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OF THE
HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE
Mrs. H. G. ROWE
'.*'/■*'/**•*.
Wrnmm0mf^m<^0 i fr^ m ^
__ -
t; It was her fortune that gave grandsire Burton his start
in life.
Rk
TOLD ALES
OF THE
JHills ar\d SKores of Mair\e,
By Mrs. H, G. Rowe.
•'Keep who will the city's alleys,
Take the sm toth-shorn plain,
Give to us the cedar valleys,
Rocks and hills of Maine !
In our North-land, wild and woody,
Let us still have part ;
Hugged nurse and mother sturdy,
Hold us to thv heart ! "
BANGOR, ME.
D. BUGBEE & CO., PUBLISHERS
1892
Copyright 189% .
CONTEXTS.
Page.
I. Pretty Patty Parton. A Tale of the Revolution . 9
Chaps. I. IT. III. IV. V. VI.
II. A College Girl. 81
Chaps. I. II. III.
III. The Eagle in the Sea-bird's Nest. 125
IV. Church Mice. l-'l
Chaps. I. II. III. IV.
V. Marjorie's Knight. 197
VI. Stuffing the Thanksgiving Turkey. 223
VII. Tempest in a Teapot. 241
VIII. Betsey. 261
IX. Puck in the Pulpit. ; j-1
X. Sugaring Oef. 341
M12034
TO
My Friend,
Mrs. Flora E. Haines,
THIS BOOK
Is Gratefully Dedicated.
H. G. R.
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Between pages
■•It was her fortune that gave grandsire Burton
his first start in life." (Frontispiece. )
••The homely, rough barked pines and spruces
were like old. familiar faces to him." - 154— loo
••I have not risked my life for money." - - 218—219
-One must keep mighty still in a birch, ma'am." 250-251
• -A long walk f 'r Rose, such a cold day as this is." 324—325
"Whv didn't he wear an old hat and trousers, as
, u» . 344 — 345
anybody else would.
PREFACE.
An Irish matron, one of the honored foremothers of our
Pine Tree State, when asked by a passing traveller what
crops she expected to raise upon the sandy, boulder strewn
soil of her little sea bordered farm, replied with a good na-
tured bravado, that in our own day has attained to the dig-
nity of a prophecy :
t; Craps is it? Faith ! but I'll be after raisin a Governor or
two. wid maybe a Ginral or a Jedge, an a hanfulo' brave
byes thrown in f 'r ballast, that'll make these woods an'
swamps laugh wid a harvest sich as the ould worrld niver
dramed ov . Thims the craps that, wid God's blissin, we'll
be afther sindin to the worrld's mill one o' these days
Nearly two centuries have slipped away since those words
were spokeu, and honest Bridget Sullivan and her six brave
boys (who strangely enough fulfilled their mother's prophecy
to the letter) have long since returned to their parent dust.
But the spirit of that prophecy still lives, and the grand old
state, to-day, proudly points to her sons as the noblest prod-
uct of her now fertile soil. Unlike many of her later born
sisters, the growth of Maine has been like that of her own
statelv pines, comparatively slow. Little by little she has
enlarged and beautified her borders, step by step she has
climbed to wealth, and station, and political importance,
until the familiar saying,
"As goes Maine, so goes the Union,"
has come to be accepted as a veritable truth in all political
contests.
8
With her feet upon the everlasting rock, and her pine
crowned hills lifting their unprofaned heads heavenward,
she looks, in the pride of a lusty matronhood, upon the mul-
titude of noble sons that she has sent forth to fill the high
and honored places of the earth.
In the Gubnatorial chair, in the Senate Chamber, at the
head of a nation's armies, and as honored guests in the
palaces of foreign kiDgs, — wherever clear brains and manly
hearts are needed, there the sons of Maine do honor to the
sturdy old mother, whose stern discipline nourished their
childhood and made them strong to withstand whatever of
storm or strain their manhood might be fated to meet.
Nor are the clear intellect, the undaunted heart, and the
strong right arm of the son of Maine his only heritage.
Even as the saxifrage clothes with its delicate beauty the
rocky ledges, with scarce a film of earth between its tender
rootlets and the stern granite, so in thousands of humble
homes, all over our state, bloom the sweet, God beloved
virtues of unselfish affection and patient self sacrifice, with
oftentimes a poetic strain that seems indigenous to the soil.
For, let the Maine man go where he will, be what he may,
certain characteristics still cling to him, and rude and rough
tho' he may be, a familiar song of one of his own home
bards, a tale of the rocks and hills dear to his childhood,
even the sight of an autumn-reddened leaf has power to
touch a tender spot in his world hardened heart and draw
from his lips the oft heard blessing :
"God bless the dear old State of Maine !"
Prettij pattq parton.
CHAPTER I.
A sojourn of three possibly four months, in that wild, far
away District of Maine, among the Indians and bears, and
wildcats, and, what was little better to loyal eyes, those
pestilent rebels that General Wadsworth had been ordered
to take command of! It was the maddest project that was
ever heard of. but just what might have beeu expected from
that flighty Dolly Wadsworth, who, after her wilful disre-
gard of all family traditions in allying herself to an avowed
enemy of the royal cause, was capable, in her great aunt's
opinion, of any wild, not to say disgraceful escapade.
And Madam Courtland almost decided to put her foot —
that daintily satin-slippered foot, of whose aristocratic
beauty she was so proud, — down at once, that her ward,
Patty Parton, should not accept the invitation of her kins-
woman to accompany herself and family to the then half-
wild Province where her husband had been assigned a tem-
porary command, for the purpose of raising and drilling
certain companies of volunteer militia, that were greatly
needed by the government at this time.
This was in the spring of 1779, and it was well under-
stood by all classes, even in the most remote districts, that
the four years' war for independence had drawn terribly
upon the resources of the country, both North and South,
and that patriots all over the land were straining every nerve
to help strike the final and decisive blow to English tyranny
and usurpation in their beloved land.
The year before an English fleet under command of
General MacLean had taken possession of the peninsula of
10 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Maja-bagaduce upon the eastern shore of Penobscot Bay,
and built a fort upon the high ground in the center, thus
making a military post of no small importance, commanding
as it did the whole bay, and able to bring its guns to bear
upon any craft, either war ship or merchantman, that ven-
tured out of, or into the harbor. It was to raise troops for
the destruction of this fortress that General Wads worth had
been detailed by the General Court of Massachusetts, and,
tempted no less by the novelty of the excursion than by her
desire for her husband's companionship, his young wife
with her two little children decided to accompany him.
"It is but a rough outlook, Mistress Dolly," declared the
General, who had not the heart to deny her request, even
though his better judgment shrank from exposing her to the
inconveniences and possible perils of this expedition into a
rude, half-civilized region. "But if you will go, you were
wdse to ask your cousin Patty to keep you company."
Thus it was at the General's suggestion that Patty came
by the invitation that had aroused such a storm of opposi-
tion from Madam, who, as the girl's guardian and nearest
relative, naturally felt responsible for her conduct and safety.
"If Mistress Wads worth is mad enough to undertake
such an unheard of venture herself, she has scarcely the
right, forsooth, to drag you with her into that howling wil-
derness of redskins and rebels."
And the old lady fretted, and scolded, and argued, even
condescending to tears and entreaties, as she found how
Patty's adventurous heart was set upon the expedition that,
to her girlish fancy, seemed the most delightful that could
be planned.
"It is a terrible region," moaned Madam, shaking her
powdered head in solemn warning. "The few white people
live in log huts, with only the naked earth for floors, and
PRETTY PATTY PARTOX. 11
the bears march boldly up and peer into the windows as im-
pudent as you please. The wolves too, howl the long
nights through, so that a body can scarce catch a wink of
sleep from sundown to sunrise."
Patty laughed lightly.
"The bears and wolves will trouble ma little, aunt Mar-
garet, for I will coax the General to teach me to handle a
musket, as he has taught Dolly. Then, perhaps, I'll go
hunting in as great state," she added mischievously, "as
did my great, great, great grandmother, who rode in King
Hal's train on that wonderful May Day hunt that you have
told me about so often."
"And wounded the stag with her own fair hands," inter-
polated the old lady, thrown off the track for a moment by
this shrewd diversion of her lively companion. "The ant-
lers of that very stag were preserved in the Courtland family
for many generations, as I have heard my honored grand-
mother say, who saw them with her own eyes, in her child-
hood when on a visit to the old Hall in the year 1690.
But," suddenly recollecting herself, "that has nothing to do
with the matter now in hand. Pray tell me," and she
straightened herself with the air of one who is prepared
with a last, unanswerable argument, "what do you expect
to wear or to eat in that howling wilderness ? You have
not a gown in your wardrobe fit to wear in such a place, for
you will be forced to sit upon the bare earth, and live on
potatoes roasted in the ashes. Moreover, the branches of
the trees will surely ruin ail your head-dresses — not a
plume, top knot, or bit of gauze but will be torn to tatters
in a week. Neither do I doubt," she added scornfully,
"that those pestilent rebels will stand ready to rob you of
your silver shoe-buckles and gold necklace as soon as ever
12 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
your foot touches land. The varlets are capable of any
meanness if they think they will escape punishment."
A hot flush rose to the girl's fair face and an angry light
burned in her eyes as she resolutely bent them upon her em-
broidery. It was very evident that she was far from
sharing the political prejudices of her more aristocratic aunt,
and there was an unmistakable note of defiance in her
fresh young voice as she replied, with an effort to control
herself.
'•The honest, hard-working men and women who love
their country so well that they can brave poverty, toil,
privations, even death itself, for her sake, can afford to look
with indifference upon the gewgaws that you so unjustly in-
timate would be a temptation to their honesty. They are
not of the same type as these foreign hirelings that King
George has sent over here, to steal the silver spoons from
our tables, and the buckles from our shoes."
Madam, in spite of herself, looked rather disconcerted at
this reference to the depredations of the foreign soldiery,
whose greed for plunder even she could not deny or palliate.
But she contented herself with muttering something about
the • -usages of war." and prudently turned the conversation
by asking, with an air of assumed humility: -May I ven-
ture upon the liberty of enquiring, Miss Patty, when you
propose to start upon your intended journev ?"
The girl smiled shrewdly, for she knew that she had
gained her point, and hastened to reply with amiable
readiness :
"In just two weeks we are to be ready to sail in the
'Molly Stark.' Cousin Dolly is having new coats and
breeches of homespun made for the lads, and a gown and
petticoat of the same for herself."
••Humph !" grumbled the old lady disconcertedly. "Dolly
FRETTY PATTY PABTOH.
13
Wadfiworth may wear what she pleases, for all that /care,
but that blue camlet cloak with the scarlet hood, and the
puce colored grogram aud cloth petticoat will serve your
purpose. I fancy. For my part, I see no sense in making
any extra preparations for such a ridiculous flitting."
Pattv nodded good naturedly :
• -The cloak and gown will serve me very well," she contin-
ued, with a kiss upon the old lady's withered cheek and a
mischievous laugh in her brown eyes, as she tripped out of
the room, humming saucily beneath her breath :
"First then, a woman will or won't— depend on't;
If she will do it, she will, and there's an end on't."
The old lady watched her until the last flutter of her
pretty chintz ruffles disappeared through the door, with a
smile at once tender and doubtful.
••If I could but know.'" she muttered uneasily to her self,
••if—"
The sentence remained unfinished, but that evening, when
Mistress Wadsworth dropped in to talk over the final ar-
rangements for the proposed journey, the prudent old dame
took occasion to ask. in the most matber-of-fcct way in the
world :
••Now that I think of it. niece Dorothy, let me inquire if
that young man whom I had the honor of meeting at your
house on Christmas Eve. Major I fail to recall the
name at this moment—"
••Burton?" queried the General's wife, innocently uncon-
scious of Patty's suddenly crimsoned cheeks.
••Yes. that was the name. I was reminded of him
at this time,"— stopping to leisurely disentangle a knot in
her knitting cotton, "because, if I remember rightly, his
home was somewhere in these far away parts where you
propose to spend your summer."
14 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
The other nodded complacently.
"The General's headquarters will be in Major Burton's
native town, and for that reason his aid will be invaluable
in raising and drilling the troops. Besides — " turning
with a gay smile to Patty, — "he is so comely and gal-
lant a young man, and so brave a soldier withal, that I pre-
dict he will beeome as great a favorite with us as he already
is with the General."
The unsuspicious little lady had walked straight into the
trap that her shrewd kinswoman had set for her unwary
feet, and she never for an instant guessed that Patty's flushed
face and sudden pettishness were due in the least to her in-
cautious communication.
She only wondered good-naturedly why the girl spoke so
sharply in reply to her voluble conjectures and suggestions
in regard to their anticipated journey, or why Madam, after
having already {riven her consent, should seem half inclined
to recall at this late day.
Neither did she hear the hour long lecture at bedtime,
to which poor Patty* was forced to listen with closed lips,
although every drop of blood in her small body was ting-
ling with indignation and shame.
"And now I hope." remarked Madam in conclusion,
"that I have sufficiently impressed upon you the necessity
of great circumspection and maidenly reserve, in the case
of this very presuming and forward young man, who will
doubtless take advantage of his acquaintanceship with your
cousin's husband to force his society upon you. He may
even." she added with stinging significance, • 'dare to repeat
the insolent familiarity that I witnessed with my own eyes
on last Christmas Eve."
Poor Patty blushed to the very tips of her dainty ears :
"There was no harm or unseemly familiarity," she cried
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 15
angrily, while the hot tears of maidenly pride started to her
eyes, "in his claiming his right to a kiss under the mistle-
toe, especially as he only ventured to touch my hand with
his lips."
Slowly and majestically the old lady drew the stiff folds
of her green damask bed gown more closely about her as
she rose to her feet, and looking down upon the girl's flushed
and tearful face, replied with stern dignity:
•• Remember, girl, that the touch of rebel lips upon the
hand even of a daughter of the loyal house of Courtland is
contamination."
To this grandiloquent speech Patty ventured no retort,
but as the last tap of her aunt's high-heeled shoes died
away in the corridor outside, she shook her saucy head de-
fiantly, and laughed outright, in spite of the angry tears
that yet stained her cheeks.
It was so ridiculous, she reasoned. All this fuss about
one little, harmless, foolish kiss, claimed and bestowed
openly, and with m?rry laugh and jest, in the full blaze of
'the wax lights in her cousin's crowded drawing-room. And
if, forsooth, the gallant Major had no grand, titled ances-
tors to boast of, but was simply a brave, honest son of
New England, it didn't make him one whit less handsome
and interesting, let Aunt Courtland say what she would.
•A man's man for a' that." she hummed gaily over her
curl papers ; and as she took a parting peep into the glass
before retiring, she caught herself wondering if that old
puce colored grogram couldn't be brightened up a little with
knots of flame-colored ribbon and one of her white muslin
neck kerchiefs that were so becoming to her fair complex-
ion? — One wouldn't want to be quite a fright, even if one
was only going to be seen by the bears and Indians.
Perhaps though, it was some penitent remembrance of the
16 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
old lady's cautions that prompted the distant greeting which
Patty bestowed upon the gallant young officer when, upon
their arrival at their destination, he hastened, as in duty
bound, to report himself and proffer his services, not only
in helping to raise the required troops, but in making the
general and his family comfortable in the midst of their
new and rude surroundings.
And that these were new and rude in more ways than
one, even the enthusiastic Mistress Dolly could not deny.
The settlement, which is now known as Thomaston, was
at that time composed of a few straggling houses, not more
than twenty, all told ; while the dense forests on either hand
towered dark and dense in savage wildness, as yet almost
untouched by the axe of the pioneer.
The streams that only a few years later were to furnish
the power for many a mill, whose iron teeth made short
work of converting these forest monarchs into lumber for
the pioneer's use, and left the land clear for his grain fields
and orchards, now ran, unvexed by anything less primitive
than the dam of the beaver or the trap of the Indian hunter.
The farms were none of them entirely cleared, and many
of them bore the marks of the axe only upon the two or
three acres immediately surrounding the house. The clear-
ing in which the house occupied by the Wadsworths stood,
was largely a waste of blackened and charred tree trunks
and roots, waiting to be piled in heaps for the final burning,
with nothing of beauty or promise about them to the care-
less eye, but brimming over with fruitful possibilities to one
who understood and appreciated the wonderful art by which
those patient toilers of other days succeeded in wringing
from the untamed soil, wealth, comfort, and all the beautiful
and graceful adjuncts attendant upon a true Christian civili-
zation.
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 17
Some such thoughts as these flitted through Patty's brain
as, on the morning after their arrival, she stood in the low
doorway and looked out with thoughtful eyes upon the un-
familiar scene before her.
The trees, elm, oak and maple, were just bursting into
leaf, hanging like a filmy veil of green and crimson between
the clear blue of the sweet May sky and her own delighted
vision. Swallows darted in and out of the great roomy
barn, sweeping down so close to her lace that their sharp
wings almost brushed her cheek — a pretty contrast in their
saucy fearlessness to the modest brown partridge that peeped
shyly out at her from the thicket close by, too intent upon
watching her motions to heed the impatient drumming of
its mate in the forest beyond.
The sweet, clear air was balmy with those thousand in-
describable odors that only a May morning in our northern
New England produces — the incense that grateful Nature,
just released from her icy prison house, smiled up to her
deliverer.
"Patty?" called Mistress Wadsworth's cheery voice from
within.
''Cousin Patty — you idle little thing! don't stand there
dreaming all day, but take this canteen and run down to the
spring beyond the clearing, and fetch us some fresh water
for breakfast."
With a willing nod and smile the girl" obeyed, tripping
half timidly down the well trodden pathway that led to the
spring, whose whereabouts she had discovered the day be-
fore, and whose clear, ice cold water was one of the few-
luxuries that their new habitation could promise them.
The great trees met over her head in a leafy arch, through
which the sun shot his gilded arrows, that fell, splintered
and broken. upon heaps of last year's leaves, russet and sod-
18 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
den with the scarce melted snow, or nestled in beds of green
feathery mosses, where the delicate blossoms of the ane-
mone, with here and there a tuft of rosy arbutus, lifted
their innocent heads, as if drinking in the full beauty and
fragrance of the pure spring day, that seemed to enclose
them in a warm, tender embrace. How much prettier they
were than any of the garden flowers that her aunt cherished
so tenderly, just because the seeds had been imported from
her old English home, and how much more delicate and
sweet breathed in their modest rusticity.
She gathered them by the handsful. inhaling their dewy
fragrance with a kind of intoxication that made her, for the
time, forgetful of everything but the strange, sweet influ-
ences of the place and hour ; and she started, with a half-
guilty consciousness of her neglected task, at the sound of
a footstep close behind her upon the grassy path.
A glance over her shoulder revealed the familiar figure of
a tall young man, in homespuu hunting suit and moccasins,
who lifted his cap with a courteous gesture, as he bade her
a pleasant good morning.
••So you have been pilfering from Mother Bumble-bee's
garden !" he said, with a gay nod at the heap of blossoms
and trailing evergreen that she had gathered in her apron.
"That is what Ma'am Burchard. my old schoolmistress,
used to call it. when she saw us youngsters with our hands
full of wild flowers. If it was a string of trout, she would
scold us for robbing Daddy Fishbank's pork barrel."
Patty laughed at the odd conceit, and the ice once broken
the two were soon chatting away with the freedom of old
friends, as they strolled slowly down to the spring, where,
having filled the canteen with the cold, clear water, the gal-
lant Major delighted his companion and. it is fair to sup-
pose, himself as well, by fashioning a dwarf drinking cup
PRETTY PATTY PABTON. 19
from the delicately tinted inner bark of the white birch,
from which each in turn gaily drank long life and prosperity
to the pretty woodland spring, that certainly never reflected
in its clear depths two brighter and happier faces.
But. as they turned their half reluctant steps homeward,
and emerging from the shadow of the wood, came once more
face to face with the unsightly, half-reclaimed landscape
that stretched out before them on either hand, a shade of
sadness crossed the young man's face, and dropping the gay
tone and manner that he had hitherto assumed, he remarked
with a bitterness that seemed foreign to his easy tempered
nature :
-Look at these half-cleared, half-tilled farms, from which
the old men and boys can scarcely wring enough to keep
the helpless ones at home from actual hunger. No wonder
that the whole land is sending up one united cry to Heaven
that the end of this dreadful contest may be near. And
yet," he added proudly, "not a man. woman or child among
us would purchase the peace that they so long for by a
cowardly submission to the oppresses of their country.
'Liberty or death' was our watchword in the beginniDg and,
after all these long years of unequal strife, not a patriot in
the land to-day thinks for an instant of any possible com-
promise with tyranny."
His handsome face glowed with patriotic pride and fer-
vor, and Patty noticed that he tightened his grasp of the
canteen as he spoke, as if in imagination his hand was upon
the throat of the foe that had brought such poverty and de-
vastation to his beloved country.
Now, in her heart, the girl fully sympathized with his
patriotic sentiments, nor was she at all indifferent to his
manly eloquence of word and manner, but, woman like,
she found a mischievous pleasure in being on the opposite
20 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
side. So she only replied with an affectation of cool indif-
ference :
"Ah, yes — without doubt the war has caused a great
deal of inconvenience and loss to the country. But you
know there is an old saying that those who dance must pay
the fiddler, and if the colonies chose to rebel they must ex-
pect to take the consequences."
The young man glanced reproachfully at her studiedly in-
different face. He was evidently both surprised and pained
at her apparent callousness to the sufferings and wrongs of
her fellow countrymen, and he took no pains to conceal his
feelings.
"I did not dream," he said reproachfully, "that so near
a kinswoman of our gallant General could be other than a
sympathizer with the cause for which he is willing to ad-
venture all. It is strange," he added frankly, "that, feeling
as you do, you should have risked the inconveniences and
possible perils of a sojourn in this out-of-the-way region
merely to keep your rebel friends company."
Patty stole a glance at his disturbed face from under the
shadow of her calash, and the mischievous dimples about
her rosy mouth would surely have betrayed her had it not
been for that convenient screen, as she said coolly :
"Oh! as to that, I am naturally adventurous, and I
wanted to see for myself what this 'howling wilderness' as
Aunt Courtland calls it, was like."
"It's but a rough place for fine ladies to prune their
plumes in," returned the Major with a touch of sarcastic
bitterness. "And if the British commander at Bagaduce
should get wind of the General's presence here, why it
might" — He checked himself suddenly, vexed at his own
i mprudence in suggesting the possibilities of a danger that
was not really to be apprehended in a neighborhood where
PRETTY PATTY PARTOX.
21
almost everybody was a friend to the cause of freedom and
its champions.
But Patty's mischievous face had grown suddenly grave,
and she cast a keenly inquiring glance at her companion, as
she asked pointedly :
"Why do you say that? Is General Wadsworth's posi-
tion here a dangerous one?"
4 'By no means." was the quick rejoinder. "'I spoke
heedlessly, and of a mere possibility that no brave man
would trouble himself about for an instant."
With this assurance the girl was fain to rest content, and
as the house was never without its guard of armed soldiers,
while the General's camp was soon filled with the recruits
that poured iu from the surrounding country, there seemed
little likelihood that, even if the hostile garrison at Baga-
duce should hear of their presence, they would not venture
into the midst of the enemy's country to risk an actual
conflict with them.
22 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
CHAPTER II.
And so the long, bright, lazy summer days crept by in a
peaceful contentment, such as the town-bred maiden had
never in all her life known before. The relief from a hun-
dred petty, yet clinging cares and duties, more than
compensated the rude accommodations, while her natural
love for Nature could now for the first time find free and un-
reproved expression, and easy, unconventional Mistress
Dolly, even if she did not share her young kinswoman's en-
thusiasm for the new and beautiful things about them,
listened kindly to her raptures, and never made the least ob-
jection to her amusing herself in any way that she preferred,
whether by long, solitary rambles in the woodlands and
meadows, or by frequent raids upon the scattered farm-
houses, whose inmates she studied with the same kindly
zeal and interest which she brought to bear upon the wild
flowers and ferns that she searched out and brought home
with her from her long walks about the country.
If Aunt Courtland could only have seen her, as with un-
gloved hands and moccasined feet, she explored the wild
woodland paths, guided only by the k 'blazed" trees, fishing
for trout in the pretty, babbling trout brooks, whose loca-
tions and resources she soon came to know as familiarly as
the streets of her own native city ; studying the habits of
the wild birds and animals, and the scarcely less wild ways
of the unkempt country children who, their confidence once
secured, were always delighted to be her companions and
guides upon any excursion that her fertile fancy prompted
PRETTY PATTV PARTON. 23
her to undertake, while in many indirect ways she con-
trived to instruct and harmonize them to a degree that sur-
prised even herself.
It was a work of love and mercy, and never in all her
easy, care-free life had the girl tasted such pure, unalloyed
enjoyment as she now knew in her gentle ministry among
these neglected little people, whose loving devotion more
than repaid her for whatever was wearisome or distasteful
in her self-elected position as teacher and mentor to these
untrained youngsters :
"Stand up now, little Jeanne, look me straight in the eye,
and let me see if you have learned the task I gave you."
Obediently the little maid stiaightened her chubby
shoulders, set her bare feet resolutely upon the roughly
hewed timbers that formed the tloor of her rude cottage
home, and stared with her fearless, Scotch blue eyes into
the grave face of her instructress :
"Weel, Miss, I'm a' here !" she answered, with the stolid
composure of her race.
Patty smiled and nodded good naturedly. "Let me see,"
she said slowly, "there were six words in this lesson, I be-
lieve. The first in the list is 'frog,' — spell 'frog,' Jeanne."
' 'What the auld grandmither caa's the monsters that cry
boo ! in the meadows, and prays nicht and morn to be pro-
tected — fra ?"
"Yes, the very same. Now, how do you spell it?"
"Frogs did ye ca' 'em? There's nye toads as weel as
frogs in these pairts."
"Plenty of them, without doubt," returned Miss Patty,
rather impatiently, "But we've nothing to do with the toads
now, — spell 'frog,' that's a good child."
Jeanne wriggled uneasily, twisting the corner of her clean,
homespun apron between her plump fingers : —
24 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"I don't just compreheend the deeferance betwixt the
twa,"she said, demurely, and with a sidelong glance at the
lady's face. "Will ye nae expleen aboot it, an' mayhap by
that time I'll get the leeters fairly straightened oot inside
my bow."
"You miserable little humbug!" laughed Patty, with a
playful pull at the tangled red curls.
'•You know your lesson as well as anybody, but you want
to worry me into bribing you to say it. Very well, if you'll
spell all of the six words without a single mistake I'll give
you six of those big blue beads that you think so pretty."
Jeanne brightened up instantly.
"F-r-o-g," she cried, in her shrill, childish treble, then
shut her teeth together with a sharp click, indicating her
impatience for the rest.
Of course she spelled them all correctly, and Patty pre-
sented the beads with as much satisfaction as her pupil evi-
dently felt in receiving them.
The old Scotch "granmither" — as little Jeanne called her,
sitting in the chimney corner, knitting in hand, had listened
attentively, and with a quiet smile of amusement upon her
wrinkled face, although the scene was by no means a new
one to her. In her visits to different households, Patty had
learned something of the needs of all, and nothing had
seemed sadder to her than the fact that the children were,
in many cases, growing up in ignorance, for lack of the
schools that the town at that time, was too poor to provide.
"With her warm, energetic nature, sympathy and help
were sure to go hand in hand, and in spite of her cousin's
ridicule, the girl took upon herself the task of teaching
these little ones how to read and spell, using the Bible
mostly for a text book, as few families had any other book
in their possession.
PRETTY PATTY PAKTON. 25
It was really wonderful how quick and eager they were
to avail themselves of her kindly aid, and now, as the sum-
mer was waning, there was not <>ne among her pupils, as
she proudly boasted to her friend. Major Burton, who could
not read some of the easiest verses through without stum-
bling, and spell almost any word in common use. of one or
even two syllables.
Little Jeanne, the only child of "Scotch Dugald," as his
neighbors called him, was the brightest, must forward of
all, when she chose to do her best, but that best, as her
teacher soon learned, could seldom be brought out without
a bribe.
••Aye. but the lassie's douce an' thrifty. like a' her race '."
murmured the grandmother approvingly, as the little crirl
betook herself to her own private quarters in the loft over-
head, probably to find a place of concealment for her newly
won treasure.
Patty had seated herself by the old dame's side, and was
regarding with a look of curious speculation, the hard,
wrinkled face, surmounted by the snowy ••curch" — the
Scotch matron's distinctive badge, and which in this case
was scarce whiter than the smooth bands of hair that it
shaded : the still erect, large boned figure, and the dull blue
eyes, from which the sight had long since departed, leaving
only the blank, unspeculative darkness of a starless night.
The towns-people called Granny Dugald a ••witch.'* be-
cause she claimed to be possessed of the power of second
sight, and Patty, while she laughed at the superstitious
idea, could not divest herself of a secret feeling of awe and
expectation, as she listened to the often strange and always
original and quaint expressions that fell from the old wom-
an's lips whenever she designed to make conversation with
any of the few chance callers at her son's cottage.
3
26 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
That both herself and son sympathized with the royalists
was a well known fact that neither pretended to deny, and
this, added to their peculiarities of speech and manner,
caused them to be, in a great measure, outlawed by the
unitedly patriotic citizens of the hamlet .
Several times Patty had ventured to reason with the old
woman, in the absence of her sullen browed, son, upon her
unpopular political prejudices, always finding her respectful
and civil, but set as the hills of her own native land in her
own opinions and sympathies.
To-day she gave speech for the first time to a thought
that had often crossed her mind in regard to the unswerving
loyalty of this peculiar family :
"I always thought that the Scotch were the greatest
lovers of liberty of any nation in the world ; and how
happens it that you, a representative Scotchwoman, should
be on the side of tyranny and oppression ?"
"That a' depends upon what you ca' leeberty," was the
sharp reply. "I'm nae friend to sech leeberty as wad thraw
aff a' allegiance to principalities an' powers, baith aboon an'
above. An' that, I take it, is about a' this hue and cry
hereabouts will amount to, gin the rebel leaders win their
ain way."
Patty, keenly resenting the dame's contemptuous tone and
words, drew herself up proudly as she replied, with what
she afterward knew w T as imprudent bravado :
"We will show the oppressors, before many more months
have passed over our heads, what the despised yeoman of
New England can do towards dislodging that hornet's nest
at Bagaduce and ridding this fair province of her foreign
enemies."
Grannie laughed satirically .
"He laughs best who laughs latest !" she muttered, with
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 27
a queer mixture of triumph and sadness in her tones. "It
may be, my bonnie leddy, that these same hornets, as ye
ca' them, are God-sent, like them that drave oot the armies
o' the alians abune the face o' Israel of old."
A few days later Patty was reminded of her indiscreet
boast by overhearing part of a conversation between the
General and Major Burton, in reference to Scotch Dugald,
and a threat that he was reported to have made, that ''The
English garrison at Bagaduce had trusty eyes and ears in
every part of the Province."
"He is a sulky clown." remarked the General, with care
less contempt. "Too stupid to carry out the mischief that
his malice prompts him to devise."
The other shook his head doubtfully. "He is deeper
than you think, and so avaricious that he would sell his
soul for a five-pound note. He must be watched, and not
allowed to leave the neighborhood while the troops are here,
or he might give the enemy a hint that would bring them
down upon us unawares at any time."
Although the General politely assented to this proposition
of his inferior officer, Patty knew by the expression of his
face that he thought the danger a very slight one, and
scarcely worth the attention of men absorbed in matters of
such great importance to the country at large.
For herself, the Major's warning rang in her ears for
days afterwards, and made her keenly apprehensive of some
approaching calamity whenever the ill-favored Scotchman
crossed her path.
Despite her fears Patty would not discontinue her lessons
to little Jeanne, while in reply to Grannie's cautiously
worded inquiries, she took care to give such information as
would be sure to mislead and mystify the crafty old dame.
In fact she knew little herself of the General's plans
28 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
beyond the present day. They might return to Boston in a
week, or it might be months before his work would be
finished and the troops ready to be despatched to their
destination in the regular army.
The old woman smiled grimly at the girl's unwonted
caution, and after a time ceased to make any inquiries
whatever upon the subject of her friends' movements ; but
Patty fancied that her manner toward her had somehow
softened, and that she was less intolerant and bitter of
speech than she had been before.
Once she took upon herself to counsel her to return to her
home before the approaching winter should have rendered
the journey a difficult as well as dangerous one.
■•Ye'll be safer an snugger in yer ain chimney neuk, when
the wintry winds begin to blow, and the snow drifts higher
nor the uppermost panes in this bleak wild region."
But Patty only laughed, half indignant at the idea of run-
ning away and leaving her friends to face the discomforts of
the season alone.
"If my kinswoman and her boys can bear the cold and the
solitude," she said, "I think it would ill become me to com-
plain."
And so the summer faded into autumn, the days grew
shorter, and the evenings by the blazing fire in the great
stone fire-place of the Wadsworth kitchen had come to be,
by far, the brightest, cheeriest part of the day. Then, his
military duties laid aside, the General could indulge in a
romp with the boys, or a social chat with the ladies of his
family, who, with their reading and sewing, found plenty
to occupy and interest them inside the rude walls of their
temporary home.
Almost every evening, too, lame Jake, an old fiddler in
the neighborhood, was summoned to furnish music for the
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 29
impromptu dances, gotten up by Mistress Dolly and her gay
girl cousin, to which all the young officers were, of course,
bidden, with the half score or more of buxom damsels
living in the vicinity, who were only too glad to do their
part in the entertainment of their country's gallant defenders.
