it, pale and with a wild expression in his eyes. When Mrs. Peters +proclaimed the lad's name this strange agitation subsided somewhat +and took a shade of sadness, as if some train of thought had been +aroused that weighed down his spirits. He seemed to forget that his +partner waited, and sat down by the window, sighing heavily. + +Mrs. Chester remarked this forgetfulness, and with a graceful smile +invited young Farnham to take the place which the old man had +abandoned. Fred smiled his assent, and the dance went on again; but +just as the young musician began to play, there came a knock at the +street door. Isabel ran down to open it, and came back with a letter +in her hand. + +"It is for you, papa," she said, holding up the letter. + +"Very well, put it on the mantel-piece. Some direction from the +captain or chief, I suppose," said Chester. "Come, Isabel, take your +place." + +The little girl ran to her partner, and the dancing commenced again. + +During this interruption, young Farnham happened to come close up +to the artist, and he was struck by the earnest gaze which the old +man fixed on him. Some strange magnetic influence was in the glance, +for it thrilled him from head to foot. He was seized with an +unaccountable desire to hear the old man speak, but all his natural +self-command forsook him. He could not find the courage to utter a +word. Those dark, earnest eyes seemed to have taken away his strength. + +Joseph saw the strange pallor that had come upon his father's face, +and, laying down his violin, crossed the room. + +"What is the matter, are you ill, father?" he inquired in his usual +low voice, "or is it only the light? I thought you looked pale across +the room." + +The artist cast quick wild glances from his son to young Farnham. +At last he drew a heavy breath, and turned with a bewildered air to +his son. + +"What did you ask, Joseph?" + +"Are you in pain? What is the matter, father?" repeated the lad. + +"Nothing--no; I--I am not used to this, you know," faltered the old +man. "Do not mind me, I am well." + +Joseph went away, but cast wistful glances at his father over his +violin. According to the unaccountable desire that had seized him, +young Farnham heard the old man's voice. It ran through his veins +with a glow, as if he had drained a glass of old wine, and it was +some moments before he felt the thrill leave his nerves. Joseph took +up his violin, but anxiety had depressed him, and his music lost its +cheerfulness. + +The dancers took their places, but Fred Farnham still lingered by +the artist. Another strange impulse seized him. He obeyed it and +touched the hand that lay upon the old man's knee. + +The artist started, lifted his eyes and a smile broke over his face. + +"Excuse me," said the youth deprecatingly, "I did not intend it." + +Still the artist kept his eyes upon the boy, without speaking, but +the smile grew sad as he gazed; and when Fred turned to go away, the +hand he had touched was held eagerly forth. + +"Don't--don't leave me yet," said the old man in a low, pathetic +voice. + +"I will come back again," said the youth gently. "I could not help +it if I wished." + +Again the old man smiled, and, bowing his head, allowed the youth +to regain his partner. + +When the set broke up it was to assemble round the fruitcake, which +was cut up by Chester in broad, liberal slices, and then, after +another dance, and a plaintive song from the widow, Chester's +birth-day party broke up, leaving him alone with the family. + +The old artist waited at the head of the stairs, and young Farnham, +who had remained a moment to speak with Chester, found him leaning +against the banisters as he came out. + +"Good night," said the young lad with gentle respect, pausing in hope +of being addressed. + +The artist took the extended hand, and held it between his, without +speaking. Fred felt those old hands tremble. + +"Shall I never see you again?" inquired the artist. + +"Will you let me come and see you?" asked the lad joyfully. + +"Come, come! it will be like the break of day after a dark night." + +"I will come," said the youth earnestly. + +Still the artist kept the boy's hand in his clasp. At length he bent +forward and kissed the lad upon his forehead. + +"God bless you--the God of Heaven bless you!" he said in a low, solemn +voice, and the old man glided away through the dark hall, leaving +Frederick strongly affected by the interview. + +With all her cheerfulness, Mrs. Chester was a little weary after her +guests departed, and leaned against the mantel-piece, longing to sink +into the rocking-chair which the old man had just abandoned. + +Chester approached his wife, and saw the letter lying at her elbow. +A moment of unaccountable dread came over him, but taking the note +in his hand he broke the seal. Mrs. Chester was looking at him as +he read the letter, she saw his face turn pale, then his eyes began +to flash. + +"What is it! what evil news does the letter bring?" she faltered out, +for his countenance frightened her. + +Chester crushed the letter in his hand. + +"I thought that man would follow me!" he said bitterly--"that +cold-blooded, relentless Mayor!" + +"What has he done? Do not keep me in this terrible suspense, Chester," +said the anxious woman. + +"I am ordered to appear before him to answer a charge of drunkenness," +replied Chester, forcing himself to speak calmly, though the huskiness +of his voice betrayed the fierce struggle which the effort cost him. + +"Drunkenness! you!" and a smile of proud scorn swept over the features +of that noble young wife. + +"Let us go to rest," said Chester, taking her hand. "Let us try and +forget this letter!" + +"We were so happy only half an hour since!" said Jane Chester, placing +her hand in that of her husband, and they disappeared in the little +bedroom. + +"But for me, but for me, this had not been!" murmured poor little +Mary Fuller, cowering down by the stove and locking both little hands +over her forehead. "Oh, if I could help it now. If I had never rung +at that cruel man's door. What shall I do--what can I do!" + +"Come, Mary--come roll up my hair--mother has forgotten it," said +Isabel, standing in the closet door where the two girls slept +together, and yawning heavily--for the child was weary with coming +sleep. "What a splendid night we have had--only I am so tired!" + +Mary arose meekly, and sitting down on the bed, began to arrange +Isabel for the night. The eyes of the little beauty were heavy, and +she did not observe the tearful depression that hung over her patient +friend. But during all that night, the beautiful eyes of Isabel alone +in that humble dwelling, were visited with sleep. It was a weary, +weary night for Chester and his wife; but most unhappy of all, was +the poor child whom their charity had warmed into life. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +CHESTER'S TRIAL. + + + In his dusty web the spider lay-- + All bloated and black was he, + And he watched his victim pass that way, + With a quiver of horrid glee! + +A few mornings before the little birth-day party described in our +last chapter, two men were seen to enter the Mayor's office, +accompanied by the Alderman, whom we have seen closeted with him +before. The Mayor was alone in his private room, and the Alderman +left his two companions in the outer office, while he held a moment's +private conversation with his honor. There was a sort of boisterous +exultation in the Alderman's manner, which rather displeased the +Mayor, who looked upon the exhibition of any feeling as a weakness, +but he received his friend with his usual bland smile, and requested +him to be seated. + +The Alderman drew his leather-cushioned seat close to the Mayor, and +laid his broad red hand on his honor's knee. + +"They are here--both the witnesses are here ready to enter a +complaint--I told you they were just the men to nail this Chester?" + +"Here!" said the Mayor, "my friend--my good fellow--you should not +have brought the witnesses here. In all these doubtful cases--do you +understand?--_I_ never receive a direct complaint. It must come +through the Chief of Police. This one especially. He must call upon +me officially to act!" + +"The chief!" exclaimed the Alderman, in dismay, "why Chester is one +of his especial pets. It will never do to entrust the business with +him." + +"Oh! have no fear. His duty forces him to present the complaint, when +once entered, before him. Further than that, he has no power, no voice +in the matter. It rests by law with the Mayor alone. He is +judge--juror. He is _the law_ in these cases, you know." + +"Then you think we may venture the case with the chief?" said the +Alderman, still doubtful. "He will do all in his power to save +Chester, I am certain." + +"But he has no power! He has no right even to hear the evidence, +unless I desire it. His interference is a mere form--but it has a +good appearance--half these fellows know nothing about the law, and +when we break them it casts some of the odium on him. It gives him +an appearance of responsibility, but not a particle of power. Take +your witnesses to the chief--to the chief, my dear fellow, and leave +the rest to me--_to the law_." + +The Alderman rejoined his witnesses, and went to the chief's office. +From that office, twenty-four hours after, was sent the letter which +Chester received on the night of his birth-day. + +The day of trial came. Within the railing of the chief's office sat +his honor, the Mayor, calmly shaving down the point of a pencil, which +he tried from time to time on a sheet of paper that lay on the desk +before him. At his elbow was the clerk, with a quire of foolscap +neatly arranged, and holding a pen idly in his hand. + +In a little room back of the office sat the Chief of Police--his +portly person filling the circumference of a comfortable office chair, +and his jovial, good-humored countenance somewhat clouded with anxiety +for the fate of the noble young man on trial, for he had learned both +to love and respect the accused. His presence was evidently annoying +to his honor, who dreaded the shrewd observation, the keen knowledge +of men and things which would be brought to bear on the examination. +He would rather have encountered the whole bar of New York, than the +sharp, but apparently careless scrutiny of this one man. But there +sat the chief just within the shadow of his private closet, the star +of office glittering on his broad chest, linked to his garments by +a chain of massive gold. The walls behind him were garnished with +heavy oaken clubs, highly polished hand-cuffs and iron shackles, with +various other grim insignia of his office. + +In vain the Mayor moved restlessly in his chair. In vain he turned +his cold and repelling look toward the immovable chief. You might +have seen a covert smile now and then gleam in the eyes of that +obstinate functionary, but otherwise he seemed profoundly unconscious +that his presence was in the least disagreeable. The Mayor did not +venture upon the unprecedented step of requiring him to withdraw, +so after a good deal of meaningless delay, the trial went on. + +Chester stood without the railing which encircled the Mayor and his +clerk. His air was firm, his countenance calm, and almost haughty. +He awaited the proceedings with quiet indignation. Behind him stood +the two men whom he had followed from the dram-shop on the night of +his fall, and in a corner of the office sat Jones, the liquor dealer, +with two or three persons entirely unknown to Chester. + +The Mayor lifted his eyes, but they glanced beyond Chester. With all +his coolness he had not the nerve to look directly into the proud +and searching eyes bent so calmly on him. + +"Is your counsel here, Mr. Chester?" inquired his honor. + +"I am here, needing no other counsel, if I am to have a fair trial," +replied Chester, firmly. + +"I hope you do not doubt that your trial will be a fair one!" said +the Mayor, sharpening his pencil afresh, for he wanted some occupation +for both eyes and hands. + +Chester smiled with so much reproachful scorn, that the Mayor felt +it without turning his glance that way. + +"I am waiting," said Chester, "for proof of the charges that have +been preferred against me!" + +At a sign from the Mayor, the man Smith came forward and was placed +under oath. Chester's eyes were upon him as he touched the book, and +the man turned visibly pale. But in his false oath--for the man +perjured himself in the first sentence--he gained more courage. + +"Chester," he said, "had entered the dram-shop, where he and his +friend"--here the man pointed to his accomplice--"were quietly passing +an hour before going to fulfill an engagement. Here he spent perhaps +half an hour, drinking brandy-and-water by the stove. They had noticed +him particularly, knowing it to be against the law for policemen to +indulge in drinking while on duty. The witness went out with his +companion, leaving Chester by the stove, evidently much affected by +what he had drank. As he and his companion stood beneath an old tree +that grew in front of the liquor store, Chester came forth, reeling +in his walk, and after a vain effort to maintain his foothold, fell +upon the pavement wholly intoxicated. Several other persons saw him +in this position, but the witness and his friend led him home, and +consigned him to the care of his wife." + +It was a plausible perjury, and several innocent persons came forward +to strengthen it. They had seen Chester down upon the ice, and had +been told that he was intoxicated; so in good faith, and with no +intention of wrong, they corroborated the treacherous story that was +to destroy a good name. + +Chester stood by as this story was artfully strengthened by the +sweet-toned and subtle questionings of the Mayor. His face was very +pale, and he trembled from head to foot with honest and stern +anger--nay, he felt something of horror, something unselfish, in +analyzing the cold-blooded craft, and unflinching perjury that had +been brought to bear upon him. There was absolute sublimity in his +pale silence, as he allowed witness after witness to pass from the +box unchallenged--unquestioned. And all this foul perjury the clerk +registered down, and the Alderman who had arranged the charges stood +by to hear. + +Then Chester was called upon for his defence. He stood upright, +grasping the railing with his right hand. His voice was low and +deep-toned as a bell; it made the Mayor start with its clear, +searching accents. He told the truth, the simple, natural truth, as +it has been given to the reader, but with eloquence, and energy which +the pen has no power to describe. + +"That man," he said, turning as he stood, and pointing his finger +at the perjured Smith, "that man--let him step forward and tell the +story he has sworn to, with his face lifted to mine, eye to eye, with +the man he accuses. If he can do this, I ask no other defence. Let +him say who it is that has instigated him to heap this foul wrong +upon an innocent man, what is to be his reward--whose deeper and more +subtle enmity he is working out! Let him but speak these things with +his eye looking into mine, and I am content." + +The craven thus addressed, did look in Chester's eyes as a bird gazes +upon the eye of a serpent; he could not do otherwise--his face, his +very mouth were white; he trembled from head to foot. Conscience +tugging at his evil heart, had well-nigh dragged forth the truth, +but the cold, low voice of the Mayor, drove it back again, even from +his pallid lips. + +"The witness has told his story under oath--others have substantiated +it. You had the right to question him then. There is no reason why +he should undergo a second examination." + +This speech had its desired effect. Smith drew a deep breath, and +putting on an air of dogged bravado, looked round at his companions +like a mastiff who had been just rescued from a fight that threatened +to destroy him. The Mayor fell to sharpening his pencil again, and +the Alderman made an effort to open a little gate in the corner of +the railing, and would have approached his honor. But the constraining +look with which his attempt to open the gate was received by that +prudent functionary, checked him. The Mayor felt that any appearance +of understanding even with the Alderman, might be perilous, while +the Chief sat regarding the proceedings with such real interest and +apparent unconcern. + +"And have you nothing else to offer--no witnesses?" said the Mayor, +addressing Chester. + +"None!" answered Chester, wiping the drops from his forehead. "I have +told the truth; if that is not believed all the witnesses on earth +would be of no avail." + +Then came from an outer chamber, grated by the iron door of a cell +where chance prisoners were sometimes locked, and hung with gilded +stars, and firemen's banners, a young figure diminutive, and of pale +and sickly features. + +"Mary, my poor child!" said Chester, but she only lifted her large +eyes to his an instant, and going up to the railing held to it with +her hand. + +"May I be sworn as those men have been?" she said, addressing the +startled Mayor in the same sweet tones that had claimed his compassion +months before. + +"You! what can you know of the matter?" said his honor sharply, and +almost thrown off his guard. + +"Not much, but something I do know," answered the child meekly. "May +I speak?" + +"But you are too young--how old are you?" cried the Mayor, hoping +to have found a legal reason for sending away the obtrusive little +imp, as he called the child in his heart. + +"I am twelve, sir--just twelve." + +The Mayor cast an uneasy glance at the Chief's closet and then at +the child. + +"Sir," said Chester, "I do not know what this poor child desires to +say, but it is my wish that she be heard." + +"If she is offered as a witness there is no disputing her right to +speak," replied his honor, but with a disturbed countenance, and +taking a little worn Bible, marked with a broad cross from the desk +before him, his honor held it toward the child. + +She took the Bible between both her hands and pressed her lips +reverently upon it. + +"Now," said the Mayor, "what do you wish to say?" + +"It was so still out yonder that I could not help but hear--poor Mrs. +Chester was very anxious, and I thought perhaps some one might give +me good news to carry home." + +"This has nothing to do with the matter, child." + +"I know," replied the little girl, meeting the Mayor's rebuff with +her usual humility. "But I thought perhaps you might ask how I came +by the door. Well, sir, I heard what these men said about Mr. Chester. +I knew their voices, sir, for I have heard them before, on the night +they were talking about, as they stood under the great elm tree +waiting for Mr. Chester to come out." + +"The great elm tree--and how came you there, Mary?" exclaimed Chester, +greatly surprised by the child's appearance. + +"Do you remember, sir, that you were complaining and quite ill that +night before you went out? Mrs. Chester felt very anxious about him, +sir," continued the child, reminded that it was her duty to address +the Mayor. "We sat up together sewing, and after he went out I saw +the tears come into Mrs. Chester's eyes, and once or twice they fell +upon her work. She was crying because her husband--oh, if you only +knew how good he is--was obliged to go out in such bitter cold +weather, when his cough was coming on again. I saw what she was +fretting about, and so as he had been too ill to eat supper, I asked +her to let me make a cup of warm coffee and carry it out to him on +his beat. She would not let me make the coffee, but the idea pleased +her and she made it herself, and poured it into a little covered +pitcher, while I put on a hood and shawl. I knew the way, sir, and +was not in the least afraid of the night or anything else, for the +stars were out and nobody ever thinks of harming a little girl like +me. Some pity, and some laugh; but I am never afraid of real harm +even in the night. I said this to Mrs. Chester, for she did not like +to have me go out alone. She kissed me and said I might go, for God +was sure to take care of me anywhere. Well, sir, I went on, up one +street and down another very slow, for the ice was slippery. Then +I saw Mr. Chester standing on a corner and looking toward the windows +of a store, over which was a great elm tree all dripping with ice. +I knew him by the way he stood and by his star which shone in the +moonlight. Just as I was crossing over the street, with my pitcher +of coffee, I saw a little boy come out from under the tree and speak +to Mr. Chester, who ran over and went into the store. + +"I knew that Mr. Chester would not stay long in that place, and so +crept close up to the trunk of the tree, on the shady side, and +holding the coffee under my shawl, to keep it warm, waited for him +to come out. There had been some noise in the store, as if people +were quarrelling, but all that died away, and then two men came out +and stopped by the tree where I was standing. I kept still as a mouse, +and pressed close up to the dark side, for the men were laughing, +and I was afraid they might laugh at me if I came into the light. +I heard every word that they said, sir, but did not know the meaning +of it till now. + +"'We have got him at last--Jones saw him take the brandy,' said one. + +"'Yes, but he did not drink it; Jones cannot say that.' It was another +voice that made this answer, sir. + +"'But he _will_ say that or anything else likely to get this fellow +out of the way--and so must you, and so will I;' answered the loudest +voice again. + +"Just then Mr. Chester came out of the store. He looked very pale, +but I thought it was only the moonlight striking on him through the +ice that hung all over the elm tree. + +"'Now!' said one of the men, 'now have your foot ready if he comes +this way.' + +"Mr. Chester did come that way, sir, walking carefully on the ice. +But for the men I should have gone up to him at once. I did not like +to let them see me, and so waited a little, meaning to follow him +when they were gone, and give him the coffee. He passed close by us +and fell. I heard the men laugh low--_so_ low just as he came up. I +heard them call out, and saw other people come up. + +"They lifted him from the ice--these two men--and held his face up +to the cold air. I thought that he was dead, his face shone so white, +and it seemed as if the thought hardened me into ice. I could not +speak nor move. Everything went dark around me. I felt the +coffee-pitcher slip from my hand and break upon the stones, but could +not even try to save it. He had been so kind to me--there was only +one thought come to me through the cold--they would take him home +to his wife, dead. I knew it would break her heart, and still I could +not move. When I did get a little strength, those two men were going +down the street, and Mr. Chester walked between them. I followed +after, but the fright had made me weak, and my eyes were so full of +tears that I could only see them moving before me like people in a +fog. + +"Just before I reached the house, two men--the same who had gone home +with Mr. Chester--went by me, walking very fast and laughing. I knew +them by the laugh, for they gave me no time to look up. I hoped by +that to find Mr. Chester not so badly hurt as he seemed. This gave +me strength, and I got home sooner than I should have done. When I +went in Mr. Chester sat by the fire trembling like a leaf, and his +wife stood over him bathing his head, paler than I ever saw her before +or since!" + +The little girl paused here, her eyes fell, and the eager look died +on her face, for she saw that cold, sneering smile, peculiar to the +Mayor, drawing down his upper lip--and it struck a chill to her heart. + +"Did you see the faces of those men--can you point them out again?" +questioned the Mayor. + +"I did not see their faces plain enough to know them again, but by +the voice of that man," and she pointed toward Smith, "I am sure he +was one of them!" + +"And this is all you know!" said the Mayor. + +"It is all!" was the faint reply. "It is all!" and the child crept +to the side of Chester, and put her hand in his. + +He pressed that little hand, looked down kindly upon her, and then +her tears began to flow. + +The Mayor arose. + +"We have heard the evidence," he said, "and it has been carefully +written down. In a few days, or weeks at farthest, the case shall +be decided--it requires consideration; it requires a patient review +of the evidence. Until the decision, Mr. Chester, you are suspended, +without pay." + +The Mayor ended his speech with a gentle bend of the head, and +prepared to withdraw. The clerk rolled up his minutes and the +witnesses went out, anxious to quit a scene that had been more +exciting than they expected. + +Chester stood alone in the office, holding little Mary by the hand, +when the Chief came out from his closet, looking very grave, but with +much friendly sympathy in his manner. He wrung Chester's hand, and +uttered a few cheering words. Chester could not speak. His firm lips +began to quiver, and throwing himself upon a chair, he cast his arms +over the railing, his face fell upon them, and the proud, wronged +man sobbed like a child. + +What all the coldness and falsehood of his enemies had failed to do, +was accomplished by a few words of unaffected sympathy. These alone +had power to wring tears from his firm manhood, and Chester led his +little protege home with a heavy heart, and a heavy, heavy heart was +that which met his with its wild throb of anguish, as he entered the +home where his wife sat weeping, and watching for him. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +POVERTY, SICKNESS AND DEATH. + + + How little would there be of grief or want + If love and honesty held away on earth! + The demon poverty, so grim and gaunt, + But for injustice never need have birth! + Give room and wages for the poor man's toil, + And thus the fiend ye weaken and despoil. + +During six long weeks did the Mayor of New York keep Chester in +suspense, and all that time the heart-stricken man had no means of +support, save that derived from the labor of his wife. Day and night +that gentle woman sat toiling at her needle, the smile upon her lip +chasing the tear from her eye. Her sympathy was all given to the +husband of her choice. She was grieved and indignant at the wrong +that had been done to him. She was a generous and feminine woman, +but her sense of justice was powerful, and her feelings of +condemnation strong against any man who could violate the bonds of +common equity which should bind neighbor to neighbor. + +With that keen intuitive sense that belongs to thoughtful womanhood, +her conviction settled at once on the man from whom her husband had +received his deepest wrong. Great love gave her almost the power of +divination, and with all his craft, the Mayor failed to deceive one +pure-hearted and clear-minded woman. She knew that he was her +husband's enemy, and--blame her not, reader, till you have suffered +similar wrongs--her gentle soul rose up against this man; she could +not think of him without an indignant glow of heart and cheek. She +could not hear his name without a thrill of dislike. She saw her +husband's cheek grow paler each day; she saw his firm step grow weaker +and weaker. In the night-time his hollow cough would start her from +the brief slumber into which she had fallen. Then would the form of +this, his unprovoked and relentless enemy, rise before her mind, and +her soul turned shuddering from the image. + +I know that it is a Christian duty to forgive--that when a bad man +smites one defenceless cheek, we are taught to offer the other to +his upraised hand. But the Lord of Heaven and earth promises no +forgiveness of transgression unless it is followed by repentance; +and where God himself draws the strict line between Justice and Mercy, +let no merely human being be censured for withholding forgiveness +to an unrepented wrong. Forgiveness to injuries for which atonement +is offered is a duty, and a sweet one to the noble of heart. But +without repentance--that soul offering of the sinful--let no man hope +to receive from his fellow what Divine Justice withholds. While we +leave vengeance to the Lord, let His great wisdom decide upon the +duties of forgiveness also! + +And so with an aching heart Mrs. Chester saw her husband sinking +before her. His spirit remained firm but sorrowful; the shadow lay +upon it; but his body, being the weaker, gave way, and continued +suspense was devouring his strength like a demon. Chester knew that +any day he might be called up before that man, branded with the +drunkard's infamy, and cast forth with a sullied character and broken +health to the mercies of humanity. This thought clung around him night +and day, deepening his cough, hollowing out his eyes, and visibly +bowing down his stately form. + +Still Mrs. Chester worked on, and by her side, calm and sweet in her +beautiful gratitude, might always be seen the little Mary, toiling +also, for the mere pittance that supplied the family with food. They +had nothing left for rent--nothing for the thousand little wants that +are constantly arising in a household. These two noble females could +earn food and nothing more; so after a time gaunt poverty came with +the rent-day, and stood before them face to face, darkening the door +with his eternal presence. Then Jane Chester began to tremble--one +by one she gave up to the fiend her little household treasures--her +work-box--her table--every personal trinket, and at last her bed. +The poverty fiend took them all, still crying for more, till she had +nothing to give. Notwithstanding all this, Jane Chester was hopeful; +she would not think that their bright days had wholly departed. Her +husband must be acquitted--he would recover then, and conquer the +disease that anxiety had brought upon him. She said these things again +and again--little Mary listened with tears in her eyes, and Chester +would turn away his head or look upon her with a mournful smile. + +At last, when suspense had eaten into his very life, Chester was +summoned before the Mayor. Excitement gave him unnatural strength +that day, and he obeyed the summons, nerved to meet his fate. + +His honor received him alone, in the Chief's office. A look of +friendly commiseration was on his face, and he took Chester's hand +with a gentle pressure. + +"I have sent for you," he said, relinquishing the burning hand he +had taken, and motioning Chester to be seated--"I have sent for you +as a friend, to advise and counsel you." + +Chester bent his head, but did not speak. He sat down, however, for +his limbs trembled with weakness. + +"I have put off the decision in your case longer than usual," resumed +the Mayor, playing with a pen that lay on the desk before him, +"because I was in hopes that something might come up to change the +aspect of things. It is a very painful case, Mr. Chester, and I wish +the responsibility rested somewhere else--but the evidence was +conclusive. You heard it all--several persons testified to the same +thing--no facts have appeared since, and as a sworn Magistrate, I +must do my duty." + +Chester did not speak, his cheek and lips grew a shade paler than +disease had left them, and he bent his large eyes, glittering with +fever and excitement, full upon the Mayor. + +There was something in the glance of those eyes that made the Chief +Magistrate sit uneasily on his leather cushion. He betook himself +to making all kinds of incongruous marks upon a sheet of paper that +lay before him. + +"I shall be compelled to break you," resumed his honor. "With the +evidence, I could not answer to my constituents, were I to act +otherwise; but there is a way, and it was for this I sent for +you--there is a way by which the disgrace may be avoided. If you +could make up your mind to resign now, on the score of ill-health, +for instance--you really do look anything but robust--all the disgrace +of expulsion would be got over at once, and I should be saved a very +painful task." + +Chester arose, gently and firmly, the blood-red hectic flushed back +to his cheek, and his eyes grew painfully brilliant. + +"You can disgrace me, sir; you can ruin me if you choose, I know that +you have the power--that, against the very letter and spirit of our +institutions, the breath of one man is potent to decide upon the fate +of nine hundred of his fellow men--I know that the accused has no +appeal from your decision if you decide unfairly--no redress from +injustice should you be unjust. Knowing all this--knowing that, save +in the magnitude of his power to do wrong, the autocrat of all the +Russias possesses no authority more absolute than the citizens of +New York have given to you, a single man, and a citizen like +themselves--I say, knowing all this, and feeling in my own person +all the injustice and all the peril it brings upon the individual, +I will not, by my own act, give strength or color, for one instant, +to the injustice you meditate. I will not resign--with my last breath +I will protest, fruitlessly as I know, against the cruel fraud that +has been practiced upon me." + +The Mayor dropped his pen. For once in his life, the blood did rush +into that immovable face--save around the upper lip, which grew white, +as it contracted beneath the nostril, that began to dilate faintly, +as anger got the master over his colder feelings. He turned his eyes +unsteadily, from object to object, casting only furtive glances at +the face of his victim. + +"I have advised you for your own good!" he said at length, "if you +choose to let the law take its course there is nothing more to be +said." + +Chester wiped away the heavy drops from his forehead and his upper +lip, where they had gathered like rain. + +"You are then decided. You will not be advised!" persisted the Mayor, +after a moment's silence, observing that Chester was about to rise. + +"No, I will not resign. Not to save my life would I give this cowardly +recognition of your act. If I am sent from the police, you, sir, must +take the responsibility!" + +Chester took up his hat and walking-stick. + +"I will wait still longer. You may think better of this?" said the +Mayor, rising also. + +Chester turned back, leaning for support upon his walking stick. + +"I have given my answer, I am ready to meet my fate!" and without +another word the unhappy man walked forth trembling in every limb, +and girded as it were by a band of iron across the chest. + +The Mayor watched him depart with an uneasy glance. He had failed +in his usual game of securing a resignation when the responsibility +threatened to become heavy. In this case the presence of the Chief +of Police at Chester's trial--the character of the man, and above +all his own knowledge of the means by which his ruin had been +procured, rendered the worthy magistrate peculiarly anxious. It was +one of those cases that the public might question, especially when +it became known that the principal witness was to receive the place +made vacant by Chester's ruin. He found most men willing to redeem +some fragment of a lost character by resignation, and thus had +craftily frightened many an honest man from his place whom he would +not have ventured to condemn openly. The Mayor had summoned Chester +to his presence with this hope. But the high and courageous nature +of the policeman, the simplicity, the energy and deep true feeling +inherent in him formed a character entirely above the level of his +honor's comprehension. His craft and subtle policy were completely +thrown away here. Following the noble young man, with hatred in his +eye, the Mayor arose muttering-- + +"Though it cost me my seat, he shall go!" and he followed the +policeman, calling him by name. + +"It needs no longer time for a decision," he said, touching his hat +as he passed out of the City Hall, "to-morrow you can bring your star +and your book to the Chief's office; they will be wanted for another!" + +"To-night--I will bring them at once!" said Chester, with a start, +for he was very weak, and the Mayor's voice struck his ear suddenly. +"Then," he murmured to himself, "God help me, to-morrow I may not +have the strength." + +When Chester went out in the morning, his wife had complained of +illness, and this added to his depression as he returned home. "Oh, +what news do I bring to make her better," he thought. "What but sorrow +and pain shall I ever have to offer her on this side the grave? Feeble +as a child--disgraced. Oh, Jane, my wife, how will she live through +all that must too surely come upon her!" + +Saddened by these thoughts, Chester mounted the stairs. He entered +the chamber formerly the scene of so much innocent happiness, and +found Isabel sitting by the fire alone and crying. Chester loved his +beautiful child, and her tears sent a fresh pang through his heart. +The idea crossed his mind that she might be hungry and crying for +food. He had often thought of late, that this want must come upon +them all at last, but now that it seemed close at hand, it made him +faint as death. He sat down and attempted to lift the little girl +to his knee, but he had not strength to raise her from the floor, +and, abandoning the attempt with a mournful look, he drew her close +to his bosom; his forehead fell upon her shoulder, and he wept like +a child. + +Isabel wiped away his tears, and put her arm softly around his neck. +"Oh, papa, don't take on so, I wish I had not cried." + +"And what are you grieving about?" said Chester, struggling with +himself, "were--were you hungry, darling?" + +"No, it was not that, but mamma, you know, had such a headache, and +we wanted to do something for her, but Mary find I could find no +camphor nor cologne nor anything in the house, and poor mamma kept +growing worse, so we made it up between us, Mary and I, to sell the +Canary bird. There was not a bit of seed, nothing but husks in the +cage, and the poor thing begun to hang its head; so don't blame us, +we had no money for seed, and now that you and mamma are both sick, +Mary thought we had better sell the bird." + +Chester groaned, and his face fell once more upon the child's +shoulder. + +"Papa, are you angry," said Isabel, while the tears came afresh to +her beautiful eyes. + +"No, my child, no. It was right, it was best. But your mother, is +she so very ill?" + +"She is asleep now! That was the reason I only cried very softly when +Mary Fuller went away with the bird--Mary made me promise not to cry +out loud, for fear of waking her." + +Chester arose and moved softly toward the bedroom. It had a desolate +and poverty-stricken look--that little room--but still was neatly +arranged and tidy in every part. The bureau was gone, and the +straw-bed, though made with care, looked comfortless in comparison +with the couch in which we first saw Isabel. + +Mrs. Chester was lying upon the bed sleeping heavily, her cheeks were +crimson, and there was some difficulty in her breathing which seemed +unnatural. Still there did not seem to be cause for apprehension. +Since her troubles came on, the poor wife had often been a sufferer +from nervous headaches, and this seemed but a more violent attack +than usual. + +Chester put the hair away from her forehead, and kissing it, softly +went out, thankful that she was not awake to hear his evil news. + +He sat down by the window, for it was now early spring, and Isabel +crept to his side. The little creature found in his presence +consolation for the loss of her bird. They had been sitting together +perhaps half an hour, when Mary Fuller came in; her face bore a look +of keen disappointment, and her eyes were full of tears. + +"You have told him?" she said, addressing Isabel, "you have told him +about it?" + +"Yes, my good little girl, she told me. You were very right to sell +the bird," said Chester, reaching forth his hand. + +The child came close to him and looked earnestly in his face. + +"You look very bad--you are in pain?" she said, "something is the +matter with you, Mr. Chester." + +"I have a little pain here," said Chester, with a sad smile, pressing +one hand upon his breast. "It seems, Mary, as if an iron girdle were +about me, straining tighter and tighter. Sometimes it troubles me +to breathe at all?" + +Mary touched his hand, it seemed as if a glowing coal were buried +in the palm. Her eyes filled with strange terror, and without a word +she sat down at Chester's feet, burying her troubled face in her +garments. + +"Did--did you sell the bird?" asked Isabel, touching Mary's shoulder. + +"Yes," replied Mary, in a smothered voice, "I sold it, but they would +only give me half a dollar. They saw that we wanted money--but I would +not let it go for ever--sometime they will let us buy it back again." + +"Oh, that is so much better! When papa gets his place again, we can +have birdy back," said Isabel, relieved from her most pressing grief; +but the hope so innocently expressed struck upon the poor father's +heart like a knife. When he got his place back! That time would never, +never come! He was disgraced--a branded, ruined man. The full +conviction had been cruelly brought home to him by the words of that +hopeful little girl. A smothered groan broke from him. Little Mary +lifted her head, regarding him sadly, as he paced up and down the +floor. + +"Mr. Chester," she said, following him, and speaking in a troubled +under-tone, "don't look so sorrowful. I wish you could only cry a +little--just a little, it will do you good; come in and see _her_, +perhaps that will bring the tears." + +"It is here, my girl, it is here!" said Chester, laying one hand upon +his chest. "I cannot breathe." + +"Perhaps--oh, I am almost sure it is only the tears that cannot get +to your eyes lying heavy there. That does give dreadful pain--I know." + +"It is something worse than that," said Chester, and the tears gushed +into his eyes. "I feel--I feel that it is"-- + +"Is what, sir? oh you may tell me!" + +"No, it is nothing, God may yet spare me!" + +Mary gazed at him a moment, and then turned away. She entered the +little closet where her bed was, and closing the door, knelt down. +She did not weep as other children of her age might have done, but +clasping her hands, and lifting her meek forehead to Heaven, prayed +in her heart; a little time and the words came gushing to her lips, +earnest, eloquent, and full of deep, simple pathos. Her eyelids +quivered; her mouth grew bright with the soul that troubled it. Her +diminutive frame seemed to dilate and straighten with the energy of +her prayer. + +"Oh, God, oh, my Father, who art in Heaven, Thou who hast made these, +Thy children, so good and so beautiful, look down upon me--bend for +one moment from the bright home where Thou hast taken my own father, +and listen to me, his only child--I am feeble, helpless, and all +alone. Oh, God, no one need grieve or shed a tear upon the earth if +I am laid in my little grave before morning. Look upon me, oh, Lord, +see if I am not a useless and unsightly thing, whom Thy creatures +may look upon with pity, but no love save that which bringeth tears. +Take me, oh, Father, take me from the earth, and leave the good man +with his wife and with his child. I am ready, I am willing, this +night, to lie down in the deepest grave, so this, my kind friend, +live for those who love him so much. Father--oh, my own father, who +art nearer unto God than I am, plead for me, plead for him; plead +that thy little unseemly child, may be taken up to the home where +her father is--and that he who saved, and fed, and sheltered thy +child, may be left to feed and shelter his own." + +It seemed as if the holy spirit of self-sacrifice that possessed this +child, had sublimated both her language and her countenance. Her face, +so thin, so pallid, beamed with the spirit of an angel--the subdued +pathos of her voice, was like the fall of water-drops upon pure +marble. Long after her lips ceased to move her face and hands were +uplifted to Heaven. + +Chester heard the murmur of her voice, and his heart was soothed by +it. He went into his wife's bed-room, and bent gently over her as +she slept. The fever was still hot upon her cheek, and she murmured +in her unrest as Chester took her hand softly in his and pressed his +pale brow upon it. Long and mournfully did the heart-stricken man +gaze upon those loved features. He smoothed the pillow, he spread +the cool linen softly over her arms, he bathed her forehead with cold +water, and afterward with his tears, as he bent down to kiss it before +he went out. + +Then he went into the outer room, and took from a drawer his star, +and his official book. These he folded up carefully and placed in +his pocket. Still he lingered in the room, moving from window to +window, and looking sadly upon his child. + +"Isabel, I am going out, come and kiss me." + +The child came up, cheerful and smiling, with her arms extended. +Chester sat down, and taking her upon his knee, and gathering her +little hands in his, gazed mournfully into her eyes. + +"Isabel!" he said, with a degree of solemnity that filled the child +with awe. + +She looked up wonderingly; he said no more, but sat gazing upon her. +His bosom heaved with a sort of gasping struggle, sob after sob broke +from his lips, and he removed her gently from his knee. He was turning +to go out when Mary Fuller came from her little bedroom. Chester +turned, laid both hands upon her head, and, as she lifted her gentle +eyes to his, he bent down and kissed her--the first time in his life, +and the last. + +With a feeble and slow step, Chester entered the Chief's office, and +rendered up his book and star. He stayed for no conversation, and +only answered the words of sympathy with which he was received by +a faint smile. It was raining when he went forth, and a thick fog +fell low upon the ground. The night was drawing on dark and dreary, +and everything seemed full of gloom. Chester walked on; he took no +heed of the way, but turned corner after corner with reckless haste, +one hand working in his bosom as if he could thus wrest away the pain +that seemed strangling him, and the other grasping his walking-stick +upon which he paused and leaned heavily from time to time. + +It was now quite dark, and Chester found himself in one of those murky +streets that lead out among the shipping. The air came in from the +river struggling through a forest of tall masts, and, as it flowed +over his face, Chester drew almost a deep breath, not quite, for a +sharp pain followed the effort--a cough that cut through his lungs +like a knife--and then gushed from his mouth and nostrils a torrent +of blood, frothy, vividly red, that fell upon his hands and garments +in waves of crimson foam. + +Chester was standing upon the pier. Beyond him was the water--close +by the tall and silent ships. He cast one wild glance on these +pulseless objects and sat down upon the timbers of the pier, grasping +the head of his walking-stick with both hands and leaning his damp +forehead upon them. Faster and faster gurgled up the vital blood to +his lips. Like wine from the press it gushed, and every fresh wave +bore with it a portion of his life. + +Chester thought of his home--his wife, his child--he would die with +them, he would struggle yet with the death fiend and wrest back the +life that should suffice to reach them. He pressed one hand to his +mouth, he staggered to his feet--the staff bent under him to and fro +like a sapling swayed by the wind. He advanced a single step; +faltered, and, reeling back, fell upon the timbers. A sob, a faint +moaning sound, answered only by the dull, heavy surge of the waters +below, as they lapsed against the timbers of the pier. Another moan--a +shudder of all the limbs, and then the fog rolled down upon him like +a winding-sheet. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +WAKING AND WATCHING. + + + Burning with thirst and wild with fever, + She tossed and moaned on her couch of pain; + With an aching heart he must go and leave her; + Never shall they two meet again! + Never? Oh, yes, where the stars are burning + O'er his path to Heaven with a golden glow, + His soul turns back with its human yearning + To watch her anguish and soothe her woe. + +When Mrs. Chester awoke from her slumber, which had been one wild +and harrowing dream, she inquired of the children, who were early +to her bed, if their father had not come back, and if there was yet +no tidings from the Mayor's office. They answered that he had but +just left the house, and that he had been with her nearly an hour +as she slept. She smiled gently, and closing her heavy eyes, turned +her head upon the pillow, moaning with the pain this slight motion +gave. + +Mary went to the little supper table which she had spread in +anticipation of Mr. Chester's return, and came back with a bowl of +warm tea in her hand. + +"If you can only drink a little of this ma'am," she said, stirring +the tea with a bright silver teaspoon, the last they had left of a +full set, "it always does your head so much good!" + +Mrs. Chester rose upon her elbow and attempted to take the tea, but +her head was dizzy, and after the first spoonful she turned away in +disgust. + +"I cannot drink it. Oh, for a glass of cold, cold water!" + +Mary ran into the next room and came back with some water. But it +tasted tepid to the poor invalid, and she only bathed her parched +mouth with it. + +"You are ill, you are very ill, ma'am," said Mary; "this does not +seem like nothing but a slight headache. May I run for a doctor?" + +"We have no money to pay doctors with, my child," said the poor +invalid, clasping her hot fingers together, "now that I am sick, who +will earn bread for you all? who will comfort _him_?" + +"I will do my best, and so will Isabel!" replied Mary, "besides, +perhaps--" + +The child paused and her eyes fell. She was about to say that perhaps +the Mayor might not be so very hard on Mr. Chester, after all; but +remembering the look and manner of that unhappy man, she could not +say this with truth, knowing well, as if it had been told her in +words, that her benefactor had no hope. "Perhaps," she added, +"something may happen. When it was at the worst with me, you know +something happened." + +"And surely it is at the worst with us now," murmured Mrs. Chester, +meekly folding her hands, "no, not the worst," she added, with a wild +start, "for I am not a widow yet." + +God help the poor woman. She was a widow, even then. + +The two children sat up that night watching by the sick, and waiting +for the father to return, who lay so cold and still upon the sodden +timber of that dismal pier. They had eaten nothing all day--at least +Mary had not--and now they cut the sixpenny loaf in slices and partook +of it, leaving a small covered dish, which had been prepared for +Chester, untouched. His supper was sacred to those little girls. +Hungry and worn-out as they were, neither of them even once glanced +at it longingly. They were quite content with the dry bread, and even +ate of that sparingly, for Mrs. Chester had asked for ice, and various +little things in her delirium--she was delirious then--and the +children ran out after everything she mentioned, hoping to relieve +the terrible state she was in, till they had but one shilling left. + +So they made a sparing meal of the bread--those poor little +creatures--and a cup of cold water, for the tea must be saved for +him and for her. "Children," they said, with tears in their eyes, +"ought not to want such things." + +With all her brave effort to sit up till her father came, poor little +Isabel dropped to sleep with her head upon the table, weary and almost +heartbroken, for she was not used to suffering like Mary Fuller, and +her childish strength yielded more readily. After this, Mary sat +watching quite alone, for Mrs. Chester had muttered herself into a +feverish sleep, and the house was in profound silence. + +Then came upon Mary Fuller a terrible sense of the desolation that +had overtaken them. Dark and shadowy thoughts swept over her soul, +leaving it calm, but oh, how unutterably miserable. This foreshadowing +of evil fastened upon her like a conviction. She felt in the very +depths of her being that some solemn event was approaching its +consummation that very moment. She ceased to listen for Chester's +coming, but hushing her tread, as if in the close presence of death, +crept away to a corner and prayed silently. + +There are moments in human life when persons linked together in a +series of events may form tableaux, which stand out from ordinary +grouping, like an illustration stamped in strong light and shadow +on the book of destiny. Thus was Chester's household revealed on that +solemn midnight. + +Mary Fuller, upon her knees, her small hands uplifted, her face turned +to the wall; Isabel, with her lovely head pillowed on her arms; and, +through an open door, Jane Chester, in her feverish sleep, with the +pale lamplight glimmering over them all--this was one picture. + +Another, equally distinct in its mournful outline, was revealed to +the all-seeing One alone. + +Upon that dark wharf, among the motionless ships, that seemed like +spectres gazing upon his hushed agony, Chester still lay, shrouded +by the heavy clinging fog. The tide rose slowly lapping the sodden +timbers which formed his death-bed, and creeping upwards, inch by +inch, like the weltering folds of a pall. The whisper of these waters, +black and sluggish, gurgling and creeping toward him, was the last +sound poor Chester ever heard on earth. + +Oh, it was a wretched picture that might have won pity from the +ghostlike shrouds and spars which hedged it in as with a forest of +blasted trees. + +One more picture, and the night closes. The Common Council was in +session. Both marble wings of the City Hall were brilliantly +illuminated, and crowds of eager spectators gathered around the two +council chambers. Some fifty or sixty poor and efficient men were +to be turned out of office, and the populace were eager to witness +the jocose and delicate way in which the New York city fathers +decapitated their children. To have witnessed the smiling jests that +passed to and fro in the Board, the quiet and sneering pleasure of +one man--the careless tone of another--the indifferent air of a +third--you would have supposed that these wise men had met to perform +some great public benefit. It seemed like a gala night, the majority +were so full of generous glee. + +And why should they not be jovial and happy in the legislative halls? +What was there to dampen their spirits in these gay proceedings? True, +the heads of fifty or sixty families were thus playfully deprived +of the means of an honest support. Efficient and experienced men were +taken from almost all the city departments, and cast without +occupation upon the world. Men who had toiled in the city's service, +for years, for a bare livelihood, were suddenly cast forth to want +and penury. It was in the season of a terrible epidemic, and +physicians who had braved pestilence and death, heaped together in +the great hospitals of the city--who had made a home of the +lazar-house, when to breathe its atmosphere was almost to die--were +among those who were to be given up as victims to party. + +These men, some of them yet trembling upon the brink of the grave +from pestilence, inhaled while nobly performing duties for which they +were scarcely better paid than the commonest soldier--these were the +men whom our city fathers were so blandly and pleasantly removing +from their field of duty. Was it wonderful, then, that the whole +affair seemed quite like pastime to those engaged in it; or that they +made themselves jocosely eloquent upon the subject, whenever one of +the grave minority ventured to lift his voice against the proceedings? + +When the two Boards broke up for recess, nothing could exceed the +spirit and good fellowship with which they went down to supper. The +Mayor was present, for having been an Alderman himself, he always +knew when anything peculiarly agreeable to his taste was coming off +at the hall. The President of the Upper Board was in splendid spirits, +and altogether it was a brilliant scene when the Mayor took his seat +next the President, and the aldermen and assistants ranged themselves +on either side the groaning board. + +With what relish the city fathers ate their supper that night! Birds +worth their weight in gold vanished from their plates as if they had +taken wing. Great, luscious oysters, delicately cooked after every +conceivable fashion--canvas-backed ducks, swimming in foreign +jellies--turkeys and roasted chickens, that went from the table whole, +being too common for men who had learned to indulge in wild game and +condiments at the cost of ten thousand a year--decanters, through +which the wine gleamed red and bright, interspersed here and there +with others of a darker tinge and more potent flavor--brandied fruit +and rich sweetmeats, all shed their dull sickening fragrance through +the tea-room. The flash of glasses in the light; the flash of coarse +wit that followed the drained glasses; the clatter of plates; the +noiseless tread of the waiters--why it was enough to make the silver +urn and curious old pitchers start of themselves from the side-board +to claim a share in the feast. It was enough to make the public +documents, prisoned in the surrounding book-cases, shiver and rustle +with an effort to free themselves from bondage. + +The very fragments of that official supper would have fed many a poor +family for weeks; but the city fathers really did enjoy it so much +it would have been a pity to dampen their spirits by an idea so at +variance with their action. They had consigned at least fifty +blameless families to poverty that night, and surely that was labor +enough without troubling themselves about the means by which they +were to be kept from perishing. + +You could see by the quiet smile upon the Mayor's lip, as he arose +from the supper table, and helped himself to a handful of cigars from +a box on the side-board, that he was in excellent spirits. A +distinguished guest from the country partook of the city's hospitality +that night, and as the two lighted their cigars, they conversed +together on city matters. + +"To-morrow--to-morrow," said his honor, "you must go over our +institutions--Bellevue, the Island, and the various Asylums." + +The stranger shook his head. + +"Not to Bellevue, if that is where your people are dying off so +rapidly of ship-fever," he said. "I have a terror of the disease; +why I saw it stated that half the physicians at your Alms House were +down with it, and that three or four out of the number have died this +season." + +"Yes," said the Mayor, lighting a cigar, "the mortality has been very +great at Bellevue, especially among the young doctors. They are +peculiarly exposed, however." + +"I should think," said the stranger, laying down his cigar, for he +could not find the heart to smoke quietly, when conversing on a +subject so painful, "I should suppose it would be difficult to find +persons ready to meet almost certain death, as these young men are +sure to do. It must be a painful task to you, sir, when you sign their +appointments. It would seem to me like attaching my name to a death +warrant." + +"Yes," replied the Mayor, taking out his cigar and examining the end, +for it did not burn readily; "it is very disagreeable. Why, sir, the +city has paid, already, nearly five hundred dollars for funeral +expenses; and there is no knowing how far it may be carried." + +The stranger looked up in surprise; he could not believe that he had +heard aright--that the Mayor of New York was absolutely counting, +as a subject of regret, the funeral cost attending the death of those +brave young men who had perished amid the pestilence, more bravely +a thousand times, than warriors that fall on the battle-field. + +But as he was about to speak again, several aldermen who still +lingered at the table, called loudly for the Mayor. + +"I say," said the Alderman, who has been particularly presented to +the reader, leaning over the back of his chair, with a glass of wine +in one hand--"I say, have you settled that Chester yet? My man is +getting impatient." + +"Hush!" said his honor; "not so loud, my good friend. Bring in the +nomination to-morrow--I gave Chester his quietus this afternoon." + +And so he had; for while this scene was going on at the City Hall, +the two pictures we have given, were stamped upon the eternal pages +of the Past, and so was this. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +CHESTER'S HOME IN THE MORNING + + + It is dancing--dancing--dancing, + Oh, the little purplish sprite! + Now moving, shining, glancing + Through the mazes of the light. + +The grey morning dawned gloomily on Chester's desolated home. Isabel +awoke and looked around with dull and heavy eyes. The beauty of her +young face was clouded by a night of sharp anxiety and broken rest. +Mary sat opposite, leaning with both elbows on the table, and +regarding the poor child with a haggard and sorrowful countenance. + +"Has he not come back--oh, Mary, is he not here yet?" + +Mary shook her head. "I have been awake all night, every moment. He +has not come!" + +"And I--how could I sleep with my poor father away, and mamma so ill? +I did not think that anything could make me sleep at such a time, +Mary!" + +"But, you were so tired; oh, I was glad when your head drooped on +the table; it looked so pitiful to see you growing paler and paler, +while she kept muttering to herself. I was glad that you could sleep +at all, Isabel." + +"I feel now as if I should never sleep again," replied the child, +looking at the covered plate where her father's supper had been +standing all night. "He will never come back, Mary Fuller, I feel +sure of it now!" + +Mary did not answer--she only covered her eyes with one hand and sat +still. + +Isabel arose, took the covered plate in both her hands and placed +it in the cupboard, weeping bitterly. This act showed even plainer +than her words that she really did not expect to see her father again. +She crept back to Mary, and, leaning upon her shoulder, began to cry +with low and suppressed passion. Poor thing, it is a hard lesson when +childhood first learns to curb its natural grief. + +"What shall we do, Mary?" whispered the poor child, burying her wet +face upon Mary's shoulder that received its burden unshrinkingly; +"oh, what can we do?" + +"Isabel," said Mary, solemnly, "what should we do if--if your father +should be dead?" + +"He is dead--or very, very sick--I am sure of that; what else could +keep him from home, and mamma calling for him so pitifully? Mary, +I am sure that he is dead; we shall never, never see him again!" and, +with a burst of terrible grief, the poor child flung her arms around +Mary Fuller, and sunk to the floor, almost dragging the little girl +with her. "Mary, he is dead--he is dead!" + +"Who is dead--who is dead, I say? Why do you crowd the room with those +little dancing creatures, all in loose clothes--scarlet, gold, purple, +green--why do you not send them away?" cried the voice of Mrs. +Chester, and there was a rustling of the bed-clothes, as if she were +trying to cast them from her. + +The children held their breath, and cowered close together. Again +Mrs. Chester spoke: + +"Leave the children, leave them; I did not tell you to drive the +children away; Chester, Chester, they are taking our children off; +Isabel--Mary Fuller, come back!" + +"I am here--no one shall take me away," said Mary Fuller, bending +over the bed; "Isabel, too, is close by your pillow--she has been +crying to see you so sick; do not mind her eyes, they will grow bright +again when you are well!" + +Mrs. Chester started up in the bed. A moment of consciousness seemed +to come over her. She looked at Mary and at Isabel, and spoke to them +in a whisper, leaning half out of bed-- + +"Girls, where is he? tell me now, Mary, that's a good little +girl--what have they done with him?" + +The children looked at each other, and Isabel began to sob. + +"How long is it since I went to sleep? He was here, you know!" said +the invalid. + +"Only a little while!" answered Mary, quickly. "You have not slept +long." + +"Oh! I thought--but then people will dream such things--I say, just +tell me--come, will he be back soon--can't you tell me that, little +folks?" + +"Lie down, there, now take a glass of ice-water, and I will go after +him," said Mary, exerting all her little strength to persuade the +invalid back to her pillow. + +"Ice, ice! give me a whole handful--no water, but clear cold ice!" + +They gave it to her; in her burning hands and her parched mouth they +placed the crystal coldness; and it slaked the burning fever. It +melted in her hand, dripping in soft rain down her arms and over her +bosom, where the hand lay clenched tightly upon its cool treasure. +With her white teeth she crushed the diamond fragments in her mouth, +and laughed to feel the drops flowing down her throat. + +"Now, Mary, little Mary Fuller, go and tell him that I am wide awake, +and waiting for him! Go now, while the ice is plenty, he shall have +a share." + +"I will go!" said Mary, and drawing Isabel from the room, she told +her to stay close by her mother, and let her have anything she wanted. +While giving these directions she put on her hood and shawl. + +"I will find him; I will not come back without news; but, oh! Isabel, +I have little hope of anything but news that will kill her, and almost +kill us; I would not say this, but it has been in my heart since ten +o'clock last night. I was all alone, and--don't cry again, Isabel--it +seemed to me as if he died then!" + +Isabel turned very pale, and gazed upon Mary in terrible silence. + +"And I was asleep then?" she said, with a pang of self reproach. + +"Hush!" said Mary, "in our sleep we must be nearest to Heaven; why +should you feel bad because you were closer to him than I was?" + +"I dreamed of him!" answered Isabel, as if struck by some sudden +remembrance, and her eyes so heavy the moment before, lighted up; +"I dreamed of him!" + +"And what did you dream, tell me, Isabel--what did you dream?" + +"I don't know all--but he was away in such a beautiful, beautiful +place; the hills were all purple and gold and crimson with light, +or flowers or something that made them more lovely than anything you +ever set eyes on. The rivers were so clear that you could see down, +down into the water--and the banks, all covered with flowers, seemed +to slope down and line the bottom with soft colors that broke up +through; it was all shifting and rolling before me like a cloud. But +as true as you live, Mary, I saw my father there, and--yes--now I +am sure--mamma was with him--she was, Mary Fuller; and so you see +they will meet again, if there is anything in dreams. You will find +him, I am sure you will find him. Oh, Mary. I am so glad that I fell +asleep, while you were watching!" + +Mary did not speak, but threw her arms around the beautiful child, +kissing her tenderly before she went forth. + +"It was a sweet dream!" she murmured, going down the stairs; "I had +many such before my father died. I suppose God sends them to comfort +little children when he makes orphans of them--but I never saw my +mother and father together; oh, if I had but seen that only once!" +With these thoughts Mary Fuller passed into the street, pursuing her +mournful errand with a heavy spirit. "I will go," she said, communing +with herself; "I will go first to the Chief's office--Mr. Chester +took away the star and book in his pocket, and must have gone there. +They will know something of him at the Chief's office;" and she bent +her way to the Park. + +It was a bright spring morning. The fog which had hung upon the city +over night, was swept upward by the sun, and lay upon the horizon +in a host of fleecy clouds. The trees around the Park fountain and +the City Hall, were in the first tender green of their foliage, and +the damp night had left them vivid with moisture, through which the +sun was shining. The fountain was in full force at the time, shooting +up its columns of diamond spray to the very tree-tops. Gleams of +sunshine laced the myriads and myriads of liquid threads together, +with a rainbow that seemed to tremble and break every instant, but +always shone out again brighter than before. The rush and hum of the +waters, the showers of cool and broken spray, the soft shiver of the +leaves and the young grass just peeping from the earth all around, +were enough to make a happy heart beat happier tenfold, under the +influence of so much beauty. But poor little Mary looked upon the +scene with a heavy eye; all the fresh growth of nature seemed but +to mock her as she passed through it. She would have given worlds +for power to convey the sweet air that swept with such cool +prodigality by her face, to the close room of Mrs. Chester. It seemed +a sin to breathe that delicious spring breeze, while her benefactress +lay panting on her sick-bed. + +The chief received the little girl very kindly, and gave her all the +information he possessed regarding Chester; but that was very little, +only dating half an hour from the time that unhappy man left home. + +Mary turned away with an aching heart--where should she go? of whom +might she inquire? The broad city was before her, but to what part +must her search be directed? + +Mary crossed the Park and moved down towards the corner of Ann street. +She paused for a moment, pondering over the heavy doubt in her mind, +when a cart, over which an old blanket had been flung, guarded by +two policemen, drove by her. Something smote her heart as the rude +vehicle passed her; it seemed as if she could detect the outline of +a human form beneath the blanket. She started, and followed the cart. +It rolled slowly up Broadway and turned into Chambers street--along +the whole length of the old Alms House buildings it went, and still +the little girl followed, trembling in every limb and scarcely drawing +a full breath. + +The cart stopped at the point nearest to that building, where the +unrecognized dead were carried. The two policemen drew away the +blanket, and there, outstretched upon a piece of carpet, Mary saw +her benefactor. She moved slowly forward; she clung with her cold +hands to the side of the cart, and bent her eyes upon that still, +white face. The sunshine lay upon it, and the breeze swept back from +that marble forehead the bright hair that she had seen Mrs. Chester +arrange so often. It might have been the sunshine--or perhaps that +God, "who careth for the fall of a sparrow," had left a smile upon +those white lips to comfort the little girl; for it is in small things +often that the goodness of our Heavenly Father is most visible. + +"He is smiling--oh, he smiles on me," cried the child, with a burst +of tears, lifting her face to the policeman, with a look that went +to his heart. "He has not smiled like that, not once since his +birth-day," and overcome with all the sweet recollections of that +day, the child covered her face and wept aloud while the bystanders +stood, lost in sympathy, gazing upon her. + +"Did you know this man?" questioned one of the officers, addressing +the child, and motioning the driver to be quiet, for he had other +work to do, and was in haste to get the body of Chester into the +dead-house. + +"Did I know him?" repeated the child, looking up through her tears +with an expression of wonder that he should ask the question. "Did +I know him?" + +"If you did," rejoined the man, "tell us his name, and perhaps we +need not carry him in there." + +"In where?" said the child, looking wildly at the building to which +the man pointed. "That is not his home." + +"No, it is the dead house," replied the man. + +"The dead house?" repeated the child, and her lips grew pale with +horror. "And must he go in there?" + +"Not if you can point out his home; perhaps he is your father?" + +"He was more than that--he was--oh, sir, you do not know how much +he was to me!" + +"Well, what was his name? if you can tell us that, we will take him +home at once. The coroner has seen him--there is nothing to prevent." + +"His name, sir," answered the little girl, making a brave effort to +speak calmly. "His name was John Chester." + +"John Chester! that is the man who held the place that Smith has got +this very morning. I saw him at the Mayor's office not half an hour +ago with the appointment in his hand," said the officer, addressing +his companion. + +"Poor fellow, poor fellow, it was a hard case!" and the policeman +reverently settled the body upon the cart and bade the driver go to +the Chief's office and bring a cloak which he had left there. + +While the man was absent, there came along Chambers street two persons +walking close together and conversing earnestly. They were passing +the cart without seeming to heed its mournful burden, when Mary Fuller +looked up and saw them. A faint cry broke from her lips, her eyes +kindled through the tears that filled them, and drawing her bent form +almost proudly upright, she stood directly before the gate, through +which the Mayor and his companion were about to pass on their way +to the City Hall. + +"Sir," she said, with dignity which was almost solemn from its +contrast with her frail person, pointing with one pale and trembling +finger toward the cart, "turn and look." + +The Mayor at first stepped back, for the sight of that little creature +was loathsome to him, but there was something in her attitude and +in her eye which he could not resist. He turned in spite of himself, +and his eyes fell upon the dead form of Chester. For an instant his +face changed, a pallor stole over his lips, and he trembled in the +presence of the wronged dead; but he was a man whom emotion never +entirely conquered, and turning coldly from the child, he went up +to the cart and addressed the policeman in charge of the corpse. + +"How and where did this man die?" he said, in his usual cold voice. + +"He died in the street--alone upon a pier unfrequented after dark. +Last night somewhere between nine o'clock and morning was the time. +The coroner renders in his verdict, hemorrhage of the lungs." + +"He died," said the little girl, solemnly gazing upon the dead, "he +died of a broken heart. I know that it was of a broken heart he died." + +"Men do not die of broken hearts in these days," said the Mayor, +turning away. "It is only women and children that talk of such things. +See," he continued, addressing the officer, "that the body is taken +to his house and properly cared for. This should be a warning to all +in your department, sir." + +The policeman bit his lip and his eyes flashed. The only answer that +he made was given in a stern voice. + +"I will do my duty, sir!" + +The Mayor passed on, joining his companion. The ruddy face of the +Alderman was many shades paler than usual, and his voice faltered +as he addressed his friend. + +"This is very shocking. If I had known that it would end so, I, for +one, would have had nothing to do with it." + +"I am sorry that you are dissatisfied," answered his honor, coldly. +"The case you brought against the man seemed a very clear one--nothing +could have been stronger than the evidence, otherwise, with all my +disposition to serve you, I should not have acted as I did." + +The Alderman paused in profound astonishment, his eyes wide open, +and his heavy lips parted, gazing upon the impassive form of his +friend. + +"But, sir, but"--he could not go on, the profound composure of the +Mayor paralyzed him. He really began to think that the whole guilt +of this innocent man's death rested with himself, that he had +altogether misunderstood his honor from the first. + +Having deepened and settled this conviction upon his conscience-stricken +dupe by a lengthened and grave silence, the Mayor added, consolingly: + +"In political life these things must be expected; of course no one +is responsible for the casualties that may occur; no doubt this man +was consumptive long before you ever saw him!" + +"I wish that he had never crossed my path, at any rate," replied the +Alderman, almost sternly. "To my dying day I shall never forget that +face! I do not know, I cannot think, how I was ever led into +persecuting him. Smith wanted the appointment, true enough, and he +had done something toward my election, but so had fifty others; how +on earth did I ever come to take all this interest in his claim?" + +An expression that was almost a smile stole over the Mayor's lip, +as he received this compliment to his consummate craft, and the two +passed on. + +Meantime, the policeman returned from the Chief's office with a cloak, +which was placed reverently over the body of poor Chester. The little +girl crept close to the cart, and arranged the hair upon that cold +forehead as the poor wife had loved to see it best. The cart moved +on with its mournful lead, at last, and she followed after. + +How sad and heavy was that young creature's heart, as she drew near +the once happy home! She began to weep as they stopped by the door. + +"Let me! oh, let me go up first. It will kill them to see him all +of a sudden, in this way," she pleaded. + +The driver had lost much time, but he could not resist that touching +appeal. + +"It is a dreadful thing," he said,--"let her go up first." + +Poor child! Heavy was her heart, and heavy was her step as she mounted +the stairs. She paused at the door. Her hand trembled upon the latch; +her strength was giving way before the terrible trial that awaited +her. But, she heard them from below lifting in the dead. She heard +the heavy cloak sweeping along the hall, and, wild with fear that +it would all come upon poor Mrs. Chester while she was unprepared, +she turned the latch and went in. + +The chamber was empty. Mary ran to the little bedroom. It was as still +as a grave. The tumbled bed was unoccupied; the bed-clothes falling +half upon the floor. Upon the stand was a glass of water, and a lump +of ice lay near it. The loose night-dress which Mrs. Chester had worn, +lay trailing across the door-sill, and a pillow rested upon the side +of the bed, indented in the centre, as if some one sitting upon the +floor had rested against it. + +When the three men came in, bearing Chester's body between them, Mary +stood gazing upon this desolation in speechless and pale astonishment. + +"They are gone," she said, turning her wild eyes upon the men. "Some +one must have told her what was coming, and she could not bear it." + +"No one here?" questioned one of the officers, "only this little girl +to watch over him?--this is strange!" And the three men paused in +the midst of the room, gazing upon each other over their mournful +burden. + +"Smooth up the bed a little, and let us lay him there!" said the +driver, becoming impatient with the delay. + +"Not there--_she_ will come back--she could not go far--on my bed--lay +him here, on my bed and Isabel's. It is made up--no one slept in it +last night!" exclaimed Mary, opening the door of her little room. + +They laid poor Chester upon the bed that his noble benevolence had +supplied to the orphan who stood weeping over him. The rustle of that +poor straw, as it shrunk to meet his body, was a nobler tribute to +his memory than a thousand minute guns could have been. + +They were about to arrange his head upon the bolster, but Mary went +into the next room, in haste, and brought forth the pillow which still +revealed the pressure that Mrs. Chester had left upon it. + +"Lay him upon her pillow," said the child. "He would have asked for +it, I know." + +Those stout men looked upon the child with a feeling of profound +respect. They drew back, and allowed her to arrange the death-couch +according to her own will. She could not bear the stiff and rigid +position in which they had placed him, but laid the hands gently and +naturally down. When she turned away, the cold look had been softened +somewhat, and in the solemn repose of death there was blended the +sweetness of that calm, deep slumber, when the soul is dreaming of +Heaven. + +The three men went forth, and Mary followed them, closing the door +reverently after her. + +"I must stay with him," she said, "Mrs. Chester and Isabel are gone; +he must not be left alone, or I ought to go in search of them. She +was very, very ill, and out of her head I am afraid, and poor Isabel +is only a little girl that would not know what to do!" + +"I will search for them," said one of the policemen, kindly. "Stay +here till some one comes--I am far more certain to find them than +such a little thing as you would be." + +They left the child alone. For a little time she sat down and wept, +but her grief was not of a kind to waste itself in tears, while +anything remained undone that could give comfort to others. + +"They will bring her back--they will both come," she said, inly, +checking her tears. "I will make up her bed, and find something for +Isabel to eat; she had no breakfast, and did not relish the bread +last night. If they find everything snug and tidy it will not seem +so bad." + +So the little girl went to work, putting everything in its place, +and noiselessly removing the dust that had settled on the scant +furniture. Alas, there was not much for her to do, for those desolated +rooms contained few of the comforts that had once rendered them so +cheerful. When the bed was arranged and the outer room swept, Mary +sat down a moment, for grief and watching rendered her very weary, +and she was so young that the profound stillness appalled her. Then +there came a faint knock at the door, and she was arising to open +it when Joseph stood on the threshold. + +"I saw it all from the window, and thought that you might be glad +to have some one sit with you," said the gentle boy, moving across +the room. + +Mary looked up, and these low words unsealed her grief again. + +"Oh, Joseph! Joseph! they are gone. He is dead. He is lying in there, +all alone!" + +"I know it," answered the boy, sitting down by her, "and I was just +thinking how strange it was that people so handsome and so good, +should be sick and die off, when such poor creatures as you and I +are left." + +Mary looked up eagerly through her tears. + +"Oh, you don't know how I prayed, and prayed that God would only take +me, and let him live! But He wouldn't; He didn't think it best; here +I am, stronger than ever, and there _he_ is!" + +The boy sat still and mused, with his eyes bent on the floor. + +"It does seem strange," he said, after a time, "but then God ought +to know best, because He knows every thing." + +"I said that to myself, when I saw him on the cart with that wicked, +wicked Mayor looking on," answered Mary. + +"I dare say Mr. Chester was so good to every body that perhaps he +had done enough, and ought to be in Heaven, and it may be that there +is a great deal for you to do, yet, little and weak as you seem. I +shouldn't wonder!" + +"What could I do, compared to him?" answered Mary, meekly. + +"I don't know, I am sure, but I dare say that God does," replied the +little boy. + +Mary did not answer. Oppressed by the mournful solitude of the place, +worn out by long watching and excitement, she could hardly find +strength to speak. Still it was a comfort to have the boy in the same +room, and his gentle efforts at consolation comforted her greatly. + +"That--that is Isabel's step," she said, at length, lifting her eyes +and fixing them upon the door. "How slow--how heavy! She is alone, +too. Oh, Joseph, do not go away, I cannot bear to tell her yet." + +"I will stay!" said the boy. + +The door opened, and Isabel came in. She was hardly beautiful then. +Her cheeks were pale; her eyes heavy and swollen, and the raven hair +fell in dishevelled waves over her shoulders. She crossed the room +to where the two children sat, and seating herself wearily on the +floor, laid her head in Mary's lap. + +"She is gone, Mary, I cannot find her anywhere," said the child. "I +have been walking, walking, walking, and no mother--no father. I don't +know where I have been, Mary, I don't know what I said to the people, +but they couldn't tell me anything about them." + +"Poor Isabel!