If Major Burton danced oftener with Patty than with
anybody else, and if that young lady, in her comments
upon the different gallants, had a good word for every one
except liim. Mistress Dolly was sharp enough to let the
fact pass unnoticed, although she did indulge in a little
private merriment at the thought of Aunt Courtland's un-
availing rage and disgust when she should learn that this
one ewe lamb of her flock of nieces had gone over to the
rebel side, like all the rest. It is possible that the little
lady was a bit malicious in this matter, for it was not easy
to forget the elder matron's fierce opposition to her own mar-
riage, and ever since that event her contemptuous neglect
of her gallant husband — a slight that the loyal wife was
not likely to overlook or forgive.
If Patty should choose to wed a rebel officer, there was
nothing that her aunt could do, let her scold and fume as
she might.
The girl's own fortune was ample, and she was of an age
to have legal control of it so that she was really as inde-
pendent as a young lady of her day could or should be.
So reasoned Mrs. Dolly : and if the gallant Major re-
ceived a particularly cordial welcome from her whenever he
ventured to call, it was nobody's business, especially as
he was such a favorite and friend of her husband, and con-
sidered by him one of the bravest and most efficient officers
in that section, — which last fact she, as the wife of his su-
perior officer, was in duty bound to give full importance to.
As the winter approached, so General Wadsworth's
30 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
labors also approached completion. The troops had all
been ordered into winter quarters, only a small body guard
remaining, while he hastened his preparations to return to
Boston.
Perhaps it was the prospect of being so soon rid of their
unwelcome presence that made Scotch Dugald show himself
so remarkably friendly, as a present of venison or fish
every now and then was evidently intended to prove, while
little Jeanne, in her eagerness to continue her lessons, wil-
lingly braved the cold and snow every other day to repeat
her lessons at Miss Patty's knee, always receiving as re-
ward for a perfect lesson, a cake or some other little delicacy
that she was not likely to taste in her own poor home.
One morning the little maid came as usual, but her
usually bright face was overclouded, and the blue eyes were
downcast and swollen with weeping.
Patty, while she gently united the warm hood that her
own hands had fashioned for the motherless child, asked
tenderly : "What is the trouble with my Jeanne this morn-
ing? Are you cold, or did Grannie scold because the
breakfast parritch was not to her taste?"
Jeanne smiled faintly and a blush overspread her small
face, but she was a truthful little soul, and would not have
told a lie to save her life, so she replied with evident embar-
rassment :
"It was somethin' that Grannie an' the daddy said, that
I was no to hear, and she flyted at me when she kenned I'd
listened."
Patty tried hard to keep a grave face, but the doleful
tone and air of the detected eavesdropper were too much
for her gravity, and she laughed aloud.
'•No doubt you deserved the 'fly tin', as you call it, and I
don't doubt that Grannie gave yow full measure. She's not
PRETTY PATTY PARTOX. 31
one to stint in the way of admonition," she added, merrily
to herself.
; -But come now, we'll see if the lesson is well learned
this time "
It was well learned, uncommonly so, but when, at the
close the gratified teacher presented her little pupil with a
big, rosy-cheeked apple, the child refused to take it, and res-
olutely turning away her face, began hastily to array her-
self in cloak and hood, as if anxious to escape farther im-
portunity, and get away as soon as possible.
••Why Jeanne," urged Patty, bewildered and really hurt
by such unaccountable behavior on the part of her favorite.
"Why won't you take the apple? Are you angry with
me?"
Suddenly the child turned and flung herself sobbing into
her friend's arms, where she clung, weeping as if her heart
would break :
••It's no that ! it's no that at all !" she cried between her
sobs. "But. oh! Miss Patty, I'm no to take lessons of ye
ony mair, and I'm no to coom an see you again, either."
Patty was astonished and indignant.
"Why, what can be the reason?" she asked.
"I'm no to tell that," replied the child, sadly. Then dis-
engaging herself from her friend's clasp she drew a little
package from her pocket which she put into her hand with
the mournfully spoken words :
'•Guide bye, an gude luck to ye, Miss Patty! I'll pray
for ye ilka nicht, on my bare banes, that God'll keep't ye in
safety an honor."
The next moment she was gone, and Patty watched
through blinding tears the sturdy little figure as it toiled up
the ion?, snow covered ascent, not once looking back, but
pausing now and then to draw her hand across her eyes as
32 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
if to clear them from the tears that she had not yet succeeded
in checking.
With a sigh the girl turned from the window, and then
for the first time remembering the package which she still
held in her hand she hastened to open it.
There they were. — all the little hoarded trinkets that she
had, from time to time, bestowed upon her little friend :
a string of bright beads, small knots of gay ribbon, a little
embroidered silk work bag. and last of all, a bit of soiled
paper, tear blotted and stained, upon which the child had
managed to print with her unpracticed hand, the farewell
that she could not speak :
••i lov u but i Cant Kep the Things."
Poor little lass !
And Patty broke down and cried like a child.
•'It's some of that cross old grandmother's work, I know.
She is too proud to let the child take favors that she lias no
means of repaying."
Her cousin smiled significantly.
••It's more likely that she has taken otfence at something
that you have taught the child. Perhaps she'd rather have
her learn to sing 'God save the King.' than 'Yankee Doodle,'
that I heard you teaching her the other day."
Patty laughed through her tears.
•'The little midget sang it with a relish, too." she said.
"And not long ago she confided to me that in her opinion
General Washington was 'a gude man, for a'."
'•Grannie was wiser than I thought," laughed Mrs. Wads-
worth.
But for many a day Patty looked longingly for the little
red-cloaked figure, that now never, by any chance, passed
by the cottage, or sent so much as a word of loving remem-
brance to the teacher that she had seemed to love so well.
\
PRETTY PATTY PARTO N. 33
CHAPTER III.
"Only three days more, Miss Patty, and we part— per-
haps forever."
They were standing apart — Major Burton and Patty —
near one of the low, uncurtained windows of the wide,
roughly finished kitchen. As he spoke the girl glanced un-
consciously at the bare, unattractive room, only lighted by
the blazing logs in the great, rude, stone fire-place, at one
corner of which sat the General sleepily smoking his evening
pipe, while from the adjoining room came the faint, sweet
echoes of his young wife's voice singing her boys to sleep in
their low trundle-bed. It was comfortable, but oh, so plain
and homely this scene of pioneer home life ! and Patty
could not help contrasting it with her aunt's stately drawing-
room, with its richly carved and upholstered furniture, its
tall mirrors, reflecting back the lights of the wax candles in
their gilded sconces — the ease, the richness and beauty, so
different from the rude bareness of this home in the wilder-
ness, that, for the first time, she actually felt a sudden pang
of homesickness.
"Yes," she said slowly, and conveniently ignoring the
last part of his remark, "we shall start for home in three
days, now, I expect. And I, for one, shall be thankful to
o-et back to civilized life once more . "
"Is this plain, free country life so very distasteful to you.
then ?"
Patty felt the tone of tender reproach underlying the
words, but with the waywardness of her sex and age, she
34 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
pretended not to notice it, and with a careless toss of her
dainty head that sent the firelight shimmering brightly
through her curls, she returned indifferently :
"Oh, I only came here for a summer's outing ; and now,
that I have had it, I shall be only too glad to be at home
again."
Perhaps the young man was too much absorbed in his
own bright dreams of a possible future to heed these little
coquetries of his fair companion, for he went on, in his
grave, level tones, that gradually warmed into enthusiasm, as
he looked thoughtfully out on the darkening landscape that
lay stern, hard, and to the careless eye, unpromising, amidst
the dusky shadows :
"It is rough and rude here, to be sure, but think of the
plenty, the beauty and the wealth that are locked up in
these uncleared forests, these swiftly running streams with
their splendid mill power, and the lumber that years of la-
bor will scarcely exhaust. Why, even the stone here might
be turned into gold by the man who had the courage and
enterprise to undertake the work of quarrying it "
Patty smiled rather coldly — he should not mistrust that she
shared in the smallest degree in his enthusiasm.
••No doubt the place has marvelous capabilities, if one
cares to spend the best years of his life in toiling and plan-
ning to develop them. For my part," she added, with a
little air of contempt that she was far from feeling, k 'I have
little of the pioneer spirit in my make-up. I like my wheat
already made into good, sweet bread, and my lumber in
the shape of comfortable houses and furniture. Other
people may toil to raise and grind the grain, and fell the
trees, or even slice up the rock?, if they like, but /should
prefer to sit at home and enjoy the fruits of their labors so
long as I have no special reasons for doing differently.''''
PRETTY PATCT PARTON*. 35
She stole a look from under her softly drooping lids at her
companion, but his eyes were downcast, and there was a
stern look about those tell-tale lips that she was at no loss
to guess the meaning of.
How stupid the man was ! Couldn't he understand the
hint conveyed in that last sentence, instead of taking to
himself the rebuff that she had by no means intended in her
foolish talk?
Oh, the great, dull fellow ! Didn't he know that a woman's
words are meant, on special occasions, to be read back-
wards ? and Patty turned away her face to hide the vexed
tears, as he said sadly and with the directness characteristic
of the man :
"Then our parting is indeed a final one, as I had feared.
This is my home, the spot where all my ambitions and
hopes are centered, and where, God willing — if I live to see
Peace once more bless our land — I shall kindle my own
hearth fire, and devote my life to the development and im-
provement of the place that I have fixed upon as the home
of myself and my descendants for all the years to come."
Patty was silent, and he went on in a lower and more
softened tone :
"I have no right to be disappointed, and yet I am, cruelly,
bitterly disappointed, in the downfall of those foolish hopes
that your unsuspecting friendliness had kindled in my heart.
You are right, tor to a lady born and bred, as you are, this
rough life would, no doubt be uner. durable, and I can only
plead my great love for you as an excuse for fancying such
a thing possible. Forgive my presumption, and, as a token
that we part friends, give me as a keepsake something— just
a knot of ribbon" — and he glanced pleadingly at the rose-
colored breast-knot that nestled in the folds of delicately
wrought muslin that modestly veiled the snowy neck and
bosom of its wearer.
36 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
But Patty was angry now, as well as hurt, and in this
mood it was rather pleasant than otherwise to be able to ad-
minister a snub to the man who seemed so stupidly deter-
mined to misjudge and underrate her :
"I crave your pardon, Major Burton !" and she drew her-
self up with an air as unapproachable and haughty as Aunt
Courtland's own.
"I only give keepsakes to very, very dear friends, and a
mere summer acquaintance can scarcely claim" —
She stopped in well simulated embarrassment, which her
companion actually supposed to proceed from her reluctance
to pain him ; but which wounded him to the very quick, as
she had intended.
' ; Forgive me," he said, with a courtesy as cold, and a man-
ner as proud as her own, "for the offence — if offence you
choose to call it — the asking for so simple a token of kindly
remembrance as a knot of ribbon, a paltry toy, that no lady
need feel that she is compromising herself by bestowing
upon an honest friend, however humble he may be. But
such talk as this is worse than idle, and I will only ask you
to do me the favor to forget, as I shall try to do, all that has
ever passed between us, and to say good night kindly at
least, so long as it is our last."
He stretched out his hand, and after a moment's hesita-
tion Patty laid hers within its clasp.
She tried to speak, but for the life of her she could not
find words to express the feelings that were struggling for
utterance : while her heart beat so wildly that she fancied
her companion must hear its painful throbbing.
Must they part like this, after all the pleasant, congenial
companionship that had made their last few months like a
dream of heaven to the girl's secret soul?
97
PRETTY PATTY PARTON.
Ju»t for a few pettish, wilful words, spoken in idle
bravado, wonld this man-crnel because of the very manli-
ness that she so loved him for-turn away from her forever,
without an effort to induce her to retraet the words already
so bitterly repented of? Shyly, half involuntarily, her fin-
cers toyed with the coveted ribbon, secretly hoping that the
request for it might be repeated, and its bestowal lead to a
full and free understanding between them.
But nothing was farther from the young man's mind at
that moment, than to provoke another rebutf, and thereby
add to the pain that already seemed greater than he could
bear with patience.
That Patty's reply had been prompted by a spirit o.
.irlish pique and pettishness, had never once entered h.s
mind. His love for her had been as honest and outspoken
as himself, and he was far too proud to press a suit that had,
as he understood it. been so harshly and haughtily rejected
Her companionship with himself had been merely a part
of the "outing" of which she had distinctly said that she
was "-lad it was over"-and that was all. He was no
whining sentimentalist, to sit down in weak discouragement
and eat 5 out his own heart in unavailing regrets fur that
which might not be.
There was good yeomanly work before him, duties to h.s
God, his countrv, and himself, and as he went out from the
cottage that night, it was with an aching, but courageous
heart, that even then, beat high at the thought of what the
future mi»ht have in store for him, when, by the might of
his own strong, right arm, he should have carved out a
place for himself among the honored freemen of his own
native State.
When Mistress Dolly came into the kitchen half an hour
later, she glanced with some surprise at the solitary figure
38 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
by the window, and then at her husband silently dozing
over his pipe in the warm chimney corner. "Where is the
Major?" she asked, with a suddenness that made Patty
start and color brightly beneath the friendly shadows.
The General removed his pipe from his mouth, and yawned
sleepily :
"The Major? Oh ! — yes, he left half an hour ago. He
wished me to say good-bye to you, for him, as he is to start
early to-morrow morning to join his regiment."
The little lady looked annoyed and rather mortified.
"He might have waited, and bidden me good-bye in per-
son," she said shortly. "After all the kindnesses that I
have shown him I think he might have offered me that
courtesy."
••He had so many last things to attend to," interrupted
Patty, with an eagerness to exculpate the young man from
the charge of discourtesy, that made her cousin smile sig-
nificantly to herself.
"And his start was rather — unexpected, too, I think."
"Very likely it was !" mused the puzzled matron, half
amused and half angry at her cousin's air of innocent un-
consciousness that was strangely out of keeping with her
flushed face and tear-swollen eyes.
"Have you refused him?" she asked, that night, as the
two sat together in cousinly conversation in Patty's room.
Patty blushed, and then laughed to hide her embarrass-
ment :
"No — he gave me no chance to," she returned, frankly.
"He wants somebody," she added, with pretended hu-
mility, "who will help, not hinder him in his high aspira-
tions for the future grandeur of himself and his native
town. / am altogether too frivolous and fond of my own
comfort to suit his tastes."
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 39
"You're a little fool !" bluntly retorted the disappointed
matron.
And Patty responded with exasperating coolaess :
"That is just what he thinks."
It was a wild, fierce night, and as Patty lay, warm and
snug, between the soft homespun blankets and listened to
the strange, wierd voice of the wind as it howled, wailed or
sobbed in alternate rage and pain, her mind went back over
all those long, bright summer and autumn days, now passed
away beyond recall, leaving only a hoard of bitter-sweet
memories, precious, and yet — how her heart ached at the
thought of their vanished joys and hopes.
In a week or two she would be at home again, sur-
rounded by every luxury to which she had all her life been
accustomed, but to which she now thought of returning
with something so like repugnance that she was surprised
at herself. Was it the free, bracing air of these wild
northern hills, where the spirit of freedom seemed native to
the soil, that made the easy, pleasure seeking life of the city
seem tame and commonplace in comparison ?
In her heart she knew, — let her lips speak the weak plat-
itudes of an ease loving woman — that she was capable of a
self sacrifice as great, a courage as true as any pioneer wife
and mother of them all. And her tears fell fast in the
darkness as she recalled with bitter mortification the stern,
scarcely repressed scorn upon the face of that brave man
whose approval would have been far more precious to her
than the applause of the whole world beside.
Perhaps, though, even now he might think better of it
and defer his departure for a few hours, and then they might,
probably -would meet again, and —
The wail of the wind without grew fainter : the slow
footfalls of the guard on duty outside the cottage fell muf-
40 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
fled and indistinct upon her scarce listening ear ; even the
sleepy moan of little Jack in the room adjoining, and his
mother's soothing tones as she hushed him to sleep died
away in a softly confused murmur, and Patty slept, — as
sweetly and unsuspicious of approaching danger as in her
own cosy chamber at home.
Midnight brooded silently over all within and without the
peaceful cottage, and the sentinel, glad to be relieved from
his lonesome watch, halted for an instant before the kitchen
door where, his tall form relieved against the dimly glowing
background, stood his fellow, who just aroused from sleep
had appeared in response to his comrade's summons, to take
his turn in what really seemed, in that lonely, peaceful place,
an unnecessary and uncalled for military ceremony.
Suddenly, from the impenetrable darkness beyond, rang
out the sharp report of a rifle, and the surprised sentry,
with a frightened outcry sprang for the open door, but not
in time to close it against the crowd of red coated soldiers
who, with loud cries of savage triumph, rushed into the
kitchen, and finding the door of the Geueral's room barred,
began throwing themselves against it, with oaths and threats
in a vain endeavor to break it down and reach the helpless
inmates they knew were sheltered behind it.
Aroused by the firing and the wild yells of the soldiery,
Patty sprang up in bed, and with clasped hands and eyes
vainly trying to penetrate the fearful darkness, listened in
silent terror to the uproar that was every moment increas-
ing — the firing of guns, the fierce shouts of the men and
the ominous crash of broken glass, as the window of the
General's room was shattered by a volley from the muskets
of the assailants.
Quickly she realized the full meaning of it all, and knew
that, betrayed by some false friend or secret enemy, the
PKETTY PATTY PAKTOK.
41
General's undefended state had been reported to the British
Commander at Bagaduce who had sent a detachment, that
under cover of the darkness had managed to make its way up
from the shore undiscovered and had taken them by sur-
prise with little or no risk to themselves from the small
handful of men yet remaining as an honorary guard to their
commander.
With the remembrance of her friends' peril, the girl for-
got for the time her own terror, and hastily throwing on her
clothing she felt her way to the door separating the two
rooms, and with her hand upon the lock called anxiously to
know if the inmates were unhurt.
There was no reply, but at that instant the window of
her own room was •shivered into a thousand pieces, a bullet
whizzed above her head and buried itself in the opposite
wall, while by the blinding flash she saw the forms of sev-
eral soldiers leaping into her room through the broken win-
dow.
Breathless with terror, she retreated into the farthest cor-
ner, still grasping in her trembling hand the key that she
had unconsciously drawn from the lock at the instant that
the window fell in, and which, as it proved, had been her
friend's safeguard, as the intruders finding this door also
locked, quickly withdrew, — too intent upon securing their
desired prisoner to notice the frightened girl who again crept
to the door and listened intently.
She knew by the sounds within, that the General desper-
ate as his situation was, was bravely defending himself with
his pistols, and now and then a low spoken word of encour-
agement to his frightened wife, showed that he was yet un-
harmed in spite of the murderous lire of the enemy, who in
the darkness were obliged to Are at random, not being able
to distinguish him from the shadows about him.
4
42 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Suddenly she heard him utter a low cry of pain and con-
sternation ; — then, all at once, the firing ceased, the kitchen
door gave way with a crash, and a wild shout of triumph
went up from the victorious foe telling its own story to the
sinking heart of the listener, — a story that was the next in-
stant confirmed by her cousin, who called out hurriedly :
"Unlock the door, Patty ! The General is wounded, and
I want your help."
Without an instant's hesitation the girl obeyed, but as
she crossed the threshold her brain reeled, and a terrible
faintness almost overpowered her at the frightful scene
of confusion that met her eyes.
In the middle of the room stood the General, half
dressed, pale as death, yet with a look of calm courage in
his eyes that, but for the shattered arm hanging helpless at
his side, proved that the enemy's victory would not have
been a bloodless one on their side.
A crowd of rude-voiced men in the hated scarlet uniform
filled the rooms with coarse jests and laughter, while many
with uplifted torches surveyed with unconcealed triumph the
devastation about them, or stared curiously at the distressed
family into which they had brought all this suffering and
desolation.
The captain, a gentlemanly looking young man, having
posted sentries at the door and windows to guard against
any possible attempt at rescue, now approached his prisoner
and courteously expressed his regret that he should have
been wounded in the melee, even proffering his help to the
ladies in bandaging and dressing the disabled arm.
As Patty, trembling in every limb yet outwardly com-
posed and intent only upon making the General as com-
fortable as possible, passed by the shattered door of the
kitchen, she glanced fearfully for an instant into the crowded
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 43
room and saw a face — pale, stem, with blood stains upon
the white forehead, that hinted at a desperate resistance
against superior numbers before its owner had submitted to
the indignity of yeilding himself a prisoner to his country's
foes.
Only a few hours before that face had glanced so brightly
with love and hope, and she felt as if her heart would break
as she noted the pinioned arms and saw the rude soldier
who had him in charge make a contemptuous rejoinder to
some question that she could not hear.
At that instant he looked up and their eyes met.
A deep flush passed over his face, then he tried to smile
encouragingly, but the effort was a failure, and scarce con-
scious of what she was doing, the girl made a step toward him
with what intent she could not herself have explained, but
drawn by that mysterious sympathy with, and longing to
comfort the object of her affections that enables woman to
brave such dangers and hardships, only to stand by the side
of him she loves and share his sufferings even if she can-
not alleviate them.
"Be quick, there, Miss !"
The captain spoke impatiently, for every moment was of
importance, and although common humanity had forced
him to accede to the request of Mrs. "Wads worth to delay
until she could bind up her husband's wound, he knew that
their situation was a perilous one, and that in a neighbor-
hood so sincerely loyal to him, the news of the General's
capture might, at any moment, bring down a party of
armed volunteers to the rescue.
The arm was made as comfortable as possible, the last
tearful farewells were spoken, and the British troops rode
off into the storm and darkness with their prisoners, leaving
the stunned and learned household in the midst of a desola-
44
RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
lion and uncertainty more terrible for the time than any-
thing that they had ever imagined in their darkest dream of
possible peril.
: ^t;
PRETTY PATTT PARTON. 45
CHAPTER IV.
Three long weeks passed before the anxious hearts in
that lonely lodge by the Penobscot were gladdened by the
visit of a British officer with a Hag of truce, bearing a let-
ter to Mistress Wadsworth from her husband, and a permit
from the commander of the fort allowing the ladies to pay
a visit to the prisoners if they wished to do so.
The offer was gratefully accepted, and willingly braving
the inconveniences and discomforts of a journey by winter
in that wild, little travelled country, the two ladies with the
little boys set ofi under the escort of the officer, only too
thankful to leave the scene of their dreadful experiences,
even in exchange for a temporary sojourn among enemies
who, however courteous as men, were nevertheless obliged
to do their stern duty as soldiers under all circumstances.
'•I have written to the Governor of Massachusetts." the
General told his wife, when their first tearful yet glad meet-
ing was over. And she sat beside him in the bare, yet by no
means comfortless room that he shared with his fellow pris-
oner, Major Burton, "and I think that he will have no dif-
ficulty in managing an exchange for me before long. With
this arm," — and he glanced at the still painful and helpless
limb, — "I need home care and comforts, although the sur-
geon here is skillful, and General Campbell sees that I have
the best care that can be given me under the circumstances."
His wife glanced at the bare, hard cot. the rudely fash-
ioned stools that served for seats, and the unchinked log
walls through which the piercing wintry wind crept in
46 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
through a hundred crevices, making one shiver in spite of
the roaring fire in the great stone fire-place, and the hot
tears rushed to her eyes as she cried indignantly :
"It is barbarous to put a wounded man into such a bare,
comfortless place ! Xot a chair or even a decent bed to rest
your tired bones on, — I declare it's almost as bad as the
iron cage that that cruel old French king used to put people
into."
The husband laughed good humoredly. "For a prisoner
I am really very comfortably placed. My fare and lodging
are as good as the officers themselves have, with some tri-
fling exceptions ; and now with you my good Dolly, and the
boys and Patty for company I shall be as good as whole by
the time that the two weeks allowed you here are passed."
Patty had looked up and smiled somewhat absently at the
sound of her own name, and now she came hastily forward
and joined the family group with a warm color in her
cheeks and a light in her eyes that had not been seen there
for many a day.
The Major, who had been talking with her, still kept his
position near the fire into which he was gazing, with a face
so gravely impenetrable that his friend who had long before
guessed his secret, tried in vain to find a reflection of his
own glad satisfaction there.
Hurt, wounded as he had been by the girl's brusqueness
at their last interview, he could not repress a thrill of joy
at the sight of her fair young face once more, and even
while he mentally styled himself a ''presuming fool" to
nourish such an absurd fancy, he could not be blind to the
womanly solicitude so closely approaching tenderness with
which she expressed her sorrow at his unfortunate position,
and shyly yet with evident sincerity, announced her deter-
mination to try to influence his captors in his favor so far as
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 47
to permit her to procure some of the little comforts and lux-
uries of home life, which would make their captivity so
much more endurable. Perhaps after all, he had been too
hasty in his judgment of her,— and for many succeeding
days he watched with feverish anxiety every change of her
expressive face, and listened to every word that fell from
her lips, longing to find something wherewith to nourish the
sweet, faint hope that was already fluttering in his secret
heart.
Although allowed daily intercourse with the prisoners,
the ladies were carefully watched,— a <ruard being always
stationed in the room while they were there so that not a
word or look could pass unobserved.
It was a matter of military necessity— as the General ex-
plained to Mistress Dolly, who was highly indignant that
"that gaping Hessian," as she called the soldier on duty,
should stand there listening to every word that passed be-
tween them, making any private conversation absolutely
impossible.
The British general at New York had been notified of
the capture of these prominent rebel officers, and until his
pleasure in regard to them should be known, the commander
of the fort was obliged to exercise constant care and watch-
fulness lest any facilities 1 for escape should be afforded them
by friends outside. With this understanding and the prob-
ability that their confinement would be of short duration,
the prisoners and their friends submitted to the inevitable
with tolerable patience and cheerfulness.
But on the day before that fixed for their departure, Pat-
ty became possessed of a bit of secret information that en-
tirely changed the face of affairs and determined her to
warn the prisoners to make their escape as soon as possible.
48 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Taking her usual afternoon walk in the vicinity of the
fort, she caught a glimpse at a cottage window of what
seemed a familiar face, and moved by a sudden impulse she
knocked at the door which was opened as she had antici-
pated, by no less a personage than her little pupil, Scotch
Jeanne.
The child's face flushed joyfully, and with shyly extended
hand she cried out in her old, glad fashion :
"And it's never yerself, Miss Patty, in these far awa'
pairts? It's blithe I'd be, an the grannie too — gin ye'd drap
in for a wee an toast yer cauld fits by our ain ingleside.''
Patty needed no second invitation, for although she had
long since learned that the treacherous Scotchman, after
having betrayed her friends' whereabouts to the British had,
as a matter of personal safety as well as profit, removed to
the vicinity of the fort. This was the first glimpse she had
had of the child to whom she had become sincerely attached
during the long, pleasant summer months, when as teacher
and pupil, scarcely a day had passed without a meeting be-
tween them.
As she entered, the old grandmother, knitting in the
chimney corner as usual, lifted her head quickly and turned
her sightless eyes toward her, while a faint flush passed
across her withered cheek as she said with a cold courtesy
that showed her not altogether pleased at the unexpected
meeting :
"Gude day to ye, Miss ! It's blithe I am for Jeanne's
sake to see ye ance mair, for the lassie has aye grat her
een oot wi longin' for ye."
Seating herself by the neatly swept hearth, Patty replied
to the questionings of the old dame with tolerable patience.
She was not responsible for her son's rascalities, and it was
only fair to suppose her possessed of common womanly
PRETTY FATTY PABTON. 49
feeling. So the girl chatted hopefully in regard to her im-
prisoned friends and the almost certain prospect of a speedy
exchange so soon as orders could be transmitted from head-
quarters.
As she talked thus cheerfully she happened to meet the
eye of Jeanne who was hovering about her chair as if loth
to leave her for a moment, and was startled at the look of
mingled perplexity and pity upon the child's expressive face.
The old grand-dame still knit on with a smile that might
be sympathetic or it might be mocking upon her thin lips,
but Jeanne's blue eyes were misty with something like tears,
and as she met her friend's look she silently placed a finger
upon her lip and shook her head with a warning gesture.
Patty was quick to take the hint, and when after a little
longer talk upon indifferent subjects she rose to leave with
a civil good night to the old dame, she was not surprised to
hear Jeanne say while she hunted about for her cloak and
hood :
''It's growin' dark an I'll gae pairt o' the way wi' ye,
Miss Patty. The sojers a' ken me an they'll no dare to gie
us a saucy fling gin we hap to meet ane o' them."
The grandmother moved uneasily in her chair but she
could find no reasonable excuse for forbidding the child to
carry out her kindly project, and the two went forth to-
gether, unheeding the vexed look and muttered warning of
the suspicious old woman.
Scarcely were they out of earshot before Patty asked anx-
iously :
•'What is it Jeanue ? you have something to tell me I
know." #
Jeanne glanced backward and around with a wary look
upon her shrewd young face, then pressing close to her
friend's side she said in a sharp undertone :
50 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"Word has coom, Miss Patty, — I heard daddy tell the
oTanny o't the nicht. The twa rebels, as they ca' 'em,
(savin' yer presence, Miss) are to be sent over the seas to
be tried for treason at the king's coort. And oh ! my leddy !
the daddy says" — she caught her breath with a frightened
so b — u that they'll ne'er coom back alive gin the coort over
yon gets hold of 'em."
Patty shook and trembled in every limb, but her voice
was firm and resolute as she asked :
"How soon are they to be sent?"
"As sune as the privateer, the Royal George, gets hame
fra her cruise. And she's expectit maist ony day."
Patty made no reply, but she clasped the child's hand so
closely in her own that Jeanne gave a low cry of pain.
"Dinna grippit sae hard !" she whimpered, withdrawing
her hand with a petulant air, "and noo Miss Patty, gude
bye, and mind ye dinna tell a' ye ken either to freend or
foe."
With this practical bit of advice the wee woman hurried
back homeward, leaving Patty frightened, bewildered, but
determined to let her friends know of the fate that awaited
them, and if possible, in some way to aid them in making
their escape before it should be too late.
This, then, accounted for the unusual strictness with
which the ladies had been watched for the last few days,
being required whenever they visited the fort to submit to a
careful search of their clothing by the wife of one of the
soldiers, lest they should contrive to secrete some tool by
which the prisoners could make their escape.
The woman, although kind and considerate, had been
very thorough in her search, and Patty's heart sank within
her as she realized the extreme difficulty of conveying a
message even to put her imperilled friends upon their guard.
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 51
After thinking the matter over she decided to say nothing
to her cousin, wisely concluding that the secret was safest
for the present in her own breast, for if the General's wife
suspected his peril it would add a double pang to their part-
ing upon the morrow, while there was no possible way in
which she could aid him to escape without arousing the
suspicions of his alert and watchful captors.
What was done she must do herself, alone and unaided,
and resolutely she set herself to work to contrive some way
by which they might not only be warned of their danger,
but help conveyed to them in some form under the very
eyes and ears of their watchful sentinels.
A duplicate key would be of no use, for even if they
could unlock the door of their room they could not pass the
sentry without being instantly discovered as soon as they
set foot beyond the limits allowed them. The windows
were mere narrow loop-holes in the log walls, and were
guarded by iron bars that could not be filed off without at-
tracting the notice of the guard either within and without.
The risk in attempting to bribe the guard was too great,
with the certainty in case of failure of more severe pre-
cautions being taken to secure the hapless prisoners until
the arrival of the expected vessel should root out the last
lingering hope of escape, and doom them to captivity and
probable death in a foreign land.
Every way that pointed to liberty seemed double barred
and locked, and in the face of her utter helplessness the girl's
despairing heart sent up a wordless cry for help — for some-
thing that would supply the needed hint for which her tor-
tured brain groped and wrestled in vain.
The General's little sons were playing contentedly upon
the hearth beside her, while their mother in sorrowful si-
lence was putting the finishing stitches into a garment for
02 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
her husband, pausing now and then to brush away a tear as
she plied her needle in this last labor of love. Patty sighed
deeply in her perplexity, and as she glanced abstractedly at
the little ones in their unconscious play, her eye fell upon
a small object beside them whose glitter attracted her atten-
tion, and as by a sudden flash of inspiration, suggested all
at once at plan— so simple, so hopeful, that it was all she
could do to refrain from giving utterance to the glad triumph
that filled her heart at that instant.
It was only a gimlet that the children had been using in
the manufacture of a toy wagon, aDd as she quietly picked
it up, unnoticed by any one, her fingers trembled, and her
breath came hot and quick as she realized that upon this
little insignificant tool rested the liberty, perhaps the lives
even of the two brave men for whose rescue she was plan-
ning.
That night, before she slept, she wrote in as few words
as possible, an outline of her plan upon a bit of paper which
she wound carefully about the gimlet, then, with a mis-
chievous smile that contrasted oddly with her pale, agitated
face and tearful eyes, she produced the very knot of ribbon
for which her gallant suitor had pleaded so humbly on that
never to be forgotten evening a few short weeks ago, and
with no little skill and ingenuity, contrived to conceal within
its intricaces. the tiny tool with its precious bit of paper, so
carefully secured with numberless invisible stitches that
there seemed little, if any probability of its being discov-
ered, even by the sharp eyes of their undesired tire-woman
at the fort.
Perhaps it was to conceal his own budding hopes that the
Major, in their parting interview, was so reserved — ''cold
and distant" as Pattv called it — as, with wildly beating
PRETTY PATTY PAKTON. 53
heart and eyes overflowing with tears that she took no pains
to conceal, she bad hira good-bye in a tone that to a vainer
or more self-complacent man. would, of itself, have certainly
betrayed the softness of her heart toward him.
If he would only ask her for some keepsake, as he had
done at their former parting, she could so easily bestow the
knot of ribbon, with its fateful contents, unsuspected by the
watchful sentinel whose curious eyes watched them with a
knowing air that was particularly exasperating.
In vain she tried to give him a hint to that effect. With
true masculine obtuseness he failed to understand the neces-
sarily vague allusions, which were all she dared venture
upon ; and at last baffled and at her wits' ends, she slowly
turned to follow her cousin from the room with a feeling of
utter desperation at leaving undone the work that she had
determined to accomplish at this last interview.
At the door she stopped, hesitated — then moved to des-
peration by the remembrance of the fate impending over the
unconscious prisoners, she turned suddenly, and, unmindful
of the contemptuous grin of the British soldier, and the far
more trying looks of mortification and perplexity upon the
faces of her friends, deliberately unfastened the knot from her
bosom and boldly advancing a step, held it out to the aston-
ished Major with a coquettish laugh, and the half petulant
comment :
;, Very well, then, if you care for the 'toy' as you call it,
take it. But be sure," she added, roguishly, "that you
keep it unsoiled, for. when we meet again in Boston, I
shall expect it back again."
She had acted her part to perfection, but her cheeks
crimsoned painfully and not once did she dare to lift her
eyes to meet those of the man to whom she thus spoke so
boldly.
34
RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
They will understand it all when they find what is hidden
in the knot, she repeated over and over to herself, to soothe
her wounded maidenly dignity. But the tears that she so-
freely mingled with those of the sad hearted wife were as
much of mortification as sorrow at the bold, and she felt it,
the unwomanly position in which she had been actually
forced to place herself to save her friends.
C^ ;
PRETTY PATTY PABTOS
55
CHAPTER V.
General Wadsworth studied thoughtfully the slip of paper
that his companion placed in his hand after having himself
perused its contents with a brightening face.
'•It is a bold scheme, but — "
"The only one that oifers any hope of success," appended
the Major hopefully.
'•Look at our situation here. General, — close prisoners,
watched night and day by the sentinels outside ; our win-
dows barred, and even if it were possible to loosen the bars
and creep through, we should be seen by the sentinels on
the walls before we could possibly find a hiding place."
"True — "
And as the guard, in passing, at that instant, glanced
inquisitively through the glass that formed the upper part of
their door, the General leaned back in his chair and stretched
his feet out lazily toward the fire on the hearth, adding only
after the fellow had passed on :
"But there are the sentinels inside the barracks as well
as out to be evaded. I don't see how, if we are to follow
my wise little kinswoman's plans, we are to get past them
without detection."
Burton smiled, and involuntarily his hand sought the spot
beneath which, close to his heart, the bit of ribbon with its
fateful toy lay concealed.
"It is the very boldness of the plan that makes it practi-
cable. Nobody will think of our trying to escape by the
main entrance, and we must choose a dark and stormy
56 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
night, when the sentries will be so taken up with trying to
keep comfortable themselves that they won't keep a very
sharp lookout for escaping prisoners, especially," and he
sank his voice to a whisper, "as we must keep up the pre-
tense of expecting our parole daily If General Campbell
once mistrusts that we know what his orders really are, in
regard'to us, he will naturally suspect that, in very desper-
ation, we will try to escape and will be doubly vigilant."
The General leaned his head upon his wounded arm and
sighed bitterly.
"You had better try the plan alone," he urged, with a
dejection that physical suffering and his prison life were fast
making habitual with him.
"With my useless arm I never can make the exertion
that will be necessary in scaling the walls of the fort, and
even if we manage to clear that barrier how can I make my
way in this plight through the long miles of wild forest that
we shall have to travel through before we find a settlement?
No, it's no use for me to try, I should only be a clog upon
you. while alone and unincumbered you might have a fair
chance to get off undetected."
"General Wads worth," and the younger man laid his
hand with almost a woman's tenderness upon the bowed
shoulder of his friend, "this is not like you, and is due to
nothing in the world but the effect of that unlucky wound
upon your spirits. Think of your good lady and her boys,
and what it will be to them if you are left to the tender
mercies of our enemies across the seas? Besides," he added
hopefully, "this plan of ours will take several weeks of
preparation, and all that time your arm will be growing
stronger and your strength coming back to you day by day.
At any rate," and a smile of grim humor curved his shapely
lips, "we must do, as Franklin said, 'Hang together or
PRETTY PATTY PABTON. 57
hang separately.' " The General nodded approvingly. The
spirit of brave adventure, that pain and anxiety had. for
the time, somewhat tamed, awoke as by a touch, and the
dark eves flashed back an answering fire as he muttered
between his set teeth :
"We'll risk it, comrade, and God pity him who dares to
let or hinder us in our break for freedom.*'
A bold resolve once taken it is wonderful how great is
the reaction upon a man's spirits, and the sentinel, pacing
constantly the long corridor before the door of the prisoners'
room, paused every now and then to look in upon them,
with a kind of half pitying wonder, as they played at the
then favorite American game of checkers, or took turns in
reading aloud from a copy of Shakespeare lent them by the
courteous commander, General Campbell.
How could men with the fate of traitors hanging over
them seem so cheerful, even merry, at times ? And the
honest fellow, (for he was an honest fellow if England had
sent him across seas to do her dirty work in the rebellious
colonies.) thought of his own humble home in far off Ger-
many, where the tidy hausfrau and her chubby, blue-eyed
little ones watched and prayed for him, and he wondered a
little, perhaps, in his stupid fashion, if his sovereign lord,
the Prince of Hesse, really had the right to hire out his
loyal subjects to fight another nation's battles, and perhaps,
— with a sigh — to find a bloody grave in this stranger land,
where little Gretchen and Jan could not even plant the blue
flowers of the dear fatherland above his uncared for dust.
"What was there, even then, in the very air of this great,
free land, fresh from the hand of God, to awaken in men's
souls an irresistible protest against the tyranny of race and
habit? a protest that, although, as in this case, it might be
5
58 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
wordless, almost unconscious, at the time, was yet to bear
rare fruit in the future regeneration of the Nations.
But our sharp-eyed Hessian was far less interested in the
movements of his sleeping than of his waking charge, and
as, at the usual seasonable hour the candle was extin-
guished and quiet reigned in the prisoners' room, he never
thought to refer the low, grating sound that occasionally
met his ears as he passed their door, to anything of more
importance than the gnawing of a solitary rat. The night
was too dark for him to distinguish the Major's tall figure
standing upon a table in the darkest corner of the room
and patiently boring with the precious gimlet a row of tiny
holes across the end of one of the boards with which the
room was ceiled.
It was terribly slow and tedious work, as the prisoners
had foreseen, and with all his exertions the cautious work-
man only succeeded in this first attempt in making some
five or six perforations so close together that they could
easily be separated when the time came, by the aid of the
General's penknife, which he had been permitted to retain,
as a weapon too insignificant to do any possible harm.
These holes the wary workman carefully plugged with
bits of chewed bread, that, being rubbed smooth with dusty
fingers, served as a complete blind to any possibly suspic-
ious eyes, whether of friend or foe.
For the first few days the twain lived in a constant ner-
vous dread of discovery, but as the days slipped by, each
finding the work progressing surely if slowly, a strange, but
not unnatural exhilaration replaced their earlier apprehen-
siveness, and with the quaint humor of his race, the younger
man delighted in quizzing the rather obtuse British officers,
who were glad to vary the monotony of their quiet life in
the fort by frequent calls upon their intelligent, bright witted
PRETTT PATTY PARTON. 59
prisoners, whom, in spite of their political offences they
«ould not but respect, as honest, large minded men, of the
same blood and speech as their own. At the Commandent's
table, where they were often invited, and where they met
socially the officers of the garrison, the patriots never
for an instant forgot their allegiance to their own cause
-and country, while the Major especially, with his quick
wit. never failed to turn the tables upon any boasting
Briton who took occasion to cast a slur upon the cause of
liberty and its brave defenders.
Upon one occasion, a young officer inflamed with wine
and willing to raise a laugh at the expense of the patriot
guests, rose in his seat and gravely proposed as a toast :
'•George Washington, — dead or alive."
General Wadsworth's swarthy cheek flushed an angry
red, and he half rose from his seat with words of fierce re-
tort upon his lips, but his more prudent companion held him
firmly by the sleeve. • 'Leave him to me," he whispered,
and when called upon in his turn, he gave, with a signifi-
cant emphasis, that made more than one brow redden with
a consciousness of its disgraceful aptness :
'•The Prince of Wales, — drunk or sober."
In an instant the young officer was upon his feet, and
forgetful of the courtesy due an unarmed prisoner, fiercely
demanded satisfaction for the insult offered to the heir of
England's crown. Some of the older officers interfered,
but the Yankee Major was equal to the emergency :
'•You have made a mistake, sir," was his coolly una-
bashed reply, "My toast was not intended as an insult, but
simply a reply to one."
But in spite of these welcome breaks in the monotony
of their prison life, the patriots found their time hanging
heavy upon their hands, and as the Spring wind bore
60 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
to them through the open window the sweet, familiar
scents of budding birch and maple, and as the salty air
from the bay grew every day softer and warmer, they
found it hard to restrain their impatience to hasten the
completion of their plans for escape.
What bright, moonlit nights, those nights of early June
were that year, — gliding one after another like crystal beads
upon a silver thread, so calm and serene and cloudless, that
the impatient prisoners fretted with the delay, half de-
spaired of being able to effect their escape before the priva-
teer, which was every day expected, should make her ap-
pearance, and bear them away from home and native land,
to a terrible imprisonment, or, as their fears foreboded, an
ignominious death.
But the long hoped and prayed for hour came at last, and
as the shadows deepened upon the afternoon of one of those
wearisomely long, bright days, the dark masses of cloud
rolling up from the west, with low mutterings of distant
thunder, portended the anxiously looked for storm, and Ma-
jor Burton turned from the window where he had been
watching with beating heart the weather signs, and ap-
proaching his comrade, who sat dejectedly by the tireless
hearth he whispered exultantly :
"We're sure of our storm to-night, General, and we
must take our chance of liberty or death. For," — and his
tones were those of a brave man nerved to meet the worst,
— "if we are discovered, the sentry won't mind shooting
us on the spot, like dogs."
The General nodded gravely, and there was not a trace
of fear or irresolution in his calm tones, as he replied :
"I appreciate the risk, and am all ready for the venture.
But, Major," and he glanced with a fatherly pride at the
stalwart form and brave young face beside him, "I have
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 61
been going over the details of our plan, bit by bit, and I
have come to the conclusion that it will be safest for us,
when once clear of the barracks, to separate, and each make
his way as best he can over the wall and through the
woods to the river. No," checking the eager remonstrance
that rose to the younger man's lips, — "I shall not need your
help after we are once clear of the barracks, and it is
always easier for one man to elude pursuit than for two."
A few weeks earlier Burton would not for an instant have
listened to a proposal of this kind, but in that time the Gen-
eral's wouud had greatly improved, and with it his bodily
strength and courage had come back to him, so that, once
clear of the fort, and fairly adrift in the forest, his chaDces
were quite as good as those of his younger and more robust
companion.
Meanwhile the darkness grew denser, the roll of the
thunder nearer, and the servant who brought their supper
reported that the wind had increased to a gale, while the
rain was pouring down in torrents, with little probability
of a let up before midnight . "It'll be a tumble night fr
the sentries," observed the servant, as he laid the table for
supper, pausing every now and then in his work to listen
to the clatter of the rain on the shingled roof.
" 'F /was in their shoes, I'd do as most likely they will,
keep inside the boxes, — I guess there won't nobody want
ter git out or in the fort in sech all fired mean weather
as this."
He was a raw, country youth, hired by the officers of the
fort for menial duty, and supposed to care nothing for one
side or the other so long as the wages due him were promptly
paid in good bright English silver. But as he lifted his
head for an instant, to intimate that their meal was ready,
his eyes met those of Major Burton with a swift look of
62 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
intelligence that was as quickly exchanged for his usual
stolid indifference, as, making his awkward conge, he dis-
appeared through the door, and the next moment they heard
him exchanging rough jokes with the guard outside.
Taken by surprise as he was, the Major was startled as
well as puzzled. Could it be possible that this stupid lout
had in any way got an inkling of their plan of escape, and
intended his reference to the probable shirking of duty on
the part of the sentinels to be taken as a hint of the fitness
of the time for their attempt ?
It seemed unlikely, and yet there was certainly a look of
intelligence in that momentary glance that he had never
seen in the dull face before. He remembered too, that this
Billy Button, as the soldiers had nicknamed him, had a
father and brother in Washington's army, a fact that he
had only learned by accident a short time before, and which
he had been asked not to communicate to the youth's em-
ployers :
"Mebbe 'twill lose me my place," he had urged, "and
with maam sick, an' four of 'em too little ter work, I've
got to earn a livin' f r the lot somehow "
At any rate the hint made the outlook an encouraging
one, and as, at the usual hour for retiring, the two laid
down without removing their clothes upon the narrow
camp beds and listened with grateful hearts to the tumult
of the elements without, it is certain that their chances for
escape looked even more hopeful than they had done when
contemplated farther off.
The blankets that were to serve them for ropes were
torn into broad strips as noiselessly as possible, and then
carefully knotted together, while to one end was securely
fastened a strong oaken forestick that had been saved from
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 63
the firewood weeks before and secreted for this very pur-
pose.
Although light as a cat upon his stockinged feet, it is doubt-
ful if the Major could have made all the necessary arrange,
ments without attracting the notice of the sentry had the
nigh't been a calm and quiet one. But with the creakiug
and groaning of the unseasoned beams and rafters ; the
ceaseless pelting of the rain, and the wild gusts of wind
that, swooping around the unsheltered corners, howled long
and loud, like a pack of hungry wolves, there was little
danger that the low, sharp w r rench of the parting wood, as
the slender supports at the corners of the perforated board
yielded to the strokes of the penknife, would be noticed,
although Burton's strong heart stood still for an instant in
sudden terror, as, standing upon the table, and balancing
for a moment upon his upstretched palm the just severed
plank, he heard the steps of the sentinel pause outside the
door, and in spite of the utter darkness, was conscious that
the latch was cautiously lifted and an intrusive head thrust
in, to make sure, by the sense of hearing, that all was right
with his charge.
With the instinct of self preservation, the young man
grasped with both hands the heavy planking, and had the
intruder advanced a pace farther into the room it is doubt-
ful if he would ever have left it alive. It was only for a
moment, but a lifetime of agonizing suspense seemed to
have passed in that darkened room before the General's
heavy breathing reassured the sentinel, who, softly closing
the door behind him, resumed his measured tread, while
Burton, fairly unnerved by the reaction, dropped noiselessly
upon the table and laughed until the tears ran down his
cheeks To think that the General should have had the
cunning at such a moment to teijru that familiar snore that
64 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
his room-mate had so often rallied him upon ! It was a joke
upon that over watchful rascal outside well worth the mo-
ment of suffering that he had himself endured, and a low,
guarded chuckle from his companion's cot showed that he
was by no means above being gratified at the success of his
ruse.
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 65
CHAPTER VI.
It was almost midnight, and the storm was at its fiercest,
when, all the arrangements having been completed, Major
Burton climbed with some difficulty through the narrow
opening, and adjusting the oaken stick to which their
improvised rope was fastened, across the aperture, with his
assistance, his companion in spite of his disabled arm suc-
ceeded in making the ascent, and as they rested for a mo-
ment, that the General might take breath for the harder
and more perilous work before them, the latter whispered
sharply, and in that familiar tone of command that no sub-
ordinate would dream of disobeying :
'•Remember — when we get clear of the entry, you will
make for the north-east wall anil will take the n)rth-west.
In that way if one of us is discovered the other will stand
a fair chance of getting away, for the attention of the senti-
nels will naturally be distracted from every other part of
the wall for the time."
Then with a huskiness in his tones that did no dishonor
to his minliness, he added, with a warm clasp of
his comrade's hand: "We are running a terrible risk, and
very likely may never meet again in this world, but
with your youth and strength, the chances are, of course,
greater in your favor than in mine. Now, if I don't
come out of this alive, tell' my Dolly that it was the
thought of her and our boys that nerved me to make the at-
tempt, and if I die, let her comfort herself with the thought
that I died as a Christian man and a patriot should."
66 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
The young man's fervent hand clasp made any spoken
words of sympathy and encouragement unneeded, while
stealthily and in perfect silence they crept along over the
heads of the sleeping officers who occupied the other rooms
opening from the corridor, until the middle entry was
reached, and peering down they saw, by the dim light of a
lantern hanging upon the wall that the passage was empty
and the door open and unguarded.
Through this they passed heedless of the pelting rain,
and without so much as a whispered word, separated, as the
General had planned, to attempt the perilous ascent of the
well guarded wall, each by himself and from exactly oppo-
site points. This was by far the hardest task for the
wounded soldier, and more than once, bruised and breath-
less, and tortured by the pain that this rough usage was
causing his scarcely healed wound, he might perhaps have
given up in despair had not the memory of those dear ones
for whose sake the adventure bad been undertaken, nerved
him to more desperate exertions, until, after repeated fail-
ures, he found himself upon the ramparts, greatly exhausted,
but conscious of an exultant thrill of satisfaction that sent
the blood coursing wildly through his veins and made him
bold to face the perils and hardships still awaiting him. His
breath came hot and thick, as, when cautiously gathering
himself up to cross the unsheltered six feet width of wall
that lay before him, he found himself face to face with the
watch, — the sentinels being just then shifted, — and knew
that, in spite of the darkness, the man's keen eyes could not
fail to recognize that this was not one of his comrades
should he get a fair look at him. Instinctively he dropped
flat upon his face on the ground, and the unsuspicious Bri-
ton passing so near that the skirts of his overcoat brushed
against the prostrate form, hurried grumbling to the shelter
PRETTY PATTY PABTON. 67
of the nearest sentry box. never dreaming of the importan t
prize that had been so nearly in his grasp.
Not venturing to stand erect, the General crept across
the wall, and fastening his blanket to one of the row of
pickets that protected the outer edge, he cautiously let him-
self down between the bristling branches and sharply
pointed stakes of the fr a is inland struck out boldly into the
darkness in the direction of the cove. Stumbling over the
stumps and fallen tree trunks of a half cleared field, bruis-
ing himself cruelly against the rough boulders, and uncer-
tain in the darkness whether he were really in the right
track or not. he groped his way, feeling where he could not
see, until, to his great relief, he found himself upon the
shore, aDd taking advantage of the low tide, succeeded by
wading waist deep, in crossing the half mile of water, from
which point he had no trouble in secreting himself in the
familiar forest beyond. Exhausted, breathless, and wet to
the skin, yet it was with a feeling of the most profound
thankfulness that the fugitive threw himself down upon the
damp earth at the foot of a low growing pine, whose thick
branches made a welcome protection against the pouring
rain, and composed himself to wait with all the patience
he could muster, the approach of daylight, without which it
would be useless for him to try to increase the distance be-
tween himself and the fort.
Evidently the storm had spent its first strength, for the
patter of the raindrops upon his leafy roof grew gradually
fainter ; the thunder sank to a far off muttering ; and the
rare flashes of lightning, revealing for an instant to his daz-
zled eyes, a labyrinth of dark tree trunks that seemed to
extend indefinitely in every direction, had lost the fierce in-
tensity that, while under the shadow of the fort, had seemed
68 RE -TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
like an unfriendly flash-light, whose sole object was to make
of him an illumined target for the guns of his enemies.
Once within the friendly shelter of his native forests he
felt comparatively secure, — "at home," he called it, with a
smile, as, led by the familiar scent, he plucked a handful
of the cool, crisp checkerberry leaves, chewing them with a
relish that no prison fare had ever been able to afford.
Lying there in the darkness, and with all his senses on
the alert to catch the faintest sound that might betoken the
approach of a human being, and divided between fear of
possible pursuers and the hope of being joined by his fellow
fugitive, he yet felt an inward exaltation that really amounted
to a conviction that the safety of both was practically as-
sured :
Perfectly familiar with all that part of the country, and
trained in all the shifts and hardships incident to a pioneer
life, there was no undue confidence in his belief of being
able to baffle any effort on the part of hisunguided pursuers,
to recapture either himself or his hardy comrade, if they
were once safe in this leafy wilderness, whose every feature
was as familiar to their practiced eyes as the face of their
dearest friend.
"They might as well look for a needle in a haystack," —
and half unconsciously, he pressed his cheek against the
rough barked stem of the friendly pine, whose resinous
breath was like a whiff from the burning logs upon his own
home hearth.
Perhaps in his weariness he dozed a little, forgetful of the
necessity for constant watchfulness, but the June sun is an
early riser, and a woodthrush close to his ear giving the
signal that night was really over and the new day close at
hand, he started up wide awake, and with the pleasant con-
sciousness that the grey light, already stealing in between
PRETTY PATTY PABXON. 69
the columned tree trunks, and peering into all the sly fores
nooks and corners, revealing every little sleepy faced flower
and weed that, heavy with their night's debauch, had much
ado to stand erect upon their slender stalks ; revealed too, to
his practiced eye that he was close to one of the many wood
paths that, if one had the skill to follow its faint markings,
led straight to the river some seven or eight miles beyond.
I have called it a "path" for lack of a better name, but
to an uninitiated eye there would not have been the faintest
sign of trail or track through that wide stretch of unpro-
faned woodland. Man had simply followed his natural in-
stincts, just as the squirrels and rabbits were wont to do,
and there is no doubt that intricate and roundabout as it
sometimes seemed, it led straight, as line and compass
could have made it to the desired point.
Here would be some faint indication that the foot of man
had trodden not long before, as seen in the broken weeds
and crushed grasses, or maybe in an intrusive branch
broken, but not yet dead, lying not beneath but beyond the
parent tree ; or a great fallen log mossy with age, across
whose giant waist the bark had been worn smooth and shin-
ing as by the passage of human feet. In the deeper forest
only the shadow loving ferns and a few pale, timid wild
flowers disputed the ground with the luxuriant mosses and
lichen, even the grass had but a feeble growth, finding it
hard to get its head above the drifting pine needles that tilled
up the earthy hollows and did their best to soften the harsh
outlines of the outcropping boulders that thrust their gaunt
shoulders through the scanty soil on every hand.
Then all at once, square across the track, looms one of
these same boulders, a giant among its kind, — high,
hard, and uncompromising, — with mighty feet barring
the way, like a granitic Leonidas, with its ''thus far
70 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
shaft thou go and no farther," written in mossy hier-
oglyphics all over its rugged sides, from base to summit.
To make a circuit about this intruder, as a tyro in wood-
craft would naturally do, would result in hopeless bewilder-
ment, throwing one completely off the track and making it
next to impossible for him to regain it. But General "Wads-
worth was too well used to the intricacies of a Maine forest
to make this mistake, and resolutely scaled boulder and
fallen tree, although in the latter case the path sometimes
led under rather than over the obstacle, in which strait
he was forced to crawl over beds of peaty moss, the accu-
mulation of centuries, with here and there a network of tan-
gled, half buried tree roots, whose top had long since gone
the way of all woods, and which now formed a natural trap
for some hidden subterraneum stream, whose voice reached
the listener's ear in a low, discontented murmur, as it hur-
ried along in its darksome channel to join the sun lighted
river below.
It was slow travelling for a tired and hungry man, and
the sun was high in the heavens when at last, through the
thinning tree trunks, he caught a glimpse of the dancing
blue waters of the Penobscot, and heard its idle splash upon
the sandy shore, with a wild upleap of the heart as if it
had been the voice dearest to him of all the world.
Not a trace of the last night's storm remained to mar the
sweet serenity of the scene. Even the bleached and fallen
log upon which he was glad to rest his tired limbs, seemed
to have absorbed so much of the June sunshine into its
wrinkled fibres that its drenching of a few hours before had
left no trace whatever upon its smooth surface, both to
touch and sight it was as dry as tinder. So peaceful and
homelike was the scene, so perfectly natural in all its feat-
ures, that even the sight of his friend's advancing figure,
PRETTY PATTY PARTOX. 71
as, rounding a turn of the shore just beyond, he came for-
ward with a joyful exclamation to meet him, scarcely, for
the moment, surprised him, — it was the most natural thing
in the world, that he, of all men, should form a part of the
familiar .picture, nor did the other's characteristic salutation
help in the least to dispel the pleasant illusion :
"The top o' the mornin' to ye, General. The world don't
look much as it did on that snowy March night when you
and I saw it last."
The General laughed appreciatively. He could afford to
laugh under the cheery influence of all these familiar sights
and sounds, even although he knew that, by this time, the
pursuers must be upon their track, and that, at any moment
the dip of an enemy's oar might herald a return to impris-
onment and probable death.
He motioned his friend to a seat beside him, and with a
return to the gravity befitting their desperate condition, held,
what he half playfully called a ''council of war."
'•We might as well look the situation squarely in the face
Major, and lay our plans for the campaign before us, — we're
out of the fort, thank God, but not yet out of danger by
any means."
His companion nodded respectfully, then drawing from
one of his capacious pockets a loaf of newly baked bread,
he coolly broke it in two and proffered half to his friend
with the sensible comment :
"It's hard thinking on an empty stomach. And after
we've had our breakfast our wits will be sharper, maybe.
Where did I get it?"— in reply to his friend's surprised look,
"Why, I happened, in trying to find the wood road, to run
across the 'Dutch oven' as the folks hereabouts call it,
where the soldiers bake their bread, and as Billy Button
was just taking out a lot of freshly baked loaves, I gave
72 RE -TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
him my last dollar for three of them, — all that I could find
room for in my pockets."
"How could you be so reckless, so foolhardy?" — and the
General spoke with a sharpness that he rarely used toward
his favorite officer.
"Didn't you realize, sir, that, by showing yourself to
this fellow you would be sure to hasten the discovery of our
escape by several hours, at least? I am astonished at your
lack of caution, and I may add, of co7nmon sense.''''
The Major touched his hat respectfully, yet with a droll
smile curling his lips, as he realized how quickly liberty
had restored the old order of military superior and subordi-
nate, that, in their prison life, had been laid aside, and as
it seemed, forgotten entirely.
"The discovery was accidental, sir," he explained, shift-
ing his position a little that he might keep a sharper lookout
down the river. tl He was alone at his work, and I came
within the full glare of his fire before I knew where I was,
for in the darkness I was completely turned round and
couldn't tell north from south. He spoke to me, and I soon
found that all his sympathies were with us, and that he has
mistrusted for some time what we were about, by finding in
the sweepings of our room the wood dust that the gimlet
made in boring through the board. He would gladly have
given me the bread, but I insisted upon paying him, and he
not only put me upon the right track, but promised to delay
our breakfast, by some pretence, and so put off the duty of
reporting our escape as long as possible."
The General's brow cleared, but the anxiety that, under
the cheering influences of the day, had been almost forgot-
ten, again resumed its natural sway, and upon Burton re-
porting the discovery of an old canoe that he had found
hidden in some bushes along shore, he hastened to drag it
PRETTY PATTY PABTON. 73
from its concealment, and make a careful investigation of
its capabilities.
"The sooner we are on the other side the better," he
urged, as, with the assistance of his companion, he launched
the frail craft upon the shining bosom of the river. "We
shall have a hard tramp through the woods before we can
reach the nearest settlement, but we shall be safe so far as
the redcoats are concerned. If they don't catch us on this
side, they won't chase us into the woods on the other, we
may be sure."
That this surmise was correct was proved a half hour
later when, hidden behind a screen of bushes upon the op-
posite shore, they watched a boatload of their pursuers, as
they rowed up the river, and after critically examining the
shore upon either hand, landed upon the very spot where
their own breakfast had been eaten, and where, after the
clumsy fashion of their kind, the soldiers proceeded to peer
into every hole big enough to shelter a squirrel, — all the time
making noise enough to have awakened the seven sleepers,
— thrusting their bayonets into every yard long hollow log,
and thicket of bare stemmed alders, with a vague idea,
evidently, that this was the proper way to go man hunting
in the Maine woods. In spite of their own perilous situa-
tion, the two watchers upon the farther shore could not for-
bear a hearty laugh at their foes' utter helplessness :
"We should be safe even there, two rods from the shore,"
declared the General, adding with grim satisfaction :
"The stupid gawks! There are bread crumbs enough
scattered about that log that Lieutenant Raynes is roosting
upon to have told our whole story to a real woodsman. He
would have known by the marks of our feet in the sand
that two men ate their breakfast there, while by the fresh-
ness of the crumbs he would have reckoned that not more
6
74 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
than an hour had gone by, and that would have given them
ample time to cross the river, which common sense would
have told him that they would naturally have hastened to
do under the circumstances. Then, acting on this supposi-
tion, he would have followed the trail to the shore, seen
where the canoe had been dragged down and launched, and
by that sign would have followed his prey as surely as if
they had stood upon the shore and beckoned to him."
"They probably think that we had no means of crossing
the river," responded Burton. Yet he watched with no little
anxiety the re-embarking of the boat's crew, and the evi-
dent uncertainty of their movements, as, still skirting the
shore, they rowed slowly past the point from which they
had themselves set out, only a little earlier, and at last, as
if reluctant to abandon the search, crossed over, and with-
out taking the trouble to land, took a careless survey of the
thickly wooded shore, while passing so close to the narrow
strip of beach that the words of the Lieutenant, as he gave
his orders to his men, were distinctly audible to those in
hiding :
"Shoot them down if they show the least resistance or
attempt to escape," were the words that, with startling dis-
tinctness reached their ears, and there was so much of con-
centrated spite in the tones that the two silently exchanged
glances of amusement not unmixed with satisfaction.
"The Lieutenant hasn't forgotten how cleverly you
turned the tables on him in that toast on the Prince of
Wales,", whispered the General, suppressing the laugh that
rose to his lips at the recollection of that scene.
His companion smiled, but there was little merriment in
his smile. Even an unfriendly comment, if overheard by
its object, carries a sting with it that no face to face abuse,
be it ever so violent or unjust, ever has the power to inflict,
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 75
and to hear another deliberately planning your death, un-
conscious that you are listening to his every word, and
weighing the chances of his being able to carry out his
murderous design, must necessarily give one a very queer
sensation, to say the least. Thus it is not surprising that
neither of the fugitives made any farther comment until the
boat was well upon its return way down the river, and even
then the General's voice was a trifle husky as, rising from
the ground, and stretching his cramped limbs with an air of
satisfaction, he remarked, with a glance at the receding
boat :
"Thank God we've escaped those bloody villains this
time! And now for home, where, maybe, they'll see us
sooner than they or we have dared to hope."
But what a weary four days' tramp was theirs, through an
unbroken forest with only the sky above them as they lay
down to sleep, their feet to the fire after the Indian fashion,
with, — after their scanty supply of bread failed them, — only
a few edible roots and early berries, or, when having se-
cured a pocketful of last year's acorns, the Major made
what he called "acorn Johnny cake," by bruising the dry
nuts between two stones and moistening the paste with
enough water so that it could be patted into a thin cake
and baked before the fire upon a convenient slab of slate-
stone.
They were terribly ragged, hungry and worn, when at
last the smoke of a friendly clearing, rising above the tops
of the intervening trees, with the thousand and one familiar
sounds that tell of the near habitation of man, saluted their
eager senses, although there was too much of heartfelt thank-
fulness for their marvelous escape and near reunion with
dear ones to leave any room for either complaint or boastful
retrospection.
ib RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
But the story of their gallant break for liberty, and the
manly courage with which they endured the hardships and
perils of that long, weary tramp through an unbroken wil-
derness, is it not told at full length in the old school his-
tories familiar to the boys and girls of the earlier part of
the century? While now and then a white haired man or
woman, looking backward from their nineties, will tell with
gleeful triumph the story, as they heard it in their childish
days, of the escape of the brave patriots from the old fort
at Bagaduce (now Castine), and the staunch fidelity of the
loyal farmer folk who gladly sheltered and aided them to
reach their homes in safety.
But beyond this the old historians are silent, although in
the annals of Warren and Thomaston we find the name of
Burton prominent in all works of public and private en-
terprise, a name still honored and proudly worn by some
of the best people in that vicinity even down to the present
day.
The story of the return of the hoarded keepsake that the
gallant Major had worn next his heart in many a bloody
battle for freedom, to its original owner, Madam Courtland's
pretty neice.
'•No scald in song has told,
No saga taught thee."
We only know that one of the best remembered and most
honored names among the pioneer matrons of that ancient
town where the brave Knox lived out the remnant of his
useful, patriotic life, was that of Mistress Patty Burton,
whose active goodness and benevolence made her the friend
and helper, as well as the pride, not only of her own, but of
all succeeding generations.
And to-day, when some fair descendent of the Revolu-
tionary dame proudly displays the still cherished breast-
knot, — faded and limp with age, — and tells with glowing
PRETTY PATTY PARTON. 77
cheeks the story of its noble mission, she always concludes
with the proud and grateful :
"It was her fortune that gave old grandsire Burton his
first start in the world and laid the foundation of one of the
finest estates in the county. She was his helpmeet in every
sense of the word, and he always declared that he owed
not only his life, but the dearest blessings of that life, to
the shrewdness, the courage and the love of his noble wife."
COLLEQE (?/J?L
X
A COLLEGE GIRL. 81
CHAPTER I.
bessie's wedding day.
It was half-past six on a sharp December morning, and
although the sun was up, his face was so shrouded and
draped with the thickly falling snow flakes that it required
considerable faith to believe that the pale, grey half-twilight
which only served to make visible the grotesque transforma-
tions that a night's steady downfall had made in all the
homely, familiar forms about the old farm-house, was really
the reflection of his cheery smile.
Pretty Bessie Lindsey, as she scraped away a little of the
thick frost from her bedroom window to get a peep at the
world outside, wrinkled her smooth forehead into an anx-
ious frown, and as she turned with a shiver to resume her
dressing, murmured softly to her only confidant, — herself:
"The drifts are piled over the tops of the fences, and it's
snowing still. I don't see how John can possibly drive all
the way from Parkman to-day, — through all these drifts.