--poor little Isabel!" said Mary, laying her thin hand +upon the child's head, and turning her mournful look on Joseph, who +met the glance with a sorrowful shake of the head. + +"I am tired out, Mary. It seemed to me a little while ago, that I +was dying; and if it hadn't been for thinking that you would be left +alone, I should have been glad of it." + +"Oh, don't, Isabel, don't talk in that way!" said Mary, "you are tired +and hungry--she must be hungry," and Mary looked at the boy. "See +how the shadows are slanting this way, and she hasn't tasted a +mouthful since last night." + +"I don't know; I hadn't thought of it--but I believe I am hungry," +and the big tears rolled over Isabel's cheeks. + +Mary arose and placed that little weary head upon the seat of her +chair. + +"She isn't used to it, like us," she said, addressing the boy. + +"No," he answered, "she can't be expected to stand it as we should. +I hope you have got something for her to eat; we haven't a mouthful +up stairs, I'm afraid!" + +Mary went to the cupboard. It was empty--not a crust was there save +the supper which had been put away for poor Chester the night before. +Mary hesitated--it seemed terrible to offer that food to the poor +child, and yet there was nothing else. Mary went up to Isabel, and +whispered to her. + +"Have you a sixpence--or only a penny or two left of the money?" + +"No," replied Isabel, with a sob. "I spent the last for ice, and when +I came back with it, she wasn't in the room. I flung the ice on the +stand, and ran out into the street after her, but you know how it +was--she has gone like him." + +Mary turned toward the cupboard; she placed the cold supper on another +plate, and bringing it forth, spread a clean cloth upon the table, +and placed a knife and fork. + +"Come," she said, bending over the sorrow-stricken child. "Isabel, +dear, get up, and try if you can eat this--it will give you strength." + +The child arose, put back the dishevelled hair that had fallen over +her face, and sat down by the table. She took up the knife and fork, +but as her heavy eyes fell upon the contents of the plate, she laid +them down again. + +"Oh! Mary, I mustn't eat that; he may come home yet, and what shall +we have to give him?" + +Again the lame boy and Mary exchanged glances--both were pale, and +the soft eyes of the boy glistened, with coming tears. He beckoned +Mary to him, and whispered-- + +"Tell her now--she must know; if those men come back while she is +hoping on, it will kill her." + +Mary stood for a moment, mustering strength for this new trial; then +she crept slowly up to Isabel, and laid her thin arm around the +child's neck. That little arm shook, and the low speech of Mary Fuller +trembled more painfully still. + +"Isabel, your father will never want food again--they have brought +him home--he is lying in there." + +"Asleep!" said Isabel, starting to her feet, while a flash of wild +joy came to her face. + +"No, Isabel, he is dead!" + +Isabel stood motionless. Her arms fell downward, her parted lips grew +white, and closed slowly together. The life seemed freezing in her +young veins. + +"Come, and you shall see, Isabel, it is like sleep, only more +beautiful," and Mary drew the heart-stricken child into the chamber +of death. + +Chilled with grief and shivering with awe, Isabel gazed upon her +father, the tears upon her cheek seemed freezing; a feeble shudder +passed over her limbs, and after the first long gaze she turned her +eyes upon Mary with a look of helpless misery. Mary wound her arms +around the child, her tears fell like rain, while the expression that +lay upon her lip was full of holy sweetness. + +"Isabel, dear, let us kneel down and say our prayers, he will know +it." + +"I can't, I am frozen." Isabel shook her head. + +"Don't--don't, heaven is but a little way off," answered Mary: "you +and I have both got a father there now!" + +The two little girls knelt down together, and truly it seemed as if +that marble face smiled upon them. + +The door was closed between them and the outer room where the boy sat. +He heard the low tone of their voices; he heard sobs and a passionate +outbreak of sorrow; these ebbed mournfully away, and then arose a +low silvery voice, deep, clear, angel-like, and with it came +words--simple in their pathos--such as springs from the heart of a +child when it overflows with love and tears. The boy bent his head +reverently; his meek blue eyes filled with unshed drops; he sunk to +his knees and wept, softly, as he listened. + +Thus the children were found a little time after, when an undertaker +came by orders of the Chief of Police to prepare the dead for +honorable burial. Following his example, a few noble fellows about +his office had contributed out of their pay, and thus poor Chester +was saved from a pauper's grave. + +A little before night they carried Chester out through the hall that +his light foot had trod so often. Behind him went the two little +girls, hand in hand, looking very sorrowful but weeping no longer. +Upon Mary's head was an old but well kept mourning bonnet--a little +too large--which Joseph had brought down from the scant wardrobe of +his aunt, and around Isabel's little straw cottage lay a band of black +crape, which had served her as a neck-tie. The boy watched them from +the window while these mournful objects could be seen, and then crept +to his own home. + +Surely Mary Fuller's father was right when he said that no human being +was so weak or poor that she could not contribute something to the +happiness of others. With an old black bonnet, and a scrap of sable +crape, Joseph had managed to comfort the two orphan girls as they +went forth on their mournful duty. Now he was ready for a braver work. +As the limbs grow sinewy and powerful by muscular action, so the soul +becomes stronger with each beneficent act that it performs. Joseph +began to feel this truth and his whole being brightened under it. + +As Joseph went up stairs he met his father coming in from the street. +The old man looked tired and disappointed, for he had been walking +all the morning in search of Mrs. Chester; but having obtained no +trace of her, came home disconsolate. + +"You are tired, father, come up and rest; this is too much for you; +keep quiet, and let me go." + +"But what can you do, Joseph, without hardly knowing a street in the +city, and so much weaker than I am?" + +"Did you go to the Mayor's?" questioned the boy, without answering. + +"Did I go to the Mayor!--I to James Farnham!" exclaimed the artist +almost sternly. "No, not for the whole universe." + +The artist checked himself, and added--"What could I have done with +him?" + +"He is head of the police, Mrs. Chester told me, and might have put +you in the way of tracking her, poor lady. I would not go to him after +his cruelty; but that handsome young man, I know he would help me." + +"Yes, yes," exclaimed the artist with animation, "go to him; he is +noble-hearted, God bless the boy, go to him, Joseph." + +"The last time he was here, father, you were not at home; but he made +me promise to find him out if anything happened, especially if we +found it hard to get along without your working too hard for your +eyes." + +"Did he? Heaven bless the boy." + +"Why father, you seem to love him so much, almost more than you love +me," said the boy with a faint pang. "Don't do that father, for he +has so much, and I have nothing in the wide world but my father!" + +"No, no, I don't love him so much--not more than his bright goodness +deserves, Joseph; but you are my son--my only son sent to me from +your sweet mother's death-bed--how could I love anything so well!" + +"Forgive me, father," cried the boy, and his blue eyes sparkled +through pendent tears. "Forgive me; I was jealous only a little, and +it is all gone; I will go and tell Frederick that you want him to +help me!" + +"But you are weak, my boy." + +"No, father, Mary Fuller has shamed my weakness all away. She is no +stronger than I am, but what would that poor family do without her? +I will never be so feeble again." + +"Yes I will go and rest, and these boys shall do my work," said the +old man proudly; "they will find her, together, I think; I could do +nothing." + +"We will find her, never fear," answered Joseph hopefully and putting +on his straw hat he went out. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE MAYOR AND HIS SON. + + + Nature hath many voices, and the soul + Speaks, with a power, when first it feels the thrill + Of buried Love. Then breaking all control, + She claims her own, against man's haughty will. + +The Mayor was alone in his office--alone with his conscience. Cold +as he had seemed, the face of that murdered man haunted him. There +was no subterfuge for his conscience; now it was wide awake, stinging +him like a serpent. The sensation was so new, that the Mayor writhed +under it in absolute anguish; his hand was lifted to his forehead +unconsciously, as if to hide the brand of Cain, that seemed to be +burning there. + +This was a sudden shock of conscience that he could neither shake +off nor endure. His act of injustice against the man Chester had +been followed so close by his death, that with all his subtle +reasoning he could not separate the two events in his mind. He began +to wonder about the family so terribly bereaved, and more than once +the form of Mary Fuller rose before him, with her little hand +extended, exclaiming, "He died of a broken heart--he died of a broken +heart." + +The Mayor almost repeated these words with his lips, for his +conscience kept echoing them over and over, till they haunted him +worse even than that pale dead face. + +As he sat with one hand shrouding his forehead, the office door +opened, and a boy stood in the entrance. + +A strange thrill rushed through every nerve and pulse of Farnham's +frame, even before he looked up. It seemed as if a gush of pure +mountain wind had swept in upon him when he was struggling for breath. + +It was a strange thing, but Farnham did not remove the hand from his +forehead, even when he looked up, and when his eyes fell upon the +gentle boy that stood with his straw hat in one hand, and his soft +golden hair falling in waves down his shoulders--for Joseph followed +the artistic taste of his father--the hand was pressed more tightly, +and the proud man felt as if he were thus concealing the stain upon +his brow from those pure blue eyes. + +As Joseph looked at the Mayor, whose sternness had all departed, the +small hand that grasped the rim of his hat began to tremble, and an +expression full of gentleness shone over his face. + +"I beg pardon, sir," he said, and the strong man was thrilled again +by his voice, "but I wish to see your son, and thought perhaps you +would be good enough to tell me where I can find him." + +"My son, my son!" repeated the Mayor, with a sort of tender +exclamation. "Oh, I had forgotten, you wish to see Frederick." + +"Yes, Frederick," said the boy. + +"He is at home--at least I think so," answered Farnham, speaking with +kindly respect, as if he had not regarded the torn hat and humble garb +in which his visitor came, but thought it the most natural thing in +life that a boy like that should inquire thus familiarly after his +son, "I am almost certain that Fred is at home." + +"I do not know where he lives," said the lad, hesitating, and drawing +a step forward as if held in that presence by some irresistible +influence. + +"Indeed," said the Mayor, holding out his hand, "but you know my son!" + +Joseph came forward and placed his little slender hand in that so +irresistibly, as it seemed, held towards him. The same tremor, too +keen for pleasure and too exquisite for pain, ran through the proud +man and the gentle boy while their fingers came lovingly together. + +"He visits us sometimes, and you cannot think how much my father +loves him." + +"But he must love you better," said Farnham, sweeping his hand down +the boy's golden hair with caressing gentleness. + +"I don't know," said Joseph with a faint sigh, "but he loves me a +great deal, I am sure of that!" + +"And where do you live?" questioned Farnham, rather as an excuse to +keep the boy's hand in his, than from a desire for information. + +Joseph mentioned the street and number of his residence. + +The Mayor started. "Great Heavens, you cannot be his child?" + +"Who are you speaking of?" inquired Joseph. + +"Is--is--was your father's name Chester?" + +The tears rushed into Joseph's eyes. He drew his hand suddenly from +the Mayor's clasp, and his voice was broken as he answered: + +"No, sir, it was my father's best friend that you killed!" + +Farnham fell back in his chair, his hand dropped heavily upon the +table, he strove to disclaim the guilt so mournfully imputed to him, +but his eyes fell, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. +The strong man was dumb in the presence of that rebuking child. + +"I must go now," said Joseph, moving backward, "Mrs. Chester is lost, +and we must find her." + +The Mayor did not hear him; he did not even know when the lad glided +from his office; the last words had stunned him. + +After a little he looked up and saw that Joseph was gone. As if drawn +by some powerful magnetic force, he arose, took his hat and followed +the lad. + +Joseph was half across the park, but Farnham saw him at once, and +followed with a sort of hushed feeling, as the wise men looked upon +the star which led them to a Saviour. + +Meantime, Fred Farnham had heard of Chester's death and was preparing +to go out, hoping to give some comfort to his family. To this end +he had gone to his mother for money. The Chesters had refused aid +of him before, but now he was resolved to deceive them into accepting +it through his Uncle Peters. + +"What do you want money for, Fred--twenty dollars--if you are in for +a champagne supper or something of that sort, I don't mind; but I +must know where the money goes?" + +Mrs. Farnham was arranging a tiny French cap on the back of her head, +as she made these motherly demonstrations, and its graceful lightness +threw her into a charming state of liberality. + +"As a mother, you know, Fred, I am bound to see that the money which +you ask rather liberally, I must say, is judiciously spent; now tell +me where this is going?" + +"I intend to help a poor family, who have been wronged and are in +trouble," said the generous boy. + +Mrs. Farnham closed her pearl portmonnaie with a fierce snap of the +clasp. + +"Frederick," she said, with a degree of energy that made the delicate +spray in her cap tremble, as if it shared her indignation, "I cannot +encourage this extravagance, you are getting into low society, sir, +and--oh! Fred, you will break your mother's heart if you persist in +following after these low people." + +"Why, they live in the house with my Aunt Peters, mamma." + +"There it is--I do believe you intend to drive me into hysterics; +will you never learn that your Aunt Peters is not to be spoken of, +and only visited in a quiet way? There is a medium, Fred, a medium, +do you comprehend?" + +"But what has my Aunt Peters done?" + +"She has been ungrateful, Fred, so very ungrateful after I gave +up--that is, after I set them up in business; she would keep claiming +me as a sister, just as much as ever. Oh! it is heart-rending to know +that my own son is encouraging this impertinence." + +"Will you give me a portion of the money, ten dollars? I shall be +very grateful for that." + +"Not a shilling, sir," exclaimed the lady, putting the portmonnaie +into the pocket of her rustling silk-dress; "I will not pay you for +going among poor people and degrading yourself; only keep a proper +medium, my son, and you have a most indulgent mamma, but without that +I'm granite." + +A very soft and unstable sort of granite the lady seemed, as she shook +her head and rustled across the room, repeating the hard word, more +and more emphatically, as Frederick resumed his pleading. + +Whether the granite would have given way at last, it is impossible +to guess; for while Fred was urging his request with the eloquence +of desperation, the street-door opened, and the tall gentleman, whom +we have met in the tea-room, as the Mayor's guest, was seen in the +hall. + +"Do be quiet, Fred, here is Judge Sharp," said Mrs. Farnham, +fretfully; "I won't be teased in this way about a parcel of +vagabonds!" + +Fred Farnham was a passionate boy, and he stood with burning cheeks +and flashing eyes in the midst of the floor when the country-gentleman +came in. + +"I will go to my father, then, or pawn my watch--something desperate +I'm sure to do," he muttered, walking to a window and half-concealing +himself behind the waves of crimson damask that swept over it. + +Mrs. Farnham shook her head at him, reprovingly, as she advanced to +receive her visitor, with a torrent of superficial compliments and +frothy welcomes. + +Before the Judge could recover from this overwhelming reception, the +door-bell rang, and a boy was admitted to the hall. + +Frederick had seen the new-comer through the window, and went eagerly +forward to meet him, at which his lady-mother drew herself up with +imposing state, and called out-- + +"Frederick Farnham! will you never learn the just medium proper to +your father's position?" + +Frederick did not heed this remonstrance, but, after a few eager words +in the hall, came forward, leading Joseph Esmond by the hand. The +boy had taken off his straw-hat, and the entire beauty of his +countenance, shaded by that rich golden hair, was exposed to the best +advantage, notwithstanding his poverty-stricken garments; even the +volubility of Mrs. Farnham was checked, as her eyes fell upon that +delicate face. She caught the glance of those large blue eyes, and +ceased speaking. It was the greatest proof of interest possible for +her to exhibit. + +Fred led his friend directly up to his mother. + +"This is the boy--this is Joseph, dear mother; he tells me that those +two little girls are suffering--that they have not a cent to get food +with; now will you refuse me?" + +Mrs. Farnham kept her eyes bent upon Joseph. + +"What is it you have been telling my son about these poor people?" + +"Oh, they have suffered so much, Madam--not a morsel to eat nor a +house to rest in when they come home from poor Mr. Chester's funeral; +but worst of all, the good lady who was so very, very ill, has got +up when the girls were out, and gone away. She wasn't in her head, +ma'am, raving with fever, and may be killed in the street." + +It seemed impossible to look into those pleading eyes, and resist +them. Mrs. Farnham took out her portmonnaie again, rather +ostentatiously, for vanity always mingled with the best feelings +and most trivial acts of her life. + +"There," she said, presenting a bank-note to the lad, "take this, +and give it to the poor family," and she looked consequentially round +upon the stranger, as if to claim his approbation for her charity. + +The Judge smiled rather constrainedly, and Mrs. Farnham added, turning +to Joseph, + +"See now that the money is spent for comforts, nothing else; I would +have given it to you, Fred, only as I was saying, there is a medium +to be observed--you will remember, my boy." + +Joseph's eyes shone like sapphires. + +"I will give it to your sister, Mrs. Peters, ma'am; she lives down +stairs in the same house, and will take care of it for the little +girls," he said, giving a terrible blow to Mrs. Farnham's pride, in +the innocence of his gratitude. + +Mrs. Farnham blushed up to the temples, shaded by her pale, flaxen +curls, at this exposure, and the Judge smiled a little more decidedly, +which turned the mean crimson of her shame into a flush of anger. + +"You are a very forward little boy," she was about to say, but the +words faltered on her lips, and she merely turned away, overwhelming +poor Joseph with her stateliness. + +"Mother, I am going with him to look for this poor lady," exclaimed +Frederick. "The police must help us." + +"You will do no such thing," answered Mrs. Farnham, sharply; "I +declare, sir, the boy torments my life out with his taste for running +after low people." + +"They are not low people." + +Fred broke off abruptly, for his father entered very quietly, and +with a look so at variance with his usual cold reserve, that even +his vixenish and very silly wife observed it. + +"What is the matter?--you have been walking home in the heat!" she +exclaimed. "Mr. Farnham, will you never remember that there is a +medium?" + +For once Farnham deigned to answer his wife. + +"I walked very slowly, and am not tired," he said, "but what is this? +what is it Frederick proposes to do?" + +"Mrs. Chester has escaped from her house, sir, in a raving fever, +and cannot be found. I was going with Joseph, here, to search for +her," answered Frederick, looking anxiously into his father's face. + +"What, another!" muttered the Mayor, with a pang of remorse. "Yes, +go my son, I will help you; the whole police shall be put on the +search if necessary." + +Joseph lifted his eyes to the Mayor as he was speaking, and as Farnham +caught the look, a smile broke over his face, one of those powerful +smiles that transfigure the very features of some men. + +"Thank you! oh! thank you!" exclaimed the boy, "we shall find her +now." + +Here Judge Sharp stepped forward and held out his hand, for the Mayor +had not seen him till then. + +"Let me go with these young people, perhaps I can help them better +than the whole police," he said, kindly. + +"I wish you would," answered the Mayor, "for I feel very strangely +to-day." He certainly was pale, and seemed much shaken, as if some +powerful feeling had seized upon his vitality. + +"Then I will leave you to your wife, while I go with these boys on +their merciful errand," said the Judge. "Come, my lads." + +"One moment," said the Mayor, taking Joseph by the hand, while he +led him away from the group, and whispered in his ear. His lips were +pale with intense feeling, as he listened for the answer. + +"My name is Joseph Esmond, that is his name also." + +"I knew it--I was sure of it," muttered Farnham, and he sat down in +an easy chair, and watched the boy wistfully as he left the room. + +God had reached the conscience of that man at last, and his granite +heart was breaking up with the force of old memories and sudden +remorse. That day, his past and present life had been linked forcibly +together. The shock made him look inward, and he saw clearly that +the hard, barren track of politics had led him to become a murderer. +The law did not recognize this, but his soul did. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +JANE CHESTER AND THE STRANGER. + + + Disease, thou art a fearful thing + When, half disarmed by household care, + Thou sweepest with thy poison wing, + O'er the loved forms to which we cling, + And bending to the sweet and fair, + Leav'st thy corroding mildew there! + + But if thou treadst the plundered track, + Where poverty has swept before, + Leaving his victim on the rack, + Then, then, thou art a demon black, + That steals within the poor man's door. + Crushing his hopes forevermore! + +And Jane Chester--where was she while strangers were bearing away +the husband of her youth to his lone grave? Amid her fever that day, +amid all her delirium, one idea had been vivid and prominent before +her. The woman's heart remained true to its anchorage amid the storm +and fire of approaching ship-fever. Long after reason had failed, +the love that was stronger than reason told her that some great evil +was befalling her husband. Time was to her a vague idea; she thought +that he had been gone for weeks--that he was seeking for her and the +children along the wharves and in the dim alleys of the city, and +that the Mayor had forbidden him to come home. She would find him--she +would take food and clean garments to him in the street. He should +not wander there so poverty-stricken and neglected, without her. In +defiance of the Mayor, in defiance of the whole world, she would go +to him. + +This thought ran through her burning brain, and trembled wildly on +her tongue. Her husband--her husband--he could not come to her, and +she must go to him. But the two little girls--they appeared to her +like guards--great gaunt creatures dressed in fantastic uniform, +stationed by her bed to coerce and frighten her. They held her back; +they seemed to smother her in the bed-clothes, and gird her head down +to the pillow with the hot clasp of their united hands. Those two +little creatures became to her an object of terrible dread. She longed +for strength to tear them down from the towering altitude which her +imagination gave, and blindfold them, as they, in her wild fancy, +had blindfolded her with their scorching hands. + +She saw little Mary Fuller put on her hood and go forth with a thrill +of insane delight. That wild, uncouth form had seemed far more +terrible than the other, and yet now the petite figure of her own +child seemed to rise and swell over her like a fiend. + +"Ice--ice!" + +She knew, in her delirium, that this cry sometimes sent her dreaded +jailors from the room. If they were absent, she could find her +clothes--she could steal softly down stairs, and away after _him_. + +"Ice--ice!" she cried, "I will drink nothing unless the ice rattles +in the glass--cold, cold. It must be cold as death, I say." + +Isabel rose up in terror, and taking their last sixpence, went forth +for the ice. Then the mother laughed beneath the bedclothes--alone, +all alone. She started up--tore off her cap and her night-dress, and +thrust her unstockinged feet in a pair of slippers that stood near +the bed. + +Several dresses hung in the room. With her eager and burning hands +she took them down, cast all but one on the floor, and put that on, +laughing low and dismally all the while. A bandbox stood at the foot +of the bed. She crept to it, took out a bonnet, and drew it with her +trembling hands over the disordered masses of her hair, which she +tried vainly to smooth with her hot palms. Strong with fever, wild +with apprehension that her guard might return, the poor woman arose +to her feet, and after steadying herself by the door-frame awhile, +staggered from the room down the stairs and into the broad city. + +Filled with the one idea, that of finding her husband, she passed +on, turning a corner--another, pausing now and then by an iron +railing, to which she clung, with a desperate effort to keep herself +upright. + +Many persons saw her as she passed, reeling in her walk, and with +her sweet face flushed crimson; but, alas! these sights are not +uncommon in our city, from causes far more heart-rending than illness, +and with passing wonder that a person of her appearance should be +thus exposed at mid-day. Those who noticed her went by, some smiling +in scorn, others filled with such pity as the truly good feel for +erring humanity. But the poor invalid tottered forward, unconscious +of their pity or their scorn. She had but one object--one fixed +thought among all the wild ideas that floated through her brain--her +husband. She was in search of him, and, in her fever-strength, she +walked on and on, murmuring his name over and over to herself, as +a lost child mutters the name of its parents. + +At last, her strength gave way. She was upon a broad sidewalk, to +which the granite steps swept down from many a lordly mansion. Her +head reeled; the sunshine fell upon her eyes like sparks of fire; +she clung to an iron balustrade, swung half round with a feeble effort +to sustain herself, and sunk upon the pavement, moaning as she fell. + +Many persons passed by the poor invalid as she lay thus helpless upon +the stones. At last, one more thoughtful and more humane than the +rest, bent down and spoke to her. She opened her eyes, looked at him +with a dull, vacant gaze, and besought him, in husky tones, to go +away and tell Chester that she was there, waiting. The man saw that +she was suffering, and, let the cause be what it might, incapable +of moving. He called to a woman, who was passing by with a basket +on her arm, and gave her a shilling to sit down and hold the invalid's +head in her lap, while he went for help. + +"She may be only ill," said the benevolent Samaritan to the officer +of police, whom he met on a corner. "There is no look about her of +habitual intemperance; at any rate, she cannot be hardened." + +The officer followed this kind man, and they found Mrs. Chester +moaning bitterly, and much exhausted by the exertion she had made. + +"It is a singular case," said the policeman, "her language is good, +her appearance might be ladylike. But, see." The man pointed with +a meaning smile at the symmetrical feet in their loose slippers. The +blue veins were swelling under the white surface, and there was a +faint spasmodic quiver of the muscles that seemed to spread over her +whole frame. + +"I can hardly believe that this is intoxication," said the stranger, +gazing compassionately on the prostrate woman. "She must be ill--taken +down suddenly in the street." + +"But how came she barefooted? and her hair, it has not been done up +in a week? I'm afraid we can't make out a clear case, sir." + +"But where will you take her?" + +"Home, if she can tell us where it is--to the Tombs, if she is so +far gone as not to know," replied the man. + +"The Tombs!" + +"Oh, that is the City Prison, sir." + +"I know, but the City Prison is no place for a person like this!" + +"Well, if you can point out anything better." + +"If I had a home in the city, this poor creature should never sleep +in a prison," was the answer. + +"Oh, I thought you must be a stranger," was the half compassionating +reply. "It takes some time before one gets used to these sights, but +they are common enough, I can tell you, sir. Now let us see if she +can be made to comprehend what we say." + +With that sort of half-contemptuous interest with which the insane +are sometimes cajoled, the policeman began to question the invalid; +but she only asked him very earnestly if her husband had come; and +turning her face from the hot sunshine that was pouring upon her, +began to complain piteously that they had laid her down there to be +consumed by a storm of fire-flakes that was dropping upon her neck +and forehead. + +"You see the poor creature can tell us nothing; she is quite beside +herself," said the policeman. "I must take her to the prison--it is +the best I can do--to-morrow her friends may claim her, perhaps. At +the worst she will only be committed for a day or two." + +"Wait here," said the stranger, hurriedly, "wait till I get a +carriage; she must not be taken through the streets in this state," +and the kind man went off in haste. + +The officer looked after him smiling. + +"You might know that he was from the country, poor fellow," he +muttered, turning his back upon the sun, and good-naturedly sheltering +Mrs. Chester from its rays. "After all, I hope he is right; there +is something about her that one does not often meet with! upon my +word I hope she is only sick." + +The stranger came back with a carriage, a showy and rather expensive +affair, the cushions covered with fresh linen, and the driver quite +an aristocrat in his way. + +"So that is the fun, is it?" he said, eyeing poor Mrs. Chester with +a look of superb disdain. "I don't, as a usual thing, take people +up from the sidewalks in this carriage, my good friend." + +"But I will pay you--I have paid you in advance," urged the stranger. + +"Not for a job like this. Gentlemen who have an interest in keeping +these little affairs quiet, should be ready to pay well--couldn't +think of starting without another dollar at the least!" + +"There is the dollar--now help lift the lady in!" + +"The lady--a pretty place this for a lady!" muttered the man, +dismounting from his seat with a look of magnificent condescension, +and approaching Mrs. Chester. + +"Gently--lift her with great care!" said the stranger, placing his +arm under Mrs. Chester's head. "There, my good woman, get in first, +and be ready to receive her." + +The poor woman who had given her lap to the invalid as a pillow, +attempted to get up, but the driver, after eyeing her from head to +foot, turned to the stranger: + +"I couldn't think of taking in that sort of person; the sick woman +seems clean enough; but, as for the other, she'll have to walk if +she goes at all! Carriages wasn't made for the like of her." + +The noble face of the stranger flushed with something akin to +indignation, but, relinquishing Mrs. Chester to the policeman, he +stepped into the carriage, and received the poor invalid in his own +arms. + +The policeman had become more and more charitable in his opinion of +the unhappy lady. He hesitated a moment, with his hand on the carriage +window. + +"I say, sir, there does seem to be a doubt if this poor lady is not +really ill. Perhaps, you might as well take her to the Alms House +Commissioner first. He may think it right to send her up to the +Hospital, and, then, she need not go before a magistrate." + +"And can we do this? can she be taken directly to a hospital?" + +"If the Commissioner pleases, he has the power to send her there at +once." + +"Then order the man to drive to the Commissioner's office," cried +the stranger, eagerly. "I thought that in this great city the +unfortunate might find shelter short of a prison. Tell him to drive +on." + +The door was closed; the carriage moved on; and in it sat the generous +stranger, with the head of that poor invalid resting on his shoulder, +supporting her with all the benign gentleness of a father. He felt +that the hot breath floating across his cheek was heavy with +contagion; he knew that fever raged and burned in the blue veins that +swelled over those drooping arms and the unstockinged feet, but, he +neither shrank nor trembled at the danger. Possessed of that pure +and holy courage which tranquilly meets all peril when it presents +itself--a courage utterly beyond that selfish bravado which mocks +at death and exults in carnage--he scarcely gave his own position +a thought. Bravery, with this man, was a principle, not an excitement. +He was fearless because he was good; and, from this cause, also, was +kindly and unpretending. + +The carriage drew up in Chambers street, not far from the place where +the cart had stood with poor Chester's body upon it, not an hour +before. The stranger composed Mrs. Chester on the seat, and placed +a cushion against the carriage for her head to rest on; then, opening +a gate, he hurried through the narrow flower-garden that ran between +the old Alms House and Chambers street, crossed through one of those +broad halls to be found in the basement, lined on each side with +public officers, and, mounting half a dozen steps, he found himself +in the Park. An Irish woman sat upon the steps of the nearest +entrance, holding a forlorn bundle in her lap, and with a ragged baby +playing with its little soiled feet on the pavement before her. This +woman turned her head, and nodded toward the door when he inquired +for the Commissioner's office, then bent her eyes again with a dead +heavy gaze upon the pavement. The stranger, mounting the steps, found +himself in a place utterly new and bewildering to him. + +It happened to be "pay-day" for the out-door poor, and, into the +ante-room of the Alms House, the alleys, rear buildings and dens of +the city, once a fortnight, pour forth their human misery. The room +was nearly full, and, amid this mass of poverty--such as he, fresh +from the pure country air, had never even dreamed of--the stranger +stood overpowered. + +There is something horrible in the aspect of poverty when it reaches +that low and bitter level that seeks relief in the lobby of an Alms +House! The stranger looked around, and the philanthropy within him +was put to its severest test. For the first time in his whole life +he saw poverty in one dark, struggling mass clamoring for money! +money! money! coarse, grasping poverty, such as crushes and kills +all the honest pride of man's nature. + +The room, large as it was, appeared more than half full, and not a +single happy face was there. At the upper end was a platform, reached +by two or three steps, and fenced in by a low wooden railing, along +which ran a continuous desk. At this desk half a dozen clerks and +visitors sat, with ponderous and soiled books spread open before them. + +Up to this railing pressed the want-stricken crowd, the strong and +healthy bustling and crowding back the fallen and infirm. Here old +women struggled in the human tide, some casting fierce and quarrelsome +glances at each other, others shrinking back with tears in their eyes, +unequal to the coarse strife. Here, too, were men lean and gaunt with +the hunger of a long sea voyage, elbowed aside by some brawny armed +woman, who clamored loudly of the children she had left fast locked +up in her little place, that she could but just pay the rent for. +Here, too, were young girls, children with an aged, worn look, like +the fruit that withers to half its size before it ripens. Most +heartrending of all, persons of real refinement were mingled up with +this rude mass; poor wretches who had indeed seen better days, and +their helpless, broken-hearted looks, the remnants of early +sensitiveness, that still clung around them, was pitiful to behold. + +The stranger saw that upon the outskirts of the crowd these persons +always lingered, waiting patiently till the coarse and strong were +served. Outstretched upon the benches near the walls, and resting +upon their bundles, were eight or ten sick men, with the fever upon +them, waiting for the van which was to convey them to Bellevue. + +Through all this misery, huddled and jostling together, our good +Samaritan must force his way; for when he asked for the Commissioner, +the people pointed their lank fingers toward a door within the +railing, and between himself and that was all this crowd of hungry +beings. + +"Let me pass, will you? Let me pass," he said, pale with the effects +of the scene, but speaking in a gentle tone. + +"And why should you pass? Wait your turn like the rest of us!" said +a harsh-featured woman, turning fiercely upon him. "Is't because +you've a fine coat on that you'd put before your bethers, I'd be +liking to know?" + +The stranger drew back. With all his benevolence he could not breast +that rough wave of human life, which dashes weekly against the steps +of our Alms House. + +"Make room--make room there. What does the gentleman want? Make room, +I say!" + +It was the voice of a clerk, who, casting his eyes over the crowd, +had seen the stranger. + +The people did not fall back, but they huddled close together, with +their heads turned and gazing upon the stranger, some muttering +fiercely, others taking advantage of the moment to crowd closer to +the railing. Thus a passage was made, and the stranger made his way +through a little gate up to the platform, where the attentive clerk +came forward to learn his business. + +"Oh, you should have passed on to the next entrance. It is difficult +to get along in this room on Saturdays," he said, after the stranger +had unfolded his errand. "You will find the Commissioner in his +office," and the clerk courteously opened a door. + +The stranger entered a large, airy room, furnished as most public +offices are, with the most hideous carpets and the stiffest looking +chairs; in this instance there was a sofa that seemed to have been +for years the pauper inmate of some furniture store, and to have been +transferred from thence to the City Poor House, when the owners became +tired of keeping it as a private charity. + +Many persons were in the office, two or three women occupied the sofa, +one of them weeping bitterly. Half a score of men, some from the +country, others belonging to the institution, were grouped about the +room reading newspapers, conversing, or waiting patiently for an +opportunity to transact the business which brought them there. + +A large table covered with dark cloth ran along one end of the room, +around which stood half a dozen chairs more commodious than the rest, +two of them occupied by the head clerks of the department, and in +one, before which stood a small writing-desk, sat the Commissioner. + +He was a slight, active man, with eyes like an eagle's; his features +were finely cut, and you could read each thought as it kindled over +the dark surface of his face. + +By the side of the Commissioner sat an old woman, talking in a low +voice and weeping bitterly. You could see by the expression of the +forehead, and by the faint changes of a countenance which no habit +of self-control could entirely subdue, that the tale which this poor +old creature poured into his ear was one of bitter sorrow. His dark +eyes were bent thoughtfully on the table, and a look of deep +commiseration lay upon his features as she continued her low and +broken narrative. + +This man was a benefactor to the poor. Sights of distress, even when +they become habitual, had no power to damp his kindly sympathies. +Yet while generous to the poor, he was faithful to the people. + +At length the Commissioner looked up. You could see by the sudden +kindling of his face, that he had bethought himself of some means +by which this old woman might be benefited. He addressed her in a +low but cheering voice. The poor old creature lifted her head, the +tears still hung amid the wrinkles in her cheek; but over her withered +lips there came a smile. The Commissioner reached out his hand, she +changed her staff, leaned upon it with her left hand, and half timidly +held out the other. You could see by the brightening of those aged +eyes, and by the increased vigor of her footsteps as she left the +room, how like a cordial this evidence of sympathy in her distress +had cheered her aged heart. + +The stranger whom we have introduced saw all this, and his heart +warmed alike to the old woman and to the man who had comforted her. +He approached the table, and could hardly refrain from holding out +his hand to the Commissioner, so surely do truthful feelings vibrate +to the good acts that they witness. + +Had you seen those two men as they sat down together, you might have +supposed that they had been old friends for twenty years. + +The stranger told his story in few words, for he saw by the business +appearance of the office that it was no place for long speeches. The +Commissioner listened attentively. + +"Where is the poor woman now?" he questioned, when the man paused +in his narrative. + +"She is waiting in the street--I brought her with me." + +"I will see her myself: one minute and I am ready." + +The Commissioner took up his hat, crossed the room, spoke a few words +to the woman who sat weeping on the sofa, told an old man who stood +waiting by the door that he would return in a very few minutes and +attend to him, then with a light, active step he left the room, +followed by the stranger. + +They found Mrs. Chester in the carriage, grasping the cushion beneath +her head with both hands, and muttering wildly to herself. The last +few hours had brought her disease into its most malignant state. She +was incapable of a single connected thought. + +The Commissioner stepped into the carriage and helped to arrange the +cushions. + +"She is delirious; it is the fever. Typhus, I should think, in its +worst form," he said. "She must have prompt care." + +"She must, indeed," replied the stranger. "The noise, the hot sun, +all are making her worse." + +"And you do not know her name?" + +"No; she has muttered over several names, but I could not tell which +was hers." + +"Nor her home, of course?" + +"No; I found her in the street as I have told you." + +"It is strange. She seems like an American. It is a pity to send her +to the hospital, but I can do no better." + +"You will send her there!" exclaimed the stranger, joyfully, "The +policeman talked of the Tombs." + +"No, no, she is no person for that, I am certain," exclaimed the +Commissioner. "I only wish we had the power of doing more than can +be expected at Bellevue; but certainly she shall go to no worse place +than that." + +"Oh, thank you!" said the stranger, gratefully. + +"I will write out an order, with a few lines to the resident physician +at Bellevue. Nothing more can be done, I am afraid." + +"Oh, that is a great deal--everything, in fact--of course she will +have proper attention in an institution where you have control." + +The Commissioner looked grave, but did not answer that over the +Bellevue Hospital his power was merely a name--that he could grant +supplies and give directions, but had no real authority over +subordinates appointed by the Common Council, and could not, for the +most flagrant misconduct, discharge the lowest man about the +department of which he was the bonded and responsible head. Shackled +in his actions and even in his speech, this truly efficient and good +man would pledge himself to nothing, so he merely said: + +"Will you, sir--you who have done so much--conduct this poor woman +yourself to Bellevue? The van will go up soon, but she does not seem +of the usual class." + +"I will go with her, of course," replied the stranger, resuming his +seat in the carriage with benevolent alacrity, while the Commissioner +returned to his office and hastily wrote a letter to the resident +physician, beseeching him to bestow especial care on the unknown +patient who seemed so ill, and so completely alone in the world. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +BELLEVUE AND A NEW INMATE. + + + A gloomy home for one like this; + So pure, so gentle and so fair,-- + Must her sweet life, in weariness, + Go out for lack of human care? + +The carriage which bore Mrs. Chester paused before the gates at +Bellevue. The gloomy and prison-like buildings loomed in heavy and +sombre masses before the stranger, as he leaned from the carriage +to deliver his order to the gatekeeper. The Hospital, with its walls +of dark stone blackened by age, its sombre wings sweeping out from +the main building and lowering above the massive walls, struck him +with a feeling of gloom. It seemed like a prison that he was entering. +The Hospitals were drear to him, and the dull, heavy atmosphere seemed +full of contagion. He looked at the poor creature thus unconsciously +brought there, perhaps to die, and his heart swelled with compassion. + +The gate swung open, and down a paved causeway leading to the water, +bounded on one side by a high stone wall, and on the other by a bakery +and various workshops belonging to the institutions, the carriage +was driven. The wharf in which this causeway terminated, was full +of lounging inmates; some were attempting to fish in the turbid water; +others leaning half asleep against the wall, and some were grouped +together, not in conversation, but basking lazily in the sunshine. + +Before it reached this wharf the carriage turned and was driven +through an iron-studded gate, into an open and paved court that ran +along the front of the main Alms House. The hospitals were some +distance back of this building, but here the sick and dying must be +brought first, for their names were to be registered in the Alms House +books before they could be permitted to die in peace. + +As the carriage drove in, up came the swarm of idlers from the wharf, +dragging themselves heavily along, laughing stupidly at the ponderous +gambols and grimaces of a huge idiot boy, who, on seeing a new +arrival, rolled rather than walked up from the water with his hand +extended, crying out--money--money. It was all the language the poor +creature possessed. He had learned to beg, and that was knowledge +enough for him. In everything else he was the merest animal that +crawled the earth. Yet, the other paupers followed him as they would +have chased a dog or tame animal of any kind, whose gambols broke +the monotony of their idleness. + +Up came this idiot boy to the carriage, leering in upon its inmates, +and rolling from side to side, with his hand out, mumbling that one +word over and over between his heavy lips: and up came the gang of +paupers, gazing in also with stupid curiosity. + +It was well for Jane Chester that she could neither see nor hear all +this--that the fever had grown strong enough to shut out all the real +world to her heated senses! As it was, the sight of these miserable +objects did create some new and more harrowing pain. She began to +murmur of the torment to which she had been consigned--of the strange, +heavy fiends so unwieldy and coarse that had taken her in charge. +Every event of that fearful day was absolutely thrusting her a step +nearer to the grave. + +Just as the driver had dismounted from his seat and was about to open +the door, the Alms House van came tumbling along the pavement and +into the court with another freight of misery. Along by the carriage +and nearer to the entrance rolled the ponderous black vehicle, and +out from its tomb-like depths were taken forth the men and women, +that an hour before had been lying so helplessly on the benches at +the Commissioner's office. + +One by one these poor creatures were carried up the steps, and after +them rolled the idiot, calling out--money, money--as if the emigrants +whom England consigns to our charity, had anything but their own +miserable lives to give away. + +And now with the heat, the noise, and the motion of the carriage, +the poor invalid became almost frantic. She struggled with the +stranger--she called wildly for Chester--and would have cast herself +headlong to the pavement, for in her hallucination she fancied that +the pauper gang were carrying away her husband. + +They bore her into the Alms House in a fit of momentary exhaustion. + +Her name and history was a blank in the Alms House books. Her lips +were speechless--her eyes closed. They only knew that she was +nameless, homeless; and thus was her entrance registered. + +And now came two men to carry her to the hospital. One was old, with +grey hairs, who tottered beneath his burden; and the other a pale +lad, who had just recovered from the fever. Out through the back +entrance, down a flight of steps into the hot sunshine again, they +bore the helpless woman, her garments sweeping the pavement, and her +pale hand sometimes striking the stones as they passed along. + +But there was no rest for her yet; another registering was to be made. +In the Hospital office a pauper clerk had charge, and to his +investigation the invalid must be consigned. He was no physician, +certainly; but the hospital was divided into wards, each ward having +its own class of diseases. It was this man's prerogative to decide +what particular malady afflicted each patient, and to assign the +proper ward. The two men placed Mrs. Chester in a chair, and the +stranger stood behind it supporting her head upon his arm. + +The clerk had entered the blank order upon his books, and now came +forward to examine the patient. + +"Put out your tongue?" + +The order was given in a peremptory tone, worthy the captain of a +Down-East militia company. Poor Mrs. Chester opened her wild eyes +and looked at the man. + +"Your tongue, woman! open your mouth--don't you hear?" + +Jane Chester unclosed her parched lips and revealed her tongue. The +edges were red, as if they had been dipped in blood; and down the +centre, like an arrow, lay the dark incrustations peculiar to ship +fever. + +The clerk shook his head, and laid his hand upon the sinking pulse. + +"Low, very low. Just gone of consumption--no doubt of it--phthisis +pulmonalis--a bad case--very. Take her to the wing!" + +"I should doubt, if you are not a physician, sir," said the stranger, +mildly, "I should venture to doubt, if this lady is not suffering +from fever. Not half an hour ago her pulse could hardly be counted; +now you feel that each beat threatens to be the last! These terrible +changes--do they bespeak consumption?" + +"I have pronounced upon her case!" replied the clerk, "but it makes +no difference. Let her go to the fever ward. If the doctor don't agree +with your opinion, sir, she can be sent to the wing!" + +"I am no physician, but she requires prompt care!" interposed the +stranger. + +"Then you are not an M. D.," cried the clerk, with a look of annoyance +that he should have yielded to anything less than a professional man. + +"No, but it is quite certain that all this moving about from place +to place is killing the poor lady. She requires the greatest +tranquillity, I am sure!" + +"Well, well, take her up to number ten," said the clerk, addressing +the persons who had brought Mrs. Chester in. "The doctor will see +to her when he goes his rounds!" + +The two men raised Mrs. Chester in their arms, and carried her up +a flight of broad stairs and through a neighboring passage, till the +stranger, who looked earnestly after them, could no longer detect +the faint struggle with which she sought to free herself, or hear +the moan as it trembled on her pallid lips. + +The stranger drew a deep breath as she disappeared, and turned back +to the office greatly oppressed by all that he saw. The clerk was +leaning back in his chair, drumming with his fingers upon the seat. +Inured to an atmosphere of misery, he felt but little of the painful +compassion, the mingled horror and pity which almost overwhelmed that +benevolent man. + +"You are sure, quite sure, that this poor lady will be cared for," +said the kind man, addressing the clerk. "Here is money, I would give +more, but am some distance from home and may require all that I +have--see that she wants for no little comfort that can be bought!" + +The clerk's eye brightened as he saw the money. + +"Oh, be sure, sir, she shall have every care." + +"I have a letter for the resident physician--where can he be found?" + +"Oh, he has just started for the island in his boat. The aldermen +and their families dine at the Insane Asylum, and he has gone with +them. You might have seen his yellow flag on the water as you came +in." + +"And when will he return to the Hospital?" + +"Oh, in a day or two; his rooms are in the other building, but he +usually walks over the wards once or twice a week!" + +"Once or twice a week! Why I heard that the ship fever was raging +here--that the hospitals were crowded, and many of your doctors sick!" + +"Well, no one disputes that the hospitals are crowded--half the +patients are on the floor now; and some of the assistants are sick +enough!" + +"And your resident physician only passes through these hospitals once +or twice a week--who attends to the patients?" + +"Oh, the young doctors of course!" + +"And are they experienced men?" + +"Some of them are graduates, almost half I should think." + +"And the rest?" + +"I suppose, all have studied a year or two." + +"And do these men--who have only studied a or year two--prescribe +for the patients--without the advice of a superior?" + +"Certainly, why not? They must begin sometime, you know." + +"And will this poor woman, laboring as she is under an acute disease, +be placed under the care of a mere student?" + +The clerk mused before he answered. + +"Let me see, number ten--yes, young Toules has charge there. It is +his turn in the fever ward. He has never graduated, I believe." + +"And has he had no practice among fevers?" + +"Oh! yes, he has been three days in number ten, and one sees a good +deal of fever in three days, I can tell you." + +The stranger turned away sick at heart. + +"Let me," he said, in a broken voice, "let me speak with the nurse +who is to take care of the person I brought here." + +The clerk called to a lame pauper who was limping through the building +and ordered him to summon the nurse from number ten. The old man +went with difficulty up the stairs that led from the hall, and soon +returned, followed by a tall dissipated-looking woman of forty, who +still retained in her swollen features traces of intelligence and +early refinement that redeemed them in some degree from positive +brutality. + +A look of fierce and settled discontent lay on this woman's features, +which was aggravated by the dress of dark blue that fell scant and +ill-shapen around her stately figure, and was fastened tightly over +the bosom with a succession of coarse horn buttons that but half +filled the yawning buttonholes. + +This woman approached the stranger with a dogged and sullen air. + +"Is it you that wants me?" she said, looking earnestly at him. "That +man said somebody wanted to see the nurse!" + +"And is this woman a nurse to the sick? Is she to have the charge +of this poor lady?" questioned the stranger, turning to the clerk. + +"That is the nurse, and I hope she suits you, for you seem hard to +please," answered the clerk, crustily. "She is one of the best women +in the hospital, at any rate!" + +The stranger turned his eyes upon the woman with a grave and pained +look. + +"I sent to ask your kindness for the poor lady that has just been +carried to your ward," he said; "of course you are well paid by the +city; but I am willing to reward you for extra care in this case!" + +"Well paid by the city!" cried the woman, with a fierce and sneering +laugh; "oh, yes, hard work and prison fare at the Penitentiary--harder +work and pauper fare when they send us here for nurses. That is the +pay we get from the corporation for nursing here in the fever. If +we die there is a scant shroud, a pine coffin and Potter's field. +That, is our pay, sir!" and the woman folded her arms, laughing low +and dismally. + +"The Penitentiary--what does she mean?" inquired the stranger, greatly +shocked. + +"Oh! they come from the Penitentiary, these nurses," said the clerk. +"The corporation have to support the prisoners, you know, and the +hospitals all get their help by law from Blackwell's Island." + +"And is this woman a prisoner?" + +"A prisoner--to be sure I am--you don't take me for a Poor House +woman, I hope?" cried the nurse. "I haven't got to that yet--nobody +can say that I was contemptible enough to come here of my own accord." + +There was something too horrible in all this. The stranger sat down +and drew out his purse with a suppressed groan. + +"Here," he said, giving some money to the woman, "this will pay you +for a little kindness to the poor lady. In the name of that God who +has afflicted her, see that she has proper care." + +The woman's face softened. For one instant some remnant of +half-forgotten pride made her hesitate to take the money, but this +was soon conquered, and she reached forth her hand clutching it +eagerly. + +"I will take care of the lady, sir, never fear," she said, and for +the moment, she really intended to perform her promise. + +"Do, and when you lie ill as she does, God be merciful to you as you +are to her!" said the stranger, solemnly, and taking his hat he went +forth with a sad countenance. + +When Judge Sharp left Bellevue he went directly to the Mayor's +residence, where he had made a dinner engagement the night before. +We have already described his meeting with Joseph Esmond. + +He was satisfied that the person whom he had conducted to the hospital +was the lady for whom the lad was in search, and resolved to go with +the boy and obtain more knowledge of her condition. The little girls +had just returned from the funeral, and were sitting desolately in +their bed-room, shrinking into the farthest corner like frightened +birds in a cage, for the landlord had taken possession, and the poor +children had no home but the street; even in that little bed-room +they felt like intruders. + +But the Judge came with Frederick and Joseph, and this was a sunbeam +to their grief. + +The noble man questioned them gently, and at last told the whole +anxious group that Mrs. Chester was alive and in Bellevue, where he +had himself conducted her. + +The little girls uttered a cry. + +Oh, the wild, the bitter joy of that moment. She was alive--alive! +They should see her again--stand by her bedside. She would look at +them--speak to them. They clung to each other, the sobs they could +not suppress filled the room. The Poor House! They were going to the +Poor House! What was that to them? She was there, and with her they +could lie down and sleep once more. It was better thus. The landlord +had taken possession of their home. He determined to keep the scant +furniture, for his rent, and after that the home of those poor +children was the street. The Alms House! It had a pleasant sound to +them. That was a home from which no landlord could send them forth. +They went gladly with Judge Sharp before the Commissioner. + +"You will not let them take us away from her--we may all be together!" +pleaded Mary. + +The Commissioner mused; it was unusual, but he resolved to request +of the superintendent that these children might not be taken from +Bellevue until the mother was pronounced out of danger, or should +be no more. He wrote to this effect, and with his own hands placed +the children in the carriage that was to convey them to Bellevue. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE FEVER WARD AND ITS PATIENTS. + + + Rest--give me rest--my forehead burns, + Hot fires are kindled in my brain! + Oh, give me rest, till he returns, + Rest--rest from all this racking pain. + +Poor Mrs. Chester, half dying and quite insensible, was borne into +the fever ward of that close and crowded Hospital. Number ten was +a large airy room, capable of holding twenty patients with comparative +comfort, but now the fever was raging fiercely. Nearly six hundred +patients crowded those gloomy walls, and in the room where twenty +persons might have been almost comfortable, eighty poor creatures +were huddled together, breathing the infected air over and over again +till their struggling lungs were poisoned and saturated with the +deadly atmosphere. + +Close together, along the walls, were ranged narrow wooden cots, with +their straw beds and coverings of coarse cotton check. And close +together on those contracted couches--the meagre causeway from which +many of these poor creatures were lifted to a pauper's grave, the +patients were huddled, suffering in all the stages of that fierce +and terrible disease, the malignant typhus. + +There the sufferers lay, their death-couches jostling, the hot poison +of their breaths mingling together, and spreading a dank miasma from +bed to bed. + +Some were in the first creeping stages of the disease flattering +themselves that it was only a little cold they had taken. Others were +shivering with that deathly chill that glides like the icy trail of +a serpent down the back; the limbs aching as with severe toil, and +the brain literally on fire with seething poison. Others were fierce +and mad with delirium; their faces, their breasts and arms had turned +of a dull copper color, the strongest and unmistakable sign of the +deadly form which typhus takes when it is called malignant ship fever. + +The poor creatures rolled to and fro on their narrow couches, tearing +out the straw with their hot and quivering fingers, or twisting the +soiled sheets with a feeble and shaking grasp. Some were calling for +water, and praying in piteous tone for mountains of ice, cold bright +ice to fall down and bury them. + +Others were still further advanced in the terrible disease, and lay +with the last heavy clouds of delirium resting upon the brain. Pale, +emaciated and motionless, they spoke in whispers of the husbands and +children whom they had left, it seemed to them years before, and of +whom they faintly pleaded for tidings. It was piteous to see those +weaker still, that lay more helpless than infants, the tears rolling +mournfully from their eyes, unable to utter the inquiries that kept +their white lips in constant motion, but gave out no sound. + +More than one stretched back upon the meagre pillow, was in her +death-throe groping in the air, with glazed eyes rolled upward to +the ceiling, while the under jaw dropped lower, lower, leaving the +mouth half open never to be closed again, save by a penitentiary +nurse. + +One lay dead upon her couch stiffening, there unheeded, the God of +heaven only knowing at what moment the breath left her body. + +Scant and miserable as were those pauper beds, enough for all to die +upon could not be found at the Hospital; so blankets had been cast +upon the floor, and on them were laid the sick, till the whole ward +was completely littered with human misery. Over this scene came the +glaring daylight, for the windows had neither blinds nor shutters, +nothing but a valance of gingham through which the sunshine poured +upon the aching eyes of the sick. + +They laid Mrs. Chester among those who moaned and writhed upon the +floor. Nothing but the rough folds of a blanket lay between her +delicate limbs and the hard boards. Amid the groans, the ravings of +delirium, the faint death rattle that rose and swelled upon the horrid +atmosphere, they laid her down. The student physician had been his +rounds that day, and so she was left to the care of the nurses. Thus +she remained quite unconscious of the horrors that surrounded her, +till the nurse came back from her interview with Judge Sharp. This +woman grasped the money in her palm, and the touch seemed to give +a glow of animal pleasure to her features, as she threaded her way +through the prostrate sick. + +A nurse some years younger than herself, but with less of character +in her face, stood near the door. She approached this woman, and +softly unclosing her hand revealed the money. + +"What! there have but four died to-day--you did not find that about +them? I searched thoroughly myself, and none of them had a cent." + +"Never mind where it came from. You shall have a share, but remember +I have got to work for it yet. Where is the woman they have just +brought in?" + +"What, the slender woman with all that beautiful hair? She is about +here, on the floor, I believe." + +"She must have a cot, I am determined on it," said the elder nurse, +resolutely. "Those who pay us shall be first served," and the woman +went on through the prostrate sick, searching eagerly for Mrs. +Chester. "Yes, here she is, sure enough," talking softly to +herself--"now let us see what can be done about a bed." + +The woman moved from cot to cot, gazing on the inmates, not with pity, +she was used to their moans, but eagerly searching for a bed that +promised soon to be empty. Her eyes fell upon the corpse that lay +within a few paces of Mrs. Chester, and she approached the cot with +gleeful alacrity, saying to her companion: + +"Oh, here is an empty bed--I thought it would not be long before we +found something for her to lie on besides the floor. Go and call +Crofts." + +The younger nurse went out, and directly there came two men into the +ward, bearing a rude pine coffin between them. They trod heavily along +the floor, knocking the coffin now and then against a cot till it +jarred the helpless inmate, and thus they carried it down the whole +length of the ward. They deposited the rude thing close by the blanket +on which Mrs. Chester lay, and then went out, leaving the women to +relieve the bed of its mournful burden. + +The younger nurse had brought with her a scant shroud, of the coarsest +muslin, and there in the midst of the sick, one of the women put this +grave garment on, while the other stealthily searched in the bosom +of the corpse and under the pillow for any little valuable that the +poor woman might have hoarded in her death-bed. After groping about +awhile, the young nurse drew forth her hand with a low chuckle. It +contained a bit of tissue paper, soiled and crumpled in a heap. A +bank note! what else could it be? The two women looked at the paper +and their eyes gleamed. It was not often that they found bank notes +about the Bellevue paupers! How they longed to examine it then and +there! But the sick were not all insensible, and the young woman +thrust the treasure into her bosom, whispering as she stooped down +to smooth the shroud: + +"By and by--of course we go halves to-day!" + +"That is fair and above board!" replied the other, folding the arms +of the dead upon the pulseless bosom they had robbed, "there now, +call in the men!" + +Again those two men came tramping heavily among the sick. There was +some bustle and a little joking as they placed the pauper corpse in +its pine coffin; and when they bore it out one of the men inquired, +in a voice that might have been heard half over the room, if there +was much chance of their being wanted again within an hour or two. + +The elder nurse looked around upon the cots, and answered that it +was very likely, but that the next coffin must be longer--at least +four inches longer! + +The two women followed the coffin out, and when quite alone in the +passage, fell to examining the value of their prize. + +"There must be two bills," said the younger, beginning to unfold the +little parcel, "what if each of them should be a five, now!" + +These words were followed by a short and scornful laugh, accompanied +by an oath, that most fearful thing on the lips of a woman. The scrap +of soiled tissue paper unfolded a lock of grey hair. + +"Never mind, mine is here all in hard chink!" said the elder nurse, +striking her bosom. "Here will be enough, with what the doctor allows +for the patients, to give us one glorious night. Just help me lift +the woman into bed, then slide round to the consumption wards; or, +what's better, whisper a word to the orderly, and ask him to come; +we'll make the old shanty shake again before midnight." + +The young woman, after appeasing her disappointment by casting the +lock of hair upon the floor, and grinding it fiercely beneath her +heavy shoe, became somewhat consoled. But she sullenly expressed a +determination to find her share of the drink, if she were obliged +to rob every patient in the ward. + +After this conference the nurses returned to the ward. One took off +Mrs. Chester's outer garments, while the other proceeded to arrange +the empty cot. In the same cot, the same sheets, and on the very +pillow from which the dead had just been removed, they laid the +helpless woman. Upon her fair hands and face still rested the dust +that had been gathering upon her from the street. But under our +benignant Common Council, the largest hospital in America contained +no bath for its patients, though the Croton water gushed everywhere +around the building. There was a shower bath for punishment of the +penitentiary women, but for the suffering---not even that. + +They laid her down, therefore, unrefreshed in that death couch; and +there she remained moaning like the rest, lifting her sweet voice +louder and louder in her excitement; for the noise, the atmosphere +and the horrid sights everywhere in the room drove her wild. She flung +up her hands and laughed as the nurses passed to and fro before her +bed. She called them angels--those two besotted creatures--and +besought them with wild, sweet energy to cherish and care for Chester +while she was so far away. These women promised her cajolingly, +patting her head with their bloated hands, which, in her madness, she +would gather to her bosom or kiss eagerly with her hot lips. + +The ordinary course of her disease might not have arrived so early to +the fierce virulence that it had now obtained; but the day had been +one of fearful turmoil, even for a healthy person, and this fever, in +a single hour, grows fierce and strong upon such causes. Fuel for a +death-fire had been heaped up in that one miserable day. Now the poor +creature began to rave--her child, her husband, and little Mary. She +shrieked for them louder and louder, that her voice might rise above +the wild, strong cries that swelled as she thought in defiance of her +feebleness. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +JANE CHESTER AND HER LITTLE NURSES. + + + As the starbeams come earthward, and smile on the night, + Awaking the blossoms that drooped in the day, + And kindling their hearts with a dewy delight, + They came to the couch where the sufferer lay. + +All at once, in the very height and fury of her delirium, Mrs. Chester +fell back upon the pillow smiling; the hot tears rolled from her eyes, +and her shaking hand was outstretched. She knew them--for one minute, +that woman's heart grew stronger than her frenzied brain, She knew +those two little girls who crept hand in hand to her couch, holding +back their tears, and striving to look cheerful; though each smile +that they forced broke away in a quiver upon their lips, and the very +effort to be calm made their grief more visible. + +"Children--_my_ children!" whispered the poor woman, softly, for, +after they came in, she never once lifted her voice as she had done, +"come, I will make room--the bed is cool and broad--better, so much +better than that in which they shook and jostled me--come, my little +tired birds--here is pillow enough for us all; when he comes home +again it will please him to see us here, so comfortable. Ah, here come +my angels; sit close, little ones, till they sweep by. You cannot see +their wings now--they are furled close under those comical dresses, +but that is because we are not good enough to look upon them. Some +day, when he comes, my angels will throw off those blue clothes, and +then their wings will unfurl and scatter soft, sweet air all over us. +You shall see them then, so beautiful--fringed and starred and spotted +with gold and purple and bright green--with sunshine melting through, +and the scent of violets dropping around--hush, girls, don't cry, you +shall have a good sight at my angels then--see, see, I am beckoning +them here. Now, hold your breath and wait; hush!" + +The two nurses, who had been at another end of the ward, came that +way, and with her hand quivering in the air, the poor invalid beckoned +them. They came on, loitering heavily along, and talking to each +other. The young woman turned away to another side, and the elder +nurse moved forward, grumbling. + +"See, one is coming. I have been bad to-day, you know, and only this +angel will appear," whispered the invalid, pointing with her unsteady +finger toward the nurse. + +Mary Fuller looked up; her large eyes began to dilate, and her face +grew very pale. The woman's eyes fell upon her. A look of ferocious +pleasure rose to her face, and she came forward, laying her hand +heavily upon the child's shoulder. + +"Mother!" broke from Mary Fuller, and the tears stood in her +affrighted eyes, "oh, mother!" + +"Don't mother me, puss! A pretty child you are, to sneak off, get +yourself new frocks and the like, while your own poor mamma is in +prison!" cried the woman, clutching the child's shoulder. "And how +came you here at last?" + +"I came in search of her!" said the child, pointing to Mrs. Chester; +"she was good to me, after--after they took you away. I lived with +them; this is her little girl!" + +"Then you did not come to see your own mother!--very well--very well! +I only wait till I get out, that's all!" and giving the poor child a +shake, the woman fell to settling the bed-clothes about Mrs. Chester, +muttering threats against the child who stood trembling by her side. + +"I have come," said Mary, meekly, following the woman as she turned +from the bed; "I have come to stay. The kind gentleman at the Park +said that we might both live at Bellevue till she was better. Mother, +oh! mother, let me help take care of her. I can--see how strong I have +grown!" + +"Take care of her, indeed--and who would take care of me, if I were +sick, I should like to know?" + +"I would, indeed I would, mother." + +"Indeed you would--very likely," sneered the woman. "But stay, for +what I care--you will be sure to catch the fever though; and that +little doll, with long curls, let her stay, too. It's a sweet place, +here, for children!" + +"I don't want her to stay here--only let her come in once in awhile to +see her poor mother--she is so young and so pretty; the fever takes +those first, I am sure!" + +"Well, let her come or go--only remember this, if you stay here it +will be no baby play, but work--I'll make you work, let me tell you +that!" + +"I will work--oh, mother, if anything I can do will only save her! You +don't know how hungry I was after you went away--and she fed me!" + +"Well, feed her, then!" cried the woman, a little softened, "there is +a cup, get some water and give her drinks!" + +Mary Fuller took the tin-cup pointed out, and filled it with water. +She went up to the patient with her gentle voice, and held the water +to her lips. The poor woman drank greedily, and then Mary went about +seeking for other means of comfort. The doctor had not yet seen his +patient, so she could only act by her own feeble judgment. She found +a large bowl, and filling it with water, bathed the neck and face and +hands of the poor invalid. Then she saturated Isabel's handkerchief, +and laid it moist and dripping upon the hot forehead. + +"She is better--see, it does her good!" cried the child, with glad +tears in her eyes, turning to Isabel, who stood by, weeping as if her +heart would break, and trembling with a fit of terror that had seized +her the moment she entered the room. + +This cool ablution had indeed relieved the patient. She sighed deeply, +and her mind seemed to change its tone. She was wandering in sweet and +pleasant places, where fountains gushed high, and wild flowers shook +and brightened beneath the soft rain-drops that fell around; nothing +could be more beautiful than the words that denoted this bright change +in her wanderings. Mary's heart thrilled to hear these words, for she +knew that it was her hand that had created the paradise in which the +sufferer fancied herself to be wandering. + +Only once during the next twenty-four hours did Mary leave that humble +bed; then it was to accompany Isabel to the matron, who kindly gave +her a pillow, and allowed her to lie down on the carpet in her room. +The poor child was completely worn out with fatigue and grief. + +But Mary never left her watch for a minute. All the evening she sat by +Mrs. Chester's couch, bathing the forehead of her benefactress, +cooling the palms of her hands, and listening to the soft murmurs that +fell from her lips. + +About ten in the evening, there came into the ward a young man, not +more than twenty years of age, and singularly effeminate in his +appearance. He wore a loose calico dressing-gown, and embroidered +slippers. His manners were gentle, and he seemed greatly distressed by +all the misery that surrounded him. Never in his brief existence had +this young man prescribed for a patient, till he entered the Hospitals +at Bellevue; yet there he stood, in the midst of a pestilence that +might have taxed the skill of twenty old physicians, free to tamper as +he pleased with all that mass of human misery. + +It was well for those poor creatures, that this young student made +up in goodness of heart what he lacked in experience. He did not fear +the pestilence half so much as his own ignorance. But for that +professional pride that clings so powerfully to the young, he would +have resigned at once, rather than take upon his conscience the solemn +responsibility of life and death, as it lay before him in that +fever-ward. But the ignorance that does nothing, is preferable to that +which absolutely kills. The student had little confidence in himself, +but he did not strangle nature with his presumption, and lacking +deeper skill, made a kind nurse. He had learned how to watch the +changes of this disease--an important thing to know--and gave little +medicine, but was prompt at sustaining life with stimulants when the +time came for that. Altogether, it was a fortunate chance for the poor +creatures huddled in that fever-ward, that they were consigned to no +worse hands. + +The young doctor went his rounds, with a small blank-book in his hand, +writing down with a pencil the few and simple prescriptions that he +gave. His presence had a soothing effect upon the patients, for he +spoke kindly to them all. At length he came to Mrs. Chester--two days +and three nights she had been struggling with the fatal disease. The +little Mary sat meekly by her side, for up to this time she alone had +ministered to the sick woman. + +The young man took Mrs. Chester's hand from the checked coverlet and +began to count her pulse. A hundred--more, even more than that he +counted before the minute went by. It was a case of fearful danger; +he saw that at once. Gladly would he have called in counsel, but no +physician had a right within the walls of Bellevue, except those +appointed by the Resident. Two of the assistants were ill, and the +Resident had not yet returned from his dinner with the Common Council. +Perhaps this was a fortunate chance, for the simple remedies ventured +upon by the student did no harm, and nature was left untrammelled to +wrestle with the disease. + +"You will let me stay with her. The gentleman at the Park said I might +stay, if the Doctor did not object!" said Mary, lifting her eyes to +the young man as he laid Mrs. Chester's hand upon the bed. + +The student had hardly noticed the child before; but the sweetness of +her voice pleased him, and he answered that she might stay if she +could do any good to her sick friend. + +"I have been listening. I heard what you said about them all along +here. In the morning you shall see if I hav'n't taken some care!" + +"I hope so," said the student, sadly, "for, without care, the greatest +care, a good many must be dead before morning!" + +"Show me which. Just point them out very softly, and tell me what +ought to be done. You need not be afraid that I shall fall asleep!" +whispered the little girl, rising eagerly. + +The student looked at the child in surprise. Her plain face, a moment +before so sad, shone with the brightness of an angel's. + +"I am sure you will not sleep," he said. "Now follow me around to +these beds and I will repeat my directions to you--the women, I see +are gone out. You will make a small nurse, but a very good one, I +dare say!" + +Mary followed him, listening to every word that fell from his lips, +and reading the expression of his face with her intelligent eyes. + +All night long the child was on her feet moving from bed to bed, +carrying drink to one, persuading another to swallow the medicine that +had been prescribed, and pouring a spoonful of wine or brandy into the +pale mouth of another; thus keeping the feeble lamp of life flickering +on, pauper life, it is true, but precious to them as the breath that +swells the purple-clad bosom of a monarch. + +The nurses left the ward about midnight, and did not return for many +hours. When they came back Mary turned very pale, and cowered down at +the foot of Mrs. Chester's bed. Her mother--she knew the signs, oh, +how well--her mother had been drinking. Judge Sharp's benevolence had +provided the means of a carouse for those two wretched women. They +both came in reeling from one sick bed to another; the older muttering +taunts upon the wretched inmates; the other shedding maudlin tears +more horrible and disgusting still. After wandering about the ward for +a time, the two wretched creatures seated themselves upon the floor, +and throwing their arms around each other, sunk into a brutal slumber +which lasted till day-light. + +Again Mary Fuller arose from her place by Mrs. Chester; again she +ministered to the lips that unconsciously muttered her name, coupling +it with words of tender love; and again she hovered around those +pauper couches, treading very lightly, for she trembled with fear that +her mother might awake. When daylight came, the child went noiselessly +round to those whom the doctor had supposed in the greatest danger. +They were all alive. One looked up, blessing her with eyes that, +lacking her gentle care, must have been sealed in death. Another +parted her pale lips, and besought the child not to leave her again +to the care of those rude women. A third took her little thin hand and +kissed it. + +The child crept back to her seat, weeping tears of thankfulness. She, +apparently one of the most helpless of God's creatures, had that night +saved the lives of three human beings. She had done this great good, +and with her little hands folded in her lap thanked God--not audibly, +but as children sometimes do thank the Heavenly Father--that He had +made her so strong. + +While these feelings comforted the child, the mother arose heavily +from her drunken slumber. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE STUDENT PHYSICIAN AND THE CHILD. + + + Softly she came like a spirit of light, + And her goodness shone out like the glow in a gem; + As she waited and watched through the wearisome night, + The fall of her footstep was music to them. + +Another day went by. New patients were crowded into the hospital, and +some were carried out with their feet toward the door. For an hour or +two that day Mary Fuller slept a little, with her head resting against +Mrs. Chester's cot. The groans and the depression of the sick did not +shake her nerves as they had at first; and the poor thing was so +exhausted that even in that place, and in the poisoned atmosphere, her +slumber was deep and tranquil; and then came a remembrance of her +father's dying words, that no human being was so humble or weak that +some good to humanity might not be won from her exertions. She looked +around the ward and saw a blessing in every eye, and she knew that one +in heaven was blessing her also. + +Oh, if Mrs. Chester could have slept for one hour like that little +creature at her feet. But the poison seemed kindling afresh in her +brain; her fancies grew wild and terrible; she was climbing mountains, +sinking deep, deep, deep into the very bowels of the earth, where +serpents coiled and hissed, and writhed with horrid joy as they saw +her descend. Now she clung to the point of some sharp rock, holding on +with her fingers, while those huge serpents trailed themselves upward, +crawling slowly from the abyss from which she was saved only by the +grip of her own slender fingers. + +Then you knew by her voice that the scene had changed. She was +pleading for Chester--pleading with low broken tones, that would have +touched a heart of stone. She besought the Mayor not to wrong her +husband, not to press and wring his proud spirit so cruelly as he had +done; and then she believed that her sweet eloquence had prevailed, +for her lips trembled with thanks; she murmured nothing but soft +blessings upon the man who had been to her worse than a murderer. +Another change, and she passed on to some new hallucination, visionary +as the last, for day and night her brain never rested. When they +questioned her, the poor woman always answered that she was not ill, +that nothing was the matter, nothing whatever--she only wondered the +people would tease her so with inquiries that had no meaning. + +Another night came on, and again Mary prepared herself to watch by the +sick. The few hours of slumber she had obtained, made quite a new +creature of her. She was resolved to be doubly vigilant--that no one +of the suffering persons around her should lack nourishment or care. +How cheerful and strong the little creature grew, as a sense of her +power to accomplish good increased upon her. It was strange, but after +the first few minutes she never once thought of the danger. There she +was, feeble and helpless, in the very midst of a pestilence that would +have terrified the strongest man; but it seemed quite impossible to +the brave girl that the fever should reach her. Perhaps this very +confidence protected her, for while she inhaled poison with every +breath, it produced no harmful effect upon her. + +The nurses were sullen and bitter in their language to the child all +day. They seemed to think her an intruder, and, but for the young +physician, she must have been driven forth from the ward by her own +mother. Toward night these two women whispered much together, going +frequently into the passage where several nurses from other wards met +them stealthily. As the night drew on, Mrs. Chester sunk into a fitful +sleep, and this encouraged the little watcher, who sat gazing +wistfully on her face, scarcely daring to move, though the noise +around was unabated. The hours crept on, and darkness gathered over +those pauper-couches. Mary looked up through the gloom, and saw her +mother creeping softly from couch to couch, making herself very busy +with the medicines. The doctor had just paid his last visit for the +night; finding Mrs. Chester low, and evidently sinking, he had ordered +both brandy and wine to be given in small quantities, but very +frequently, during the night. + +The tin-cups which held the precious stimulants--for they were +precious in the sick-room, holding life and death in their +strength--stood upon a little stool near Mrs. Chester's cot. It was +these tin-cups that drew the nurse like a vampire to the spot where +her child sat watching. + +"Go," she said, in a more kindly tone than she had hitherto used when +addressing the gentle girl, "go and bring that little curly-headed +doll in, if she wants to kiss her mother again to-night--I suppose she +would like to see her fast asleep, as she is now!" + +Mary arose, dissatisfied, she knew not why, with the tone of cajoling +kindness in which she had been addressed. But Mrs. Chester slept, and +during the next ten minutes would not require her attendance. Isabel +had been drooping like a strange bird, since she came to the Alms +House, and Mary knew that it would cheer her to see her poor mother in +that calm sleep. Still the child went forth with unaccountable +reluctance. The moment she was out of sight, that wretched woman +pounced like a bird of prey upon those tin-cups, and poured +three-fourths of their contents into a dark earthern pitcher that she +carried under her apron. Then she hastily filled the cups with water, +leaving just enough of the original contents to color the whole. + +The next and next patient was robbed in like manner; then with her +black pitcher reeking with the life she had plundered from those poor +creatures, the wretch went out, comparing with a chuckle her horrid +spoil, with the jar half-full of brandy, which the younger nurse had +gathered from her end of the ward. + +"Hurry, hurry, or we shan't get through before the young cockatrice +comes back to catch us at work! She has got the eye of a hawk, I can +tell you," cried the woman, emptying her pitcher into the jar, which +was carried away to a safe corner by her accomplice. + +"Come, bring the water and fill up after me. There is twenty beds left +yet. I gave the right sort of symptoms to the doctor, and he left the +kind of medicine that we like best for almost the whole lot." + +The young woman followed her ruthless leader into the ward, carrying +the water-pitcher in her unsteady hand, for she had not reached the +hardened audacity of her preceptress, and there was something in the +scene to make even a debased nature tremble. + +"Don't, don't take more than half; they will die before morning if we +do!" she whispered, as the eyes of a patient, full of heart-rending +reproach, was turned upon their work. "See, this one is so feeble." + +"Poh, a little brandy, more or less, what does it signify?" cried Mrs. +Fuller. + +"The wine, then leave the wine. I did not take a drop!" + +"More fool, you!" + +"Hush!" said the young woman, "I hear her coming. Leave the rest; we +shall be found out." + +"Take this and give me the water. Out of the way, now, and see that +you don't drink any till I come!" + +The young woman hurried out of the room, meeting Mary Fuller and +little Isabel in the passage. + +"They want water. I am going for more water. It is wonderful how they +keep us running night and day!" she said, hoping to draw off their +attention with a gratuitous falsehood. + +Neither of the little girls answered, but passed gently into the ward. + +Mrs. Fuller was by a cot near the door, holding her water-pitcher +to the lips of a patient; nothing could appear more kind than her +demeanor. "Ah, here you are," she said, nodding to the children, +"she is asleep yet! Don't make any more noise than you can help." + +Isabel went up to her mother's cot, and kneeling by it looked +earnestly upon the pale and languid features. + +"_Is_ she better?--see how white she is, how her eyes are sunken. She +hardly breathes at all. Oh, Mary, _is_ she better?" + +"Yes, the Doctor says so--and she does not mutter to herself or seem +so restless as she did. I think, Isabel that she _is_ better!" + +The tears gushed into Isabel's eyes. She bent down and softly kissed +the pale hand of her mother. Mrs. Chester started and opened her eyes; +they fell upon her child, and instantly that full gaze was blended +with tears. + +"Isabel, my child." The words were very, very faint, but oh, how +sweetly they fell upon those young hearts. + +"She knows me--oh, Mary, she knows me!" cried the child, and her +beautiful face grew radiant amid the tears that covered it, like a +flower struck with sunshine when the dew is heaviest on its petals. +"Mamma, oh, my own mamma, this is Mary, our Mary Fuller!" + +The sick woman turned her eyes toward her little nurse. She tried to +lift her hand, but it only shook on the checked quilt. + +"Mary, my good, good Mary!" + +Mary knelt down softly by her friend, and bowing her head wept in +sweet and grateful joy. + +"Where am I? Where have I been?" asked the invalid, still more +faintly. + +"You are with us, this is our home!" answered Mary, almost catching +her breath, for she dared not tell the poor lady where she really was. + +Mrs. Chester was now quite exhausted, her eyes closed, and she +scarcely breathed. Mary started up and poured out a spoonful of what +she supposed to be wine. + +"Every ten minutes--every ten minutes we must give her this, with the +beef tea when she can take it." + +"Let me--oh, let me give it to her this one time," pleaded Isabel. + +Mary resigned the pewter spoon with a faint smile, and Isabel held the +colored water to her mother's pale lips. Then Mrs. Chester slept again +while the two girls sat watching her with their hopeful eyes. Once +every ten minutes these little creatures would steal up to the pillow +and pour the mockery of strength between those white and parted lips, +hoping each time that she would open her eyes and speak to them +again--but no, she slept on and each moment her breath grew fainter. +While the two girls sat with their arms interlinked watching that +beloved face, the nurses stole out from the ward, and crept, each with +an earthen pitcher in her hand, down the Hospital stairs, and out into +the open grounds. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE MIDNIGHT REVEL--MARY AND HER MOTHER. + + + Time stole into eternity, + And they stood wondering by, + Breathless, and oh, how silently + To watch the lov'd one die. + +Between that portion of Bellevue occupied as an hospital and the main +building lay several enclosures sparsely cultivated with flowers, but +altogether possessing a barren and dismal aspect. Scattered through +these enclosures were offices and shanties, some occupied by favored +paupers, and others used as work-shops and for the culinary purposes +of the Hospitals. + +In one of these shanties a shocking scene presented itself that night. +The signal for a secret carouse had been given, and the orderlies and +nurses crept stealthily from their posts by the sick, and came through +the midnight darkness towards the shanty. Some came slowly and at +once; while others stole like gaunt wild beasts, by the high wall that +sweeps parallel with the western front of the main Hospital, +sheltering themselves beneath the willow trees and the deep shadow +cast by the building, while with their hands they groped eagerly along +the wall. They found, after some trouble, the cords for which they +were seeking, each with a piece of iron at the end, that had been cast +over the wall by an accomplice outside the gate. Three of these cords +lay tightened across the wall, their iron ballast sunk into the turf, +and with breathless haste they were drawn over each with a bottle at +the end, which, as it reached the top of the wall, fell into the foul +hands grasping at it. + +One bottle was broken in the fall, for the man stationed to receive it +was very old, and he could not see like the others. When the vessel +was dashed against the stones bespattering the aged drunkard with its +contents, he fell upon the grass wringing his hands and bemoaning his +hard fate. The others met his grief with muttered curses, and one of +them spurned the grovelling creature with his foot, showering fierce +reproaches upon his carelessness. + +They drove this miserable being back to his lair in the shanties, +but he crawled abjectly toward them, begging to join the carouse +notwithstanding his great misfortune. They would still have rejected +him, but the old man had learned craft with his age, and when pleading +was of no avail, betook himself to threats, which proved more +effectual than his tears. Fearing that he might expose them in the +morning, they consented that the old man should have a portion of +their spoils, and he followed them through the darkness like a lame +old hound that takes his food greedily, though beaten by the hand that +gives it. + +A cooking-stove stood in the shanty, with a pine table and some +stools. Upon the stove was a metal lamp burning dimly and emitting a +cloud of smoke. One end of the table held a tin candlestick, where a +meagre tallow-candle swaled away in the socket, and the table was +littered with fragments of food in little round pans. An iron spoon or +two, with three or four tin cups, lay amid this confusion. Around this +table hovered half a dozen women nearly intoxicated with brandy +supplied by the nurses, from number ten. + +In this state was the shanty when the two orderlies came in, hugging +the great black bottles to their bosoms, followed by the old pauper, +who still muttered discontentedly at his loss. + +Then began the carouse in earnest! The tin cups were filled again and +again--the earthen pitchers circulated from lip to lip--like wild +animals, they devoured the fragments stolen from the convalescent +patients, and swallowed the stimulants, of which they had plundered +the dying not a stone's throw off; pipes and tobacco were produced, +the women smoking fiercely like the men; while ribald jests and +muttered curses rose through the foul smoke. + +And these were the persons provided by a law of New York City for the +sick poor--these fierce women, reeling to and fro like fiends amid the +smoke, making sport of pain, joking about coffins--laughing with +drunken glee over the death throes they had witnessed. These were the +nurses a great and rich city gave to its poor--merciful economy--sweet, +beautiful humanity! + +And there sat those gentle children in the fever wards so wickedly +deserted. From time to time Isabel parted the violet lips of her poor +mother, and forced through them the liquid fraud that was so cruelly +deceiving them. Mary went from bed to bed administering to the dying +poor, as she had done the night before; but with a heavy heart, for +all that she gave them imparted no strength. She could see the +helpless creatures droop and sink from minute to minute; one or two +were benefited, but the rest only seemed worse from all her tending. + +Mary was giving a draught of water to a young woman, who in her +delirium clamored constantly for drink, when Isabel stole softly to +her side. The child was very pale, and her large eyes dilated with +terror. She took hold of Mary's dress and pulled it. + +"Mary, oh, Mary, she did not swallow the last. Come, come and help +me!" + +Mary sat down the water pitcher and went to Mrs. Chester. She bent +down close to the motionless face, listening. You could see her cheek +grow pale in the dim light, as she held her own breath, hoping to +catch one flutter from those white and parted lips. She lifted her +head at last, and turned her mournful eyes on Isabel. + +The little girl looked imploringly upon her--she shed no tear--uttered +no word; but fell, like a wounded bird, prone to the floor, and there +stood poor Mary in the midst of death, utterly alone. + +When the nurses came reeling up from their carouse, three lay dead +upon those narrow cots besides Mrs. Chester, and two were dying. + +"Go and call Crofts!" cried Mrs. Fuller, staggering from bed to bed, +reckless and fierce. "Let us have the cots cleared--bring in the +shrouds, I say. Tell Crofts we have plenty of use for his pine boxes +to-night." + +The other nurse obeyed her, muttering fiercely against the unevenness +of the floor. + +The coffins were brought in, and these two wretched women arranged the +poor creatures they had murdered, for their pauper graves. They came +to Mrs. Chester last, but Mary Fuller, who knelt by the bed-side with +poor Isabel senseless at her feet, arose and stood firmly before her +mother. + +"You shall not touch her! You shall not even look at her!" cried the +noble child--and with her trembling hand she drew the sheet over the +features she had so dearly loved. + +The woman glared fiercely upon the child. Drink had rendered her +ferocious--she lifted her clenched hand, shaking it savagely, and an +oath broke from her hot lips--an oath over the beautiful dead. + +"I--I will put that on," said the child, pointing to the shroud which +the nurse held crushed under her arm. + +"Out of my way!" cried the furious woman--"out of the way, or I will +strike you!" + +"Mother, leave this poor lady to me, or I will go myself and call up +the doctor," answered the child firmly. + +"Out of my way!" repeated the wretched woman. + +The child grew pale as death, but in her eyes rose the steady firmness +of a meek but strong spirit, fully aroused. + +"Mother, though you strike me to your feet, though you kill me, I will +not let you come near this poor lady--not now--not as you are!" + +"As I am!--how is that?" cried the vile mother, lifting her soiled +apron to her eyes and heaving a sob. "Here I am, a poor, forlorn +prisoner, and you, my own child, must come to taunt me in this +way--I wish I were dead--oh, I do--I do!" + +And in a fit of maudlin self-condolence, the base woman betook herself +to a corner of the ward where, with her arms flung across the cot of a +delirious patient, she muttered herself into a heavy slumber. + +Mary Fuller turned to her mournful task. First she sprinkled water in +poor Isabel's face, and strove with all her feeble skill to bring the +child from the death-like swoon in which she had fallen; but the +beautiful child lay upon the floor, pale as her mother, and looking +nearly as much like death. When all her own simple efforts at +restoration proved fruitless, Mary went out in search of help; she met +Crofts in the passage, who took the child in his arms and bore her to +the matron's room. + +When Crofts returned with the pine coffin he found the remains of poor +Jane Chester reposing beneath the scant folds of an Alms House shroud. +The pale hands were laid meekly on her bosom, and her hair--that long, +beautiful hair, which Chester had been so proud of, lay in all its +bright beauty over her brow. Disease had not yet reached the purple +bloom that lay upon those tresses, and Mary, following her own gentle +memory of the past, had disposed them in rich waves back from the +forehead, which gave a singular but beautiful look to that calm, dead +face. They lifted the pale form of Jane Chester, and laid it +reverently in the pauper coffin. There was neither pillow nor lining +there, nothing but the bare boards to receive those delicate limbs, +and this bleak poverty made even the heart of Crofts sink within him. + +"It is a pity--she does not seem like the rest--I wish we had asked +the matron for a strip of cloth or something to put under her head," +he whispered, addressing the stolid man who stood by. + +"Wait, only wait a few minutes," answered Mary, laying her hand +eagerly on Crofts' arm. "How kind it is of you to think of this. You +will wait, I am sure. I--I will get something!" + +"Very well, we will take out the others first," said Crofts, who was +very kindly disposed toward the little girl; "be quick, though." + +Mary went out in breathless haste. She was very pale, and her eyes +were full of sorrowful eagerness as she went forth into the dim, grey +morning, just breaking through the fog that lay on the Long Island +shore, and revealing the waters that rolled darkly between that and +Bellevue. She threaded her way through the enclosures which we have +mentioned. The light was just sufficient to reveal a few spring +flowers, starting up from the soil, and the soft foliage of an old +vine or two that covered the nakedness of some outbuilding. + +Ignorant of those rules that made her act a trespass, Mary wandered +on, gathering up the hyacinths, violets and golden crocuses to which +the night had given birth. Down to the water's edge she rambled, +carefully gathering up each bud in her passage. In a corner of the +superintendent's garden she found an old pear tree, dead, except the +trunk and a single limb nearest to the ground, that was studded with +snow-white blossoms. + +Mary clambered up by the wall, and breaking off handful after handful +of these fragrant buds, carried them, all wet with dew, back to the +hospital. As she bore her treasure along the fever ward, scenting the +pestilential atmosphere with their pure breath, the sick turned their +languid faces toward her, greedily inhaling the transient sweetness. +Two or three of the convalescent women followed her with longing eyes. +She felt these glances and turned back, leaving a spray of the dewy +buds upon the pillow of each. The grateful look with which her +kindness was greeted softened somewhat the sorrow that oppressed her. + +With the most touching reverence she knelt by Mrs. Chester's coffin, +lifted that cold head softly from the boards, and placed the flowers +she had brought beneath it. Softly she laid her benefactress down upon +the blossom pillow. The delicate blending of rosy purple with the rich +gold of the crocuses and the golden green willow leaves, relieved by +the pure white of the blossoms underneath, cast around the dead a halo +of spiritual beauty. The soft and blended brightness of the flowers +seemed to illuminate those beautiful and tranquil features. Around the +form of Jane Chester there seemed nothing of death but its solemn +repose. + +"Not yet--a little, only a little longer!" pleaded the child, as +Crofts came to close the coffin, "I hope, I am almost sure, Isabel can +bear to look at her now!" + +Crofts smiled grimly, and sat down on the empty cot. In a few moments +Mary came into the ward, supporting Isabel with her frail strength. +The child wept no longer, but the trembling of her little form was +painfully visible as she tottered forward. Not a word passed between +the children--not a look was exchanged, but when Isabel bent over her +mother, and saw the blossom shadows trembling around her head, her +lips began to quiver, and the tears gushed from her heart. + +Crofts, the common upholsterer of the Poor House, turned away his +face, and wiped his eyes with the skirt of his coat. Close by him +stood the man who shared his horrid duties, gazing with a look of +stolid indifference on the scene. Crofts arose, and taking this man +by the arm, led him out from the ward. + +The two little girls went away after the coffin was removed; directly +Mary came back with her shawl and hood on. She was ready to leave +Bellevue, and returned to say a last, kind word to her mother. The +promise she had made her father on his death-bed rose to her mind, and +took the form of a prayer. + +"Mother, look up, mother, I am going." The woman turned heavily and +lifted her head. "I am going, mother." + +"Very well, I can't help it," muttered the mother, heavily. + +"I don't know where they will take us, or if we shall ever see one +another again," persisted the child; "but, oh, mother before we part, +tell me how I can make you love me?" + +"If there is a drop of brandy anywhere about, bring it and I'll love +you dearly, indeed I will, little Mary; I ain't at all well, Mary, and +a drop of brandy is good for sickness; get some, that's a dear; I'm +very fond of you, Mary!" + +"Mother, I cannot; but, if you will never ask for it again, I will. +Oh, I will die for you; I hav'n't anything but my life to give--nor +that," she added, with a sudden thought, "for it belongs to God; I +have nothing." + +Mrs. Fuller had fallen asleep, and heard nothing of this. So Mary +turned away sorrowful, but not altogether hopeless. Those who trust in +God never are. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +A SPRING MORNING--AND A PAUPER BURIAL. + + + Not here--not here with our lovely dead-- + Oh, give one spot of sacred earth! + Where the grass may wave, above her head, + And the sweet, wild flowers have holy birth. + + Oh, grant our prayer--our solemn prayer-- + A lonely grave--and fresh, green sod-- + There is earth around us everywhere; + And the mother earth belongs to God. + +A long heavy boat lay at the Bellevue wharf. In the bow sat half a +dozen paupers, who started up now and then to range the coffins that +came in wheelbarrow loads from a little brick building near the wharf. + +A name was marked rudely in chalk upon the lid of each coffin, and +this was all that those who brought them knew or cared about the +senseless forms they carried. Out from that brick house, and along the +wharf, they were trundled amid a swarm of loungers, who helped eagerly +to lower them into the boat. + +It was the harvest time of death at Bellevue, and those pine coffins +were garnered by tens and twenties each day. That morning the weight +of twenty-four human forms, all breathing souls fifteen hours before, +sunk that stout boat to the water's edge. + +When the last coffin came alone upon the handbarrow, Crofts +accompanied it, followed by two little girls. With his own hands he +helped to lower that coffin into the boat, and those paupers who could +read saw Jane Chester's name chalked upon the lid. As Crofts settled +his burden gently down across an empty seat, a faint odor of flowers +stole through the crevices, and when the rude sail cloth was flung +carelessly over the rest, he laid a strip of clean, coarse linen over +this coffin, then clambering across to the man who sat with the helm +in his hand, he imparted some directions to him in a low voice. + +"What, up to Randall's Island! Take those two children in the boat +there and back to the nurseries! It can't be done, I tell you," said +the man, sulkily. "I won't do it without the Superintendent's order, +nor then either, if I can help myself." + +"Oh, let us go with her--pray take us!" cried Mary Fuller, who was +anxiously watching the man, while Isabel bent over the wharf, her +hands hanging down, and her eyes full of helpless woe. + +The pauper captain neither heeded the pleading cry of Mary Fuller, or +the more touching look of the orphan--and to all the humane arguments +of Crofts he turned a deaf ear. At length Crofts found a means of +persuasion more potent than tears or words. He took from his pocket +four twists of coarse tobacco, which the captain received with a grin. +Hiding the treasure under his seat, he cast a sharp glance over the +pile of coffins to assure himself that the transfer had not been +observed by the men in the bow. + +"Holloa, there, stop crying and jump in if you want to go!" cried the +man, addressing the children; "make room in the bow, will you--we have +got to leave these children at the nurseries as we come back." + +Crofts lifted the little girls into the boat, sat them gently down in +the shadow of Mrs. Chester's coffin, and went back to the hospital. + +"Give way, all hands!" cried the captain, seizing the helm. "Pull a +strong oar, boys, or the tide will turn agin us!" + +Half a dozen oars splashed into the water as this command was given. +The boat moved slowly from the wharf, and wheeling through a narrow +inlet, shot heavily out with its freight of death, into the East +River. + +Oh, what a change was there, from the dull and murky gloom of +Bellevue! Down upon the broad expanse of waters came the morning +sunshine. Rosy and golden it fell upon the waves, as they tossed and +rolled and dimpled to the soft spring breeze. Here a current of liquid +gold went eddying in and out, like the trail of a comet; there, lay +the smooth, calm surface, rosy with the young light, or blackened by +the shadow of an overhanging bank. Behind them lay New York city, +Brooklyn, and Williamsburg, the tall masts and steeples rising through +a sea of hazy gold, and belted with the silvery flash of the river. +The banks, on either side, were clothed with soft, vivid green, broken +with dog-wood trees in full flower, and maples in the first sweet +crimson of their foliage. The fragrance from these banks swept down +upon the water and trembled through the air. + +All this seemed like the very atmosphere of paradise to those little +girls, after their dreary sojourn in the pestilential gloom of +Bellevue. They could not realize that the mother, the benefactress, +whose smile had been so sweet only a few days before, was really and +truly gone. She was there close by; their little hands could touch her +coffin; the scent of flowers stealing through its chinks, constantly +reminded them of the mournful truth; but, with everything so bright +and lovely around, they could not believe in the reality. The motion +of the boat--the melodious dip of the oars in the water--these things +were new and strange. There was nothing like death in it all save the +heap of coffins, and from them they shrank shuddering and appalled. + +As the boat crept by Hurl Gate, a fearful change came over them. The +glorious beauty of nature conflicting with the gloom of death; the +frightful jokes of the crew; the boiling waters, leaping up only a few +yards off, in long glittering flashes, like banners of silver, torn +and weltering in the breeze; the sky bending over them deeply blue, +and flooded with pleasant sunshine; the ribald criticisms of those +coarse men, and the death-heap under which the sluggish boat toiled +through the waters--all these sharp contrasts were enough to have +unsettled the nerves of strong manhood. To those children, worn out +and heartbroken, it brought strange and fearful excitement. Their +hands were interlinked; a thrill of keen magnetic sympathy shot +through their frames. They looked at the bright water leaping and +flashing so near. A wild temptation came over them, to spring from the +shadow of that death-heap into the sparkling flood. This thrilling +desire assailed them both at once--their hands clung closer--their +eyes, a moment before so heavy and sad, gleamed with intense meaning. +They crept close to the side of the boat. + +"We are alone--we are all alone in the wide, wide world," said Isabel, +in a low voice that thrilled through and through the heart that +listened. + +Isabel leaned over the boat; she was gazing wistfully into the water. + +"One spring, Mary, and we both have a home." + +The child stood up, her foot was on the edge of the boat, her face was +turned toward Hurl Gate. + +Mary Fuller started, as if from a wild dream, and flung her arms +around the half frenzied child, standing there upon the threshold of +a great crime. + +"Isabel, oh, Isabel! can we leave _her_ here, all alone?" + +The child turned her head, her foot was slowly withdrawn, and her eyes +sank to her mother's coffin. She fell into Mary's arms, and burst into +a wild passion of tears. Filled with the same terrible feelings, Mary +Fuller could scarcely restrain the wild sobs that broke to her lips. +She clung close to Isabel, and, cowering down in the boat, afraid to +trust themselves with another sight of the rushing waters that had so +tempted them, the little creatures remained motionless till they +reached Randall's Island. + +All this passed before the stolid crew, and they did not know it, but +joked and jeered each other in the midst of death, as if their horrid +duties had been a pastime. These men were so used to the King of +Terrors, that his aspect had ceased to disturb them. + +They landed on Randall's Island, a lovely spot at all seasons, but now +teaming with luxuriant beauty. The apple orchards were all in blossom. +The cherry and pear trees, white as if a snow-storm had drifted over +them. The oak groves were robed with delicate foliage, and a carpet of +young grass lay everywhere around. Again the contrast between nature +and that death-freight was more than painful. + +Two or three men came down to the landing with wheelbarrows, and the +boat was disencumbered of its gloomy load. The little girls sat down +upon the shore, watching each load as it was trundled away. At length, +the men brought the coffin in which their hearts rested, and laid it +across a hand barrow. They arose silently, and followed it hand and +hand. + +They turned into an orchard; the blossoming apple boughs drooped over +the coffin as it passed under them. A host of birds made the fragrant +air tremble with their songs. The single wheel of the hand-barrow +crushed hundreds of wild flowers down in the tender grass. Once more +it seemed like a dream to those young hearts. Surely, surely it could +not be her grave they were approaching through all this labyrinth of +blossoms! + +All at once they came into an open space. The world of flowers was +left behind. Thickets and broken hillocks were on the right and left. +A sweep of green sward fell gently down to the water; here the turf +was torn up and mangled, and long deep ridges of fresh soil swept +downward toward the shore. Some were heaped high with fresh mould and +around them all the young grass lay trampled and dead. There was one +deep trench open half the way down, into which a man leaped, while the +others handed down the coffins ranged on either side the trench. With +their hands clinging together, the children crept close to the brink +of the abyss and looked down. One low cry and, in pale silence, they +recoiled back to the coffin and sunk down by it, like twin flowers +broken at the stem. + +An old man rose up from the trench, casting down his spade and dashing +the soil from his hands, rejoicing that his task was over for that +day; but his eyes fell upon the mournful group we have described. + +"What, another yet!" he muttered, with sullen discontent, as he moved +forward. The little girls heard his approach and crept closer to the +coffin. + +"Not there! oh, do not put her there!" cried Isabel, lifting her ashen +face to the man. + +The pauper-sexton shook his head. + +"This is always the way," he muttered, "when the friends are allowed +to come here, we are sure of trouble!" + +"Is there no other place? oh, do not put her with all them!" + +So pleaded Mary, rising to her feet, and taking hold of the old man's +garments. + +"In all this island is there no room where one person can be buried +alone?" + +"If you have a dollar to pay for the trouble--yes," answered the old +man, softened by her distress. + +"A dollar!" + +The child turned away in utter despondency. Where on the wide earth +was she to find a dollar? Isabel looked at her with mournful +solicitude. A dollar! she would have given her young life for that +little sum of money; but, alas! even her life would not procure so +much. + +The old man stood gazing upon those little pale faces, the one so +beautiful, the other vivid and wild with intense feeling. His heart +was touched, and going back to the trench he took up his spade. + +"Come and point out the place where you would like to have her buried, +and I will do the work for nothing," he said; "as likely as not my +little grandchildren will some day be crying over me for want of a +dollar." + +The old man seemed like an angel to those little girls. They could not +speak from fullness of gratitude, but followed the grave digger back +towards the orchard. Here the earth was broken, and rendered uneven by +some fifty or sixty hillocks; some marked by a single pine board, +others without even this frail memorial by which the death-couch might +be traced. + +On the outskirts of this humble burial-place they found a fragment of +rock, half buried in the rich turf, and overrun with wild flowers, +mingled with fresh young moss. An apple-tree sheltered this spot, and +a honeysuckle-vine had taken root in a cleft of the rock, around which +its young tendrils lay, covered with budding foliage. + +The little girls pointed out this spot, and the old man kindly sent +them away, before he sunk his spade in the turf. + +When his task was done he came toward them, wiping the drops from his +forehead. The sexton was poor, but out of the feeble strength left to +his old age, he had given something to alleviate distress greater than +his own. A consciousness of this made his voice peculiarly gentle, as +he called a man from the trench to aid in the humble funeral of Jane +Chester. + +Again that coffin was borne beneath the sweeping boughs of the +orchard, and lowered into its solitary grave, amid the sweet breath of +their restless blossoms. The two children followed it with meek and +tearful gratitude. The horrors of the tomb seemed nothing to them now, +that the beloved form was secure of a quiet resting-place. The dread +of seeing her cast into that trench had swallowed up all minor +feelings. It seemed like leaving her there in a holy sleep, when the +old man led them from the grave. They knew that it was a sleep from +which their grief could never arouse her, but still they went away, +greatly comforted. + +The last boat was ready to put off when these children reached the +shore. They sat down close together, without much apparent emotion. +Their energies were completely prostrated; they had lost, almost, the +power to suffer or to weep. + +"We were ordered to leave you at the nurseries. Do you wish to go +there?" inquired the captain. + +Isabel looked at him vacantly, and Mary answered, + +"We do not know." + +"Would you not rather go back to the city, or to Bellevue?" persisted +the man, determined to force them into conversation; but still the +child answered, + +"We do not know." + +This mild and passive sorrow was more touching than their worst agony +had been. They seemed like two wounded birds bleeding to death without +a struggle. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE FATHER'S PROPHECY--THE DAUGHTER'S FAITH. + + + Oh, faith, how beautiful thou art! + Like some pure, snowy-breasted dove, + Nested within that gentle heart, + Ye filled its softest pulse with love. + +Just where the banks of the East River are the most broken and +picturesque on the New York shore, and the sunny slopes of Long Island +are most verdant in their Arcadian beauty, the river opens its bright +waters, and Blackwell's Island rises, green and beautiful, from its +azure bosom. Years ago, when this gem of the East River was a private +estate, with only one dwelling-house to break its entire seclusion, it +must have seemed like a mile's length of paradise dropped into the +water. Then, its hollows were fragrant with wild roses, haunted by +blackbirds and thrushes. Its shores were hedged in by the snow-white +dogwood, wild cherry and maple trees, laced together with native +grape-vines and scarlet creepers, that, even a year or two back, hung +along its shores, like torn banners left upon a battle-field. +Blackwell's Island had other inhabitants than the singing birds and +the sweet wild blossoms, when the orphans first landed there. Then its +extremities were burdened to the very water's edge, with edifices of +massive stone, where human crime and human misery were crowded +together in masses appalling to reflect upon. + +On one end of the island, naturally so quiet and beautiful, rose the +rugged walls of the Penitentiary, flanked by outhouses, hospitals and +offices, every stone of which was eloquent of human degradation. Here, +a thousand wretched men, bowed with misery and branded with crime, +were crowded together. All the day long, herds of these degraded +beings might be seen in their coarse and faded uniform, burrowing in +the earth, blasting and shaping the rocks that were to form new +prison-walls, and filling the sweet air with groans and curses, which +once thrilled only to the songs of summer-birds. + +At the other extremity of the island stood the Insane Asylum, a +beautiful pile, towering over a scene of misery that should fill the +heart with awe. There is, perhaps, no spot of its size, throughout the +length and breadth of our land, where every variety of human suffering +is so closely condensed as it has been for years on this island. The +moment your foot touches the shore you feel oppressed with feelings +that seem inexplicable. Pity, horror, and a painful blending of both, +crowd upon the heart with every breath you draw. Nothing but the air +seems free; nothing but the blue sky above seems pure, as you walk +from one scene of distress to another. You feel the more oppressed +because human effort seems so powerless to alleviate the misery you +witness; for who can minister to a mind diseased? What can take away +the deformity and sting of guilt? Where lies the power to lift poverty +from the degradation that the haughty and evil spirit of man has flung +around it? The very heart grows faint as it beats in this wilderness +of woe, and finds no fitting answer to questions like these. + +But at the time these events happened there was one remnant of +beautiful nature left on Blackwell's Island--one spot where the +flowers were permitted to bloom in the pure breath of heaven--where +the trees were yet rooted to the earth, and filled as of old, with the +music of summer birds. On the very centre of the island stood an old +mansion house, the residence of its proprietor before the paradise +became city property. It was a rambling old building, with wings of +unequal length shaded with magnificent willows, and surrounded by +shrubbery, and pretty lawns, interspersed with fine old trees. +Terraces beautifully lifted from the water's edge; and gravel walks, +bordered with the thickest and heaviest box-myrtle, with here and +there a grape arbor spanning them with its leafy arch, sloped with +picturesque beauty to the river which washed both sides of the island. +A neglected and rude old place it was, but perhaps the more lovely for +that. Neglect only seemed to give richer luxuriance to every thing +around; the hedges and rose-thickets were tangled together. Great +snow-ball trees, trumpet vines and honeysuckles seemed to shoot out +more rigorously from want of pruning, and the trees had become +majestic with age. + +From the broad hall you might see the river on either hand, gleaming +through the spreading branches. Now and then a snow-white sail glided +by, and at sunset the water seemed heaving up waves of gold wherever +your eye turned. + +This was the Children's Hospital. In the low chambers, and the fine +old fashioned rooms, from two hundred and fifty to three hundred +children lay upon their little cots, in all stages of suffering to +which infancy is subject. It was a painful scene--those helpless +little creatures, orphaned, or worse than orphaned, in the morning of +life, wearing such looks of pain, and yet so patient. God help them! + +It was a touching sight to watch the brightening of those little +faces, whenever the good matron passed into the wards ministering to +their comfort--poor things--by a kind look and soothing word, where +medicine might often less avail. Strange manifestations of character +might be witnessed among those little creatures--fortitude that might +shame a warrior--patience the most saintlike; and again--but why dwell +upon the evil that sometimes exhibits itself fullgrown, in the heart +of an infant? + +If cries of bitter passion sometimes arose from those little couches +they came, alas! from hearts that had never learned that unrestrained +passion was a sin. If fierce words were wrung from those infant lips, +it was that anger, not kindness had been showered on them from the +cradle. To some of these little creatures oaths had been familiar as +caresses are to the infancy of others. Such was their household +language. + +To this place, so beautiful in itself, so full of painful associations, +Isabel Chester was brought in less than a week after her mother's +burial. Since that day she had drooped like a broken lily. The +terrible grief to which her delicate nature had bent and swayed like +a reed; the sudden change from a home of quiet and tranquil love, to +the most bitter solitude known to the human heart--that of a crowd--had +completely prostrated the orphan. A slow fever preyed upon her; she +could not speak without feeling the hot tears gush from her eyes. + +In this state she came under the observation of the Children's +physician, and, touched with compassion, he took her to the Infant +Hospital. Mary went also, for she too, was ailing, and the doctor saw +that it would be cruelty to part them. At the hospital these helpless +creatures had better food and more comfort than could be allowed them +among the seven or eight hundred healthy children with which the +nurseries on the Long Island shore were crowded. For days and weeks +Isabel lay prostrate on her little cot. She had no settled disease. +The child only seemed quietly fading away. + +Mary Fuller never left her bed-side. She, too, was broken down with +grief, and her wearied frame had lost all its power of endurance; but +though the hand which held Isabel's drink trembled with weakness, the +little creature never complained, nor ever acknowledged that she was +ill enough to be in bed. Patient and sweet-tempered as an angel, she +watched by the child of those who had done so much for her. The love +and gratitude of her whole being seemed centered in that pale, but +still lovely orphan. + +At length all this patient love had its reward. Isabel was well enough +to walk in the grounds, and with their feeble arms around each other, +these children might be seen from morning till night, wandering along +the shore, or sitting quietly beneath the grape-arbors that overlooked +the water. To the other children they were always gentle and kind, but +they had no companions, and they clung together with the deep trust +and holy love of sisters. They had no future--those hopeless children. +Chester had left no relatives that his child ever heard of, and his +gentle wife had been an orphan. Mary Fuller possessed only her +wretched, wretched mother. + +But their gentleness, and Isabel's singular beauty, were sure to win +them friends. The Physician and the matron began to love the little +girls, and after a time they became the pets of the establishment. +While the locks of the other children were cut close to the head, +Isabel still possessed her long and flowing tresses. Day by day her +exquisite beauty deepened into health again, and the pensive cast +which grief had given to her features rendered them ideal as they were +lovely. + +But as Isabel grew better, Mary Fuller seemed to sink and droop in all +her being. She was often found amid the shrubbery, weeping bitterly, +and alone. Toward nightfall, and at early morning, she might have been +detected stealing softly up the Hospital stairs, and away to a dim +corner of the garret, with a handful of berries or a fragment of cake +which the matron had given her during the day. Sometimes her voice, +low and sweet, as if in tearful entreaties, floated along the garret, +and then might have been heard another voice, sometimes rude, +sometimes querulous, but very feeble, answering her with sharp +reprimands. After this the child would come down in tears and steal +away, as we have described, to weep alone. + +Thus they entered upon sweet June, literally a month of roses at the +Infant's-Hospital. The pale little invalids grew better that month, +and were gathered beneath the huge old trees with their nurses, +forgetting their pain in the sweet breath of the flowers; but that +month, though the butterflies were numerous, and humming-birds came +and went through the thickets like flashes from a rainbow, Mary Fuller +was seldom abroad with the rest. More and more of her time was spent +in the low, dim garret; but when she did come forth, those who +observed her saw a new and tranquil light upon her face. She was +sometimes seen to smile, as if a pleasant thought possessed her mind. +Just before this, Mary had asked permission to carry away a little +Bible from the matron's table. It was not brought back, but the matron +only smiled, and never inquired the reason. She had learned to love +and trust Mary Fuller. + +There was a clergyman stationed at Blackwell's Island, to whose +spiritual charge was given from four to seven hundred persons at the +Penitentiary, four or five hundred of the insane, and nearly a +thousand children, at the nursery and its hospital. The welfare of all +these souls was entrusted to this meek Christian, and most faithfully +has he performed the solemn duties of his office from that day to +this. Always busy in behalf of the unhappy creatures, who, amid all +their degradation, loved and respected him, always cheerful, always +ready with his gentle word and consoling advice, he made this holy +mission with the helpless and the prisoner the one great business of +his life. + +This good clergyman had a family to support on his miserable salary of +three hundred dollars a year, voted him by a Common Council that spent +ten thousand carousing in their tea-room. Had any one of those city +fathers ever been up so early, they might often have seen this good +man at daybreak toiling on foot to the city, or perchance miles away +to some country town, in search of a service place for some repentant +prisoner, or to carry a message from a sick child to its friends. In +his gentle humility the good man never complained, never said that the +pay awarded to his labors by the Common Council of our most wealthy +city, was too little for his wants. You saw it in his garments. You +might have read it in his meek sigh, when some object of compassion +presented unusual claims to his charity; but in his speech and +deportment he seemed ever grateful for the little that was given him. +This true-hearted Christian remains upon his post to this day. If a +single hundred dollars has been added to his yearly means of support, +it was through the intercession of others, and from no discontent +expressed by himself. Surely the reward of such men must be hereafter, +or in the heaven of their own souls. + +It was pleasant to see the eyes of those little children brighten, +when the good clergyman entered the hospital. They were fatherless, +and he was better than a father to them. They were sick, and he +comforted them, even as our Lord comforted little children when they +were brought to Him. His hand touched their pale foreheads caressingly; +his mild voice sunk into their little hearts like dew upon a bruised +flower. His very tread upon the stairs was a blessing to them; when +they heard it, all unconsciously the little creatures would smile upon +their pillows, and murmur over fragments of the Lord's Prayer, for +with its holy language, his own lips had rendered most of them +familiar. + +To this brave Christian little Isabel and her friend had become +greatly attached. He sat with them in the grape arbors; he helped them +arrange bouquets for the sick children, and while they were busy at +their sweet task, he, in his gentle way, would lead their thoughts +from the flowers to the God who gives them to beautify the earth. At +such times he would go quietly away, leaving the children happier and +better, but without the slightest consciousness that they had been +receiving religious instruction. + +This was the man to whom Mary Fuller appealed one night, as he paused +to speak with her in the garden-path that leads along the water. + +"Oh! sir, I have been waiting for you here; I thought you would come +this way," cried the child, placing her little hand in his, "I have +something to tell you--something that makes me happy as a bird?" + +"You look happy, my child, and you look good, too," said the +clergyman, shaking her hand with a smile. "Come, now, tell me what +it is." + +"It is a long story, and one that would make you cry if you knew all. +You are not in a hurry sir?" + +"No, no! I am never in a hurry, my dear little girl, so if you have +much to say come in here, and I will listen an hour if you like." + +There was an old summer-house on the bank, dilapidated, and +threatening to tumble over the declivity with the first rough wind. +The clergyman led his little friend into this open building, and sat +down upon the only entire seat that it contained. + +The child sat by his side awhile, thoughtful and evidently striving to +arrange her ideas. + +"Do you remember, sir, a long time ago, when we first came here, you +asked me about my father and mother? I told you that my father was +dead, but I did not say much of my mother. Sir, she was a prisoner +then, and I did not like to mention it; that perhaps was wrong, but I +couldn't help being ashamed." + +"There was nothing wrong in that feeling," answered the clergyman, +gently. + +"I am glad you think so," replied the child, "for now I am sure you +will not want me to tell you all that has ever happened--how she took +to drink when I was a little, little girl. She was not used to it, and +I don't know how she was led away--for my poor father never talked of +these things to me, but they killed him, sir--it broke his heart at +last. One day--I was only seven years old then, but I remember it, oh! +how well--she had been drinking, oh, she was dreadful always at those +times. I don't know what I did, but I believe that I was only in her +way as she crossed the floor--all that I can remember is, that she +struck at me with her hand and foot. It seemed as if she had crushed +me to the floor. The breath left my body--I was the same as dead for +a long, long time." + +"Poor child," murmured the clergyman, gazing upon the little creature +with a look of profound compassion. + +"When I came to myself, people thought I would never be good for +anything again, and, sometimes, I thought so too, for after that I +almost stopped growing, and all that was bright about me died away. +I believe, after that, she hated me, sir." + +Mary paused a moment, and went on. + +"But my father, oh, he loved me better and better; he only wanted to +live for my sake, he told me so many a time. My poor father was a good +man, sir; as good as you are, as good as Mr. Chester was; but he was +so unhappy that God was very kind not to let him live only for my +sake. But, oh, sir, I was all alone when he went. I need not tell you +how we lived. We were poor. You never, in your life, saw any persons +so poor as we were, after father died. She would not work, and when I +did not have enough to eat I couldn't do much. Oh, sir, it was a +miserable life; now when I have told you so much, you will not want me +to say any more about it than I can help." + +"Say only what you wish, my child; I will listen." + +"One night--she had been drinking night and day, for a week--two or +three women had been in, and while they drank I sat in a corner +longing for them to go. They quarreled; my mother struck one of the +women, and while they were swearing dreadfully, a policeman came in. +It was Mr. Chester--that was the first time I ever saw him. I have +told you about him, and how his child, poor, beautiful Isabel, came +here with me; but I did not tell you that the nurse at Bellevue was my +own mother. The doctors found out that she had been drinking, and sent +her away after that night. A few weeks ago she came up here to work +for the children. Nobody knew that she was my mother, but, oh! sir, +she looked very ill, and I said to myself when she passed me without +a word, only with black looks--I said, she is ill, I will take care of +her; I will go to her at night with nice things that the matron gives +me to eat--I will do without them myself, and, perhaps, this will make +her love me. + +"I went up into the garret the first night, but she drove me away. I +would not give up, but went again. She was very ill that night--living +among that fever so long had poisoned all the pure breath she had +left. She was crying when I went up to the bed; I knelt down by the +bed and began to cry, too. She did not send me away. She did not +strike me, though I thought it was for that when she lifted her hand, +but she laid the hand on my head. Indeed she did, sir, and then I felt +she might be my mother yet!" + +The child paused; the big tears that welled up from her heart were +choking her. + +"I went to see her very often after that, for she was growing worse. +I carried her nice things, and tried every way to make her love me. +She was not always kind, but I didn't mind a little crossness now and +then, for great hopes were in my heart. My father loved his wife, and +I thought of him, and what a joy it would be if I, the poor thing he +wanted to live for, could do something toward making her good enough +to see him once more when she dies. + +"Sir, may I ask you one question? If you want a thing very much, and +think and pray for it--does not God, sometimes, bring it all about +when you least expect anything of the kind? It seemed to me as if He +had done it when my mother complained of being so lonesome up there in +the Hospital garret, and wished that she had something to read. She +was a great reader, sir, once. I went down stairs, trembling like a +leaf, and got the matron's Bible. She did not say a word against it, +and I read to her a long time. After that she would ask me to read, +and every day as she grew weaker and weaker, I could see that she was +growing better, too. + +"At last I asked her if she would let me bring you up to see her, but +she was vexed at the idea of a clergyman. Once or twice after that I +mentioned it, but she still answered no. Last night, as I was saying +my prayers by her bed, she began to cry softly, and then, sir, she +rose up and kissed me on the forehead. Then I asked her again, and she +said you might come--only she made me promise to tell you everything +about her first. But for that I would not talk of my poor mother's +faults, though it is only to you." + +The child ceased speaking--she looked earnestly into the clergyman's +face. + +"You will not go home till you have seen her?" she said. + +"No, my child, I only trust that my poor efforts may be blessed as +yours have been," and the clergyman went into the Hospital, leading +Mary by the hand. It was an hour before he left the building, and when +he turned to shake hands with the little girl, you could see by the +expression of his face that it had been an important and heart-rending +hour to them all; over and over again did that good man's feet tread +those worn stairs, and each time his face looked more thankful than it +had done before. One evening he remained much longer than usual. +Little Mary had been in the garret since morning, and here, about nine +o'clock, the physician was called for the fourth time that day. He was +absent but a few minutes. + +"You had better go up," he said to the matron, who met him in the +hall, "that poor woman is gone." + +Mary Fuller turned her head as the matron came into that dimly-lighted +garret. Tears stood on her cheek, but her eyes were radiant with holy +light. + +"Oh, madam, she was my mother! She kissed me! with her last breath she +kissed me!" + +"She died," said the clergyman, in his low mild voice, "she died with +her arms round this little girl, calm and peaceful as a child." + +"Go," said the matron, gently sending Mary to the stairs, "go, my +child, to-morrow you shall see her again." + +The child went down, not to weep as they supposed, for there was a +higher and more holy feeling than grief in her young heart. She had +found her mother. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE TWO OLD MEN + + + The past, sometimes, comes dimly back, + Stealing like shadows on the brain; + We see the ruins on its track, + And feel the dead flowers bloom again. + +Since the day of Chester's death, a great change had fallen upon the +Mayor. He went to his office as usual, and performed its duties with +habitual exactitude, but he never entered the Aldermen's tea-room +again. When his political friends called upon him to accomplish any +unfinished business, such as giving out contracts long before they +were advertised by law--selling city property for a song to +confederates, who were certain to allow a portion of the profits to +flow back into greedy official pockets--or empowering some favorite to +negotiate worthless real estate, and more worthless goods, for which +the ever-enduring people were compelled to pay fabulous prices--for in +all these things, directly or indirectly, he had been engaged--Farnham +resolutely refused to enter into these transactions more. + +He felt in the depths of his heart, that the demoralizing influences +consequent upon those half-secret, half-audacious speculations had led +him to the brink--nay, had actually plunged him into a great crime. + +Again and again he had reconsidered the events of Chester's trial and +death, following so closely on each other, with a hope of finding +something that might remove the terrible responsibility from his +conscience. But his stubborn and acute reason would not be convinced +by the sophistry that had so often deceived the public. He had no +power to blind his own conscience, and that told him, more and more +loudly every hour, that his cruel acts had murdered a blameless fellow +creature, directly almost as if the deed had been accomplished by a +blow. + +Yes, Joseph had uttered the right word--it was murder. + +True there was no earthly tribunal to reach his impalpable crime, +for the law recognizes only physical violence by which death is +accomplished. But there is a just God, before whose high court, +sooner or later, will be arraigned the bloodless murderer, whose +dagger has been words--low whispers, and assassin machinations--or +perchance neglect, and the sweeping back of warm affections on a +true heart. + +There the all-seeing One, who judges the thought as well as the act +will make no distinction between life drained drop by drop from the +soul, and that sent forth at a blow with the red hand. + +These startling truths fastened themselves at last upon his conviction, +breaking through his worldliness and all the hard accumulations which +a life of underground politics had heaped upon a nature capable of +great good. + +It was not without a struggle that the Mayor had yielded himself to +this true self-knowledge. But in vain he argued that he had not +anticipated this fearful result, from proceedings that after all were +only intended as the means of removing an obnoxious person from his +path. In vain he reasoned with himself, "I did not wish the man's +death, nor use means to bring it about." The fault lay in his own +sensitive nature. But his reason answered back, neither does the man +who commits murder in his hour of intoxication, mean to become +inebriated or to take a human life when he lifts the first cup to his +lip; yet even the law, that which takes hold only of actual things, +deems this man guilty as if his soul had not been brutalized and made +blind before the blow. + +There might have been other influences besides poor Chester's death, +that aided to accomplish this transfiguration of character; for as +Farnham bent beneath the pressure of this truth, other impressions, +perhaps not less potent because unrecognized, stole in upon him; +angels sometimes come softly and fill a newly aroused soul with love, +as the night sheds its dew on the green leaves of an oak, after the +storm has passed by. + +What was there in the appearance of Joseph to soften the +self-upbraiding of this stern man? The boy's words had been, perhaps, +the most severe reproof that he had ever met; but they called forth no +bitterness. Instead of this arose an attraction so powerful that he +could not resist it. Thus he had followed the lad to his own door, and +afterwards would turn in the street and gaze on any boy of his size +with a yearning desire to see him again. + +But the gentle lad was at home, studying his father's beautiful art, +and seldom went into the street. His life had always been so secluded +that this one event was a great epoch, to which his mind was +constantly going back. A spirit of loneliness came upon him after the +little girls left the house, and at sunset he might sometimes be found +almost in tears, homesick for a sight of them. A beautiful sympathy +had sprung up between him and Mary Fuller that filled him with vague +uneasiness. + +Sometimes, too, he would think of the Mayor, so stern and cold to +others, but so full of gentleness to him, and with the warm gratitude +of youth he could not help looking forward to the time when he might +visit Fred again, and thus see the man who had filled him with so much +of terror unseen, and with such strange happiness after. + +Once or twice he spoke of this in a timid way, but his father checked +him almost with harshness, and with the reserve of a sensitive nature, +he buried this strange feeling in his bosom till it became almost a +want, which after a time was gratified. + +One night, when he had spent the whole day in attempting to copy one +of his father's pictures, while the old artist sat by, giving him such +help as lay in his power, an unaccountable desire seized upon the lad, +and he arose almost with tears in his eyes. + +"Father," he said, with great earnestness. "Father I cannot hold the +brush, my hand grows unsteady; please let me go and see Frederick; it +seems to me as if some one there wanted me very much!" + +"If Frederick wanted to see us, he would come here, I should think!" +answered the father. + +"I believe--I almost think that his father is sick," said Joseph. + +"And how did you know this?" asked Mr. Esmond, rather sharply, for he +seemed jealous of his son's interest in the Mayor's family. + +"I don't know it--but it seemed to me all day yesterday and to-day, +that something was the matter." + +"And if there is, your mother's child--my child should not trouble +himself about it!" + +Joseph looked at his father in astonishment. These sharp words were so +unlike his usual kindliness, that the lad was bewildered. + +"I--I thought you liked Fred so much," he said, at last. + +"But it is not Fred--it is his father you are thinking of, unnatural +child that you are!" + +"Father--oh, father!" + +"There--there," said the old man, more gently. "I did not mean it. Go, +my son if you wish, I will not stop you, but do not give much love to +any one but your father, he has had so little, so very little on +earth. Don't let this man get your heart away from me." + +"Away from you, my own, own father?" said Joseph, grieved, and deeply +hurt. + +"Well--well, all this is foolish talk--but I am getting very childish. +It ages one so to live alone, Joseph, you would not believe it, but I +am a younger man by five years than the Mayor." + +"The Mayor has grown very old since I first saw him father, you would +be astonished!" + +"Then you have seen him more than once?" + +"Yes; he comes to Mrs. Peters, now, almost every day, and sometimes I +see him." + +"In this house--in this house!" exclaimed the artist, "to-morrow we +will move--to-night, if another room can be got!" + +As the old man spoke, a hesitating knock was heard at the door. Joseph +and his father looked at each other wistfully; at length the boy +stepped forward and turned the latch. + +Mr. Farnham stood on the threshold. The artist drew his tall form up, +and remained immovable, with his dark eyes fixed sternly on the +Mayor's. + +Joseph paused irresolute, with the last dying gold of sunset falling +on his head, from a neighboring window. + +The artist glanced from him to the Mayor, and a look of sudden pain +swept across his face. It was a strange, jealous pang to strike a man +of his age. + +"Go," said the Mayor gently to the lad; "go, and leave us alone, I +wish to speak with your father." + +Joseph looked at his father questioningly. + +"Go!" said the old man, in a voice so husky that he could only force +himself to utter that single word. + +Joseph went out, and those two old men--for the Mayor looked very old +that night--sat down in the dim chamber, and talked together for the +first time in their lives. + +Joseph shut himself in the dark hall, and found a seat upon the +stairs, filled with vague wonder; for his keen imagination seized upon +this event, and his affectionate nature turned lovingly to the old +men, whose voices came through the ill-fitting door in indistinct +murmurs. + +It must have been an hour when the door opened, and Joseph saw the +Mayor and his father standing just within the room. The light from a +tallow candle fell upon them from behind, striking their side faces +with singular effect. Both were pale, but the cheek of the Mayor, on +which the light lay strongest, glistened with moisture. Could it be +that this was the trace of tears?--and, if so, what power had that +humble artist, to make a man weep who had not been known to shed tears +since his boyhood! + +The artist too had a look of tender sadness on his face, as if all his +deeper feelings had been moved. + +The two old men--we call them old, but events rather than time had +left hoary marks upon them--the two old men held each other by the +hand; Joseph arose and drew back, that the Mayor might pass, but when +he went by without a word, the boy was seized with a pang of +disappointment, and followed him. + +"Mayor," he said, "please won't you say good-bye to me, I have wanted +to see you so much all day?" + +The Mayor turned his face; the light from a street-lamp shone upon it, +as he stood in the lower entrance. Surely there had been tears on that +stern face. + +"Yes," answered Mr. Farnham, looking into those deep earnest eyes, "I +will bid you good-bye." + +"Mr. Farnham," said Joseph, "won't you stay a little?" + +The Mayor stepped back into the hall, but wavered in his walk, and +supported himself by the lad. Joseph could feel that the hands which +were laid on his shoulders trembled. + +"Are you sick?" questioned the lad, with his forehead up lifted in +reverential tenderness. + +"Sick--no! I think it is not sickness, but, but"-- + +"Have I or father done anything to hurt you, sir?" + +"Hurt me!--no, no--but Joseph you said once that I had murdered Mr. +Chester, did you believe it?" + +Joseph's head drooped forward. His eyes were suffused with sadness, +he could not answer. + +"Did you think so, Joseph?" repeated the Mayor, in a voice of strange +solicitude. + +"I thought so then, but now I am sure you could not have intended to +do it." + +"No!" answered the Mayor, impressively. "I did not intend it; when you +think of me hereafter you will remember this--and remember too, my +child, that when a man takes the first step toward an unjust act, he +loses a great portion of his power to control the second--great crime +grows out of small errors, my boy, remember that, and I charge you, +repeat it to my son, when he has need of such warning." + +"I will repeat it to him, as you wish me to, sir!" + +"And now farewell." + +Joseph felt a kiss quiver upon his forehead, like the touch of a +spirit that had taken flight. He looked around, the Mayor was gone. + +"Farewell--why did not he say good-bye--or good-night, Joseph? +Farewell! that is a very solemn word. I wish he had not said +farewell!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE WALK AND THE WILL. + + + Now do I drop my heavy load of woe, + As some wet mantle saturate with rain, + And rise as a soft spirit that doth glow + In rays of light beyond the realm of pain. + + W. W. FORDICK. + +The Mayor walked home very slowly, for remorse, while softening into +penitence, had sapped the foundations of his life; and he had grown a +feeble old man in so short a time, that those who look upon God as an +avenger, rather than a chastiser, might have supposed that old age had +fallen as a judgment upon him. But the All-wise one knows best how to +redeem the souls he has created, and that weary man as he walked home +in the darkness, was a thousand times more worthy of respect, than he +had ever been in his whole lifetime before. + +There was a private room in the lower story of his house, in which Mr. +Farnham had usually received his constituents and persons who came to +his residence on private business. It had been little used of late, +for the routine of his old life was broken up, and when he went to +this apartment, it was usually to be secure of the solitude which +daily became more necessary to his habits of self-communion. That +night he found company in the drawing-room. Mrs. Farnham had guests +from the South; other friends were invited to meet them, and the lower +portion of the house was in a blaze of magnificence. This scene was so +at variance with his state of feelings, that the Mayor recoiled from +its glitter, as the sick man shrinks from a noonday sun. + +His wife, who was standing in the centre of a group near the door, +resplendent with jewels and brocade, saw him pass through the hall, +and playfully shaking her fan called after him. + +Either he did not hear, or he did not heed her, and with the usual +obstinacy of a silly woman, she called to her son and bade him go +bring his father back. + +Frederick went and found Mr. Farnham in his private room, looking cold +and weary. The greatest retribution that had fallen upon this man for +his evil act had been the effect it had produced upon his own son. +Frederick had known and loved Chester. With his energy and quickness +of character, it was impossible that he should not have gathered all +the facts regarding his trial and death. The very silence which he +maintained on the subject was a proof of this. His manner too had +changed so completely that it was a constant reproach to the suffering +man. There had always existed a certain reserve between the father and +son, but now it amounted almost to coldness. Perhaps this repulsion +had driven the unhappy man to seek sympathy in the child of another, +for it became a weary trial to seek his home day after day, and find +all affection chilled there. + +That night Farnham's heart was softened toward the whole world, and +most of all did he yearn for the old look of confidence from the now +constantly averted eyes of his son. Just as these feelings were +strongest in his bosom, Frederick entered the room where he sat. The +Mayor looked up wistfully. + +"My mother wishes me to call you, sir; she has company in the drawing +room." The cold respectfulness of his manner fell like snow upon the +Mayor. + +"I cannot come, Frederick; tell your mother that I am not well enough +for company," he said, so mournfully that the warm heart of the lad +was touched. + +"Are you really ill, father?" he said. + +The Mayor could not answer. It was the first time that his son had +called him father since Chester's burial. + +The boy was struck by his silence. + +"Tell me--speak to me father, are you ill?" + +The Mayor held out his hands. + +"Frederick!" + +It was enough--the boy fell upon his knees and kissed those trembling +hands. + +"Father, forgive me, I had no right to make myself your judge." + +"God bless you, my boy, and remember this night you have made your +father very happy." + +After Frederick left him, Mr. Farnham began to write. His strength had +returned, and his whole energies of soul and body were concentrated in +the work he was doing. After he had written an hour, pausing now and +then in deep thought, there lay before him a legal document, carefully +drawn up, which he read twice. Then he arose and rang the bell; a +servant came, and he directed her to go to the drawing-room and tell +two gentlemen who were his guests at the time, that he wished to see +them. The gentlemen came up flushed and laughing. Champagne had freely +circulated below, and they were in splendid spirits. + +"I will only detain you a moment," said the Mayor, "but here is a +document which requires witnesses. Will you sign it?" + +The gentlemen laughed gaily. + +The Mayor laid his finger on the signature. Again the gentlemen +laughed. + +"What is it, a marriage contract, or your last will and testament?" +said one, delighted with his own wit. + +"It is my last will and testament," answered the Mayor, quietly. + +Again the men laughed; they did not believe him. + +"Well, well, give us hold here, at any rate, we know it's all right, +so here goes!" + +They signed their names and went out laughing. The next morning they +started South without seeing their host, and with a confused sense of +what they had signed over night. + +But with all these sources of agitation the Mayor was breaking down. +He went up to his bed-room after signing the will, greatly exhausted. +His wife passed through the room an hour after, and saw the document +on the table. It was late, and she resolved to read it over at leisure +in the morning before her husband was up; so dropping it quietly into +her pocket she went up stairs. + +Three days after the city was in mourning. The public building and +military banners were all draped with black. It was the first time in +years that a Mayor of New York had died in office, and the people were +lavish of funereal honors to Farnham's memory. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE FESTIVAL OF ROSES. + + + A ring--a ring of roses, + Laps full of posies; + Awake--awake! + Now come and make + A ring--a ring of roses. + +The month of June had littered its path with roses, and now came July, +with its crimson berries, its ruddier blossoms, and its profuse +foliage. On the Fourth of this luxurious month some gleams and +glimpses of the great National Jubilee are sure to reach even the +prisoners and the poor on Blackwell's Island. The sick children at the +Hospital had a share of enjoyment; presents of toys, cake and fruit +were liberally distributed. The grounds produced an abundance of +flowers, and it was marvellous how these little creatures managed to +amuse themselves. The matron, the nurses, and many of the little +patients, were busy as so many bees that morning, before the sun had +changed his first rose-tints to the shower of vivid gold with which he +soon boldly deluged the water. Among the first and the busiest were +Mary Fuller and Isabel. They sat beneath a great elm tree back of the +Hospital, with a heap of flowers between them, out of which they +twined a world of bouquets, fairy garlands, and pretty crowns. +Half-a-dozen little girls, lame, or among the convalescent sick, +volunteered to gather the flowers, and some of the larger boys were up +among the branches of the elm tree, garlanding them with ropes of the +coarser blossoms. The birds were in full force that morning, as +became the little republican rovers, absolutely rioting among the +leaves, and pouring forth their music with a wild _abandon_ that made +the foliage thrill again. + +"Now, now the sun will be up in no time. Run, Isabel, with the +flowers--here they are, a whole apron full--I will be tying up more +while you leave these!" said Mary Fuller, heaping Isabel's apron with +the pretty bouquets she had been preparing; "don't leave a pillow +without them!" + +Isabel gathered up her apron and ran into the house. Up the stairs she +went with a fairy footstep, and glided into the wards. Stealing softly +from one little cot to another, she left upon each pillow her pretty +tribute, where the sick child was sure to see it the moment its +languid eyes were unclosed. When her store was exhausted she ran down +for more. + +"Did any of them wake up? Did they see the flowers?" inquired Mary, +eagerly. + +"Some were awake--they hadn't slept all night, poor things--but the +flowers made them smile," was the cheerful reply. "Come, fill my apron +again, and give me those large ones, with the white lilies, for the +mantel-pieces. Won't the doctor be astonished when he goes up? They're +better than medicine, I can tell him." + +Again Isabel's apron was heaped full, and again she glided, in all her +bright, young beauty, through the sick wards. When she came down, an +earthern pitcher, crowded with great white lilies, honeysuckles and +sweetbriar, stood on the windows or mantel-pieces of every room. There +was not a pillow without its pretty garland, or bouquet of buds, tied +with the spray of some fragrant shrub. She had made the atmosphere of +those sick wards redolent with fragrance. + +"Now for the boys' hats!" said Mary, "here are plenty of soldier's +feathers." + +The boys cast down their straw-hats from the tree, shouting for her to +make soldiers of them, each one clamoring for a red plume. + +But the red hollyhocks did not quite hold out, so, perforce some of +the slender plumes were of yellow, some of snow-white--for you never +saw such hollyhocks as grew in the Hospital-gardens--and Mary had all +variety of tints around her, even to some of a deep maroon. + +When each straw hat had its plume, the little girls fell to ornamenting +three or four large paper kites, and then they began forming garlands +for their own heads. Mary twined a beautiful wreath of white clematis +around the dark tresses of Isabel's hair. + +"Nothing but white," she said with a gentle sigh, "for that is almost +mourning." + +The others arrayed themselves according to their own fancy, and when +the sun rose high it kindled up a happy and picturesque group beneath +that old elm tree. + +A company of boys, with a red silk handkerchief streaming over them +for a banner, their hollyhock plumes rising jauntily in the sunshine, +the tallest mounting an epaulette of red, yellow, and purple flowers, +marched out with gallant parade from the shelter of the old tree. Tin +trumpets, an old milk pail, and various similar instruments, made the +air ring again as this warlike band sallied forth. + +A score of little pale creatures watched them from the Hospital stoop +and the upper windows. Some of the boys were lame; some were blind; +while others bore evidence of recent disease; but if they looked in +these things like a company of volunteers returning from Mexico, it +only gave them a more warlike appearance, and of this they were very +ambitious. + +Then the little girls began to seek their own amusements. They played +"hide and seek," "ring, ring a rosy," and a thousand wild and pretty +games; for the place was so beautiful, and the day so bright, the +little rogues quite forgot that they were in the Poor House, or had +ever been sick in the whole course of their lives. + +Mary and Isabel were a little pensive at times, but when all the rest +seemed so happy, they could not choose but smile with them--and so the +Fourth of July wore over. + +There was a great tumult and glorious time on Long Island shore that +day. The children had a festival of flowers over there also; crowds of +people were walking along the banks of the river; and you could see +hundreds of gaily-dressed visitors landing every minute from the +water, while the children huzzaed, and flung up their hats till you +could hear them across the broad river. Still it is to be doubted if +there was more real enjoyment among them than our little band of +convalescents experienced among the flowery nooks of the old Hospital. + +The hour for cakes and fruit to be served under the elm surprised our +little warriors down by the river. When the signal was given, they +marched along the broad walk, lined on each side with box-myrtle of +twenty years' growth. They paraded superbly up the terrace steps--down +again--through the grape arbors, and around the end of the Hospital, +in gallant array, with colors flying, sixpenny trumpets blowing, and +the tin pails doing their best to glorify the occasion. + +Our little troop bivouacked under the old elm, amid a storm of +fire-crackers, and a shout from the little girls. Here gingerbread and +fruit were served, and the girls began their games again. Little Mary +Fuller sat upon the grass, singing, while the rest formed a ring, +darting, with their garlands and bouquets, like a chain of flowers, +through an arch made by the uplifted hands of Isabel Chester and a +little lame girl who could not run. Nothing on earth could be more +beautiful than Isabel was just then, with the white spray dancing in +her hair, a pleasant smile in her dark eyes, and the faintest +rose-tint breaking over her cheek. + +"She is delicate as a flower, beautiful as a star!" + +The speaker was a lady dressed in the deepest possible mourning. The +long widow's veil reached to her knees, and was double two-thirds of +the way up. Her bombazine dress was so heavily trimmed with broad +folds of crape, that you could not judge of the original material; +from head to foot she was shrouded in black, till you felt quite +gloomy to look on her. She seemed to have measured off her grief in so +many yards of crape. Still, as if to show that there was a gleam of +hope about her, she wore an immense diamond on the black ribbon at her +throat. A large cluster ring that gleamed through the net glove, +covering a small and withered hand, with the gem sparkling at her +throat, bespoke uncommon wealth; and there was a tone of almost +pampered sentimentality in her voice and manner. + +"It is indeed a very lovely child," answered the gentleman whom she +addressed, gazing with a smile upon Isabel. + +"Was ever anything so perfect found in a poorhouse! Oh, if the +policeman's daughter proves only half as pretty as she is," the lady +exclaimed again. + +"Let us inquire something about her," answered the gentleman, gravely, +"with all her beauty she may be a common-place child!" + +"No--no, I am quite certain she is everything that is charming. If +your protege is only half as lovely, I shall be reconciled to the duty +Mr. Farnham has so unreasonably--I must say, imposed upon me," +persisted the lady. + +The gentleman observed gravely that the idea of adopting a child was +no trifling matter, and walked on till they surprised the little girls +at their play. The chain broke, the girls scattered through the +thickets like a flock of frightened birds. The lame girl dropped +Isabel's hand and limped away, leaving the beautiful child all alone +save Mary Fuller, who had stopped singing and sat quietly on the +grass. + +"I am afraid we have frightened your little friends away," said the +gentleman, addressing the child, with a bland and gentle manner; "we +did not intend to do that!" + +His voice seemed to startle the children. + +Isabel turned to her friend, with a glad smile. + +"Oh, Mary, it is he!" + +Mary started up from the grass. + +"Oh, sir, we are so glad to see you!" + +Judge Sharp took her hand--"You must be glad to see this lady, too." + +Mary blushed, and looked timidly at the lady. + +Mrs. Farnham stepped back, holding up both hands, as if to prevent the +child approaching. + +"Judge--Judge Sharp, you don't mean to say that this is the child? +Little girl, is your name Chester!" + +"No," answered Mary, "that is Isabel Chester--I am only Mary Fuller." + +Isabel drew close to her friend. + +"She's just the same as me--just like my own, own sister, ma'am." + +The lady turned to Judge Sharp, and shook her mourning parasol at him. + +"Oh, you naughty wicked man, to frighten me so; but is this dear, +pretty darling really the policeman's daughter? I won't believe it +yet--how providential, isn't it?" + +"I thought you would like her," answered the Judge. + +"Like her, indeed; won't she be a lovely pet!" answered the lady, much +as she would have spoken of a King Charles spaniel; "how brave she is, +too; when all the others ran off she remained!" + +"Mary stayed, too," said Isabel, gliding one arm around her friend's +waist; "besides, I dare say they were not afraid, ma'am, they only +felt a little strange to play before people they didn't know, I +suppose! They don't mind the doctor or the matrons in the least!" + +"But you are not afraid of strangers!" said the lady. "You didn't run +away and hide in the bushes when we came up, but stood all alone like +a dear love of a little girl." + +Isabel glanced at Mary Fuller. + +"She was here, ma'am, just as much as I was." + +The gentleman turned and looked earnestly at Mary. There was something +in her face that pleased him even more than Isabel's beauty. From the +first she had been his favorite. + +"And what is this little girl to you?" he said, very kindly. + +"Oh, she is everything, everything in the wide world to me now!" +answered Isabel with tears in her eyes. + +"You know, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Chester died," said Mary, with gentle +humility. "And now we are left alone together." + +"I knew that the poor lady was dead," answered the Judge, feelingly. + +Isabel was weeping; she could not reply, but Mary answered in a +faltering voice, + +"Yes, sir, we are both orphans!" + +"And would you not like to go away from here where you will have a new +fine home, with pretty clothes and books and birds to amuse yourself +with?" said Mrs. Farnham, bending over Isabel and kissing her. + +The child did not answer. She only turned very pale, and drew back +toward Mary. + +"Would you not be pleased with all those pretty things?" said the +Judge, who observed that Mary Fuller turned white as death when they +spoke of taking Isabel away. + +"If _she_ can have them, too. Will you take her, sir? if not I would +rather stay here!" + +"But we do not wish to adopt more than one little girl," said the +lady, hastily. "You have no mother, I will be one to you. In a little +time you will forget all about the people here." + +"I shall never forget her, ma'am," replied Isabel, firmly, "never." + +"Lead the child away and talk with her alone. This little creature +seems intelligent, I will gather something of their history from her," +said the Judge. + +When Mary saw that the gentleman was about to address her, she arose +and stood meekly before him, as he leaned against the elm. + +"So, you would not like to have the little girl go away and leave you +here?" + +Mary struggled bravely with herself, her bosom heaved, she could not +keep the tears from swelling to her eyes, but she answered truly and +from her aching heart. + +"If she will be better off. If you will love her as--as I do, as they +did, I will try to think it best!" + +"You will try to think it best," repeated the gentleman, and the smile +that trembled across his lips was beautiful; "if she goes, my little +girl, you shall go with her!" + +"Me!" said Mary, lifting up her meek eyes to his face. "Oh, sir, don't +make fun of me. Nobody would ever think of making a pet of _me_!" + +"No, not a pet, that is not the word, but, if God prospers us, we will +make a good and noble woman of you!" said the gentleman, with generous +energy. + +"Oh, don't, don't--if you are not in earnest--don't say this!" said +the child, almost panting for breath. + +"I am in earnest, heaven forbid that I should trifle with you for a +moment. If we take the other child you go also. Now, sit down and tell +me about yourself." + +Mary obeyed with a swelling heart. She told him simply that they were +both orphans--that no one on earth could claim them; but with the +first few words her voice broke. So the gentleman arose, sought Isabel +and led her back to the elm tree, then he took the lady aside and +conversed with her long and earnestly. The little girls watched her +countenance in breathless suspense. It was dissatisfied,--angry, but +she had the will of a strong mind to contend against, and Judge Sharp +was resolute. + +"As the legal guardian of your son, chosen by the Court and yourself, +I have the power to sanction this adoption, and, to own the truth, +gave my consent to it before Fred went to College; I doubt if we could +have got him off without that!" + +"Fred never could find a medium; he is always in extremes. The idea of +adopting an ugly little thing like that, and he a mere lad yet! I +declare it's too ridiculous; but he need not expect me to take charge +of her. There is a medium in all things, Judge, and that is beyond +endurance." + +"That is all considered; I will see that Mary has a home and proper +protection." + +"Very well, I wash my hands of the whole affair; poor dear Mr. Farnham +was very anxious about this pretty little Isabel. I don't choose to +ask why, Judge, I hope I've got pride enough not to stoop so low as +that; but, as I was saying, he made a point of it, and you see how +resolute I am to perform my duty. It's hard, but I've had to endure a +great deal, indeed I have." + +"I did hope--in fact, I had reason," said the Judge, "to believe that +Mr. Farnham would have provided for that child by will." + +Mrs. Farnham colored violently. + +"Then you had a reason. He said something to you about it, perhaps?" + +"Yes, he certainly did; but then his death at last was so sudden. I +don't remember when anything has shocked me so much." + +Mrs. Farnham lifted her handkerchief to her eyes; there was something +very pathetic in the action, and the deep black border which was +intended to impress the Judge with a sense of her combined martyrdom +and widowhood. + +"Well madam," said that gentleman, heartily weary of her airs, "I hope +Fred has your consent to adopt this child. Remember the expense will +be nothing compared to the great wealth which he inherits. My word for +it, the young fellow will find much worse methods of spending his +money if you thwart his generous impulses." + +"I have nothing to say. It is my destiny to make sacrifices; of +course, if my son chooses to incumber himself with a miserable thing +like that, he need not ask his mother. Why should he, she is nobody +now." + +"Then you consent," said the Judge, impatiently, for he saw the +anxious looks of the little girls and pitied their suspense. + +Mrs. Farnham removed the handkerchief with its sable border from her +eyes, and shook her head disconsolately. + +"Yes, I consent. What else can I do--a poor heart-broken widow is of +no account anywhere." + +The Judge turned away rather abruptly. + +"Well, now that it is settled let us go; the poor children are +suffering a martyrdom of suspense. The Commissioner is on the other +side; we can settle the whole thing at once." + +"I fancy he'll wonder a little at your taste. But I wash my hands of +it--this is your affair. I submit, that is a woman's destiny, +especially a widow's." + +Judge Sharp advanced toward the children. + +"Say to your matron that we may call for you at any minute, and shall +hope to find you ready. Tell her that you are both adopted!" + +"Together, oh, Mary! we are going away, and together!" cried Isabel, +casting herself into the arms of her friend. Mary answered nothing, +her heart was too full. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +WILD WOODS AND MOUNTAIN PASSES. + + + Oh, give me a home on the mountains high, + Where the wind sweeps wild and free, + Where the pine-tops wave 'gainst a crimson sky,-- + Oh, a mountain home for me! + +A travelling carriage, drawn by four grey horses, toiled up an ascent +of the mountains some twenty miles back of Catskill. It was a warm day +in September, and though the load which those fine animals drew was by +no means a heavy one, they had been ascending the mountains for more +than two hours, and now their sleek coats were dripping with sweat, +and drops of foam fell like snow-flakes along the dusty road as they +passed upward. This carriage contained Judge Sharp, the two orphans, +and Mrs. Farnham, looking very slender, very fair, but faded, and with +a sort of restless self-complacency in her countenance, which seemed +ever on the alert to make itself recognized by those about her. + +The gentleman had been reading, or rather holding a book before his +face, but it would seem rather as an excuse for not keeping up the +incessant talk, for conversation it could not be called, which the +lady had kept in constant flow all the morning, than from any +particular desire to read. + +True, he did now and then glance at the book, but much oftener his +fine deep eyes were looking out of the carriage window and wandering +over the broad expanse of scenery that began to unfold beneath them, +as the carriage mounted higher and higher up the mountains. Sometimes, +when he appeared most intent on the volume, those eyes were glancing +over it towards a little wan face opposite, that began to blush and +half smile whenever the thoughtful but kindly look of those eyes fell +upon it. + +The carriage at last reached a platform on the spur of a mountain +ridge where the road made a bold curve, commanding one of the finest +views, perhaps--nay, we will not have perhaps, but certainly, in the +civilized world. + +You should have seen that little pale face then, how it sparkled and +glowed with intelligence, nay, with something more than intelligence. +The deep, grey eyes lighted up like lamps suddenly kindled, the wide +but shapely mouth broke into a smile that spread and brightened over +every feature of her face. She started forward, grasped the +window-frame, and looked out with an expression of such eager joy that +the judge who was gazing upon her, glanced down at his book with a +well-pleased smile. "I thought so--I was sure of it. She feels all the +grandeur, all the beauty," he said to himself, inly, but to all +appearance intent on his book. "Now let us see how the others take +it." + +"Isabel, Isabel, look out--look look," whispered the excited child, +turning with that sort of wild earnestness peculiar to persons of +vivid imaginations, when once set on fire with some beautiful thing +that God has created. "Look out, Isabel, I do believe that the sky you +see yonder is heaven." + +"Heaven!" cried Isabel, starting forward and struggling to reach the +door, "Heaven! oh, Mary, it makes me think of mamma"-- + +Mary fell back in her chair, frightened by the effect of her +enthusiasm. + +"There is nothing, I can see nothing but hills, corn, lots, and sky," +said the beautiful child, drawing back and looking at Mary with her +great, reproachful eyes half full of tears. + +"Oh, Isabel, I did not mean that, not the real heaven, where +your--where our mother is, where they all are--but it was so beautiful +over yonder, the sky and all, I could not help saying what I did." + +Isabel drew back to her seat half petulant, half sorrowful; she was +not really child enough to think that Mary could have spoken of heaven +as a place actually within view; still it was not wonderful that the +thought had for a moment flashed across her brain. Heaven itself could +not have seemed more strange to those children than the magnificent +mountain scenery through which they were passing. Born in the city, +they were thrown for the first time among the most beautiful scenery +that man ever dreamed of, with all their wild, young ideas afloat. Is +it wonderful, then, that an imaginative child like Mary should have +cried out the name of heaven in her admiration, or that Isabel, so +lately made an orphan, should have sent forth the cry of mother, +mother, from the depths of her poor little heart when she heard the +heaven mentioned, where she believed her mother was still longing for +her child? + +She sat down cowering close in a corner of the seat, and in order to +conceal her tears turned her face to the cushions. + +"Sit up," the lady interposed, "my beauty, sit up; don't you see how +your pretty marabouts are being crushed against the side of the +carriage? Nonsense, child, what can you be crying about?" + +"My mother, oh, she made me think of my mother. I thought--it seemed +as if she must be there." + +The lady frowned and looked toward the Judge with a pettish movement +of the head. + +"Be quiet, child, I am your mother, now; remember that, I am your +mother." + +Isabel looked up and gazed through her tears at the pale, characterless +face, bent in weak displeasure upon her. + +"I am your mother," repeated the lady, in a tone that she intended to +be impressive, but it was only snappish; "your benefactress, your more +than mamma; forget that you ever had any but me." + +"I can't, oh, dear, I never can," cried the child, bursting into a +passion of tears, and casting her face back upon the cushion. + +Mrs. Farnham seized the child by the shoulder, and placed her, with a +slight shake, upright. + +"Stop crying; I never could endure crying children," she said. "See +how you have crushed the pretty Leghorn, you ungrateful thing! Better +be thanking heaven that I took you from that miserable poor-house, +than fly in the face of Providence in this manner, crushing Leghorn +flats and marabout feathers that cost me mints of money, as if they +were city property." + +"She did not mean to spoil the feathers, ma'am, it was all my fault," +said Mary Fuller; "Isabel loved her poor mother so much." + +"And am not I her mother? Can't you children let the poor woman rest +in her pine coffin at Potter's Field, without tormenting me with all +this sobbing and crying? Remember my little lady, it is not too late +yet; a few more scenes like this and it will be an easy matter to send +you back where I took you from. Then, perhaps, you will find it worth +while to cry after your new mother a little." + +The two little girls looked at each other through their tears. Perhaps +at the moment they thought of the Infants' Hospital, where Mrs. +Farnham had found them, with something of regret. The contrast of a +carriage cushioned with velvet and four superb horses, had not +impressed them as it might have done older persons. Shut up with +strangers, while their hearts were full of regret, they had not found +the change for which they were expected to be grateful, quite so happy +as she fancied. + +Up to the hour we mention they had kept their places demurely, and in +silence, drawing their little feet up close to the seats, fearful of +being found in the way, and stealing their hands together now and then +with a silent clasp, which spoke a world of feeling to the noble man +who sat regarding them over his book. + +He had watched the scene we have described in silence, and with a sort +of philosophical thoughtfulness, using it as a means of studying the +souls of those two little girls. When Mrs. Farnham ceased speaking and +turned to him for concurrence in her mode of drawing out the +affections and settling the preliminaries of a life-time for that +little soul, he only answered by leaning from the window and calling +out. + +"Ralph, draw up and let the horses have a rest under the shadow of +this high rock. Come, children, get out, and let's take a look around +us; your little limbs will be all the better for a good run among the +underbrush." + +Suiting the action to his words, Judge Sharp sprang from the carriage, +took Isabel in his arms, set her carefully down, then more gently, and +with a touch of tenderness, drew Mary Fuller forward, and folded her +little form to his bosom. + +"We will leave you to rest in the carriage, Mrs. Farnham," he said, +with off-hand politeness, as if studying that lady's comfort more than +anything on earth. "We will see what wild flowers can be found among +the rocks. Take care of yourself; that's right, Ralph, let the horses +wet their mouths at this little brook--not too much though, it is a +warm day. Now, Isabel, let's see which will climb this rock +first--you, or little Mary and I." + +Isabel's eyes brightened through her tears. There was something in the +cordial goodness of Judge Sharp that no grief could have resisted. + +"Please, sir," said Mary, struggling faintly in the arms of her noble +friend--"please, sir, I can walk very well." + +"And I can carry you very well--why not? Come, now for a climb." + +And away strode the great-hearted man, holding her up that she might +gaze on the scenery over his shoulder. + +Isabel followed close, helping herself up the steep rocks, now by +catching hold of a spice-bush and shaking off all its ripe golden +blossoms; now drawing down the loops of a grape-vine and swinging +forward on it, encouraged in each new effort by the hearty +commendations of her new friend. + +At last they reached the summit of a detached ridge of rocks that rose +like a fortification back of the highway. Judge Sharp sat down upon a +shelf cushioned like an easy-chair with the greenest moss and placed +the children at his feet. + +A true lover of nature himself, he did not speak, or insist upon +forcing exclamations of delight from the children who shared the +glorious view with him. But he looked now and then into Mary Fuller's +face, and was satisfied with all that he saw there. + +He turned and glanced also into the beautiful eyes of little Isabel. +They were wandering dreamily from object to object, searching, as it +were, along the misty horizon for some sign of her dead mother. It was +her heart rather than her intellect that wandered over that +magnificent scenery for something to dwell upon. + +"Are you sure, sir?" said Mary Fuller, timidly, looking up; "are you +quite sure that this is the same world that Isabel and I were in +yesterday?" + +"Why not? Doesn't it seem like the same?" + +"No," answered Mary, kindling up and looking eagerly around; "it is a +thousand times larger, so vast, so grand, so--. Pray help me out, I +wish to say so much and can't. Something chokes me here when I try to +say how beautiful all this seems." + +Mary folded her hands over her bosom, and began to waver to and fro on +the moss seat, struck with a pang of that exquisite pleasure which so +closely approaches pain when we fully appreciate the beautiful. + +"You like this?" said the Judge, watching her face more than the +landscape, that had been familiar to him when almost a wilderness. + +"I should like to stay here for ever. It seems as if every one that we +have loved so much, is resting near the sky away off yonder falling +close down upon the mountains." + +"It is a noble view," said the Judge, standing up, and pointing to the +right. "Have you ever learned anything of geography, children?" + +"A little," they both answered, glancing at each other as if ashamed +of confessing so much knowledge. + +"Then you have heard of the Green Mountains yonder; they are like +thunder-clouds under the horizon?" + +The children shaded their eyes, and looked searchingly at what seemed +to them a dark embankment of clouds, and then Mary turned, holding her +breath almost with awe, and gathered in with one long glance the broad +horizon, sweeping its circle of a hundred miles from right to left, +closed by the mountain spur on which they stood. + +Where distance levelled small inequalities of surface, and made great +ones indistinct and cloudy, the whole aspect of the scenery took an +air of high cultivation and abundant richness. Thousands and thousands +of farms, cut up and colored with their ripened crops, lay before +them--golden rye stubbles; hills white with buckwheat and rich with +snowy blossoms; meadows, orchards, and groves of primeval timber, all +brightened those luxuriant valleys and plains that open upon the +Hudson. Deep into New York State, and far, far away among the +mountains of New England the eye ranged, charmed and satisfied with a +fullness of beauty. + +Mary saw it, and all the deep feelings as fervent, but less understood +in the child than in the woman, swelled and grew rich in her bosom. +Not a tint of those luxuriously colored hills ever left her +memory--not a shadow upon the distant mountains ever died from her +brain. It is such memories, vivid as painting, and burnt upon the mind +like enamel, from childhood to maturity, that feed and invigorate the +soul of genius. + +Enoch Sharp had been a man of enterprise. Action had ever followed +quick upon his thought. Placed by accident in certain avenues of life, +he had exerted strong energies, and a will firm as it was kindly, in +doing all things thoroughly that he undertook; in no circumstances +would he have been an ordinary man. Had destiny placed his field of +action among scientific or military men, he would have proven himself +first among the foremost; as it was, much of the talent that would +have distinguished him there, grew and throve upon those domestic +affections which were to him the poetry of life. + +Thrown into constant communion with nature in her most noble aspects, +he became her devotee, and was more learned in all the beautiful +things which God has created, than many a celebrated savant who +studies with his brain only. + +True to the unearthed poetry lying in rich veins throughout his whole +nature, Enoch Sharp sat keenly regarding the effect this grand +panorama of scenery produced on the two children. + +He looked on Isabel in her bright, half-restless beauty, with a smile +of affectionate forbearance. There was everything in her face to love, +but it had to answer to the glow and enthusiasm of his own nature. + +But it was far otherwise with little Mary. His own deep grey eye +kindled as it perused her sharp features, lighted up, as it were, with +some inward flame. His heart warmed toward the little creature, and +without uttering a word he stooped down and patted her head in silent +approbation. + +The child had given him pleasure, for there is nothing more annoying +to the true lover of nature than want of sympathy, when the heart is +in a glow of fervent admiration; alive with a feeling which is so near +akin to religion itself, that we sometimes doubt where the dividing +line exists which separates love of God from love of the beautiful +objects He has created. + +Thus it was that Mary with her plain face and small person found her +way to the great, warm heart of Enoch Sharp; and as he sat upon the +rock a faint struggle arose in his bosom regarding her destination. + +An impulse to take her into his own house and cultivate the latent +talent so visible in every gesture and look, took possession of him, +but his natural strong sense prevailed over this impulse. Many reasons +which we will not pause to mention here, arose in contest with his +heart, and he muttered thoughtfully, + +"Neither men nor women become what they were intended to be by +carpeting their progress with velvet; real strength is tested by +difficulties. Still I must keep an eye upon the girl." + +Isabel soon became weary of gazing on the landscape. Impatient of the +stillness, she arose softly and moved to a ledge close by, under which +a wild gooseberry bush drooped beneath a harvest of thorny fruit. + +"That is right," said Enoch Sharp, starting up; "let me break off a +handful of the branches, they will make peace with Mrs. Farnham for +leaving her in the carriage so long." + +Directly a heap of thorny branches purple with fruit lay at Isabel's +feet, and Enoch Sharp was clambering up the rocks after some tufts of +tall blue flowers that shed an azure tinge down one of the clefts; +then a cluster of brake leaves mottled with brown spots tempted him +on, while Mary Fuller stood eagerly watching his progress. + +"Oh, see, see how beautiful--do look, Isabel, if he could only get up +so high?" + +She broke off with an exclamation of delight. Enoch Sharp had glanced +downward at the sound of her voice, and directed by the eager look +which accompanied it, made a spring higher up the rock. + +A mountain ash, perfectly red with great clusters of berries, shot out +from a little hollow between two ledges, and overhung the place where +Mr. Sharp had found foothold. As if its own wealth of berries were not +enough, a bitter-sweet vine had sprung up in the same hollow, and +coiling itself around the tree, deluged it with a shower of golden +clusters that mingled upon the same branch with the bright red fruit +of the ash. + +"Oh, was there ever on earth anything so beautiful?" cried Mary, +disentangling the delicate ends of the vines flung down by her +benefactor. "Oh, look, Isabel, look!" + +She held up a natural wreath, to which three or four clusters hung +like drops of burnt gold. + +"Only see!" + +With this exclamation she wove a handful of the blue autumn flowers in +with the berries and long slender leaves. + +"Let me put it around your hat, Isabel. Oh, Mr. Sharp, may I wind this +around Isabel's hat; it is so pretty, I'm sure Mrs. Farnham will not +mind?" + +"Put it anywhere you like," cried the kind man, holding on to a branch +of the bitter-sweet, and swinging himself downward till the ash bent +almost double. It rushed back to its place, casting off a shower of +loose berries and leaves that rattled around the girls in red and +golden rain. Directly Mr. Sharp was by them once more, gathering up a +handful of gooseberry branches, bitter-sweet and ash, admiring Mary's +wreath at the same time. + +"Come, now for a scramble down the hill," he cried. "Here, let me go +first, for we may all expect a precious blessing, and I fancy my +shoulders are the broadest." + +The children looked at each other and the smiles left their lips. The +"blessing," with which he so carelessly threatened them was enough to +quench all their gay spirits, and they crept on after their benefactor +with clouded faces. + +"See, Mrs. Farnham, see what a world of beautiful things we have found +for you up the mountain," cried Mr. Sharp, throwing two or three +branches through the carriage window. "The little folks have +discovered wonders among the bush--don't you think so?" + +Mrs. Farnham drew back and gathered her ample skirts nervously about +her. + +"What on earth have the creatures brought? Bitter-sweet, gooseberries, +with thorns like darning needles! Why, Mr. Sharp, what can you mean by +bringing such things here to stain the cushions with?" + +"Oh, never mind the cushions," answered the gentleman, lifting Isabel +up with a toss, and landing her on the front seat, while Mary stood +trembling by his side, with her eyes fixed ruefully on the wreath +which surrounded the crown of her companion's Leghorn flat. + +"Oh, what will become of us when she sees that?" thought the child in +dismay. + +But she was allowed no time to ask unpleasant questions, even of +herself, for Enoch Sharp took her in his arms and set her carefully +down opposite Mrs. Farnham, whose glance had just taken in the unlucky +wreath. + +"My goodness, if the little wretches have not destroyed that love of a +hat with their trash! Oh, dear, put a beggar on horseback and only see +how he will ride! Mr. Sharp, I did hope that the child could +appreciate an article of millinery like that; but you see how it is, +no just medium can be expected with this pauper taste; a long course +of refinement is, I fear necessary to a just comprehension of the +beautiful. Only think! two of Jarvis' most expensive marabouts crushed +into nothingness by a good-for-nothing heap of, I don't know what, +tangled about them! Really, it is enough to discourage one from ever +doing a benevolent act again." + +Judge Sharp strove to look decorously concerned, but spite of himself +a quiet smile would tremble at the corners of the mouth, as he looked +at the two marabout feathers flattened and crushed beneath the +impromptu wreath. + +"Whose work is it? Which of you twisted that thing over those +feathers?" cried the lady angrily. + +Isabel looked at Mary, but did not speak. + +"It was me; I did it," said Mary, meekly. "The berries were so pretty, +we never saw any before. Please, ma'am, look again, and see if the +blue flowers there against the yellow don't look beautiful." + +"Beautiful, indeed! What should you know of beauty, I wonder?" was the +scornful answer, for Mrs. Farnham was by no means pleased that Mary +had been forced into her company even for a single day's travel. "What +on earth possesses a child like you, brought up, no matter where, to +speak of this or that thing as pretty? What beautiful thing can you +ever have seen?" + +"I have seen the sky, ma'am, when it was full of bright stars. God +lets poor people as well as rich ones look on the sky, you know; and +isn't that beautiful?" + +"Indeed! You think so, then?" said the lady. + +"And we have seen many, many beautiful things besides that, haven't +we, Isabel? One night, when it had been raining, in the winter--I +remember it, oh, how well--while the great trees were dripping wet, +out came the moon and stars bright, with a sharp frost, and then all +the branches were hung with ice, in the moonshine, glittering and +bending low toward the ground, just as if the starlight had all +settled on the limbs and was loading them down with brightness. Oh, +ma'am, I wish you could have seen it. I remember the ground was all +one glare of ice; but I didn't mind that." + +"I'm afraid your ward will find his protege rather forward, Judge," +said the lady, as Mary Fuller drew back, blushing at her own eager +description. + +"I really don't know," answered the gentleman; "she seems to have made +pretty good use of the few privileges awarded to her, and, really, +there is some philosophy in it. When one finds nothing but God's sky +unmonopolized, it is something for a child to make so much of that. +She has a pretty knack of sorting flowers, too, as you may see by the +fashion in which that is twisted. After all, madam, let us each make +the most of our favorites. Yours is pretty enough, in all conscience +Fred's will give satisfaction where she goes, I dare say." + +Judge Sharp was becoming rather weary of his companion again, and so +leaned out of the window, as was his usual habit, amusing himself by +searching for the first red leaves among the maple foliage, and +watching the shadows as they fell softly down the hemlock hollows. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +A PLEASANT CONVERSATION. + + + Like the patter of rain in a damp heavy day, + Or the voice of a brook when its waters are low, + That murmurs and murmurs and murmurs away-- + Was the sound of her words in their meaningless flow. + +After a while, finding that Mrs. Farnham was still talking at the +children, and dealing him a sharp sentence or two over their +shoulders, for preferring the scenery to her conversation, the Judge +quietly drew in his head, and gathering up a quantity of the flowers, +arranged a pretty bouquet for each of the little girls, who received +them with shy satisfaction. + +Then with more effort at arrangement, he completed a third bouquet, +and laid it on Mrs. Farnham's lap with affected diffidence, that went +directly to that very weak portion of the lady's system, which she +dignified with the name of heart. + +Enoch Sharp smiled at the effect of his adroit attention, while the +lady, appeased into a state of gentle self-complacency, rewarded him +with beaming smiles and a fresh avalanche of those soft frothy words, +which she solemnly believed were conversation. From time to time she +refreshed herself with the perfume of his mountain flowers, descanted +on their beauties with sentimental warmth, and murmured snatches of +poetry over them, very soft, very sentimental, and particularly +annoying to a man filled in all the depths of his soul with an honest +love of nature. + +"I wish my ward could have seen the old place before he went to +college," observed the Judge, adroitly seizing upon a pause in this +cataract of words, and making a desperate effort to change the +subject. "He will find Harvard rather dull, I fear, at first." + +The Judge was unfortunate. His choice of subject reminded Mrs. Farnham +of an old grievance, and that day she was ambitious to establish +herself a character for martyrdom. + +"Yes," she answered, "I'm sure he will, but Fred would go. I knew +they'd make a Unitarian of him or something of that sort, and the way +I pleaded would have touched a heart of stone, I'm sure. + +"'It was in your father's family,' said I, 'to lean towards what they +called liberal views, but I, your mother, Fred, I am firm on the other +side, orthodox, settled like a rock in that particular--though it has +been said that in other things, the affections for instance--I'm more +like a dove.'" + +Here Mrs. Farnham settled the folds of her travelling dress with both +hands, as if the dove had taken a fancy to smooth its plumage. + +"Well, as I was saying to Fred, sir, 'go to Yale, don't think of +Harvard, but go to Yale. There you will get a granite foundation for +your religion--everything solid and sound there--go to Yale, my son.' + +"It was in this way I reasoned, sir, but Fred has a good deal of his +father in him, stubborn, Judge--stubborn as a--a mule, if you will +excuse me mentioning that animal to a gentleman who keeps such horses +as you do." + +The Judge bowed. The love of a fine horse was one of his +characteristics; he rather enjoyed the compliment. + +His bow set Mrs. Farnham off again with double power. + +"'You won't go to Yale,' said I, 'and you will go to Harvard. Let us +strike a medium, Fred, a happy medium is the most pleasant thing in +the world--go to Harvard one year, the next to Yale, then, sir, I +thought of your church--' and, said I, 'finish off at old Columbia, +it'll be a compliment to your guardian.'" + +"Thank you," said the Judge, with a demure smile; "thank you for +remembering my church so kindly; but what did my ward say to this?" + +"Why, sir, would you believe it, he answered in the most disrespectful +manner, that he went to college to got an education, and Harvard was +good enough for that. + +"'But,' said I, 'take my medium and you will try Harvard, and Yale, +and old Columbia, too; only think what an introduction it would be +into all sorts of the best religious society.' + +"Well, sir, what do you think he did but laugh in the most irreverent +manner, and ask me if I couldn't point out a Universalist institution +that he could finish up at. I declare, Judge, it almost broke my +heart." + +"Well, well, let us hope it will all turn out right," answered the +Judge, consolingly--"look, madam, look, what a lovely hollow that is!" + +They were now descending the mountain passes. Broken hills and lovely +green valleys rose and sunk along their rapid progress. Never on earth +was scenery more varied and lovely. Little emerald hollows shaded with +hemlock, overhanging brooklets that came stealing like broken diamond +threads down the mountain sides to hide beneath their shadows, were +constantly appearing and disappearing along the road. + +It was impossible for little Mary to sit still when these heavenly +glimpses presented themselves. Her cheeks burned, her eyes kindled; +her very limbs trembled with suppressed impatience; but she dared not +lean forward, and could only obtain tantalizing glances of the +sparkling brooks, and the soft, green mosses that clung around the +mountain cliffs where they shot over the road. + +They passed through several villages, winding in and out through +mountain passes, where the hills were so interlapped that it seemed +impossible to guess how the carriage would extricate itself from the +green labyrinth. + +Nothing could be more delicate and vivid than the foliage that clothed +the hill-sides, for the primeval growth of hemlocks had been cut away +from the hills, and a second crop of luxuriant young trees, beech, +oak, and maple, mottled with rich clusters of mountain ash, and the +deep green of white pines, covered the whole country. + +All at once the coachman drew up his horses on a curve of the highway. +The carriage was completely buried in a valley along which wound the +river, whose sweet noise they had long heard among the trees. + +"Now children, look out," said the Judge, laughing pleasantly; "look +out and tell me how we are to get through the hills." + +Both the little girls sprang forward and looked abroad breathlessly, +like birds at the open door of a cage in which they had been +imprisoned. The Judge watched them with smiling satisfaction as they +cast puzzled glances from side to side, meeting nothing but shoulders +and angles and ridges of the mountains heaving over each other in huge +green waves that seemed to be endless, and to crowd close to each +other, though many a lovely valley lay between, little dreamed of by +the wondering children. + +"Well, then, tell me how you expect to get out, little ones?" repeated +the Judge. + +"Sure enough, how?" repeated Isabel, drawing back, and looking from +the Judge to Mrs. Farnham. + +But Mary was still gazing abroad. Her eyes wandered from hill to hill, +and grew more and more luminous as each new beauty broke upon her. At +last she drew back with a deep breath, and the loveliest of human +smiles upon her face. + +"Indeed, sir, indeed I shouldn't care if we never did get out, the +river would be company enough." + +"Yes, company enough," replied the Judge, smiling. "But would it feed +us when we are hungry?" + +"It don't seem as if I ever should be hungry here," replied the child. + +"But I am hungry now," replied Enoch Sharp; "and so is Mrs. Farnham, +I dare say!" + +"No," replied that lady, who prided herself on a delicate appetite, "I +never am hungry; dew and flowers, my friends used to say, were +intended to support sensitive nerves like mine." + +"Very likely," thought Enoch Sharp; "I am certain no human being could +support them," but he drowned this ungallant thought in a loud call +for Ralph to drive on. + +The horses made a leap forward, swept round a huge rock that concealed +the highway where it curved suddenly with a bend of the river, and +before them lay one of the most beautiful mountain villages you ever +beheld. The horses knew their old home. Away they went sweeping up the +broad winding sheet between double columns of young maple trees, +through which the white houses gleamed tranquilly and dream-like on +the eyes of those city children. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +A VALLEY IN THE MOUNTAINS. + + + High up among the emerald breasted hills, + There lay a village, cradled in their green. + Surrounded by such loveliness as thrills + The poetry within us--and the sheen + Of a broad river kissed the mountain's foot + Where stately hemlocks found primeval root. + +Judge Sharp's carriage stopped in front of a noble mansion near the +centre of the village. I think it must have been one of the oldest +houses in the place. But modern improvements had so transfigured and +beautified it, that it bore the aspect of a noble suburban villa, +rather than a mountain residence. The roof lifted in a pointed gable, +and supported by brackets, shot several feet over the front, resting +on a row of tall, slender columns which formed a noble portico along +the entire front. + +In order to leave the first family homestead ever built in those +mountains entire in its simple architecture, this portico shaded the +double row of windows first introduced into the dwelling; and the main +building remained entire within and without, as it had been left years +before by its primitive architect. But modern wings had been united to +the old building on the left and in the rear pointed with gables, and +so interspersed with chimneys that the whole mass formed a gothic +exterior singular and beautiful as it was picturesque. + +Noble old trees, maple, elm and ash, shaded the green lawn which fell +far back from the house, terminating on one side in a fine fruit +orchard bending with ripened peaches and purple plums, and broken up +on the south by a flower-garden gorgeous with late summer blossoms, +shaded with grape arbors and clumps of mountain ash, all flushed and +red with berries. + +This noble garden lost itself in the deep green of an apple orchard +full of singing birds. The waters of a mountain brook came leaping +down from the broken hills beyond, and gleamed through the thick +foliage, mingling their sweet perpetual chime with the rising breath +of that little wilderness of flowers. + +This was the dwelling at which Judge Sharp's carriage stopped. It +seemed like a Paradise to the little girls, who longed to get out and +enjoy a full view of its beauties from the lawn. But Mrs. Farnham was +a guest, for the time; and well disposed to use her privileges, she +refused to descend, though hospitably pressed, and seemed to think the +few moments required by the Judge to enter his own home, an +encroachment on her rights and privileges. + +But the Judge cared little for this, and was far more engaged with a +venerable old house-dog, toothless, grey and dim-eyed, who arose from +his sunny nook upon the grass, and came soberly down to welcome his +master, than he was with the lady's discontent. + +"Ha, Carlo, always on hand, old fellow," he said, patting the grizzly +head of his old favorite, "glad to see me, ha!" + +Carlo looked up through his dim eyes and gave a feeble whine, which, +in his young days, would have been a deep-mouthed bay of welcome. +Then, with grave dignity, he tottered onward by his master's side, +escorted him up to the entrance door, and lay down in a sunny spot +which broke through the honeysuckle branches on the balcony, satisfied +by the soft rush of feet and the glad female voices within, that his +master was in good hands. + +"I wonder," said Mrs. Farnham, leaning back with an air of ineffable +disgust, and talking to no one in particular--"I wonder how the Judge +can allow that old brute to prowl after him in that manner, but there +is no medium in some people. I'm sure if he were at my house I would +have him shot before morning--laying down on the portico indeed!" + +"But he seems so glad," said Mary Fuller, struck with a thrill of +sympathy for the dog, rendered repulsive to that silly woman by his +age, as she was by her homeliness. + +"Isn't it the duty of every ugly thing to be still?" replied Mrs. +Farnham, casting a look of feeble spite at the child. "But the Judge +has a fancy for uncouth pets." + +"Perhaps because they feel kindness so much," answered Mary, in a +trembling voice. + +"Indeed!" drawled the lady; "then I wish he would be kind enough to +send us on. This tiresome waiting, when one is worn out and half +famished, is too much." + +Just then the Judge appeared at the front door cheerful and smiling, +and, in the shaded background of the hall, two fair forms were +visible, hovering near, as if reluctant to part with him again so +soon. + +"Not quite out of patience, I hope?" he said, leaning into the +carriage, while the ladies of his family came forth with offers of +hospitality. But Mrs. Farnham muttered something about fatigue, dust, +and the strong desire she had to see her own home--a desire in which +the ladies soon heartily, but silently, joined, for it needed only a +first sentence to convince them that the interesting widow would make +but a sorry acquisition to the neighborhood. + +"Then, if you absolutely insist, madam, the next best thing is to +proceed," cried Enoch Sharp, and, springing into his seat, he waved an +adieu to his family, and the rather reluctant horses proceeded briskly +down the street. + +The river which we have mentioned, skirted the village with its bright +waters; two or three fine manufacturing buildings stood back from its +banks, and, having supplied them with its sparkling strength, it swept +on wildly as before, curving and deepening between its green or rocky +banks with low, pleasant murmurs, like a troop of children let loose +from school. + +The highway ran along its banks, sometimes divided from the waters by +clumps of hoary old hemlocks, that had escaped the axe from their +isolation perhaps, and again separated only by thickets of wild +blackberries and mountain shrubs. + +As they proceeded the hills crowded down close to the highway, that +ran along the steep banks of the river; here the stream rushed on with +fresh impetuosity, and gathering up its waves in a sudden curve of the +channel, leaped down the valley in one of the most beautiful +waterfalls you ever saw. + +"Oh, one minute; do, do stop one minute," cried Mary, as the broad +crescent of the fall flashed before her. "Isabel, Isabel, did you ever +see any thing like that?" + +"Really, Judge, your pet is very forward, and so tiresome," said Mrs. +Farnham, gazing down upon the waters with a weak sneer; "one would +think she had never seen a mill-dam before." + +This sent the poor child back to her corner again. But Mrs. Farnham +had struck the Judge on a sensitive point when she sneered at that +beautiful crescent-shaped fall, rolling in a sheet of crystal over its +native rocks, the sparkling waters all in sunshine; the still basin +beneath, green with stilly shadows cast over it from masses of tall +trees that crowded around the brink. + +"Madam," he said, "that mill-dam made its channel when the hills +around had their first foundation. You must not find fault with the +workmanship, for God himself made it." + +"Indeed, you surprise me," cried the lady, taking out her glass and +leaning forward, "I really supposed it must be the result of some of +those logging bees that we hear of in these back settlements. I quite +long to witness something of the kind; it must be gratifying, Judge, +to see your peasantry enjoy themselves on these rustic occasions." + +"My peasantry," laughed the Judge, as much ashamed of the angry +feelings with which his last speech had been given, as if he had been +caught whipping a lap-dog--"my constituents, you mean." + +"Oh, yes, of course, I mean anything that you call that sort of +people--constituents, is it?" + +"My wife and I call that sort of people neighbors." + +"Indeed," cried Mrs. Farnham, dropping her glass and leaning back as +one who bends beneath a sudden blow; "I thought you were to be _my_ +neighbors." + +"If you will permit us," said the Judge, laughing; "but here is your +house, and there stands the housekeeper ready to receive you." + +Mrs. Farnham brightened, and began to gather up her shawl and +embroidered satchel, like one who was becoming weary of her +companions. + +"This is really very nice," she said, looking up to the huge square +building lifted from the road by half a dozen terraces, and crowned +with a tall cupola; "depend on it, I shall make it quite a Paradise, +Judge. I'm glad it's out of sight of your mill--your waterfall--I hate +sounds that never stop." + +"How she must hate her own pattering voice," thought the Judge, as he +helped the lady in her descent from the carriage. + +"And the housekeeper, I thought she was here." + +"And so I am, ma'am," answered a slight, little woman, with a freckled +complexion, and immense quantities of red hair gathered back of her +head in the fangs of a huge comb that had been fashionable twenty-five +years before; "been a-waiting at that identical front door full on to +an hour, expecting you every minet; but better late than never. You're +welcome, ma'am, as scraps to a beggar's basket." + +It was laughable--the look of indignant astonishment with which the +widow regarded her housekeeper, as in the simple honesty of her heart +she uttered this welcome. + +"And pray, who engaged you to take charge here? Could no more suitable +person be found?" + +"Who engaged me, ma'am, me? why I grew up here--never was engaged in +my hull life, and never will be till men are more worth having." + +"But how came you here as my housekeeper?" + +"Well, sort of nat'rally, ma'am, as children take the measles; bein' +as I was in the house, I just let 'em call me what they're a mind to; +hain't quite got used to the name yet, but it'll soon fit on with +practice. Come, now, walk in, and make yourself to home." + +All the time Mrs. Farnham had been standing by the carriage, with her +shawl and travelling satchel on one arm. She refused to surrender them +to Enoch Sharp, and stood swelling with indignation because the +housekeeper did not offer to relieve her. She might as well have +expected the cupola to descend from its roof, as any of these menial +attentions from Salina Bowles, who possessed very original ideas of +her duties as a housekeeper. + +"Gracious me! I hadn't the least notion that you had children along!" +cried the good woman, totally oblivious of Mrs. Farnham's flushed +face, and pressing closely up to the carriage. + +"But allow me to hope that you will grant permission, now that they +have come!" said the widow with an attempt at biting satire, which +Salina received in solemn good faith. + +"It ain't the custom hereabouts to turn any thing out of doors, ma'am, +expected or not; and I calcurlate there'll be room in the house for a +young 'un or two if they ain't over noisy. Come, little gal, give a +jump, and let's see how spry you are." + +Isabel obeyed, and impelled by Miss Bowles' vigorous arm, made a +swinging leap out of the carriage. + +"Gracious sakes, but she's as hornsome as a pictur, ain't she though? +Not your own darter, marm. I calcurlate." + +The flush deepened on the widow's face, and she began to bite her +nether lip furiously, a sure sign that rage was approaching to white +heat with her. For occasionally Mrs. Farnham found it difficult to +retain a just medium, when her temper was up. + +"Come, child, move on, let us go into the house, if this woman will +get out of the way and permit us"--- + +"Out of the way, goodness knows I ain't in it by a long chance," cried +Salina, waving her hand toward the house; "as for permitting, why the +path is open straight to the front door; and the house just as much +yours as it is mine, I reckon." + +"Is it indeed?" sneered the lady, lifting a fold of her travelling +skirt, as she prepared to ascend the first terrace; "we shall decide +that to-morrow." + +But Salina Bowles sent an admiring glance after them, directed at the +beautiful child rather than the lady. + +"Well, now, she is a purty critter, ain't she, Judge? them long curls +do beat all." + +But the Judge was at Mrs. Farnham's side assisting her to mount the +terrace. When Salina became aware of this, her glance fell inside the +carriage again, and she saw Mary Fuller leaning forward and gazing +after Isabel with her eyes full of tears. Instantly a change came over +the rough manner of the woman--she remembered her encomiums on +Isabel's beauty with a quick sense of shame, and leaning forward +reached out both hands. + +"Come, little gal, let me lift you out; harnsome is as harnsome does, +you know. I hope you ain't tired, nor nothing." + +Mary began to weep outright. She tried to smile and force the tears +back with her eyelids; but the woman's kind words had unlocked her +little grateful heart, and she could only sob out-- + +"Thank you--thank you very much; but I suppose I'm not to stop here, +it's only Isabel." + +"And is she your sister?" + +"No; but we've been together so long, and now she's gone; and--and"-- + +"Gone without speaking a word, or saying good bye?--well, I never +did!" + +Away darted Miss Bowles up the terraces, leaping from step to step +like an old greyhound till she seized on Isabel, and giving her a +light shake, bore her back in triumph, much to the terror of both +children and the astonishment of the widow, who stood regarding them +from the upper terrace in impatient wrath; while the Judge softly +rubbed his hands and wondered what would come next. + +"There now, just act like a Christian, and say good-bye to the little +gal that's left behind," cried Salina, hissing out a long breath as +she plumped little Isabel down into the carriage. "What's the use of +long curls and fine feathers if there's no feeling under them? There, +there, have a good kiss and a genuine long cry together; it'll be a +refreshment to you both." + +Without another word the house-keeper marched away and ascended the +terraces, her freckled face glowing with rude kindness, and the +sunbeams glancing around her red hair as we see it around some of the +ugly saints, that the old masters stiffened on canvas before Raphael +gave ease of movement and freedom of drapery to these heavenly +subjects. + +"What have you done with the child?" almost shrieked Mrs. Farnham, as +the house-keeper drew near with a broad smile on her broader mouth. + +"Just put her in her place, that's all," replied Salina; "she was a +coming off without bidding t'other little thing good-bye. There she +sot with her two eyes as wet as periwinkles, looking--looking after +you all so wishful. I couldn't stand it; nobody about these parts +could. We ain't wolves and bears, if we were brought up under the +hemlocks. 'Little children should love one another,' that's genuine +Scripter, or ought to be if it ain't." + +"What on earth shall I do with this creature?" cried Mrs. Farnham, +half overpowered by the higher and stronger character with which she +had to deal. "She almost frightens me!" + +"Still she seems to me about right in her ideas, if a little rough in +her way of enforcing them. Believe me, madam, Salina Bowles will prove +a faithful and true friend." + +"Friend! Mr. Sharp, I do not hire my friends!" + +The Judge made a slightly impatient movement. He was becoming weary of +throwing away ideas on the well-dressed shell of humanity before him. + +"You will find the prospect very delightful," he said, casting a +glance toward the mountains, at whose feet the river wound brightening +in the sunshine, and seeming deeper where the shadows lengthened over +it from the hills. "See, the spires and cupolas are just visible at +the left; though not close together, we shall be near enough for good +neighbors." + +The lady looked discontentedly around on the hills, covered with the +golden sunset, the river sleeping beneath them, and the distant +village rising from masses of foliage, and pencilling its spires +against the blue sky, where it fell down in soft, wreathing clouds at +the mouth of the valley. + +"I dare say it is what you call fine scenery, and all that; but really +I cannot see what tempted Mr. Farnham to think of forbidding the sale +of this place; and, above all, to make it a condition that I should +live here now and then while Fred is in college." + +"Your husband started life here, madam," answered the Judge, almost +sternly; "and we love the places where our first struggles were made." + +"Yes, but then I didn't start life here with him, you know. Poor, dear +Mr. Farnham was so much older, and his tastes so different, I +sometimes wonder how he managed to win me, so young, so--so--but you +comprehend, Judge!" + +"He had managed to get a handsome property together before that, I +believe," said the Judge, with a demure smile. + +"But what is property without taste, and a just idea of style? Mr. +Farnham became quite aware of his deficiency in these points when he +married me." + +"There does seem to have been a deficiency," muttered the Judge, and +having appeased himself with this bit of internal malice, he turned an +attentive ear to the end of her speech. + +"His mother you know, was a commonish sort of person" + +Here Salina, who stood upon the broad door-step with the front door +open, strode down and confronted Mrs. Farnham. She remained thus with +those little grey eyes searching the lady's face, and with her long, +bony hand tightly clenched, as if she waited for something else before +her wrath would be permitted to reach the fighting point. But Mrs. +Farnham remained silent, only muttering over "a very commonish sort of +person indeed," and with hound-like reluctance, Salina retreated +backward, step by step, to her position at the door. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +NEW PEOPLE AND NEW HOMES + + + There was energy and strength in her, + A heart to will, with a hand to do; + Like the fruit that lies in a chestnut bur + That honest soul was fresh and true. + +Meantime Mary Fuller and Isabel had remained in the carriage, locked +in each others arms, murmuring out their fondness and their grief, +with promises of faithful remembrance amid broken sob; and tears, such +as they had never shed before, even in their first poverty stricken +orphanage. + +Something of that deep, unconscious spirit of prophecy, which +sometimes haunts the souls of children God-loving like Mary Fuller, +whispered her that this separation would be for years. She had +reasoned with this presentiment all the way from the Alms House, which +had so lately been their home, to this the place of their future +residence. In the innocence of her heart she had taxed this feeling as +a selfish one, and had covered herself with self-reproach, for having +fallen into envy of the brighter destiny which awaited Isabel, in +comparison with her own prospects. But the child had done herself +injustice, and mistook the holiest intuition of a pure heart for a +feeling of which that heart was incapable. + +Isabel merely knew that they were to be parted, that the young +creature whose care had been that of a mother, whose patience and +gentle love had given a home feeling even to the Alms House, would no +longer share her room, curl her hair, and arrange her dress with +kindly devotion, or in any way soothe her life as she had done. + +She did not comprehend, as Mary did, the great evil which this +separation would bring upon her moral nature; but her affectionate +heart was touched, and the passionate grief that she felt at parting, +was more violent by far than the deeper and more solemn feeling that +shook Mary's heart to the centre, but made no violent outcry, as +lighter grief might have done. + +Both Salina and Mary herself had done the child injustice, when they +supposed her going heartlessly away from her old companion. Confused +by the meeting of Mrs. Farnham and the housekeeper, and puzzled by the +strangeness of everything around, she had followed her benefactress, +or adopted mother, without a thought that Mary would not join them; +and her grief was violent, indeed, when she learned that then and +there she must separate from the only creature on earth, that her +warm, young heart could entirely love. + +The children were locked in each other's arms, weeping, each striving +to comfort the other. + +"Remember now, Isabel, say your prayers every night, the Lord's +Prayer, and after that, Isabel, remember and ask God to bless me and +make me, oh! so patient." + +"Ah! but it will seem so lonesome all by myself, with no one to kneel +by me. Mary, Mary, I wish they had left us together at the hospital, I +long to get away from here!" + +"No, you mustn't feel that way, Mary, because Mrs. Farnham is very +good and very kind, to make you like her own child, and dress you up +in all these pretty things." + +"They are pretty!" replied Mary, examining her plaid silk dress +through many tears, "but somehow I don't seem to feel a bit happier in +them." + +"But this lady is to be your mother, Isabel." + +Poor Isabel burst into a fresh passion of grief. "Oh! Mary, Mary, that +is it. You know she isn't in the least like my mother, my own darling, +darling mother." + +"But she is in heaven," said Mary, in her sweet, deep voice, that +always seemed so holy and true. "Now, dear Isabel, you will have two +mothers, one here, another beyond the stars. That mother--oh, Isabel, +I believe it as I do my own life--that mother comes to you always when +you pray." + +"Oh! then I will pray so often, Mary," cried the little girl, clasping +her hands, "if that will bring her close to me." + +Mary looked long and wistfully into that lovely face, with only such +admiration as one bereft of all personal attractions can feel for +beauty. Isabel clung closer to her, and wept more quietly. + +"You will come and see me very often?" she whispered. + +"Yes," sobbed Mary, "if they will let me." + +"Where are they going to leave you?" + +"I don't know, I haven't thought to ask till now." + +"I hope it will be near, Mary; and then, you know, we will see each +other every day," cried the child, brightening through her tears. + +"But I am afraid Mrs. Farnham don't like me well enough. She may not +allow it," answered Mary, with a meek smile. + +"But _I_ will," persisted Isabel, flinging back her head, with an air +that brought fresh tears into Mary's eyes. + +"Isabel," she said gravely, and striving to suppress her grief, +"don't--don't--Mrs. Farnham is your mother now." + +"No, she isn't though. She frightens me to death with her kindness. +She don't love me a bit, only because my face is so pretty. I wish it +wasn't, and then, perhaps, I could go with you." + +"No, no, we needn't expect that, _I_ never did. It's only a wonder +they took me at all. I'm Mr. Frederick's child, and you are hers. I'm +quite sure if it hadn't been for him and Mr. Sharp, I should have been +left in the Poor House all alone. The lady only looked at you from the +first." + +"I know it, don't you think I heard all she said about my eyes, my +curls and my beautiful face, while you stood there with your mouth all +of a tremble, and your eyes growing so large and bright under their +tears--I knew that it was my pretty face, that was doing it all; and +oh! just then, Mary, I hated it so much." + +"It is a great thing to have a beautiful face, Isabel, a very great +thing. You don't know what it is to see kind people turn away their +eyes for fear of hurting your feelings by a look, and to hear rude, +bad persons gibing at you. Isabel, dear, you wouldn't like that." + +Mary said this in her usual sad, meek way, smiling so patiently as if +every word were a tear wrung from her heart. + +"Oh! Mary, but you are beautiful to me--nobody on earth looks so sweet +and so good in my eyes, or ever will." + +The two children embraced each other, and both wept freely as only +children can weep. At length, Mary Fuller withdrew herself from +Isabel's arms, lingering a moment to press fresh kisses among her +curls. + +"Now, Isabel, you must go. See, they are looking at us. Mrs. Farnham +will be angry." + +"Mary, I want to tell you something; I like the red-haired woman, +cross as she is, a thousand times better than Mrs. Farnham. If she did +shake me, it was for my good, I dare say." + +"She was kind, at any rate, to let you come back," said Mary. + +"To _let_ me? Why, Mary, she shook me up as mamma would a pillow, and +shot me into the carriage so swift, it took my breath." + +Mary smiled faintly, and Isabel began to laugh through her tears, as +she scrambled out of the carriage again, Mary followed her with +longing eyes. Something of maternal tenderness mingled with her love +of that beautiful child; suffering had rendered her strangely +precocious, and that prophetic spirit, which might have sprung from +a mind too early stimulated, filled her whole being as with the love +of a guardian angel. + +"Oh, how lovely she is, how bright, how like a bird--if her father +could only see her now, poor, poor Isabel! It is so hard for her to be +with strange people; but I, who was so long prowling the streets like +a little wild beast that everybody ran away from; yes, I ought to be +content, and so grateful. But--but, I should like it _so_ much if they +would only let me come and see her once in a while. It's _so_ hard, +and _so_ lonesome without that." + +Thus muttering sadly and sweetly to herself, the child sat with her +little face buried in both hands, almost disconsolate. + +She was aroused by a vigorous footstep and the cheering voice of Enoch +Sharp. He did not appear to notice her tears, but took his seat, +waving his hand to the group just turning to enter Mrs. Farnham's +dwelling. + +"There, there, wave your hand, little one. They're looking this way." + +Mary leaned forward. Mrs. Farnham and the housekeeper had entered the +hall, but Isabel took off her Leghorn flat and was waving it toward +them. The pink ribbons and marabouts fluttered joyously in the air. +Mary could not see that those bright hazel eyes were dim with tears, +but the position and free wave of the arms were full of buoyant joy. +She drew a deep breath, and choked back her tears. It seemed as if she +were utterly deserted, then, utterly alone. + +While Mary could feel and admire Isabel's beauty, her own lack of it +had only been half felt; now her sun was gone, and she, poor moon, +grew dreary in the unaided darkness. Up to this time Mary had hardly +given a thought to the fate intended for herself. Always meek and +lowly in her desires, feeling that any place was good enough for her, +she was never selfishly anxious on her own account. Nor did she +inquire now. While Enoch Sharp was striving to comfort her by +caressing little cares, she only asked, + +"Is it far from here that you are taking me sir?" + +"No, child, it is not more than a mile--you can run over and see her +any time before breakfast, if you like." + +Mary did not answer, but her eyes began to sparkle, and bending her +head softly down, as a meek child does in prayer, she covered Enoch +Sharp's hands with soft, timid kisses, that went to the very core of +his noble heart. + +"Would you like to know where, and what, your home is to be, little +one?" he said, smoothing her hair with one disengaged hand. + +"If you please, but I am sure it will be very nice, so near her." + +"Do you wish very much to be with her?" + +"Indeed I do, and if they could send us word from heaven, I know her +father and mother would say it was best." + +"But there is no relationship between you," said he, willing to probe +her frank soul to the bottom. + +"Relationship, sir," answered the child, with the most touching smile +that ever lighted human face, "oh, sir, haven't you seen how lovely +she is? And I"-- + +The child paused and spread her little hands open, as much as to say, +"and I! _could_ two creatures so opposite be of the same blood?" + +"I think you more lovely by half than she is, my child," cried Enoch +Sharp, drawing the hand, still warm with her grateful kisses, across +his eyes; "good children are never ugly, you know." + +The child looked at him wonderingly. + +"You have seen a thunder-cloud," he said, answering the look, "how +leaden and dismal it is of itself; but let the sun shine strike it and +its edges are fringed with rosy gold, its masses turn purple and warm +crimson, it breaks apart and rainbows leap from its bosom, bridging +the sky with light; do you understand, my child?" + +"Oh! yes, sir, I have seen the clouds melt away into rainbows so +often." + +"Well, it is the sunshine that makes a thing of beauty, where was only +a dull black cloud. In the human face, my child, goodness acts like +sunshine on the clouds. Be very good, little one, and the best portion +of mankind will always think you handsome." + +Mary listened very earnestly, but with an irresolute and unconvinced +expression. This doctrine of immaterial loveliness she could not +readily adopt; and, strange enough, did not quite relish. Her +admiration of Isabel's beauty was so intense, that words like these +seemed to outrage it. + +"Come, come," said the Judge, who had never had an opportunity of +conversing much with the child, "you must not cry so bitterly at being +parted." + +"Sir," said the child, turning her large spiritual eyes upon the +Judge, "her father and mother were very, very kind to me, when I had +no home, no food--nothing--nothing on earth but the cold streets to +live in; remember that!" + +"It is important that I should be well informed about you, Mary. Who +was your father?" + +"My father," cried the child, starting upright, and her eyes flashed +out brightly, scattering back their tears, "my father was as good a +man as ever breathed; good, good, sir, as you are. He did everything +for me, worked for me, taught me himself, nursed me in his own arms, +my father--oh, my poor, poor father, he is a bright angel in heaven." + +"But your mother--did she act kindly by you?" + +"My mother, oh, sir, she is with him--she is surely with my father." + +Enoch Sharp turned away his head. + +"That is a good girl, Mary," he said at last. "But here we are at your +new home. Wipe up your tears and look cheerful." + +Mary obeyed, and her effort to smile was a pleasant tribute to her +noble friend, as he lifted her tenderly from the carriage. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE OLD HOMESTEAD. + + + 'Twas a picturesque old homestead, + With a low moss-covered roof; + And trumpet vines flung over it + Their green and crimson woof. + +The house at which Judge Sharp stopped was long, low, and terribly +weather-beaten. Once a coating of red paint had ornamented it, but +time had beaten this off in some places, and washed it together in +others, till the color was now a dull brown, with patches of red here +and there, visible beneath the eaves and around the windows. The +highway separated this dwelling from the river, which took a bold, +graceful curve just below the house; leaving a broad expanse of +meadow-land and some fine clumps of trees in full view on the opposite +shore. + +Directly in front, ran a picket-fence, old, uneven and dilapidated, +but in picturesque keeping with the building. The gate hung loosely on +its hinges, just opposite an old-fashioned porch, that shot over the +front door, much after the fashion of that hideous thing called a +poke, with which English women disfigure their pretty travelling +bonnets and protect themselves from the sun. + +An immense trumpet-flower overran this porch, whose antique +massiveness harmonized with the building, for the straggling branches +shot out in all directions, and its coarse blossoms, then in season, +seemed to have drank up all the red paint as it vanished from the +clapboards. Long, uncut grass, set thick with dandelions, filled the +narrow strip between the front fence and the house, except just under +the eaves, where it was worn away into a little, pebble-lined gutter, +by the water-drops that poured from the roof every rainy day. + +A few of those old-fashioned roses, broad and red, but almost single, +so common about old houses beyond the reach of nursery gardens, +struggled up through the grass, along the lower portions of the +fences, and on each side the porch. A garden, at one end of the house, +was red with love-lies-bleeding and coxcombs, their deep hues +contrasting with great clumps of marigolds and bachelor's-buttons, all +claiming a preemption right over innumerable weeds and any amount of +ribbon grass, that struggled hard to drive them out. + +With all its dilapidation, there was something picturesque and +attractive about the old homestead--a mingling of rude taste and +neglect, unthrifty, but suggestive of innate character. Mary Fuller +looked around her, with that keen relish of gay colors and rude +outline, that a rich uncultivated taste appreciates best. The glow of +those warmly-tinted, bold garden flowers seemed like a welcome; and +the soft rush of the river, which she had so feared to love, seemed +like the voice of an old friend following her among strangers. + +She had some little time for observation, for the gate opened with +difficulty, groaning on its hinges, scraping its way in the segment of +a circle upon the ground, and tearing up grass by the roots in its +progress. Evidently the front door was not in very frequent use, and +the stubborn old gate seemed determined that it never should be again. +A wren shot away from the porch, as the Judge and his protege entered +it, and went fluttering in and out through the green branches waving +over it quite distractedly, as if she had never seen a human being +there in her whole birdhood before. + +"Poor little coward," said the Judge, "it's afraid we shall drive its +young ones from their old home." + +Mary had followed the fugitive with sparkling eyes, and she now began +peering among the leaves, expecting to find a nest full of darling +little birdlings chirping for food. For aught she knew, poor alley-bred +child, the birds built nests and filled them with eggs all the year +round. + +Judge Sharp rapped upon the door with his knuckles, for the old iron +knocker groaned worse than the gate when he attempted to raise it. + +After a little, the door opened with a jerk; for, like the gate, it +swung low, grating upon the threshold. + +In the entry stood a woman, tall beyond what is common in her sex, +square built and slightly stooping, not from feebleness, however, but +habit. The woman might have been handsome in her youth, for there +still existed a remnant of beauty in that cold, grave face, threaded +with wrinkles, and shaded by hair of a dull iron grey. Her eyes were +keen, and intensely black; they must have had fire in them once; if +so, it had burned itself out years before; for now they seemed clear +and cold as ice. + +"How do you do, aunt Hannah?" said the Judge, reaching forth his +hands. "I have brought the little girl, you see." + +"What little girl?" inquired the woman, casting her cold eyes on Mary +Fuller. "I know nothing about any little girl." + +"Then uncle Nathan didn't get my letter," said the Judge, a little +anxiously. + +"He hasn't had a letter these three years," was the concise reply. + +"Well, I must see him then. Where is he, aunt Hannah?" + +"In his old place." + +"Where, on the back porch?