And even Aunt Crossman would find it hard, I'm thinking,
to carry out all her plans for the wedding, with the bride-
groom missing."
She blushed and laughed a little, all to herself, as she put
the finishing touches to her neat toilet, and then ran lightly
down stairs into the wide, cheery kitchen, where Joanna
was frying griddle cakes for breakfast.
"Well," remarked that very independent damsel, with a
shade more of crispness in her tones than usual, "I shou'd
say you was beginnin' to take it easy a'ready. Twenty-
82 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
five minutes of seven ! and 1 ain't had a minute for the cof-
fee, and the table ain't set either. I thought," with a kind
of grim pleasantry, "that you'd a' been on hand in good
season on yer weddin' day."
Bessie smiled good naturedly and set herself to work to
supply the omissions that Joanna had so ungraciously
pointed out.
She was used to the girl's ways, for they had been neigh-
bors all their lives, and had studied and played together as
children. It was not the poor girl's fault that she had a
shiftless, unambitious father, and was obliged to earn her
own living by assisting in the households of her more fortu-
nate neighbors. And Bessie, like the reasonable, warm-
hearted girl that she was, always made special allowance
for faults of temper and manner that were, after all, but
skin deep, covering a really kind heart beneath.
'•The roads must be terribly drifted," she said, as she
poured a little of the clear, fragrant coffee into a cup, to
test its strength and clearness, "we haven't had a snow
storm like this for years."
'•That's a fact," assented Joanna, with a glance at the
fast falling snow without, that was already almost on a level
with the kitchen windows.
"Us and the deacon'll have a tug to get to the village
ourselves, and how John "Wyman'll drive all the way from
Parkman here, is what sticks me. What do you s'pose," —
a gleam of fun lighting up the stolid face, "Mis' Cross-
man'll do 'f anything happens so't he can't get here in time
for the weddin'? I honestly b'lieve she'd make you stand
up with the tongs before she'd let the tiling slump through
after all her plannin'."
Both girls laughed, although Bessie reddened a little.
Aunt Grossman, though arbitrary in her way, had always
A COLLEGE GIRL.
83
been kind to her and she was fond of her after a fashion.
'-John will come if it is possible," and there was a world
of tender trust in the girl's soft tones. "But if he can't
come the wedding will have to be deferred, of course."
Joanna glanced sharply at the sweet, unruffled face.
"You take it mighty easy !" she muttered under her breath.
"Now if /was goin' to be married, and my intended was
twenty odd miles away, and it was snowin' great guns,
with no signs o' stoppin', I know I should be in a terrible
twitter, — I really b'lieve I should fly"
Bessie made no reply, for at this moment her father en-
tered, a brimming milk pail in either hand and his cap
and coat perfectly white with snow.
"Well, I declare," puffing and shaking himself like a
big Newfoundland dog just out of a snow drift, "if this
don't beat all creation ! We ain't had such a snow storm as
this for years ; not since—" he stopped suddenly, his cheer-
ful face saddened, and his tones grew tremulous with un-
shed tears, as he repeated more softly, "not since your
mother died, five years come next March."
Silently he hung his cap and coat upon the accustomed
nail and drew a chair to the stove, where, spreading his
hands to catch the genial warmth, he bent his grey head in
silent, saddened thought.
There was something in his attitude,— the bowed shoul-
ders, the drooping head, and the listless, depressed air. that
smote upon Bessie's loving heart like a reproach, and com-
ing softly behind him she took his face tenderly between
her warm, soft palms, and a kiss and tear fell at the same
instant upon his care-lined forehead.
••I'm afraid it's wrong for me to leave you, father," she
whispered gently, "you'll be so lonesome without me. I
told John that I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you all
84 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
alone, and he said," her voice rising hopefully, "that we
must coax you to sell out and come out to Nevada with us.
Farming out there is a very different thing from this toiling,
year after year, on a stony soil that barely yields one a liv-
ing. You'll think of it, won't you?"
The old man smiled, and as he returned his daughter's
kiss there was an unwonted moisture in his eyes, although
he forced himself to say cheerfully :
"I'm afraid I'm too old to bear transplanting. I've lived
here in old Maine, boy and man, for nigh on ter sixty-five
years and I couldn't be contented nowheres else. It's home,
and if I ain't grown rich farmin', I've made a comfortable
livin' and am well provided for in my old age. That satis-
fies me, and I don't hanker after the riches that might prove
a snare to me if I had 'em."
Then noting his daughter's disappointed face, he added
brightly :
"Nevada ain't so far off as 'twas a few years ago. The
railroads have brought the East and West so near together
that a journey out there don't seem no great of a jant, now,
and I shouldn't wonder if, in a year or so, you'd see me out
there. I always thought I'd like to see that part of the
country, and with you there I don't imagine it'll be long
before I'll find my way there, too."
And yet, in spite of this hopeful prophecy, the breakfast
was a silent, almost sad meal. Neither parent nor child
could forget that the hour of parting was near at hand, and
the girl who had been her widowed father's pride and sol-
ace, — his housekeeper, companion and comforter, — was
now about to go out from her childhood's home to brighten
the fires upon another's hearthstone and gladden with her
tender, womanly ministries, the heart and home of another.
Joanna too, while untouched by any tender sentiment at
A COLLEGE GIRL. 8d
parting with her old playmate, was in one of her "queer
moods," as Bessie charitably called them, — when she seemed
to take a malignant pleasure in saying spiteful things under
the guise of pleasantries.
She it was who broke the sad silence with a forced laugh
and the jesting comment :
"If either of you wanted to back out now, this storm
would be a first rate excuse for puttin* off the weddin' for
good."
Bessie flushed indignantly.
"I don't think," she said, trying to speak indifferently,
1 'that we should need any excuse in such a case."
Joanna cackled, in evident enjoyment of her young mis-
tress' annoyance :
"Oh, of course not ! of course not ! I was only thinking
of something I heard old Mis' Wyman say, when the story
first got round that you and John was engaged : Says she,
in that sharp way of hers, John Wyman's a fool, if he is
my child, to take up with a girl that's been to college and
got her head stuffed with all the ologies under the sun in-
stead of stayin' at home and tendin' to her business as a de-
cent girl should. What'll she be fit for out in that new
country where folks have to rough it, and there ain't a
pianner — as John says himself, — within a hundred miles ?
Pretty helpmate she'll be ! If he'd only had the sense to take
to some real smart, capable girl like — ahem ! — "and Joanna
simpered in pretended embarrassment. "Well, 'taint worth
while ter call names, but she really seemed to think that
one of the girls round here that knew how and was used
to hard work, would make a better wife for him than one
that had ever so much book learnin'."
It was the deacon's turn now to show temper. Bessie-
was the apple of his eye, and sharp-tongued Mrs. Wyman,.
86 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
if she was John's mother, had never been a favorite with
him.
••Mis' Wyman's a woman that'd be a good deal better or!
if she knew when to hold her tongue. It ain't the first time
that I've heard of her flingin' out about my sendin' Bessie
to "Wellesley and spoilin' her for a poor man's wife. But
I guess, John," with a significant glance at his daughter's
grieved and mortified face, "don't think that a woman's
spoiled for a wife and housekeeper because she's got some
brains in her head and can talk about something be-ides
her neighbor's business."
Joanna took the hint and subsided imo a sulky silence,
while Bessie tried hard to throw off the uncomfortable feel-
ing that the girl's ill-natured gossip had caused her.
It was no secret to her, the matron's disapproval of her
son's marriage with a graduate of Wellesley, but she had
cheered herself with the thought that time would right her
in the eyes of John's mother, when she should see what a
faithful wife and competent housekeeper she would prove
herself, with the aid of— not in spite of— her college ed-
ucation.
John had said, — for the subject had been freely discussed
between them, —
"It is the educated, refined woman, who is brave and
loving enough to face the hardships and inconveniences of a
pioneer life, who will mould and shape the social and mor-
al life of the new community. "While their husbands and
fathers are the home builders and grain raisers of the new
state, it is for the wives and daughters to plant and train
the roses of culture and refinement that never spring spon-
taneously from a new soil."
And yet, —
A COLLEGE GIRL. 87
She remembered with a half amused, half hurt feeling,
the comical picture that her lover had more than once
painted for her, of the rudeness of the settlers themselves,
and the bare commonplaceness of their lives, and she
thought that, perhaps, after all, he had begun to question
the wisdom of his choice.
Not that, for an instant, she doubted or could doubt his
love, but did he really feel as confident as at the first, that
she would be a help rather than a hindrance to him in his
Western home?
These were the thoughts and speculations that kept her
silent as she went about her usual household pluties, seldom
replying to Joanna's chatter that fell upon her unheeding
ears, mingled with the clatter of the dishes, as that energetic
damsel disposed of them with unusual alacrity, in her haste
to get ready for the ride to the village, which the deacon had
decided must be undertaken as soon after breakfast as possi-
ble.
"It don't seem to let up any," he had said with a shrewd
look at the unrelenting sky, "and the sooner we start the
better. Besides, your Aunt Crossman will most likely
want yours and Joanna's help in getting ready for the even-
ing."
And Bessie had assented without a protest, although she
had secretly planned a number of little last services for her
father's comfort and cheer when she should be far away, —
silent reminders to him of the love that neither distance nor
newer ties would have power to uproot in her loving, loyal
heart.
But before they were half way to the village she had be-
come convinced that her father's idea of the necessity of an
early start was by far the wisest and best under the circum-
stances.
88 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
The snow was still falling steadily, and soon the drifts
grew so frequent and deep that it was almost impossible for
old Jack, strong as he was, to stumble through them, even
with the help of his master, who was more than once
forced to alight and lift the sleigh over the great ridges of
closely packed snow.
Aunt Grossman's "hired man" Jotham was hard at work
shovelling paths, — almost as discouraging a task as that of
the Danaides, Bessie thought, with rather an anxious smile,
as she noticed how fast they filled up again behind him.
He stopped, and leaned easily upon the handle of his
snow shovel, as he replied with great deliberateness to the
deacon's salutation :
"Wa'al, yes, considerable of a storm, I shou'd say. You
can drive right in here," — stepping aside into the yet un-
broken drift, — "unless" —
The deacon had lifted the reins to give Jack a gentle re-
minder that he was to move on, but he paused at the last
word and looked enquiringly at the speaker — '''-unless you
mean ter drive right on. You see it'll be hard turnin' when
you're once in, and Mrs. Crossman, she said you'd better
come right out ter Nathan's before it got so bad you
couldn't come."
"Out to Nathan's?" repeated the deacon in utter bewil-
derment, "what are we to go out to Nathan's for I should
like to know ?"
Jotham took off his old fur cap and carefully shook the
snow from it ; then as carefully replacing it upon his shock
head, he gave his mittened hands a slap and grasped his
shovel with an air that was supposed to mean business.
"Why, I didn't know but you'd heard a'ready about old
grand marm Mitchel's havin' a shock."
A cry of dismay burst from Bessie's lips :
A COLLEGE GIRL. 89
••A shock! Grandma Mitchell Why, we expected to
have found her here. Aunt Grossman promised that she
should certainly be here to-night."
Jotham rubbed his chin reflectively :
"Well, that was the plan, I b'lieve. But it was so cold
yesterday that Mis' Crossmau didn't want ter take the colt
out, and the first thing this mornin' Nathan's boy brought
the news that she'd had a shock, and they wanted. Mis'
Grossman ter come right off, f ' r 'twas doubtful if she'd
stand it through the day. So you sees she couldn't do no
less than ter go with 'iin, and she left wordf'r you to come
too. They said she had her senses, and could speak, though
she couldn't move hand nor foot."
The Deacon looked anxiously out into the -whirl dance of
the driving storm," and the drifts growing higher and higher
every minute.
•'I d'clare I don't know as we can get there !" he mut-
tered regretfully, but Bessie's tremulous tones sounded close
to his shoulder :
'•Oh, don't say that, father ! We must get there somehow,
if we walk all the way. Dear old grandmother ! it would
break my heart cot to see her again, and I know she'd
grieve even in death for a last look at my face. Don't say
'no' father, — we must go, and it's only a little over two
miles, and a pretty good road too."
A pretty good road ! The Deacon glanced ruefully, yet
with a comical uplifting of his shaggy eyebrows along the
fast increasing drifts that had already nearly obliterated all
traces of the broad country highway. It was a long two
miles out to Nathan's even in the summer time, and now, —
why one could scarcely see the tops of the fences, and it
was still snowing.
But Bessie was the poor old lady's idol, and if she was
7
90 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
really in a dying state it would be cruel to keep the girl
from her bedside, let the risk be what it would. So rea-
soned the good man, and unheeding Joanna's loud protest
against a continuance of the drive, he said cheerfully :
"Well, Joanna, — you may get out here, and Bessie and
I '11 try the road to Nathan's. If it's too bad we can turn
round and comeback again."
So Joanna, clumsily assisted by Jotham, tumbled out of
the sleigh, next the house, and as they rode away, Bessie,
looking back, saw her standing upon the rear piazza, co-
quettishly laughing and chatting with her rustic admirer,
who was vigorously at work with an old coru broom brush-
ing the snowy flakes from her cloak and hood.
This the girl saw but fortunately could not hear the con-
versation that was going on between the two in regard to
herself and her affairs,
"Ain't it most a wonder," drawled Jolham, who was
rather prone to "wonder" over other people's affairs gener-
ally, "that the Deacon was willing to have his girl married
from 'er Aunt Grossman's? I shou'd a thought, seein she's
all he's got, that he'd a' put his foot down, fair an square
for once, and had the weddin' in his own house."
Joanna gave a brisk stamp of her snow laden feet that
made the tin milk pails that had been hung outside to air
rattle as if a hurricane had looked in upon them.
"Humph ! Can't you see through a grinstun, Jotham
Toothaker? Mis' Crossman's house is the biggest and
grandest in town, and Mis' Crossman herself, — without a
chick nor a child in the world, will naturally leave all she's
got to her favorite neice when she's got through with it.
So, when she up an says :
"I'm reckonin' on bavin' Bessie married from my house,
'twouldn't a' been prudent fur the Deacon to have said 'er
A COLLEGE GIRL. 91
nay, — (any fool might a' seen through that, Ishou'd think.)"
Jotham put the broom back into its place with a long
drawn sigh and a sidelong glance at the buxom girl who
had given utterance to this profound bit of worldly wisdom.
'•You're a master hand to see into things, Joanna," he
remarked humbly, "but," with a sudden transition from
the complimentary to the complaining, ''I du wish Mis'
Crossman 'd feel it her dooty ter raise my pay a little. Here
I've worked for 'er, and faithful too, nigh on ter five years,
and she's kept me down to the same pay that we bargained
for in the beginning.
'Taint fair. And here's John Wyman coming back
from out AVest with his pockets full o' money, — why. they
say," lowering his voice and speaking with eager haste.
4 'that where he is they don't have no money less'n a quar-
ter. He says 'imself that he hadn't seen a ten cent piece
for all of four years till he got back to this part o' the
country."
A hot flush rose to the girl's cheek, and her tones were
even sharper than usual as she said significantly :
"I s'pose the West is open to one man as much as 'tis to
another. And I know o7ie thing, — if / was a man I
wouldn't spend all my days diggin' and delvin' for any
stingy old widder woman, for half pay, — doin' a man's
work f'r a boy's pay. The world's wide and I'd see what
it had for me outside o' Mis' Crossman's chimney corner."
"P'raps you would, — 'fact, I haint no doubt on't," meekly
assented Jotham, but with an inward shudder at the thought
of such a thing as "starting out" into that great unknown,
fearsome world, of which he knew so little, that its very
mystery inspired him with a secret terror that made the
despised "chimney corner" of the grasping widow seem a
refuse and fortress if nothing more.
92 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
And yet, like many another who, timid and un-enterpris-
ing himself, feels a mean, unreasoning resentment toward those
whose courage and daring have brought them the success
that he craves, yet dares not venture for, Jotham, while
wearily shaping his paths in the solid drifts, beguiled the
time with alternate pangs of self pity, and low muttered
anathemas against "folks that thought themselves so all-
fired smart jest because they happened to have a lucky
streak."
It was, no doubt, his indulgence in these foolish medita-
tions that made him look with such grim disfavor upon the
pair that, a couple of hours later, drove briskly through the
now completed snow tunnel and halted before the back
door where he was standing, while the younger called out
in a blithe, hearty voice from beneath his furry wrappings :
"Hallo, Joe ! This is a stunner — almost equal to one of
our Western blizzards. Well," putting one foot out of the
sleigh, "did Mrs. Crossman wonder that we didn't get here
last night? The fact is, it was so badly drifted that, — Ah,
Joanna !" as that alert damsel suddenly appeared upon the
scene her face wreathed with smiles of welcome and her
tones and air sweetly hospitable as became Mrs. Crossman's
representative.
"Do come right in, — you and Elder Barnes, (I b'lieve
'tis?)" with an extra bow and smile for the supposed par-
son. "You must be nigh about froze after yer long ride.
Mis' Crossman ? Why she got word this morning that her
mother, old Grandmarm Mitchel, — (you remember her,
John ?) was a' layin' at death's door, and she started right
off, only stoppin' long enough to leave word that I was ter
see ter things till she got back. So you might as well come
right in and make yerselves comfortable till she gets back."
The door swung hospitably, open beneath the speaker's
A COLLEGE GIRL. 93
hand, revealing a temptingly warm, cheery room within,
but John still hesitated.
"I don't suppose," he asked with a bit of shy conscious-
ness in his tones, "that the Deacon and Bessie have come
yet?"
"Oh, law ! yes indeed !" cried the proxy, as gaily as if
she were imparting the most delightful bit of information in
the world, "Come and ^07^, all of two or three hours ago.
When they heard of the old lady's sickness they kep' right
on out there. But do come in," with a winning sweetness
that made poor Jotham grit his teeth wrathfully, ' 'most
likely they'll be back in time f 'r the weddin', — that is, if
they can^V back."
John drew back his foot beneath the sleigh robes and
lifted the reins that had fallen across the horse's back.
"Perhaps you had better accept Joanna's invitation," he
said to his companion, but I shall follow after the Deacon.
The road is growing worse every minute and the Deacon is
an old man, — too old to brave such a storm as this. It is
my place to look out for him, but there is no reason why
you should expose yourself to the cold and possible peril."
But the Elder, whose blood was young and warm, shook
his head decidedly.
"I'm not afraid of the storm," he said, with a smile of
mannish contempt at the idea that he, northern born and
bred, could be afraid of what he had been familiar with
all his life, —
"And if there should be any trouble, two are better than
one."
And unheeding Joanna's indignant remonstrances, the
two young men rode away into the storm, being almost out
of sight before the slow thinking Jotham aroused himself to
say regretfully ( ?) ,
94 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"Well, now ! I wonder if John knows that the old house
is shet up this winter, and that grandmarm is spending the
winter with Nathan's folks ? If he don't he'll take a lone
o
ride f 'r nothin and find the house empty into the bargain."
Joanna smiled grimly.
"If he hadn't a'been in sech a tarin' hurry I shou'd a
told 'im where he'd find 'em. As 'tis, he may do his own
huntin', frail o' me."
And Jotham's uneasy conscience was at rest. Joanna
had tacitly shouldered the responsibility and his back was
free.
A COLLEGE GIRL. 95
CHAPTER II.
LOST IN THE DRIFTS.
And the Elder and John rode steadily if not briskly out
upon the unbroken road leading to the old farmstead. There
was no chance of their missing the way, for John Wvrnan
could have followed that old, seldom travelled road with his
eyes shut. How many times he had tramped over it with
gun or fishing-rod over his boyish shoulder, while later — he
smiled involuntarily at the memory of those precious drives
and walks with pretty Bessie Lindsey at his side, with the
inevitable stop on the way to taste of grandma'am Mitch-
el's doughnuts and cheese, or as was often the case, to leave
some delicacy that the well-to-do Deacon could well afford.
For the dear old lady, with only her chore boy for com-
pany, had chosen to spend the long years of her widowhood
in the pleasant, comfortable old farmhouse, to which she
had come as a bride, where all her children had beeu born,
and over whose threshold the tender partner of her life had
been carried out to his long rest.
As the horse ploughed wearily through the drifts John
thought, with a tender longing, of those long, bright, sum-
mer days, until he almost fancied he could feel his bare feet
softly pressing the grassy ridges that lay between the rarely
travelled wheel tracks, and hear the merry trill of the bob-
olink swinging upon the outstretched arm of that very wil-
low that they were passing now, — such a knowing, saucy
note it was, that the lad half believed that the feathered
gallant mistrusted that his errand out to this neighborhood
96 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
was not all after trout or even with an eye to grandrna'am
Mitchel's early sweetings.
Still in spite of all his pleasant reminiscences, the young
man could not be oblivious of the fact that their way was
every moment growing more and more difficult, and that
upon this lonely road their situation might even become
perilous if their horse's strength should give out before they
could reach a shelter.
Every now and then the weary animal would stop short
before some immense drift that he could by no possibility
make his way through unaided, and then the two men,
standing to their waists in the snow, would by dint of much
lifting, coaxing and urging, aid him in dragging the sleigh
over, rather than through, the closely packed mass. But
their progress was slow, — very slow, while the drifts were
constantly increasing in size and number.
John looked anxiously toward tlie west and noticed with
a thrill of apprehension that the sun had long since passed
the zenith, and that the leaden grey of the short winter
afternoon was already creeping over the snow-shrouded
landscape. And still the snow fell steadily, while not a
house was in sight, and to add to their discomfort a sharp,
piercing wind had risen that sent an icy chill even through
his warm, furry wrappings.
His companion too, was shivering, although he kept up
his courage manfully.
"I think," the young man began, then looked about him
in perfect bewilderment.
The landscape in its snowy mask was utterly strange to
him, — not a tree, or fence top, not even a guide-post with
friendly, outstretched arm, not so much as a barn or shingle
camp, — just one wide waste of tossing, whirling, drifting
snow .
A COLLEGE GIRL. 97
"Good Lord, deliver us."
It was not an exclamation but a prayer, simple, calm
and trustful, although the lips that uttered it were so stif-
fened and chilled that the words were scarcely audible to
his companion. But faint as they were, they lent fresh
courage to his heart, and with a whispered "amen" upon
his own lips he urged the weary horse forward.
How long, how far, neither could tell. The poor creature
floundered and struggled through great drifts, from which
he emerged trembling in every limb, and evidently growing
weaker every minute.
Every now and then John spoke to the silent figure by
his side, i?isisting upon a reply, although the words were
uttered in a strange, sleepy, far away tone, that sent a thrill
of ominous apprehension to the young man's heart.
At last the horse stopped, staggered, and the next instant
fell heavily in his tracks. John sprang from the sleigh and
wading to his side, tried by every means in his power to
arouse the exhausted animal to further exertions.
But all in vain. The poor brute lay limp, helpless, al-
most lifeless, and the young man, setting his teeth tightly
together to keep back the cry of despair that rose to his lips,
unfastened the traces, and at last succeeded in releasing the
animal from the burden of his harness and getting him
upon his feet. "Perhaps, now," he said to himself, "the
poor brute will be able to save himself, he can do nothing
for us."
Then turning to his companion, who sat bolt upright and
silent in his seat, he cried as loudly as his chattering teeth
would permit :
••Wake up. Elder! For God's sake, don't go to sleep
no-ju ! I'll cover you up with the sleigh robes, and. — here
98 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
take a swallow of this. It'll keep the life in you I hope
till I can get back with help."
Mechanically, like one in a dream, the half frozen man
swallowed the cordial, and revived enough to make the nec-
essary effort to rouse himself from the deadly stupor into
which he was fast falling.
By this time the horse seemed eager to move, and holding
fast to his mane John struck out boldly in the direction
that he felt sure the old farmhouse must be. AVeak and
chilled though he was, the sturdy brute kept upon his feet,
and by the warmth and protection of his body gave no little
help to his master, who, keeping close to his side, aided and
encouraged him with a kind word or touch every now and
then, that the intelligent animal seemed to understand and
to try his best to keep from giving up the unequal contest.
But the strength of both man and beast was fast failing.
The afternoon shadows grew deeper and deeper ; the wind
rose higher and howled exultantly like an army of pursuing
demons, while the deadly chill that had been gradually
creeping closer to the young man's heart clutched with its
icy hand at his very vitals. He leaned, weak and benumbed,
against the side of his faithful companion, and with a half-
formed prayer for "forgiveness", — he had gotten beyond
the hope even of "help" — he prepared to resign himself to
his fate and leave the world, so full to him of love and hope
and joy.
A COLLEGE GIRL. 99
CHAPTER III.
••Thank God I"
The next moment John Wyinan had fallen upon his knees
in the snow, and if ever a prayer of unfeigned gratitude
went up to God it rose at that moment from the heart of
that scarce rescued man.
Onlv a slender column of smoke, dimly visible through
the snow-thick atmosphere, but a sure and blessed prophecy
of human companionship and aid.
They had wandered but a short distance from the sleigh,
and their tracks were not yet quite obliterated, so that it
was not an impossible task, with the certainty of life before
him, for the stalwart young man to retrace his steps, and
partly by entreaty, partly by force, to bring his half frozen
comrade to the shelter of the old farmhouse.
The darkness was close upon them, yet a? they dragged
themselves through the deep drifts to the door, a face —
brighter, sweeter, dearer in John Wyman's eyes than any
other the wide world over. — looked out from the warm, fire-
lighted interior, and in a moment more the door was flung
open and the Deacon's strong arms caught the fainting Par-
son before he could touch the threshold, while a pair of soft
girlish hands brushed the clinging snow from her lover's
hair and beard, and two warm lips were pressed, tremulous
yet unashamed, to his own.
Warmth and a cup of hastily prepared tea, hot and strong,
soon restored the strength of the travellers, and then, with
tears of thankfulness, Bessie told her story, and the two
100 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
men learned how narrow the chance had been of their find-
ing shelter in the old homestead even if they had succeeded
in reaching it.
Grandma'am's shock had proved a slight one, and after
seeing her daughter and granddaughter, the old lady herself
urged their return to the village that afternoon.
"A put-off weddin'
Makes double reddin',"
was her argument, and Aunt Crossman was not at all averse
to this view of the case.
"It's just as mother says," she remarked rather sharply,
as the Deacon hesitated, in view of the increasing storm.
"If a weddin's put off you've got to go over all the ground
again,— get ready twice over, sweep and dust, and build up
fires all over the house a second time. Xow f'r ?/iy part, I
ain't a bit afraid to resk a ride back this afternoon. What
in the world do you suppose John'll think, comin' to be mar-
ried, and findin' his bride-to-be, and everybody else, off no-
body knows where?"
And so, contrary to his own judgment, the good natured
Deacon started on his homeward way, his load increased by
the addition of Aunt Crossman's hundred and fifty avoirdu-
pois. Perhaps it was the extra weight on that side of the
sleigh, or perhaps the driver's hands were benumbed with
the cold, but just as they came opposite the forsaken home-
stead, Jack stumbled, and over went the sleigh, Aunt Cross-
man underneath ; and when, after much floundering and
confusion, she was finally extricated, it was found her ankle
was so badly sprained that her companions had much ado to
get her into the house, where, before a blazing fire and with
her ankle comfortably bandaged by Bessie's deft fingers, the
good woman was forced to resign herself to the inevitable.
"It's a strange Providence, though," she sighed, "shut-
ting us up here, for, nobody knows how long."
A COLLEGE GIRL. 101
But when an hour later she watched the half frozeu men
coming back to life and courage under the blessed influences
of the genial fire and Bessie's hastily prepared tea, she sol-
emnly, and for her, meekly, acknowledged the presence of a
wiser hand than her own in the accident that had detained
them, such unwilling prisoners.
"If we hadn't been here there wouldn't have been no fire,
so you wouldn't had the smoke for a guide, or even if you
had happened to find your way, you couldn't a' got in with-
out a key. Yes, no doubt it's for the best, as you said,
Deacon. But," — in an aside for Bessie's benefit, — "I do
hope that blunderhead of a Jotham won't think he's got to
build up a fire in the front room for nothin'."
"TVe might as well take an inventory of our stores," re-
marked Bessie, as cheerily as if a well stocked market had
been close to her hand for her to select from.
"If this storm lasts through the night the drifts will be
so high that it may be a week before the roads will be
broken out enough for us to get away."
Aunt Crossman groaned and the Deacon looked apprehen-
sive. " 'Taint no ways likely that grandma'am left a very
big stock of provisions to freeze up while she was away
through the winter," he said gravely.
"There's wood enough, thank the Lord ! to keep us warm
and plenty of hay and oats for the hosses, and if worst
comes to worst, — why, there's — but I do declare, I should
feel like a cannibal, eatin' one o' Jack's steaks."
His voice trembled, and there were tears in Bessie's soft
eyes, although she laughed as she gave his hand a reasuring
pat.
"We won't be reduced to such straits as that, I hope.
And now for a look at the flour barrel. Yes," putting her
head out of the pantry door a moment later, "there's half a
102 RE -TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
barrel here, and enough dry yeast cakes to last a year. So
the principal thing is provided for, — nobody ever starved
yet with plenty of good, wholesome bread to eat. And
here's tea, and salt, and soda, and, what do you think? half
ajar of strained honey ! — so much for the luxuries. And
here's a string of sausages and a ham bone. Why, we'll
live like princes."
And with this hopeful prediction she bustled about and
hunted up one of grandma'am's kitchen aprons which she
tied about her dainty waist, pretending all the while, the
sly puss ! that she had no idea of the admiring eyes follow-
ing her every movement as she flitted from pantry to kitch-
en making preparations for the coming meal.
••We'll have some nice hot muffins for supper," she an-
nounced complacently. "Flour and water, and a little bak-
ing powder, with a great spoonful of this new fallen snow,
and a hot oven to bake them in, will make very good eating
with some of the honey to give them a relish."
" What, without milk or eggs?" queried Aunt Crossman
doubtfully.
Bessie nodded, she was evidently mistress of the situa-
tion.
"The snow will take the place of eggs. It contains
about ten times its bulk in air, and these air cells will ex-
pand with the heat and make the dough as light as an egg
would," she explained, adding, with a demure glance at her
lover, "I learned that much of practical chemistry at Wel-
lesley."
Just then the Deacon entered, stamping the snow from
his heavy boots and bearing a brimming water pail in his
hand that he deposited upon the sink shelf, with the doubt-
ful comment :
"I wallered up to my arm pits in snow to get to the well
A COLLEGE GIRL. 103
so't yer Aunt Grossman could have some well water to drink,
(this melted snow goes agin her stomach, she says.) But
now I've got it it's pretty mean lookin' accordin' to my
idea~."
Bessie glanced at the dark, unappetizing looking liquid
with evident disgust, while Aunt Grossman explained that
"the well hadn't been used these two years. Grandma'am
had got all her drinking water from the spring above, and
that was one reason why she went out to Nathan's for the
winter, because she couldn't get to the spring when the
snow was on the ground."
'•It never'd ought to been dug where 'twas," put in the
Deacon. "It's so sandy there that the rotten leaves and
weeds wash down through and that's what spoils the water."
"Boiling will purify it," suggested Bessie, "or, better
still, because it's less trouble, we might put some oak chips
in it. they would serve the same purpose."
"I can chop wood," interrupted John, glad to make him-
self useful, and as he took the axe from behind the wood-
shed door, he asked curiously :
"How do the oak chips purify the water?"
"It's the tannin," explained Bessie, stopping an instant in
her work to smile back upon the questioner. "There is in
all these impure waters something of an albuminous sub-
stance, and the tannin makes that thicken and fall to the
bottom, where it carries all the other impurities with it."
"That is why, I suppose," observed the Parson from his
easy chair by the fire, "that it is thought that the tree that
Moses was commanded to cast into the bitter waters at Ma-
rah was a species of oak?"
This started a discussion with the Deacon upon the sub-
ject of miracles, and left Bessie at liberty to arrange and de-
cide upon the capabilities of her limited larder, and with
104 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
John's assistance, to bring from the cellar a basket of half-
frozen potatoes, a cabbage and a small piece of salt pork
that had, luckily for them, been left floating in the brine of
the pork barrel at the time of the old lady's migration, a
couple of months before.
The vegetables were being packed in snow to thaw grad-
ually, with the reminder from Bessie that the potatoes would
make a good breakfast fried in some of the pork fat, when
all at once a thought occurred to that provident damsel that
brought a troubled look to her bright face, as she said in an
undertone, that the group in the next room might not hear :
"Do you know there isn't a grain of coffee in the house?
I've searched high and low for some, because Aunt Cross-
man is so dependent upon her morning cup of coffee. Now,
what shall we do ?"
Her companion knit his brows thoughtfully.
"I've heard of folks using chicory," he ventured help-
lessly.
Bessie laughed mischievously.
"I'm afraid that would be as hard for us to get just now
as the coffee itself."
"Sure enough. Well, I don't see any way but for us to
do without."
A man's ultimatum. But Bessie was not so ready to
give up her coffee. "In some countries they — well now,
perhaps — let's try the attic."
And in the attic, sure enough, they found what she
wanted, — a box of carefully dried acorns.
It was voted to keep this discovery from the others for
the present, until John with his sharp pocket knife had
removed the shells, leaving only the small, dry kernels,
which were placed in the oven to roast.
A COLLEGE GIRL. 105
• ; I don't see how they can be made to taste like coffee
for the life of me," whispered John, as alter frequent sur-
reptitious stirrings and testings the nut.-' were declared by the
head cook to be sufficiently roasted, and ready to be ground
for cotfee as soon as cool.
Bessie nodded her little head knowingly :
•'Why not, when they have the principal qualities that
the coffee berry has, — gluten, caffeine, tannic acid and sugar?
All they will need will be a little soda in the water to give
the alkaline flavor."
••There are two things,"' admitted Bessie regretfully at
supper as she poured the steaming, fragrant tea into the
little old-fashioned, blue china cups, "that I can find no
substitute for. and those are sugar and milk. To be sure,"
she added laughing, "if I only had a bottle of sulphuric
acid I could make grape sugar out of grandma'am's box of
starch or some clean sawdust. But I don't know of any
chemical combination that would take the place of a cow."
Everybody laughed, while even Aunt Grossman declared
herself perfectly contented with the light, delicate muffins
and honey, and the tea, steeped not boiled in the earthen
teapot.
•'It's queer," remarked the Deacon, as he passed his cup
for a second filling, "what a sight o' difference there is in
folks makin' tea. Now Joanna always biles her tea if she
ain't looked after, and she uses a third more tea, and then
you don't get tjie strength of it as you do made in this way.
just simmered.''''
•Tt really don't need sugar or milk," added the Parson
gallantly.
"That's what the Chinaman says," laughed Bessie, "and
the Arab drinks his coffee the same way, without either."
8
IOC RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
4i So." with a side glance at her co-conspirator, "I hope
you won't so mind the lack of them in yours at breakfast,
in the morning.''
The elder lady drew a sigh of relief.
kk It wouldn't a' been like me to have complained any
way." she remarked virtuously. "But now that I know
we're to have our coffee. I will own that I've been terribly
exercised about it, for in case we should have to stay here
two or three days I don't know as I could 'a kept up with-
out it."
Bessie's smile was so very innocent that not one of the
party dreamed, when listening that evening to the familiar
rattle of the coffee mill, that it was not the genuine coffee
berry that was undergoing such a brisk dessication under
John's willing hands.
There were plenty of beds, but the disused chambers
were terribly cold, and while the ladies made themselves
comfortable in an adjoining bedroom, the men preferred
camping down upon the floor of the warm sitting room,
upon the beds that Bessie had improvised for them with so
much care that even the Deacon's rheumatic limbs never
complained once during the long, cold night, while the storm
without still raged on, and the ill-fitting windows kept up a
rattling accompaniment to the fierce gusts that swept about
the unsheltered old house.
The Parson and the Deacon, after reverently committing
themselves to the care of that loving Father who had so sig-
nally interposed that day to save them from danger and
death, lay down contentedly upon their warm beds and
slept the calm, dreamless sleep of wearied men, but their
more youthful companion after replenishing the lire, sat
down beside it, glad of the freedom to indulge in those
blissful dreams that only happy lovers know.
A COLLEGE GIRL. 107
For the first time he acknowledged, even to himself, that
his mother's persistant opposition to his marriage with Bes- .
sie had really awakened some fears in his own heart as to
her fitness to share the hardships of a pioneer's life, and he
had grown to feel half guilty of an unmanly selfishness in
exposing her to the unavoidable privations of his Western
home.
But now, — the flame that leaped suddenly out of the great
oak fore-stick seemed laughing back to his tender confidences,
— all was made straight and smooth before their feet.
Why, the very education that his mother had predicted
would unfit her for a Western housewife, would be her best
help in overcoming adverse circumstances and transforming
seemingly useless things into the comforts and necessaries
of life.
In a warm corner of the wide brick hearth was set the
pan of bread sponge, covered with a snowy cloth, the
bright tin sides of the pan reflecting the dancing, flickering
firelight with a pleasant suggestiveness that made the
young man's face assume a smile at once tender and humor-
ous, as he seemed to hear again in the brave, girlish tones,
the cheering prophecy that had accompanied its final adjust-
ment for the night.
"Such breakfast rolls as I shall give you, if John don't
let the fire go down, won't need butter to make them
eatable."
Really, there is a deal of romance even in such a prosaic
thing as bread raising if one only looks at it from the van-
tage ground that youth and love make possible. And Bes-
sie, in her role of ''housekeeping under difficulties," was
more bewitchingly sweet in her lover's eyes than she had
ever seemed in all her life before.
108 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Dreamily the young man recalled the past as he sat
there alone with himself and his own thoughts.
The little school girl, with her dainty frills and smoothly
braided locks, who always beat him at spelling, but was
only too glad of his help in her arithmetic ; the shy maiden,
all smiles and blushes, who sat or walked or rode by his
side, too innocent to hide her girlish preference for her
youthful escort ; and the fair, modest, self-possessed young
lady who did the honors of her father's house so gracefully,
while with her gentle womanliness she set all about her at
their ease, and by some magic known to herself alone con-
trived to find and bring forward the best in everybody, un-
til their uncouthness and rustic mannerisms seemed to drop
from them like Cinderella's mean garments in the "play,
transforming them for the time into an unsuspected beauty
and grace. She was the only one, child or woman, who
had ever won from him more than a passing kindly thought,
and she had been by turns, play-mate, sweetheart and be-
trothed wife. But now a dearer, closer, tenderer title sug-
gested itself and nestled like a sweet, warm, palpable pres-
ence in his bosom — the very crown and essence of wifehood
— a helpmate for him.
The dying brands slowly crumbled and fell apart, and in
their rosy glow he seemed to see the small, rudely built cab-
in, in the midst of those wide, fertile acres, from which his
strong right arm was to wrest the wealth that, in future
years, should place him and his above the fear even of
want, and fully realized for the first time what a help and
inspiration that brave, womanly presence would be in his
humble home.
"God bless her !"
It was but a whisper, yet in the intense stillness it evi-
A COLLEGE GIRL. 109
dently reached the ears of the sleeping Parson who stirred
uneasily and muttered unconsciously the apt addendum :
"And she shall be blessed."
The breakfast next morning was a wonderful success.
Aunt Crossman drank her improvised coffee unsuspect-
ingly, although she could not forbear the remark that
'•Mother always would buy this rank Rio instead of the
mixed Mocha and Java."
And the Deacon so far forgot the situation as to ask if
"there wasn't a doughnut or cookie to top off with?"
Of course he must be indulged if possible, and Bessie
fresh from her classical readings proved herself equal to
the emergency.
'•The Greeks and Romans used to make small, flat cakes,
something like our drop cakes, I suppose, with oil and
honey, instead of butter and sugar. Grandma always
keeps olive oil in the house for her salads, and if I can find
a bottle I can make some cakes for father that will be better
than nothing with his coffee."
And as a careful search revealed nearly a bottle full of
pure olive oil among the old lady's stores, the party was re-
galed at supper upon cakes that would certainly have taken
the prize at a Greek or Roman Fair.
••What a pity," sighed Aunt Grossman, as the last of the
sausages disappeared, "that there ain't some peas or beans
in the house. That ham bone ain't got meat enough to pay
for the boiling, but 'twould be prime to flavor a pea or bean
stew."
A little later, as the three men sat rather listlessly about
the fire evidently tired of doing nothing, Bessie made her
appearance, flushed and snow besprinkled, with a measure
of oats in her mittened hands and the laughing announce-
ment :
110 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"I've found something to keep you awake, if nothing else.
I'm going to have stewed peas for to-morrow's dinner and
you will have to pick them out of the oats for me."
"Good land alive!" cried the Deacon." "Pick peas
enough out of them oats for a dinner? Why, it'll take a
week of Sundays."
But Aunt Crossman calmly spread a newspaper in her
lap and poured some of the oats into it with the grim re-
minder :
"Our time, Deacon, is a good deal like a setting hen's — it
don't amount to much. \Ve might as well pick over oats as
ter set here twiddlin our thumbs, so far's I can see." And
with a good deal of laughing and good-natured banter the
whole party set to work, encouraged by Bessie, who, to
vary the monotony of their work, told them in her own
merry fashion the story of that much abused princess, who
being set to work to pick out, one by one, the grains of
wheat from a big pile of barley, was helped by the ants, so
that her work was done in time and the cruel step-mother's
plans defeated.
This reminded the Parson of some of his queer exper-
iences as a school-master in one of the backwoods settle-
ments, and of the fried salt pork and Johnny-cake flavored
with caraway seeds in honor of "the master," all of which
he had to pick out before he could swallow a morsel.
Then, in turn, John told, with more of pathos than hu-
mor, of the sights that he had seen upou the Western prai-
ries, when in the autumn the Indian women and children
scoured the plains for miles around gathering the ripened
seeds of the golden rod and other wild flowers to help eke
out their scanty winter stores.
The Deacon and Aunt Crossman each had a story to tell,
and it was really wonderful how soon the basin was filled
A college girl. Ill
with the clean, oat-free cereals, and what a feeling of pro-
prietorship they all felt in the delicious dish of stewed peas
that Bessie served up for their dinner.
For forty-eight hours the storm raged on. and even after
the sun showed a reluctant face over the white capped east-
ern hills, it was two whole days before the roads were in a
condition for the passage of single teams, and during all
those long, unemployed hours, what a treasure our bright,
ingenious, sensible college girl proved herself.
Apart from the substantial comforts that woman's wit,
aided by the scholar's craft, had contrived to provide for
them out of her scanty stores, her well trained voice made
cheerful the long, idle evenings, with son:: and recitation.
She told stories and invented games : popped corn on the
hut stove covers and afterward ground it in the coffee mill
to serve as a thickening for an original kind of mush that,
served up hot with honey made a very palatable breakfast
dish.
To be sure. Aunt Grossman naturally fretted a good deal
over the postponed wedding, and the Deacon alternately
yawned and wondered if his chore boy would remember
what days the pig was to have his potatoes boiled, but the
younger folks enjoyed their novel midwinter picnic im-
mensely.
••I haven't had such a jolly time since I was a boy and
used to camp out in father's old shingle camp through the
sugar season," declared the Parson, as he shelled the yellow
kernels from an ear of seed corn that Bessie had ruthlessly
confiscated from a trace in the attic. "It's a wonder how
comfortable people can make themselves upon the barest
necessaries of life if they only know how.''
•• If they only know Ziozv V repeated John quizzically.
"And have the wit and wisdom to make much of a little,
112 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
and the sweet, unselfish nature that manufactures its own
sunshine wherever its owner happens to be." The Parson
nodded shrewdly :
"You'll find a good picture of that kind of a person in a
certain old essay written some three thousand years ago
by one who ought to have been a good judge in such mat-
ters. He says that the price of such a one is 'above rubies/
and that 'whosoever getteth her getteth a good thing.' "
John smiled, and Bessie blushed beneath her lover's eves
as he said emphatically :
'•I agree with him."
Three whole days crept slowly by before the rescuing
party from the village succeedel in reaching the snow bound
travelers, and during that time Joanna reigned untrammeled
without let or hindrance in Aunt Crossman's headless home.
Early on the afternoon of the first day the out-of-town
guests began to arrive.
Mrs. Wyman, prim and subdued, yet fully conscious of
the importance of her position as mother-in-law elect, and
her husband. — a meek little man, and an amiable in spite
of chronic dyspepsia. — with half a score of uncles, aunts
and cousins on both sides of the house soon filled the ample
rooms, up stairs and down, with a bustling, cheery crowd
of old and young, grave and gay. bashful youths and mis-
chievous girls. — all a tip-toe with eager expectation, although
some of the elders gravely shook their heals at fin ling the
bride and bridegroom still absent, and hinted at the possible
necessity lor a postponement of the ceremony if the storm
should show no signs of abatement.
Mr-. Wyman, as in duty bound, promptly frowned down
these forebodings, remarking with somewhat unnecessary*
emphasis, that '-John Wyman wa'ant the man to back out
of a bargain once made." But as the afternoon waned,
A COLLEGE GIRL. 113
and the storm seemed rather on the increase, a shade of
anxiety crept over her face, and hunting up her husband
who was enjoying himself after his own fashion with his
chair tilted upon its hind legs behind the kitchen stove, and
a cud of the very best spruce gum between his leisurely
moving jaws, she asked in a mysterious half-whisper :
"Say, ain't it most a wonder that John and the Deacon's
folks ain't put in an appearance yet? You don't s'pose," with
a quaver in her voice, "that anything has happened to 'em?"
Mr. Wyman meditatively transferred his cud from one
cheek to the other, and slowly brought the front legs of his
chair to the level of the floor before replying to his wife's
query.
"AVa'all no, 'taint likely. Fact is, I shouldn't be a bit
surprised if they was all snowed up out ter Nathan's — the
whole lot of 'em. The Deacon's a dretfnl cautious man, —
I remember once — " "Oh land ! don't dig up that old story
again," interrupted his wife tartly, "I've heard it five hun-
dred times a'readv. And let me tell you, the Deacon'll be
as fierce to get here in time as anybody." But for all her
pretence of courage the good woman's heart was growing
heavy with forebodings, and as she rejoined the wedding
guests assembled in the cheerful parlors, there was a cloud
upon her brow that all her pride could not conceal, and
some of the more observant noticed that she was careful to
take her seat at the window overlooking the village street
where, straining her eyes through the gathering twilight
she watched anxiously for some sign of the wanderers.
But hour after hour crept slowly by with no sign of bride
or bridegroom, and in spite of the sumptuous supper with
which Joanna regaled them, the guests began to lose much
of their hilarity, and there was a good deal of whispering in
corners, and an air of forced cheerfulness that to Mrs. Wy-
114 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
man's troubled heart, was more dispiriting even than an un-
feigned anxiety would have been.
Nine, ten, eleven times the tall old clock in the corner
sent out its hourly reminders, and now even Mrs . Wyrnan
was forced to admit that there was no prospect of a wedding
for that night at least, and with as good a grace as she
could assume, joined forces with Joanna to provide for the
accommodation of all these unexpected guests.
"There's four empty beds and one o' the men folks can
sleep with Jotham," announced Joanna, "but," with an air
of utter helplessness, "there's four more to be accommo-
dated, countin' you and I in. Now what are we goin' ter
do with them, let 'em take turns sleepin' ?"'
"Do?" echoed the matron sharply, "why, do as anybody
else'd do under the same circumstances. Make up some
beds on the floor for the boys, and Mr. Wyman can sleep
on that wide lounge as well as not." But Joanna looked
worried and uncertain.
"It'll make an awful clutter," she grumbled, ''and be-
sides all the spare beddin' is packed away in the attic, and
it'll be an hour's job ter get everything fixed, and f 'r my
part I'm tired to death now without tuggin' a wagon load of
comforters and blankets down two flight o' stairs jest f'r the
fun o' tuggin' 'em up again in the mornin'."
Mrs. Wyman shut her thin lips together tightly, and Jo-
anna went down a good many degrees in her estimation.
But prudence for once kept back the sharp words that rose
to her lips, and with an inward prayer for patience she
asked :
"You can hold the light, I s'pose, for Mr. Wyman an'
Jotham to bring 'em down ?"
But even with the pile of warm, soft bedding ready to
her hand the dull-witted Joanna seemed to have no idea
A COLLEGE GIRL. 115
whatever as to the best way to utilize it for the comfort of
her guests.
••(-rive me a good straw or husk bed aud one of live
geese feathers on top and I'll make up a bed fit f 'r a king to
sleep in. But I'm free to confess that I ain't never had no
experience in makin' camp beds on the bare floor." And
the speaker tossed her head with an air intended to impress
everybody with the idea that she considered these make-
shifts far beneath a person of her abilities and scorned to
throw away her energies upon them.
To be sure she did lend some clumsy, unwilling aid to
Mrs. Wyman. who found herself obliged to do the im-
promptu bed making in spite of the mute protests of her
rheumatic limbs during the process.
"A woman that can't accommodate herself to circum-
stances ain't worth shucks as a housekeeper."' was her men-
tal comment as she laid her tired head upon a husk bolster.
— -the only apology for a pillow that Joanna's improvident
distribution of these articles had left her. — and dreamed of
the days long gone by. when with the scan test necessaries,
and fewer still of the conveniences of life, she had made
their humble home not only comfortable but pleasant, and
as her young husband often declared, made one dollar do
the work of five just by her woman's wit and ingenuity.
From this pleasant dream Joanna's shrill voice was not a
particularly cheerful awakening.
"Say, Mis' Wyman, do wake up an' tell me what ter do
about breakfast. Mis' Crossman didn't lay out ter feed all
creation, I s'pose, and last night they ate up all the cake an'
doughnuts there was in the house an' about all the bread.
I must say I'm fairly stuck what ter have for breakfast. I
s'pose I can bile some eggs an' bake some pertaters, but
what under the sun am I goiu' ter ^ive 'em for bread?"
116 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"Do?" and Mrs. Wyman sat up and rubbed her sleepy
eyes wearily, "why can't you make some muffins?"
"I always raise my muffins, and last night I never thought
of it in the flurry we had gettin' 'em settled for the night."
"Well, well ! some good hot biscuits '11 do just as well.''
"That's jest what I can't make," persisted her tormentor,
"there ain't a grain o' cream o' tartar in the house, and I
never did have any luck with sour milk biscuits."
Poor Mrs. Wyman groaned in spirit. "Then for pity's
sake do as well as you can and not stand here frettin' and
fussin' the whole morning long "
Joanna flounced out of the room, and the next moment
her shrill voice was heard all over the house as she warned
the tardy lodgers below to — "rout out! and get the room
into some kind o' shape for the rest o' the crowd."
That her assertion in regard to her inability to make sour
milk biscuit was true nobody doubted, who sat down to
those knobby, flour-bespecked lumps of baked dough, yellow
with saleratus, and burned to a coal on the side next the
fire-box, — Joanna being unused to this kind of a stove, as
she calmly affirmed in excuse for their unsavory appearance.
Poor Mr. Wyman with his dyspeptic stomach wisely
passed them by and contented himself with a diet of pota-
toes and eggs, while one robust youth, as he helped himself
a second time, remarked slyly to his next neighbor that
" 'twas better to eat cannon balls than to starve."'
What a weary three days they were that followed. The
newness of the situation soon wore off, and then the Dea-
con's sharp tongued handmaiden made no secret of the fact
that she felt the entertainment of all these snow-bound
guests as a disagreeable task that she was in no way bound
to make pleasant or light. The situation was depressing at
its best, but it was made ten times more so by the ungra-
A COLLEGE GIRL. 117
cious air of Mrs. Crossnian's factotum, who presided over
the poorly appointed table with a sour, discontented face,
that made the unwilling guests feel like a lot of disreputable
tramps who, as soon as the weather would permit, were to
be bundled out neck and heels into their native highway.
"Put upon by a pack o' lazy folks that don't know enough
to find their way home ;" " waited on by their betters ;" and
"eatin' Mis' Crossman out o' house an' home," were only
specimens of the whispered fragments that lurked behind
every door where Joanna and Jotham could squeeze them-
selves, until the very atmosphere of the roomy, well ap-
pointed house, hitherto the seat of a large handed, even os-
tentatious hospitality, seemed full of churlish sneers and un-
gracious insinuations.
And the most mortifying fact of all was that Joanna
really had some just cause for her complaints. Added to
the disadvantages of working in an unfamiliar house where
much of her time was necessarily wasted in hunting up the
tools with which to work, the girl felt keenly the unwonted
burden of responsibility resting upon her shoulders in ca-
tering for a party of people who, as wedding guests, would
naturally expect something beyond the common, wholesome
plainness of country fare.
She fretted and worried and gave tart refusals to all offers
of help, while her failures in cooking (of which she was
quite as conscious as anybody) added to her discourage-
ment and consequent ill temper.
The climax was reached when, on the fourth day, the
whole party sat down to a breakfast of hasty pudding and
molasses, with neither bread, coffee or cake as an alterna-
tive.
Joanna's face was fiery red, and she dished out the mush
with an air of calm desperation that made even the frolic-
118 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
some youngsters hush their merriment, and cast sly glances
at each other over their half-filled plates, while Mr. Wo-
man's weak stomach absolutely rejected the coarse dish,
much to his wife's discomfiture.
"Ain't there some bread that I can get for Mr. Wyman?"
she asked almost humbly, ''he never eats puddin' and mo-
lasses."
"No," snapped Joanna.
"Or some crackers?" persisted the distressed wife. "I
can make him a little cracker toast and a cup o' tea" —
"There ain't no crackers nor tea in the house," was the
crisp response, "and Jotham's time's been so took up with
stable work that he ain't had a minute to go to the store for
any."
Mr. Wyman patiently pushed back his chair, and taking
his quid from his pocket resumed his interrupted gum chew-
ing with the mildly consolatory remark :
"I can stand it I guess, without breakfast, an' bye 'n bye
I'll see 'f I can't get down to the store and get some crack-
ers an' cheese. That'll keep us from starvin' till the roads
are broke out an' we can get home."
The youngsters giggled, and their elders, in spite of the
general depression, could not help sharing in the general
amusement created by the little man's solemn jest.
Joanna alone relaxed not a whit of the severe gravity of
her countenance. The truth is, the poor girl was ready to
cry with mortification, and like many another in like cir-
cumstances it was easier to stand upon her dignity than to
frankly acknowledge herself defeated. Everything had
gone wrong from the first, and she had been too proud to ac-
cept the help that the elder matrons would so willingly have
given her. Then again, she was, in her heart, mortally
afraid of the mistress of the house, and had not dared on
A COLLEGE GIRL. 119
her own responsibility to replenish the depleted larder by
sending Jotham to the store for articles that she really
needed.
"They're breaking out the roads in all directions," was
the cheering report a little later from one of the men. "'and
most likely Mis' Crossman and her folks will be here by
noon."
The dispirited guests brightened up wonderfully at this,
and when at an even earlier hour than that predicted, the
two sleighs drove up to the door, Aunt Crossman's anxious
eyes saw only smiles of joyful welcome and heard from half
a score of glad voices the warmest greeting that it had ever
been her lot to receive.
••What did you do for vittles?" queried Mrs. Wyman,
after hearing the thrilling story of her son's escape and
their detention in the deserted farmhouse. 4, I shouldn't a'
thought your mother'd been likely to have left much of a
stock of provisions to freeze up."
Aunt Crossman smiled triumphantly, while she glanced
with tender pride at the glowing face of her pretty neice
who, the center of an admiring group of girls, was retailing
such bits of their snowed-in life as excited the laughter
rather than the sympathy of her merry listeners.
••We had good raised bread and cake, with nothing but
flour and honey and oil to make them oat of. Then we had
stewed peas, picked out of the oats, and flavored with a
ham bone ; two dinners of sausages with frozen vegetables
thawed in such a way that you'd never mistrust they'd been
frozen ; and tea and coffee. With my lame ankle I was as
helpless as a haby, so Bessie had to do all the work and
plannin' too, and I honestly believe if you was to set that
girl down in the desert of Sahary, with only a bag o' meal
120 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
and a pail o' water she'd manage to get the comforts of life
out of 'em."
The good woman's disgust at the bareness of her larder
was something beyond the power of words to describe, es-
pecially at the lack of bread, an article of food upon which,
and with reason, she had always prided herself.
"Why didn't you make some raised bread?" she asked
sharply of the cowed and embarrassed Joanna.
'•Because there wa'ant no yeast." was the sullen replv.
••Didn't you see that bag o' yeast in the pantry?"
••Of course I did. But," defiantly, "how do you s'pose
I knew how to make bread out o' them things ? Give me
good flour and a cup o' good, lively yeast, and I'll make as
good a batch o' bread as any woman in the United States.
But I ain't never u^ed them dry yeast cakes and I don't ever
mean to."
"Joanna does make excellent bread with her own potato
yeast." interposed Bessie good naturedly, for under the girl's
defiant air she saw and understood the feeling of intense
mortification from which she was smarting. "But we never
used the dry yeast so she has had no experience with that."
"Then how di&you know?"
Bessie saw the look of wounded pride upon Joanna's
downcast face and wished the question unasked, but she
only said carelessly :
••Oh, I guessed at it. I knew that the yeast plant only
needs moisture and warmth to develop it, and I gave it both.
It was that or nothing, in our case, and it was necessity
rather than any wit or wisdom of mine that made it a suc-
cess."
Aunt Crossman laid back in her easy chair with a sigh of
relief, turning her lame ankle a little more toward the grate-
ful warmth, as she said in a lower tone :
A COLLEGE GIRL. 121
••There's two loaves of your bread left, Bessie, and that'll
do fer dinner, I guess, with some kind of a pudding. Then
I wish you'd see about the meat and vegetables, — Joauna'll
do well enough with you for a head."
And as the bright, willing face disappeared behind the
kitchen door. Mrs. Wyman remarked with a heartiness that
was understood and appreciated at its full value by her grat-
ified listener :
•■You've hit the nail on the head there, Mis' Grossman !
Bessie's got a head and hands too, and Joanna's got the
hands, but she needs somebody else' head to tell them
what to do."
The long deferred wedding came off at last, and the fair
bride in her white satin and veil of costly lace— the gift of
her proud and happy aunt — looked as dainty and sweet as if
she had never in all her life seen a cook stove in any other
form than the cuts in the new-papers, or used her delicate
hands for any service ruder than the occasional wielding of
a feather duster.
Twenty-fours hours before Mrs. Wyman would have
looked stern disapproval on the bridal finery and pro-
nounced it a '• wicked extravagance for the wife of a man
who has got his own way to make in the world."
But now her mood had strangely softened, and as she
^ave the young wife her first motherly kiss she whispered
tenderly :
••I must confess that John's eyes were sharper than mine
when he picked you out. But I don't b'lieve he's a bit
prouder of his wife than I be of my daughter."
And that honest admission, though clumsily made, was
sweeter music in Bessie's ears than all the compliments and
congratulations showered upon her by admiring friends and
neighbors, sweeter, even, than Aunt Grossman's unconcealed
122 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
gratification, and to be treasured for future years side by
side with her old father's tremulous blessing :
"God bless and keep my dear girl ! — even as all her life
she has blessed me "
The Eatjle ip the Sea-Bird's Nest.
THE EAGLE IN THE SEA-BIRD'S NEST. 125
THE EAGLE IN THE SEA-BIRD'S NEST.
It was not the regular "visitor's day" at the Old Ladies'
Home, but the matron was an old friend of mine, and
moreover appreciated the importance to me, as a spinner of
old-time yarns, of the chance for a confidential chat,' now
and then, with certain dear old ladies whose worldly hopes
and fears and trials had all fallen from their aged shoulders
into the dim uncertainty of the past, from which memory
might, however, in answer to a little judicious jogging, bring
up the shade of many a departed joy or sorrow, whose tender
pathos never failed to stir my heart to its very depths with a
wondering pity for those other sorely, stricken hearts, that
Time, the great physician, had so wonderfully soothed and
quieted at last.
I was not in the mood to-day for anything wonderful or
exciting, and for that reason I passed quietly by the room
within which I well knew Madame Le Clarge was sitting,
stately and upright in spite of her eighty odd years, her
snow-white hair worn in puffs about her thin, delicately
featured face, and her still slender and deft fingers busy with
the netting that was to her at once an occupation and a
pleasure.
There were times when I would have been delighted, by a
few artfully timed questions, to draw out some incidents of
that strange and eventful history that even time could not
erase from the memory — of a childhood spent among the
terrible scenes of the French Revolution ; of the fair, high
born dames that her childish eyes had seen driven in the
126 RE -TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
executioner's cart on their way to the guillotine, their hands
bound behind their backs, and their pale faces distorted with
terror, or serene with conscious innocence and the hope of a
glorious immortality ; of the flight from that mob- accursed
land ; of the precious gold pieces, the only remnant of a
once large fortune, quilted into a silk petticoat that the
mother wore on shipboard ; of the arrival in a strange
country, and of all the wonderful vicissitudes that had made
her life a continual romance from her cradle upward. All
these were delightful in their proper time and place, but
to-day T felt no relish for them or anything else that could
jar upon the lazy monotony of my mood ; even old Betty
Skinner's stories of pioneer life, to which I had so often
listened in rapt wonderment, the "treed bar," the "Indian
devil-scare," or even the "tamed wolf's cub," failed to sat-
isfy me just now.
It was too warm,, too quiet and dreamy this pleasant
July afternoon, for tales of blood and adventure ; it was
just the day to hear about, if you cannot see, the lapping of
cool waters upon a smooth, sandy beach, mingled with the
faintest whisper of a sea-breeze gossiping with the nodding
pine-tops, and kissing the cheeks of the sleepy- eyed prim-
roses, and beach-peas that are too lazy to so much as rustle
their leaves in return. And that is why I sought, in pref-
erence to my more talkative old lady friends, the society of
that little, ^quiet, inefFusive body, whose refined but some-
what precise ways, added to the fact of her former occupa-
tion as a school-teacher, had procured for her the playful
soubriquet of "Mistress Minute-Hand," the matron often
declaring that the superannuated little teacher measured off
her days into just so many minutes, with an appointed duty
for each minute. And this afternoon, as I lapped at the door
of her room, a faint rustling, followed by the creak of a
THE EAGLE IN THE SEA-BIRD'S NEST. 127
refractory bureau drawer, warned me that its methodical
occupant was engaged in her daily task of examining and
arranging her ample store of linen in the separate drawers,
although when I saw the slight embarrassment that my en-
trance caused her. I pretended not to notice the unwonted
confusion, until, with an abruptness very unusual in her,
she called my attention to an article that she had evidently
just taken from its wrappings and was holding up for my
inspection.
-'There. Miss Anne, is a real Indian shawl: the colors
are as bright and fresh to-day as when I first saw it, nearly
fifty years ago."
I looked at the beautiful fabric with almost as much as-
tonishment as admiration. Here, in the possession of one
of the inmates of a public charitable institution, was one of
the most elegant shawls that I had ever looked upon, a gar-
ment fit for a queen, and for which many a wealthy dame
would have been glad to pay a small fortune.
I looked from the shawl to its owner in dumb amazement,
and then I noticed for the first time the tearful eye and
tremulous lip with which she contemplated the gorgeous
folds, that, lighted by some stray scraps of sunshine which
stole through the half-opened blind, seemed strangely out of
place in the comfortable but soberly furnished room.
"I never wore it in my life," she said, tenderly refolding
the costlv fabric, "and I suppose I might have sold it for
enough to have secured me from dependence in my old age ;
but, ;, and her voice grew husky with emotion, " I couldn't
bear to part with it — my eagle sent it to me."
I suppose I looked as I felt, completely mystified, for she
smiled with an archness that I had never before seen in her,
and that changed the whole expression of her face as com-
128 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
pletely as a mask could have done ; and then, carefully re-
placing the shawl in its drawer, she said gently :
"I will tell you about this shawl if it won't be too tire-
some for you to listen to an old woman's story about herself,
and not much of a story either, for I don't know anything
about 'condensing' as you story writers call it. What I
have to tell I must tell in my own rambling, roundabout
fashion."
Of course I was only too glad to listen, and she went on
in her soft, lady-like voice, that was in itself a pleasure to
listen to.
"I was left an orphan at a very early age ; so early that
I could not even remember my mother's kisses, although I
did have a faint, shadowy recollection of being lifted up to
look at a still, white face, beneath a glass coffin-lid, and of
pitving voices whispering to me to '•take a last look at my
poor mother,' while a bustling, sharp-eyed gentleman, with
crape on his hat, informed me that he was my guardian,
and that his house was henceforth to be my home.
The inmates of that 'home' consisted of himself and his
wife, a melancholy, dissatisfied-looking lady, who seemed
always suffering from an attack of neuralgia if a chair was
moved incautiously, or the hearth-rug in the least dis-
arranged, with an elderly servant-maid whose principal
characteristics, as I remember her, seemed to be an inordi-
nate love of her own way, and an equally inordinate hatred
of all young creatures, children especially. I can remem-
ber to this day the dread with which she inspired me ; and
w T hen Mrs. Walters would send me to the kitchen on some
errand my heart would beat so with terror at the sight of
her scowling, ugly face, that it seemed sometimes as if I
should suffocate, and 1 have lain awake many a night list-
ening to her heavy breathing and mutterings in her sleep (I
THE EAGLE IX THE SEA-BIRD'S NEST. 129
slept in the room adjoining hers, that, as Mrs. Walters'
said, I might have somebody to 'see to me' in case of sick-
ness), and trembling like a leaf if they ceased for a mo-
ment, expecting to hear her heavy step by my bedside and
her harsh voice calling out :
'Arrah, now ! ye imp o' Satan ! an' what are ye wakin'
for at this time o' night ?'
My guardian, who had his own ideas on education, as on
most other matters, was decidedly opposed to public schools,
for children of a tender age especially ; and so a day gov-
erness was procured for me, a quiet, sedate girl, who con-
sidered her duties performed wrhen she had heard me repeat,
with scrupulous exactness, the lessons fur the day, and had
portioned out those for the morrow, with the inevitable
remark :
'I shall expect you to have them perfect, Miss Mildred,
when I come to-morrow.'
Never a word of commendation or encouragement, much
less any expression of sympathy or interest in my childish
pursuits and pleasures. Although, as far as these were
concerned, it would have puzzled a much more observant
person than my prim little governess to find them out.
Mrs. Walters had never been able to endure the 'litter'
of children's playthings about the house, and when, on one
long-remembered Christmas, my guardian surprised and
delighted me with a beautiful wax doll, she put it carefully
away in a drawer, wrapped in tissue paper, and only when
I had been a particularly good girl-that is, when I hadn't
spoken louder than a whisper, or walked across the floor
more heavily than her favorite pussy , for a whole day-was
I allowed, as a great treat, a peep at the rosy cheeks and
staring blue eyes of my imprisoned treasure ; although I
130 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
was allowed under no consideration to touch, much less
handle or play with it.