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, aunt Hannah, just see to my little girl, while I go and speak +with uncle Nathan," and the Judge disappeared from the entry, through +a side door. + +"Come into the out room," said aunt Hannah to Mary, leading the way +through an opposite door. + +Mary followed in silence, chilled through and through by this iron +coldness. + +The room was chilly and meagre of comforts like its mistress. A +home-made carpet, striped in red and green, but greatly faded by time, +covered the floor. A tall, mahogany bureau, with a back-piece and +top-drawers, stood on one side, and a long, narrow dining-table of +black wood, with slender legs and claw-feet, grasping each a small +globe, stood between the two front windows. Over these windows were +paper curtains of pale blue, rolled up with strings and tassels of +twisted cotton, just far enough to leave the lower panes visible. Half +a dozen chairs of dark brown wood touched with green, stood around the +room; and over the dining-table hung an antique looking-glass, in a +mahogany frame, rendered black by time. + +Mary sat down by an end window that overlooked the garden, and peered +through the little panes to avoid the steady gaze that the woman fixed +upon her. A sweet-briar bush grew against the window; and she caught +bright glimpses of marigolds and asparagus laden with red berries, +through the fragrant leaves. + +All at once she started and turned suddenly in her chair. The woman +had spoken. + +"Who are you?" was the curt question that aroused her. + +"I--I--ma'am?" + +"Yes, I mean you. What's your name?" + +"Mary Fuller, ma'am." + +"What brought you in these parts?" + +"I came with Isabel and Judge Sharp." + +"What for?" + +"To live with somebody, ma'am, I--I thought at first it was here!" + +"Where did you come from?" + +Mary blushed. Poor child! She had a vague idea that there was +something to be ashamed of in coming from the Alms House. As she +hesitated the woman repeated her question, but more briefly, only +saying: + +"Where?" + +"From the Alms House!" + +Aunt Hannah's eyes fell. A faint color crept through the wrinkles on +her forehead, and for a few moments she ceased to interrogate the +child. But she spoke at length in the same impassive voice as before: + +"Have you a father?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"A mother?" + +"She is dead." + +"Who is Isabel?" + +"A little girl that was with me in"--she was about to say in the Alms +House; but more sensitive regarding Isabel than herself, she changed +the term and said, "that was with me in the carriage." + +"The carriage," repeated aunt Hannah, moving toward a window and +lifting the paper blind, "did it take four horses to drag you and +another little girl over the mountains?" + +"Oh! no, ma'am, there was a lady." + +"A lady! Who?" + +"A lady who lives down the river in a great square house, with a sort +of short steeple on the roof." + +"What, Mrs. Farnham?" said the woman, dropping the blind as if it had +been a roll of fire, while her face turned white to the lips, and a +glow came into her eyes that made Mary's heart beat quick, for there +was something startling in it, as the woman stood searching her face +for the answer. + +"Yes, that is the name, ma'am." + +Aunt Hannah's lips grew colder and whiter, while the glow concentrated +in her eyes like a ray of fire. + +"Is she coming here to live?" broke in low, stern tones from those +cold lips. + +"Yes, I heard her say that she was," replied the little girl, gently, +warmed by a touch of sympathy; for even this stern betrayal of feeling +was less repulsive than the chill apathy of her previous manner. + +"And this Isabel. Is the girl hers?" + +"No, not hers, she is like me--no, not like me--only in having no +father and mother--for Isabel is--oh, how beautiful." + +"And what is she doing here?" questioned the woman, still in her +stern, low tones. + +"Mrs. Farnham has adopted her," answered the child, "and no wonder; +anybody would like to have Isabel for a child." + +"Why?" + +"Because she is lovely." + +"Why didn't she adopt you?" said the woman, without a change in her +voice. + +"Me, ma'am! Oh, how could she?" + +The child, as she spoke, spread her little hands abroad, and looked +downward as was her touching habit, when her person was brought in +question. + +The woman stood in the centre of the room, pale, and still gazing upon +that singular little face, with a degree of intensity of which its +former coldness seemed incapable. At last she strode up to the window, +and putting her hand on Mary's forehead, bent back her head, while she +perused her face. + +"And who will adopt you?" she said, at length, as if communing with +herself. + +"I don't know," said the child, sadly. "When I came here I thought +perhaps this house was the one that Mr. Sharp expected me to live in." + +The woman continued her gaze during some seconds, then her hand +dropped away from the throbbing little forehead, and she returned to +her seat. + +That moment the door opened, and Enoch Sharp looked through, with a +smile that penetrated into the room like a sunbeam. + +"Come, aunt Hannah," he said, "we can do nothing without you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +AUNT HANNAH AND UNCLE NATHAN. + + + The apple trees were all growing old, + And old was the house that sheltered him; + But that brave, warm heart, was a heart of gold! + Though his head was grey, and his eyes were dim. + +Aunt Hannah arose, and walked with a precise and firm step from the +room. Enoch Sharp led the way into a low back porch that overlooked +that portion of the garden devoted to vegetables. In one end of this +porch stood a huge cheese-press; and on the dresser opposite, a wooden +churn was turned bottom up, with the dasher leaning against it. +Several milking-pails of wood, scoured to a spotless whiteness, were +ranged on each side, while nicely kept strainers hung over them. There +was a faint, pure smell of the dairy near, as if the porch opened to a +butter and cheese-room; but the exquisite cleanliness of everything +around made this rather agreeable than otherwise. + +The principal object in the porch, however, was an old man seated in a +huge armed-chair of unpainted oak, with a splint bottom worn smooth by +constant use. The chair stood near the back entrance, and the old man +seemed quite too large and unwieldy for any attempt at exercise; but +his broad, rosy face was turned toward the door, as he heard Enoch +Sharp and his sister coming through the kitchen; and one of the +frankest smiles you ever beheld, beamed from his soft brown eyes over +the benevolent expanse of his face. + +"Well, Nathan, what do you want of me?" inquired the austere lady in +her usual cold tones. + +The good man seemed taken aback by this short address. He looked at +the Judge as if for help, saying, + +"Hasn't he told you, Hannah?" + +"Yes, he wants us to keep this little thing in yonder, and let others +pay us for it. I don't sell kindness--do you, Nathan?" + +"No, no, certainly not; but then, Hannah, you must reflect; the +Judge's own house is not exactly suited for a person like this little +girl; and if we don't take her who will?" + +The woman stood musing, her cold face unchanged, her eyes cast +thoughtfully downward. + +"You see, sister," persisted uncle Nathan, "this little girl isn't as +the Judge says, a sort of person to make a pet of, like the one Mrs. +Farnham has adopted." + +Aunt Hannah started, and looked up with one of those sharp glances, +that we have once seen disturb the cold monotony of her face. There +was something in the name of Mrs. Farnham, that seemed to sting her +into life. + +"She isn't handsome, you know," persisted the good man, "but you won't +care for that, Hannah. The Judge says she's a bright, good little +creature, and she'll be company for us, don't you think so?" + +Aunt Hannah looked at the Judge, who stood regarding her with some +degree of anxiety. + +"Judge," she said, "that woman yonder? She is rich, and these two +children loved each other--why did she send this girl to me?" + +"She did not; I brought her without her knowledge," said the Judge. +"Young Farnham first suggested it." + +"Young Farnham?" said the woman, and a glow came to her forehead. + +"But why were they put asunder?" + +"Mrs. Farnham seems to have taken a dislike to poor Mary," was the +reply. "The other child is very pretty, and this was a great +recommendation, for a lady like her, you know; besides my ward was +very anxious that you should take charge of her." + +The quick fire once more came to aunt Hannah's eyes. She drew herself +up, and looking at Enoch Sharp, said, with a degree of feeling very +unusual to her, + +"Judge Sharp, you can go home. I will take the girl and bring her up +after my own fashion; but, as for your money, we are not poor +enough--my brother and I--to sell kindness--not, not even to him." + +The Judge would have spoken, but aunt Hannah waved her hand, after her +usual cold, stately fashion, saying, "take the girl--or leave her with +me." + +"But she will be a burden upon you!" he began to say. + +Aunt Hannah did not answer, but going into "the out room," removed +Mary's bonnet and mantilla, then, taking her by the hand, she led her +into the porch directly before uncle Nathan. + +"Talk with her," she said; "I have the chores to do up yet." + +"Yes, yes, talk with uncle Nathan, Mary; you will feel at home at +once," cried the Judge, somewhat annoyed that all his benevolent plans +could not be carried out, but glad, nevertheless, that his poor +favorite had found a home. + +There are faces in the world which a warm-hearted person cannot look +upon without a glow of generous emotion. Those faces are seldom among +the most beautiful. Certainly, I have never found them so; but, this +power of waking up all the sweet emotions of an irrepressible nature +is worth all the beauty on earth. Uncle Nathan Heap's face was of this +character. Full and ruddy, it beamed with an expression so benevolent, +so warm and true, that you were ready to love and trust him at the +first glance. + +Mary Fuller had too much character in herself not to feel all that was +noble in his. Her eye lighted up, the color came in a faint hue to her +cheeks, and, without a word, she placed her little hands between the +plump brown palms that were extended to receive her. + +Uncle Nathan drew her close up to his knees, pressing her little hands +kindly between his, and perusing her face with his friendly brown +eyes. + +"There, that will do, you are a nice little girl," he said, "I'm glad +the Judge thought of bringing you here." + +Mary was ready to cry. This reception was so cheering, after the cold +interrogations of aunt Hannah. + +"Go, bring that milking-stool, yonder, and sit down here while I talk +with you a little," said uncle Nathan, pointing toward three or four +stools, that hung on the picket fence in the back garden. + +Mary ran across the cabbage patch, and brought the milking-stool, +which she placed near the old man. + +"Close up, close up," he said, patting his fat knee, as if he expected +her to lean against it. "There, now, this will do. Sit still and see +how you like the garden while the sunshine strikes it." + +Mary looked around full of serious curiosity. The sunshine was falling +across the cabbage patch, which she had just crossed, tinging the great +heads with gold. The massive effect of this blended green and gold; +the deep tints of the outer leaves, lined and crimped into a curious +network; the inner leaves folded so hard and crisp, in their lighter +green; all struck the child as singularly beautiful. Then the dun red +of the beet leaves, that took up the slanting sunbeams as they strayed +over the garden, scattering gold everywhere; and the delicate and +feathery green of the parsnip beds: these all had a charm for her +young eyes, a charm that one must feel for the first time to +appreciate. + +"Don't you think it a pleasant place out here?" said uncle Nathan, +looking blandly down upon her. + +"Oh! yes, very, very nice. I never saw so many things growing at once +before." + +"No! Don't they have gardens in New York then?" + +"Some persons do, but not with these things in them: but they have +beautiful roses and honeysuckles, and sights of flowers; don't you +like flowers, sir?" + +"Like flowers? Why, yes. Didn't you see the coxcombs and marigolds in +the front garden?" + +"Yes," said Mary, a little disappointed; for, to say the truth, she +found more beauty in the nicely arranged vegetable beds, with their +rich variety of tints, just then bathed in the sunset; besides, a +taste for rare flowers had been excited, by many a childish visit to +those pretty angles and grass plats, bright with choice flowers, that +beautify many of our up-town dwellings in New York. "Yes, they are +large and grand, but I like little tiny flowers, with stems that shake +when you only touch them." + +"Oh, you'll find lots of flowers like that in the spring time, I can +tell you. Among the rocks and trees up there, the ground is covered +with them." + +"And can I pick them?" asked the child, lifting her brightening eyes +on uncle Nathan, with a world of confiding earnestness in them, but +still doubtful if she would dare to touch even a wild blossom without +permission. + +"Pick them!" repeated the old man, laughing till his double chin +trembled like a jelly. "Why the cattle tramp over thousands of them +every day. You may pick aprons full, if you have a mind to." + +"I shouldn't like much to pick them in that way," said the child, +thoughtfully. + +"Why not, ha?" + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Call me uncle Nathan!" + +"Well, I don't know, uncle Nathan," repeated the child, blushing, "but +it seems to me as if it must hurt the pretty flowers to be picked, as +if they had feeling like us, and would cry out in my fingers." + +"That is a queer thought," said uncle Nathan, and he looked curiously +on the child. + +"Is it? I don't know," was the modest reply, "but I always feel that +way about flowers." + +"She is a strange little creature," thought uncle Nathan, who had a +world of sympathy for every generous emotion the human soul ever knew, +"what company she will be here in the old stoop nights like this." + +Then in a quiet, gentle way, uncle Nathan began to question the child, +as his sister had done; but Mary did not shrink from him as she had +from his relative; and the sunset gathered around them, while she was +telling her mournful little history. + +The old man's eyes filled with tears more than once, as he listened. +Mary saw it and drew close to him as she spoke, till her little +clasped hands rested on his knees. + +Just then aunt Hannah came into the porch with a pail in her hand, +foaming over with milk. + +"Oh!" exclaimed uncle Nathan, lifting himself from the arm-chair with +a heavy sigh, "I oughtn't to have been sitting here, in this way, +while you are doing up the chores, Hannah. Give me the stool, little +darter, I must do my share of the milking, any how." + +"Sit still! The child's strange yet; I can do up the chores for once, +I suppose," answered aunt Hannah, placing a bright tin pan on the +dresser, and tightening a snow-white strainer over the pail. "Sit +down, I say." + +Uncle Nathan dropped into his capacious chair, with a relieving sigh, +though half the authority in aunt Hannah's command was lost in the +flow of a pearly torrent of milk which soon filled the pan. + +"Can't I help?" inquired Mary, going up to aunt Hannah, as she lifted +the brimming pan with both hands, and bore it toward a swinging shelf +in the pantry. + +"Not now; when you are rested. Go back to Nathan," answered aunt +Hannah, looking sideway over the uplifted milk pan. + +Mary drew back to her place by the old man, and they watched the sun +as it set redly behind the hills, covering the garden and all the +hills with its dusky gold. + +"See!" said uncle Nathan, pointing to an immense sun flower crowning a +stalk at least eight feet high. "See how that great flower wheels +round as the sun travels toward the mountains; and stands with its +face to the west, when it goes down. Did you ever see that before?" + +"The great, brown flower, fringed with yellow leaves--does it really +do that?" cried Mary, with her bright eyes wandering from the stately +flower to uncle Nathan's face. "Oh! how I should love to sit and watch +it all day!" + +"I do sometimes, Sundays, when it's too warm for anything else," said +uncle Nathan; "but supposing you go to bed early, and get up in the +morning, as sure as you do, that sunflower will be found looking +straight to the east." + +Aunt Hannah, who had bustled about the porch and pantry some time, +appeared after a short interval, at the back door. Uncle Nathan +understood the signal, and taking Mary by the hand, led her into a +kitchen, neatly covered with a rag carpet, and furnished with +old-fashioned wooden chairs. A little round tea-table stood in the +middle of the room, covered with warm tea-biscuit, preserved plums +in china saucers, and plates of molasses-pound-cake, with a saucer of +golden butter, and one of cheese, placed at equal distances. + +Aunt Hannah took her seat behind an oblong tray of dark japaned tin, +on which stood a conical little pewter tea-pot, bright as silver, and +a pile of tea-spoons small enough for a modern play-house, but so +bright that they scattered cheerful gleams over the whole tray. Three +chairs stood around the table, and in one of these Mary placed +herself, obedient to a move of aunt Hannah's hand. A bowl of bread and +milk stood by her plate, to which she betook herself with hearty +relish, while aunt Hannah performed the honors of her pewter tea-pot, +mingling a judicious quantity of water with Mary's portion of her +favorite beverage, while uncle Nathan reached over and sweetened it +with prodigality, observing that "it was the nature of children to +love sweets," at which aunt Hannah gave a cold smile of assent. + +After tea, uncle Nathan withdrew to his seat on the porch again. Mary +would have made herself useful about the tea-things, but aunt Hannah +dismissed her with an observation that she might rest herself in the +porch. + +It was very pleasant to keep close up to the side of that old man, and +find protection from her loneliness, in the shadow of his great chair. +Still, a sadness crept over her poor heart, for with all her +simple-hearted courage, the place was strange, and in spite of the +cordial voice of uncle Nathan that came cheerfully through the +gathering darkness, she felt a moisture creeping into her eyes. The +very stillness and beautiful quiet of everything around had elements +of sadness in it to a creature so sensitively organized as she was. +She thought of her father, and fixing her meek eyes on the stars, as +they came one by one into the sky, began to wonder if he knew where +she was, and how much like a father that good old man was acting +toward his little girl. + +Then she thought of Isabel; and of Judge Sharp; of the great, good +fortune that had befallen her in being so near them both, and her poor +little heart swelled with a world of thankful feelings. I do think the +sweetest tears ever shed by mortal, come from those grateful feelings, +that, too exquisite for words, and too powerful for silence, can find +no language to express themselves in but tears. + +Mary Fuller began to sob. She had for the moment forgotten the old +man's presence. + +"What is this?" cried uncle Nathan, laying one hand over her head, and +patting her cheeks with his broad palm, "homesick a'ready?" + +"No, no," sobbed Mary, "I, I was only thinking how good you all are to +me, how very, very happy I ought to feel." + +"And can't. Is that it?" + +"I don't know," answered the child, wiping her eyes, and looking up, +searching for uncle Nathan's face in the star-light. "There is +something here that isn't happy entirely, or a bit like sorrow, but +sometimes it almost chokes me, and would quite if I couldn't cry it +off." + +"I used to feel that way once, I remember," said uncle Nathan, +thoughtfully, "but it wore off as I grew older." + +"I shouldn't quite like to have it wear off," said the child, fixing +her eyes on the stars, and clinging to the golden dreams that so +haunted her, just before this fit of weeping came on, "altogether, I +don't think one would like to part with one's thoughts, you know." + +"Not even when they make you cry?" + +"No, I think not--those are the thoughts that one loves to remember +best." + +"Come, Nathan," said aunt Hannah, appearing in the porch with a tallow +candle in her hand, "it's almost bed-time." + +Uncle Nathan arose and entered the kitchen. Seating himself at the +little round stand, he opened a huge old Bible, that lay upon it, and +putting on a pair of iron spectacles began to read. + +Mary, seated by aunt Hannah, listened with gentle interest with her +little hands folded in her lap, and her large grey eyes dwelling +earnestly on the face of the white-haired reader. + +When the chapter was done, they all knelt down, and uncle Nathan +poured forth the fullness of his faith in a prayer, that went over the +child's heart like the summer wind upon a water-lily, stirring all its +young thought to their gentle depths, as the fragrant leaves of the +lily give forth their sweetness. Two or three times she heard aunt +Hannah murmur some words uneasily, as if a thought, at variance with +her brother's prayer, disturbed her. But directly the child was +enwrapped, heart and soul, in the earnest words that fell from the old +man's lips, and when she stood up again, her face had a sort of glory +in its expression. It was the first night in a long, long time that +Mary had been so near heaven. + +And this was the kind of home which Enoch Sharp had given to the +orphan. Did she sleep well? If grateful thoughts can summon angels, +many bright spirits hovered over her little bed that night. + +But aunt Hannah never closed her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +MORNING AT THE OLD HOMESTEAD. + + + Awake, poor orphan girl, awake! + The wild birds flutter free, + And all the trumpet blossoms quake, + Amid the tuneful glee. + +Mary Fuller was aroused from her sleep the next morning by the most +heavenly sound that had ever met her ear. It was a wild gush of song, +from the birds that had a habit of sleeping in the old trumpet-flower +vine, and among the apple-trees back of the house. She began to smile +even in her sleep, and awoke with a thrill of new and most delicious +pleasure. Out from the old porch and distant trees came this wild gush +of song, to which the river with its soft chiming, made a perpetual +accompaniment. She drew a deep breath tremulous with pleasure and +reluctantly opened her eyes. + +Aunt Hannah was standing before a little upright looking-glass, +combing out her long grey hair with a ferocious-looking horn comb, +which she swept through those sombre tresses deliberately as a rake +gathers dry hay from the meadow. The paper curtains were partly rolled +up, and one of the small sashes was open, admitting a current of fresh +air and the bird's songs together. These two blessings, which God +gives alike to all, aunt Hannah received as she did her daily bread, +without a thought and as a necessary thing; but to the child they made +a heaven of the little attic chamber. + +This was not alone because habit had familiarized one to a bright +circulation of mountain air and mountain music, and the other to the +sluggish atmosphere and repulsive scents inseparable from the +poverty-stricken districts of a city. Temperament had more to do with +it than habit. Mary, with her sensitive nature, never could have +breathed such air, or listened to those melodious sounds, without a +feeling of delight such as ordinary persons never know. Thus it +happened, while aunt Hannah was busy twisting up her hair and changing +her short nightgown for a calico dress, that Mary closed her eyes +again, and a tear or two stole from beneath their long lashes. + +Aunt Hannah just then came to the bed, with both hands behind, hooking +up her dress. She saw the tears as they stole through those quivering +lashes, and spoke in a voice so stern and chill that it made the child +start on her pillow. + +"Home-sick, I reckon?" she said, interrogatively. + +"No no," answered Mary, eagerly, "it isn't that, I haven't any home, +you know, to be sick about." + +"What is it then?" + +"Oh, the bright air, and the sweet noise all around, it seems +so--so--indeed I cant help it. Is there another place in the wide +world like this?" + +"Well, no, to my thinking there isn't," said aunt Hannah, looking +around the room with grim complacency; "but I don't see anything to +cry about." + +"I know it's wrong in me, ma'am, but somehow I can't help making a +baby of myself when I'm very happy--don't be angry with me for it." + +"I don't like crying people, never did," answered aunt Hannah, +tersely; "tears never do anything but mischief, and never will--wipe +your eyes now, and come down stairs." + +Mary drew a little hand obediently across her eyes. Aunt Hannah left +her and went down a flight of narrow steps that led to the kitchen: +the child could hear her moving about among the fire-irons, as she put +on her clothes. Still there was joy at her heart, for the birds kept +singing to her all the time, and when she rose from her knees, after +whispering over her prayers, they broke forth in such a gush of music, +that it seemed as if they knew what she had been about and rejoiced +over it. + +When Mary descended into the kitchen, she found aunt Hannah on her +knees, between two huge andirons, fanning a heap of smoking wood with +her checked apron, which she tightened at the corners around each +hand. The smoke puffed out in little clouds around her, with every +wave of the apron, and floated off in fantastic wreaths over her head. +When Mary came down, she turned her face over one shoulder with an +inclination toward the door, and the words, "You will find a place to +wash by the rain-water trough," issued from amid the smoke. + +Mary found the huge trough standing full of soft water, to the left of +the back stoop. On one end where the wood was thick, stood a yellow +earthen wash-bowl, with a square piece of soap, of the same color, +lying by it. + +To a child of Mary's habits this rustic toilet was luxurious. Standing +upon a piece of plank, that protected her feet from the damp earth +around the trough, she bathed her hands and face again and again, +drawing in deep draughts of the bright air between each ablution, with +a delicious sense of enjoyment. + +"That's right--you are beginning to find out the ways of the house, +darter. Grand old trough, isn't it?" said uncle Nathan, issuing from +the porch, and turning back the cotton wristbands from his plump +hands, as he came up to where Mary was standing. "That's right. Now +for a good wash." + +Mary hastened to cast the water away that she had been using, and fill +the bowl afresh for uncle Nathan, before he reached the plank on which +she stood. Then she resigned her place, and running into the stoop, +wiped her hands and face till they were rosy again on the roller +towel, that she had observed hanging near the cheese-press. + +"Now, what must I do next?" she said, confidentially, as uncle Nathan +claimed his turn at the crash towel, "I want to be of some use, please +tell me how!" + +"That's right," said uncle Nathan, patting her head with his wet hand +"run, hang over the tea-kettle, set the table, sweep up a little. You +can do chores, I reckon?" + +"I don't know; what are chores?" + +"Oh! a little of everything," replied the old man, laughing his deep, +good-natured laugh. + +"Oh! yes, I can try at that, any way," cried the child, and her laugh +stole through the mellow fullness of his, much as the bird-songs +mingled with the flow of the river. "I'm a good deal stronger than I +look!" + +"Bright as a dollar, and smart as a steel-trap. I knew it. Them eyes +weren't made for nothing. Now run and begin; but look here, darter: +don't plague Hannah with questions; just make yourself handy; and no +fuss about it, you know." + +"Oh! I can do that, you'll see," cried the girl, cheerfully, and while +uncle Nathan was polishing his broad face with the towel, she seized a +heavy iron tea-kettle, and carried it to the well, which, surrounded +by plantain and dock leaves, was near a corner of the house. She had +some little difficulty in managing the windlass, and when the old +mossy bucket fell with a dash into the water twenty feet below, it +made her start and shiver all over as if she had harmed something. + +I am afraid she never could have managed with those little hands, to +have drawn the bucket over the well-curb; but while she stood +trembling like a leaf, holding back the windlass with both hands, and +gazing desperately on the bucket, down whose green sides the +water-drops were raining back into the well, good uncle Nathan came +up, panting with exertion, and seizing hold of the bucket jerked it +over the curb. + +"Don't try that again; it's rather more than you can manage yet," he +said, breathing hard. "I was an old Ishmaelite to put you up to it." + +"I thought it was easy enough," said Mary, trembling with affright and +the overtax of her strength, while uncle Nathan filled the tea-kettle +and bore it into the porch; "next time I shall know how better." + +She took the kettle from the old man's hand, and bending her whole +strength to the task, bore it into the kitchen. + +Aunt Hannah was still on her knees, blowing away at the obstinate +green wood that smoked and smouldered at its ease. When Mary came +tottering under the weight of her kettle; and hung it upon the +trammel-hook just over an incipient blaze, the old lady gave her a +keen glance, as much of surprise as pleasure, and working vigorously +with her apron, sent a whirl of smoke into the child's eyes, while her +lips muttered something that sounded like "nice girl." + +It was quite wonderful how the little creature found out all the ways +of that old house so noiselessly! While aunt Hannah sat, knife in +hand, stripping the skins from her cold potatoes, and cutting them in +round slices that dropped hissing one by one into the hot gravy, +which, with thin slices of pork, simmered in the frying-pan just taken +from the fire, Mary had drawn forth the little cherry wood table, +found the tablecloth of birds-eye diaper in one end of the drawer, and +the knives and forks in the other, which she proceeded to arrange +after the fashion she had observed the night before. + +Aunt Hannah turned her head now and then, after stirring up her +potatoes, and held the dripping knife above the frying-pan, while she +gave a sharp glance at these proceedings, quite ready to impart a +brief reprimand should the case require it. But each glance grew +shorter, and at last those thin lips relaxed into a look of grim +satisfaction, when she saw the little girl measuring a drawing of tea +in the top of her tin canister, levelling it nicely off with the edge +of a spoon handle, not a grain more or less than the usual allowance. + +Aunt Hannah was not a close woman in the usual country acceptation of +the term, but she hated changes and loved tea. That old canister lid +had been the household standard for thirty years, and it was not +likely that she would heartily sanction any addition or diminution for +a little girl like that. + +At length the breakfast was ready. The slices of salt pork were neatly +arranged on a plate; and the potatoes crisped to a turn, were placed +beside it on the hearth. Between them stood a plate of milk-toast and +the little pewter tea-pot, puffing threads of steam from its puny +nozzle as if it really intended an opposition to the great salamander +of a kettle that sung and fumed and made a great ado over the hot fire +back in the chimney. + +Just as everything seemed ready for breakfast, uncle Nathan came in, +obedient to a nod from his grim sister, and seating himself before the +fire, opened the Bible and began to read. + +It was a temptation to worldly thoughts, that warm breakfast, so +savory and tantalizing to a child whose appetite was stimulated with +exercise and the fresh mountain air, and it is no use pretending that +once or twice she did not wonder a little if uncle Nathan always read +so slow or prayed so long. But it was a passing thought, and, as uncle +Nathan said afterward, "she couldn't help birds flying over her head, +but that was no reason why they should build nests in her hair." In +this case, naughty thoughts were like the birds, and if she drove them +away, that was all that could be expected. Uncle Nathan was a good old +man in his day and generation, and we have no idea of criticising any +opinion of his. + +When the breakfast was over, aunt Hannah disappeared from the back +porch, with a milk-pail in one hand and a three-legged stool in the +other. Uncle Nathan followed her example, but more slowly, and the +cotton handkerchief of many colors that his sister had tied on her +head, disappeared over the back garden-fence before he had half +crossed the cabbage-patch. He lingered behind long enough to give Mary +an encouraging smile through the kitchen-door, and went off murmuring, +as if in confidence to his milking-stool, + +"Nice girl, nice girl, I wonder we never thought of taking a little +thing like that before. If Hannah had only kept poor Anna's baby now, +what company they would have been for each other." + +When the good man reached the little pasture-lot, thinly scattered +over with apple-trees, in which half-a-dozen fine cows grazed over +night, he found aunt Hannah beneath one of the largest trees, seated +upon her stool, and milking what she called the "hardest" cow of the +lot. When disposed to be refractory she cut its "tantrums" short with +a sharp "soh!" that went off from her thin lips like the crack of a +pistol; and this one word had more effect upon the animal, than a +world of uncle Nathan's gentle "so-hos, so-hos," that seemed as if he +were quieting an infant. The vicious animal knew the difference well +enough, for one was usually followed by a whack of the stool over its +ribs, while the other sometimes resulted in leaving the rotund old +gentleman wallowing, like a mud-turtle, on his back in the grass. + +It is natural to suppose that under these circumstances, uncle Nathan +usually gave a wide berth to his sister's favorite; but this morning +he drove the meekest and fattest cow of the herd gingerly up to the +old apple tree, and after placing his stool very deliberately on the +grass, and the pail between his knees, began a slow accompaniment to +the quick motion of aunt Hannah's hands, which kept two pearly streams +in rapid flow to the half-filled pail resting against her feet. + +While the milk rattled and rushed upon the bottom of his empty pail, +uncle Nathan kept quiet, leaning his head against the cow, and +thinking over the pleasant ideas that little Mary had aroused in his +kind heart. Unconsciously wishing to share those thoughts with his +sister, he had driven his cow close to hers that they might converse +together. Hannah took no notice of his presence, however, but went on +filling her pail so rapidly, that it began to foam over the edge. When +her brother saw this, and knew by the soft, feathery sound that she +had nearly finished, he stooped down, and with his dear old face just +visible under the cow, called out, + +"I say, Hannah, what do you think of her?" + +Did the vicious animal start? Or what was it that made the stern woman +shriek out, and wheel round so sharply on her stool? + +"Why, Hannah, did I frighten her! has she kicked again?" cried uncle +Nathan, surprised by the sharp action and wild look that she cast back +upon him. + +"Yes, she did start," answered aunt Hannah, rising and taking up the +pail, now quite full, which made her waver to and fro, a singular +weakness which no one had ever witnessed in her before. + +"But you ain't frightened, sister; nothing can frighten you," said +Nathan, soothingly. + +"No, but you asked something, what is it." + +"Only, how you liked her?" + +"Her!--who?" + +"Why, Mary Fuller, our little girl, you know." + +"You are thinking of her then." + +"Why, yes, Hannah, I can't think of anything else. Isn't she a nice +little creature?" + +"Yes!" + +"How handy she was about the breakfast, I shouldn't wonder now if all +the dishes are washed up by the time we get back." + +"Do you think so!" said aunt Hannah, gazing down into her foaming pail +so steadily, that even uncle Nathan could see that she was not +thinking of anything so trivial as her morning's work. + +"Hannah," he said, "what has come over you! you seem so strange since +this little girl came. You scarcely speak." + +"Do I ever speak much?" she answered. + +"No," said uncle Nathan with a sigh, "but now something has gone +wrong--what is it? don't you like to keep the child?" + +"Yes, I like it." + +"She will be a help to you." + +"Yes, I think so--of course she must." + +"And company for me--for us both." + +"For you, yes--as for me, brother, I have no company, good or bad, but +my own thoughts." + +She spoke with some feeling, her voice shook, her hard eyes wavered as +they turned towards her brother. In years Nathan had not seen her so +moved. Why was it? What was there in the coming of a helpless child +beneath their roof, to disturb the composure of a woman like that? + +As the good man sat upon his stool, pondering over these thoughts, for +he was too much surprised for speech, she hung her stool upon a limb +of the apple-tree, and moved towards the house, stooping more than +usual beneath the weight of her milk-pail. + +As uncle Nathan had prophesied, Mary was busy as a humming-bird +washing up the breakfast dishes, and putting every thing to rights in +the kitchen. Aunt Hannah did not seem to observe it, but strained her +milk, and went out again. When she came back, uncle Nathan was with +her, looking rather grave and perplexed. + +It was now approaching nine o'clock, and all the "chores," as the good +couple called the household work, "were done up." + +"Go up stairs and get your things," said aunt Hannah to Mary, "it's +school-time." + +Mary obeyed, and aunt Hannah proceeded to change her checked apron for +one of black silk, and to invest her head in a straw bonnet that had +been tolerably fashionable ten years before, and since that time it +had been often bleached, but never changed in form. + +She took Mary by the hand, when she came down, with her plain mantilla +and cottage bonnet on, surveyed her keenly from head to foot, and led +her into the street. + +They passed down the village, the woman not deigning to notice that +she was an object of curiosity, the child shrinking with that +sensitive dread of observation, that always haunted her when among +strangers. About the centre of the village stood a brick academy, with +an open space before it, and surrounded by a succession of wooden +verandahs. + +Aunt Hannah entered the lower story of this building, where some forty +children were assembled under a female teacher, who came forward to +receive her visitors. + +"This little girl," said aunt Hannah, "we have adopted her. She must +come to school." + +"What branches do you wish her to study?" inquired the teacher. + +"Reading, writing, cyphering, enough to reckon up a store bill, if she +should ever have one, and enough of geography to keep her from losing +her way in the world." + +"Is that all?" said the teacher, "a girl of her age ought to know +those things without further teaching." + +"Like enough she does, ask her," said aunt Hannah. + +The teacher looked at Mary, who smiled, blushed, and after a moment's +hesitation, said, modestly, + +"I know how to read and write, and a little of the rest." + +"Very well, I will examine you presently," said the teacher, "yonder +is an empty desk, you can take it." + +Mary advanced up the school-room, blushing and trembling beneath the +curious glances that followed her. So sensitively conscious was she +that every movement, when strange eyes were upon her, brought its +suffering. But, with true heroism, she subdued all appearance of the +annoyance she felt, and, in her very meekness and fortitude, there lay +a charm that won more worthy affection than beauty could have done. + +Thus she entered upon her school life, alone and among strangers, for +aunt Hannah left her at the door. She looked around with a forlorn +hope that Isabel might, like her, be sent to school, or that something +might happen to take the sad weight of loneliness from her heart; but, +all was new, cold and depressing, and leaning her head on the desk, +she felt chilled in all her veins. There was no disposition to weep in +little Mary now. + +Sensitive as she was, no one ever saw her shed tears over her own +sorrow; but kindness, poor child! _that_ always brought the dew +sparkling up from her heart to her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +HOMESICK LONGINGS. + + + Oh, give me one clasp of her friendly hand, + One tender glance from those gentle eyes; + For my heart is alone in this mountain land, + And every joy of my childhood dies. + +Poor Isabel. She had found her new home dreary enough, notwithstanding +its large airy rooms and elegant furniture, far too elegant for +country uses, where magnificence is seldom in good taste. While nature +is so beautiful, art should never appear, save to enhance its +splendor. + +In her whole life she had never been thoroughly homesick before, for +never had her young heart been taken from all its loving support so +completely as now. + +Mrs. Farnham made a great effort to be kind, and to impress upon the +child all the importance which she would henceforth derive from an +association with herself, and the immense difference that must +hereafter exist between her and Mary Fuller. + +"Remember, my pet," said that lady, with bland self-complacency, +"remember, my pet, that you are the protege of--of, as I may assert, +of wealth and station, and though born I don't know where, and bred in +the Poor-House, the fact that you have my protection is enough to +overbalance that. You understand, Isabel--by the way, I think it best +to call you Isabel Farnham now--with your beauty the thing will pass +off without question; with that face, nothing would seem more natural +than that I should be your real mamma; so, be a very good girl, and, +who knows but I may have you called Miss Farnham!" + +The color mounted into Isabel's face. + +"No, ma'am, I would rather not; call me Isabel Chester, please, it was +my father's name, and I love it, oh, how much!" + +"You are a naughty, ungrateful little--well, well, I was a fool to +expect anything else; Chester, as if I'd have a name in my house that +has been registered on the Alms House books!" + +"Is it a disgrace then, to be poor?" asked the child, innocently. + +"A disgrace to be poor! certainly it is, and a great disgrace, too!" +answered the lady, speaking from her heart, "or else why are people +ashamed to own it?" + +"Are they ashamed to own it? I didn't know," answered the child. "My +father was poor, at the last, but I don't think he was ever ashamed of +it, or ever to blame for it either." + +"I dare say not; poor people are always shameless." + +Isabel's eyes kindled and her passion rose. + +"I won't hear my father abused--please, ma'am, I won't stand it; he +wasn't poor till bad people made him so, and, and"--The child broke +off, and burst into a passion of tears. + +Mrs. Farnham was gratified. She had worried the poor child out of her +silent moodiness, and now fell to soothing her exactly as she would +have pulled the ears of a lap-dog, till he was ready to bite, and then +patted him into good humor again. + +And this was the training which was to prepare poor Isabel for the +great after-life of a soul, imbued with natural goodness, and yet +possessed of great faults. + +The lovely child, who from her infancy had been the subject of some +superior care, was now at the mercy of a capricious, silly woman, +selfish as such women usually are, and with a dash of malice in her +nature, which more frequently accompanies a frivolous mind than we are +disposed to admit. + +But Isabel had a good heart, and an intellect so much superior to that +of the woman who claimed to be her benefactress, that this constant +irritation of a naturally high temper, was more likely to end in +exciting her passions than in really undermining her principles. + +Mary Fuller, with her gentleness and her beautiful Christianity, had, +up to this time, exercised the most worthy effect upon Isabel's +character, and never in her after-life did she entirely lose the noble +impressions thus obtained. + +It is difficult to spoil a human being, entirely, who has spent the +first ten years of life under pure domestic influences. Chester's +daughter had carried a heart of gold to the Alms House, and she +brought all this wealth away; but she was an impulsive, sensitive +girl, and if Mrs. Farnham had no influence strong enough to pervert +her nature, she had the power to thwart and annoy her beyond her +capacities of patient endurance. + +The truth was, Mrs. Farnham had no idea of the responsibility which +she had taken upon herself. Isabel was to her a pet--a subject upon +which to exercise her authority, and that promised to gratify her +vanity--not a human soul which it was her solemn duty to guard, +strengthen and develop. Benevolence in this woman amounted to nothing +higher than a caprice. + +The conversation we have repeated was a sample of many others that +were constantly irritating the poor child, even amid her first hours +of homesickness. Unlike Mary Fuller, she had no occupation, for Mrs. +Farnham considered usefulness of any kind the height of vulgarity. +Indeed! she was so remarkably sensitive on this subject that a very +shrewd observer might have fancied that the lady had known a little +more of labor, in her younger days, than she was willing to admit. + +The great want of Isabel's life was the society of her friend. No +child ever pined for the presence of its mother more longingly than +she desired the society of Mary Fuller. This was the ground of her +sadness. It was this want that kept her so restless. She was like a +bird shut up in a cage calling for its mate and drooping when no reply +came. + +But with that distrust which a want of respect always produces, Isabel +kept this longing to herself. Something told her that Mrs. Farnham +would meet it with reproof to herself or insult to Mary, and she could +not force herself to speak of this, as a cause of her sadness, or ask +permission to visit her friend. + +For two or three days she was compelled to follow Mrs. Farnham about +her sumptuous home--sumptuous and yet replete with discomfort--to pick +up her handkerchief, bring her eye-glass and listen to the confusion +of commands with which the lady tormented her servants from morning +till night. It was an irksome life, this forced companionship with a +person whom she could neither respect nor even like. + +The poor child's heart was famishing for love, and she began to grieve +for her mother as if the mournful funeral of her last parent had taken +place but yesterday. + +Mrs. Farnham had fitted up a chamber next to her own for the little +girl. Here intense selfishness seemed to have worked the effect of +good taste. Isabel's room was superior to any thing in the +neighborhood, but secondary to the gorgeous appointments of her own +chamber. Her pretty rose-wood bed was hung with lace that seemed like +frost-work, instead of the orange silk drapery that fell like an +avalanche of gold over the couch on which Mrs. Farnham took her +nightly repose. Everything around her was pure white, but the walls +were covered with clustering roses, and the carpet under her feet +glowed out with flowers like the turf in a forest-glade. + +When the door stood open between this room and Mrs. Farnham's the +contrast was striking. The cold white and green, warmed up only by a +few rich flowers, seemed exquisitely cool as you turned to it for +relief from the heavy drapery and costly furniture with which Mrs. +Farnham smothered the fresh mountain air that visited her apartment. + +At first, Isabel was dazzled with this splendor; but after she had +been all day long following Mrs. Farnham like a lap-dog, till the very +sound of her voice became wearisome, it was an overtax on her patience +when she was obliged to share almost the same chamber, and listen to +that voice so long as the lady could keep herself awake. + +But when her tormentress was once asleep, when Isabel could turn on +her pillow and look upon the moonlight as it flooded her room, with a +free spirit, she began to weep with a bitterness that had never fallen +upon her straw cot at the Nursery Hospital. A spirit of utter +loneliness possessed her, and while the delicate lace brooded over her +couch like the wings of a spirit, she murmured out-- + +"Oh, mother--oh, my dear, dear father--oh, Mary, dear Mary Fuller, if +I were only with you anywhere, oh, anywhere but here!" + +Thus, night after night the child lay and wept. Her eyes were so heavy +one morning, after a night of silent anguish, that Salina Bowles +observed it, and in her rude way inquired the cause. + +Mrs. Farnham was still asleep, and Isabel had crept down to the +kitchen, resolved to ask counsel of the housekeeper, for it seemed to +her impossible to live another day without seeing Mary. + +It was a great relief to the child when Salina lifted her face from +the tin oven, in which she had just arranged the morning biscuit for +baking, and asked in her curt but not really unkind way, what had +brought her into that part of the house, and what on earth made her +eyes look so heavy. + +"Oh, I have come to tell you--to ask you what is best; I am so +miserable, so very unhappy without Mary; I cannot live another day +without seeing Mary Fuller!" + +Salina Bowles dusted the flour from her hands, and wiped them on her +apron. + +"Mary Fuller! that's the little gal that came with you I calculate!" +she said, walking up to the child, who retreated a step, for Salina +had a fierce way of doing things, and marched toward her like a +grenadier. + +"Yes," said Isabel, "that was Mary; do you know where she is? Oh, I +must see her or, it seems to me as if I should die!" + +"So you don't know where she is?" + +"No! but, oh, do tell me!" + +"Why didn't you ask madam up yonder?" + +"I don't know; I was afraid; I feel quite sure she won't let me go," +replied the child. + +"Let you go, of course, she won't--no more feelin' than a chestnut +stump." + +"Then, what can I do?" + +"What can you do--why, go without asking, and I'll help you; it's +right, and I'll do it,--there!" + +"Will you, oh, will you?" cried the child, with a burst of joy. + +"Will I!--who'll stop me, I'd like to know?" + +"But, how--when?" inquired the child, breathless with joy. + +"To-night, I reckon?" + +"Isabel--Isabel! where is the creature gone?" cried a voice from the +stairs. + +"Scamper!" exclaimed Salina, with an emphatic motion of the hand, +"scamper, or she'll be coming down here, and I'd rather see old +scratch any time." + +"But you will certainly take me?" pleaded the child, breathlessly. + +"When I give my word I give it!" + +"Oh, thank you--thank you!" + +Isabel sprang up--flung her arms around Salina's neck, and kissed her. + +Before Miss Bowles could recover from her astonishment the child was +gone. + +"Well, now, I never did!" exclaimed the housekeeper, blushing till the +hue of her face was like that of a brick fresh from the kiln; "it's a +great while since I've had a kiss before, and it raly is a +refreshment." + +With this observation, Salina drew one hand across her lips and bent +over the tin oven again. + +It was in this way that the orphans commenced life in their new homes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +THE EVENING VISIT. + + + They have met, they have met--with a warm embrace, + Those panting hearts beat free again; + And joy beams out in each glowing face,-- + Together, they fear not grief or pain! + +A week elapsed, and Mary Fuller had heard nothing of her little +friend, nor ventured to hint at the keen desire to see her, which grew +stronger every day. + +One night, when this wish was becoming almost irresistible, and the +child sat silent and drooping by the kitchen window, she heard a +sweeping sound among the cabbage-heads, and, peering keenly out, saw a +shadow moving through them. + +Mary's heart began to leap, and as the shadow disappeared round a +corner of the house, her eyes, bright with expectation, were turned +towards the back door. A footstep sounded from the porch, followed by +a light tread that seemed but the faintest echo of the first. + +Slowly, step by step, and holding her breath, Mary crept forward. Aunt +Hannah, who was making a cotton garment, which from its dimensions +could only have belonged to uncle Nathan, looked at her through her +steel spectacles, while the needle glittered sharply between her +fingers, as she held it motionless. + +Mary stopped short in the middle of the floor. A pointed bayonet could +not have transfixed her more completely. There was a slight noise +outside, as of some one feeling for a latch, but uncle Nathan, who was +just lifting his head from a doze, took it for a knock, and called out +with sleepy good nature. + +"Come in--come in." + +"Gracious me, ain't I trying to come in?" called a voice from the +porch. "Why on airth didn't you keep to the old string-latch? One +could always see light enough through the hole to find that by, but +this iron consarn is just about the most tanterlizing thing that I +ever did undertake to handle." + +As this speech was uttered, the door swung open, and Salina strode +into the kitchen, leading Isabel Chester by the hand. + +"There, now, just have a kissing frolic, you two young 'uns, and be +over with it, while I shake hands with aunt Hannah and uncle Nat," +exclaimed Salina, pushing Isabel into Mary's outstretched arms. +"There, now, no sobbing, nothing of that sort. Human critters weren't +sent on earth to spend their time in crying. If you're glad to see +each other, say so, take a hug, and a kiss, and then go off up stairs +or into the porch, while I have a chat with uncle Nat and aunt Hannah, +if she's got anything to say for herself." + +The children obeyed her. One shy embrace, a timid kiss, and they crept +away to the porch, delighted to be alone. + +"Now," said Salina, drawing a splint-bottomed chair close up to uncle +Nathan. "You hain't no idea, uncle Nat, what a time I've had a-getting +here with that little critter. She cried and pined, and sort a-worried +me till I brought her off right in the teeth and eyes of madam. Won't +there be a time when she misses us?" + +"Why wouldn't she let the little gal come to see her playmate?" asked +uncle Nathan. + +"Playmate--well now, I'd like to hear Madam Farnham hear you call her +that; she'd just tear your eyes out. But Lord-a-mercy, she hain't got +animation enough for anything of the sort; if she had, a rattlesnake +wouldn't be more cantankerous to my thinking. She's got all the pison +in her, but only hisses it out like a cat; in my hull life I never did +see such a cruel, mean varment." + +"Then Mrs. Farnham don't want her girl to come here, is that it?" +inquired aunt Hannah, setting the gathers in a neck-gusset with the +point of her needle, which she dashed in and out as if it had been a +poniard, and that cotton cloth her enemy's heart. + +"You always hit the nail right on the head when you do strike, aunt +Hannah. She don't want her gal to come here, nor your gal to come +there; that's the long and short on it." + +"What for?" inquired uncle Nathan, moving uneasily in his great wooden +chair. "Isn't our little gal good enough?" + +"Good enough, gracious me, I wonder if she thinks anybody in these +parts good enough for her to wipe her silk slippers on? Why, she +speaks of Judge Sharp as if he was nobody, and of the country here as +if God hadn't made it." + +"But what has she against that poor child?" inquired aunt Hannah, +sternly. + +"She ain't handsome, and she came from the Poor-House; isn't that +enough?" answered Salina, stretching forth her hand, and counting each +word down with a finger into the palm of her hand as if it had been a +coin. "She's homely, she came from the poor-house, and more than all, +she lives here." + +"So she remembers us, then?" said aunt Hannah, resting the point of +her needle in a gather while she steadied her hand. + +"Yes, you are the only people she has asked about, and her way of +doing it was snappish enough, I can tell you." + +"I have not seen this woman in sixteen years," said aunt Hannah, +thoughtfully, "we change a good deal in that time." + +"She hasn't changed much, though; fallen away a little; her red cheeks +have turned to a kind of papery white; her mouth has grown thin and +_meachen_; there's something kind o' lathy and unsartin about her; as +for temper that's just the same, only a little more so, sharp as a +muskeeters bill, tanterlizing as a green nettle. The rattlesnake is a +king to her; there's something worth while about his bite, it's strong +and in arnest, it kills a feller right off; but she keeps a nettling +and harrering one about all the time, without making an end on't, I +wish you could see her with that poor little gal, dressing her up as +if she was a rag-baby, scolding her one minute, kissing her the next, +calling her here, sending her there, I declare to man, it's enough to +put one out of conceit with all womankind." + +"Where is Mrs. Farnham's son now?" inquired uncle Nathan, to whose +genial heart the sharp opinions of his visitor came unpleasantly; "he +ought to be a smart young fellow by this time." + +"I don't know who he'd take after then," observed the housekeeper, +drily. + +"His father was an enterprising man, understood business, knew how to +take care of what he made," said uncle Nathan. "We never had many +smarter men than Farnham here in the mountains." + +"Farnham was a villain!" exclaimed aunt Hannah, whose face to the very +lips had been growing white as she listened. + +Uncle Nathan started as if a shot had passed through his easy-chair. + +"Hannah!" + +The old woman did not seem to hear him, but lowering her face over her +work sewed on rapidly, but the whiteness of her face still continued, +and you could see by the unequal motion of the cotton kerchief folded +over her bosom, that she was suppressing some powerful emotion. + +Uncle Nathan was not a man to press any unpleasant subject upon +another; but he seemed a good deal hurt by his sister's strange +manner; and sat nervously grasping and ungrasping the arm of his +chair, looking alternately at her and Salina, while the silence +continued. + +"Well," said Salina, who had no delicate scruples of this kind to +struggle with, "you do beat all, aunt Hannah; I hadn't the least idea +that there was so much vinegar in you. Now Mr. Farnham was a kind of +father to me, and I'm bound to keep any body from raking up his ashes +in the grave." + +"Let them rest there--let them rest there!" exclaimed aunt Hannah, +slowly folding up her work. "I did not mean to speak his name, but it +is said, and I will not take anything back." + +"Well, nobody wants you to, that I know of; it's a kind of duty to +defend one's friends, especially when they can't do it for themselves; +but after all Mr. Farnham up and married that critter, I don't know as +it's any business of mine, what you call him." + +"I remember his mother," said uncle Nathan, striving to shake off the +heavy feeling that his sister had created. + +"I remember her well, for she took me for sort of company," said +Salina. "I was a little gal then; Farnham hadn't made all his money, +and he was glad enough for me to settle down and do his work. But it +was awful lonesome, I can tell you, after she was gone; and I used to +go down into the grave-yard and set down by her head-stone for +company, day after day. But it was afore this then your sister came to +help spin up the wool--wasn't she a harnsome critter?--your sister +Anne." + +Aunt Hannah seemed turning into marble, her face and hands grew so +deathly white; but she neither moved nor spoke. + +Uncle Nathan did not speak either, but he pressed both hands down on +the arms of his chair, and half rose; but he fell back as if the +effort were too much, and with one faint struggle sat still, with the +tears of a long-buried grief stealing down his cheeks. + +"Well, what have I done wrong now?" asked Salina, looking from the old +man to the pallid sister, and shaking her head till the horn comb rose +like a crest among her fiery tresses. + +"We haven't mentioned Anne's name between us in more than fifteen +years; and it comes hard to hear it now," answered uncle Nathan, +drawing first one plump hand and then another across his eyes. + +"I didn't mean any harm by it," answered the housekeeper, penitently, +"she was a sweet, purty crittur as ever lived; and no one felt worse +than I did when she died in that strange way." + +"Hush!" said aunt Hannah, standing up, pale even to ghastliness. "It +is you that rake up the ashes of the dead--ashes--ashes"-- + +The words died on her pale lips; she reached out her hands as if to +lay hold of something, and fell senseless to the floor. + +Salina seized a pitcher that stood on the table, rushed out to the +water trough and back again, so like a spirit that the two little +girls in the porch broke from each other's arms and shrieked aloud. +But they recognized her when she came back and stood trembling by the +door, while she dashed the contents of her pitcher both over the +fainting woman and the kind old man that knelt by her. + +It had no effect. Aunt Hannah opened her eyes but once during the next +hour. Neither the chilly water nor the old brother's terror had power +to reach the numbed pulses of her life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +AUTUMN IN THE MOUNTAINS. + + + The children gazed with a grateful thrill, + 'Twas a glorious sight I know-- + Those cornfields sweeping o'er the hill-- + Those meadow-slopes below!-- + Tall mountain ridges rich with light, + Broke up the crimson skies, + Their refted blossoms burning bright, + With autumn's fervid dies. + +It was fortunate for Isabel that Mrs. Farnham was unstable even in her +petty oppressions. While the country was a novelty she would not allow +the child out of her sight. But after a little her agent sent her up +from the city a dashing carriage and a superb pair of grey horses, +which she gloried in supposing excelled even the noble animals with +which Judge Sharp had brought her over the mountains. + +These new objects soon drove Isabel from her position as chief +favorite, and she was allowed to run at large without much constraint. +This threw her a good deal with Salina Bowles, in whom she found a +rough but true-hearted friend. What was far better than this, it left +her free to visit Mary Fuller, and it was not long before the child +was almost as much at home with dear old uncle Nat, as Mary herself. + +It was pleasant to watch the two girls meet in the garden when Mary +returned from school, and go about the household work together so +cheerfully. That working-time was the sunny hour of Isabel's day, she +did so love the order and quiet of the old homestead. + +But the autumn drew on, and Mrs. Farnham began to talk of returning to +the city. It was time, she said, that Isabel should be placed at +boarding-school, where all her old vulgar associations might be +polished away, and that she might be taught the dignity of her present +position. + +These threats, for they appeared to poor Isabel in this light, only +made her cling more tenaciously to her friend, and every moment she +could steal from the exactions of her benefactress was spent at the +Old Homestead or among the hills where Mary wandered with a deeper and +deeper interest as the autumn wore on. + +One night, while the foliage was green and thrifty on the mountain +ridges, there came a sharp frost, and in the morning all the +hill-sides were in a blaze of gorgeous tints. + +Never in their whole lives had the children seen anything like this. +It seemed to them as if the trees had laced themselves with rainbows +that must melt away when a cloud came over the sun. + +It was Saturday. There was no school, and Uncle Nat insisted on doing +all the "chores" himself, that the little girls might have a +play-spell in the woods--but for this, I greatly fear the wild +creatures would have run off without leave, they were so crazy to see +what those gorgeous trees were like, close to. + +Below Judge Sharp's house, and near the bold sweep of the highway that +led into the village, there was an abrupt hill, crested with a ledge +of rocks, which formed a platform high above the road--and back of +that the forest crowded up like an army in rich uniform--checked in +battle array upon the eminence. + +A footpath wound up the face of this hill, and under a shelf of the +rocks that crowned it, gushed a spring of pure bright water, that lost +itself in diamond drops among the grass and ferns that hung over it. + +To this spot, which commanded a fine expanse of the valley, Mary and +Isabel went for the first time, that Saturday afternoon. + +They were tired with mounting the hill and sat down by the spring to +rest. + +Mary caught a great yellow maple leaf as it floated by, and twisting +it over her hand, formed a fairy pitcher that looked like mottled +gold, out of which they both drank; laughing gleefully when the brim +bent and let the water dash over their dresses. + +"Now," said Mary, flinging away her golden cup, which had transformed +itself into a leaf again, "let us take a good rest and look about +before we go into the woods. Look how grand and large Judge Sharp's +house is, down below us; and away off there, don't you see, Isabel--is +the old homestead? Stand up and you can see almost all of the orchard, +and a corner of the roof." + +Isabel stood up, shading her eyes with one hand. The river was +sweeping its bright waves at her feet, enfolding the opposite mountain +at the base as with a belt of condensed sunshine. The village hidden +amid its trees, lay dreamily in the curve of the valley, and beyond +the river rose a line of broken hills, clothed to the top of their +lofty peaks with the glory of a first autumn frost. + +"I am so happy, I can hardly breathe," said Mary Fuller, clasping her +hands. "It seems as if one could bathe in all that sea of colors! the +mist as it floats up seems to make them eddy in waves like the river, +Isabel. I am feeling strangely glad, everything is so bright, so +soft--oh! Isabel, Isabel, what a great, good God it was who made all +this!" + +Isabel saw all the marvellous beauty that surrounded her, but she +could not feel it as Mary did--few on earth ever do so look upon +nature. To Isabel the scene was a pleasure, to Mary a thrilling +delight; she dwelt upon it with the eye of an artist and the spirit +of a Christian. + +"Oh!" she said, in that sweet overflow of feelings, "I want to hide my +face and cry!" + +She sat down upon a rock covered with scarlet woodbine, and allowed +the tears that were swelling up from her heart to flow softly as the +dew is shaken from a flower. It was pleasant to see deep feelings melt +away in tears, to that gentle and sweet serenity which soon fell upon +the child. + +Isabel could not entirely comprehend this almost divine feeling, but +she respected it and sat down in silence, with an arm around her +friend, sorry that she had no power to share all her joy in its +fullness. + +Thus, for a long time, they sat together in dreamy silence, with the +spring murmuring behind them, and a carpet of brake leaves, touched +with white by the frost, scattering its new-born perfume around their +feet. + +It was a touching picture, those two girls so loving and yet so +unlike, the one so wonderfully beautiful, the other awaking a deeper +interest with her soul beauty alone. + +They arose together and walked quietly to the woods. Once within its +gorgeous shades, all their cheerfulness came back, and the squirrels +that peeped at them through the branches, and rattled nuts over their +heads from the yawning chestnut buds, were not more full of simple +enjoyment than they were. + +A light wind had followed the frost, and all the mossy turf was +carpeted with leaves crimson, green, russet and gold. Sometimes a +commingling of all these colors might be found on one leaf; sometimes, +as they looked upward, the great branches of an oak stooped over their +heads, heavy with leaves of the deepest green, fringed and matted with +blood-red, as if the great heart of the tree were broken and bleeding +to death, through all the veins of its foliage. + +Again the maple trees shook their golden boughs above them, as if they +had been hoarding up sunshine for months, and poured it in one rich +deluge over their billowy and restless leaves. + +They wandered on, picking up leaves with far more interest than they +had ever felt in searching for wild flowers. It was wonderful, the +infinite variety that they found. Now, Isabel would hold up a crimson +leaf, clouded with pink and veined with a brown so deep that it looked +almost black; again, she would hoard up a windfall from the gum tree, +shaped like a slender arrow-head, and with its glossy crimson so +thickly covered with tiny dark spots, that it seemed mottled with +gems; again, it would be an ash leaf, long, slender and of a pale +straw color, or a tuft of wood-moss, that contrasted its delicate +green with all this gorgeousness so strongly, that they could not help +but gather it. + +Thus, filled with admiration of each leaf as it presented itself, they +wandered on overclouded with the same foliage in gorgeous masses. The +sunbeams came shining through it in a rich haze, as if the branches +were only throwing off their natural light, and the very wind as it +stirred the woods seemed sluggish with healthy scents flung off by the +dying undergrowth. + +But even delight brings its own weariness, and at last the two girls +sat down upon a hemlock log, completely covered with moss, that lay +like a great round cushion among the ferns, and dropped into +conversation as they sorted over the treasure of leaves that each had +gathered in her apron. + +"I suppose," said Isabel, "this will be almost our last day together +for a long, long time." + +Isabel spoke rather sadly, for she was becoming thoughtful. + +"I suppose so," answered Mary, dropping the leaf whose purplish brown +she had been admiring; "but," after a moment's thoughtfulness, she +added, quite cheerfully, "but, why should we fret about that; we can +practice hard and write to each other every week; I dare say, just +now, we might read each other's writing; it seems to me as if I would +make out some meaning even in a straight mark if you wrote it, +Isabel!" + +"Yes," said Isabel, still sadly, "that is something; but if I could +only have stayed here, and gone to school with you, we should not have +to think about writing." + +"But it'll be very nice to write letters," answered Mary; "you don't +know how proud I shall be with a whole letter all to myself; won't it +be pleasant to ask for it at the post office!" + +"But, Mary," persisted Isabel, "do you know they mean to send me to a +great, grand school, where I'm to learn music and French, and +everything, and be with nothing but proud, stuck-up rich men's +daughters, that'll try to make me just as hateful as they are?" + +"But, all rich men's daughters are not hateful, I dare say. Remember +Frederick, he was a rich man's son, and yet, he's almost as good as +Joseph!" + +"No, I won't stand that, no one ever was so good as Joseph," persisted +Isabel; "besides, Fred is a Farnham, he's got his father's name, and +his father's blood too; I don't see how you can speak of Fred and +Joseph in the same day." + +"At any rate," answered Mary, "we ought to be very grateful to young +Mr. Farnham, for he was good to us; only think how kind he was to +bring Joseph over to see us so often, after we came from the hospital, +and all without giving Mrs. Farnham a chance to scold!" + +"Scold!" said Isabel, "I sometimes thought she liked Joseph better +than her own son--she always was glad to see him." + +"That was because Frederick persuaded her." + +"I don't believe that; she was always so hateful to Fred it was not to +please him that she took to Joseph, I am sure." + +"Well, at any rate, she was very good to let him visit us so often." + +"I don't know," said Isabel, determined not to give any credit to Mrs. +Farnham; "at any rate I don't like her and I won't try." + +"This is wrong, Isabel--at first I thought I never could like aunt +Hannah she was so queer, but now I love her dearly, almost as well as +uncle Nathan, for all her hard way of speaking, she's as kind as kind +can be." + +"Oh, aunt Hannah, I like her myself, anybody couldn't help liking her, +and there's Salina Bowles, she's just the best creature you ever knew, +both of 'em have got feelings, but I don't believe Mrs. Farnham has +got one bit." + +"Don't let us talk of her faults," said Mary. + +"Well, don't scold, I won't say a word against her, but there is one +thing, Mary, that I must speak about, for it poisons all the rest. I +cannot be content with Mrs. Farnham till that is settled. Mary, I am +sure Mr. Farnham killed my father--hush, hush, I know how it was. He +did not strike him dead, but it was his cruelty in driving him from +the police that did it in the end." + +"Yes," said Mary, with quiet sadness, "I think it was Mr. Farnham that +did it." + +"Is it right then, tell me, Mary, isn't it mean and cruel for me, his +own little girl, to live with these people and let them support +me--the father's murderers, as one might say supporting his child?" + +Mary remained silent some time, not that this idea had never struck +her before, but the flood of remembrance it brought back affected her +painfully. + +"I have thought of that a great many times, Isabel," she said, "for I +felt a good deal as you do at first, but it isn't a right feeling, and +so I did the best I could to conquer it without saying a word." + +"Why is it a wrong feeling?" said Isabel quickly, "wouldn't it seem +horrid to any one? Every mouthful I eat belongs to the people who +murdered my own father." + +"But Mr. Farnham was the only one to blame, and he was very, very +sorry before he died." + +"How do you know that?" + +A faint color came into Mary's face as she answered, + +"Joseph Esmond told me, Mr. Farnham came to his father's only three +nights before he died, and he told Joseph with his own lips that he +did not mean to kill your father, and Joseph said he looked more +sorrowful than his words. It was the last time they ever saw each +other. Poor Joseph cried when he told me about it." + +"Then Joseph believes he really was sorry," said Isabel, softening. + +"Yes, and that he didn't mean to do it; but even if he did, and was +really sorry, we have nothing to do but forgive him, just as your +father would have done." + +"Yes, forgive him, but not eat his bread." + +Again Mary was thoughtful, she was pondering over the question in her +mind. + +"I think," she said at last, "to take kindnesses willingly from those +that are sorry for a wrong is the best sort of forgiveness; God +forgives in that way when he lets us serve him, and strive by good +acts to make up for the evil thing we have done. I think you need only +remember that, when you wish to know the right." + +"I did not think of it in that way," said Isabel. + +"Then, there is Frederick," continued Mary, "who loved his father so +much, and who is so full of kindness to us both--he wishes to make up +for the wrong his father did." + +"He has been kind to you, not to me; you are his pet, I am Mrs. +Farnham's," said Isabel, a little petulantly. "I shouldn't so much +mind if I were in your place, but from her"-- + +"He has been very kind to you, Isabel; was it nothing to buy all the +pretty things you have told me of in your chamber, out of his own +pocket-money too?" + +"What, my pretty bed, and the lace curtains, and that carpet, did he +buy them?" exclaimed Isabel, eagerly. + +"Yes, they were his choice, and for you." + +"Who told you this, Mary? I--I'm so surprised--so glad. Who told you +about it, dear Mary?" + +"Joseph Esmond. Fred made a confidant of him, and they went together +to look at the things." + +"And that's what makes my room different from his mother's. Oh, Mary, +I wish you could see it--so white, so fresh and breezy, and hers so +hot looking and smothered up with silk. How I shall love that dear +room after this." + +After a moment Isabel's face lost its sparkling expression. She was +accusing herself of selfishness. + +"But why did he get nothing of the kind for you, Mary!" she said very +seriously. + +"Oh, I'm to be brought up so differently, such things would look queer +enough at the Old Homestead, you know," answered Mary, laughing. + +Isabel shook her head, but there was light in her eyes, and a rich +color in her cheeks. She no longer felt it wicked to receive kindness +from the Farnhams, and her little heart beat with gratitude to them, +the first she had ever felt, for the pretty things with which she was +surrounded. + +"Come," she said cheerfully, gathering up her apron with its treasure +of leaves. "How long we have been sitting here. It is almost +sun-down." + +Mary started up. True enough, the woods were flooded with a dusky +purple, and the sunset was shooting its golden arrows everywhere among +the trees around them. + +It seemed as if some of the maple boughs had taken fire, they kindled +up so like living flame. The fruit of a frost-grape vine that had +clambered up one of the slender elms overhead, took a richness from +the atmosphere and hung amid the leaves like clustering amethysts +growing dusky in the shadow, and when they left it the hemlock log +which they had occupied was flecked with gleams of light, that lay +among its soft green like a delicate embroidery of gold. + +"It is so very beautiful," said Mary, looking around, "I hate to go +yet." + +"But it will be dark and the hill is steep," persisted Isabel, less +enthralled by the scene. "Do hurry, the sun is sinking fast--we will +come every day next week, just as soon as school is out." + +Mary drew a deep breath and followed. Isabel led the way out of the +woods. + +The next time Mary went there it was alone, for in the morning Mrs. +Farnham left for the city, with scarcely an hour's notice--and a week +from that time Isabel Chester was entered as a scholar in one of the +most fashionable boarding-schools in New York. + +Mary Fuller continued in her school, pursuing a strangely desultory +course of studies, but improving greatly both in intellect and health. +Where her heart urged the effort, her progress was wonderful, and it +was not three months before the most neatly written letters that went +out from the village post-office, were known to be in Mary Fuller's +handwriting. + +Joseph Esmond and Isabel Chester, these were her only correspondents, +and she was indeed a proud girl when the answers came directed +entirely to herself. That day was an epoch in Mary's life. + +Sometimes Mary broke over the rules of the school by drawing profiles +and rude landscapes in her copy-book and on the slate, till the +teacher, detecting her one day, examined the productions with a smile, +and gave her a few rudimental lessons in drawing. These rough efforts +of her pencil happened to come under Judge Sharp's observation, and he +who never forgot the smallest thing that could make others happy, +brought her some brushes and a box of water-colors from the city. + +True genius requires but little encouragement, and most frequently +develops itself against opposition. This little box of paints and +pencils was enough to bring forth a latent talent, and the enthusiasm +that had exhausted itself in tears of delight on the hill-side, grew +into a power of creation. This beautiful development became a strong +bond of sympathy between her and the boy-artist, Joseph Esmond. In +truth, Mary was drawing many sources of happiness around her, as the +good can never fail of doing. + +But we cannot follow this strange child through her school life, so +monotonous, and yet full of incident, or what seemed such to her +inexperience. All studies that she undertook were singularly broken +up and independent. Indeed, I much doubt if regular methodical +teaching can ever be applied to a nature like hers. Such organisms +generally study through the taste and heart. + +Certain it is, Mary Fuller, whom no one understood, except, it may be, +Enoch Sharp, through his acute