The house of Mr. Walters had a handsome flower garden
in front, with walks as smooth and clean as a floor, and
curiously formed beds filled with rare and beautiful plants,
too rare and beautiful for childish fingers to meddle with,
so I was obliged to content myself with the buttercups
and dandelions that grew in the little back yard, and espec-
ially the burdock burs that were to me a never- failing source
of quiet, homely amusement. How I delighted to make
them into baskets, tables and chairs, which, with a clothes-
pin in dandelion curls for the mistress, I converted into a
very satisfactory baby-house. Once a broken- winged
chicken strayed into the enclosure, and for a couple of days
I was supremely happy in petting and doctoring the helpless
little thing ; but Bridget soon spied it out and wrung its
neck, much to my grief and horror, for the poor creature
had been to me more of a friend and companion than I had
ever known in all those lonely, loveless days, of which the
remembrance, even now, makes me shiver and shrink into
myself like same sensitive plant at a rough or careless
touch.
Having no human companionship, I naturally, like all
imaginative children, made for myself friends and familiars
out of the inanimate objects about me. I rechristened the
different articles of furniture in my room : the bureau was
'Grandmother Knobby,' and was my special friend and
confident in all my childish troubles ; a slender, old-fash-
ioned washstand was the fashionable 'Mrs. Bowles,' and to
her I described the dress of any of Mrs. Walters' genteel
callers that I happened to see, and confided to her my opin-
ion of their respective charms ; the chairs were visitors,
the eagle ix the sea-bird's nest, 131
servants or children, just as the fancy of the moment
prompted : and I can remember how I delighted to lie awake
on moonlight nights, talking with my imaginary friends,
and weaving a host of foolish and pleasant conceits, suited
to my childish capacity, until the lonely little room would
be all alive with a crowd of merry, chatty comrades, who
understood my thoughts just as well as if they had been
spokeu, and to whose imaginary chatter I would listen with
a heart full of restful satisfaction.
Of course, this life of constant repression and morbid
fancies was injurious to me physically as well as mentally,
and one pleasant midsummer morning my guardian awoke
all at once to a consciousness of my pale cheeks and thin,
stooping figure, and announced in his dictatorial way. that
'something must be done for me immediately.' What that
'something' was I learned a few days later, when, on enter-
ing my room I found Bridget busily packing my trunk, and
when I timidly ventured some inquiries, I was told, with a
grim humor that betrayed her own hearty concurrence in
the scheme, that 'the masther was goin' to take me to the
sayshore to put me in pickle an' see if I'd kape a few years
longer.'
That first view of the broad, blue, mighty ocean ! I can
remember, even now — and the remembrance makes my old
heart bound again with something of the freshness and de-
light of youth — how its shining surface, dotted with white-
winged vessels, and sparkling as if every wave had a jewel
in his cap, seemed to me to stretch so far, far away into
immensity, that I actually caught my breath in a sort of
rapturous terror at its grandeur and sublimity.
Half way up the pine-dotted cliff that overhung the
shore, nestled a small, unpretending, but cosy cottage, oc-
cupied by a fisherman's family, and it was here, to my
132 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
silent but intense delight, that Mr. Walters pointed as my
temporary home.
'Between the out-of-door exercise and the sea air and
bathing,' he said briskly, 'it will be very strange if you fail
to come back to us as stout and ruddy as anybody need be.'
And giving me in charge to the fisherman's wife, he hurried
off, evidently relieved to feel that I was off his hands for
the next three months at least. If my first feeling was one
of strangerhood, the hearty cordiality of my hostess' greet-
ing soon put me at my ease, and almost before I knew it I
was frolicking with baby Jack, a plump, black-eyed little
rogue, who 'took to me,' as his mother smilingly declared,
'at first sight,' kneading my thin cheeks with his dimpled
fists, and putting up his pretty pink toes for me to play 'This
little pig went to market' with.
There were two older children, a frank-faced, manly
looking boy, not far from my own age, and Molly, a rosy,
buxom little maiden, a few years younger ; these, with their
young mother, constituted the family at present, as the
father was away on a three months' cruise.
I believe nothing in my life had ever tasted so good to me
as that first supper of brown bread and milk, served in
bowls of common crockery with pewter spoons, and I
looked up in unfeigned astonishment as Mrs. Mack began
to apologize for her plain fare.
'We live rough,' she said, with a smile that showed all
her pretty, white teeth, 'but your guardian knew that be-
fore he brought you here, and he said it was just what you
needed after living on dainties so long.'
Shy as I was I actually laughed outright. What greater
dainty could any one desire than this same bowl of bread
and milk, eaten within the sound of the pleasant, sleepy
murmur of the incoming tide, and flavored with the spicy
THE EAGLE EN THE SEA-BIED's NEST. 133
odors that the pine trees flung down upon us. I said so. in
my childish way, and my hostess nodded a good-natured
approval of my powers of adaptation as she evidently un-
derstood it.
At the end of a month I don't believe that even Mr.
Walters himself would have recognized in the sunburnt,
glad-faced child, whose laugh rang out every whit as merrily
as that of her young companions, his pale, silent little
charge. For the first time since my remembrance I was
free — free to follow the natural impulses of my age and
nature : and the little Macks recounted each day, with
proud satisfaction, stories of my exploits in climbing and
fishing, as well as rowing, for under Rob's tuition I soon
learned to handle an oar as skillfully as any shore-bred
maiden could have done ; while with his guidance and help
I explored the rocky cliffs, and startled the sea-birds from
their nests with our wild whoops of triumphant delight.
Barefooted like my playmates, I searched among the rocks
and seaweed that the receding tide had left wet and bare
from their salt sea bath, for the little holes in the sand,
•clams* windows' we called them, that betokened the pres-
ence of those tempting bivalves ; and there was a delightful
excitement in digging for the hidden treasures, scooping
them out from beneath some innocent looking rock or cluster
of tangled kelp, laughing when a tiny spray struck us full
in the face, and tugging persistently at something that when
brought to light was often nothing but a smooth stone, or
more provoking still, an ugly, useless 'mud clam.'
Almost every cloudy day saw us out fishing in the tiny
boat that Rob had bought himself, as he proudly informed
me, by selling fish, doing odd jobs for the farmers, and
serving as cook on board one of the little fishing-smacks
during a whole season the year before ; and Mrs. Mack's
134 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
table was kept well supplied by our united labors with plenty
of fish, while for dessert we had abundance of delicious
wild strawberries that we had picked in our rambles farther
inland.
To a heart so long shut out from the love and sympathy
of its kind, this free yet tenderly sympathetic home life was
like sunshine to a pinched and starved flower, strengthening,
beautifying, and blessing it in every leaf and petal. I shall
never forget how, on one occasion, after straying farther
than usual, I came home at night footsore and heated, too
tired even to share the supper o f my more hardy playfellows,
and the mother insisted, in spite of a few shame -faced re-
monstrances on my part, in rocking me to sleep in her own
arms, crooning, meanwhile, a quaint, old sea-ballad, whose
echoes ring in my ears to-day ; and I can almost feel the
clasp of her strong, warm arm about my shoulders, and see
the look of tender pity upon her motherly face, as she said
softly, as if in excuse to herself for giving baby Jack's
rightful place to a stranger : 'Poor little thing ! she's fairly
tuckered out, and no wonder, either, such a weakly crea-
ture as she is.'
More than once she mended, with far more good will
than skill, it must be confessed, the big rents that the sharp-
pointed rocks and brambles had made in my garments, and
at Rob's solicitation, bestowed upon me an old, broad-
brimmed 'Panama' that had been thrown aside by her hus-
band, to save my own dantily beribboned 'Leghorn' from
the certain destruction that daily contact with wind and
weather would be sure to bring-.
It was the first time, I remember, that I wore the hat,
that Rob imparted to me that wonderful secret of the eagle's
THE EAGLE IN THE SEA-BIRD'S XE>T. 135
'Milly !' lie called in a mysterious tone, one morning, as
I sat upon a great stone in the shadow of the cliff, watch-
ing the tide creeping up, inch by inch, laughing and spark-
ling as if in great glee, yet all the time encroaching more
and more u*pon the still unwet sands, *if you'll come with
me I'll show you the oddest sight that you've ever seen yet/
I started to my feet, but paused a moment to look toward
Molly who was paddling in the water a little way off.
'No, no !' and Rob nodded and frowned emphatically. *I
don't want her — come alone.' And I obeyed.
The cliff was not a very high one, but the sun was hot
and the path steep, so that Rob was obliged to lend me a
helping hand to reach the top, where, after a moment's rest,
he led me cautiously down a curiously winding path, a sort
of natural stairway upon the face of the rock, to a broad
shelf where a few evergreens had found room for their roots
in the broad crevices of the rock ; and there, nestled snugly
within their shade, was a large, roughly fashioned nest of
sticks and twigs, from which the unwieldly heads and
scraggy necks of several half-fledged sea-birds were thrust
out with an impatient, hungry cry, that was almost human
in its fretfulness.
'They don't mind me,' whispered Rob, advancing cau-
tiously to the nest and dropping a fat clam into each gaping
throat before he beckoned me to his side.
1 What great creatures they are !' I exclaimed, with more
of wonder than admiration, 'and so awkward and homely !
But — ' I paused abruptly as a head rose slowly and majes-
tically above those of the clamorous group, and a pair of
tierce, fiery eyes looked out defiantly at us, while in a note
higher and stronger than the peevish clamor of its mates, it
sent forth a sharp, imperative cry tor food.
138 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
the extremity of my grief and dread, I actually dared to
beg the privilege of a longer stay with the only beings who
had ever shown any love or teuderness for me in my deso-
late orphanage. But Mr. Walters' imperturbable 'Couldn't
possibly let you stay any longer ; it's high time you were at
school, with other girls of your age,' silenced me most
effectually, and it was with the bitterest tears that I had
ever yet shed that I bade the last farewell to the only spot
on earth where I had known an hour's happiness, and pre-
pared to go back to my old life of lonely, loveless monotony.
How I clung about the neck of dear 'Mammy Margy,'
as, in playful imitation of her own children, I had learned
to call her, sobbing the good-bye that it almost broke my
heart to speak ; while baby Jack clung weeping to my
knees, and Molly, with the tears streaming down her chubby
cheeks, declared that 'Milly shouldn't go away!' a motion
that Rob, in his manly fashion, eagerly seconded.
'Don't take her away just yet, sir,' he said earnestly, and
with a suspicious hoarseness in his voice that I well under-
stood. 'It'll be quite warm here for five or six weeks longer,
and it'll do her ever so much good, I know.'
Mr. Walters looked rather amused and a good deal sur-
prised. 'You seem to be quite a favorite here,' he said,
with, as I fancied, a half-contemptuous look at my tear-
swollen face ; then to Rob : 'I don't think it best for her to
stay longer, now. Perhaps, sometime, she can come again.'
And with this half- promise we were forced to be content ;
and as I hung about Molly's neck at parting, a small gold
piece, my only treasure, I repeated with all the little courage
that I could muster, the hopeful prophecy : 'I will come
again just as sure as I live. '
But alas for all our hopeful anticipations of a speedy
reunion ! Mrs. Walters' health had failed so rapidly in my
THE EAGLE IN THE SEA-BIRD'S NEST. 139
absence that she declared herself unequal to the annoyance
of 'having a child about the house' any longer, so I was
packed away to a boarding-school where I remained for the
next five years, spending my vacations at my guardian's,
where everything seemed more sombre and stagnant than
ever in contrast with the cheerful bustle and sociability of
school life, which, in my shy way, I had thoroughly en-
joyed from the first.
At the end of that time my guardian died, and an ex-
amination of his affairs disclosed the startling fact that
instead of being the heiress to a moderate competency, as I
had supposed, I was literally penniless, all my property
having been swallowed up in some imprudent speculations
in which Mr. Walters had been concerned.
In this strait I was only too thankful to accept a position
as teacher in the establishment where I had been so long a
a pupil, and for the next six years my life timed itself to
the changeless routine of the school-room, with little oppor-
tunity, and at length with little desire for change ; but as
the sixth summer vacation approached, my friend, the
principal, took occasion to remind me with affectionate
earnestness, that for my health's sake I must seek some
recreation. 'A trip to the mountains, or a few weeks at the
sea-side would make a new creature of you.'
Suddenly from out the dim and sombre past flashed a
picture that sent the calm, even current in my veins dancing
with a wild, unwonted thrill of delightful excitement, but
the lady principal only heard the quietly spoken words, 'I
believe I will take your advice and try a few weeks at the
sea-side,' and in less than twenty-four hours my trunks were
packed and I had started on my search for rest, and — I
laughed at myself for the fancy, but the faces of my old
friends would rise up before me just as I saw them last,
138 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
the extremity of my grief and dread, I actually dared to
beg the privilege of a longer stay with the only beings who
had ever shown any love or tenderness for me in my deso-
late orphanage. But Mr. Walters' imperturbable 'Couldn't
possibly let you stay any longer ; it's high time you were at
school, with other girls of your age.' silenced me most
effectually, and it was with the bitterest tears that I had
ever yet shed that I bade the last farewell to the only spot
on earth where I had known an hour's happiness, and pre-
pared to go back to my old life of lonely, loveless monotony.
How I clung about the neck of dear 'Mammy Margy,'
as, in playful imitation of her own children, I had learned
to call her, sobbing the good-bye that it almost broke my
heart to speak ; while baby Jack clung weeping to my
knees, and Molly, with the tears streaming down her chubby
cheeks, declared that 'Milly shouldn't go away !' a motion
that Rob, in his manly fashion, eagerly seconded.
'Don't take her away just yet, sir,' he said earnestly, and
with a suspicious hoarseness in his voice that I well under-
stood. 'It'll be quite warm here for five or six weeks longer,
and it'll do her ever so much good, I know.'
Mr. Walters looked rather amused and a good deal sur-
prised. 'You seem to be quite a favorite here,' he said,
with, as I fancied, a half-contemptuous look at my tear-
swollen face : then to Rob : 'I don't think it best for her to
stay longer, now. Perhaps, sometime, she can come again.'
And with this half- promise we were forced to be content ;
and as I hung about Molly's neck at parting, a small gold
piece, my only treasure, I repeated with all the little courage
that I could muster, the hopeful prophecy : 'I will come
again just as sure as I live.'
But alas for all our hopeful anticipations of a speedy
reunion ! Mrs. Walters' health had failed so rapidly in my
THE EAGLE EN THE SEA-BIRD'S NEST. 139
absence that she declared herself unequal to the annoyance
of 'having a child about the house' any longer, so I was
packed away to a boarding-school where I remained for the
next five years, spending my vacations at my guardian's,
where everything seemed more sombre and stagnant than
ever in contrast with the cheerful bustle and sociability of
school life, which, in my shy way, I had thoroughly en-
joyed from the first.
At the end of that time my guardian died, and an ex-
amination of his affairs disclosed the startling fact that
instead of being the heiress to a moderate competency, as I
had supposed, I was literally penniless, all my property
having been swallowed up in some imprudent speculations
in which Mr. Walters had been concerned.
In this strait I was only too thankful to accept a position
as teacher in the establishment where I had been so long a
a pupil, and for the next six years my life timed itself to
the changeless routine of the school-room, with little oppor-
tunity, and at length with little desire for change ; but as
the sixth summer vacation approached, my friend, the
principal, took occasion to remind me with affectionate
earnestness, that for my health's sake I must seek some
recreation. 'A trip to the mountains, or a few weeks at the
sea-side would make a new creature of you.'
Suddenly from out the dim and sombre past flashed a
picture that sent the calm, even current in my veins dancing
with a wild, unwonted thrill of delightful excitement, but
the lady principal only heard the quietly spoken words, 'I
believe I will take your advice and try a few weeks at the
sea-side,' and in less than twenty-four hours my trunks were
packed and I had started on my search for rest, and — I
laughed at myself for the fancy, but the faces of my old
friends would rise up before me just as I saw them last,
140 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
tender and tearful, and I ivotild not believe in any possi-
bility of death or change.
'Do you know of a family living here named Mack?' was
my first question to the landlady of the hotel on the morn-
ing after my arrival. The little hamlet had grown to a
thriving village since I saw it last, and the large, rinely
built hotel was already well filled with summer visitors.
The good woman shook her head slowly, and with a
doubtful air said, 'We've lived here almost two years, but I
don't remember having heard of anybody by that name.'
'The father was a fisherman, Ben Mack I believe they
called him, and there were three children, two boys and a
girl. They lived in a little, rough-built cottage, half way
down the cliff, north of Beaker's Peak.'
'I don't know any family that answers to the description ;
but, perhaps,' brightening up with a new idea, 'it may be
that the Mac is only a part of the name. There are plenty
of Macs about here, the Laughlin's and the MacDougal's
and the MacLennan's, — it might be one of them, but they
are none of them fishermen.'
I shook my head dejectedly. It was evident that I could
get no information from this source, and I made up my
mind to a tour of inspection, by myself, that very day.
Everything about the cliff and shore was so vividly fresh
in my mind that I felt sure I should have no difficulty in
tracing out the old landmarks, and finding at least the rocks
and sands that had been to me like dear, familiar friends
in those other days.
But I was astonished and not a little disappointed, for
either my memory was at fault, or the many changes that
had taken place in these intervening years puzzled and
baffled me at every turn, putting a new two-story house with
green blinds in the very spot where a clump of hemlocks
THE EAGLE IN THE SEA-BIRD'S NEST. 141
should have been, and a broad field of Indian corn where
the wild raspberry vines should have marked the spot where
we gathered our baskets full of the lucious fruit ; while even
the steep cliffs that I had once looked upon with childish
wonder, seemed, somehow, to have dwindled in height and
grandeur, and the scene of many a dariug climbing exploit
was, to my mature vision, scarcely more, after all, than a
huckleberry hill.
I was walking slowly along, trying in vain to find some
familiar feature in the scene about me, when 1 noticed, all
at once, that the sunshine had vanished and a great black
cloud was just showing its scowling face over the top of
Beaker's Peak, warning me that a heavy shower was close
at haud ; and the next moment my watchful eyes caught
sight of a narrow footpath that wound across the face of
the cliff, and without stoppiug to wonder or rejoice, I fairly
ran down the little pathway whose every winding was per-
fectly familiar to me ; for here, at last, I had found the
clue that I had been so anxiously seeking; and when, in
one of the turnings. I caught a glimpse of the roof of the
cottage below, I longed to shout aloud in my glad excite-
ment.
There it stood, in the exact spot where it had stood
eleven years before, with the same background of shadowy
evergreens, the same grand outlook from its sunny doorway.
Only the house itself was changed. Instead of the roughly
built, unpretending, yet cosy little dwelling that had shelt-
ered the fisherman's treasures beneath its humble roof, ap-
peared a commodious, modern-built cottage, whose orna-
mental finish and coat of gay, straw-colored paint, gave it
a jaunty and rather exclusive air that struck upon me with
almost as much of a chill as did the fast-falling raindrops
142 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
that were already drenching my light clothing as I stood on
the steps waiting an answer to my ring.
A young lady opened the door and with cool civility in-
vited me to enter ; and as I followed her into a parlor over-
crowded with expensive but ill selected and arranged furni-
ture, I tried in vain to find in the curled and crimped and
frizzled head, and flounced and ruffled figure, some trace of
the rough and rosy little Molly of other days : for that it
was Molly, in spite of her metamorphosis, I never doubted,
although the laughing eyes had lost their innocent, un-
suspicious look, and the rosy mouth had acquired a some-
what supercilious curve that had once been a stranger to it.
I felt chilled and disappointed ; while seeing that I was
unrecognized, I excused my intrusion on account of the
sudden shower, and waited with a beating heart the appear-
ance of the mistress of the house, who would, I fully
believed, recognize and welcome me. But when I saw the
changed and hardened face, fresh and comely still, but with
all the old-time motherliness faded out of it, I could not bring
myself to speak of those other days, but returned her formal
salutation in as few words as possible, while with my heart
in a perfect tumult of hope and fear, I sat by the window
watching the fast-falling rain, and trying with all my might
to keep back the bitter tears that threatened to betray me.
We went over the few commonplaces that strangers con-
sider essential to civility, and then, with my heart in my
throat, I said clumsily — for I must speak or cry — 'Did
you, some years ago. have a little girl from B spend-
ing the summer with you ?'
Mrs. Mack looked significantly at her daughter as she
asked coldly, 'Do you mean a 'Grey' girl? 'Mildred
Grey,' wasn't it, Mary?'
Mary nodded an indifferent assent.
THE EAGLE IN THE SEA-E-IRlVs NEST. 143
•I remember her particularly/ went on the lady, with
an anpleasant sharpness in her tones, 'because her guard-
ian played us such a mean trick, getting us to keep her a
whole summer and never paying us a cent for her board.
She was a sickly little thing, and I was young and soft-
hearted in those days, .so I was just fool enough to take her
right in with my own children, and wait upon her by
inches, mending her clothes and doing everything for her
that her own mother could have done, and never getting a
cent for it after all.'
•You forget my dollar, mother.' laughed Molly disdain-
fully. And her mother echoed the laugh as she said in an
explanatory tone, 'The child gave my daughter here a gold
dollar for a keepsake, and she bought her rim pair of gloves
with it. I recollect my husband used to joke me about my
summer boarder that paid me in gloves
I was not cold now ; every drop of blood in my body was
boiling with mortification and pain, and I was too ashamed
as well as too thoroughly heart stricken to be angry even.
Still, I think I could have controlled myself and preserved
my incognito, but at that moment a sound of boyish feet
sounded without, and a bright-faced lad peered curiously
in at the open door. There were the same bright, saucy
eyes, the same crisp, black curls, the same dimples even,
and with an irrepressible cry I held out my arms, with the
tears streaming down my cheeks, while regardless of con-
sequences. I sobbed out. "0, baby Jack ! Don't yon re-
member me?'
The frightened boy stared at me in mute astonishmeut. but
the sound of my own voice had broken the spell, and with
a feeling as if I were suffocating. I rushed to the door, and
regardless of Mrs. Mack's broken exclamations and remon-
strances. I went out into the driving rain with a feeling of
144 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
absolute relief, and with only the bitter, bitter cry welling
up from my heart, 'The one bright dream of a life broken
and lost forever.'
I paid for my imprudence with a cold, and my landlady
expressed her surprise that I had not taken refuge in some
house until the shower was over.
'Why didn't you go into Mr. MacLennan's cottage? It
is right on the side of the cliff, where you were when the
shower first overtook you.'
'MacLennan?' I repeated, with a bewildered look.
'Yes, they live in a pretty straw-colored cottage half way
up the side, and are reckoned some of our first people here.
MacLennan keeps the largest grocery establishment in town,
and his wife and Mary have everything that money can buy.'
I turned away my face as I asked tremulously, 'Is this
daughter their only child?'
'O no, they have two boys. — the oldest, Robert, is a
splendid fellow. He follows the sea, has gone mate several
voyages, and now there is a fine brig being fitted up that he
is to go master of in a few weeks. He is a noble fellow,
not so much of a money-catcher as his father, but generous
and honest as the day. Why, bless me !' with a glance
from the window, 'there he is now, coming up here, — that
tall young man in a Panama hat.'
I looked, and saw a tall, broad-chested man, with the un-
mistakable gait of a sailor, whose face, bronzed and bearded
as it was, wore still the same frank, kindly look that had
so often warmed my heart in our childish days. 'He's
coming in,' fluttered the landlady in pleased excitement.
'Whv. Miss Grey ! he's asking for you !' and the next mo-
ment a manly step sounded upon the threshold, a pair of
eyes brimming over with kindness and welcome looked into
mine, and a strong, warm hand clasped mine in a grasp
THE EAGLE IN THE SEA-BIRD'S NEST. 145
that was almost painful as its owner exclaimed in a voice
that was fairly husky with emotion, 'Why, Milly Grey —
little Milly ! I should have known you if I had run across
you in the South Sea Islands. Why, I believe,' drawing
the back of his hand across his eyes with a half-ashamed
laugh, 'I never was so glad to see anybody before in my
life.'
There was no change here : the true, noble, honest heart
of the boy beat as warmly as ever in the bosom of the
man, and for the next hour we talked as only those talk
who have no thought nor fear of possible misapprehension
or want of sympathy. With alternate tears and laughter,
we went back, step by step, over each little footprint of the
past, recalling a score of incidents, merry and sad, rehears-
ing the very songs that we used to sing and the stories that
we told sitting in the soft purple twilight, on the rough door-
stone, with only the lapping of the waves and the chirp of
some belated insect for an accompaniment.
Again we paddied with our bare feet in the shining
waves, or waded out, hand in hand, into the foamy surf,
holding our breath in a delightful excitement that was
almost terror as we felt the strong undertow lifting our feet
from the sandy bottom in spite of all our efforts to keep a
foothold ; or hunted for clams among the dripping rocks and
seaweed, or the curious sea-urchins and star-fish that the re-
ceding tide sometimes left upon the wet sands.
It had grown so dark in the room before he rose to go
that I could not see his face, although I could feel the pain-
ful embarrassment in his tone, as he said, hesitatingly,
'That money, Mildred, that — that you sent to my mother
this morning, we — they couldn't think of keeping it of
course, You must take it back.' And he tried to put a
146 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
roll of bills into my hand ; but I could no more have touched
them than I could have handled live coals.
k No,' I said with a firmness that I hoped he would under-
stand, 'the money is rightfully theirs, and if my guardian
was dishonest, that is no excuse for my being so.'
'But,' he reasoned earnestly, 'for the sake of our childish
friendship, by its thousand pleasant memories — O, Milly I
don't try to repay our love with money !'
My eyes filled with tears, bitterly regretful drops, but I
forced myself to speak the truth, — I could not bear to be
misunderstood in this rnatler.
'If your mother and sister felt as you do about it, I should
be not only willing but proud to be indebted to them for the
kindness and care that my childhood received from their
hands ; but' — I paused a moment in painful embarrassment
— 'as it is, I could neither sleep nor rest if their services
remained unpaid.'
I was understood ; and replacing the money in his pock-
et-book, he said regretfully, but without a shadow of anger
in his tones : 'Perhaps you are right. I think I should feel
much the same under the same circumstances.' And with
a grave but kindly 'good night' he left me. never more to
come back again, for that very night a dispatch was received
that his vessel was ready, and he started for New York
early the next morning, leaving a tender good-bye for me
with his mother, who made the message an excuse for call-
ing, and overwhelmed me with apologies and explanations
that I received for just what they were worth— no more.
But the shawl ! O, yes ! It was just after I had com-
menced teaching a city school, some seven or eight years
after that, that a package was sent me all the way from In-
dia, containing this shawl and a letter from Captain Robert
MacLennan, written in the old frank, cordial fashion, tell-
THE EAGLE IN THE SEA-BIRD'S NEST. 147
ing me of his success in his profession, and describing with
aU the humor and vividness of his boyish days his various
adventures on land and sea. and winding up with the news
(I could almost see the look, half-shy. half-proud, of his
manly face as he wrote the words) of his coming marriage
with a young English lady, whose father was some kind of
a government official out there, and who was, to use his own
words, -a lit mate for a king.' "
"I hope," she added, after a pause, and there was a quaint,
pathetic tenderness in her tones as she spoke, that she
proved a lit mate for my eagle."
'•Is he living now?" I asked, below my breath.
"Ho. His mother sent me the paper containing the news
of his death, more than twenty years ago. He died as a
brave man should, in saving from death the helpless ones
committed to his care. He was captain of a large emigrant
ship, and the vessel sprung a leak when they were almost
in sight of the American shores. Of course there was a
terrible panic— everybody rushing for the boats, the strong
trampling down and thrusting aside the weak in their un-
reasoning terror ; but he stood by the gang-way. pistol in
hand, and threatened to shoot the tirst man who tried to
get into the boats before the women and children, and when
the last boat load was about to push off, with room for only
one move, he put a poor helpless sick lad. the only one left
besides himself on the deck of the sinking vessel, into the
vacant place, and calling out to his mate, as the boat pushed
off: -Give my love to my wife and children, and tell them
that I died at my post.' he stood calmly, with folded arms.
on the deck of his vessel, and went down with her into the
fathomless ocean, with not an eye of friend or stranger to
look upon his dying agony."
148 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
She covered her face with her hands, and I could see the
tears trickle from between her thin fingers as I stole softly
away, feeling that in a sorrow like hers, words of sympathy
however sincere, must be ill-timed and useless rather than
welcome ; and wondering, in my own heart, at the unwritten
romances in which some of the most apparently common-
place lives are rich, if one only has the skill and patience to
decipher them.
Later, in speaking of her to my friend, the matron, I ex-
pressed some surprise that one who had been a successful
teacher for so many years should not have saved enough,
with her simple, inexpensive habits, to have insured her
against want in her old age, — for I knew that besides the
usual admission fee of a hundred dollars, she had very little
that she could call her own.
The lady shook her head gravely. "There was a woman
named MacLennan, I think, who was for years a pensioner
upon her bounty, so that she could do little more than meet
her expenses with her salary. The woman, who was a
widow and childless, was aged and very infirm, but I never
fully understood what claim she had upon Miss Grey, who
cared for her with the devoted tenderness of a daughter
until her death, impoverishing herself that the last days of
her charge might be easy and pleasant."
I could only utter the simple commonplace that came to
my lips : "It was like her."
And the matron nodded a cordial assent.
C.E.
CHURCH MICK. 151
CHAPTER I.
He was a stranger, and unused to the softer moods of a
New England October, and as he walked slowly down the
long village street that narrowed and took a sharp turn into
the river road beyond, it is no wonder that a feeling of de-
vout thankfulness filled his heart that his lines had fallen in
such pleasant places.
On one hand stretched acre upon acre of meadow and
woodland, gay with autumnal tints, while on the other, the
blue Penobscot lay, smiling and dimpling back to the sun-
shine, unmindful of the foamy falls and wilful currents that
had fretted its downward way for many a lengthening mile.
The far off mountain's side glowed and gleamed with the
vivid scarlet, gold and russet of the ripened leaves, so deftly
blended by the distance and softened by the pale violet
mists of the early autumn, that the rugged mass of world-
old granite seemed draped from head to foot, like an Eastern
caliph, with the costly product of Indian looms.
Wide, undulating fields, here pale and shorn from the re-
cent sickle, and there green or crimson with the lush after-
math of the upspringiDg grass and clover.
The farmhouses dotted here and there over the level
stretches, formed a pleasant contrast, in their weather
stained picturesqueness, to the smart white cottages that
lined the village street, and with the eye of an artist rather
than a financier, the young man drank in with delight the
peaceful, rustic beauty of the scene, where humble toil had
succeeded in supplanting rather than depreciating Nature.
152 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Fresh from the classic halls of his ahna mater, it is not
strange, that, in the exuberance of his pleased fancy, he
should find himself repeating half unconsciously those well
known lines from the Roman poet :
"We dwell where forest pathways wind,
Haunt velvet banks 'neath shady trees,
And meads with rivulets fresh and green ;
But climb with me this ridgy hill,
Yon path shall take you where you will."
There was something tenderly reverential in the tone
with which he repeated the words of the immortal bard,
and lifting his hat from his heated forehead, he stood with
bared head, and a face, glowing with happy thoughts,
turned longingly to the cool restfulness of the near forest
shadows.
And yet one would never have taken him for a classical
enthusiast, this broad chested, brown cheeked young man,
so full of bounding life to his very finger tips, that it found
vent in a hundred boyish ways that would sorely have tried
the faith of some of those good, staid souls who, sitting
under his preaching the day before, had listened to the elo-
quent and earnest words that fell from his lips, with an un-
defined feeling that he must be as far above the trivialities
of common life as the theme of his discourse was above
such ordinary things as the harvesting and mill tending that
made up the sum of their own every-day life.
He was a fine reader, and Miss Minerva Masterman had
remarked, in confidence, to half a dozen different persons,
on the way out of church, that his reading of the opening
hymn,
"There is a fountain filled with blood,"
had affected her so that she had found it difficult to bring
her mind down to the organ accompaniment and play it
with the spirit and feeling such exquisite reading demanded.
CHURCH MICE. 153
Perhaps Miss Minerva would have been quite as well
pleased with the whistled tune with which he beguiled the
way on this pleasant morning walk, and thereafter have
classed
"Down upon de Swanee riber"
among the hymns in her favorite collection. But unfortu-
nately, she had not been invited to share the walk, although
he had stopped at her father's gate, on the way, for a little
friendly chat and direction.
'•You will find the road between this and the old town
very picturesque, although rather rough in places."
The young man smiled and glanced significantly at his
well shod feet.
"'I am a good walker, and always go prepared for the
rough as well as the smooth. But, Miss Minerva, will you
tell me something about this old town ? I caught a glimpse
of it on my way here and I thought I saw a church spire
above the trees."
A little frown of annoyance marred for an instant the
placid beauty of the young lady's face, and she slowly drew
off her garden gloves and made a feint of brushing some
purp'e aster quills from them, as if willing to gain time to
frame a suitable reply to his evidently unexpected question.
"Ye-es, there is an old church there, but it is out of re-
pair and not fit to hold services in. You see," with a sud-
den access of confidence, "after papa built his mills here,
naturally this became the center of the town, and now the
old part is almost deserted — mills, church, everything, is
fast falling to decay."
There was a little ring of triumph in her tones of which
her hearer took no note. His eyes were scanning half un-
consciously the "new" church, not many rods away, spruce
and shining in its coat of fresh white paint, and he re-
11
154 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
proached himself for the whimsical comparison that flashed
across his mind, of its likeness, in its ostentatious newness,
to its projector and main supporter, the rich mill owner,
Miss Minerva's honored parent.
But it never would do to allow such unkind fancies lodg-
ment in his breast, and with a hurried return to the practical,
he asked, for want of something better to say :
"But isn't this, our church, rather too near the river for
safety? If, during one of your Spring freshets, the dam
above should give way, I should think that the building
might be in considerable danger."
"Not in the least."
Miss Minerva spoke with that little air of prompt authority
that seemed habitual with her.