observation, and uncle Nathan through +his great warm heart, had pretty much her own way, and oftener studied +poems and histories from Judge Sharp's library, than anything else +even in the schoolroom. Thus her mind grew and thrived in its own rich +fancies; and in the wholesome atmosphere of the old homestead her +heart expanded and lost nothing of its native goodness. It is +wonderful how soon the scholars forgot to think her plain, if anything +is wonderful which genius and goodness has the power to accomplish. + +Thus three years wore on, and each day was one of progression to that +young mind. + +Besides this, Mary began to grow; the invigorating air of the +mountains, wholesome food, and active habits, had overcome the +deficiencies of her former life, and though still slight and +unusually small, she ceased to look like a mere child. + +I dare not say that Mary was beautiful, or even handsome, for she was +still a plain little creature, and persons who could not understand +her might cavil at the assertion; yet, to aunt Hannah and uncle +Nat--yes, and to the Judge also--one might venture to say that Mary +was a very interesting girl, and, at times really pretty; but, then, +these persons loved her very dearly, and affection is, proverbially, +a great beautifier of the face. Yes, on the day she received her +letters, almost any one would have thought the young girl pretty, but, +then, it was not her features that looked lovely, but the deep, bright +joy that broke over them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +SUNSET IN AN ITALIAN CATHEDRAL. + + + A dim, religious light came softly stealing + Along the solemn stillness of those aisles-- + The sculptured arch and groined roof revealing-- + As the bright present on tradition smiles. + +But Isabel Chester. I wish you could have seen her as she stood upon +the deck of the Atlantic steamer, which was to convey the Farnhams to +Europe! Those large almond-shaped eyes, velvety and soft, yet capable +of intense brilliancy--that raven hair, so glossy and with a purple +glow in it, and those oval cheeks, with their peachy richness of +bloom. Indeed, Isabel was very beautiful. No wonder she was +embarrassed, with all that quantity of bouquets, and seemed a little +annoyed by their profusion; for young Farnham was looking on, and he +did not appear particularly well pleased. + +Isabel was not the least of a flirt, but she really could not prevent +all this crowd of persons coming down to see her off, with lavish +flowers and more lavish compliments; besides, what right had Fred to +be angry? he was not even a brother! + +Mrs. Farnham was delighted with this display of her protege's +popularity. It seemed to cast a reflected glory on herself, and she +began to calculate, very seriously, on marrying so much beauty to a +Prince of the blood, at least, of whose palace she was herself to +dispense the honors. But Frederick Farnham had little time to devote +even to the jealousy this crowd of admirers was calculated to excite, +if, in reality, he cared for the matter at all. He was looking eagerly +over the side of the steamer, as if in expectation of some one who had +not arrived. + +At last his eyes brightened, and he threw out his handkerchief as a +signal. + +A young man who stood near the gangway answered this recognition with +a wave of the hand; a moment after he was on the deck, and Isabel came +gladly forward. + +"Dear Joseph! this is so kind of you; we heard that your father was +worse, and hardly expected you," she said. + +"He is worse, but I could not let you and Farnham go away for so long +without a parting word," answered the youth, reaching his hand to +Frederick, who held it affectionately in his. + +"Don't say anything sorrowful now, or you will set me off into another +crying fit," said Isabel, striving to laugh back the tears that came +into her eyes, as she turned away, burying her face in the flowers +with which she was still encumbered. + +"Come this way one moment, Edward, I want to speak with you," said +young Farnham, drawing the young artist aside. "I want you to paint me +a picture, old fellow, anything you please!" + +"Shall I paint Isabel from memory?" said the young man, with a quiet +smile, glancing at the young girl. + +Farnham blushed. + +"You can't do it, Joseph; no pencil on earth can paint her! but--but +if you are not joking, I should like it of all things." + +"I can make the effort," was the good-natured reply. + +"And will?" + +"And will!" + +"Thank you, Esmond, you are a capital fellow, now let me--let me. It +isn't half what a picture of her would be worth." + +Here Frederick thrust a bank-note into his friend's hand, blushing +like a girl. + +"Thank you," said Esmond, gently, "my father is so ill, for his +sake--the picture shall be my first work." + +Isabel forgot her other admirers in looking at the two young men, as +they stood together contrasted, and yet in many things so much alike; +both were tall, and an air of singular refinement distinguished them +above all others. + +In different styles they were remarkably fine-looking young men. The +golden hair of the artist had taken a chestnut tinge, but still it was +bright with sunny waves, and his eyes had lost nothing of the heavenly +expression. His manner too was calm and thoughtful. The sickly boy had +become an intelligent man. + +In everything Fred was a contrast to his friend; passionate and +impetuous even in his most noble acts, he carried the fire of an +ardent nature in his looks and his manner. His dark eyes were bright +with animation, and even Isabel's tresses of purplish black were not +more glossy, than the short curling locks that shaded his manly +forehead. In everything the young men were contrasts, and yet they +loved each other like brothers. + +"And now, good-bye," said Joseph, with a slight tremor in his voice, +but struggling manfully for firmness. + +Isabel gave him her hand, while she drew down her veil, that he might +not see how moist her eyes were becoming. + +Fred wrung his hand. + +The bell rang, and many a warm heart leaped painfully to the farewell +summons. There arose starting tears, sobs, and the warm clasp of +hands, that might never meet again. Then there was a rush to the +gangway, a moment's pause and the steamer swung out from its berth, +and swept proudly into the river. + +Isabel stood upon the stern, languidly waving her embroidered +handkerchief to a group of admirers gathered on the wharf. + +You would have thought a flock of doves had taken flight by the cloud +of scented cambric that answered her farewell signal. But there was +one form standing out alone, which she and Frederick watched to the +last, and even Mrs. Farnham looked earnestly in that direction through +her eye-glass, so long as Joseph Esmond was visible. + +But the steamer made rapid progress. In a few minutes the passengers +upon her deck lost sight of the crowded wharf, and became themselves +invisible, wrapped in a cloud of haze, from all the eyes that followed +them. During the voyage young Farnham and Isabel were thrown +constantly together for the first time. He was fresh from college, and +the young girl had only been two months from school. + +They travelled through England and France, stopping a month or two in +Paris. The winter found them in Italy, and here the reader has one +more glance at Isabel. + +She has changed somewhat, and there is a look of restlessness about +her. The color comes and goes on her cheek in crimson waves, when any +one addresses her suddenly, as if some sweet hidden thought had been +disturbed, and, like a shaken rose, sent its perfume to her face. She +has grown a little thinner too, and the dreamy contentment of her eyes +is utterly broken up; there is unrest and anxiety in the bright +flashes that come like sudden gleams of starlight through those inky +lashes. + +There need be no lengthened explanation of the causes which led to +these indications of an aroused heart. Indeed, we scarcely know when +or where Frederick Farnham first told Isabel of the love, which had +become a portion of his being; for their whole lives were so +intermingled, every opening thought was so promptly shared between +them, that affection required no words, till it had become the essence +of their souls. It was a happy season for them while this love +remained impassive, as perfume sleeps in the heart of the Lotus bud, +swayed softly by the waters and breathing out its sweet life +imperceptibly, till some sudden gust of wind or outburst of sunshine, +scatters the secret perfume from its heart, which can never close +again. + +Through all her years of adoption, Isabel had been haunted by a sense +of wrong, in receiving kindness from the mother and son of Farnham. +Her education and course of reading had tended to increase this +prejudice; and she learned to look upon herself, like Hamlet, as in +some way destined to avenge her father's death. She had no idea how +this was to be accomplished, but certain it is she never received an +obligation from Mrs. Farnham, or a kindness from her son, but it was +with a rebellious swelling of the heart, as if she were inflicting a +fresh wrong on the memory of her father. + +But Frederick Farnham shared in none of these feelings, nor even +suspected their existence. When he became aware of the depth of his +own passion for the lovely orphan, he spoke it frankly, and with all +the earnestness of a true-hearted man. Love makes the proudest heart +distrustful, and even Isabel's pride was satisfied with the humility +of his pleading. Now came her punishment. In every throb of her heart +and nerve of her body, Isabel felt a response to the generous love +offered to her. But her will rose proudly against him, and against +herself. Love for Farnham's son, was in her estimation a fearful wrong +to the memory of her parents. + +"I will never marry the son of my father's destroyer," she said, "it +would be sacrilege!" + +Frederick could not believe her in earnest--she, so playful, so loving +in all her bright ways; surely, these bitter feelings could not have +lived all these years in her heart! He would wait--he would give her +time for reflection; his father's sin could not be so cruelly brought +up from the past, to poison his own young life; he would not believe +it! + +But Isabel was firm; the very love that thrilled her with every sound +of his footstep or tone of his voice, brought with it bitter +self-upbraiding. She looked on the purest and holiest sensations her +soul could ever know, as a sin against the dead. + +This was the condition of things when they reached Arezzo, an Etruscan +city, in the mountainous portions of Italy. They were to remain in +this place overnight, on their way from Rome to Florence. + +Arezzo is a picturesque old town, rich with historical and religious +associations, and as the birth-place of Petrarch, possessed a singular +interest in the eyes of Isabel; for, just then, she was keenly alive +to all that was sad in the life and love of the Italian poet. + +It was with all the romance of her nature aroused, that she came in +sight of this ancient place. It seemed to her, as she saw its spires +rising from the hill-side upon which they stood, surrounded by the +luxurious beauty of an Italian winter, that, in some way, the town was +connected with her destiny, that she would neither be so strong nor so +free when that was left behind. + +It was an unhealthy state of mind, but Isabel had become passionate, +romantic and headstrong, in the process of her fashionable education. +True these faults were on the surface, and had not yet reached her +inner soul, but they were grave defects in a beautiful nature. + +All day their route had been among the hills, along roads hedged in +with laurestines, covered with sunny blossoms and myrtle thickets +always in rich leafiness. The atmosphere was bland as spring-time, and +though the sun was going down when they drove up to the hotel at +Arezzo, Isabel entered it reluctantly, the twilight was so beautiful. + +Frederick remembered that it was the hour for vespers, and gently +touched Isabel's arm as she was following Mrs. Farnham into the hotel. + +"There is light enough yet, let us go to the cathedral," he said, in +the low serious voice with which he always addressed her now. + +She started, with a thrill of pleasure, and took his arm. + +The cathedral at Arezzo stands in the most elevated portion of the +town. + +Isabel was almost breathless with the rapidity of their walk, as they +mounted the ascent, for Frederick hurried on in silence, urged +forward, as it seemed, by the force of buried thoughts that had kept +him silent all day. + +The cathedral was seen just touched with the coming twilight when they +entered it. A calm stillness hung around it, a stillness that seemed +independent of the strain of music that swelled, rich with sacred +sweetness, from one of the chapels. + +They moved forward through the solemn twilight of the interior. The +atmosphere without had been singularly transparent, but now many +stained windows tinted it with gorgeous mistiness, and the shadows, as +they gathered around the sculpture and ancient paintings, were broken +with a soft purplish haze that was lifted in waves and eddies by the +slow swell of the music. + +The chapel from which these vesper hymns were stealing, was lighted +up, and the tapers gleamed like flashes of starlight across that end +of the edifice, rendering the gorgeous gloom in which they stood more +palpable by contrast. + +It was by this beautiful twilight alone that they approached the grand +altar, and saw the carved foliage that lay upon it like incrustations +of frozen music, left there more than five hundred years ago, when +Geovanni Pisano gave his genius to religion. + +Those young hearts had been swelling with poetic thoughts all the day, +and now, surrounded by everything that could thrill the soul and +delight the imagination, they stood hand in hand listening to the +distant music. + +Their fingers were woven together, and trembled with the electric +shock of two souls thrilled with a worship of the beautiful, and the +solemn poetry of the past. + +Frederick felt Isabel's hand tremble in his; he bent down his head, +clasping that little hand more tightly. + +"Isabel, my beautiful--speak to me!" + +"Hush!" said Isabel, trembling, "I beseech you do not speak now." + +"Why not, Isabel! There can be no place so holy that a love like mine +may not be pleaded there. It is the religion of my soul!" + +"I cannot--oh, I cannot listen to this," murmured the young girl, +striving feebly to extricate her hand from his clasp; "do not, I +entreat you, do not speak to me in this way again!" + +Her voice faltered, and she leaned against the altar for support, but +he would not be repulsed. He felt that her resolution was giving +way--that the love of her young heart was growing powerful in his +behalf, and drawing her from the altar supported her with his arm. + +"Isabel, be true to yourself, be just to me! Why shrink from a +happiness so great? Speak to me, beloved--speak to me!" + +Isabel felt her resolution wavering; her strength gave way, she +yielded to the pressure of his arm, and for one moment was drawn to +his heart. + +Down in the distant chapel the music still swelled, and with it came +the voices of the choir, "Father, oh, our Father!" + +The solemn Latin in which those words were uttered fell upon her like +winged arrows; she started forward and stood for an instant immovable, +horrified by the tenderness to which she had yielded. + +"Oh, my father, my father, forgive me!" she exclaimed, passionately. + +"Isabel, Isabel, what is this?" pleaded the young man, astonished at +the abrupt change. + +"Stop!" she said, waving him back. "Tempt me no more, I cannot bear +it!" + +Still he pressed toward her, grieved and anxious. He had not observed +the words of the music, and her change of manner was inexplicable. + +"Listen to me, Isabel!" + +She waved him back, and walking toward the high altar fell upon her +knees before it, and there, touching the sculptured leaves that had +occupied a human life five hundred years before, she uttered a solemn +vow. The words fell in whispers from her white lips, her forehead was +one moment uplifted to heaven. She arose and stood before her lover, +cold and pale as the marble she had touched. + +Then the music swelled out again in a slow, plaintive strain, as if it +were moaning over the burial of a dead hope. Those who had gathered +for worship in the chapel, glided away; the tapers were extinguished, +and through the gathering darkness Frederick Farnham and Isabel +Chester walked forth into the world again. + +Isabel had made a vow never to marry the son of her father's murderer. +It was a rash act, for even then she had not the courage to tell +Frederick of the oath she had taken. Oh, Isabel! that vow may prove +like that of Jepthah yet--only it is your own hand that gives, and +your own heart that receives the blow. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +SISTER ANNA + + + Ah, we never could resist her, + Since the day that she was born; + For we loved that winsome sister + As we loved the opening morn. + +Four years!--yes, I think it was a little over four years, after the +scene in our last chapter, when we bring our readers to the Old +Homestead again. + +It was the evening of a disagreeable, chilly day. Everything was +gloomy inside and out. Salina had come up from the Farnham's deserted +mansion to spend the evening with aunt Hannah, and arrange the +preliminaries for a "husking frolic," which was to take place on the +morrow in uncle Nathan's barn. But she found the good lady so taciturn +and gloomy, that even her active spirit was awed into stillness. So +the two women remained almost in silence, knitting steadily, with a +round candle-stand between them. + +Uncle Nathan, notwithstanding the cold and the storm, occupied his +great chair in the porch. I think the old man must have grown a trifle +stouter since the reader saw him, and his face had a still more +benevolent look; something of serene goodness, mellowing in the +sunshine of his genial nature, was perceptible there, as the tints of +a golden pippin, ripened in the autumn sun. + +But you could see nothing of this, as the old man sat in his +easy-chair that night. Everything was dark around him. Black clouds +hung overhead, broken now and then with gleams of pale blue lightning. +Once or twice these flashes were bright enough to reveal his features, +which were strangely troubled and thoughtful. Since nightfall, he had +been sitting there almost in silence, watching the storm gather +overhead, and the black shadows as they crowded down from the hills +and choked up the garden. He listened to the wind as it rose and +swelled down the valley, rushing through the orchard boughs, and +tossing them up and down in the darkness. The old man was not +reposing; thoughtful and aroused he took a clear retrospection of +those phases of life that had left scars even on his placid heart. + +A shadow, for it seemed nothing more, lingered by his side. + +It moved now and then, and amid the hushes of the wind you might have +known that two persons breathed close together in the old porch. + +At length what seemed the shadow spoke. + +"Shall we go in, uncle Nathan? The wind is getting high, here. How the +rain beats on the porch--you will catch cold." + +"No, I'd rather sit out here yet awhile. But go in yourself, Mary; it +is getting rather chilly for you." + +"No," answered Mary, in her old gentle way, "I'd rather sit with you, +uncle Nat." + +"I'm bad company," said the old man, "somehow I can't feel like +talking to-night." + +"Nor I," said Mary Fuller, leaning her cheek against the arm-chair, +"something is the matter with us both. I wonder what it is!" + +"My heart is full," said uncle Nathan, mournfully. + +Mary crept close to him. + +"Tell me, uncle Nat, is it about Mr. Ritner's note that you feel so +bad?" + +"That may have set me to thinking of--of other things. I seem to +remember everything that ever happened to-night, I never saw clouds +exactly like them before, or heard the wind howl so, but once." + +"When was that, uncle Nathan?" inquired his companion, in a whisper. + +"The night our sister Anna died," answered the old man in the same +hushed tone. + +"Uncle Nathan, do tell me about her, I want to hear it so much, it +seems as if I must ask you now, though I never dared before." + +Uncle Nathan remained silent a minute or two, then turning in his +chair, he said, in a low, husky voice, + +"See what they are doing in there. Hannah must not hear what we are +talking about." + +Mary opened the kitchen-door and looked through. + +"They are sitting by the fire, both of them. Salina is talking. Aunt +Hannah knitting hard, with her eyes on the fire, as if she didn't +hear." And reseating herself she continued; "now tell me about +_her_--she was very handsome, wasn't she?" + +"She was like a picture, Mary. You think Isabel Chester handsome, but +she don't more than compare with our Anna. She had the softest and +most beautiful brown eyes you ever saw, bright as a star and soft as a +rabbit's--and such hair, it was all in crinkles and waves, breaking +out into curls let her braid and twist it as she would--brown when she +sat by me at her sewing-work in the morning, and shining out like gold +when the sun lay in the porch. I wish you could a-seen her as she was +drawing out her thread of woolen yarn, and running it up on the +spindle as bright and spry as a bird." + +"I wasn't so old nor so heavy," continued uncle Nathan, with a sigh, +"as I am now-a-days, but she always loved to wait on me just as you +do; and when I came into the stoop, hot days in summer, tired with +mowing or planting, away she would run after a pitcher of cool drink, +holding it between her two little hands, and laughing till the dimples +swarmed about her mouth like lady-bugs around a rose. I do really +think, Mary Fuller, that our sister Anna was the handsomest gal I ever +set eyes on, and so sweet tempered: you put me in mind of her every +day, Mary." + +Mary Fuller did not answer, she was afraid that uncle Nathan might +detect the tears that swelled at her heart in her voice. + +"I didn't like to part with Anna, she was so young, and both sister +and I had promised our parents to take their place with her. We two +were the children of their youth, but she was a sort of ewe lamb in +the house, the child of their old age, and when they died we looked +upon her as our own. + +"We both gave up all ideas of marrying for her sake; that wasn't much +for me you may think, but it was a good deal for Hannah; she was a +tall, good-looking woman then, and might have done well in the world; +she did give up a match that I knew her heart was set on. As for +me--but no matter about that--I wasn't likely to make a promise to my +own parents on their death-beds and only half keep it, by marrying and +putting a sort of step-mother over Anna--no, Hannah and I just put +away all thoughts of settling for life, except with one another, and +gave ourselves up to little Anna, heart and soul." + +The old man paused awhile, and bent his head as if overpowered by the +fierce storm that raged around the house. The porch was sheltered, and +though the rain rushed over its low eaves in sheets, nothing but the +dampness reached the great easy-chair upon which uncle Nathan sat. +Still Mary felt three or four heavy drops fall upon her hand, too warm +for rain and too sacred for comment. + +"I couldn't help it," resumed uncle Nathan, in a broken voice. "From +the first I was agin Anna's going out to work but she wanted a new +silk dress, and we, in our old-fashioned ideas, objected to it--so in +her pretty, willful fashion she determined to earn it for herself. + +"I always thought Hannah had a hankering after the dress, too, for she +never thought anything too good for the gal, but there was a good many +debts left on the old place, and she knew well enough that we couldn't +afford to indulge the child that way; but she sided with Anna agin me, +and so the poor child went up to Farnham's to spin his wool. Old Mrs. +Farnham kept house for her son, and no one thought harm of it. I shall +never forget how bright and pretty she looked that morning, in her +pink calico dress and that little straw cottage. Her cheeks were rosy +as the dress, and her eyes shone like diamonds, when she came out here +to shake hands with me. + +"I felt hurt, and couldn't help looking so. She saw how I took it, and +tried to laugh in her old cheerful way, but it was of no use; the +sound died on her open lips, and her eyes filled with tears. + +"'Nathan, Nathan,' she said, 'I will give up the dress if you feel so +about it,' and she began to untie her bonnet; 'I never had a silk +dress in my life, but--but'--- + +"She sat down on a stool and fairly burst into sobs. + +"'Anna,' says I, 'couldn't we make it out, and you stay at home, +think? There is Hannah's orange silk gown, that mother gave her years +ago, wouldn't that make over for you nicely now?' + +"Anna threw herself back on the stool and laughed like a bird, while +the tears sparkled in her eyes. + +"'Oh, Nathan don't speak of it, I've tried it on a dozen times, and +thought and thought how to make it do, but the waist is under my arms, +the skirt gored like an umbrella cover, and so scant, why I couldn't +get over a fence or jump a brook in it to save my life.' + +"I answered, 'But you look so nice and pretty in that pink calico, +Anna, I wish a silk dress had never come into your head. I'm afraid +it'll be the ruin of you.' + +"'My pink calico!' said the naughty child, lifting up a fold between +her thumb and finger, and eyeing me sideways, like a pet bird as she +was; 'don't you think, brother Nat, that I was born for something +better than pink calico?' + +"I couldn't keep from laughing, and at that she threw her arms round +my neck, and thanked me for letting her go. + +"Mary Fuller, my heart sunk like lead as the door closed after her. +But what could I do? she would have her own way. She had it, Mary +Fuller, the gal had her way!" + +Once more the old man paused, while drops fell thick and heavy on Mary +Fuller's hand. + +"Anna staid three months at old Mrs. Farnham's, but she came home at +last with her silk dress, happy as a lark, and handsomer than ever. +The dress was heavy white silk. Mr. Farnham had bought it for her in +York. + +"'But what did you get white for, Anna?' says I, as she unfolded the +silk, smiling and looking with her bright eager eyes in my face, 'It +isn't a color for use--this comes of trusting young girls to choose +things for themselves.' + +"'I didn't choose it--it was Mr. Farnham,' says she, blushing up to +her temples, and trying to laugh. + +"'Well, what did he get this useless color for?' says Hannah, holding +up the silk with one of her stern looks, that I could see made poor +Anna tremble from head to foot. 'It will be spoiled the first time of +wearing! fit for nothing on earth but the wedding-dress of some great +lady.' + +"'It is a wedding-dress--that's what Mr. Farnham bought it for,' says +Anna, bursting out a crying, while her face was as red as the wild +rose. + +"Hannah dropped the silk as if it had been a firebrand, and her face +turned white as a curd. She looked at me, and I at her, then we both +looked at Anna. Poor girl! how frightened she was! First she turned to +sister; but Hannah was taken by surprise and didn't know how to +act--then she crept towards me with a sort of smile on her mouth and +her eyes pleading for her, as I've seen a rabbit when taken from a +trap--I just reached out my arms without knowing it, and drew her +close to my bosom. + +"She flung her arms around my neck and then we both burst out a +crying, while Hannah sat down in a chair with her hands folded hard in +her lap, and looked on growing whiter and whiter every minute. + +"'It's true, brother,' whispered Anna, at last, hiding her face agin +mine, 'I'm going to be married--kiss me, please, and just whisper that +you like it.' + +"I couldn't help kissing her hot cheeks, though every word went to my +heart, for I saw well enough how Hannah would take it. + +"Anna hung around me till I had kissed her more than once, I'm afraid, +then she drew away from my arm like a child that's determined to stand +alone, and went up to sister Hannah. + +"'Sister, won't you kiss me, as well as Nathan?' says she in her +sweet, coaxing way. + +"But Hannah sat still, white as ever. She only gave her fingers a +closer grip around each other. Anna sunk down to the floor, bending +her ankle back and sitting upon the heel of one little foot. + +"'Mother Hannah, don't be cross--what harm have I done?' says she, +lifting her pretty face, all wet with tears, to meet the hard, set +look of our sister. 'Mother Hannah,' says the girl again, drawing her +face closer and closer, 'won't you kiss me as Nathan did?' + +"Hannah bent her head, and it seemed as if a marble woman had moved. +She touched the girl's forehead with her lips, and, says she, + +"'God forgive you!' + +"I think to this day that sister meant, 'God bless you' and tried to +say it, but 'God forgive you' came from her lips in spite of that. +This frightened Anna. So with a sort of wild look toward me, the girl +got up and went out of the room, crying as if her heart would break. +She couldn't understand the thing at all. + +"The minute she was gone, Hannah unlocked her hands, that shook like +dead leaves in parting from each other, and holding them out toward +me, she cried out, 'Nathan, Nathan!' and fell down in a fainting fit, +just as she did the other night." + +"But why," said Mary Fuller, drawing a deep breath, "why did aunt +Hannah feel so dreadfully, wasn't Mr. Farnham a good man?" + +Uncle Nathan bent down his head and whispered the reply. + +"I told you, when our last parent died, Hannah gave up all thoughts of +marrying. She had thought of it day and night for two years. Mr. +Farnham was the man." + +"Poor aunt Hannah!" murmured Mary, "it was hard." + +"She was up next morning and got breakfast just as usual," said uncle +Nathan, "from that day to this she has never spoken of that fainting +fit. You see what Hannah is now, she was not so silent or so hard +before that day." + +"But Anna's wedding was put off," resumed uncle Nathan, after a pause. +"Mr. Farnham had gone down to York about some of his affairs, and +finally concluded to go into business there. He wrote that it would be +some months before he could settle things and come after her. Poor +little Anna, how she did practice writing, and how much letter-paper +the creature tore up and wasted in answering the long letters that +came, at first every week, then every fortnight, and at last +irregularly, longer and longer apart. She became uneasy, and I could +see that Hannah grew sterner and more set every day. + +"The next summer a painter came into these parts for his health and to +study the shape of trees and rocks as they really grow. He put up at +the tavern in the village and spent his time among the hills, taking +pictures of the scenery, as he called them. He took a fancy to the old +house here, and I caught him one day sitting across the road on a +stool and taking it off on paper. It was about our dinner-time, and so +I asked him in to take a bite with us. + +"He was a clever, gentlemanly sort of a fellow, not over young, nor +much of a dandy, and we all took a sort of liking to him; Hannah, +because he'd made a genuine picture of the homestead, and may be I +felt that too a little, for we both set everything by the old place. +Anna took to him at first; she loved the homestead as well as we did, +almost, besides the painter came from York, and she seemed to fancy +him for that more than anything else. + +"I remember, Anna only got one letter from Mr. Farnham, all summer, +and that was the only one she did not, sooner or later, let me read. +She lost her spirits, and really grew thin. The artist was a good deal +of company for her; she had talent, he said, and a few lessons would +learn her to paint pictures almost as well as himself. He was old +enough to be the girl's father, and so Hannah and I were glad to have +him there to cheer her up. + +"All at once she took a dislike to the man, and when he came to the +house, she would always find something to busy herself about, up +stairs, or in the cheese-room. The painter seemed to feel this, and +after awhile it was as much as I could do to get him into the house. + +"One day toward fall Salina came up from the square house with a +letter that she gave to Anna, who ran up stairs to read it alone. + +"Salina was the only person in the village that knew of Anna's +engagement to Mr. Farnham. His letters had always come under cover to +her, after his mother died, and she loved the girl as if she had been +her own sister. Like the rest of us, she had thought it strange, that +he did not write as usual, and was as proud as a peacock when this +letter came. + +"Anna stayed up stairs a long time, reading her letter, while Salina +and I talked it over in the porch. + +"'I reckon,' says she, 'that we shall have the white dress made up +within a week or so. Then, uncle Nat, I'll show you what a genuine +house warming is. Just think of little Anna's being the mistress of +our house, instead of Hannah!' + +"I felt a little anxious somehow, and did not answer at once. She was +going to speak again, when we heard the front door shut to, with a +sort of groan, as if a pang had passed through it. And so there had, +for when we got to the entry and looked out, Anna was a good way from +the house, with her bonnet and shawl on, running in a wild hurry down +the street. + +"'She's gone to see the dressmaker,' says Salina, winking her right +eye-lid, and giving me a cunning look from the other eye; 'see the +bundle under her arm, didn't I tell you?' + +"I wanted to believe her, and we went back to the porch. But there was +a strange feeling about me, and I couldn't sit still in the old chair, +no more than if it had been made of red-hot iron. As for Hannah"-- + +The old man paused again, and for some moments the rushing sound of +the storm was all that filled the porch. When he spoke, it was with a +sort of desperate effort, as if all that was left for him to tell were +full of pain. + +"Anna did not come back in three days, and then the painter, or +artist, as he called himself, came with her. She was his wife." + +"His wife!" uttered Mary Fuller; "but the letter from Mr. Farnham!" + +"It told her that he was married to a city lady. You have seen her, +Mary Fuller; it was the woman who came with you into these parts. But +you never saw the poor girl they murdered between them, none of us +will ever see little Anna again." + +Mary was silent, listening to the old man's sobs, as they mingled with +the storm. + +"She came back with her husband," uttered the old man, "the whitest +and stillest creature you ever saw. Her husband loved her, and she was +so gentle and submissive to him. Poor fellow! poor fellow! he deserved +something better than the dead ashes that she had to give him. + +"Anna's husband was nothing but a common artist, wanting to do +something great, but with no power to do it. He could dream of +beautiful things, and then pine his soul out, because his hand failed +in making them. But he had a true, good heart; that was our only +comfort when Anna went away with him to live in the city. + +"'Why did you act so wildly, Anna?' says I, as she crept to my chair +and laid her head so sorrowfully on my knee the night before they went +away; 'we would have worked ourselves to death, poor child, if you had +only stayed in the old place--what possessed you that night, Anna?' + +"'_He_ will never know that I was the forsaken one,' says she, and her +cheeks burned with crimson once more. 'I only thought of that at +first, but in the pain his letter gave me, I remembered the +disappointment I had dealt on a good man who loved me--I was wild, +brother Nathan, but not bad. But my husband, I will make him a humble, +patient wife, see if I don't.' + +"And she did, Mary Fuller--the poor girl did make a dutiful, good +wife; but it was enough to break your heart to see her trying so hard +to please a man, who wanted nothing but her love to make him happy, +and felt she could not give him that." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +THE TWO INFANTS. + + + And then I thought of one, who in her pale, meek beauty, died, + The fair young blossom that grew up and faded by my side; + In the cold, moist earth, we laid her, where the forest cast its + leaf, + And we sighed that one so beautiful should have a lot so brief. + + BAYANT + +After awhile the old man resumed. + +"The next year Farnham came up into the mountains with his wife. Some +city speculation had made him rich, and they sat a terrible dash--but +I won't speak of that, Mary. If ever the old adversary does rise in my +bosom, it is when I remember the way those two persons drove by the +house they had made gloomy as a grave-yard. + +"Hannah was sitting by the window. Her face seemed turning into stone +as the woman leaned out of her carriage, gave a long, impudent stare, +and then fell back laughing, as if she had found something about my +sister's appearance to make fun of. + +"A little after this, Anna came home. She wanted care and comfort, +poor little darling, and her husband let her search for it in the Old +Homestead. + +"Farnham went back to New York the day after she came, so I believe +she never saw him to the day of her death. + +"Mrs. Farnham was left behind, and poor Salina had a nice time with +her airs and the impudence of her city servants, as she called the +white slaves that came with her. Our Anna came alone, for her husband +could neither spend time nor money to bring her further than Catskill. +He had been out of employment, and devided his last few dollars with +Anna when they parted. + +"She was very down-hearted all the time, and it was more than I could +do to make her smile, though I tried to say a thousand droll things; +and Hannah, I'm sure it made my heart ache to see how she tried and +tried to cheer the young thing up." + +Here again the old man paused. By this time the storm was raging down +the valley in a hurricane. The hoary old hemlocks on the river side +shook and bent and tossed their gnarled limbs over the vexed waters +with terrible fury. The winds roared and held a wild riot on the +hill-tops. In years and years so fierce a gust of weather had not been +known in the mountain passes. + +Uncle Nathan bowed his head, and locking his hands, went on. + +"It had been threatening weather all day, and everything looked gloomy +inside and outside the house. At sunset the storm commenced just as it +did to-night. It seems to me as if it was only yesterday--no--as if +this was the very night," continued the old man in a faltering voice. +"The wind howled among the trees, and tore down the valley, just as it +does now. The rain came down in buckets full, rolling like volleys of +shot on the roof, pouring in sheets of water over the eaves. Out +yonder you could see the old apple-trees tossing about, and groaning +as they do this minute like live things tormented by the storm. It was +an awful night!" + +"It is an awful night _now_!" murmured Mary Fuller, shivering. "How +the rain beats; how the old trees tug and wrestle against the wind! +The valley is full of fierce noises. I cannot even hear the river in +all this rush of wind and water." + +"So it was then," said uncle Nathan, "but there was another sound, +that I seem to hear now deep in my very heart." + +"What was it, uncle Nathan? A wolf or a panther? Such animals used to +prowl among the hills here, I know." + +"It was the cry of a young child, darter, of our Anna's baby; a +little, feeble wail; but I should have heard it, if the storm had been +twice as loud. I had been sitting here, from sundown to ten o'clock, +with no company but my fears and the raging storm. Hannah came, once +or twice, and put her pale face through the door, and went off again +as if she wanted me out of the way, but for the whole world I couldn't +have moved till that little cry came." + +"But you went then," said Mary Fuller, deeply moved, "of course you +went then." + +"I got up to go, but it was of no use; my knees shook, and knocked +together; the porch seemed whirling around, rain and all; I made one +step toward the out-room; fell into the chair, and burst out a crying. +The baby's voice had taken away all my strength." + +"But you didn't sit here all night, in a storm like this!" said Mary. + +"After awhile--I don't know how long--I got up and went into the +house. Everything was still as death. I stood at the out-room door and +listened. There was no noise. I thought it was the storm that drowned +everything, and opened the door. Hannah was not there, nor Salina +either, but a window had blown open, and in drifted the rain and wind +over the bed that stood close by it--poor Anna's bed. I could not see +distinctly, my eyes were blinded with the storm that leapt into my +face, and I could hardly close the window agin it. + +"At last I got the sash down and went up to Anna's bed. She was +there"-- + +"Well!" said Mary, at length, in a low whisper. + +"She was there--all alone--dead--my little sister Anna!" answered the +old man, covering his face with both hands, and crying till his sobs +were carried away in the louder wail of the storm. "At first I could +not believe it. A candle stood on the table with its wick bent double. +It had swirled away at the sides till the tallow ran down upon the +brass. After I had shut the window, it gave out a steadier light, that +fell on Anna's face. I would not believe it, but bent down and kissed +her on the forehead. My lips were amost as cold as hers then, I +believe. Oh! darter, darter, our poor little Anna was dead--dead--and +cold--with the storm blowing over her." + +Mary took uncle Nathan's hand between hers, and kissed it. + +"Don't cry," said the old man, gently removing his hand, upon which +her tears had fallen. "_I_ can't help it, but _you_ mustn't cry. It +was very hard at the time, and the old house has never been the same +since,--or, at any rate," continued the kind old man, thoughtful of +Mary's feelings even in his grief, "not till you came." + +"But I can't be supposed to fill her place," said Mary, "she, so +bright and handsome." + +"I thought," answered uncle Nathan, "as I sat by her bed that night, +and saw her lying there, so young, and with her bright hair falling in +waves down the pillow, that one of God's own angels couldn't have +looked more lovely. She was smiling in her death, just as I'd seen her +a thousand times when she fell asleep. It seemed as if a kiss from +brother Nathan would make her start up, and open those great brown +eyes again; but when I gave the kiss it didn't wake her, but froze me +almost into a stone." + +"But the cry you had heard?" said Mary. + +"I forgot that, and never thought to ask why every one had left poor +dead Anna alone, with the swirling light and the storm. But the next +day Hannah took me up into her bedroom, and showed me our sister's +child, a little boy, Mary, that might have been a comfort to us. I +couldn't bear to look at it, lying there so innocent, like a young +robin left alone in its nest; the sight of it almost broke my heart." + +"But what became of it?" + +"Hannah brought it up by hand a few weeks, and then went down to York +with it herself, and left the poor baby with its father." + +"How could she?" exclaimed Mary; "I wonder you could part with it." + +"I did want to keep him, but Hannah was set in her way, and would not +hear of it. She never looked at the helpless little fellow, as he +slept there in Anna's bed, like a forsaken bird, without turning pale +to the lips. It was enough to kill her!" + +"You must have hated to give it up so much though," said Mary. + +"She did her duty--Hannah always does, let what will come. Money has +been sent, every year, to help bring the boy up. Let what would come +she always scrimps and saves enough out of the old place for that." + +"Perhaps it is this that has put you so behind-hand," suggested the +child, thoughtfully. + +"I've often misdoubted it--but she's right. I'd rather see the +Homestead sold, than have Anna's boy want anything; but, somehow, the +drain comes heavier and heavier every year." + +"And I! what am I but a burden?" said Mary, in a heart-broken voice. +"What can I do? Surely, God intended some walk of usefulness to every +one of his creation. Oh, uncle Nathan, tell me where mine lies!" + +"You ain't much more helpless than I am," answered uncle Nathan, +sadly. "It seems as if the more things go wrong, the more clumsy I +grow, and the heavier I weigh. The chair is getting almost too small +for me, and I ain't fit for anything but sitting now." + +Mary shook her head, and a quaint smile stole across her lips in the +darkness. + +"You are too large, uncle Nathan, and I am too helpless; we are good +for nothing but to comfort one another." + +"Aunt Hannah, you don't know how much she loves us both." + +Mary was very thoughtful. The story she had heard for the first time; +the rush of the storm; the darkness that seemed to surround her, body +and soul, was cruelly depressing. It seemed like an epoch in her life, +as if some grave event were approaching in which she must hold a +share. + +"Now, darter," said uncle Nathan, laying his hand or her head, "you +and I have got a secret between us. It's the first time in years that +I have mentioned Anna. We needn't be afraid to talk about her now, +when Hannah isn't by." + +Just then, amid the turmoil of winds, and the tossing of trees, a +burst of thunder shook the house in every timber. Then came flash +after flash of lightning, shooting long fiery trails through the rain, +and spreading sheets of lurid flame in the air. Another crash, another +burst of fire, and lo! a column of flame shot up into the blackened +sky, lighting the river, the hills, and all the minute surroundings of +uncle Nathan's house; as it were with a fiery cataract. + +"It is the dry hemlock by the river-side," cried uncle Nathan; "that +night it was struck for the first time, this night for the last," and +he rushed out bareheaded, into the storm of fire and rain that deluged +the valley. + +Mary followed him. A little further down the valley was the +grave-yard. The stones with which it was crowded gleamed cold and +ghastly in the light of the burning hemlock. + +On two of these stones, somewhat apart, but facing the same way, Mary +could see the black lines with gloomy distinctness. + +"Isn't it strange?" said uncle Nathan, pointing toward the stones, +"isn't it strange that the light should fall strongest on those two +graves, just as we were talking about them for the first time? What is +going to happen now? That night two children came into the world, and +one good soul went out of it. While Farnham's wife lay under her silk +curtains, with her baby warm and sleeping by her side, our Anna lay +alone in her cold bed, and the baby would have been chilled to death +on her bosom. Why was the storm only for our Old Homestead, the +sunshine for them?" + +"Perhaps God will explain all this when we get to heaven," answered +Mary, lifting her forehead in the gloomy light. "Come, uncle Nat--come +in." + +With gentle violence the girl drew him into the house. + +From that night Mary Fuller ceased to be a child. The story of a +woman's wrongs had given her a woman's heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +DARK STORMS AND DARK MEMORIES. + + + Hush! be silent--let the storm sweep by! + Its howlings fill me with unuttered dread! + This shuddering soul hugs its dark mystery, + Oh, trouble not the ashes of the dead! + +While uncle Nathan and Mary were conversing on the porch, the two +women within doors remained comparatively silent, till the storm rose +almost to a hurricane. The gloominess of the night seemed to oppress +them, and they sat before the hearth till the fire had nearly +smouldered out, leaving only a couple of large pointed brands of what +had been a back-log, protruding from a bed of ashes, that grew whiter +and deeper with each coal that crumbled away from the original stock. + +With her calf-skin shoes planted on each foot of the andiron, and her +dress just enough lifted to reveal a glimpse of her blue yarn +stockings, aunt Hannah sat gazing on the embers, with a countenance +that grew stern and troubled as the storm raged more and more +fiercely. Her knitting-work lay upon the stand beside her; three of +the needles formed a triangle, and the fourth was thrust through the +stocking, in a way that betokened a strange tumult in the owner, for +never, save when it was the sign of some great calamity, had aunt +Hannah been known to lay down her knitting except at the seam-stitch. + +That some bitter trouble weighed upon her now was certain, for the +thoughts that possessed her seemed bowing her person forward. She +stooped heavily toward the fire, with her long, flail-like arms +clasped around her knees, not rocking back and forth as seemed most +natural to the position, but immovable as the andiron upon which her +feet rested, and sombre as the storm that shook the windows and howled +down the chimney. + +Salina occupied the other andiron. Her leathern shoes were tinged with +mud about the soles, and a spot or two had settled on her white yarn +stockings, which were gingerly exposed at the ankles. But while aunt +Hannah stooped forward, bowed down by thought, Salina sat upright as a +church-steeple, with one elbow planted on each knee, and her sharp +chin resting in the palms of her hands. Faint flashes from the fire +now and then gleamed across her hair, firing it up with ferocious +redness; and her eyes were bent upon the broken back-log, as if +defying it to a competition, while her feet were planted on the +andiron. + +At last, when the storm grew so fierce that it rocked the old house to +its foundations, and gusts of rain came sweeping down the chimney, the +two women looked into each other's eyes. + +"Did you ever see anything like it!" said Salina. + +It was an exclamation only, but aunt Hannah answered as if her +thoughts had been questioned. + +"Yes, once--that night!" + +"True enough--that was an awful night. I hate to think of it." + +"But how can one help it?" said aunt Hannah, bending her white face +downward again, "I'd give anything on earth to forget that one night." + +"Well," answered Salina, "I have sort of forgot a good deal about it; +but now, as you bring it to mind, there was a thing or two happened +that I never told of before, and couldn't account for in any way--that +is, for the whole of it." + +"What was that?" questioned aunt Hannah, sharply. + +"Well, now, it's no use snapping one's head off, if the night is +howling like old Nick himself," answered Salina, kindling up. + +"If I was snappish, it wasn't because I meant it," said aunt Hannah, +sinking to her dejected position again; "you said something about that +night--what was it?" + +"Well, now, I'll up and tell you--it's nothing worth mentioning--but +somehow I always sort of remembered it. You know, after poor little +Anna died, I went home in all the storm, for I had only run over to +tell you about Mrs. Farnham's baby, and hadn't expected to stay. I +couldn't but jest get along, the wind and rain beat in my face so; and +somehow what I had seen here took away all my nat'ral strength; +besides, it was dark as pitch, and before I got home there wasn't a +dry thread on me. + +"Well, I went in through the back door mighty still, I tell you, for I +didn't want any one to know that I'd been out when there was sickness +in the house. Besides, I'd promised the nus to sit up and tend the +baby, while she got a little sleep. So, without stopping to bolt the +back door or anything, I jest stole up to the chamber next Mrs. +Farnham's, where the nus was with the baby, and opening the door a +trifle, told her to go to bed, and I'd be down in less than no time. + +"The baby was sound asleep in the cradle, that had been ready for it +ever so long, so the nus just put the blanket a little more over its +head and went out. + +"I ran up stairs, got off my wet clothes, and went down to the room +agin, but first I remembered the back door, and went to fasten it for +fear some one would find out that I had been away from home. + +"When I got to the door, it was wide open, and the wind came storming +in like all possessed. The candle swirled till it almost went out in +my hand, and it was as much as I could make out to shut the door and +get things to rights, without being wet through agin. At last I got +the door shut to and fastened, but when I went to cross the kitchen, +where I never would let them put a carpet down, you know, the white +pine boards were tramped over and over with wet footsteps. Now, I +hadn't crossed it but once with my wet things on, and the footsteps +went both ways, as if some one had gone in and went out agin. + +"Well, I held down the light and followed these same steps along the +carpet clear into the room where the baby was; I hadn't gone across +the threshold, remember, and yet the steps were all over the room, and +a little puddle of water lay close agin the cradle--are you listening, +aunt Hannah?" + +"Go on," answered the old woman, in a husky voice. + +"I haven't anything more to say, only this," said Salina, "the baby +lay snug in the cradle, but its little hands were as cold as stone, +and I'm sartin there was a drop of water on its forehead. That wasn't +all. As I was looking around, I saw a little baby's night-gown a-lying +half across the door-sill." + +Aunt Hannah looked up suddenly, and Salina checked herself. + +"Good gracious, how pale you are!--do tell--what's the matter?" + +"You heard the thunder--I always was afraid of thunder." + +"Yes," answered Salina, "lightning don't amount to much, but when +thunder strikes it is awful. That clap wasn't nothing to speak of, +though, after all." + +"Wasn't it?" said aunt Hannah, dropping her face between both her +hands. "It seemed terribly loud to me." + +"Well, as I was a-saying about that night. There was a baby's +night-gown on the door-sill. I took it up and looked at it. It was +fine cotton, edged round with a little worked pattern, such as I'd +seen our Anna working there in the out-room. The sight of it sort of +puzzled me, I can tell you, besides it made me feel bad to think how +cold her poor little fingers were then, so I sat down and cried over +it all by myself. But how came the little gown there? It didn't belong +to Mrs. Farnham, for her baby's clothes were all linen, cambric, and +lace, and French work. I sat down and thought and thought, but at last +burst out a-crying agin. It was all clear enough." + +"How," said aunt Hannah, lifting her face suddenly, "how was it +clear?" + +"Why, the night-gown must have stuck to my shawl when we laid Anna's +baby in your bed up stairs. Everything was tossed about, you know; and +I am always catching to briars and things every time I move. Never +could go a blackberrying with other gals, but the first thing they +were calling out, 'that Salina had got a bean' and there would be a +great long briar dragging to the bottom of my frock. It was my luck +always to have things hanging onto me. I wish you could see the ticks +and burdock leaves that I have picked off from this identical dress +since harvest." + +Aunt Hannah drew herself up a little more freely, but it was some +moments before she spoke. + +"Did you keep the night-gown?" she inquired. + +"Yes, I hadn't the heart to bring it here at the time, so I locked it +up in the till of my chest, and there it lies yet, as yellow as +saffron. Would you like to have it now?" + +"No," answered aunt Hannah, "what should I have it for? keep it safe +just as it is; who knows but it may be wanted yet?" + +Salina drew herself primly up, and observed that if the best man in +York State was to offer himself to her, he would get sent about his +business in double quick time. + +Aunt Hannah raised her eyes, with a heavy questioning look, but +dropped them again without in the least comprehending the drift of +Salina's thoughts. + +"No," said the spinster, stoutly. "It's of no use looking at me in +that way; if every hair of his head was hung with diamonds, I wouldn't +have him. It's no use asking me, I'm a sot cretur where I am sot, aunt +Hannah." + +While Salina was moving her head up and down, with a force that almost +dislodged the horn-comb from her fiery tresses, a clap of thunder +shook the house to its foundations, and sheets of lightning rushed +athwart the windows. + +"Nathan, where is my brother Nathan?" cried aunt Hannah, starting to +her feet. + +"No, it's of no use calling even him," persisted Salina, unmindful +of both thunder and lightning. "The face of a man can't change me; you +needn't call him, I tell you it's of no use, I'm flint." + +"The old hemlock is in flames again!" cried aunt Hannah, rushing +through the porch, "and Nathan's chair empty. Is this thunderbolt for +him? Nathan! Nathan!" + +By the light of the stricken hemlock, she saw her brother coming +toward the porch, holding Mary Fuller by the hand. + +"Come, brother, come!" she cried, stretching forth her arms, "you are +all that I have left." + +Nathan heard his sister, and came toward her. She saw that he was +safe, and her old manner returned. + +"Come," she said, opening the kitchen door, "it is time for prayers." + +"Yes, let us pray," said uncle Nathan, solemnly, "for truly, God +speaketh to us in the thunder and the lightning." + +Salina, who had remained standing in the room, was so struck by the +unusual sadness of every face around her, that for the time she forgot +herself. There was something in uncle Nathan's face that she had never +seen before, a depth and intensity of feeling that held even her rude +strength in awe. + +"Good night," she said, tying on her hood and folding a large blanket +shawl over her person; "it's time for me to be a going." + +"Not in this rain," said Mary, "you will be wet through." + +"Well, what then? I ain't neither sugar nor salt," she said, folding +her shawl closer. "The old tree gives light enough, and as for a +little rain I can stand that." + +"It mayn't be safe to pass the hemlock, when it's on fire. I'll go +with you till you get beyond that," said uncle Nathan, taking his drab +overcoat from a nail behind the door. + +Salina drew the shawl with still more desperate resolution around her +lathy figure. + +"No, sir," she said, with emphasis, "after what your sister has been +saying to-night, I feel it a duty that I owe to myself to go home +alone." + +"But this terrible weather," said uncle Nathan, holding his great-coat +irresolutely in his hand. + +"As I observed before," said Salina, "I'm neither sugar nor salt, sir, +but rock, marble, or, if there is a stone harder than these, I'm +that." + +Uncle Nathan was too thoroughly saddened for contention; indeed he +scarcely noticed the magnificent change in Salina's manner; and, if +the truth must be told, was rather glad to be left under the shelter +of a roof, when the rain was rattling over it so fiercely. + +"Well," he said, hanging up his coat again, "if you'd rather go home +alone than stay all night, or let me go with you, of course I don't +want to interfere." + +"Thank you," answered the lady, tossing her head and snuffing the air +like a race-horse; "I'm sure I'm obleged beyond anything. It's kind of +you to let me have my own way." + +Uncle Nathan looked at little Mary Fuller, to gather her opinion of +the unaccountable airs their guest was putting on, but the girl's +heart was full of the story she had been listening to, and she sat by +the table gazing sadly upon the floor, with one hand supporting her +forehead. + +Aunt Hannah had seated herself on the hearth again, and was gazing +absorbed into the embers. Salina had poor uncle Nathan thus entirely +to herself. + +"Now," said she, "if you will have the goodness to turn your face +toward the chamber-door, while I pin up the skirt of my dress a +little, I shall be prepared to depart from this roof." + +Uncle Nathan quietly withdrew into the porch, and sat down in his +easy-chair. Salina would have puzzled him exceedingly but for the +pre-occupation of his feelings. As it was, the old man was rather +sorry that she _would_ go home alone, in all the rain, but his heart +was too heavy for a second thought on the subject. + +I do not pretend to be a judge of these matters, but really I believe +Salina was a little taken aback, when she came forth into the porch, +with her dress nicely tucked up, and her shawl folded in a fashion +that left one arm at liberty, and saw uncle Nathan sitting there in +the dark, instead of standing by the cheese-press, hat in hand, +determined to escort her as a man of spirit ought to have been, after +the trouble she had taken with the shawl. Nor do I pretend to say that +she was disappointed, or anything of the sort, because Salina in her +day possessed the very germ and root of a strong-minded woman of +modern times, and persons of ordinary capacity are shy of running +counter to ladies of that class--all that we venture to assert is that +she made a dead halt on the porch, looked up and down the garden, +observed in an under-tone "It was raining cats and dogs yet," devices +by which a weak-minded woman might have insinuated, that she had taken +the subject of going home alone into consideration and thought better +of it. + +Uncle Nathan, instead of suspecting the art that I have been wicked +enough to insinuate, seemed perfectly oblivious of the antique +damsel's presence. + +At last she gathered up her raiment and muttering. + +"Well, now, I never did!" prepared to step from the porch, when the +voice of uncle Nat arrested her. + +"Salina, is it you? Come here, Salina!" + +Salina drew close to uncle Nathan's chair--very close considering the +circumstances, and, with a relenting voice, answered, "Well, Mr. +Nathan, I'm here--what is it you want to say?" + +Uncle Nathan reached forth his hand. Salina's unconsciously crept out +from the folds of her shawl, in a sort of way as if she didn't intend +to let the left hand know what the right was about. + +"Salina," said uncle Nathan, pressing her fingers in his broad palm. + +"Well, uncle Nathan?" + +"My heart is full to-night, Salina, I feel a'most broke down." + +"Well, now, don't take on this way. My bark is worse than my bite, you +know that." + +"You are a kind soul at the bottom, I always knew that, and have been +a true friend to us; I shall never forget you for it." + +I don't know as uncle Nathan was conscious of it, but Salina's hand +certainly tightened around his plump fingers. + +"You were kind to _her_, and I want to thank you for it." + +"_Her_! Who are you talking about?" + +"Our Anna. The night has put me so in mind of her. I've been talking +about her to little Mary all the evening, and now let me thank you, +for you were always good to Anna." + +Salina drew her hand from uncle Nathan's, and folded it in her shawl. + +"I hope I haven't hurt your feelings mentioning her suddenly, after so +many years," said the old man. + +Salina stood upright while he was speaking, but the moment he ceased, +the dim light through the kitchen window revealed her wading through +the wet plaintain leaves as she turned a corner of the house. + +"She always was a kind creature," said uncle Nathan, moving his head +with gentle compunction. "I'm afraid it came hard though to hear poor +Anna mentioned, but I couldn't help it." + +With these meek words, half of sorrow, half of self-reproach, uncle +Nathan went back into the kitchen. Aunt Hannah had gone up stairs, but +Mary sat by the little stand, reading in the open Bible. She turned it +gently toward the old man as he sat down, but he shook his head and +motioned her to read aloud. + +Mary had a clear, silver-toned voice, and she read with that natural +pathos which true feeling always renders effective. That night there +was depth and sweetness in her reading, that fell like the voice of an +angel on the excited feelings of uncle Nathan. The storm was now +hushing itself in the valley, and her voice rose sweet and clear, till +it penetrated to the room above, where aunt Hannah lay. + +Why had aunt Hannah absented herself from family prayer that night? +Why did she, as the voice of that young girl rose to her ears, cower +down in the bed, and nervously draw up the coverlet to shut those +sweet tones out from her soul? + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +APPLE GATHERINGS. + + + There's comfort in the farmer's house, + In the old age of the year, + When the fruit is ripe and squirrels roam + Through the forests brown and sere. + +It was fortunate for uncle Nathan, that his little harvest was stored +in the barn before the storm we have described swept the valley, for a +good many crops of corn were destroyed that night, and not only the +winter apples, but half the leaves were shaken from the orchard +boughs. The river, too, was swollen and turbid for several days, and +the splintered and half-charred trunk of the old hemlock, was at times +nearly buried in water. + +But uncle Nathan's crop of corn was safely housed in the barn, on the +very day before the tempest broke over it, and all the harm he +suffered, was a little delay in the "husking frolic," which, for many +years, had been a sort of annual jubilee at the Homestead, for the +young people of the village usually managed, in some indirect way, to +help the old man forward in his farm labor, making plowing matches in +the spring, mowing parties in the summer, and "husking frolics" in the +fall; and this with a hearty good will, that would have convinced any +other man that his neighbors got up these impromptu assemblies, for no +purpose but their own amusement. + +But uncle Nathan had too much goodness in his own heart, not to detect +it lurking in any disguise in the hearts of others, and with that true +dignity which makes the acceptance of a frankly offered kindness, +pleasant as the power of conferring it, he always looked forward to +these gala-days with interest, striving by generous hospitality to +express a sense of the benefits he received. + +Aunt Hannah was genuinely grateful for all this kindness in her young +neighbors, and always stood ready to perform her part of the +entertainment with prompt energy, which, if not as genial as the good +nature of uncle Nat, revealed itself in a form quite as acceptable, +for never in any other place were such pumpkin pies, drop cakes, tarts +and doughnuts produced, as emanated from aunt Hannah's kitchen on +these occasions. + +But I have said the "husking frolic" was put off a little in order to +give time for repairs after the storm. For two whole days uncle Nathan +had his hands full, gathering up the winter apples that had been +dashed from their boughs on that awful night. In this labor, aunt +Hannah was first and foremost abroad with her splint basket, directly +after breakfast, gathering up the fruit with an energy that seemed +quite unequal to her age. + +I am almost afraid to say it, because some of my readers are, +doubtless, young ladies of the young American school, who will think +my heroine degraded by her usefulness, but Mary Fuller put on her +little quilted hood, the moment the breakfast things were washed up, +and following the old man into the orchard, with another splint +basket, filled it, turn for turn with aunt Hannah, while uncle +Nathan--bless his old heart--carried the baskets and emptied them into +a little mountain of red and golden apples, beneath his favorite tree. + +I dislike to make this confession, because, in every sense of the +word, Mary Fuller was my idea of a young gentlewoman--or as near an +approach to that exquisite being, as a girl of her years ever can be. +More than this, she promised those higher and still more noble +qualifications that distinguish souls lifted out from the multitude by +imagination and intellect, and for this very reason perhaps she was +not ashamed of being useful, or of partaking heartily in any labor +borne by her benefactors. + +In truth, souls like hers are ashamed to undertake no duty that comes +naturally in the path of life. + +I have only spoken of Mary up to this time, as a bright, cheerful, +good little girl, earnest in the right, and shrinking from the wrong, +because I deem such qualities, the very essence and life of a firm +intellectual character, and acknowledge no greatness that hasn't +strong sense and moral worth for its foundation. + +Like the green leaves that clasp in a rose-bud, these qualities must +unfold themselves first, in the life of any human being, allowing +thought to expand in the intellect as the sunshine pierces through +these mossy leaves to the heart of the flower. + +Precocious intellect is not genius, but a disease. It is the bud that +blossoms out of season, because there is unwholesome warmth forcing it +open. There is a species of insanity that men call genius which +springs from a want of intellectual harmony, without the moral and +physical strength necessary to perfect development, but with this +erratic mischief we have nothing to do. Mary, the reader well knows +was plain in person, and as a child almost dwarfish, but wholesome +food, fresh mountain air and household kindness, had modified and +changed all this. + +She was only a little smaller than ordinary girls, and very +pleasant-looking even to strangers. + +Still there was something in the young girl's face difficult to +describe, but which possessed a charm that beauty never approached, a +quick kindling of the eyes--a smile that lighted up all her features +till the gaze was fascinated by it. This charm was more remarkable +from the usual gravity of her face. She never had been what is usually +termed a forward child, and in early life, the common expression of +her eyes was sad, almost mournful. As she grew older and happier, this +settled into a gentle serenity, only changed as we have described, by +that thrilling smile, which actually transfigured her. You forgot her +plainness then, forgot her humble garments, her dull complexion, and +wondered what power had, for the moment, rendered her so beautiful. + +This exquisite expression of the soul had deepened perceptibly and +become more vivid, since her conversation with uncle Nathan on the +night of the storm; but she was more thoughtful after that, and crept +away to her room whenever she could find time, as if some object of +interest forced her into solitude. + +The night before the apple-gathering, aunt Hannah found her seated by +a little cherry-wood table near the window, with her box of paints out +finishing up a sketch on the leaf of an old copy-book. The same thing +had often happened before, but this time there was a nervous rapidity +of the hand, and that singular glow upon the face, which made the old +woman pause to look at her. + +"I wonder what on earth that girl is always working away at them +pictures for?" said aunt Hannah as she surrendered her basket of +apples to uncle Nathan that day. "Last night she was at it again--I +went close up to her and looked over her shoulder--she had not heard +me till then, but the minute I touched her, the color came all over +her neck and face, as if she'd been caught stealing. I wonder what +it's all about, Nathan?" + +"Never you mind, Hannah. Let the child do as she pleases," answered +uncle Nathan, pouring the ripe apples softly down to the heap. "There +is something busy in her mind that neither you nor I can make out yet. +In my opinion, such girls as our Mary should be left to their own ways +a good deal. Let her alone, Hannah, there is not a wrong thought in +her heart, and never was." + +"I don't understand her," said aunt Hannah, receiving her empty +basket, and tying the broad kerchief more tightly over her head. + +"Now, don't meddle with what you can't understand," said uncle Nathan, +earnestly; "you and I are getting to be old people, Hannah, and as we +go down hill, this girl will be climbing up; don't let us drag her +down with the weight of our old-fashioned ideas. There is something +more than common, I tell you, in the girl." + +"But this painting won't get her a living, when we're dead and gone, +Nathan." + +"I don't know, picters are the fashion now-a-days--who knows but she +may yet have one hung up at the Academy." + +A grim smile came to aunt Hannah's face. "You may be right, Nathan," +she said. "More strange things than that have happened in our time, +so I'll just do as you think best, but she does waste a good deal +of time and candle-light with her paints and things." + +"She's brought more light into the house than she will ever take away, +heaven bless her," answered uncle Nathan. + +Just then, Mary came up with her basket. Exercise and the cold autumn +air had left her cheeks rosy with color; she looked beautiful in the +eyes of her benefactors. + +"Now," she said, pouring down her apples, "had not you better go into +the cellar, uncle Nathan, and get the apple-bin ready? the air feels +like frost." + +"They're not going into our cellar this year," said aunt Hannah, +looking up into the branches above her, as if she feared to encounter +the inquiring eyes of her companions; "we must do without winter +apples; I've sold the whole crop." + +"Do without winter apples," exclaimed uncle Nathan, with a downcast +look, "is it so bad as that sister?" + +"Apples are high down in York this fall," she answered, evasively. + +Mary turned away, sighing heavily, "Shall I never be able to help +along?" she muttered to herself, and she fell into a train of thought +that lasted till long after the apples were all gathered in a heap +ready for the cart that was to carry them away. + +"Hannah," said uncle Nathan, the moment they were alone, "what has +happened; Anna's boy, is it anything about him?" + +"His father is sick, Nathan, very sick, and will starve if we don't +come to his help a little." + +"And this is why we are to have no winter apples in the cellar, I'm +sure it's of no consequence. I've thought a good while that old people +like us have no use for apples, we hain't got the teeth to eat them, +you know. But then Mary is so fond of them, supposing we take out +a few just for her, you know." + +"No," said aunt Hannah, sorrowfully, "she can do without apples, but +they cannot do without bread; besides she wouldn't touch them if she +knew." + +"No, no, I'm sure she wouldn't--but isn't there anything I could give +up: there's the cider, I used to be very fond of ginger and cider, +winter evenings, but somehow without apples, it wouldn't seem exactly +nat'ral: supposing you save a few apples for her without letting her +know, and sell the cider. It would be a good example to set to the +young men, you know, these temperance times?" + +"No," answered Hannah, with unusual energy, "not a comfort shall you +give up; I will work my fingers to the bone first." + +"But," said uncle Nathan, rather timidly, as if he ventured a +proposition that was likely to be ill received. "Why not let the poor +fellow come here?--it would not cost much to keep him at the +Homestead, and Mary is such a dear little nurse." + +Aunt Hannah did not receive this as he had expected, but with a slow +wave of the head, "That can never be--I couldn't breathe under the +same roof with them; don't mention it again, Nathan." + +"I never will," said the old man, touched by the sad determination +in her voice and manner, "only tell me what I can do." + +"Nothing, only let me alone," was the reply, and taking up her empty +basket, aunt Hannah went to work again. + +"Poor Hannah," murmured the good old man, "poor Hannah, she's got +a hard row to hoe and always had, I'd help her out with the weeds, +if some one would only tell me how, but she will work by herself." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +THE FARNHAMS' RETURN FROM ABROAD. + + + There is fruit from the orchard and corn from the field, + For old mother earth gives a bountiful yield; + There is light in the kitchen and fire on the hearth, + The Homestead is ready for feasting and mirth. + +It was the day before uncle Nathan's husking-frolic. All the corn +was housed and stacked upon the barn floor, which had been swept and +garnished for the occasion; for after the husking was to come a +dance--not in the house, aunt Hannah had some old-fashioned prejudices +about that--and uncle Nat shrunk from the idea of having a frolic in +the out-room where poor Anna had died; so as the barn was large and +the room sufficient, the play usually ended where the work began, +upon the barn floor, which was always industriously cleared from the +corn-stalks as the husking went on. + +Of course it was a busy day at the old house. Salina came early, and +was in full force among the culinary proceedings of the occasion. Aunt +Hannah received a slight exhilaration of life; she moved about the +kitchen more briskly, let her cap get somewhat awry, and twice in the +course of the morning was seen to wear a grim smile, as Mary, in her +active desire to please, brought the flour-duster and nutmeg-grater to +her help, before the rigid lady had quite found out that they were +wanted. + +Uncle Nat, too, acted in a very excited and extraordinary manner, all +day running in from the porch, asking breathlessly if he could do +anything, and then subsiding back in his old arm-chair before aunt +Hannah could force her thin lips into a speaking condition. + +As for Salina, though her tongue was always ready, she had found the +old man too dull of comprehension for any thought of taking help at +his hands; and when he meekly offered to cut up a huge pumpkin for +her, she paused, with her knife plunged deep into its golden heart, +and informed dear, unconscious uncle Nathan, that she did not require +help from the face of man, not she. + +With that, she cut down into the pumpkin with a ferocity quite +startling, and split the two halves apart with a jerk that made the +horn-comb reel among her fiery tresses, and sent uncle Nat quite +aghast through the back door. + +Salina looked after him with a smile of grim triumph, snuffed the air +like a victorious race-horse, and after forcing the half-dislodged +comb into her hair with both hands, she proceeded to cut up the +pumpkin into great yellow hoops, with another toss of her head, which +denoted intense satisfaction. + +It is possible that Salina would have been a little provoked, had she +seen with what composure uncle Nat took the rebuff, and how quietly he +settled down to a basket of large potatoes by the barn door, which he +softly cut in twain, scooping each half out in the centre, and cutting +off the bottoms with mysterious earnestness. As each potatoe was +finished, uncle Nat fastened it to the edge of a new hogshead-hoop +that lay on the floor beside him, till the whole circle was dotted +with them. + +When this mysterious circle was completed, uncle Nat tied a cord to +the four divisions of the hoop, and with the aid of a stout ladder, +suspended it between two high beams in the centre of the barn. Having +descended to the floor and taken a general observation of the effect, +he was about to mount the ladder again, when Mary Fuller ran in, eager +to make herself useful. + +"Stop, stop, uncle Nathan, let me go up, while you set down on the +corn-stalks and tell me if I place them right. Here, now, hand up the +candles," she continued, stooping down from the ladder after she had +mounted a round or two. + +Uncle Nathan drew a bundle of candles from his capacious coat-pocket +and reached them up. + +"I hope there'll be enough," he said, regretfully, "but somehow Hannah +is getting rather close with her candles." + +"Plenty--plenty," answered Mary Fuller, "we'll scatter them about, you +know; besides, Salina brought over half a dozen nice sperm ones." + +"Did she?" said uncle Nathan, heaving a deep sigh, "that's very good +of her, especially as she seems to be a little out of sorts lately +with us--don't you think so, Mary?" + +"Not at all," said Mary, laughing blithely from the top of the ladder, +as she settled the candles each into the potatoe socket prepared for +it. "Salina's cross sometimes, but then it amounts to nothing." + +The old man sat down on a bundle of corn-stalks, and quietly gazed +upon Mary as she proceeded with her task; but all at once the +folding-door was softly opened, and a broad light flooded the barn. + +"Jump down--jump down, Mary!" cried uncle Nat, "some one is coming." + +"Oh! it's only me, don't mind me, you know," said a sharp, little +weasel-eyed man gliding through the opening; "yes, I see, preparing +for the husking frolic. All right, just the thing, labor gives value +to everything--of course corn is worth more with the husks off." + +At first uncle Nathan seemed a little startled by this abrupt +entrance, and Mary came down the ladder with an anxious look, for this +man was the village constable, and with a vague sense of debts that +they did not comprehend, both the old man and girl received him with +something like apprehension. But he clasped both hands under his coat +behind, and looked so complacently first at the corn-stalks, then at +uncle Nathan, that it quite assured the old man; though Mary, who had +glided down the ladder, and stood close by his side, still bore an +apprehensive look in her eyes. + +"Fine corn!" said the constable, breaking off an ear, and stripping +the husk carelessly from the golden grain, "the rows are even as a +girl's teeth, the grain plump and full as her heart I say, uncle +Nathan, why didn't you invite me to the husking? I'm great on that +sort of work." + +"Didn't Hannah invite you?" answered uncle Nat, blushing at this +implied charge of inhospitality. "If she didn't, I'll do it now, of +course we should be glad to have you come--why not?" + +"Of course--why not? If I can't dance like some of the young fellows +at a regular strife, I'll husk more corn than the best on 'em. See if +any of 'em has as big a heap as I do after the husking. Oh, yes, +I'll come!" + +"What are you coming for?" inquired Mary, in her low, quiet way, +fixing her clear eyes on his face. + +"To dance with you, of course and to drink the old man's cider--what +else should I come for, little bob-o'-link?" + +"I don't know," answered Mary, with a faint sigh, which uncle Nat did +not hear, for he was busy gathering himself up from his low seat on +the bundle of stalks. + +"Won't you step in and take a drink of cider now?" said the kind old +man to his visitor. + +"No, thank you; but this evening, you may depend on it, I'll be among +you." + +As he said this, constable Boyd put on his hat, settled it a little on +one side, and thrusting a hand into each pocket of his coat, walked +with a great dignity toward the door. + +A yoke of oxen, fat, sleek, Old Homestead animals, lay in the grass a +little distance from the barn. + +"Fine yoke of cattle," said the constable, sauntering toward them, +"fat enough to kill a'most, ain't they?" + +"I fed them myself," answered uncle Nathan, patting a white star on +the forehead of the nearest animal, as he lay upon his knees half +buried in the rich aftergrowth. "Isn't he an old beauty?" + +"Kind in the yoke?" questioned the constable. + +"I should think so!" answered uncle Nat, with a mellow laugh. "Come go +in and see how the women folks get along." + +"No, thank you, I'll just take a short cut across the garden; but you +may depend on me to-night--good day." + +"Good day," said uncle Nat; with his usual hearty manner, and picking +up a fragment of pine, he moved with it toward the porch. + +A barrel of new cider had been mounted on the cheese-press. It was +evidently just beginning to ferment, for drops were foaming up from +the bung, and creaming down each side the barrel in two slender +rivulets. + +Uncle Nathan drove the bung down with his clenched hand. Then seating +himself comfortably in the old arm-chair, took a double-bladed knife +from his pocket, and began with great neatness to whittle out a spigot +from the fragment of pine, sighing heavily now and then, as if some +unaccountable pressure were on his mind. + +Aunt Hannah crossed the porch once or twice on her way to the +milk-room, and at each time uncle Nat ceased whittling and gazed +wistfully after her. Once he parted his lips to speak, but that moment +Salina came to the kitchen door with a quantity of apple-parings +gathered up in her apron, and called out, "Miss Hannah, do come along +with that colander, the pumpkin sarse will be biled dry as a +chip--where on arth is Mary Fuller?" + +"Here," answered Mary, in a low voice, coming down from her chamber. + +Had Salina looked up she might have seen that Mary's eyes were heavy +and moist, as if she had been weeping, but the strong-minded maiden +had emptied her apron, and sat with a large earthen bowl in her lap, +beating a dozen eggs tempestuously together, as if they had given her +mortal offence, and she were taking revenge with every dash of her +hand. + +"Throw a stick or two of wood into the oven, Mary, that's a good girl, +then take these eggs and beat them like all possessed, while I roll +out the gingerbread and cut some brake leaves in the pie crust. Aunt +Hannah now always will cut the leaves all the way of a size, as if any +one with half an eye couldn't see that it isn't the way they grow by +nature, but broad at the bottom and tapering off like an Injun arrow +at the top. Besides, Mary, it's between us, you know, aunt Hannah +never does make her thumb-marks even about the edges, but Nathan, now +I dare say, don't know the difference between her work, and a leaf +like that." + +Salina had resigned her bowl while speaking, and was now lifting up +the transparent upper crust of a pie, where she had cut a leaf, +through which the light gleamed as if it had been lace-work. + +"Look a-there, now, Mary Fuller, I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he +never noticed the difference between this and that outlandish +concern;" here Salina pointed, with a grim smile, to a neatly-covered +pie which aunt Hannah had left ready for the oven, and added, with a +profound shake of the head, which arose from that want of appreciation +which is said to be the hunger of genius, "there's no use of exerting +one's self when nobody seems to mind it." + +With these words Salina spread down the crust of her pie, and lifting +the platter on one hand cut around it with a flourish of the +case-knife, and began a pinching the edges with a determined pressure +of the lips, as if she had quite made up her mind that every +indentation of her thumb should leave its fellow on uncle Nat's +insensible heart. + +"There," she said, pushing the pie against that of aunt Hannah's, "see +if any one knows the difference between that and that--I know they +won't--there now!" + +This was said with a dash of defiance, as if she expected Mary to +contradict her, but the young girl sat languidly beating the eggs, +lost in thought; something very sad seemed to have come over her. + +"Humph?" said Salina, snuffing the air, "what's the use talking!" and +seizing the rolling-pin, she began with both hands to press out a flat +of gingerbread, and proceeded to cut it up into square cards, which +she marked in stripes with the back of her knife. Just then aunt +Hannah came from the out-room rapidly, and with a strange look in her +usually cold eyes. + +"Goodness gracious, what's the matter now?" cried the strong-minded +maiden, pointing her case-knife toward the old lady, "one would think +she'd seen a bear or a painter! What is it now, do tell?" + +Aunt Hannah did not reply, but sat down in uncle Nat's arm-chair in +silence. Mary looked up with strange confusion in her eyes; she +fancied that the cause of aunt Hannah's agitation might be the same +that had filled her own mind with forebodings, and her look was +eloquent of sympathy. + +Salina failing to obtain an answer, rushed into the front room, still +grasping her knife, and thrust her head out of the window. + +A travelling carriage was passing rather slowly, which contained three +persons, two ladies and a gentleman. The ladies leaned forward, +looking out toward the house. Never were two faces more strongly +contrasted than those; the elder, pale, withered and thin, glanced out +from a rather showy travelling bonnet for an instant, and was drawn +back again; the other, dark, sparkling and beautiful, was turned with +a look of eager interest toward the house, and as Salina gazed after +the carriage, a little gloved hand was waved toward her, as if a +recognition or adieu were intended. + +"Well now, I never did, if that isn't--no--yes--goodness me--it is +Miss Farnham!" + +Back ran the maiden to the kitchen, untying her apron as she went. She +flung the case-knife upon the table, and began vigorously dusting the +flour from her hands. + +"Where's my own bonnet? where's my shawl? I must be going--aunt +Hannah, now do guess who was in that are carriage." + +"I know!" answered the old woman, in a hoarse voice. + +Mary Fuller sat motionless, with her eager eyes on Salina, and her +lips gently parted. Thus she looked the question her lips refused to +utter. + +"Yes, it's them, Mary. The old woman, Mr. Frederick and"-- + +"And Isabel, is she with them?" + +"Well, I suppose it's her, by the way she put out her hand--but she's +grown as beautiful as a blooming wild rose, I can tell you. Now, good +day, don't let them pies burn or have them underdone at the bottom. +I'll try and run over to-night, but you mustn't depend on me; every +thing is uncertain where Miss Farnham is." + +Away went Salina through the out-room and into the street. Long before +aunt Hannah arose from her easy-chair, or Mary Fuller could conquer +the joyous trepidation in which she had been thrown, the strong-minded +maiden had disappeared along the curving shore of the river. + +After awhile aunt Hannah arose and went on with her preparation, but +in silence, and with a degree of nervous haste that Mary had never +witnessed in her before. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +THE HUSKING FROLIC. + + + There were busy hands in the rustling sheaves, + And the crash of corn in its golden fall, + With a cheerful stir of the dry husk-leaves, + And a spirit of gladness over all. + +The barn was a vast rustic bower that night. One end was heaped with +corn ready for husking; the floor was neatly swept; and overhead the +rafters were concealed by heavy garlands of white pine, golden maple +leaves, and red oak branches, that swept from the roof downwards like +a tent. Butternut leaves wreathed their clustering gold among the dark +green hemlock, while, sumach cones, with flame-colored leaves, shot +through the gorgeous forest branches. The rustic chandelier was in +full blaze, while now and then a candle gleamed out through the +garlands, starring them to the roof. Still, the illumination was +neither broad nor bold, but shed a delicious starlight through the +barn, that left much to the imagination, and concealed a thousand +little signs of love-making that would have been ventured on more +slily had the light been broader. + +But the candles were aided by a host of sparkling eyes. The air was +warm and rich with laughter and pleasant nonsense, bandied from group +to group amid the rustling of corn-husks and the dash of golden ears, +as they fell upon the heap that swelled larger and larger with every +passing minute. + +Uncle Nathan's great arm-chair had been placed in the centre of the +barn, just beneath the hoop of lights. There he sat, ruddy and +smiling, the very impersonation of a ripe harvest, with an iron +fire-shovel fastened in some mysterious manner across his seat, a +large splint basket between his knees, working away with an energy +that brought the perspiration like rain to his forehead. Up and down +across the sharp edge of the shovel, he drew the slender corn, sending +a shower of golden kernels into the basket with every pull of his arm, +and stooping now and then with a well-pleased smile to even down the +corn as it rose higher and higher in his basket. + +Our old friend Salina sat at a little distance, with her fiery tresses +rolled in upright puffs over each temple, and her great horn-comb +towering therein like a battlement. A calico gown with very gay colors +straggling over it, like honeysuckles and buttercups on a hill-side, +adorned her lathy person, leaving a trim foot visible upon a bundle of +stalks just within range of uncle Nat's eye. Not that Salina intended +it, or that uncle Nat had any particular regard for neatly clad feet, +but your strong-minded woman has an instinct which is sure to place +the few charms sparsely distributed to the class, in conspicuous +relief on all occasions. + +As Salina sat perched on the base of the corn-stalk, tearing away +vigorously at the husks, she cast an admiring glance now and then on +the old man as his head rose and fell to the motion of his hands; but +that glance was directly withdrawn with a defiant toss of the head, +for uncle Nat's eyes never once turned on the trim foot with its +calf-skin shoe, much less on its owner, who began to be a little +exasperated, as maidens of her class will when their best points are +overlooked. + +"Humph!" muttered the maiden, looking down at her calico, "one might +as well have come with a linsey-woolsey frock on for what any body +cares." In order to relieve these exasperated feelings Salina seized +an ear of corn by the dead silk and rent away the entire husk at once; +when lo! a long, plump red ear appeared, the very thing that half a +dozen of the prettiest girls on the stalk-heap had been searching and +wishing for all the evening. + +This discovery was hailed with a shout. The possession of a red ear, +according to the established usage of all husking parties, entitled +every gentleman present to a kiss from the holder. + +The barn rang again with a clamor of voices and shouts of merry +laughter. There was a general crashing down of ears upon the +corn-heap. The roguish girls that had failed in finding the red ear, +all abandoned work and began dancing over the stalk-heap, clapping +their hands like mad things, and sending shout after shout of mellow +laughter that went ringing cheerily among the starlit evergreens +overhead. + +But the young men, after the first wild shout, remained unusually +silent, looking sheepishly on each other with a shy unwillingness to +commence duty. No one seemed urgent to be first, and this very +awkwardness set the girls off like mad again. + +There sat Salina, amid the merry din, brandishing the red ear in her +hand, with a grim smile upon her mouth, prepared for a desperate +defence. + +"What's the matter, why don't you begin?" cried a pretty, black-eyed +piece of mischief, from the top of the stalk-heap; "why, before this +time, I thought you would have been snatching kisses by handsful." + +"I'd like to see them try, that's all!" said the strong-minded female, +sweeping a glance of scornful defiance over the young men. + +"Now, Joseph Nash, are you agoing to stand that?" cried the pretty +piece of mischief to a handsome young fellow that had haunted her +neighborhood all the evening; "afraid to fight for a kiss, are you?" + +"No, not exactly!" said Joseph, rolling back his wristbands and +settling himself in his clothes; "it's the after-clap, if I shouldn't +happen to please," he added, in a whisper, that brought his lips so +close to the cheek of his fair tormentor, that he absolutely gathered +toll from its peachy bloom before starting on his pilgrimage, a toll +that brought the glow still more richly to her face. + +The maiden laughing, till the tears sparkled in her eyes, pushed him +toward Salina in revenge. + +But Salina lost no time in placing herself on the defensive. She +started up, flung the bundle of stalks on which she had been seated at +the head of her assailant, kicked up a tornado of loose husks with her +trim foot, and stood brandishing her red ear furiously, as if it had +been a dagger in the hand of Lady Macbeth, rather than inoffensive +food for chickens. + +"Keep your distance, Joe Nash; keep clear of me, now I tell you; I +ain't afraid of the face of man; so back out of this while you have a +chance, you can't kiss me, I tell you, without you are stronger than I +be, and I know you are!" + +"I shan't--shan't I?" answered Joe, who was reinforced by half a dozen +laughing youngsters, all eager for a frolic; "well, I never did take a +stump from a gal in my life, so here goes for that kiss." + +Joe bounded forward as he spoke, and made a snatch at Salina with his +great hands; but, with the quickness of a deer, she sprang aside, +leaving her black silk apron in his grasp. Another plunge, and down +came the ear of corn across his head, rolling a shower of red kernels +among his thick brown hair. + +But Joe had secured his hold, and after another dash, that broke her +ear of corn in twain, Salina was left defenceless, with nothing but +her two hands to fight with; but she plied these with great vigor, +leaving long, crimson marks upon her assailant's cheeks with every +blow, till, in very self-defence, he was compelled to lessen the +distance between her face and his, thus receiving her assault upon his +shoulders. + +To this day it is rather doubtful if Joe Nash really did gather the +fruits of his victory. If he did, no satisfactory report was made to +the eager ring of listeners; and Salina stalked away from him with an +air of ineffable disdain, as if her defeat had been deprived of its +just reward. + +But the red ear gave rights to more than one, and, in her surprise, +Salina was taken unawares by some who had no roguish black eyed +lady-loves laughing behind them. There was no doubt in the matter now. +Salina paid her penalty more than once, and with a degree of +resignation that was really charming to behold. Once or twice she was +seen in the midst of the melee, to cast quick glances toward uncle +Nathan, who sat in his easy-chair laughing till the tears streamed +down his cheeks. + +Then there rose a loud clamor of cries and laughter for uncle Nathan +to claim his share of the fun. Salina declared that "she gave up--that +she was out of breath--that she couldn't expect to hold her own with a +child of three years old." In truth, she made several strides toward +the centre of the barn, covering the movement with great generalship, +by an attempt to gather up her hair and fasten the comb in securely, +which was generous and womanly, considering how inconvenient it would +have been for uncle Nat, with all his weight, to have walked over the +mountain of corn-stalks. + +"Come, hurry up, uncle Nat, before she catches breath again," cried +half a dozen voices, and the girls began to dance and clap their hands +like mad things once more. "Uncle Nat, uncle Nat, it's your turn--it's +your turn now!" + +Uncle Nathan threw the half-shelled ear upon the loose corn in his +basket, placed a plump hand on each arm of his chair, and lifted +himself to a standing posture. He moved deliberately toward the +maiden, who was still busy with her lurid tresses. His brown eyes +glistened, a broad, bland smile spread and deepened over his face, and +stealing one heavy arm around Salina's waist--who gave a little shriek +as if quite taken by surprise--he decorously placed a firm and modest +salute upon the unresisting--I am not sure that it was not the +answering--lips of that strong-minded woman. + +How unpleasant this duty may have been to uncle Nat I cannot pretend +to say; but there was a genial redness about his face when he turned +it to the light, as if it had caught a reflection from Salina's +tresses, and his brown eyes were flooded with sunshine, as if the +whole affair had been rather agreeable than otherwise. + +In fact, considering that the old man had been very decidedly out of +practice in that kind of amusement, uncle Nat acquitted himself +famously. + +When the troop of mischievous girls flocked around, tantalizing him +with fresh shouts of laughter and eyes full of glee, the dear old +fellow's face brightened with mischief akin to their own. His +twinkling eyes turned from face to face, as if puzzled which saucy +mouth to silence first. But the first stride forward brought him knee +deep into the corn-stalks, and provoked a burst of laughter that made +the garlands on the rafters tremble again. Away sprang the girls to +the very top of the heap, wild with glee and daring him to follow. + +The tumult aroused Salina. She twisted up her hair with a quick sweep +of the hand, thrust the comb in as if it had been a pitch-fork, and +darting forward, seized uncle Nat by the arm just as he was about to +make a second plunge after his pretty tormentors. + +Slowly and steadily, that strong-minded female wheeled the defenceless +man round till he faced the arm-chair. Then quietly insinuating that +"he had better not make an old fool of himself more than once a day," +she cast a look of scornful triumph upon the crowd of naughty girls, +and moved back to her place again. + +The youngsters now all fell to work more cheerfully for this burst of +fun. The stalks rustled, the corn flashed downward, the golden heap +grew and swelled to the light, slowly and surely, like a miser's gold. +All went merrily on. Among those who worked least and laughed loudest, +was the little constable that had taken so deep an interest in the +affair that morning. Never did two ferret eyes twinkle so brightly, or +peer more closely into every nook and corner. + +Two or three times Mary Fuller entered the barn, whispered a few words +to uncle Nat or Salina, and retreated again. At last aunt Hannah +appeared, hushing the mirth as night shadows drink up the sunshine. + +She made a telegraphic sign to Salina, who instantly proceeded to tie +on her apron, and communicate with uncle Nathan, who arose from his +seat, spreading his hands as if about to bestow a benediction upon the +whole company, and desired that the ladies would follow Salina into +the house, where they would find a barrel of new cider just tapped in +the stoop, and some ginger-cake and such things set out in the front +room. + +As for the gentlemen, it was always manners for them to wait till the +fair sex was served, besides, all hands would be wanted to clear out +the barn for a frolic after supper. Moreover, uncle Nat modestly +hinted that something a little stronger than cider might be depended +on for the young men, after the barn was cleared, an announcement that +served to reconcile the sterner portion of the company to their fate +better than any argument the old man had used. + +Down came the girls like a flock of birds, chatting, laughing, and +throwing coquettish glances behind, as they followed Salina from the +barn. Up sprang the young men, clearing away stalks, kicking the husks +before them in clouds, and carrying them off by armsful, till a +cow-house in the yard was choked up with them, and the barn was left +with nothing but its evergreen garlands, its starry lights, and a +golden heap of corn sloping down from each corner. + +Meantime, the bevy of fair girls, full of harmless, frolicsome mirth, +and blooming like wild roses, had trooped gaily into the old house. + +Aunt Hannah had allowed Mary Fuller to brighten up the rooms with a +profusion of autumn flowers, which, though common and coarse, half +served to light the table with their freshness and gorgeous colors. A +long table, loaded down with every domestic cake or pie known in the +country, was stretched the whole length of the out-room. Great plates +of doughnuts, darkly brown, contrasted with golden slices of +sponge-cake, gingerbread with its deeper yellow, and a rich variety of +seed cakes, each varying in form and tint, and arranged with such +natural taste that the effect was beautiful, though little glass and +no plate was there to lend a show of wealth. + +Little old-fashioned glasses, sparkling with the cider that gave them +a deep amber tinge, were ranged down each side the board, and along +the centre ran a line of noble pies. These pies were aunt Hannah's +pride and glory. She always arranged them with her own hands in +sections, first of golden custard, then of ruby tart, then the dusky +yellow of the pumpkin, and then a piece of mince, alternating them +thus, till each pie gleamed out like a great mosaic star, beautiful to +look upon and delicious to eat. + +Then there was warm short-cake and cold biscuit, the yellowest and +freshest butter, stamped in cakes, with a pair of doves cooing in the +centre, and a thousand pretty contrivances that made the table quite a +thing of romance. + +At the head stood aunt Hannah, cold and solemn, but very attentive, +just as they all remembered her from their birth up, with the same +rusty dress of levantine silk falling in scant folds down her person, +and the same little slate-colored shawl folded over her bosom, only +with a trifle more grey in her hair, and a new wrinkle or so creeping +athwart her forehead. There she stood as of old, quietly requesting +them one and all to help themselves; while Salina and Mary Fuller flew +about, breaking up the mosaic pies, handing butter to this one and +cake to that, and really seeming to make their two persons five or six +at least, in this eager hospitality. + +Aunt Hannah always threw a sort of damp on the young people. Her cold +silence chilled them, and that evening there was a shadow so deep upon +her aged face, that it seemed almost a frown. Still she exerted +herself to be hospitable; but it was of no use; the girls ranged +themselves around the table in silence, helped themselves daintily, +and conversed in whispers. Salina insisted that this state of things +arose from the absence of the young men, but as she only suggested +this in a whisper to Mary Fuller, no one was the wiser for her +opinion, and after a little there arose a fitful outbreak or two that +began to promise cheerfulness. + +It certainly was aunt Hannah's presence, for when the girls left the +out-room and trooped up to Mary's chamber, they grew cheerful as birds +again; and it was delightful to see them aiding each other in the +arrangement of the little finery which was intended to make terrible +havoc among the young men's hearts below. + +And now there was a flitting to and fro in Mary's room; a listening at +the door; and every one was in a flutter of expectation. Pink and blue +ribbons floated before the little glass, with its green crest of +asparagus-tops red with berries. Now a pair of azure eyes glanced in, +then came black ones sparkling with self-admiration. A hundred pretty +compliments were bandied back and forth. It was a charming scene. + +But even a gay toilet cannot give delight for ever. As the last ribbon +was settled, they heard the young men coming in from the barn, and the +next half hour, while the beaux were at supper, threatened to be a +heavy one with the girls. + +"Oh, what shall we do, huddled up here like chickens in a coop?" cried +one. Salina, tell us a story; come, that's a good creature." + +"Do," said Mary, earnestly, "or they will be dull. Let me run down and +help aunt Hannah." + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +THE HOUSEHOLD SACRIFICE. + + + Like a human thing she looked on me, + As I stood trembling there. + For many a day those dreamy eyes + Went with me everywhere. + +"Well," said Salina, seating herself on Mary Fuller's bed, "if you +insist on it, I'll do my best, but I can't make up nothing, never +could, and what I've got on my mind is the genuine truth." + +"That's right, tell us a true story, made up things are like novels, +and they're so wicked," cried the girls, swarming around the +strong-minded one full of curiosity, but arranging their ribbons and +smoothing down their dresses all the time, like a flock of pigeons +pluming themselves in the sunshine. + +"Come, now, Salina, begin, or the young fellers will be through +supper." + +"Well," said Salina, settling herself comfortably on the bed, and +deranging her attitude the next moment, "that sneaking constable who +came into the barn among the first, and went out again so sly, has +riled me up awfully. I've a nat'ral born hatred to all constables. +What business had he there, I'd like to know?" + +"True enough," cried one of the girls, "An old married man! why don't +he stay home with his wife and children? Nobody wants him." + +"I declare to man!" said Salina, "it made my blood bile to see him +sneaking about with both hands in his pockets, whistling to himself, +as if nobody was by; oh, I hate a constable like rank poison. They +always put me in mind of old times--when I was a young gal a year or +two ago." + +Here the girls looked at each other; none of them remembered the time +when she had appeared a day younger than now. + +"Well, as I was a saying, when I was a gal, my father and mother moved +from old Connecticut into the Lackawana valley in Pennsylvania, with +ten little children, all younger than I was. They had lost everything, +and went out into that dark, piny region to begin life agin. + +"Well, they got a patch of wild land, partly on credit, built a +log-house, and went to work. Before the year was out father died, and +we found it hard dragging to get along without crops, and deep in +debt. We gave up everything to pay store debts, and should have felt +as rich as kings, if we could only have raised what the law allowed +us. But we had no barrel of beef and pork, which even the law leaves +to a poor family, but we lived on rye and injun, with a little +molasses when we couldn't get milk. + +"The law allowed us two pigs and a cow with her calf. Our cow was a +grand good critter, capital for milk, and gentle as a lamb--you don't +know how the children took to her, and well they might--she more than +half supported them. + +"Marm did her best for the children, and I worked as hard as she did, +spinning and carding wool, which she wove into cloth on a hand-loom. + +"Well, in a year or two the calf grew into a fine heifer, and we +calculated on having milk from her after a little. So we began to fat +up the old cow, though I hain't no idea that we should ever have made +up our minds to kill her. + +"There was some debts, still, but we had given up everything once, and +neither marm nor I thought of any body's coming on us agin. So we were +proud enough of our two cows, and as long as the children had plenty +of milk, never thought of wanting beef, and the old cow might have +lived to this time for what I know if we'd been left to ourselves." + +Here Salina's voice became disturbed, and the girls settled themselves +in an attitude of profound attention. + +"Well, as I was saying, things began to brighten with us, when one day +in came the town-constable with a printed writ in his hand. + +"He'd found out that we had one more cow than the law allowed, and +came after it. + +"I thought poor marm would a-gone crazy, she felt so bad, and no +wonder, with all them children, and she a widder. It came hard, I can +tell you. + +"But the constable was determined, and what could she do but give up. +There stood the little children huddled together on the hearth, crying +as if their hearts were broke, at the bare thought of having the cow +drove off, and there was poor marm, with her apron up to her face, +a-sobbing so pitiful! + +"I couldn't stand it; my heart rose like a yeasting of bread. I +detarmined that them children and that hard-working woman should have +enough to eat, constable or no constable. + +"'Wait,' says I to the constable, 'till I go drive up the cow; she's +hard to find.' + +"He sat down. Marm and the children began to sob and cry agin. I tell +you, gals, it was cruel as the grave. + +"I went to the wood-pile and took the axe from between two logs. +Across the clearing and just in the edge of the woods I saw the old +cow and heifer browsing on the undergrowth. The old cow had a bell on +and every tinkle as she moved her head went to my heart. I had to +think of marm and the children before I could get courage to go on, +and with that to encourage me, I shook and trembled, like a murderer, +all the way across the clearing. + +"The old cow and the heifer were close by each other, browsing on the +sweet birch undergrowth that grew thick there. When I came up they +both stopped and stood looking at me with their great earnest eyes, so +wistfully, as if they wondered which I was after." + +Here Salina dashed a hand across her eyes and the color rushed into +her face, as if she were opposing a pressure of tears with great +bravery. + +"It was enough to break any one's heart to see that old cow, with the +birch twigs in her mouth, coming toward me so innocent. She +thought--poor old critter--that I'd come to milk her; but instead of +the milk-pail I had that axe in my hand. She couldn't a-known what it +meant, and yet, as true as I live, it seemed as if she did." + +"There she stood, looking in my face, wondering, I hain't no doubt, +why I didn't sit down on a log as usual, and fix my pail--and there I +stood, trembling, before the poor dumb animal, ready to fall down on +my knees and ask pardon for my cruel thoughts, and there was the +heifer looking on us both--oh, gals, gals, I hope none of you will +ever have to go through a thing like that." + +The girls thus addressed were very still, and a sob or two was just +heard while the tears leaped like hail-stones down Salina's cheeks. + +"My heart misgive me--I would't a done it. Those great innocent eyes +seemed as if they were human, I grew so weak that the axe almost fell. +I turned to go back ready to starve or anything rather than look that +animal in the face again with the axe in my hand. Yes, I turned away, +but there half across the clearing was the constable with the writ +flying out in his hand. My blood rose--I thought of the children with +nothing to eat--I don't know what I didn't think of. He was walking +fast, I turned; the cow was right before me. Oh, girls, there she +stood so quiet, chewing the green birch leaves, I was like a baby, the +axe wouldn't rise from the ground, I could not do it. + +"He called out, I heard his step in the underbrush. Then my strength +flew back. I was wild--strong as a lion, but my eyes seemed hot with +sparks of fire. I shut them, the axe swung back--a crash, a deep, wild +bellow, and she fell like a log. I had struck in the white star on her +forehead. When I opened my eyes she was looking at me, and so her eyes +stiffened in their film. I had to hold myself up by the axe-helve with +both hands. It seemed to me as if I was dying too. + +"'What have you been about, where is the cow?' said the constable, in +a passion, as he came up. + +"'There,' said I, pointing to the poor murdered critter with my +finger, 'the law, you say, won't allow us two cows, but it does give +us a barrel of beef. This is our beef--touch it if you dare!' + +"He skulked away and I fell down on my knees by the poor critter my +own hands had killed. It seemed as if my heart would break! There she +lay with the fresh green leaves in her mouth, so still, and there +stood the heifer looking at me steadily as if she wanted to speak, and +I couldn't make her understand why it had to be done. Oh, gals, gals +it was tough!" + +There was silence for a moment, they had no disposition to speak. + +"There, now, I've made you all miserable," said Salina, wiping her +eyes and making a great effort to laugh. "Hark! what's that?" + +The girls jumped up and listened, smiles chased the tears from their +eyes, the young men were coming out from supper, and joy of joys, they +heard the tones of a violin from the back stoop. + +You should have seen that group of mountain girls, struck by the +music, as each threw herself into some posture of natural grace and +listened. + +"It is, it _is_ a fiddle--where _did_ it come from? a fiddle, a +fiddle, how delightful!" and they broke into an impromptu dance, +graceful as it was wild. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +THE STRANGE MINSTREL. + + + Time weaves the web of fate around us, + In iron wool and threads of gold, + The present, and the past that bound us, + Still some new mystery unfold. + +There was, at the time of our story, a public house, or tavern, about +five minutes walk up the street from uncle Nathan's house. To this +tavern the young men betook themselves, while the girls were partaking +of aunt Hannah's hospitality; two or three of the upper rooms were +full of commotion created by the change which each deemed necessary to +his apparel, before he appeared in dancing trim before the ladies. +Flashy vests were taken from overcoat pockets. The dickies, snugly +curled under the lining of a fur cap or narrow-brimmed hat, came forth +to be arranged under neck-ties of gay hues and flowing dimensions. + +Here and there, one more exquisite than his neighbor, exchanged his +mixed socks and cowhide boots for white yarn stockings and calf-skin +pumps; but this was a mark of gentility that few ventured on, and that +was assumed with a stealthy sort of an air in a dark corner, as if the +owners of so much refinement were not quite certain of the way in +which the democratic majority might receive it. + +Never were two small mirrors brought into more general requisition +than those hanging upon the walls of the two chambers, appropriated to +uncle Nat's guests. It was like a panorama of human faces passing over +them. First a collar all awry was set right with a jerk; then the +plaits of a false bosom were smoothed down; next the tie of a flowing +silk cravat was settled; while, in other parts of the room, there was +a stealthy display of private rolls of pomatum, and a desperate +brushing of hair, sometimes refractory to anything but the fingers. + +Then followed a deal of bustle and confusion, half a dozen young +fellows crowding at once to the mirror in hot haste to catch a last +glimpse. Red bandana handkerchiefs fluttered out of a dozen pockets +and back again, mysteriously leaving a corner visible. Then there was +a general movement toward the door, and the crowd descended, each +youth treading lighter by far than when he went up, and moving with +the air of a man expected to change his manners somewhat with his +garments. + +While all this was going on above stairs, there sat in the bar-room +below a fair young man, travel-soiled and looking weary, like an +over-taxed child. He was very slender, and with a sort of a lily +paleness on his forehead, that fatigue or sorrow had lent to its +natural delicacy. + +His garments were old and threadbare. Dust from the highway had +settled upon them, and the crown of his hat which lay on the floor +beside him, had taken a reddish tinge from the same source. + +He sat in a remote corner of the room, on a buffalo skin that had been +flung over a wooden bench, where travellers sometimes cast themselves +down for temporary rest. His hands were clasped over the smaller end +of a violin-case that stood upright before him, and his forehead fell +wearily upon them. + +"Look there!" said one of the young men, turning to his companions, +who were descending the stairs, "don't that look tremendously like a +fiddle?" + +"A fiddle! a fiddle!" ran from lip to lip, till the sound ended in a +shout up stairs. "Let us see where it is. Where did it come from?" + +This clamor aroused the young man, who lifted his forehead from the +violin-case and turned a pair of full blue eyes misty from fatigue or +some other cause, upon the group. + +The young men paused and looked at each other. There was something +touchingly beautiful about that young face which impressed them with a +sentiment of awe. + +Still the youth gazed upon them with an unmoved look, like one who +listened rather than saw with his eyes. Meanwhile, a smile stole over +his lips, so child-like and sweet, that it made the young men still +more reluctant to approach him; he seemed so far removed from their +nature with that smile, for the lamplight glimmering through the thick +waves of his golden brown hair shed a sort of glory around him. + +"I wonder if he plays on it himself," said one of the young men in a +whisper. + +"Did any one speak of me?" said the stranger, in a voice so rich and +sweet, that there seemed no need of other music to him. + +"Well, yes," answered the foremost youth, advancing toward him. "We've +got a husking frolic on hand, and are all ready for dancing; but there +isn't a fiddle within ten miles, nor any one to play it if there was. +We might have got along with the girls singing well enough, I suppose, +but the sight of this fiddle-case has set us all agoing for a little +music." + +"Oh," said the youth, with a smile, "it's my violin you wish to have; +but I am very tired; for I've travelled since noon, and your stages +are wearisome over the mountains." + +"It's of no use asking you to play for us then, I suppose?" said the +young farmer, in a disappointed tone. + +The youth shook his head, but very gently, as one who refuses against +his will; and this gave his petitioner a gleam of hope. + +"Wouldn't a good supper, and a cup of cider that'll make your palate +tingle, set you up again?" he pleaded. "There's a hull hive of purty +gals over at uncle Nat's, that would jump right out of their skins at +the first sound of that fiddle. If you only could now." + +"Give me a crust of bread and a cup of drink, and I will try and +please you. I think it is, perhaps, as much the want of food as +weariness that has taken away my strength." + +The young men looked at each other. "Want of food," said one of them, +"why, didn't you find taverns on the way?" + +"Yes," answered the stranger, sadly, "but I had no appetite; I came +here in hopes the mountain air would give me one, but, with fatigue +and fasting, I am faint." + +The group of youngsters drew together, and a whispered conversation +commenced, which was followed by the clink of silver, as each one +dropped a two shilling piece into the hat of the young man who had +been most active in the negotiation. + +"Here," said the youth, holding forth the money, "an even exchange is +no robbery. Set the old fiddle to work, and here is enough dimes to +last you a week." + +The stranger blushed crimson, and the white lids drooped over his +eyes, as if something had been said to wound him. + +"No," he said, with a quivering smile, "my poor music is not worth +selling. Besides, my journey must end not far from this, or I have +travelled slowly. Give me some clean water for my face and hands, that +is all I ask." + +"Of course we will, with a famous supper, too, that would make a ghost +hungry. Come with us up to uncle Nat's. Water, why there is a trough +full at his back door, that you may bathe in all over if you like; and +as for cider, we'll just try that before you say anything about it." + +The stranger arose and took up his violin; then lifting his large +eyes, misty with fatigue, he said almost mournfully-- + +"Will some one give me his arm? I am very weary." + +The young men became at once silent and respectful with these words, +for there was something of reverence in their sympathy with a being at +once so feeble and so full of gentle dignity. + +"Let me carry the violin," said one, while another stout, brave fellow +clasped the slender hand of the stranger, drew it over his own strong +arm and led him carefully forth, hushing even the cheery tones of his +voice as he spoke to the youth. + +Thus subdued from hilarity to kindness, the group of young men +conducted their new friend to the Old Homestead and into the outer +room, where the table was newly spread, and where uncle Nat stood with +a huge brown cider pitcher in his hand from which he began to fill the +glasses as the crowd of guests rushed in. + +Aunt Hannah, having performed her duty among her female guests, was +busy in the milk-room, cutting up pies, dividing pound-cake into +sections, and slicing cards of gingerbread, while uncle Nat presided +diligently at the cider-cask. + +Thus it happened that the stranger was almost overlooked in the crowd, +for he sat down in a corner of the room, where his new friend brought +him in abundance of dainties from the table, for Mary was too busy +even for a glance that way. + +"How do you feel now? Stronger, I know by your mouth; there's color in +the lips now," said the young man, who had taken a leading interest in +the stranger from the first. + +"Oh! yes, I am much stronger," answered the youth, with one of the +sweetest smiles that ever beamed on a human face. "A little fresh +water now, and you shall see if I haven't music in the old violin." + +"Come this way. The water-trough is out by the back porch." + +The youth took up his violin, saying very gently that he never left +that behind him, and following the lead of his friend glided from the +room. + +After bathing his hands and face, leaving them pure and white as those +of a girl, he went back to the porch, and seating himself in uncle +Nat's arm-chair, drew forth his violin and began to tune it. + +Uncle Nat was just returning the spigot to his cider barrel, after +having filled the brown pitcher once more to the brim; but at the +first sound of the violin, an instrument he had not heard for years, +the spigot dropped to the floor, and out rushed the cider in a quick +amber stream, overflowing the pitcher, dashing down to the floor, and +rushing off in a tiny river the sloping edge of the porch. You could +hear it creeping in a rich current through the plaintain leaves, while +uncle Nat stood quite oblivious of the waste, listening like a great +school boy to the violin. + +An exclamation from Salina, who had just left her friends in the +dressing-room, as she came forth and seized the pitcher, brought the +good old man to his senses. Clapping his fat hand over the aperture, +he drove the cider back in the cask, and looked right and left over +his shoulder for the spigot, avoiding the scornful eyes of that +exemplary female, who stood with the pitcher between her hands, over +which the surplus moisture went dripping, like an antiquated Hebe +defying an overgrown Ganymede. + +"There!" exclaimed the strong-minded damsel, pointing toward the +spigot with her foot, "there's at least two gallons of the best cider +in the county gone to nothing. What do you think aunt Hannah will do +for apple sauce, if you go on this way, making regular mill-dams out +of her sweet cider?" + +"Maybe we'd better say nothing about it," answered uncle Nat, making +futile efforts to restrain the cider with one hand and reach the +spigot with the other, "dear me, I can't reach it. Now, dear Miss +Salina, if you only would." + +"Dear Miss Salina!" The strong-minded one turned at the words, +blushing till her face rivalled those fiery tresses. She sat down her +pitcher, shook the drops from her fingers, and seizing the important +bit of pine presented it to uncle Nathan. + +All this time the young stranger had paused in tuning his violin, but +when uncle Nat drew a deep breath, after repairing the mischief +already done, out came a gush of music that made him start again, and +threw the strong-minded woman into a fit of excitement, quite +startling. She seized uncle Nat's moist hand and unconsciously--it +must have been unconsciously--pressed it in her wiry fingers. + +"Music! Did you ever hear such music, uncle Nathan! It's enough to set +one off a-dancing." + +"Well, why not?" answered uncle Nathan. + +"Yes, why not?" replied the strong-minded one, "if the other young +people dance, why shouldn't we?" + +"Of course," said uncle Nat, wiping his hands on the roller towel. +"Why not? I shouldn't wonder if we astonish these youngsters." + +"And aunt Hannah, too," chimed in Salina. + +"Oh! I'd forgot her," said uncle Nat, looking wistfully toward the +milk-room door, "I'm afraid it won't do, she'll think--but here they +come, like a flock of blackbirds!" + +True enough, the first full notes of the violin had drawn the crowd of +girls from the chamber overhead, and down they came, laughing and +racing through the kitchen, perfectly wild with delight. + +"Uncle Nat, dear, dear, uncle Nat, is it really a violin? Will aunt +Hannah let us dance to anything but singing?" cried a dozen voices; +and uncle Nathan was at once surrounded by a rainbow of streaming +ribbons and floating ringlets, while a host of merry eyes flashed +their delight upon him. + +"I don't know--I can't take it on myself to say," cried uncle Nathan, +quite beside himself, "you must ask some one else. I haven't any +objection in life"-- + +"Nor I," said Salina, "and that's two agin one, if Miss Hannah _does_ +stand out. Come, I'll go with you. We'll say that I, and all the other +young girls, have just made up our mouths to dance after a fiddle, and +we mean to, that's all." + +"Stop, stop a minute!" exclaimed uncle Nathan, spreading his hands, +"maybe you'd better say nothing about it, but just go into the barn +and begin. If sister Hannah has got a conscience agin dancing to a +fiddle, you know, it ain't worth while to wake it up; but there's more +ways of getting into a lot than by taking down the bars. Jest climb +the fence, that's all." + +How uncle Nathan ever came to give this worldly piece of advice is +still a mystery. Some insinuated that the cider had sent its sparkles +to his brain, and others thought the music had aroused some sleeping +mischief there. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps too the bright eyes and +ripe laughter around him had something to do with the matter. + +At any rate the advice was too pleasant not to be taken. A telegraphic +signal brought the young men from the out-room, and off the company +fluttered in pairs toward the barn making the starlight melodious with +their laughter. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +A DANCE AFTER HUSKING + + + Merrily--merrily went the night + The laugh rang out + And a gleeful shout, + Shook the autumn leaves in that starry light. + +In their haste the young people had left the strange youth seated in +the chair, in a dark end of the porch. + +"Come," said uncle Nat, in his kindly fashion, "you and I will follow +them." + +"Thank you;" said the youth, rising, "it has been a long ride, and I +was growing weary." + +"Have you been sick?" said the old man, sorrowfully. + +"It's hard!" + +He paused. A strange thrill shot over him, as the hand of the youth +touched his. "Come," he added, tenderly, leading the stranger on, "I +have strength for us both." + +The slender hand trembled in his clasp; the agitation was mutual; for +through the young man's delicately organized frame ran a spark of joy +that warmed him to the heart. They walked on together in silence, both +thrilled with a strange sensation of pleasure, and drawn, as it were, +by invisible influences toward each other. + +"I'm afraid," said the youth, "I'm afraid my music will disappoint +them. I know hardly any but sacred or sad airs." + +His voice made all the blood in uncle Nathan's veins start again; it +was music in itself, such music as brought back his youth, sad and +ineffably sweet. + +"Oh," answered uncle Nathan, drawing a deep, pleasant breath, "you +must have a dancing tune or so, Yankee Doodle, Money-Musk, and +Money-in-both-pockets, as like as not." + +"Yankee Doodle, oh, yes, it was the first air I ever learned, how my +poor father loved it--as for the rest--well, we shall see." + +Uncle Nathan's chair had been placed near the door as it happened, +away from the light which fell warmest in the centre of the barn. +Thus, during the whole evening, the young musician had been constantly +surrounded by shadows that left his features mysteriously undefined. +Still, uncle Nathan hovered by; his warm heart yearned to sun itself +near the youth. + +When the stranger drew forth his bow, and, without a prelude, dashed +into Yankee Doodle, uncle Nat sunk to a rustic bench, covered his face +with both bands, and absolutely shivered under the floods of +tenderness let into his soul with the music. + +But no one heeded the old man; why should they? Couple after couple +rushed up to the centre of the barn, gaily disputing for places +beneath the rustic chandelier, while here and there a young fellow, +more eager than the rest, broke into a double shuffle or cut a subdued +pigeon-wing as an impromptu while the set was forming. + +It was no wonder. The violin was absolutely showering down music. A +thousand strings seemed to find voice beneath those slender fingers. +It set the young people off like birds in a thicket, down the outside, +up, down the middle, swinging corners, oh, it is impossible for a pen +to keep up with them, that is not naturally musical. + +There they go, whirling, smiling, dancing higher and faster, flying +with the music till they pause, flushed and panting, at the bottom of +the set. Even now they cannot be still, but give each other a +superfluous twirl, or go on in a promiscuous way, doing over again the +dance in fragments, till their turn comes back. + +Somehow Yankee Doodle wavered off into various other airs quite +unknown to the dancers, all swelling free and with a bold sweep of +sound, as if the musician improvised as much in his music as the +company certainly did in their dancing. But it was the more +exhilarating for that, and never did enjoyment run higher or mirth +gush out more cheerily. + +Mary Fuller had made her way quietly into the barn, and seating +herself by uncle Nathan, watched the bright revel as it went on, +filled with a pleasant sort of wonder that anything could be so happy +as these gay revellers seemed. Once or twice she was asked to dance, +but shrunk sensitively from the proposition. + +Salina stood erect by uncle Nathan, with her arms folded and her head +on one side, filled with burning indignation against mankind in +general, and dear old uncle Nathan in particular, because she was left +a solitary wall-flower planted in the very calf-skin shoes which she +had expected to exhibit, at least in a French Four, with that rotund +gentleman. + +There was a change in the music. The strings trembled and thrilled a +moment, then out came a wild gush of melody that made the very dancers +pause and hold their breath to listen. + +Mary Fuller started to her feet one moment. The color left her lips, +and then back it came, firing her face with scarlet to the brows. + +"Uncle Nat, uncle Nat," she said, seizing him by the arm, "that +music!--I've heard it before--listen--listen!" + +She sat down trembling from head to foot, but her grey eyes flashed +from beneath their drooping lids, and her mouth grew tremulous with +agitation. When the air was finished, for it died off in a few +plaintive notes, as if the violinist had entirely forgotten the +dancers, Mary arose and crept softly toward the musician, till she +could obtain a view of his face. By the stray candles that wavered to +and fro among the evergreens, she could dimly see the white outline of +those pure features and the mysterious beauty of the eyes. + +Now her countenance, hitherto varying and anxious, settled into a warm +flush of joy; she drew close to the musician, and resting one hand on +the back of his chair, placed the other softly on his arm. + +"Joseph--Joseph Esmond," she said, in a voice that scarcely rose above +a whisper. "Is it you, Joseph?" + +He started and turned his eyes toward her. + +"I know the touch of your hand, Mary Fuller; and your voice is full of +the old music. Where am I? How does it happen that you and I meet +here?" + +"I live here--I have friends, oh! such kind friends. And you, Joseph, +how came you here? Where is your father--that dear, good father? +Surely he is well." + +"My father," said the youth, bowing his head, with a look of touching +sorrow, "my father is dead--I am alone in the world, but for this!" + +He touched his violin with a mournful smile. + +"Then you and I are orphans alike." But she added more cheerfully, "we +are not alone, you have your music, and your art, and I have my, +my--oh, I have many things." + +"Music, music!" called out the dancers, impatiently, from the floor. + +Mary drew back. + +"Don't leave me," said the youth, anxiously. "Come listen to my old +friend here, and we will talk between the dances." + +"Leave you?" replied the young girl; "you do not know, you cannot +guess how happy I am to see you again." + +"And I," answered the youth, smiling softly, "I can feel how beautiful +everything is around me when you are near. Did you know how my father +loved you, and how he grieved over it when you left us?" + +"Did he?" answered Mary, with a low sob, "how often I thought of you +and him; but he must have known where we went." + +"Not till Frederick came back at vacation; soon after you began to +write, Mary. Then he was so pleased to hear from you. We heard you had +been taken from the Alms-House." + +"Music, music!" clamored the dancers once more. The young man took up +his bow with a sigh. + +"Listen, listen," he said, softly, drawing it across the strings. "Do +you remember the music we had that night? I will give it to you +again." + +He began to play, and while others were dancing merrily, she listened +till her young heart filled and her eyes were crowded full of tears. +She remembered that small room high up in a city dwelling. The +furniture was scant but neat, and so daintily arranged. The bright +cooking-stove, the bird-cage, the little round work-stand, above all, +the handsome, cheerful woman, with her household love and genial +benevolence, Isabel Chester's mother--how vividly the sight of that +young minstrel brought all this to her memory. + +The music was ringing cheerily through the barn, which trembled to the +buoyant movements of the dancers, till the garlands shook upon the +walls, and all the lights seemed to twinkle and reel with sympathetic +motion. But the face of the violinist grew sad in its expression, and +as Mary Fuller gazed at it through her tears, her heart trembled +within her, though a gleam of most exquisite pleasure lay at the +bottom--pleasure so unlike anything she had ever felt that its very +newness made her tremble. + +"Don't you dance, Mary?" inquired the musician, speaking to her, but +without a break in his music. + +"Dance!" she answered, smiling upon him, "no, I never have danced in +my life." + +"Oh! if you would dance now. I should like to see how you look when +quite happy--my heart used to ache to see you thus, Mary." + +Mary shrunk back blushing and frightened, he spoke so earnestly. + +"No, no," she stammered, "I don't know how to dance; but I am very, +very happy." + +The young musician shook his head, and the light of a stray candle +rippled through his hair like gold. There was something angelic in his +aspect, as he murmured amid the music, + +"Oh! but she is heavenly. Never on earth have I heard a voice so full +of melody. Sweet spring sounds and the breath of flowers seem floating +in it. Oh! she is so good, this dear child." + +Then he began to smile again; richer sounds gushed from beneath his +fingers; the dancers fell into a circle; the steps grew lighter. The +ring of life flashed round beneath the lights, whirling its way amid +floods of laughter, like a water-wheel casting off rainbows and foam +in the sunshine. The ring gave way; its sunny links broke into pairs; +balancing, smiling, and gliding off to the half-hushed music; all glad +to rest, but eager to begin again. + +That moment the double doors were softly pushed open, and a group of +visitors entered the barn, almost unnoticed at first, but that soon +cast a restraint upon all this hilarity. + +It was a young man, evidently from the city, and a fair girl so +beautiful that the whole company paused to look at her. + +She was dressed very plainly, in a dark silk travelling-dress, and her +air was remarkable only for its simple quietness, though her large +eyes turned with a look of eager haste from form to form, as if she +were searching for some one. + +Mary Fuller, who had been standing by the violinist, very thoughtful, +and with her eyes dim with heart-mist, saw the group come in. She drew +her hands across her eyes to clear their sight, clasped them with an +exclamation of joy, and moving down through the shadows stood close to +the young stranger. + +"Isabel! Isabel!" broke from her eager lips. + +Isabel Chester turned. Her face was radiant. She opened her arms, and +with an exclamation of delight, received Mary to her bosom. + +"Mary, dear, dear little Mary Fuller--how glad I am. You love me yet, +I know. She never would forget me, any more than I could forget her. +Come, talk to me, I was determined to see you before I slept, and so +persuaded Fred--Mr. Farnham, I mean--oh, Frederick, isn't she a dear +creature?" + +Isabel drew Mary's face from her bosom, and stood with one arm around +her as she said this. + +Young Farnham reached forth his hand; before he could speak, Isabel +went on. + +"She has grown a little, too; reaches to my shoulder and rather more; +her eyes, oh! I knew her eyes would be beautiful; and, and there is +something about her that I didn't expect. Frederick, why don't you +tell Mary Fuller that she's handsome? There now, isn't that look +something better than beauty? Oh! Mary Fuller, how glad I am to see +you." + +Tears were flashing like diamonds down the peachy bloom of Isabel's +cheek; for Mary had crept to her bosom again, and she felt the shiver +of delight that shook the young creature from head to foot. Her own +heart leaped back to its old memories, and swelled against the +clinging form of her friend. + +"That's right, that's just about as it ought to be," exclaimed Salina, +coming forward triumphantly, for her honest heart rose to meet the +scene. "I knew she'd be here afore bed-time, if New York finery and +foreign countries hadn't completely upset her. Isabel Chester, you're +a fust rate gal, and I say it. Mr. Farnham, she's a credit to human +nature. You may reckon on that, now I tell you. Says I to myself, says +I, 'that are gal is sure to come up to the Old Homestead afore +bed-time or I lose my guess.' Wasn't I right?" + +"You always think too well of me," said Isabel, laughing through her +tears. "Come, Mary, let me hear your voice. You haven't spoken a word +yet." + +"Oh! I love you so much Isabel! I'm _so_ happy, Isabel." + +Isabel bent down and kissed the happy face upon her bosom. As she +lifted her eyes again, they fell upon the strange musician, who, +disturbed by voices that he recognized, had moved toward them +unnoticed. + +"Who, who is this, Mary Fuller? I remember the face. No, no, it's one +of Guido's heads that has bewildered me. Surely I never saw anything +living like that before. It is Guido's Michael in repose. Look up, +Mary, and tell me who this young man is." + +Isabel spoke in a low voice, regarding the youth with a look of +mingled admiration and surprise, while the tears still sparkled on her +cheeks. + +Mary looked up; her eyes kindled, and she smiled proudly through her +tears. + +"Isabel? Can't you remember something that you have seen before in his +face?" + +"I don't know. The memory of a picture I saw at Rome blinds me. Who is +it, say?" + +"Hush, Isabel! you will grow sad when I tell you. That night when you +and I watched"-- + +"Yes," answered Isabel, drooping her head, "I shall never forget that +night." + +"Do you remember who was with us, Isabel?" + +"That angel boy." + +"Yes, Isabel. It is Joseph Esmond." + +"Oh! this is too much happiness. All of us together again," and with +her arm still flung caressingly over Mary's shoulder, Isabel Chester +moved toward the youth; but she was checked by the capacious person of +uncle Nat, who came between her and her object with a look of strange +interest on his face. His hands were clasped, and you could see the +plump fingers working nervously around each other; while his eyes +filled and shone with anxious tenderness. At length, after a long +gaze, his chest swelled like the heave of an ocean wave; his hands +fell apart, and he murmured softly, as if speaking only to himself. + +"It is little Anna's boy!" + +"Who speaks my mother's name?" inquired the youth, in his low, gentle +way; "surely some one is near that I ought to love." + +"Ought to love?" cried uncle Nat, seizing the hand which had been half +extended. "Ought to love? Why it would be again nature and the Lord's +Providence, if you didn't love Nathan Heap, the old man that"-- + +Uncle Nat checked himself; a crowd had gathered around him; but the +feelings he was constrained to suppress broke forth in two large tears +that rolled down his broad cheeks. + +"Nephew," he sobbed, shaking the hand that he still grasped, "you're +welcome to the Old Homestead. Neighbors," he added with dignity, +"suppose you make out the evening with blind-man's-buff, or +Who's-got-the-button? This is my own nephew, that I haven't seen since +he was a baby. You won't expect him to play any more to-night; he's +tired out; and I"-- + +The old man's lips began to tremble, and tears came again to his eyes, +and coursed rapidly after those that had fallen. He shook his head; +tried to go on without success; and taking Joseph by the hand led him +toward the door. + +"Stop, just one minute, now, till I've done a little chance of +business," cried the constable, creeping out from a corner of the +barn, where the husked ears had been piled, and planting himself, like +a pert exclamation point, before the old man. "I've got to make a levy +on this corn heap," he said; "the oxen out yonder, and sundry other +goods and chattels about the Old Homestead. I want to do everything +fair and above board, so just wait to see the law executed." + +Uncle Nathan paused, half wondering, half shocked at the man's words. + +"What! the corn that my kind neighbors have just husked? the oxen I +brought up from steers? who has a right to take them?" + +"There's the writ. All correct you'll find. Madam Farnham claims a +right to her own, and I'm here to see that she gets it." + +"Madam Farnham, my mother!" cried young Farnham, indignantly. "Knave, +you slander my mother." + +"You'll find it there," said the little constable, dashing the back of +his dirty hand against the open writ. "Your mother, if she is your +mother, authorized me to buy up all claims agin uncle Nat here and +aunt Hannah, six months ago; and I've done it. Five hundred and ten +dollars with costs." + +"Come with me," answered the young man, sternly. "Isabel, go to the +house with Salina. I will return." + +He took the constable by the arm and led him out, followed by hoots +and cheers from the young farmers. + +Uncle Nathan stood for a moment, dumb with amazement; then he drew a +deep breath and grasped his nephew's hand more firmly. + +"It seems as if the Old Homestead was falling around us," he said, +"but so long as a shingle is left, it shall shelter my sister Anna's +son." + +And he led the young man forth into the starlight. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +THE MOTHER, THE SON, AND THE ORPHAN + + + Age is august, and goodness is sublime, + When years have given them a solemn power. + But souls that grow not with advancing time, + Like withered fruit, but mock life's opening flower. + +"Mother!" + +"My son, don't speak so loud; you quite make me start; and with these +delicate nerves you know a shock is quite dreadful--why don't you say +mamma, softly, with the pure French pronunciation, and an Italian +tone; that's the proper medium, Fred. 'Mother!' I did hope, after +travelling so many years, that you would have forgotten the word." + +"No, mother; I have not lost the dear old English of that word, and +pray God that I never may. Still more do I hope never to lose that +respect, that affection, which should make the name of mother a holy +thing to every son." + +"My dear son, don't you understand that affection uttered in vulgar +language loses its--its--yes, its perfume, as I may express it. Now +there is something so sweet in the word mamma, so softly fraternal--in +short, I quite hear you cry from your little crib with its lace +curtains, when you utter it." + +"Mother, let us be serious a moment." + +"Serious, my child? What on earth do you want to be serious for?" + +Here young Farnham took a paper from his pocket, and held it before +his mother's face. "Mother, what is this? Did you authorize the +purchase of these claims against the helpless old man and woman down +yonder?" he said. + +Mrs. Farnham turned her head aside, and taking a crystal flask from +the table before her, refreshed herself languidly with its perfume. + +"Did you authorize this, madam?" cried the young man, impatiently, +dashing one hand against the paper that he held in the other. "This +purchase, and after that the seizure of the old man's property?" + +"Dear me, how worrying you are," answered the lady, burying the pale +wrinkles of her forehead in the lace of her handkerchief; "how can I +remember all the orders with regard to a property like ours?" + +"But do you remember _this_?" + +"Why, no, of course I don't," cried the lady, with a flush stealing up +through her wrinkles, as the miserable falsehood crept out from her +heart; "of course the man did it all on his own account, there's no +medium with such people. Certainly it was his own work. What do I know +about business?" + +The young man looked at her sternly. She had not deceived him, and a +bitter thought of her utter unworthiness made the proud heart sink in +his bosom. + +"Mother," he said, coldly, and with a look of profound sorrow, +"whoever has been the instigator, this is a cruel act; but I have +prevented the evil it might have done." + +"_You_ prevented it, how?" cried the mother, starting to her feet, +white with rage, all her langour and affectation forgotten in the +burst of malicious surprise, that trembled on her thin lips, and gave +to her pale, watery eyes the expression, without the brilliancy, that +we find in those of a trodden serpent. "What have you done, I say?" + +"I paid the money!" + +Mrs. Farnham sat down, and remained a moment gazing on the calm, +severe face of the youth, with her thin hand clenched upon the folds +of her morning dress, and her foot moving impetuously up and down on +the carpet, as if she wanted to spring up and rend him to pieces. + +The youth had evidently witnessed these paroxysms of rage before, for +he bent his eyes to the ground as if the sight awoke some old pain, +and turning quietly, seemed about to leave the room. + +"You have done this without consulting me--countermanded my orders, +defeated my object--how like you are to your father, now." + +The last words were uttered with a burst of spite, as if they +contained the very essence of bitterness, the last drop in the vials +of her wrath. + +The youth turned and lifted his eyes, full of sorrowful sternness, to +her face. "Then you did--you did!" He paused, and his lips began to +tremble under the muttered reproaches that sprang up from his heart. + +"Yes," cried the woman, weak in everything but her malice, "yes, then, +I did order it done--these people have tormented me enough with their +miserable old house, always before my eyes, and that grim ugly face +staring at me as I go to church. I tell you they shall leave the +neighborhood, or I will. Give me the papers." + +The youth lifted his eyes and regarded her sternly. + +"They are cancelled, madam, and torn to ribbons, that our name might +not be disgraced." + +"Torn to pieces?" + +"Into a thousand pieces, madam. I would have ground them to dust, if +possible." + +"You shall answer for this," cried the baffled woman, and with that +sort of weak ferocity which is so repulsive, she sat down and began to +cry. + +The young man drew close to her chair, for though his whole soul +recoiled from sympathy with her, he forced himself to remember that +she was his mother, and in tears. + +"Why do you dislike these old people so much?" he urged, with an +attempt at soothing her. + +"Because _he_ liked them!" she answered, dashing his proffered hand +aside; "because his low tastes followed him to the last; he was always +talking of the creature that died the night you were born. He cared +more for her to the last, than he ever did for me; and I hate them +for it. Now, are you satisfied?" + +"Mother, you are talking of things that I do not understand." + +"Well, your father was engaged to Anna, the girl that died in the old +hovel down yonder; engaged to her when he married me." + +"Then my father committed a great wrong!" + +"A great wrong! Who ever doubted it, I should like to know? Even to +think of her after marrying me--to say nothing of the way he went +on--sometimes talking about her in my presence, with tears in his +eyes. Once, once, would you believe it! he said--to me--me, his lawful +wife, that your eyes--it was when you just began to walk--that my own +baby's eyes put him in mind of her." + +"I know very little of my father, nothing in fact, for he was a +reserved man, always; but it is hard to believe that he would +willfully do this foul wrong to a woman." + +"Willfully! I wish you could have seen him when I, with the proper +spirit of a woman, felt it my duty to expostulate with him about his +feelings for that creature; how he took me up as if I were to blame +for being young and beautiful, and engaged in the bazar just under his +hotel, as if I had some design in standing at the door about +meal-times, or could help him coming in after collars and cravats +afterward, and, and"-- + +She stopped suddenly, and all the sallow wrinkles of her face burned +with a crimson more vivid than exposure in the actual commission of a +crime would have kindled there. Her mean spirit cowered beneath the +looks of surprise that her son fixed upon her, as this confession of +original poverty escaped her lips. + +"I mean, I mean," she stammered, after biting her lips half through in +impatient wrath, "that he should want my advice about such things +before he was married." + +It is a mournful thing when respect becomes a duty impossible to +perform. Young Farnham felt this, and again his eyes drooped, while a +flush of shame stole over his forehead. + +"Well, madam," a woman of more sensitive feelings would have noticed +that he did not call her mother, "well, madam, whatever cause of +dislike may have been in this case, I cannot regret that all power to +harm these old people is now at an end. The notes are cancelled, the +money paid to your agent from my own pocket." + +"But you had no right to pay this. You are not yet of age by some +months. I will not sanction this extravagance." + +"Nay, madam, this money is mine, and was saved from the extravagance +that you _did_ sanction. I had intended to purchase a gift for Isabel +with it, but she will be better pleased as it is." + +"To Isabel, five hundred dollars to Isabel!" cried the harsh woman. +"This is putting a beggar on horseback with a vengeance." + +"Hush, madam, I will not listen to this; you know, or might have seen +long before this, that the young girl your language insults, has +refused to become my wife." + +"Your _wife_! Isabel Chester _your_ wife! A pauper, and the child of a +pauper! Say it again, say that again if you dare!" cried the woman in +a whirlwind of passion. "Say that the policeman's daughter has refused +you!" + +"When you are calmer, madam, I will repeat it, for no truth can be +more fixed, but now it would only exasperate you." + +"Go on--go on, let me hear it again. It proves the Farnham blood in +your veins, always sighing and grovelling after low objects. Go on, +sir, I am listening--you intend to make _me_ mother-in-law to a +pauper; a miserable thing that I took to keep me company, as I would a +poodle-dog, and dressed and petted just in the same way. Marry her! +try it, and I'll make a beggar of _you_!" + +"I do not know that you have the power to make me a beggar, madam, but +a slave you never shall make me; as for Isabel," he added, with a +scornful smile on his lips, firing up with something of her own +ungovernable anger, "she is at least your equal and mine." + +"_My_ equal, the pauper, the--the--oh--oh!" + +Insane with bitter passion, the woman stamped her foot fiercely on the +floor, and began tearing the delicate lace from her handkerchief with +her teeth, laughter and hysterical sobs hissing through them at the +same moment. + +"Madam, restrain yourself," pleaded the young man, greatly shocked, "I +have been to blame, I should have told you of this some other time." + +"Never, never," she answered, tearing the handkerchief from her teeth, +and dashing it fiercely to the floor. "The miserable Alms-House bird +shall leave my roof. I have got her pauper garments yet--would you +like to see them?--a blue chambrey frock and checked sun-bonnet--it +was all she brought here--and shall be all she takes away." + +Again she stamped fiercely with her foot, and menaced her son with her +hand. "Send the girl to me, I say!" + +"I am here, madam," said Isabel, arising from a chair by the door, +where she had fallen paralyzed and unnoticed, on her entrance, just as +her name was brought up. Her cheeks were in a blaze of red, and her +eyes emitted quick gleams of light. "I am here to take leave of you +for ever." Isabel's voice was constrained and hoarse; her face was +white with passion. + +"Isabel, Isabel Chester!" exclaimed young Farnham, turning pale, and +yet with a glow of animation in his fine eyes, "my mother was angry; +she would not repeat those offensive words; she loves you!" + +"But I do _not_ love _her_!" answered the proud girl, regarding the +woman whom the world called her benefactress, with a glance of queenly +scorn. "Her very kindness has always been oppressive; her presence +almost hateful; now it is entirely so." + +"Isabel, Isabel!" exclaimed the young man, "remember she is my mother, +and you, beloved--oh, let me say to her, that you will be my wife!" + +Isabel Chester turned her beautiful eyes upon him, and proud fire +gleamed through the tears that filled them like star-light in the +evening mist. + +"No!" she answered in a very firm voice, "never will I become the wife +of that woman's son. My very soul recoils from the thought that she +who can so insult, ever had the power to confer benefits upon me. She +is right; I will go forth in the pauper garments in which she found me +at first. God has given me health, talent, energy; with his help I +will yet repay this lady, dollar for dollar, all that she has ever +expended on me. I shall never breathe deeply again till this is done." + +"This is gratitude, this is just what I expected from the first," said +Mrs. Farnham, applying the mutilated handkerchief to her eyes. "It's +enough to sicken one with benevolence for ever. This girl, now, that +I've educated, taught everything, music, painting, all the ologies and +other sciences see how she has repaid me, after putting herself in the +way of my son, and tempting him to degrade himself by marrying her!" + +Young Farnham started forward and attempted to arrest Isabel, who had +turned in proud silence, and was leaving the room. + +"Isabel, where are you going?" + +She turned, and looking into his anxious eyes, answered, + +"Anywhere out of this house, and away from her presence." + +"No, no, you shall not do this." + +"I must; ask yourself if I could remain here another hour without +being in soul what she has called me in name--a pauper." + +Farnham paused. Rapid changes, the shadows of many a turbulent +thought, swept over his face. Isabel lifted her eyes to his with a +look of sorrowful appeal, as if in waiting for him to confirm her +resolution. + +"But where will you go, my Isabel?" + +"I have not yet determined--but this lady has taught an to respect +myself. I have been spending an idle, useless life, dependent on her +bounty, a pet, a protege which no human being endowed with health and +energy should ever content herself with being. Henceforth I will +redeem the past." + +"Stay with me, my Isabel, stay in your own home, not as a dependent, +not subject to any one's caprice. Isabel Chester throw off these cruel +prejudices; become my wife, and this day shall you have a right here, +holy as any that ever existed!" + +"Farnham!" cried the old lady, starting fiercely upon the scene, +"remember the difference, remember who she is, who you are and who I +am!" + +"He need not, madam. I remember all this. But only to assure myself +that I am incapable of becoming his wife," answered Isabel. "Do not +suppose that I have any of that miserable pride what would make me +reject this noble offer, because, in the chances of life, he happens +to be rich and I poor. I give to wealth no such importance. Human +souls should match themselves without trappings, that have nothing to +do with their greatness. To say that I will not marry Mr. Farnham +because he would give me a legal right to spend wealth, which I have +no power to increase, would be to acknowledge a mean reluctance to +receive where I would gladly give. No, madam, it is not because I deem +myself in any way an unfit wife for Mr. Farnham, that I reject, +gratefully reject, his offer; but I will never enter a family where +these things can be supposed to give superiority, never while one of +its members rejects me because of my poverty. More than this, I have +taken a solemn vow, for causes for which you are not responsible, +madam, never to marry your son." + +"Isabel, Isabel!" exclaimed young Farnham, with a look of distress, +"you cannot love me, or this pride--this wicked vow, would not +separate us." + +Isabel laid her hand on his arm; her eyes filled, and her lips began +to tremble. + +"I _do_ love you, heart and soul I love you! but I cannot become your +wife. It would be to separate the son from his mother; to grasp at +happiness through an act of disobedience; it would be to mingle my +life with--with--you know, Frederick, it is impossible." + +"But my mother will consent," cried the young man, turning with a look +of anxious appeal to Mrs. Farnham, who stood near a window, angrily +beating the carpet with her foot. + +"You needn't look this way--you needn't expect it. I never will give +my consent. If Mr. Farnham's son chooses to marry a pauper, I will +never own him again." + +Isabel cast one sorrowful look at her lover, and feeling her eyes grow +misty as they met his, turned away. + +"I will go now," she said, in a hollow voice, and, with a heart that +lay heavy and burning like heated lead in her bosom, she left the +room. + +Young Farnham followed her, pale and anxious. + +"Isabel, sweet Isabel! you cannot be in earnest!" + +"Miserably in earnest!" she answered, staggering blindly forward, for +a faintness crept over her. + +He caught her in his arms. + +"I knew--I knew it could not be! you have no strength to put this +cruel threat in force against me." + +"Don't--oh! don't, I am faint, my heart is breaking--let me go while I +can!" + +She clung to him as she spoke, and rested her head wearily on his +shoulder, as he strained her closer to his heart. + +"Oh, my Isabel, you love me, you have told me so now for the first +time, with the very lips that renounce me for ever. You love me, +Isabel!" + +"You felt it--before this you knew it," she murmured amid her tears. + +"Yes, yes, I felt it; what need has the heart of words? I felt it +truly, as now; but the sound is so sweet from your lips. Isabel; say +it again." + +"Yes, why not, as we shall part so soon. I love you, oh, how much I +love you!" + +"Then stay with me." + +"No, no!" + +"I can and will protect you from every annoyance. Stay with me, +Isabel!" + +"Oh, if I could--if I only could!" cried the young creature, looking +wistfully at him, "but that terrible, terrible oath." + +"Forget it--the oath, if you made one, was an act of frenzy--cast it +aside as such. You can, you will, my beloved. A little time, a little +patience, and all will be well. Come, come, stop crying, my heart +aches to see your tears. Be comforted, and say once more that you love +me." + +"I do, I do!" + +"And that you will never leave me?" + +She drew a deep, unsteady breath; her eyes began to brighten through +their tears; he held her close to his breast, and pressed his lips, +quivering with an ecstasy of love, upon her forehead. + +"You will stay--you _will_ stay!" + +She released herself gently from his arms, her eyes were flooded with +tenderness, her cheeks lighted up with a glow of joyous shame. With +that graceful homage which comes so naturally to the heart of a loving +woman, she took his hand and pressed it to her lips, and stood +drooping beneath the overflow of tenderness that filled her heart, as +a flower bends on its stock when loaded with honey-dew. + +But this beautiful submission did not satisfy him; he encircled her +again with his arm. + +"Tell me in words, dearest--tell me in words, consenting words, or I +shall gather them from your lips." + +Blushing and agitated, she attempted to withdraw from his arms, but +softly as a bird moves in its nest. + +"Speak, Isabel--speak, and promise me!" + +Her eyes were filled with tears, and her face burned with blushes; +where was her pride, where all her haughty resolutions now? Her lips +trembled apart, and the words he coveted were forming upon them--but +that instant the door opened, and Mrs. Farnham looked through, +regarding them with a cold sneer. + +Isabel started as if a viper had stung her, tore herself from +Farnham's arms, and fled. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +OLD MEMORIES AND YOUNG HEARTS. + + + Away, away, on the wide, wide world-- + With aching heart and fevered brain, + Like a broken waif she is sharply hurled, + To her dreary orphan life again. + +When uncle Nathan led his nephew into the house, and told aunt Hannah +who he was, she grew pallid as a corpse, and when the young man took +her hand, she began to shiver from head to foot, till the chattering +of her teeth was audible in the stillness. + +"It is our nephew, little Anna's boy, come to live with us, Hannah." + +"To live with us?" she repeated, in a hoarse voice. + +"Yes," answered uncle Nathan, taking the youth's hand between both his +plump palms, and smoothing it caressingly as he would have quieted a +kitten, for he felt all the chill that was in her voice. Where else +should our sister's child make his home?" + +"But his father?" + +"My father is dead," answered the youth, sadly, "and before he went I +was told of all your kindness, how for years your own means of +livelihood had been stinted that I might become perfect in my art. I +have not wasted your means, and some day, God willing, may return +something of all that you have done for me." + +Aunt Hannah listened in silence, but her eyes burned in their sockets, +and her hands worked nervously around each other. Happily the youth +saw nothing of this, or he might have doubted the welcome so +expressed. + +It was now late in the night, and with anxious haste aunt Hannah +turned to a stand, where an iron candlestick supported the end of what +had been a tallow candle. + +"We are all tired," she said, presenting the candlestick to uncle +Nathan. "He can sleep in the spare bed up stairs." + +Uncle Nat took the candle and conducted his relative from the room, +leaving aunt Hannah standing by the hearth, pale and almost as rigid +as marble. + +After a little she began to pace up and down the kitchen with measured +strides, her eyes cast down, and her fingers locked together as if +made of iron. Thus the morning found her, for she did not go to rest +that night. + +A few days after, just before sunset, uncle Nat was enjoying himself +as usual in the old porch, while Mary Fuller and Joseph sat together +on the threshold of the door, conversing in low tones between the +impromptu air which he gave to them in delicious snatches. Behind, in +the dark of the kitchen, sat aunt Hannah, gazing over her +knitting-work at the group. Her hands were motionless upon the +needles, and she seemed lost in profound thought. All at once her lips +moved, and she muttered, + +"Yes, they, too, will love each other. I can see it plainly enough. +Poor Mary, how he turns to her voice, how greedily he listens when she +speaks; can the love of childhood revive so suddenly? But what do I +know of love, save its humiliation and pain--rejected, despised, +trampled on!" + +Here her hands began to tremble, and she worked her needles for a +moment, vigorously, but made another abrupt pause the minute after, +and thus her thoughts ran, + +"Well, why should they not marry, these two noble creatures? She is +dearer than a child to us, the true-hearted Mary, and he--who could +help being good under the care of a father like Esmond? She loves him, +I can see it in her eyes, in the quiet humility of her look; she loves +him, and he loves her; they will soon find it out, but the others, I +must see the young man; I must try to read all these young hearts." + +Aunt Hannah was disturbed in her reverie by a light step that came +through the outer room, followed by the quick opening of a door, and +Isabel Chester entered the kitchen. + +Poor Isabel! her eyes sparkled wildly through their tears, her face +was flushed, her lips quivering, and the rich masses of her hair hung +in waves around her head. Still was she wondrously beautiful, for +grief softened a style of loveliness sometimes too brilliant and +imperious. In tears, Isabel was always sweet and womanly. She was a +being to cherish as well as to admire. + +She entered hurriedly, and flinging back the shawl, of mingled colors, +that partially covered her head, looked eagerly around. + +"Mary, where is Mary Fuller?" she inquired, "I wish to speak with Mary +Fuller." + +Mary heard her voice and sprang up. + +"Oh! Isabel, this is kind, I am glad you have come so soon." + +"Come with me, Mary. I must speak with you." + +"Let us go up to my room," said Mary, with some excitement, when she +saw the flushed face and agitated manner of her friend. + +"Mary, Mary, come here, hold my head against your bosom, it aches, oh, +it aches terribly," cried Isabel, reaching out her arms as she sunk on +the bed in Mary's room. "I have come to live with you dear Mary, tell +me I am welcome, oh, tell me I shall not be turned out of doors. I ask +nothing better than to stay at the Old Homestead all my life." + +"You are sick, darling Isabel, very sick, to talk so wildly," said +Mary, striving to soothe her excitement; "why, you would seem like a +bird of paradise in a robin's nest here at the Old Homestead--yes, yes +you are sick, Isabel, your hands are burning, your lips mutter these +things strangely; what has come over you?" + +"I have left Mrs. Farnham for good!" exclaimed Isabel, starting up and +pushing the hair back from her temples. "I shall never see Frederick +again, never, never--Mary, Mary Fuller, I know this is death, my heart +seems clutched with an iron claw." + +"Try and be calm, dear Isabel--if you have really left Mrs. Farnham, +tell me, how it all came about, and what I can do." + +"She taunted me with my poverty--she flung the Alms-House in my +teeth--oh, Mary, Mary, dependence on that woman has been a burning +curse to my nature--oh I would die for the power to fling back all the +money she heaped upon me. It crushes my life out." + +"Hush, hush Isabel, this is wicked rebellion--one insult should not +cancel a life of benefits," said Mary, very gently. + +Isabel laughed wildly. "Benefits! What have they made me? a beggar and +an outcast. Where can I find support out of all the frothy +accomplishments she has given me? Not one useful thing has she ever +taught me. You, Mary, are independent, for you work for your daily +bread--no one can call you a pauper." + +"And you have really left Mrs. Farnham?" said Mary, smoothing down +Isabel's disturbed tresses with her two palms, "and you would like to +live here at the Old Homestead, I hope, oh, how much I hope that it +can be so." + +"I have been wandering in the woods for hours, trying to think what +was best. I have no friend but you, Mary. Among all my fine +acquaintances, no one would stand by me. Let me stay, Mary, and make +me good like the rest of you--I wish we had never parted!" + +"Lie still and rest, darling--I know aunt Hannah will let you +stay--don't mind the expense or trouble, for I'll tell you a secret; +Isabel, Joseph has been teaching me to paint, and in a little while he +says I can make the most beautiful pictures, and sell them for +money--besides, don't say that you can do nothing; out of all these +pretty accomplishments it will be strange if you can't make a living +without hard work too." + +"Dear, dear Mary, how you comfort me!" was the grateful answer, given +in the quick, rapid enunciation of coming fever. "You will ask aunt +Hannah for me, but Mary, she must not let Frederick Farnham come +here!" + +"Why not? how can you ask it, he who paid their debts and saved them +from so much sorrow?" + +Isabel drew Mary close to her and whispered in a wild hoarse way, "We +love each other; he wants me to become his wife, but I have taken an +oath, a great black oath against it." + +"An oath!" said Mary, half doubting if this were not all feverish +raving. + +"Yes, yes, an oath. You would not let me marry among my father's +murderers--oh, I was dreadfully tempted, but the oath saved me, and I +am here!" + +Mary became terrified, there was too much earnestness among the fire +of poor Isabel's eyes. Had she in reality taken an oath of this kind, +and was it working out its own curse? + +"Ask her, ask aunt Hannah if I can stay," pleaded Isabel; "these +clothes are so heavy I want to get into bed where no one can find +me--my head aches--my heart aches, oh, I am very miserable!" + +"I will call aunt Hannah," said Mary; "we will ask her together." + +Isabel burst into a passion of tears. "Yes, go now, while my head is +clear, put some more cold water on it, that is so cool, go Mary." + +Mary went softly down stairs. + +Aunt Hannah had looked keenly after the girls as they disappeared. She +dropped the knitting-work into her lap, and sat gazing hard at the +door long after it was closed. + +She was still motionless, gazing on the distance in this hard fashion, +when the door was pushed open and Mary Fuller looked out. + +"Aunt Hannah, dear aunt Hannah, will you come up here?" she cried in +an excited voice, "Isabel and I want you." + +Aunt Hannah arose, folded her needles, closed them at the end with a +pressure of the thumb, and thrust them into the ball of yarn, +muttering all the time, + +"I could not help it if I wanted to," and she mounted the stairs. + +Isabel Chester lay on the bed, white with anguish, but with a feverish +heat burning in her eyes. The shawl, with its many gorgeous tints, lay +around her, mingling with her purple dress in picturesque confusion. +She tried to sit up when aunt Hannah approached the bed, but instantly +lifted both hands to her temples, and fell back again moaning +bitterly. + +"Ask her, ask her," she cried, looking wildly up at Mary Fuller, "I +have been wandering in the hills so long, and am tired out. Ask her +for me, Mary Fuller." + +Aunt Hannah sat down upon the bed, and Mary Fuller stood before her +holding Isabel's hot hand in both hers. With the eloquence which +springs from an earnest purpose, she told aunt Hannah all that she had +herself been able to gather from the lips now quivering with a chill +that preceded violent fever. It was a disjointed narrative, but full +of heart-fire. Mary wept as she gave it; but aunt Hannah sat perfectly +passive, gazing upon the beautiful creature before her with steady +coldness. + +When Mary had done, and stood breathlessly waiting for a reply, the +old lady moved stiffly as if the silence had aroused her. + +"Then she wishes to stay with us," she said. + +Isabel started up. "I will be no expense, I can paint, and embroider +and sew! I can do so many things. All I want is a home. Give me that, +only that!" + +She fell back again, shivering and distressed, looking up to aunt +Hannah with a glance of touching appeal that disturbed even the +composure of that stony face. + +"You will let her stay with us!" pleaded Mary. + +"What else should we do?" inquired aunt Hannah. "She wants a home, and +we have got one to give her. Isn't that enough?" + +Isabel, who had been looking up with a vivid hope in her eyes, broke +into a hysterical laugh at this, and seizing aunt Hannah's hard hand, +kissed it with passionate gratitude. + +"One word," questioned aunt Hannah; "do you love that young man?" + +"Love him, oh, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!" cried the poor girl, +and the sparkle of her eyes was painful to look upon "I think it must +kill me to see him no more. I am sure it must!" + +"And you are sure he loves you?" + +"_Sure_?" she cried, flinging out her clasped hands, "sure, yes, as I +am of my own life!" + +"And you believe him to be a good man?" + +"I know it, have we not grown up together? He is passionate, proud, +impulsive--but noble. I tell you his faults would be virtues in other +men." + +As aunt Hannah listened, there came a glow upon her sallow cheeks, and +a soft smile to her lips, as if something in Isabel's wild enthusiasm +had given her pleasure. + +"She shall stay with us! Surely with all our debts paid, we can find +room for the child!" + +"Room--room for the pauper--room!" + +Isabel had caught the word, and sent it back again with wild glee, +half singing half shouting it through her burning lips. The fever was +beginning to rage through her veins. + +Three times that night aunt Hannah went to the front door, to answer +the eager questions of young Farnham, who had been wandering for hours +in sight of the house. At last, as if struck with sudden compassion, +the old lady invited him into the kitchen, and these two seemingly +uncongenial persons, sat and conversed together with strange +confidence till the day dawned. + +When young Farnham arose to go, he took the aged hand of his companion +and pressed it to his lips, with a homage to years acquired from +abroad. He did not see the blood flush up into that withered face, or +the tears that gathered slowly into her eyes; and was therefore, +surprised when she arose, and as if actuated by an unconquerable +impulse, kissed his forehead. + +"Good-bye," she said, in a broken voice, "the poor girl up stairs +shall not die for want of nursing." + +"How good you are!" said the young man; "how can I ever repay you?" + +Aunt Hannah looked at him with strange fondness. + +"You paid our debts last night," she said, "or we might have had no +home to give this girl." + +"That was nothing, never mention it again." + +"Nothing, why, boy, it was an act that you shall never forget to your +dying day." + +"Save _her_, and that will be an act that I shall never forget." + +"Do you love her so much, then?" + +"Love! I worship her--I can hardly remember the time when I did not +love her!" + +"And what would you sacrifice for her?" + +"What? Everything." + +"Stop and answer me steadily. If you could choose between all the +property left by your father and Isabel Chester, which would you +take?" + +"Which would I take? Labor, poverty, and my Isabel. The property! what +has it of value in comparison to this noble girl? I answer again +Isabel, Isabel!" + +A singular expression stole into the old woman's face. + +"Would you live here, and work the place, when Nathan and I are too +old, if you were sure of her for a wife?" + +"I would do anything with her and for her," cried the youth, ardently. + +"And," continued aunt Hannah, in a broken voice, still eyeing him +anxiously--"you would find a corner for two old people somewhere in +the homestead!" + +"This is wild talk," said the young man, with a troubled smile. "I am +my father's heir, and have no right to throw away his wealth; so it is +useless talking of what I might, or could, do, under other +circumstances." + +"Then you would not be content to live here with your wife, and +support yourself from the place?" + +"I did not say so--but that it was impossible. Heaven knows I count +wealth as nothing compared to Isabel." + +"Then you only think of her, you care nothing for, for "-- + +Aunt Hannah paused, and put a hand to her throat, as if the words she +suppressed pained her. + +"I care for her, and for all that have been kind to her, now or ever," +he replied, impressively; "most of all I am grateful to yourself." + +"Once again," said aunt Hannah, clinging tenaciously to the point +which seemed to interest her so much, "if you could not marry Isabel +Chester without becoming as poor, for instance, as Joseph Esmond +is--would you give up all and marry her?" + +"Once again, then, yes, I would." + +"And be happy after it?" + +"With _her_, yes!" + +"But you have never worked?" + +"I can learn!" + +"You are learned and love to mingle with great men. You are proud, and +this is a poor old house!" She argued so earnestly that he could not +refrain from smiling. + +"I fancy, if the need come, I would get along with all these +difficulties, without much regret. But this is idle speculation. In +another month I shall be of age; then no one can claim legal authority +over me or mine. I know there is great wealth to be accounted for, but +have never known how much, or what restrictions are upon it. If it +leaves me at liberty to marry Isabel, and she will give up this cruel +resolve to abandon me, for her sake independence shall be welcome, if +not, then I will answer your questions more promptly than you perhaps +expect." + +"That girl will never marry your mother's son--she has taken an oath +against it." + +"She shall marry me. Who can help it? Do we not love each other? If +her proud spirit rejects the property, so be it--I care as little for +gold as she does. As for that miserable oath, it is worthless as the +wind, taken in a moment of romantic excitement. The angels do not +register oaths like that." + +"I say it again, Isabel Chester will not marry Mrs. Farnham's son," +persisted aunt Hannah. + +And she was right. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +THE MOTHER'S FRAUD. + + + That solemn oath is on my soul, + Its weight is creeping through my life-- + It binds me with a firm control, + I cannot--cannot be thy wife! + +Frederick Farnham would not leave the country. With the resolution of +a strong will he persisted in treating Isabel's vow as nothing, and +would not be convinced that she might not herself see it in this light +at last. As for his mother, one month more and he would be of age, and +her power over him must give way; surely Isabel would recognize his +independent position then. + +Every day he went to the Old Homestead with renewed hope, and left it +in disappointment. Isabel's recovery was protracted till even the +physician believed that she was sinking into a decline. She could not +see Frederick in her wretched state, the excitement would have killed +her. + +Oh, that rash, rash oath! In the pure atmosphere of her new home, with +the invigorating influence of Mary Fuller's cheerful piety and rare +good sense assuming its former sway, Isabel began to see her act in +its true light, but repentance could not expunge the black vow from +her soul. It was devouring her vitality like a vampire. + +At last she came down stairs; the doctor thought it possible, that one +unvaried scene retarded her advancement, and, one day, Frederick was +surprised by a vision of her pale loveliness, as she sat in her +easy-chair, by a window of the room in which sister Anna died. + +Reverently and almost holding his breath, with intense feeling, young +Farnham stole up to this window. + +"Isabel, my Isabel!" + +She started, with a faint shriek. + +"Are you afraid, Isabel? has the sight of me become a terror," he +said, sadly. + +"No, no," answered the young girl, and her eyes filled; "I wanted to +see you; it was for this I consented to come down stairs." + +"Bless you for that, darling." + +"I wanted to tell you how very, very sorry I am for having taken that +wicked oath. It was against you, Frederick, but more against my own +heart; I think that one sin will kill me in the end!" + +"Then you repent. You see how romantic and foolish it was, how like a +puff of wind it ought to be on your conscience. We shall be happy yet, +dear Isabel!" + +The poor girl shook her head. + +"It was foolish--cruel, but unchangeable, Frederick; I have fastened +it here between your love and mine for ever and ever. I haughtily +fancied myself an avenger. Behold, to what it has brought me!" + +Isabel lifted her thin hand, which was so pale you could almost see +the light shining through it. + +"Yes, my poor Isabel, you have suffered, and this wild resolve has +given me so much pain. Let us cease to remember it; get well--only get +well! When your mind is strong you will look upon all this as I do." + +"Oh, how I wish it were possible! but even Mary considers a vow, such +as I have taken, binding, so does aunt Hannah, so must every +unprejudiced person." + +"They are all stupid--no, no, I did not mean that--but it's not the +less nonsense. What can a nice little thing like Mary or that old +maid, aunt Hannah, know of subtle questions in moral philosophy? I +tell you, Isabel, a wicked promise, that can do no good, but infinite +harm, ought not to be kept. Besides, that vow was not solemnly taken, +it was an outbreak of enthusiasm, brought on by the gorgeous twilight +of that old edifice--the music and atmosphere. It was a vow of the +senses, not of the soul." + +Poor Isabel was so feeble, so completely incapable of reasoning +justly, that she dared not listen to these ingenious arguments, for +she was growing keenly conscientious, and feared that weakness might +betray her into a fresh wrong. + +"Do not talk to me in this way just now," she said, gently. "Let me +rest." + +Frederick gathered hope from her gentleness, and his voice trembled +with affection, as he promised not to excite her again. + +"Only get well by my birth-day, Isabel," he said; "have the roses on +your cheeks then, and all will end happily." + +In spite of herself, a gleam of hope brightened in Isabel's eyes; her +resolution was not shaken, but there was so much warmth in his faith +that she could not choose but share it with him. She went up to her +chamber that night invigorated and almost cheerful. + +When this conversation was repeated to Mary, she looked serious, and +said very tenderly: + +"Not in that way, Isabel. It was a vow taken before the Most +High--besides," she added, with a faint tremor of the voice, "there +does seem to be something that shocks the feelings in this marriage. +It may be prejudice, but I should shrink from marrying a Farnham had +I your father's blood in my veins." + +Isabel's cheerfulness fled with these words, and she drooped more +despondingly than ever. + +But aunt Hannah was earnest in comforting her, and though she gave no +tangible grounds for hope, the confidence that woman of few words +expressed in the future, gave Isabel new strength. + +Salina, too, with her warm defence of Frederick's course--her contempt +for vows of any kind--for in this she was an intensely strong-minded +woman--and her detestation of Mrs. Farnham, served to strengthen the +life in that drooping form. In spite of her hopelessness, Isabel grew +perceptibly better; but with this slow gathering of strength came back +the old struggle; nothing had been changed. How could she ever be well +again with this eternal strife between her conscience and her heart? + +Cold weather came on, producing no event at the Old Homestead. Uncle +Nathan stationed his easy-chair by the kitchen fire, but insisted on +resigning it to Isabel whenever she came down to sit with the family. +Aunt Hannah became more and more lonesome, but was always keenly +observant, and towards the young girls her kindness was exhibited in a +thousand noiseless ways, that filled their warm hearts with gratitude. +Young Farnham had been to the city, and it was only two evenings +before his birth-day that he returned. + +Since the time when Isabel left his house, he had avoided all +conversation with his mother regarding the young girl, and Mrs. +Farnham, after sending the poor girl's wardrobe after her, seemed to +have forgotten that such a being existed, except that she talked to +her son about the ingratitude of the world in general, and of +poorhouse creatures in particular. + +The young man had a clear head and a firm will, that might waver to +circumstances, but seldom swerved entirely from its object. His +resolution to marry Isabel Chester was unshaken, even by the firmness +of the young lady herself. He was resolved to conquer the prejudice, +as he thought it, which was the great obstacle to their immediate +union. His mother's consent he did not despair of attaining. + +The night after he returned home, Mrs. Farnham was in a state of +remarkable good humor. Frederick had brought her pleasant news from +the city. The house they had been building in one of the avenues was +completed, and ready for its furniture. There was a promise of endless +shopping excursions and important business of all kinds. The lady was +heartily tired of her present still life, and found the prospect of +returning to town, under these circumstances, exhilarating. + +"I am glad you are so well pleased," said Frederick, seating himself +among the silken cushions of the couch, upon which his mother had +placed herself; for, as we have said, Mrs. Farnham affected great +splendor even in her country residence. + +"I am glad you are pleased, mother, for I wish very much to see you +happy." + +"Oh, if it hadn't been for that wicked upstart girl we should always +have been happy, Fred. I'm so grateful that you have got over that +degrading fancy," said Mrs. Farnham, a little anxiously, for with that +low-born cunning which is the wisdom of silly women, she took this +indirect way of ascertaining whether Frederick really held to his +attachment for the wronged girl or not. + +"Such a catch as you are, Fred; young, handsome and a millionaire, to +throw yourself away on a pauper, when half the most fashionable girls +in town are dressing and dancing at you." + +"Hush, mother," said the young man, I cannot hear you speak lightly of +Isabel, for God willing, if I can win her consent, the day I am of age +makes her my wife." + +"Are you crazy, Farnham? how dare you say this to me?" + +"Because it's the truth, mother." + +"And you _will_ brave me! you _will_ bring a pauper into my house! be +careful, sir, be careful!" + +"Mother, in this thing, I must judge for myself. My father, I know, +intended that I should, else why did he leave me, untrammeled as I +am?" + +Mrs. Farnham started up--her pale blue eyes gleamed venomously. She +stood for a moment, growing paler, and more repulsive; some evil idea +evidently possessed her. + +"Be careful, be careful," she said, shaking her finger at him, +menacingly, "do not provoke me--don't go a step farther, or I will +prove how far you are untrammeled. Another word and there will be no +medium between my love and my hate." + +"Mother, are you mad?" + +"Mother, indeed! I have been a mother to you. I've done what few +mothers would have the courage to undertake for a child, but what I +have done can be taken back--don't provoke me, I tell you, again, +Frederick Farnham--don't provoke your mother." + +"Oh, be a mother, a true-hearted woman," cried Fred, imploringly; +"Isabel will love you; be kind to her." + +Mrs. Farnham drew back, and folded her arms in an attitude she had +seen Rachel assume on the stage, and which she deemed very imposing. + +"Frederick Farnham, if you marry that girl I will bring you to her +level--I will make a pauper of you." + +Frederick smiled; the whole thing struck him as a farce badly played. + +"I shall certainly marry her, if she will accept me," he said, coldly. + +Mrs. Farnham strode from the room, sweeping by her son with a furious +display of temper. Directly she returned with a folded paper in her +hand. + +"Here, sir, is your father's will, made out by his own hand, three +days before his death; we shall prove how far it makes you independent +of your mother." + +"My father's will!" exclaimed Frederick, turning white with surprise; +"my father's will in your hands, and produced for the first time! +Madam, explain this." + +The stern paleness of his face struck the woman with terror; the +passion that had made her forget everything but revenge, was quenched +beneath his firm glance. She began to tremble, and attempted to hide +the paper in the folds of her dress. + +"Promise me to give up this girl, and I will burn it," she said, with +a frightened look. "It was for your sake I kept it back; he wanted to +give your fortune away; I could not stand it, besides no one asked for +the will; promise me, and I'll burn it." + +"I will make no promise. If that is my father's will give it to me and +it shall be acted upon, though every cent I have be swept away. Give +me the will, madam." + +"No, no, don't ask for it. There is a medium in all things; I was +angry, I did not mean what I said." + +"Oblige me, madam, I must see that paper--mother, I will see it!" +exclaimed Frederick, impetuously, as she crumpled the document tightly +in her hand, retreating backward from the room with her eyes fixed +upon his with the expression of a weak child, detected in its +wickedness. + +"How dare you, Frederick Farnham, how dare you speak to your mother in +that tone?" she said, in a voice that was half defiant, half +reproachful, still retreating from him. + +"It is useless, mother, I demand that paper! It must be placed in the +hand of my guardian." + +"It never shall!" cried the mother, darting through the door; and +rushing toward the kitchen with angry swiftness, she dashed the paper +over Salina's shoulder into a huge fire that blazed in the chimney. + +Frederick followed her, pale with excitement. + +"You have not, mother, you dare not!" + +Mrs. Farnham broke into a hysterical laugh. + +"It's burned--it's ashes!" she said. "Oh, Frederick, what a mother I +have been to you." + +Farnham turned away, muttering gloomily to himself. The old lady +followed him. + +"Don't be angry, Fred, I did it for your good, for your own good; +nobody is hurt by it but myself; I lose all authority over you now. +Why, Fred, by that will, if you'd persisted in marrying without my +consent, the whole property would have been--yes, would have been +mine. See what I have sacrificed to you; but there is a medium in +everything but a mother's love. I could have forced you to give up +that girl, but see how I have destroyed my own power. You will +remember this, dear boy, and not break my heart by this low match." + +"Mother, if that paper was my father's will, you have committed a +great wrong--a serious legal wrong. I cannot be grateful for it, I can +never respect you again." + +Mrs. Farnham began to cry. + +"There it is," she said. "If I have done any wrong, it's you that +urged me to it; as for that will, I always meant to keep the just +medium between right and wrong, and let the thing rest in my +writing-desk without saying a word about it. I wouldn't have burned +it--nor have touched it again on any account, but you made me do both. +First you provoked me to bring it out from where it had rested +innocent as a lamb for so many years. Then, as if that wasn't enough, +the way you went on was so dreadful. You drove me to it; what else +could you expect from a mother's love, especially such a mother as I +have been to you, Frederick?" + +Farnham was still excited, but sternly thoughtful. + +"Mother," he said, "I must know what the will contained. It shall be +acted upon to the very letter. You know its contents; tell me on your +honor as a lady, on your honesty as a woman, all that you remember of +it, word for word." + +"No!" said Mrs. Farnham, petulantly, "I won't say a word about it, I +won't own that there ever was a will; but if you'll be quiet, +to-morrow Mr. Wales, my lawyer will be up. I sent for him to meet your +guardian and myself on your birth-day, to help about settling the +affairs, he will talk with you." + +"Beit so, mother, but remember this testament must be carried out to +the letter." + +"Very well; I'll consult about it, we shall be able to strike a medium +yet. Fred, you may not believe it, but you've got a mother, a true +mother, one in ten thousand, Frederick Farnham." + +By the way Mrs. Farnham withdrew, one might have fancied she had done +a meritorious thing in concealing, and at last destroying her +husband's will. Indeed she had convinced herself of this, and went out +with an air of great self-complacency. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +SALINA BOWLES' MISSION. + + + With an honest purpose, whatever betide, + She stands like a pillar of native stone, + Firm and rough, with a cap of pride-- + Till her trust is given, her mission done. + +With characteristic reverence for ancient usages, Salina Bowles set +herself resolutely against all cooking-stoves, modern ranges and +inventions of that class. That exemplary female was often heard to +declare that no decent meal could ever be cooked by any of these +new-fangled contrivances. A hickory back log, and good oak-wood +answered her purpose quite well enough. Only give her plenty of them +and she'd cook a dinner with any woman on this side of sundown. From +these prejudices it happened that Salina, in order to prepare the late +dinner with which Mrs. Farnham usually taxed all her culinary genius, +had built a huge wood-fire, and was planting again even on the hearth +before it, when a folded paper flashed over her shoulder, and rushing +through the flames fell behind the back log. + +Salina rose promptly upright, gave Mrs. Farnham a sharp look, and +stooped to pick up the comb that had been knocked loose from her hair. +When her eyes fell once again on the young man and his mother, she +began deliberately twisting up her hair, while the brief dialogue we +have recorded passed between them. + +After they went out, Salina removed her tin oven from before the fire, +took up a huge pair of tongs and deliberately fished out Mr. Farnham's +will from behind the back-log. It had been a good deal blackened and +scorched at the edges in its passage through the flames, but the +writing was only slightly obliterated. Salina, who had no scruples +against reading a document so obtained, recognized the signature, and +gathered enough from the contents to be certain that it was an +important paper. + +She thrust the will into her bosom with great deliberation, replaced +her tin oven on the hearth, and went on with her work as usual. Once +or twice she paused in her occupation, and seemed pondering over some +idea in her mind, but when the other servants came in she said nothing +of the subject of her thoughts. The moment dinner was over, which Mrs. +Farnham partook of alone. Salina put on her sun-bonnet and shawl, +merely saying that "she was going out a spell," and took a short cut +across the fields towards Judge Sharp's house, leaving the Old +Homestead on her right, determined not to visit that till after her +errand was accomplished. + +The judge was a little surprised when Salina appeared before him with +a peremptory request that he would leave his women folks and give her +a few words with him alone. + +He went into the library and closed the door, wondering in his mind +what could have brought that interesting female into his presence, +with her face so full of mysterious importance. + +Salina folded her shawl close over her bosom while she drew forth the +will. + +"Here, Judge, you may as well take charge of that concern, I reckon; +being a friend of the family, you'll know best what to do with it." + +The Judge unfolded the paper and glanced at the first page. His eyes +began to fill with astonishment. + +"Why, where on earth did you get this?" he said. + +"I got it honestly, and that's enough; if it's all right I'll go." + +"But tell me something more about it," persisted the judge. + +"Least said soonest mended; I ain't a female traitor and spy, nor +nothing of that sort! what you've got you've got! It ain't of no +consequence where you got it, or how you got it, it's there, and +that's enough?" + +"But, but"-- + +"I'm in a hurry, the dishes ain't washed up yet." + +"Indeed Salina you must tell me!" + +Salina folded her blanket-shawl tightly around her upright person. + +"Judge Sharp, it's of no use--I'm flint." + +With these words that strong-minded female turned, with her nose in +the air, and left the room, planting her footsteps with great +firmness, as if she meant by their very sound to impress the judge +with the strength of her determination. + +"I hate the woman like rank poison," she said while wading through the +stubble behind uncle Nat's barn on her way home, "but her name is +Farnham, and it'd be mean as a nigger and meaner too for me to say a +word about that document; let Judge Sharp cipher out his own sums if +he wants to, I ain't a-going to help him--there!" + +With this exclamation, the strong-minded woman returned home, +perfectly satisfied with her mission and herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + +THE DOUBLE CONFESSION. + + + Ask her not why her heart has lost its lightness, + And hoards its dreamy thoughts, serenely still, + Like some pure lotus flower, that folds its whiteness + Upon the bosom of its native rill! + +"Mary Fuller, what ails you? All this time your eyes are heavy, and +you look every other minute as if just going to cry. What is it all +about?" + +This was a long speech for aunt Hannah, and it made Mary start and +blush like a guilty thing, especially as it followed a protracted +silence that had been disturbed only by the click of aunt Hannah's +knitting-needles. + +"Matter with me, aunt? Nothing. What makes you think of me at all?" + +"Because it is my duty to think of you. Because there is need that +some one should take care of you." + +"Of me?" said Mary, blushing to the temples, "what have I done, aunt?" + +"What everything of womankind must do, sooner or later, I suppose, my +poor girl." + +"What is that, dear aunt?" faltered the girl. + +The old lady laid down her knitting, and leaned on the candle-stand +with both her elbows; thus her aged face drew close to that of the +young girl. + +"You have begun to love this artist youth, Mary Fuller!" she said, in +a low whisper, for the very name of love pained her old heart as a +sudden shock sends veins of silver along a sheet of ice. "Don't cry, +Mary; don't cry; it is a great misfortune, but no fault. How could you +help it, poor child!" + +"Oh! aunt Hannah, how did you find this out?" whispered the +shame-stricken girl, "I thought"-- + +"That nobody knew it but yourself. Well, well, don't look so +frightened; it's no reason that others know it because I do." + +"And Joseph, do you think? do you believe? I would not think it for a +moment," she continued, with the most touching humility, "but he +cannot fancy such a thing--and so I--I did not know but"-- + +"I think he loves you, Mary Fuller!" answered the old lady, breaking +through her hesitating phrases, in womanly pity of her embarrassment. + +Mary started as if a blow had fallen upon her. + +"Oh! don't, don't, I dare not believe it. What? me?--me? Please don't +say this, aunt Hannah, it makes the very heart quiver in my bosom." + +"I am sure he loves you, Mary, or I would not say it. Do I ever joke? +Am I blind at heart?" + +Mary Fuller covered her face, while great sobs of joy broke in her +bosom, and rushed in tears to her eyes. + +"Oh! I am faint--I shall die of this great joy--but oh! if you should +be mistaken!" + +"But I am _not_. How should _I_ be mistaken? When a mother buries her +child deep in the grave-yard, does she forget what mothers' love is? +Those who forget their youth in happiness may be deceived. I never +can!" + +"And you think he loves me?" + +Mary leaned forward and laid her clasped hands pleadingly on the +knotted fingers of the old maid. + +Aunt Hannah looked down almost tenderly through her spectacles, and a +smile crept over her mouth. + +"_I_ know he loves you." + +Mary Fuller's radiant face drooped forward at these words, and she +fell to kissing these old hands eagerly, as if the knotted veins were +filled with honey dew upon which her heart feasted. + +"Stop, stop!" said aunt Hannah, withdrawing her hands, and laying them +softly on the bowed head of her protege, "don't give way so; remember +Joseph is very feeble yet, from the fever that nearly cost him his +life, and that he has nothing to live on but what he calls his art; +Nathan and I might help him, but we have only a few acres of land to +live on, and are getting older every day. There is not the strength of +one robust man among us all--to say nothing of the poor girl up +stairs." + +"But he loves me. Oh! aunt, you are sure of that?" + +"But how can he marry you, poor as he is, with no more power to work +than a child?" + +"Marry me! I never thought of that," said the girl, lifting her face +all in a glow from her hands, "but he will live here always, and so +will I. Morning and night, and all day long I shall see him, hear his +music, watch the changes of his beautiful, beautiful face. You may +grow old as fast as you like, you and uncle Nat; I can support you, he +will teach me to paint pictures, and we can sell them in the city. +Besides, Joseph can make music on the violin, and I have learned to +write it out on paper. The rich people in New York will give money for +music and pictures like his, I know; you shall not work so hard after +this, aunt Hannah; and as for uncle Nat, he shall snooze in his +easy-chair all day long if he likes." + +Aunt Hannah shook her head, and a mist stole over her spectacles. She +was getting very childish in her old age, that stern old maid. + +"You are a nice girl, Mary," she said, "and mean right, I know. But +Joseph will never be content to let you support him if you had the +strength. He is very manly and proud with all his softness." + +"I know it, aunt, but then remember I am like his sister." + +"But sisters do not support their brothers, and men do not like to +take favors where they ought to give them." + +"Oh! aunt Hannah, you make me so unhappy. What difference can it make +which does the work where two people love each other?" + +"This," answered the old maid; "women were born to look upward with +their hearts and cling to others for support--men were made to give +this support. You cannot change places and be happy!" + +"I see, I see," murmured Mary Fuller, thoughtfully, "but Joseph will +get well again; only think how much better he is since he came to the +Old Homestead." + +That moment Joseph came in from the garden, where he had been walking +by himself, for the day was fine, and he loved to gratify his eye for +colors, even among the vegetable beds and coarse garden flowers, and +had been quietly enjoying them till the dusk drove him in-doors. + +Mary looked toward him wistfully. She remembered that for some days he +had seemed sad and preoccupied, going alone by himself and drawing +only sad strains from his violin. + +"Aunt Hannah, I am glad you are here," said the youth, moving slowly +toward his seat by the stand; "I want to talk a little with you!" + +Mary had drawn back as he came in; there was no candle lighted, and +she was lost in shadow. + +As he spoke, Mary started and would have gone out, but aunt Hannah +extended her hands to prevent it, and the youth sat down sighing +heavily, doubtless unconscious of her presence. Two or three times, as +was his habit when thoughtful, he drew the slender fingers of his +right hand through his hair, scattering the curls back on his temples. +At length he spoke, but with hesitation. + +"Aunt!" + +"Well, Joseph!" and the old lady began to knit. + +"Aunt, I come to say"--He paused, and drew the hand once or twice +across his forehead, as if to sweep aside some inward pain. Aunt +Hannah remained silent, knitting diligently. + +"I must go away from here, aunt; you have given me shelter when I most +needed it. Now I must take to the world again." + +Mary listened with a sinking heart and parted lips that grew cold and +white with each word. At last a wild sob arose in her throat, and the +veins upon her forehead swelled with the effort she made to suppress +it. + +"You wish to leave us, then?" questioned aunt Hannah, coldly, "and +why?" + +"My life is idle here, utterly idle and dependent. God did not smite +all the pride from my soul when he took my father. I cannot live on +the toil of two old people whom my own hands should support." + +"But you are welcome Joseph; and we love to have you with us." + +"I know it--still, this should make me only more anxious to relieve +your generosity of its burden." + +"This is not all," said aunt Hannah, mildly, "you keep the principal +reason back for leaving us, tell me what it is?" + +"Perhaps I ought--though the reason I have given should be enough. +Yes, aunt, there is another motive--do not laugh at my folly, that I +cannot dwarf myself and become a helpless nonentity, without a +struggle to grasp the blessings so much desired by other men. It has +been a happy time that I have known at the Old Homestead, still what +has it secured to me but unrest, and such disquiet as will follow me +through life, unless I work out a destiny for myself like other men?" + +He broke off, hesitating for words, and a faint blush stole over his +face even in the darkness. + +Aunt Hannah felt his embarrassment, and had compassion on him. + +"I know all about it," she said, quietly, "you love Mary Fuller. She +is a good girl. Why not?" + +"Why not?" exclaimed the youth, passionately, "I am penniless? Nay, it +is more than probable that I may never be really strong again." + +"That is God's work, but no fault of yours!" + +"But how can I support a wife? I who cannot earn bread for myself?" + +"You wish to leave Mary then?" + +"_Wish_ to leave her! Do the angels wish to flee from paradise, when +all its flowers are in blossom? No, bear with me, good aunt. It may be +folly, but, I have some power. Let me try it. Every year sends a troop +of persons to our country who turn their talent into gold. Why should +not I?" + +"And what would you do then?" inquired the old lady. + +"What should I do!" exclaimed the youth, with enthusiasm. "Why, return +to you with the money I had earned, and, instead of a burden, become a +protector to your old age." + +"And Mary." + +"Then I could, without cowering with shame at my own helplessness, ask +her to love me even as I love her." + +"But how many years must go by before you can return to us? The best +part of her life and yours will have passed before then." + +"I know it. I feel all the madness of my hopes. They are wild, insane +perhaps, but I will not give them up; do not ask me, do not discourage +me. Why must I, with my heart and brain alive like other men's, live +and die alone?" + +Aunt Hannah looked towards Mary Fuller, who sat trembling in the +darkness. The triumphant consciousness that she was beloved, +overwhelmed the girl with a pleasure so exquisite that it almost +amounted to pain. Still she felt like a criminal stealing the secret +of her own happiness, but the shadows were too thick; aunt Hannah saw +nothing of this. + +"And now," said the youth, more calmly, "you will let me depart, or I +shall speak out the love which is becoming too powerful for +concealment. I shall tell her that the beggar loves her and dreams of +making her his wife." + +Mary arose, the joy at her heart swelled painfully, and her delicate +frame trembled beneath it. She would gladly have crept from the room +with her sweet burden of happiness, but this excitement had been +continued too long; her limbs gave way and she sank to the floor. + +"Who is here? what is this?" cried the youth; "has another heard my +mad confession?" + +"_I_ heard it all, forgive me, forgive me. I could not go out; at the +first attempt my strength gave way"-- + +"You heard me?" questioned the youth, pale and trembling. "You heard +all that I said. Girl, girl, you have stolen the secret from my heart +to despise me for it." + +Mary Fuller rose to her feet, and drew towards him. The beauty of an +angel glowed in her face; it was bright with holy courage. + +"Despise you for it! I, who love you so much!" + +"Love me! Stop, Mary, do not say this if it is not holy truth, such as +one honest heart may render to another." + +"It is holy truth. Take my hands in yours. See how they quiver with +the joy of your words." + +"But I am poor, Mary Fuller, I am stricken in all my strength." + +"And I, what am I?" + +"Oh, you are an angel. I know you are that!" + +"No, no!" cried the poor girl, covering her face with her hands. + +"But you are. I drink in beauty from your voice, there is beauty in +your touch. Oh! how I love to hear you talk, it was music to me from +the first day I ever saw you." + +"Oh, forbear, forbear, it is Isabel you are describing," said Mary, +shrinking away from him. "Oh! she is all this and more." + +"Hush, Mary, hush; I feel the tones of your voice thrilling through +and through me. This is the best beauty I can comprehend. When you +disclaim it, I hear the tears breaking up through your voice, and it +grows heavenly in its sadness. Your beauty is immortal, it can never +grow old!" + +The youth paused, and turned towards aunt Hannah, for his quick sense +had caught the sobs that she was striving to smother by burying her +face in her folded arms. Many a stern grief and sore trial had wrung +that aged heart, but for a quarter of a century she had not wept +heartily before. As she looked on these young persons, and witnessed +the first rich joy of their love, her heart gave way. The memories of +her youth came back, and in the fullness of her regrets she cried like +a child. + +Mary Fuller withdrew her hand from her lover, and moving close to aunt +Hannah, stole her arm around her neck. + +"Aunt, dear aunt, look up and tell Joseph that he must not leave us. +Tell him how strong I am to work for us all." + +Aunt Hannah lifted her face, and swept the grey locks back from her +temples. + +"What day of the month is this?" asked the old lady, standing up and +speaking in a subdued voice; "it should be near the tenth of +November." + +"To-morrow will be the tenth," answered Mary. + +"Stay together while I go talk with Isabel." With these words the old +woman went up stairs feebly, as if her tears had swept all the +strength from her frame. + +Mary and her lover sat down by the hearth and fell into a sweet +fragmentary conversation. Soft low words and broken sentences, the +overflow of two hearts brimful of happiness alone, passed between +them. A strange timidity crept over them. Neither dared approach the +subject of a separation, though both were saddened by it. + +Aunt Hannah came down at last, calmer, and with more of her usual cold +manner. + +"Help me," said Mary, appealing to her; "oh! aunt, persuade him to +stay with us!" + +"To-morrow will be time enough," was the answer. "Go away, now, and +God bless you both!" + +Never in her whole life had the voice of aunt Hannah sounded so deep +with meaning, so solemn in its earnestness. It was seldom that she +ever blessed any one aloud, or entered, save passively, into the +devotions of the family--now her benediction had the energy of an +earnest soul in it. The very tones of her voice were changed. She +seemed to have thrown off the icy crust from her heart, and breathed +deeper for it. + +Mary and Joseph went out, and sat down together in the starlight, that +fell softly upon them through the apple boughs. They had so many +things to say, and confessions to make; each was timidly anxious to +search the heart of the other, and read all the sweet hidden mysteries +that seemed fathomless there. + +Meanwhile aunt Hannah went into the out-room--that in which her sister +Anna died, and kneeling down, with her hands pressed on the bottom of +a chair, broke into a passion so deep and earnest that her whole frame +shook with the agony of her struggle. She arose at length and began to +walk the floor, wringing her hands and moaning as if in pain. Thus she +toiled and struggled in prayer all night, for it was the anniversary +of her sister's anguish and death. Many a softening influence had +crept into that frozen nature, with the young persons who brought +their joys and their sorrows beneath her roof, and now came the solemn +breaking up of her heart. She learned the true method of atonement in +the stillness of that nightwatch. It was the regeneration of a soul. + +When the day broke, she stole up to Isabel Chester's room, and kissed +her pallid cheeks as she slept. "Be comforted," she said, smiling down +upon the unconscious face; "be comforted, for the day of your joy is +at hand." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +THE DOUBLE BIRTH-DAY. + + + Brother awake--my soul is strong with pain-- + And humbled with a night of solemn prayer, + Never--oh, never, can I rest again, + Till restitution lifts me from despair! + +When aunt Hannah entered uncle Nathan's room he was sound asleep, with +a smile upon his half-open mouth, and two large arms folded lovingly +over his head, as if a sweet morning nap were the most, exquisite +enjoyment known to him. For a moment aunt Hannah stood by the bed-side +with her eyes, full of dark trouble, fixed upon his serene face. When +had she slept so tranquilly? would she ever know an hour of innocent, +child-like slumber like that again? + +"Nathan--brother Nathan," she said, in a husky voice that aroused the +old man from its very strangeness; "get up--I have something for you +to do." + +"Why, Hannah," said the old man, rubbing his eyes like a great fat +child, "am I late? what is the matter? just give me my clothes there, +and I'll be up before you can get the breakfast on the table. I'm very +sorry, very sorry, indeed; but somehow, I couldn't seem to get asleep, +last night, tired as I was--you know what night it was. Old times keep +me awake nights, Hannah, I think so much just now of poor little +Anna!" + +"It isn't late, Nathan," answered the sister, still in her hoarse, +unnatural voice, "but I want you to go up the street, and ask our +minister to come here at ten o'clock." + +"The minister! why, what for, sister Hannah? You ain't getting +anxious, nor nothing--I thought the day of regeneration had come, long +ago, with both of us." + +"Do not ask me questions, now, brother, but get up and go my errand." + +"Yes, yes, of course," answered uncle Nat, eyeing the pale face before +him, anxiously; "I'll do anything that's best." + +"When you have seen the minister, go down to Mrs. Farnham's, and ask +them all to come--Mr. Farnham, his mother, and Salina. After that call +for Judge Sharp." + +"Do you want them at ten?" + +"Yes!" + +Aunt Hannah went out, and from that hour till after nine, was shut up +alone in the out-room. The family sat down to breakfast without her, +marvelling why she chose to fast, that morning, all but uncle +Nathan--he remembered that it was the anniversary of his sister's +death; and when he came in from the performance of his errands, there +was a gentle look of tenderness on his face that made those around +long to comfort him. + +After breakfast aunt Hannah came forth, still very pale, but with a +look of serene resolution that no one had ever observed on her face +before. + +"Children," she said, addressing Joseph and Mary Fuller, "tell me, +once again, that you love one another." + +"We do--we do?" cried the young pair, lifting their faces, full of +holy sunshine, to hers, while their hands crept together, and +intertwined unconsciously. + +"And you would be glad to marry this girl, Joseph?" + +"Marry her!" exclaimed the youth, trembling from head to foot, "how +dare I--how can I?" + +"Answer me, Joseph, yes or no, would it make you happy, if within an +hour, this girl could be your wife, to live with you, and love you for +ever and ever?" + +"So happy," cried the youth, flushing red to the temples, "so happy +that I dare not think of it." + +"And you, Mary Fuller?" she questioned, moving close to the shrinking +girl, and speaking in a low voice, impelled to gentleness by womanly +compassion. + +"Oh, do not ask me, dear, dear aunt! you know how it is with me, I +have not dared to think of this." + +Aunt Hannah bent down, and kissed that portion of the burning forehead +which Mary's hands had left uncovered. + +Mary started, and lifted her moist eyes in amazement. Scarcely in her +life had she seen that cold woman kiss any one before. + +Aunt Hannah looked kindly into her eyes, and laying a hand on her +head, addressed Joseph. + +"This child is not beautiful, my son," she said, "but she has +something in her face, this moment, worth all the beauty in the +world." + +"I know it; I feel the sunshine of her presence," answered the youth. + +"It is this that troubles her; she fears that, in your love for +beautiful things, she will not always please you." + +Joseph reached forth his arms and drew the shrinking girl to his +bosom. + +"Don't tremble--don't cry, Mary, you are in my heart, and that is +flooded with beauty; what else do I want?" + +Mary sobbed out the tenderness and gratitude that filled her bosom in +a few low murmurs, that had no meaning, save to the heart over which +they were uttered. + +Aunt Hannah turned to uncle Nathan. + +"Is it not best, my brother, that two creatures who love each other so +much should be married?" + +Uncle Nathan was busy wiping the tears from his brown eyes, that were +full of tender light as those of a rabbit. It was seldom that he awoke +to a sense of worldly wisdom; but the helplessness of the young +creatures before him, for once overcame his benevolence. + +"Oh, Hannah, what would become of them when we get too old for work?" + +"We are too old, now," answered the sister, "but put all this on one +side. If you and I were rich enough to make them and theirs +comfortable, what would you say then?" + +"What would I say--why, God bless them and multiply them upon the face +of the earth! That's what I would say!" + +"And I," responded aunt Hannah, solemnly, "would answer amen!" + +With a dignity that was very impressive, she took the clasped hands of +the youth and maiden between both hers and once more she uttered the +word "amen" + +All this time Isabel Chester, pale and feeble from illness, sat in an +easy-chair upon the hearth, filled with self-compassion, and yet +feeling a generous pleasure that others could be happy though she was +so very desolate. Thus ten o'clock drew on, and the clergyman knocked +at the front door. + +Aunt Hannah stood stiffly upright for a moment, as if nerving herself, +then, turned toward the family. + +"Come!" she said. "It is twenty-one years to-day, since our sister +died, come!" + + + + +CHAPTER L. + +EXPLANATIONS AND EXPEDIENTS. + + + It was a scene of solemn power and force, + That woman, standing there, with marble face, + As cold and still as any sheeted corse, + The martyr herald of her own disgrace. + +Meantime another strange scene was going on at the Farnham mansion. On +that day young Farnham was of age. His mother was to give up her trust +as associate guardian, and for the first time in his life, the young +man would have a right to question and act for himself. + +The counsellor whom Mrs. Farnham had summoned from the city--a shrewd, +unscrupulous lawyer, was present with his accounts. The young man held +these documents in his hand, with an angry flush upon his brow. + +"And so this testament left me still a slave!" he exclaimed, +passionately. "In all things where a man should be free as thought, I +am bound eternally." + +"You were only required not to marry against this lady's consent," +answered the lawyer; "in all things else, as I am informed, this great +property, subject to the lady's dower of course, was left to your +control." + +"In all things else!" exclaimed the youth, bitterly. "Why, this is +everything." + +"Certainly, certainly," answered the lawyer, "you see now the great +self-sacrifice made by this inestimable lady, when she destroyed the +will, leaving you encumbered only with a moral obligation" + +"Which she knew to be fifty times as binding," said Farnham, glancing +sternly at his mother. + +"Yes, yes; I knew that your sense of honor would be stronger than +fifty legal documents like that; I depended on your generosity, +Frederick; I drew a medium between the legal tyrant that your papa +made me, and the powerless mother. Fred is noble, I argued; he loved +his father; he will not bow to the law, but will fling all this +fortune back into my lap. I will burn the will and trust to his sense +of duty. There was a medium, sir, you comprehend all its delicate +outlines, I trust." + +This was said blandly to the lawyer, who bowed with a look of profound +appreciation. + +Farnham stood up firmly. "Mother, in this thing there is no medium +between right and wrong. If my father left his property to me, his +only child, on these conditions they must be enforced." He hesitated +an instant, the crimson mounted to his temples, and he added in a +clear, low voice, "madam, will you say upon your solemn word of honor, +that this was the purport of the will you have burned?" + +Mrs. Farnham turned white, her eyes fell, she trembled beneath the +searching glance of her son. + +"I--I cannot remember word for word, but as surely as I stand +here, the property would have never been yours by the will, +without--without"-- + +"Enough," said the young man, "enough that you have said it once, I +submit to the will of my father." + +"And you give up this girl. Dear, dear, Frederick!" + +"No, madam; I give up the property. You have made us equal; Isabel +would have refused me with this wealth; she will not find the heart to +reject me now." + +"Frederick, you are--yes--if this gentleman permits, I must say +it--you are an ingrate!" + +"My guardian must be informed of this will and its conditions," said +Farnham. + +"I expected this!" exclaimed Mrs. Farnham, addressing the lawyer; "no +regard for his mother, no respect for his dear father's memory. You +see, my friend, what a trial I have had!" + +The lawyer looked keenly at young Farnham. + +"You had better let this subject rest," he said; "it has been well +managed so far; leave it with this good lady and myself." + +"There seems no need of management here," was the firm answer; "my +father's will must be carried out." + +"Let me act between you and your gentle mamma, dear sir. She must +yield a little, I see. You have a fancy, I am told, for the young lady +who has been so long an object of her bounty. Suppose your mother can +be induced to withdraw her objections to the match, on condition that +you let this matter of the will rest. It is so unpleasant to a +sensitive nature like hers, this raking up of buried troubles. Consent +to let them rest as they are, and I will undertake to gain consent to +your marriage with this--I must admit--very beautiful young creature. +Say, is it settled?" + +"Not yet, or thus," answered the young man, firmly; "I have an +alternative, and I solemnly believe the only one which will win this +noble girl to become my wife. Instead of embezzling my father's +property, which does not belong to me, if I marry her, I can renounce +that which brings so cruel an incumbrance." + +"But you will not," said the lawyer. + +"Yes, if it is necessary to gain Isabel Chester, I will!" answered the +youth. + +"In that case you know the property will become your mother's!" + +The young man looked suddenly and searchingly on his mother. His heart +rose indignantly. He could not force himself to respect that woman! + +"Have you decided?" inquired the lawyer, smiling. + +"Not till I have seen Isabel," answered the youth, looking at his +watch. "Madam, it is half-past nine, and I think we promised that old +man to be at his Homestead at ten; Isabel Chester is there. In her +presence you shall hear my decision." + +Mrs. Farnham looked at the lawyer, who almost imperceptibly bent his +head, and she rang the bell for Salina to bring her shawl and bonnet. + +Directly the strong-minded one came with an oriental cashmere thrown +over one arm, and a costly bonnet perched on her right hand. + +"It's time for us to be a-going if we ever expect to get there, now I +tell you," she said, tossing the lady's garments into her lap, and +tying her own calico hood with superfluous energy; "aunt Hannah is +punctual as the clock, and expects others to be so, too. Come!" + +The lawyer had risen, and was quietly fitting a pair of dark gloves to +his hands directly in range of Mrs. Farnham's eye who could not choose +but remark the contrast between those white hands and the dark kid, +while she coquetted with the folds of her shawl. + +"Come!" repeated Salina, thrusting her arm through that of the lawyer, +and bearing him forward in spite of all opposition. "Just a beau +apiece. Mr. Farnham will take care of the old lady, and I can get +along with you. Half a loaf is better than no bread, at any time. So, +for want of a better, I'm content." + +The lawyer would have rebelled when once out-of-doors, but young +Farnham had placed himself near his mother, and was walking by her +side with so stern a brow, that he resolved to submit, and, if +possible, glean some intelligence from Salina about the object of +their visit to the Homestead; but that exemplary female was as much +puzzled as himself, and they reached the Homestead mutually +discontented. + +"This way--take a seat in the out-room till I go call Miss Hannah," +cried Salina, pushing open the front door that grated and groaned as +if reluctant to admit such guests. "This door!" + +Salina pushed the out-room door open as she spoke, and to her surprise +found not only aunt Hannah, but the whole family. Mary Fuller, Joseph, +Isabel Chester, the two old people, and, what was most remarkable, a +clergyman of the church at which uncle Nat and his sister worshipped. +Judge Sharp came in a moment later. + +"Sit down," said aunt Hannah formally, and in a suppressed voice, as +if they had been invited to a funeral. Then as the party ranged +themselves in the stiff, wooden chairs, chilled by the silence and +gravity of everything they saw, aunt Hannah drew close to Joseph, who +sat by Mary, and said to them both in a serious gentle way: + +"Have faith in me, children." + +"We have, we have!" they murmured together with a firmer clasp of the +hands. + +"Remember I have promised, now be ready!" + +They both began to tremble, and a thrill of strange delight ran from +frame to frame, kindling its way through their clasped fingers. + +Aunt Hannah turned towards her guests, her upright figure took an air +of dignity, her dark eyes lighted up and scanned the faces of her +guests firmly, they dwelt longer upon the withered features of Mrs. +Farnham, and a cold smile crept over her lips as she said, + +"We have invited you to a wedding. It is now time, Joseph, Mary!" + +The young couple stood up, still holding each other by the hands. The +ceremony commenced, and it was remarkable that when the clergyman came +to that portion which commands any one that can make objections to +render them then, or henceforth hold his peace, aunt Hannah held up +her hand that he might pause, and stepping in front of Mrs. Farnham, +said in a low stern voice, + +"Have you any objections?" + +"_Me_!" exclaimed the lady with a sneer. "What do I care about them!" + +"Then you are willing that the ceremony goes on?" persisted the +singular woman, without a change of voice or attitude. + +"What earthly objection can I have? of course the ceremony may go on, +what are these people to me?" + +The ceremony went on, and with a deep breath of such joy as few human +beings ever know, the husband and wife sat down, almost faint with +excess of emotion. + +Isabel Chester had been sitting apart from the group, passive and +feeble, but now and then lifting her great mournful eyes with a look +of unuttered misery to the face of young Farnham. + +The first of these eloquent glances brought him to her side. + +"Isabel, I will give up all, I came to renounce everything but you," +he whispered. + +She shook her head mournfully and glanced with a shudder towards Mrs. +Farnham. + +"Poor or rich I cannot marry her son. It may kill me, but my oath, my +oath! let me rest, let me rest"-- + +She drew her hand wearily across her forehead and her bright eyes +filled with tears. + +"But you are sorry for this oath, my Isabel?" + +"Sorry, it is killing me." + +He looked down upon the white folds of her muslin wrapper, brightened +as they were by the crimson glow of a dressing-gown that flowed over +it. He saw how thin she had grown, how like wax her delicate hand lay +upon the crimson of her dress, and how mournfully large her eyes had +become. + +"This shall not be, it is madness!" he exclaimed aloud and +passionately. "Mother I"-- + +"Hush!" said aunt Hannah, silencing him with her uplifted hand, "let +_me_ speak!" + +She moved a step forward, standing almost in the centre of the room, +with Mrs. Farnham and her lawyer friend on the left, and the clergyman +who stood near the newly married pair on her right. All had a full +view of her face. Her features seemed harder than ever--the expression +on them was stern as granite. Her eyes burned with a settled purpose, +and her whole person was imposing. + +For a moment, when all eyes were bent upon her she seemed to falter; +you could see by the choking in her throat and a spasmodic gripe of +her fingers, that the struggle for her first words was agony. + +But she did speak, and her voice was so hoarse that it struck those +around her with amazement; nay, a look of awe stole over the faces +turned so earnestly towards her. + +"Twenty-one years ago last night, I committed a great wrong in the +face of God and the law," she said; "that woman," here she lifted her +long, boney finger and pointed it towards Mrs. Farnham, "that woman +had wronged me and the being I loved better than myself, and this +filled me with a heathenish thirst for vengeance upon her." + +"Me! me! why, did you ever--I never wronged a creature in my whole +life--you know how bland and gentle I always am!" whimpered that lady. + +"Be still!" interposed aunt Hannah in the same deep voice. "The +husband of that woman was betrothed to me in my youth." + +"I'll never believe that, never--never!" cried Mrs. Farnham, flushing +up angrily. + +"Peace, I say, and do not interrupt me again. My parents died leaving +Anna, a little girl pretty as an angel, for Nathan and I to take care +of; she was the dearest, loveliest little thing." + +"I'll take my Bible oath of that," cried Salina, reddening suddenly +around the eyes, "I never set eyes on anything half so purty in my +life." + +"I gave up all for this child, and so did Nathan; we both agreed to +live single for her sake and be parents to her." + +"More fools you," muttered Salina, "as if uncle Nat's wife couldn't +and wouldn't have taken care of a dozen such children, that is, if +he'd only had sense enough to choose a smart--but what's the use, it's +all over now." + +This was said in a muttered undertone, and aunt Hannah went on without +heeding it. + +"It was a hard struggle, for I was young then, and loved the man I +expected to spend my life with--Nathan too"-- + +"No matter about me, Hannah, don't mention anything I did; it was hard +at the time, but one gets used to almost everything," cried the old +man, wiping the tears from his eyes with a cotton handkerchief that +Salina handed to him, her own eyes flushing redder and redder from +sympathy. + +"I need not speak of him," commenced aunt Hannah, with one look at her +brother's face. "He did his duty; if I had done mine as well, this +hour of shame would not have brought me where I am. + +"The child grew up into a beautiful girl--so beautiful and with such +sweet ways, that it did one good only to look at her, but she was +willful too, and loved play; wild as a kitten she was, but as harmless +too. + +"She would go out to work; we tried to stop it, but the child would +go; Salina there, kept house for old Mrs. Farnham; they wanted help to +spin up the wool and Anna went. She came back engaged to Mr. Farnham. +I forgave her, God is my judge; I did not hate the child for +supplanting me in the only love I ever hoped to know. It was a hard +trial, but I bore it without a single bitter thought toward either of +them. It nearly killed me, but I did my duty by the child. + +"He went to the city, for he had gone into business there, and was +getting rich. Time went fast with him and slow with us. In the end he +married that woman. Anna went wild when she knew it, and like a +wounded bird fled to the first open heart for shelter. She married +too, and in a single year died here in this room." + +"I remember it, oh! how well I remember it," sobbed Salina, while +uncle Nat covered his face with both hands and wept aloud. + +"It was an awful night. Thunder shook the Old Homestead, and the winds +rocked it as if death were rocking her to sleep; across them windows +came the lightning, flash after flash, as if the angels of heaven were +shooting fiery arrows over her as she breathed her last. Salina was +there, but no doctor. He was at Mrs. Farnham's mansion up yonder, for +that night her only son was born. + +"He came at last, to find her dead body lying there, cold and pale in +the lightning flashes that broke against the windows. He found me +alone with my dead sister, numb with sorrow, dead at the heart. + +"After this Salina brought Anna's baby and laid it in my lap. The +doctor had ordered her home. The rich man's wife could not be +neglected." + +"But I wouldn't have gone, you know I wouldn't for anything he could +say," cried Salina, firing up amid her tears. "If you hadn't said go, +all the doctors on arth couldn't have made me stir a foot!" + +"Yes, I told you to go, but it was in bitterness of heart; why should +I with that living soul in my lap, and that cold body before me, keep +you from the rich woman's couch? Farnham's heir must be kept warm, +while ours lay wailing and shivering in my lap. + +"I was left alone amid the lightning and thunder and the noise of the +rain; my poor dead sister seemed to call out from the clouds, that I +should help her spirit free from the raging of the tempest--I think +all this worked on my brain, for I sat and looked on the babe with a +stillness that seemed to last for months. I thought of her broken +life--of the poverty she had felt--of that which must follow her +child. I thought of that woman, so paltry, so mean, so utterly +unworthy of care, pampered with wealth, comforted with love, while my +sister, so much her better in everything had died of neglect, I +thought of many things, not connectedly, but in a wild bitter mood +that made me fierce under the wrongs that had been heaped upon us. It +is impossible for me to say how the idea came first, but I resolved +that her child should not be the sufferer. His father was miserably +poor, but he would not, I knew, give up his child. I did not reason, +but these thoughts flashed through my brain, and with them came an +impulse to give her child the destiny which Anna's should escape. I +tore a blanket from the bed; poor Anna did not need it then. I wrapped +it about the child and went forth into the storm. The lightning blazed +along my path, and the thunder boomed over me like minute guns when a +funeral is in motion. + +"I knew the house well, and stole in through the back door onward to +the half-lighted chamber of Farnham's wife. Her son lay in a sumptuous +crib under a cloud of lace. I laid Anna's babe on the floor and took +this one from its silken nest. My hands were cold and trembling, but +the dresses were soon changed, and in a few minutes I went out with +Farnham's heir rolled up in my blanket, and Anna's child sleeping +sweetly in the cradle that I had robbed." + +Mrs. Farnham started up, pale and trembling. + +"What, what! my child rolled up in a blanket! a mean, coarse blanket!" + +"Be still," commanded aunt Hannah; "your child has had nothing but +coarse blankets all his life; but he is all the better for that; ask +him if I have not toiled that he and the good man who brought him up +might never want; but I was a feeble woman and could do no more--a +woman weighed down by a sense of the crime which I might repent of +daily, but could not force myself to confess." + +"But my child! where is my child, you horrible kidnapper?" cried Mrs. +Farnham. "I will know--but remember, if he's been brought up among +common people and all that, I never will own him." + +"Your son," said aunt Hannah, going gently toward Joseph Esmond, and +laying her hand on his shoulder. "This is your son; he is worthy of +any mother's love." + +"My son, and married to that thing! I never will own him, don't ask +me, I never will!" cried the excited woman, eyeing the youth, +disdainfully. "He is handsome enough, but I cannot own him for my +son!" + +"Mother," said the youth, rising and coming forward, with both hands +extended. "Mother, why will you not love me?" + +She had gathered up her shawl, haughtily, and was about to leave the +room; but his voice struck upon her like a spell; the folds of her +shawl dropt downward, and for once, yielding to a warm, natural +impulse, she burst into a passion of tears, and received the youth in +her arms. + +"Oh, mother, bear with me; you would, did you know how I have pined +for a mother's love." + +She did not speak, but kissed his forehead two or three times, and sat +down subdued, with gentler affections than she had ever shown before. + +"Not only to me, mother, but to my wife. Will you not love my wife?" + +Mary was drawn forward, for one arm of her husband was around her, and +stood with downcast eyes and flushed cheeks, waiting for the repulse, +which seemed inevitable. + +Mrs. Farnham looked at him, and something of the old scorn curled her +lip. Mary slowly lifted her eyes, full of meek solicitude, and even +her mother-in-law's heart was touched. + +"Well, well, make him a good wife, and I'll try to love you." + +"I," said the youth, whom we have known as young Farnham--"I have no +longer a mother." + +"No," said uncle Nat, arising and opening his arms; "but you have an +old uncle and aunt that will divide their last crust with you. Sister, +sister, he looks like Anna, now, with the tears in his eyes." + +Aunt Hannah turned; it was the first time in her life that she had +ever looked her nephew full in the face, and now a consciousness of +the wrong she had done made her timid; she stood before him with +downcast eyes, trembling and afraid. + +"My aunt, will you not look upon me?" + +"I have wronged you," she said. "How will you bear hard work and +want?" + +"Ask Isabel if she thinks I cannot bear them with her." + +Isabel stood up; her strength came back with the sudden joy that +overwhelmed her, and she held forth her hand to the youth, radiant as +an angel. He led her towards Mrs. Farnham. + +"Mother, you will not repulse us, now, when we are alike in condition. +Give us your blessing before we go forth on our struggle with the +world." + +All that was good in that woman's nature broke forth with the first +gush of true maternal love; for a moment she forgot herself and held +out her hand. + +"Oh, Fred! I hate to give you up altogether; but, then, I really am +not your mother. Don't you see it in his bright hair? in those +beautiful eyes?--we ought to have known he was my son by his face. +But, only think of that horrid woman's bringing him up among all those +low people; but she could not make him like them. There is a medium in +blood, you see. But, when, you took so naturally to our life; really, +I don't see my way clear yet!" + +"But won't you speak to Isabel, mother?" + +"Isabel! dear me, I should not know her. How do you do, my dear? +Certainly, it's very proper and right that you should marry Fred, now! +It's quite like a romance. Isn't it? Of course, all my objections are +removed." + +"And my vow," whispered Isabel; "thank God, we are as free as two wild +birds!" + +"And as poor," answered Frederick, smiling, while a shade of sadness +settled on Joseph Esmond's face. + +"Not quite so bad as that," said Judge Sharp, stepping forward with a +blackened and scorched paper in his hand, "Young man, on this your +common birth-day, you have attained legal manhood. By Mr. Farnham's +will, which has but lately come into my hands, I find myself called +upon to resign my guardianship over you both; for--with the exception +of his widow's dower, and ten thousand dollars left to this young +lady, Isabel Chester, with direction that she should be brought up and +educated in his own family--Mr. Farnham's property was divided equally +between his own son and the son of Joseph and Anna Esmond. I rejoice +at this, and congratulate you, young man. You have each proved worthy, +and God has blessed you." + +A flush of beautiful joy drove the gloom from Esmond's face. He arose +and held out his hand. + +"Farnham! Farnham! wish me joy. You can wish me joy, now." + +Every heart rose warmly as the young men shook hands, and all eyes +were so blinded with happy tears, that no one observed Mrs. Farnham as +she shrunk cowering in a corner of the room. Even Judge Sharp avoided +looking that way, and Salina planted herself before the pallid woman, +expanding her scant skirts, till they swelled out like a half-open +umbrella, in a prompt effort to screen that guilty form. + +"Young men!" and as he spoke Judge Sharp assumed a look of more than +ordinary dignity. "Thank God, that in this great change, he left you +to the influences which have best developed the powers within you. +Now, go forth, my children, with the fair wives you have chosen, and +always remember, that the trials of early life should give strength +and power to manhood." + + THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Homestead, by Ann S. 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