"Papa thought of that when he decided upon the loca-
tion, and by investigating the matter he found that never,
during the memory of the oldest inhabitant, has the river
risen within more than ten yards of where the church
stands, and that, only once, some forty years ago."
Her companion bowed a polite, but really indifferent as-
sent. In fact, he didn't imagine that the structure was in
any danger, but one must say something, and pleasant and
flattering as Miss Minerva's girlish pleasure in his society
certainly was, it could not make him forget his delayed
morning walk, so he was only too glad to let it serve as a
final to the conversation, and as he strode off in the direc-
tion of the old town, with a free, light step, every movement
energetic, alert, and as unconscious of bodily fatigue as of
mental ennui, he never once looked back, or dreamed of
the wistful, disappointed face that watched him out of sight
(the new minister was evidently a very interesting person
in the eyes of the fair, proud daughter of the village auto-
crat )
'•The homely, rough barked pines and spruces were like
old, familiar faces to him."
CHURCH MICE. 155
And as he follows the woodland road, that has now nar-
Towed into a mere cart track, where tall grasses and the
lavish gold of the yellow elover dispute every inch of the
May with the one narrow wheel mark, he is glad to miss the
tall chimneys and staring, lidless eyes of the great mill
buildings, and be able for a time, to confer comfortably
with nature herself.
The homely, rough barked pines and spruces were like
old familiar friends, wearing ever, through the winter's
snow and the summer's heat, the same unchanging faces,
and Miss Minerva's dainty instincts would have received a
terrible shock could she have seen the boyish delight with
which her paragon pounced upon a tempting bit of spruce
gum, clinging like an amber bead to the weather-beaten
breast of its parent tree, scratching his knees and tearing an
unseemly hole in his clerical broadcloth in his frantic ef-
forts to secure the prize.
It was not nearly so good as it looked, but in pious re-
membrance of his boyish days, the young man patiently
turned the bitter, sticky morsel over and over between his
strong, Avhite teeth, trying against odds to give it the proper
consistency and sweetness. '*I seem to be what the Scotch
call a 'stickit minister' " he laughed merrily, as he tried to
disentangle his teeth from the clinging mass preparatory to
emerging into a more open country where the sound of
voices warned him that he could no longer indulge in his
solitary dissipation.
He was not prepared, however, for the sudden turn in
the road that brought him, all at once, without the least
preparation, close to a building that he knew at a glance
must be the deserted church of which Miss Masterman had
spoken.
156 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
It had been quite a pretentious edifice in its day, built of
the beautiful dark grey stone of the region, with sharp
pointed windows, across whose lower panes boards had been
nailed, whether to protect or supply the place of missing
panes, was uncertain.
A wild hop vine had sprung up or been planted near the
door, and clinging to the rough stone had managed to
clamber over the whole front, hanging its now pale, yellow
bells upon the empty turret from which, in other days, had
rung out the call to worship God in this, His house.
It was a desolate, lonely spot in spite of the natural
beauty of the situation. The grass and weeds grew rankly
even up to the very threshold of the high, arched door- way,
and long rows of swallows sat undisturbed upon the ragged
eaves, or flew in and out of the ruined turret, with the easy
assurance of life-long proprietors. The young minister's
face saddened as he looked upon this picture of decay and
desolation. It was his Father's house — neglected and for-
saken, yet none the less dear to his loyal heart as the spot
whence the voice of prayer and praise had ascended to
Heaven, and where God's children had assembled to taste
the commemorative bread and wine of the new testament of
a loving God to sinful man. In their stern determination
to throw off all Romish superstitions of time and place, our
fathers, backed by their poverty of material and artistic
taste, builded for God's worship the plainest, stiffest, most
unlovely structures that they could devise. Uncarpeted,
unwarmed aid unadorned, the old-fashioned "meeting-
house" was, in itself, enough to chill the warmest enthu-
siasm and stiffen up the most facile knees let the heart's
need be ever so great.
And yet, in spite of all efforts to crush out that reverence
for God's temple that had unfortunately, in past ages, lapsed
CHURCH MICE. 157
into a blind idolatry of the visible substance — forgetting the
invisible presence that alone made sacred the shrine — the
devout heart through all Christendom, even unto our own
day, feels a reverent tenderness for those pulseless beams
and rafters ; the boards worn by sinful human feet, and the
altar rails wet so often with the tears that God alone heeds
and pities.
There was something too of indignation mingling with
the pain that this scene of desolation caused him, the nat-
ural indignation of a sincere, uncompromising nature against
injustice and wrong in any form.
Why should this church have been left to decay that its
more showy rival, not half a mile away, might thrive and
wax fat upon the united tithes of the towns-folk ?
The situation here was really more central for the town
at large than was that of the other, and through the trees,
not a stone's throw away, he could catch a gleam of white
marble that betrayed the near resting place of the fathers
and mothers of the little hamlet.
That the rich mill owner prided himself upon being the
projector and most liberal patron of the new edifice, he w r ell
knew, and more than half suspected that it was a shrewd
bid for added power and influence.
For what did "Mr. Hold-to-the- World" say:
"If a man gets a good wife, and good customers, and
good gain, all by becoming religious, which is good, there-
fore, to become religious to get all these, is a good and profit-
able design."
But why, even with his own selfish ends in view, did he
not take it upon himself to renovate and improve this de-
serted —
Deserted?
158 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
With an involuntary impulse to remain unnoticed, Paul
Flanders stepped hastily back into the shelter of the thick
shrubbery, where, himself unseen, he could watch the figure
that emerged just then from the door of the church, and
with a very workman-like air set about the task of remov-
ing the boards from the outside of the windows.
It was a slender, girlish figure, whose graceful outlines a
dress plain even to scantiness, could not wholly conceal. An
old-fashioned sun-bonnet of crisp white muslin effectually
concealed her face, but the curious looker-on noticed with
some surprise that the hands handling the hammer so dex-
trously were small and beautifully shaped, with wrists
white and dimpled as those of a baby.
Who was she, and what could be her business here?
As if in reply to his unspoken question, the mysterious
work- woman having removed the disfiguring shutters,
calmly proceeded, with her putty knife, to replace the
broken glass in the still firm sashes. As she worked, she
sang, and her voice rang out upon the still morning air as
blithe and sweet as that of any feathered house builder in
the forest beyond.
It was very prosaic work, standing upon a pile of dingy
boards and setting the glass in a broken old church window,
but the girl seemed determined to brighten it by her own
mood, trilling merry, rollicking bits of song, that made all
the woodland echoes laugh back to her, and whistling to the
blackbird that hopped fearlessly to her very feet and turned
up an inquisitive eye at her, with an abrupt "cheep" that
seemed to ask :
"Pray ma'am, what business have you here?"
From a pocket in the breast of her grey flannel blouse,
she threw, from time to time, crumbs to the squirrels that
chattered and frisked up and down, in and out of the old
CHURCH MICE. 159
building, licensed jesters in Dame Nature's court, privileged
to call the mountain "uncle," and whisk a foolish brush
over whatever is grandest and tairest in all her realm.
Whatever this girl's birth or breeding, she was evidently
hand in glove with all these wilding creatures, for they
seemed to have no fear whatever of her. Even the shy
little song-sparrow, whose housekeeping days were over,
and her brown travelling suit on, all ready for an early start
on her annual southern trip, freely helped herself to the
scattered crumbs, only starting a little nervously as the bits
of dry putty fell, now and then, upon her too inquisitive
head.
"Don't be afraid, Brownie." chirruped the girl, with a
merrv laugh at the shy creature's evident disturbance.
••We're all woodfolk together, now. and must get used to
each other's ways."
But with a soft flutter of wings, the timid thing was gone,
scared at the unfamiliar human voice, and, silent now, the
girl wrought at her task, patching, replacing and fastening
more firmly in their sashes the diminutive pares until all
was finished, and she stood for a moment silently contem-
plating her work, with a pathetic droop of the tired hands
that spoke volumes to the sympathetic stranger.
Then slowly, wearily, she came down from her awkward
perch, and seating herself upon the worn threshold, leaned
her head against the rough stone doorway, and the next
moment a burst of passionate weeping revealed to the un-
willing listener the sorrow that had been so bravely mas-
tered while there was work for the willing hands to do, but
which now. in the supposed solitude, and under the influ-
ence of a natural reaction, would, for a time at least, have
its way.
160 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Ashamed, self-condemned, the young man stole noise-
lessly away.
With the subtle instincts of a true gentleman, he felt that
this was neither the time nor place to proffer sympathy or
aid. A stranger may not intermeddle with the heart's se-
cret bitterness, and Paul Flanders, so far from wishing to
pry into the poor girl's troubles, could only blame himself
for the idle curiosity that had made him an unwitting spec-
tator of a grief whose solitude should have been sacred
from stranger eyes.
And yet, for many a day thereafter, he would find him-
self watching for that form among the many passers up and
down the village streets, or listening to the sound of girlish
voices in church choir, in the school room, or in pleasant
home parlors, hoping to catch again the haunting tones that
he could hear saying, over and over again, in that same .
half sad, half merry strain :
"We're all woodfolk together, now."
CHURCH MICE
161
CHAPTER II.
Stephen Masterman was a shrewd, energetic, some said,
unscrupulous man, although even these last were forced to
admit that he was, by far the most free-handed and generous
of the moneyed men of his native town.
Beginning life as a friendless, penniless lad, he had, step
•by step, won his way to the very top of the ladder, and at
the time our story opens, was the complacent owner of the
largest mills, the finest house, and the handsomest and most
accomplished daughter of any man in the county.
That Masterman was proud, and, if opposed, apt to
show himself arbitrary and domineering, everybody al-
lowed, and yet his rough good nature and natural sociability
made him a general favorite, even with the many who se-
cretlv envied his prosperity, as well as the few, whose hon-
est, upright souls revolted from the sharp policy that, with
ostentatious liberality, builded church and school-house, yet
withheld from the widow and orphan that which was theirs
by right of God's, if not of man's law.
In fact, many of the older residents of the town, whose
memory of the past was not entirely dimmed by the golden
mists of the present, could not find it in their hearts to look
with unmixed satisfaction upon the beautiful home, adorned
with all that could please the eye and minister to the com-
fort of its owner, while the daughter of his old employer,—
the man whose generous hand had been stretched out to
him in his friendless boyhood, helping him over the first
rough steps in his upward way, — widowed and penniless,
162 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
actually suffered at times for the actual uecessaries of life.
It could not be that, after all these years, the man still cher-
ished the memory of her rejection of his love in bye-gone
days, and meanly rejoiced in her present humilation and
suffering.
Some of the older people, women of course — inclined to
that belief, and, in the rich man's stealthy, but none the
less real, opposition to anything that could smooth a little
the hard path the widow and her child were forced to tread,
they read the undying hatred of a scorned and slighted
lover. Of this romantic theory, the widow Beezely, who
occupied the cottage opposite the Masterman mansion, and
had known its proud master ever since he wore petticoats,
and made mud pies in the gutter, was a staunch upholder,
while her sympathy for the Hamlins was correspondingly
warm and outspoken.
u You see," she explained to her boarder, the new minis-
ter, one morning as they sat at breakfast, in the sunny little
dining room, "You see old Mr. Metcalf, Miss Hamlin's
father, built the very first o' the mills here, and he made a
sight o' money in the lumber trade, and did more to build
up the town than any other man that ever lived in it. He
was a good, kind soul too, and when Steve Masterman's
drunken old father died he took the boy right into his mill
and made a man of 'im. gin 'im seek a boost as he never'd
got any other way in the world. I don't see, ter save my
life, how folks can forgit sech favors. And here's Avis
Metcalf, poor and a wiclder, and Steve'il let her and
her daughter fairly suffer f 'r the comforts o' life. I wouldn't
a' raked up all these things just now, but I heard only this
mornin' that he'd foreclosed on a mortgage that he holds on
the old Metcalf homestead, and them poor souls had ter
CHURCH MICE. 163
take to the only shelter they could find, the old meeting-
house."
Was the coffee so hot that it burned his mouth, or why
did the young man start so suddenly, while a quick flush
overspread his face even to the very roots of his hair? Dur-
ing the week that had passed since that memorable walk,
and his unwitting intrusion upon a sorrow into which he
had no right to pry, his thoughts, often without will or rea-
son, would hover about the mysterious stranger, and his
voice trembled a little (with natural curiosity, of course,)
as he asked sharply :
"Moved into the old meeting-house? What right had
they there?"
The dame brushed an imaginary crumb from her clean,
well starched apron, and settled herself back comfortably in
her chair with a look of keen enjoyment upon her kind,
motherly face. With the instincts of a born story-teller,
she knew that she had struck a responsive chord in her list-
ener's mind and was bound to make the most of it in the
interests of her unfortunate friends.
"Well, that's all on account of a deed that old Mr. Met-
calf made at the time the church was built.
He made a present of the building and the ground 'twas
built on to the town, but with the proviso that, when 'twant
used any longer f 'r a meetin'-house it should go back to his
heirs unless the town should pay them the worth of it."
"Why was that?"
"Well, I s'pose his idea was, that by leavin' it that way,
he'd make sure that this part o' the town where his property
was would be the business part always. You see, folks
like ter live handy to the meetin'-house, an' particularly to
the buryin'-ground, especially when they've gone to the ex-
pense of puttin' up gravestuns f 'r their friends. But after
164 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
the old man died and his son-in-law failed after he'd con-
trived to run through with all his wife's money. Steve Mas-
terman, who'd been gettin' up a notch at a time, started up
these new mills, higher up the stream, and set up a regular
opposition to the old ones. He was smart and pop'ler,
somethin' that Hamlin never had been, nor cared to be,
and 'twant long before he had everything in his ban's. And
a village sprung up here in a year or so, that kep' growin'
till the old settlement was jest about wiped out. Then the
folks here begun ter grumble about the old meetin'-house
bein' out o' repair and not good enough ter suit the times an'
the fashions. That started the idee of buildin' a new one,
and of course Masterman was all ready for it, and the way
he shelled out was a wonder. Why, besides subscribin'
liberally to'ards the buildin' fund, he bought the organ an'
the pulpit chairs and Bible, an' give handsomely to the
communion service.
But when the question come up in town meetin' about
payin' Hamlin's widder a fair price f 'r the old church,
under the conditions of 'er father's deed, Masterman fought
it tooth an' nail. He wa'n't goin' ter give a red cent f 'r
the old shell ; 'twant wuth live dollars land and all, and if
the widder wanted to she might sell it to the townf'ra
pound, or live in it herself, jest which she liked best. Of
course there was a good deal of feelin' about it, especially
among the older folks, but what could they do with that
organ an' Bible an' them plush bottomed pulpit chairs star-
in' 'em in the face every Sunday ? So at last they fixed it
so't Nora Hamlin should have a hundred and fifty dollars a
year f 'r playin' the organ, and that, with her music scholars,
(f'r Nora is a beautiful player, took lessons for years, while
her father was alive,) has kep 'em along fairly comfortable
till this fall."
CHURCH MICE. 165
She stopped abruptly, with a queer, questioning look in
her eyes, as she turned them upon the flushed, indignant
face of her listener.
••Well?"
The good woman fidgeted uneasily in her chair, watch-
ing furtively from the window opposite a tall, graceful figure,
in a natty jacket and very becoming garden hat, pacing
slowly up and down the broad garden walks, plucking the
late pansies and chrysanthemums, with never, by any
chance, a look at the cottage over the way.— Miss Master-
man had enough of her lather's pride to keep her from seem-
ing to tempt observation.
••Well, after Minervy come home from school in June,
she was that zealous f'r the good o' the church an' society
that she offered to play the organ herself f'r nothing and
with the money saved in that way buy a stained glass win-
dow to go over the door. 'Twas dretful good in 'er, of
course, but." with another sharp look at her companion, "it
come ruther hard on the Hamlins, for they couldn't raise
the interest on the mor'gage and Masterman foreclosed, and
that left 'em out o' house an' home, so't they didn't have
nowheres to go to but the meetin'-house.— 4hat they can
call their own and nobody can turn 'em out of it, though I
hear that some folks are makin' a terrible to-do about the
wickedness of anybody's usin' God's house to eat an' sleep
in ;— that is,"— with a shrewd chuckle,— "on zveek days.'*
-It's a shame, a cruel, burning shame '." cried the young
man. "that they should have been driven to it."
And Mrs. Beezely smiled shrewdly to herself as, rising
hastily from the table, he betook himself to his own room
without so much as a glance at the pretty, tempting picture
across the wav.
166 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
With the warm enthusiasm and hopefulness of youth,
Paul Flander's first thought, after his indignation had some-
what subsided, was, that in one way or another, this cruel
wrong to the widow and orphan must and should be righted.
Although he had not been in the least attracted to the village
autocrat, whose vulgar ostentation and ignorance of the
more delicate courtesies of life had naturally repelled him
at the outset, he could not believe him to be the deliberately
cruel and malignant being that his talkative landlady had
described.
Perhaps, after all, he was really ignorant of the straits to
wliich his old friend's daughter and her child were reduced.
Such a busy man, with scarcely a moment that he could
call his own, would not be likely to interest himself much in
his neighbors' private affairs ; while Miss Minerva, — with
her music, and her art studies, and her botanizing, and geol-
ogizing, and correspondence, and fancy work, — well, she
would scarcely be likely to understand the circumstances
that made her situation as organist an actual necessity to
the impoverished granddaughter of the once opulent mill-
owner.
Perhaps Mrs. Masterman — "Lib."
The young man laughed, and then frowned a reproof to
himself for his ill timed merriment.
He had wondered a hundred times during the past month
what could have tempted that proud, worldly wise man to
choose for his life's mate the little, ugly, malformed woman,
whom everybody — even to the chore boy and washerwom-
an — called "Lib," without the courtesy even of the mat-
ronly prefix.
Uncouth in manners and uncultured in speech, it seemed
impossible that she should be the mother of that elegant,
refined girl, whose every word and gesture seemed the per-
CHURCH MICE. 167
feciion of womanly grace and sweetness. Rude by nature
and utterly unskilled in the ways peculiar to refined and
cultured people, the poor woman seemed to an observer as
utterly out of place in her beautiful home as would an in-
trusive yellow dock against the satin and gold of a bed of
lilies.
To be sure, there was no reason for thinking that her
familv were in the least ashamed of her, — perhaps their
long familiarity with her ways had made them oblivion- of
her peculiarities. Her husband treated her with the same
good matured condescension that he vouchsafed to the world
at large, while the daughter was by far too well bred to
show, even if she felt, any sense of her mother's undeniable
inferiority. A woman, especially a mother, would have
noticed however, that, while she never tried, after the man-
ner of too many of her sex and age, to correct her mother's
often absurd blunders, neither did she try, with a daughter's
loving tact, to soften down the jagged edges and throw a
rosy glamour over the hard outlines of her mother's un-
lovely personality.
She evidently accepted her just as she was. — one of the
unavoidable trials of life that so far had been singularly
exempt from trials of any kind.
If this gentle hearted girl could only know that, by her
grenerouslv meant services as organist of the new church
she was really defrauding the unfortunate widow and her
daughter of their principal means of support, no doubt she
would see the matter in its true light and gladly resign her
position in favor of the girl who so needed it.
S reasoned the young minister as, late in the afternoon,
he made his toilet preparatory to a visit at the house across
the way, where he had been invited to an informal tea by
no less a person than the mistress of the house, who had
168 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
run across that morning in her kitchen apron, and after a
secret conference with Mrs. Beezely had put her head in at
the study door without even the formality of a knock, and
remarked in her crisp, curt fashion :
"I've had extra good luck with my cream cakes to-day,
— won't you skip over an' take a snack with us ? Hes off
up river for the day, but I guess 'Nervy an' I'll see't you
don't go home hungry."
Of course he would go, and then perhaps he would find
the opportunity that he sought, to interest Miss Masterman
in the Hamlins. With her sweet and tenderly sympathetic
nature, it would be the easiest thing in the world to make
her see her duty in this matter, and he remembered with a
thrill of pleasure how her blue eyes had filled with tears
as she had listened to his reading of the death scene of
"little Paul" only a few evenings before.
After the fashion of mankind generally, Paul Flanders
had formed his judgment of the soul from the beautiful man-
tle of flesh wherewith its Maker had clothed it, and that the
fair, sweet voiced girl, who looked up to him with such
shyly adoring eyes, could be any other than the gentle, un-
selfish creature that his imagination painted, never once oc-
curred to him.
To be sure, the father was a vulgar, purse proud egotist ;
the mother an uncultured drudge ; but this beautiful, high
minded offshoot of an unpromising stock — as he passed
through the grounds he had noticed a gnarled wind twisted
old apple tree with its scant crop of natural fruit, — small
hard and unappetizing, — while near the top a graft had
been introduced, whose long, slender branches were laden
with rare fruit that glowed and reddened beneath the rays
of the setting sun, like veritable apples of Eden, — "must
be a graft," he appended, with a smile at the comparison,
CHURCH MICE. 169
as he waited for a moment at the stately doorway until his
ring should be answered. It was not the first time that he
had tasted the hospitalities of that house, and to-day, al-
though his welcome was as warm and free as ever, he felt,
somehow, before he had been five minutes beneath its roof,
that something, some untoward current in the home atmos-
phere had been set in motion, leaving an almost impercept-
ible chill that boded a domestic storm of some kind.
Miss Minerva discoursed as intelligently upon her Brown-
ing studies, and was as sweetly deferential to his opinions
as usual, but contrary to the usual custom of the household,
Mrs. Masterman retained her seat by the fireside, and with
knitting in hand watched with sharp, yet troubled eyes,
every movement of the twain, seldom making any observa-
tion herself, yet listening with evident interest to every word
that was spoken.
Gradually, for a wonder, the conversation actually drifted
around to the subject uppermost in the young man's mind,
and curiously enough it was Miss Minerva herself who
first alluded to it :
"We heard of such a dreadful, disgraceful thing this
morning, that I have scarcely been myself to-day, I feel that
shocked and grieved. A half insane woman, a Mrs. Ham-
lin, and her daughter, have actually taken possession of
the old church that I was telling you about and are living
there. Such a desecration of God's house ! It makes my
blood run cold to think of it."
And the skein of rose-colored zephyr that the gentleman
was gallantly holding for the fair speaker to wind, actually
trembled with the violence of her emotions.
'-Where else could they go I should like to know?"
snapped the bent figure by the fireside, without waiting for
the minister's comment.
12
170 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"When folks are turned out o' their own house an' home,
they've got ter go so?nezvkeres, I s'pose, haint they?"
Little did "Lib" Masterman dream of the grateful glow
that her unselfish championship of the unfortunate pair
awoke in the heart of her listener, for she was too dread-
fully conscious of the frown upon her daughter's brow to
notice his look of honest approval.
Miss Minerva hastened to explain that "If Mrs. Hamlin
were sent to the Insane Asylum, where she could have the
care that her state demanded, Xora might, with her music
scholars, make a comfortable living for herself."
"If Miss Hamlin could have her former salary as organ-
ist," began the young man diffidently, (for Miss Minerva's
face had flushed angrily at the suggestion, while her mother
had dropped her knitting and was listening with breathless
interest. )
"It really seems as if they needed the money earned,
more than the society need that amount saved."
"That so ! that's jest it !" cried Mrs. Masterman eagerly,
"Avis Metcalf ain't no more crazy'n /be. She's feeble,
poor creature ! and what with the w T orry, and bein' half
clothed an' fed, the only wonder to me is that she's kep 'er
senses as well as she has."
"Mother is partial," explained Miss Minerva, with a
forced smile that was intended to be apologetic, "Mrs.
Hamlin and she were friends in their girlhood, and—"
"Her father took me out o' the poorhouse when I wa'ant
but ten years old, and he fed an' clothed me and gave me
a good, decent bringin' up. He and his daughter was the
best and kindest friends that a poor fatherless and mother-
less pauper ever had and I should be meaner'n shucks if I
could forsrit it in 'em."
CHURCH MICE. 171
The silence that followed this indiscreet revelation was so
profound that, for a minute the ticking of the French clock
upon the mantel, and the soft rustle of the younger lady's
dress, as she shrank back into the depths of the easy chair.
were painfully distinct.
Then, like the true gentleman that he was, Mr. Flanders
came to the rescue :
'•And I honor you for it. madam," he said heartily,
while carefully avoiding a glance in the direction of the
shrinking figure opposite. "And if. as I have heard, the
hither of this poor lady was one of the honored pioneers of
the town, it is a shame and disgrace to its citizens that his
daughter and her child should be reduced to the necessity of
finding a shelter in a place so unfitted for them."
Mrs. Masterman'a sinewy hand came down with an ap-
proving slap upon the speaker's shoulder. ' -That's spoke
like a man and a Christian !" she cried, her voice husky
with feeling. -'And if you'll only bestir yerself to get 'em
into better quarters you'll find plenty to follow your lead."
Miss Minerva was silent, but there was a dangerous light
in her downcast eyes that boded no good to the unfortunate
pair that had been, though unwittingly, the cause of this,
to her, bitter humiliation.
172 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
CHAPTER III.
A man in trying to accomplish any object upon which
he has set his heart, may, indeed, be sly and underhanded,
but he seldom has the patience to piece together, bit by bit,
the small, undefined influences that, in the end, are surest
to bring about the consummation wished for. It is the
woman who excels in this kind of mental patchwork — who
has the patience, as well as the art, to fit in a hint here, an
observation there, or a seemingly irrelevant suggestion that,
when shrewdly placed, give color and character to the
whole. Now it never for an instant occurred to the Rever-
end Paul, when Miss Minerva started her class in "Roman
Architecture," going out of her way to bring in even the
most careless and illiterate of the younger members espec-
ially of the society, that she had any end in view beyond
the honest, benevolent desire to encourage higher tastes in
art and literature among the young folks of her native vil-
lage.
He didn't mind in the least that it claimed of him one
evening out of every week, to say nothing of the almost
daily conferences between the zealous leader and himself,
upon various knotty or disputed points.
It was at her suggestion that he sent for a stereopticon,
with pictures mainly illustrative of the works of art in me-
dieval cathedrals and churches, and as the class was gener-
ously willing to share its privileges with the town at large,
an illustrated lecture was given by the pastor in the new
church to a delighted and enthusiastic audience .
CHURCH MICE
173
And all the time that "painted window in our new
church" was not allowed for a day to fade out of the minds
of the people, while the desire for it was constantly stimu-
lated by the glimpses of ancient art, that they had caught
from the pictures that the minister himself had so eloquently
described.
Nor, in the multiplicity of his duties, had the young man's
benevolent interest in the Hamlins in the least abated, for,
true to his promise, he had struggled manfully to turn the
tide of indignation and ridicule, that had almost over-
whelmed the so-called desecrators of the old church, into
a milder form of charitable interest.
After her sharp condemnation of the unfortunate pair on
that memorable afternoon, the young minister was scarcely
prepared to find Miss Minerva perfectly willing to resign
her position as organist in favor of Nora Hamlin -'if the
feople desired it" while she won his warm approval by
going in person to invite the lonely girl to join them in their
art studies.
"Of course she won't come," she explained, with well
simulated regret, in response to his warmly expressed thanks
for her "kind thoughtfulness."
"She is so shabby, poor thing ! that she is really not pre-
sentable among decently dressed people. And, to tell the
truth, she has very little taste for the improvement of her
mind ; she is a good musician, but woefully ignorant in all
other respects."
Her listener was puzzled, and strangely indignant at
the unwelcome indictment. Somehow he could not recon-
cile her description with the sweet voiced girl, whose clear,
correct tones, though only once listened to, still haunted
him like a spell, and there was an unusual hesitancy in his
voice as he asked diffidently: "Perhaps— do you suppose
174 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
that this Miss Hamlin would resent my calling upon them in
their strange home ? It seems heathenish to leave them un-
cared for, and vet my good landlady has hinted that the
mother would be apt to look upon me as an intruder."
Miss Minerva held up her delicate hands with a pretty
air of maidenly protest :
"Oh dear, no. Pray don't think of such a thing! You
have no idea how they live — burrow, I should call it — in
that old rat hole of a building. Fires? oh yes, they have
plenty of wood and no lack of wholesome food, for Nora
has several music scholars, enough, if one had the least bit
of housewifely tact and skill, to support them comfortably,
but such waste and slovenliness."
She broke off in well simulated confusion, and adroitly
changed the subject to some matter of parish interest, into
which the Hamlins could by no possibility intrude.
And yet, with the proverbial "contrariness" of his sex,
the young man secretly resolved that, at the Hrst fitting op-
portunity, he would use his clerical privilege of calling upon
the much maligned pair and judge for himself if they
really deserved the sweeping condemnation that so many of
their townsmen seemed disposed to accord them.
This determination was strengthened when, at the regu-
lar business meeting of the church he ventured to propose
the employment of the former organist, two-thirds of the
members voted against it. "We haint got no money ter
throw away on folks that are sech heathen that they'll turn
God's house into a kitchen an' bedroom," remarked one of
the deacons, a hard headed, prejudiced old fellow, who had
been one of the loudest in his denunciation of the unfortu-
nate widow and her daughter.
"The widder Hamlin has made 'er bed. an' now she's got
ter lay on it. In the old man's day they wasted their sub-
UHUUCH MICE. 175
stance in riotous livin', an' now they've got the imperdence
to expect hard working prudent folks ter turn to an' help
support 'em. If'r one won't give a red cent to'ards payin'
that gal for thunipin' on the orgin, — so there ye have it
A titter ran around the group of younger folk as the old
man sat down with a deeper frown on his hard face, while
one of the younger members proceeded to put the matter in
a more courteous, but by no means more favorable light.
He insisted that a change of organists at that time would
be decidedly unpopular, as everybody was charmed with
Miss Masterman's "superb performance." which was one of
the great attractions of the church to uninterested people ;
while he more than hinted that the money that would go to
pay a salaried organist would be much more wisely expended
in certain decorations, really needed for the embellishment
of the building itself. — a stained glass window for instance,
would add greatly to its beauty and worth, besides being in
itself a study of art that would go far towards educating
the tastes of the young.
The minister had listened with ill concealed disgust to
the ungenerous fiat of the rough farmer, nor did his brow
unknit during the more pacifically worded argument of the
other speaker, but when reference was made to the intended
use of the money that should have been appropriated to the
organist's salary, a hot flush overspread his face, and the
lire of a tierce indignation, mingled with something of self-
contempt, burned in his still, grey eyes. Almost uncon-
sciously he looked across the lines of upturned, half indif-
ferent faces, to where in the dusky background the father
of Minerva Masterman sat. studiedly silent, but with every
sense on the alert to throw his overwhelming influence into
the possibly wavering balances, and, as by a touch, the
scales of an honest unsuspiciousness dropped from his
176 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
eyes, and he saw at a glance how artfully he had been
inveigled into actually helping to foster the enthusiasm for
church adornments in his people, that had made the pos-
session of a painted window a matter of far greater moment
to them than even the divine reminder :
"A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widow, is
God in His holy habitation.''
It was too late now to undo the work that he had so un-
suspiciously helped to forward, and he realized, with a pang
of bitter disappointment, that any farther urging of the
matter would be worse than useless, — -he must be patient,
and bide his time if he would succeed in his plan of help-
ing the friendless pair, whose sad condition weighed so
heavily upon his kindly heart.
At home however, he found a ready sympathizer in his
good landlady, who had sat up long past her usual hour to
hear his report of the meeting, and keep hot the comforting
cup of coffee, which, with a woman's shrewdness, she had
foreseen his special need of.
u It's a shame — a burnin' shame !" she repeated indig-
nantly, when the result was made known to her, "and," —
her very cap border bristling with honest indignation. — "it's
two-thirds the doin's of that smooth-faced cat over the way.
You needn't shake yer head at me, Mr. Flanders, I know
what I know, and I say that she hates Nora Hamlin worse'n
pizen. Didn't she go to Mis' Hamlin an stir 'er up with
some kind of a cock-an'-bull story about your plannin' to
call there an' give 'em a blowin' up because they was livin'
in the meetin'-house? I told Nora there wa'n't a word o'
truth in it, but her mother was so nervous and kind o' shook
up that we both thought you'd better not call on 'er till she
felt a little stronger."
CHURCH MICE. 1 < <
"Did Miss Masterman tell such a — that is, did she mis-
represent rne to them like that ?"
There was a dangerous light in the speaker's eyes, and
he set his coffee cup down upon the table with a force that
made Mrs. Beezely's housewifely nerves shiver apprehen-
sively, — (she had had the set for more than twenty years,
and not a piece broken yet.)
'•Yes, she did ! (Look out f 'r that cup, Mr. Flanders, it's
a leetle too nigh the edge o' the table f 'r safety.) You see,
's long 's her father lived, Nora Hamlin had the best there
was goin' in the way of learnin' an' dresses an' privileges
of all kinds ; while Masterman, who was jest gettin' on his
feet, had ter keep his family pretty snug f 'r a number o'
years. Minervy was always proud as a peacock, and it
galled 'er terribly to have any other girl go ahead of 'er.
That's where the mischief begun, and now that she's up.
an Nora dozvn, she jest glories in bein' able to look over
her head."
"But Mrs. Masterman," began the young man.
His companion caught eagerly at the words :
"Yes, Lib has been a friend indeed, and a good friend
too. I don't know what they would 'a done this winter if
she hadn't stood by 'em, carry in' Mis' Hamlin in all kinds
o' delicacies, and settin' with 'er on the days that Nora had
ter go to her music scholars.
She could do it better'n anybody else, f 'r Mis' Hamlin's
run of a notion that she's Lib Tracy still and she gives off
her orders jest as she used to when Lib lived there and
waited on 'er. She'll send 'er for this an' that, and some-
times she'll scold 'er because she can't find things that's
been worn out or lost years ago. It don't do no good to
reason with 'er, and Lib is jest es respectful and patient es
if she was the bound girl that she used ter be.'
178 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
It was only a few evenings after the church meeting that
as the minister sat alone in his study, his attention was at-
tracted by the sound of a hand fumbling with the latch of
his door, which, when opened, revealed the misshapen form
and dark, shrewd face of "Lib" Masterman, who, hurriedly
availing herself of his invitation to enter, dropped into a
chair by the fireside, and without a word bent her knotty
hands to catch the genial warmth, while the coarse shawl
that, country fashion, she had worn over her head, dropped
upon her shoulders and revealed a face so troubled and
tearful that the minister's kind heart ached for her, and he
ventured to ask :
"What is it, Mrs. Masterman?"
For a moment she did not reply, only bending her head
lower over the fire, then a strange sound, something between
a moan and a muttered ejaculation, fell from her trembling
lips :
''Not that I I hate it, Lib is the better name for me."
The young man drew nearer and took her coarse hand
in his.
"My dear friend, don't be afraid to trust me with your
trouble, and perhaps I can help you in some way."
She looked up into his face with the half shy, half ap-
pealing look of an oft-chided child :
"It ain't 7ny trouble exactly, if 'twas, I'd grin an bear
it, same's I always do. But I'm dretfully on't about Avis,
(Mis' Hamlin, you know). My folks don't take much stock
in the Hamlins, but they aint never made no fuss about my
goin' there till last night. Then, he spoke right up, and
says he, in that hard voice that means business, T won't
have you waitin' and tendin' out on them church mice down
there no longer, and if I know of yer goin' there ag'in
CHURCH MICE. 179
why, (I'm First S'lectman you know) and I'll clap the old
woman into the poor house jest as true as you live.'
And what Dave Masterman threatens, that he'll do. So
what in the world can I do? I've been studyin' on it all day,
and thinks I, at last, well, I'll run over and see if the min-
ister can't help me get some things to 'em. (I could get
Mis' Beezely to take 'em, but — well, I don't want everybody
to know that I've been forbid to go myself} ."
A hot flush for a moment burned upon her dark cheek,
the honest blush of wifely shame, and there was a pitiful
thrill in her voice as she added :
"I've packed a basket with things that I've bought with
my own money — saved out of the allowance that he makes
me to dress myself on — and what I want, is to get it to 'em,
somehow."
"And you want me to take it to them?"
Both tone and look bespoke the willing messenger, and a
grateful smile crept over the woman's tear-stained face as
she said promptly :
"Yes, that's jest what I want. I couldn't ask you to
take it by daylight because — "
She stopped short, with a look of painful embarrassment
that her companion considerately took no note of, as he
hastily arrayed himself in furred cap and overcoat, listening
meanwhile to her minute directions in regard to the precau-
tions to be observed in the presence of the nervous, half de-
mented invalid :
" 'Twont do no hurt to let 'er know that you're the min-
ister, but f 'r the life of ye don't say a word about the new
meetin'-house if you don't want to drive her ravin' crazy.
And you can tell 'er that Lib — be sure and call me that — '11
be over as soon as she can. You'd better," she added sad-
ly, "tell Nora why I can't come. She'll understand about
180 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
it, and will know how to pacify her mother when she begins
to fret f 'r me."
"I'll do my best," was the reassuring reply, and lifting
the carefully packed basket, the young man bade his grateful
visitor a cheery adieu, and with only the frosty glimmer of
the stars for company, set out upon his lonely walk in the
direction of the old church, whose slender spire, faintly de-
fined against the cold blue of the wintry sky, pointed ever
Heavenward, as if it would say to all world weary souls
below :
"Earth's wrongs shall all be righted here."
CHURCH MICE. 181
CHAPTER IV.
••My slippers, if you please, dear. They're in the north
aisle, in the rack in Deacon Goodhue's pew, I believe."
And as Nora hastened to bring the desired articles, and
kneeling, tenderly fitted them to the small, cold feet, that,
in spite of heated bricks and wrappings of warm flannel,
never, nowadays, felt warm to her touch, she was glad that
the gathering gloom about them hid her tear-stained face
from the watchful eyes bending over her.
For some reason her heart was strangely heavy to-night,
and the bare discomforts of the place seemed emphasized as
the cold night drew on apace, and through the uncurtained
window over the high pulpit the stars looked in, with hard,
pitiless eyes, while the rising wind howled and shrieked
through the naked tree tops without. The church was one
of the old-fashioned kind, with high pews on either side
facing the center, while the middle row dividing the two
aisles had been removed, leaving an open space that the
present occupants had partitioned off, by the help of quilts
and coverlets, into diminutive sleeping and living rooms.
Everything spoke of past plenty and present poverty —
even the square of faded and worn carpet that covered the
rough board floor had been a costly Axminister in its day,
while table and chairs were of solid mahogany elaborately
carved, and the embroidered coverings of the latter, in their
dimmed and dingy splendors, hinted pathetically at the long
hours of lady-like leisure that had once been enjoyed by the
petted daughter of the rich mill owner.
182 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
The great, high posted bedstead, with its rich hangings
frayed and fretted by time, occupied the only available space
directly in front of the tall box pulpit, and contrasted oddly
enough with the dingy, mould bespattered ceiling, from
which, here and there, the plaster had fallen, leaving dark,
mysterious depths, from which arose a damp, unhealthy
chill, that all the warmth from the well filled stove — packed
though it was with goodly logs of oak and beech— could not
entirely dispel.
The high galleries that ran round three sides of the build-
ing lay in dusky shadows, but as Nora lighted her lamp
and placed it upon the table in the center of the open space,
the illumined circle all at once assumed an air of cheery
homeliness, and as the soft glow danced upon the quaint
china, bringing out its delicate tints of pink and gold, and
emphasizing the snowy whiteness of the well darned square
of old damask that covered the small tea table, it really
seemed as if living in an old, tumble down meeting-house,
might not be such a dreadful thing after all.
Even Nora's sad heart grew hopeful once more as she
saw with what an unwonted relish her mother ate of the
delicate toast, and sipped approvingly the tea that "Lib's"
affectionate forethought had provided them with.
"You really seem like yourself to-night, motherdie," she
declared with a cheery smile, as with loving watchfulness
she drew a little closer the scarlet shawl that shielded her
mother's frail shoulders from the unavoidable draught.
"This long, long winter is almost over now." I noticed
to-day that the willows were growing quite yellow in some
sheltered places ; and the elm tops wear that misty purple
look that is always one of the first signs of Spring."
Her mother's smile was brighter than it had been for
many a day. "Yes, the very last time that Lib was here
CHURCH MICE. 183
she brought nie a spray of pussy willow with the grey fur
beginning to show at every tip. It won't be many weeks
no~jj before the liverworts are out, and I shall be so glad to
see them."
There was something pitiably childlike and helpless in
the weak tones, but to Nora this mood was far less sad than
the wild, unnatural vagaries in which her weakened mind
was so prone to indulge.
'•Poor Lib !" she went on, following out the line of
thought suggested by the familiar name, "I do hope Mas-
terman greats her well. But they're a funny couple ! — yes,
a funny couple."
And she laughed so merrily that all the dusky, cobwebbed
spaces about them caught up the unwonted sound and
echoed it back with a grim, ghostly indistinctness, that
made Xora shudder and glance apprehensively at the
sound-haunted galleries.
Her mother saw the look, and with the mischievous per-
verseness of a diseased intellect, caught her up sharply :
4 'Children and cowards are afraid of the dark," she said,
with a superior ail that made her listener smile in spite of
herself. "But for my part it is a positive satisfaction to
me to sit here and with my eyes shut hear old Deacon
Goodhue's ghost droning :
•Plunged in a gulf of dark despair.'
And there isn't a single night that Aunty Farrell don't
carry me back to other days with her — 'Brethren and
sisters, I s'pose I'm about as mean an' wicked a old crea-
ture, as you'lltind anywhere, but, thank the Lord ! sech as I
be, I'm ready to own up to it every time.' "
'•Oh mother, don't /" groaned the girl, half laughing, yet
ready to cry with nervous excitement.
184 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
U I don't see what puts such dreadful things into your
mind. What with the loneliness and gloom, and those
dreadful rats — " (as a tremendous rattle and clatter in the
walls made her start and shiver with sudden fright,) "it is
eerie enough without bringing up any unnecessary spectres."
Mrs. Hamlin put her head upon one side with a whimsi-
cal pretence of listening intently.
u Oh, the rats? They are rather noisy to be sure, — but
do you know, I think I have found out where they all came
from."
She nodded mysteriously, and Nora, to humor her, asked,
with an affectation of interest :
'• Where was it?"
The sick woman lifted one slender forefinger, and shook
it warningly :
•'Mind, it's a secret. — for I wouldn't for the world be
the one to destroy such an old myth, — but in that story of
the Pied Piper of Hamelin you know it is claimed that all
the rats were dro-joned? Well, I've found out that that is
all a mistake, — the Piper sent them here instead."
"Rattle-te-bang !" went the rats, as if willing to lend
their support to this very original theory, and "creak-creak"
upon the snowy walk outside sounded the footsteps of an
approaching visitor. It was a man's tread, and Mrs. Ham-
lin grasped her daughter's arm in a tremor of unreasoning
terror.
•'It's Dave Masterman ! Oh Nora, don't let him drive
us away, and take me to the poorhouse. Swear we're rich
— yes rolling in gold ; and tell him that we are only living
her^ because we're eccentric, whimsical, — anything that
will make him go away and leave us alone." And her frail
form trembled and shook like a leaf with the violence of
those fears that Nora could not, with all her reasonings and
CHURCH MICE.
185
promises, succeed in quieting, until the intruder had, after
knocking repeatedly upon the outer door, begun to wonder
at the inexplicable delay.
"Were they timid about opening their doors in the even-
ing?" he asked himself, "or — "
As if in reply to his unspoken query, a slender, girlish form
appeared all at once in the doorway, holding aloft a candle,
whose flickering light but faintly revealed the softly rounded
outlines of a face, whose only distinct feature was a pair of
dark, wonder-wide eyes, that looked at him for an instant,
with something of alarm as well as surprise in their clear
depths.
"Good evening, Mr. Flanders, will you come in?"
It was very pleasant, the softened tone of recognition in
which the concluding words were spoken, and the young
man found time even then, to wonder where this fair girl
could have become so familiar with his face as to recognize
it so readily in that dim, uncertain light, thus relieving him
from the necessity of introducing himself, a ceremony that,
with a diffidence for which he could not account, he had
been dreading all the way over.
It was very pleasant too to linger for a moment in the
vestibule, notwithstanding the cold winds that blew in at a
hundred crevices, flaring the candle dangerously, and pinch-
ing poor Nora's undefended ears, as she listened patiently
to kt Lib's" private message, which, truth compels us to say,
was by no means so concisely and briefly delivered as it
should have been under the circumstances. And yet, in
spite of her own bodily discomforts, his girlish listener
didn't seem in the least impatient or out of humor.
The messenger of a friend, he came as a friend, and No-
ra, unconventional and innocent as the doves that nested in
the bare rafters overhead, and cooed a soft approval of the
13
184 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"I don't see what puts such dreadful things into your
mind. What with the loneliness and gloom, and those
dreadful rats — " (as a tremendous rattle and clatter in the
walls made her start and shiver with sudden fright,) "it is
eerie enough without bringing up any unnecessary spectres."
Mrs. Hamlin put her head upon one side with a whimsi-
cal pretence of listening intently.
"Oh, the rats ? They are rather noisy to be sure, — but
do you know, I think I have found out where they all came
from."
She nodded mysteriously, and Nora, to humor her, asked,
with an affectation of interest :
"Where was it?"
The sick woman lifted one slender forefinger, and shook
it warningly :
"Mind, it's a secret, — for I wouldn't for the world be
the one to destroy such an old myth, — but in that story of
the Pied Piper of Hamelin you know it is claimed that all
the rats were drowned? Well, I've found out that that is
all a mistake, — the Piper sent them here instead."
"Rattle-te-bang !" went the rats, as if willing to lend
their support to this very original theory, and "creak-creak"
upon the snowy walk outside sounded the footsteps of an
approaching visitor. It was a man's tread, and Mrs. Ham-
lin grasped her daughter's arm in a tremor of unreasoning
terror.
"It's Dave Masterman ! Oh Nora, don't let him drive
us away, and take me to the poorhouse. Swear we're rich
— yes rolling in gold ; and tell him that we are only living
hero because we're eccentric, whimsical, — anything that
will make him go away and leave us alone." And her frail
form trembled and shook like a leaf with the violence of
those fears that Nora could not, with all her reasonings and
CHURCH MICE.
185
promises, succeed in quieting, until the intruder had. after
knocking repeatedly upon the outer door, begun to wonder
at the inexplicable delay.
••Were they timid about opening their doors in the even-
ing?" he asked himself, ;i or — "
Afl if in reply to his unspoken query, a slender, girlish form
appeared all at once in the doorway, holding aloft a candle,
whose flickering light but faintly revealed the softly rounded
outlines of a face, whose only distinct feature was a pair of
dark, wonder-wide eyes, that looked at him for an instant,
with something of alarm as well as surprise in their clear
depths.
"Good evening, Mr. Flanders, will you come in?"'
It was very pleasant, the softened tone of recognition in
which the concluding words were spoken, and the young
man found time even then, to wonder where this lair girl
could have become so familiar with his face as to recognize
it so readilv in that dim, uncertain light, thus relieving him
from the necessity of introducing himself, a ceremony that,
with a diffidence for which he could not account, he had
been dreading all the way over.
It was very pleasant too to linger for a moment in the
vestibule, notwithstanding the cold winds that blew in at a
hundred crevices, flaring the candle dangerously, and pinch-
ing poor Nora's undefended ears, as she listened patiently
to •• Lib's" private message, which, truth compels us to say,
was by no means so concisely and briefly delivered as it
should have been under the circumstances. And yet, in
spite of her own bodily discomforts, his girlish listener
didn't seem in the least impatient or out of humor.
The messenger of a friend, he came as a friend, and No-
ra, unconventional and innocent as the doves that nested in
the bare rafters overhead, and cooed a soft approval of the
13
186 RE -TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
tableau below, never dreamed that a long and intimate ac-
quaintance was at all necessary before it would be prudent
for her to confide her perplexities to this friendly stranger.
••You know of course, that my mother is ill and nervous,
and not always quite right in her mind, so you need not be
surprised at any fancy that she may take at the sight of a
stranger."
He nodded reassuringly, and half reluctantly she led the
way into the lighted interior, the threshold of which they
had scarcely crossed, when a shrill, high pitched voice
called out imperiously :
"A stranger? What dost thou require?"
The young man stared in surprise, not unmixed with
amusement at the absurdity of the salutation, at the tall,
thin figure, shrouded in the scarlet shawl that she had gath-
ered about her as she rose to her feet, while the stray grey
locks that neither comb nor band could control, fairly bris-
tled with defiant terror.
Nora hastened to her side, and gently forced her back
into her chair, while in soothing tones she tried to make
her understand who the unexpected guest was, and the rea-
son for his visit at that time.
"It is Mr. Flanders, the new minister at the village, you
have heard Lib speak of him? And he came to-night with a
message from her, because she couldn't come herself, and
was afraid you might fret for her if you didn't hear."
Gradually the excited woman became quiet, and gra-
ciously condescended to notice the stranger with a greater
show of cordiality than she was won't to bestow even upon
the few who were in the habit of visiting her in her strange
quarters.
"And so you came on Lib's account?" and she surveyed
him with the mildly contemplative air of a naturalist taking
notes of a new and possibly interesting "specimen."
CHURCH MICE.
is:
"Ah, well! Lib is a good, faithful creature, rather un-
couth in her ways, to be sure, and terribly faulty in her
grammar and pronunciation, but true and sound to the core.
The only trouble is, she is losing her me?nory dreadfully.
I hate to think so, but of late it has been so noticeable that
I really couldn't shut my eyes to it. Why. only the other
day I sent her to get my set of opals — my husband's wed-
ding gift— and do you believe, she came back and declared
she couldn't find them. Why. if she's put them away
once, she has a hundred times, in the left drawer of my
dressing case."
And so. for an hour or more, the poor soul maundered
on, pleased with herself, her listener, and more than all
with the iimiy fancies that her weakened brain conjured up.
Nora, seated by the little stand, her fair face bent intently
over her sewing, said little, but by some subtile instinct
the young man divined that his presence was by no means
unwelcome, and that his patient humoring of the sick wo-
man's wayward fancies had been gratefully appreciated,
although no word of thanks escaped those shy, sweet lips.
It was enough that, at parting, she added her own invi-
tation to the really cordial one vouchsafed by her mother,
to repeat his visit at the earliest opportunity.
And as the lagging spring with snow-shod feet crept
lazily over the bleak New England hills, the frail life whose
strength that long winter of privation and sickness had so
sorely tried, grew weaker day by day, and when the willows
by the brook hung out their gray and gold tassels, and the
maple branch that, all through those long, desolate months,
had tapped with bare, frozen fingers upon the window at
her bed's head, grew rosy red with tips like glowing coral,
it was plain to be seen that the end was fast approaching,
and that lon°- before the longed for summer came, the worn
188 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
out body would be sleeping its last sleep in the little church-
yard, where father, mother and husband had, years before,
lain them down in that dreamless slumber that no earthly
fret or care can ever disturb. A few kindly souls like good
Mrs. Beezely had put aside their unreasoning prejudices,
and in a hundred delicate, thoughtful ways, had helped to
lighten the burden of the sorrowing daughter, and through
her, to make the sick woman's last days as comfortable as
possible.
But while Nora, sincerely grateful for their kindly sympa-
thy, found something of solace in it for her sorrow, her
mother would have neither their presence nor their favors.
"Mr. Flanders is the only visitor that I care to see," was
her invariable reply to any offered service on the part of
the villagers. And day after day the young clergyman sat
by that sick bed, in the midst of those strange surroundings,
soothing, cheering and strengthening the wavering faith that,
in this hour of mental and bodily weakness, was subject to
frequent moods of darkness and distrust.
There were days when she would seem like herself for
the time, and the half playful sobriquet that in one of these
lucid intervals, she had bestowed upon her new friend,
touched his heart deeply with its quaint appropriateness.
''You are like Mr. Greatheart whom the Lord of the
Pilgrims sent to comfort and protect Christiana and her
children on their way to the Celestial City," she whispered
softly, and laying her thin, pale hand with a shyly caress
ing touch upon his arm, "But I think I'm almost through
with my valley of Humiliation," she added, smiling a little
sadly, "and I hope you won't let go my hand when I come
to the dark river— I shall need you most of all then"
"I will go with you as far as flesh and blood may go,"
he responded firmly, although his eyes were misty with
CHURCH MICE. 189
tears, and he resolutely refrained from even a glance at the
bowed head at the bed's foot, lest the sight of her grief
should unman him for the duty before him.
Poor Mrs. Masterman was almost distracted with grief at
her banishment from the bedside of her dying friend, al-
though out of regard for her feelings, the young clergyman
refrained from giving her the daily, almost hourly messages
sent by him, in which commands, reproaches and tender re-
minders were strangely mingled. But the day came at last
when the loyal love of years cast aside every consideration
of prudence and wifely submission, and with tearful deter-
mination the good woman declared her intention of sharing
the last vigils beside the bedside of this dear friend of her
girlhood.
"She's too far gone now," she sobbed, "for Masterman
to carrv out his threat, and as f 'r me, a few hard words more
or less don't signify. He can't more'n kill me," she added
pathetically, "and I'd rather die, when it comes ter that,
than not look upon Avis Metcalfe livin' face once more."
And so it was arranged that with the falling of the early
twilight the two should set out together for that dreaded
yet longed-for visit that must in all human probability be
their last.
Mrs. Beezelv. who had been spending the afternoon at the
old church, appeared at the tea table with tear-swollen eyes,
and the sad announcement :
"The poor soul is goin' fast — she won't last longer 'n the
turn o' the night."
It had been a damp, chilly, uncomfortable day, and as
the night closed in, a thick grey mist rose from the river,
shrouding every object in its damp folds and giving a strange
spectral look to the familiar landscape, as Mr. Flanders and
his companion silently picked their way through the melting
190 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
snow and slush that obstructed the river road, making it
almost impassable for any but foot travellers.
The ice had been breaking up all day, and as they paused
for a moment just outside the village to take breath and
get their bearings in the obscurity, the hoarse roaring of the
waters was almost deafening, and united with the crashing
and grinding of the great masses of ice tossing helplessly in
the wildly swirling waters, had something in it actually ter-
rific to unused ears.
Mrs. Masterman's voice sounded far off and faint amidst
the ceaseless roar, while there was a note of apprehension
in it as she said: "There's an awful sight of ice above
the dam — it's been pilin' up higher an' higher all the after-
noon, and if the dam should give way — Lord help us ! half
the village 'd go."
Her companion's heart gave a quick bound and he strained
his eyes to get a look at the foaming, tossing waves, that
like white-maned lions, leaped fiercely up from the inky
depths below, only to be swallowed the next instant in the
black gaping abyss from which they sprang.
"Do you suppose there is really any danger?" he asked
anxiously, remembering all at once that he had seen groups
of idle and evidently disturbed men hanging about the river
bank and talking low and hurriedly together all the after-
noon. Could it be that the disaster that the rich mill owner
had heretofore scouted the possibility of, was actually about
to overtake him ?
Mrs. Masterman paused for a full minute before she an-
swered his question, and then it was with evident reluctance
that she spoke : ' ' 'Taint f 'r me to say whether there is or
aint any danger ; but I've had queer feelin's of late, as if
somethin' dretful was goin' to happen. Minervy and her
father think I'm only a silly, notional old woman, but some-
CHURCH MICE. 191
how I can't shake off the creepy feelin' that comes over me
when I hear the river roarin' as it does to-night, and re-
member that 'twas jest twenty years ago this very night
that old Squire Metcalf died, and it seems as if I could
hear him now, whisperin' through his stiffenin' lips :
'I trust you Lib never to let my child want for a friend.' "
"I'm sure you've tried your best to fulfil the trust," re-
sponded her companion, and without further comment, the
two passed on, nor spoke again until through the mists, a
pale, nickering light from the windows of the old church
gave the welcome signal that their tiresome walk was almost
over.
Slowly, wearily the hours of that sad night slipped by ;
ten, eleven, twelve sounded from the tall old-fashioned clock
in the corner, and still that white, thin face upon the pillow
wore the same frozen, changeless calm, while from the pale
lips only a faint sigh, now and then, told to the silent
watchers about her bed that the soul still lingered in its
frail tenement of flesh.
It was no time now for words of comfort, as Paul Flan-
ders sadly realized. No warm human touch had power to
arrest those feet already pressing the sands of the dark river,
while the death dulled ear was for the first time unheedful
of Love's soft whisper, or of the hot tears that fell like
summer rain upon her still face.
It was scarcely past midnight, and the muffled roar of
the river alone broke the awful stillness, when all at once, a
heavy footfall sounded in the porch without, and the next
moment the door was flung rudely open and the burly form
of Masterman strode half way across the nave, where,
checking his steps and shading his eyes with one hand from
the light, he glanced sharply about him until his gaze fell
upon the form of his terrified wife, who, having risen from
192 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
her seat at the bed's head, had advanced a few steps, with
uplifted palms, as if to ward off his farther approach.
'•What did I tell you?" he growled, in a voice hoarse
with passion, and lifting his clenched hand, he shook it
menacingly.
"I mistrusted I'd find you here, you traitor ! And now, by
the living God that made us, I'll — "
He stopped, abashed and horror stricken, and stared with
wide open eyes at the death-white face of the dying woman,
who, in his angry excitement, he had not before seen. But
his loud tones had, for an instant, had the power to call back
the outward bound spirit, and the death-dimmed eyes slowly
unclosed, while a smile, so sweet and restful that none who
saw ever forgot it, played for a moment about the pale lips
as they softly murmured :
"In my Father's — house are — many — mansions." The
soft voice died away into eternal silence, houseless and
homeless here, she rested at last in the Blessed Mansions of
Eternal Peace.
Tenderly passing his hand over the sightless eyes, Paul
Flanders sank upon his knees by the side of the weeping
girl, heedless of the sudden confusion, the loud clang of
bells that rang out in fierce alarm upon the midnight air,
and the cry of mingled apprehension and terror with which
Masterman rushed madly from the building.
"The mill bell is ringing, the dam has given way," ex-
plained Mrs. Masterman, as, a half hour later, they stood
together at the outer door listening to the frightful uproar
whose echoes reached their ears even at that distance.
She spoke with an indifference that surprised her listener,
as he remembered that this disaster meant great loss, possi-
bly ruin to her and hers. But he made no comment as
she went on in softened tones :
CHURCH MICE.
193
"You had best send Mis' Beezely over here right off, and
if you will look out and see that all the preparations f ' r
the funeral are made decently and in order, I wish you
would. Poor Nora ain't got another friend in the world
that she can look to at this time."
"Another friend that she can look to!" did ever words,
so homely in themselves, sound so sweet to mortal ears?
And it seemed to the young man as he walked swiftly
homeward through the dim gloaming, that the privilege of
sharing even sorrow with Nora Hamlin was a thousand
times more blessed than all the solitary joys and blessings
that even the happiest life could give.
In a few hours the waters receded, but they left among
other ruins that of the new church, whose flimsey propor-
tions were unable to withstand the force of the freshet, and
went down— painted window and all — into one ignominious
wreck.
Then, when men had time to look about them, and col-
lect their scattered wits, the church question naturally arose
as an important one, and now, as before, the voice of Dave
Masterman decided the matter, once for all :
"Fellow citizens," he said, rising to his feet with a slow
dignity that was impressive in itself :
"I'm a poorer man by ten thousand dollars than I was
six weeks ago, but if you'll vote to buy the old church of
Squire Metcalf s heir, and fit it up in good shape, I'll give a
thousand dollars towards it to begin with, and if you come
short I'll agree to make it up out of my own pocket."
There is always good metal in the man whom adversity
improves, and when, upon the occasion of the minister's
marriage to pretty Nora Hamlin, the bride opened the en-
velope containing the wedding gift of the Mastermans, she
found, beside the generous sum that might have been ex-
194 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
pected, a slip of paper upon which was scrawled in Dave's
unmistakable chirography :
"That which he labored for shall he restore ; according
to his substance shall the restitution be."
/T\arjorie s ^pi^t.
marjorie's knight. 197
MARJORIE'S KNIGHT.
Up in the musty, dusty attic of a pleasant lit. Desert
farm-house, sat Marjorie, close to the open window that
looked out from under its queer, pointed frontlet, formed of
an overhanging gable, like an ancient dame of Bohemian
Anne's time, from her horned head-dress, upon broad, sunny
meadows stretching far inland, and studded here and there
with the daisies that wanton mother Nature will scatter
broadcast in spite of the thrifty farmer's frown ; upon the
far-off strip of woodland, in whose grateful shade the cat-
tle idly browsed, or lay in silent contentment, chewing the
cud of past pleasures among the dewy clover and sweet,
succulent grasses, while scarce a quarter of a mile away
the broad, blue ocean flashed and sparkled, and condescend-
ingly bent its gemmed forehead to the light morning breeze
that danced and hovered about it, like a gallant of the
olden time in attendance upon the toilette of a duches3.
Marjorie's head was bent over her book, and the soft,
bright color crept slowly up over her fair, girlish forehead,
as she read the, to her, never old story of the besieged cas-
tle of the cruel Norman baron, of the gallant Ivanhoe, sick
and helpless within, attended only by the lovely Jewish
maiden, and, best of all, the grand final assault of the be-
siegers under the leadership of the brave Black Knight,
and the scarcely less heroic Locksley, with his band of
merry outlaws, whose hardihood and skill contributed so
greatly towards deciding the fortunes of the day in favor of
right, justice and imperilled innocence.
198 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Marjorie drew a long breath of relief as, in imagination
she seemed to hear the triumphant shouts of the victors :
"For St. George and Merrie England,"
and the book slid softly from her unheeding fingers,
while her deep, dreamy eyes wandered with a tender
contentedness over the fair, familiar landscape, and a smile,
too kind for disdain, too mischievous for tenderness, curved
her red lips as she saw, swinging his scythe with the free-
dom and grace that long practice and strong arms only can
give, the tall figure of Cyrus Harding, their nearest neigh-
bor, whose mowing field was within full view of her favor-
ite window.
"If Cyrus could only have lived in those days." she
thought, resting her dimpled chin upon the low window
seat and watching with lazy interest, the fragrant swaths,
wide and deep, that lay withering in the mower's track,
"what a grand knight he would have made ! 'Brave?' there
isn't a man on the coast more fearless in storm and gale
than he. 'Gentle and kind to the weak and helpless?" see
the sacrifices that he makes every day of his life for that
old bedridden stepmother, who made his boyhood wretched,
and never, by any chance, gives him a grateful word even
now. 'True to God and his lady love?' why, he would
sooner die than do a dishonorable or wicked deed and as
for—"
"Marjorie! Marjorie! where in the world are you,
child? Here's all them peas to shell for dinner ; hurry up,
do !" rang out loud and clear from some shadowy region
below stairs, and the dreaming maiden sprang to her feet,
her cheeks as red as the unplucked strawberries falling be-
neath Cyrus' restless blade, and something like shame in
the now shy eyes as she hastened to obey her mother's call.
marjorie's knight. 199
Now good dame Duninore hadn't the smallest idea of
that fair, secret chamber in her child's brain, where gor-
geous fancies ran riot, and an altar to noble deeds and
grand, chivalric self-sacrifices stood decked with the stain-
less blossoms of girlish faith and trust, renewed each day
by loving communion with the great souls of another clime
and age.
To a girl less sensible, less contented, or less healthful,
both in body and mind, than was Marjorie, this constant
association with the lofty and idyllic sentiments of a chival-
ric. vet in many things, scarce civilized age, might, prob-
ably would, have been harmful in more ways than one. She
would have reversed the scriptural simile by trying to put
upon the sober, calm-hued garment of the present, patches
from the glowing, yet moth-eaten tapestries of the Past ;
thus dimming and belittling the life of to-day, that, lived
up to its fullest capacity, is capable of nobler, grander,
even more beautiful possibilities than any of the past cen-
turies, with the cobwebs of ignorant superstitions and cruel
prejudices clinging to its gorgeous skirts. But Marjorie,
with all her enthusiastic devotion to the grand and heroic
ideals of the Past, had yet the rare gift of separating the
real from the fanciful ; of wondering at and delighting in
the gilded pageantries, the nodding plumes, the flashing ar-
mor and silken pennons, with their witching splendors and
hidden mysteries, and then laying them aside for the time,
like some beautiful picture, while in her heart the noble as-
pirations, the heroic self-sacrifices, and the patient stead-
fastness that moved those mailed arms to strike boldly for
"God and the Right," found their natural soil and spread
their roots deep and wide, undisturbed by crowding discon-
tent or fantastic aspirations after the unattainable.
200 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
And now, as she sat upon the shaded back porch, her
lap full of the pale green pea-pods, busy at work upon her
homely task, never a thought of discontent or self-pity
marred the sweet serenity of her mind. She only thought
— without thinking that she was thinking — of how wonder-
fully the wild morning glory, creeping over the low rail
fence, had kept its early freshness in spite of the fierce sun-
shine that had for hours been showering its shining arrows
thick and fast upon it ; and of the two brave little householders
who had built their tiny fortress in the lilac bush, so near
that she could almost touch it with her hand, and whose
bright, sharp eyes watched her with a trustful fearlessness
as she sat at work, as much as to say : —
u Of course, a great creature like you has better work on
hand than to molest a poor little hedge sparrow !"
And as Cyrus Harding's work brought him nearer to his
neighbor's boundary Hue, and she could see more distinctly
his sun-browned, handsome face, she smiled, with a kind of
tender mischievousness, at the odd fancies that just then
crossed her mind : —
"If, instead of having been born a peaceful farmer, and
using his strong arms in mowing down innocent grasses to
feed to his cattle through the long, cold winter, Cyrus had
lived in those old days when the husbandman's toil was low
and menial, and a knightly sword was the only honorable
blade that a man could wield, he should have buckled on
armor and gone to fight the Saracens in the far-away Holy
Land, I wonder what he would have chosen for the motto
on his shield? I think" — with a glance at the determined,
self-controlled face of the young roan — "I think he would
have preferred 'Excelsior' to anything else, but I'm not
sure ; I mean to ask him."
mabjorie's knight. 201
And as the mower paused a moment from his toil, and
leaning against the old elm in the corner, removed his
coarse straw hat to let the fresh breeze cool his hot fore-
head, she ran lightly down the lane to where he was stand-
ing, eager to see if her fanciful surmise would prove cor-
rect.
••Oh, Cyrus ! I was just thinking something about you !"
How the sunburned face brightened and the straight-forward
gray eyes grew luminous with tenderness, as the long-sup-
pressed love of the soul within glanced for an instant from
those tell-tale loop-holes in her earthly tower, then shyly
withdrew herself, as he asked, with an effort at easy pleas-
antry : —
••Of me, Marjorie? were you thinking that at this rate I
shouldn't get all my grass down, in the field, to-day?'*
••Nonsense," and Marjorie pretended to pout a little. *'I
was thinking if you had lived four or five centuries ago. and
had been one of the knights that went to fight for the Holy
Sepulchre, what you would have chosen for your motto or
watchword."
Cyrus leaned hard against the rough tree trunk, and
looked gravely, questioningly into the bright girlish face.
••What did y ou think?" he asked.
Marjorie's eves looked the innocent admiration that an
unawakened heart had not yet taught her to conceal.
"Why, I know how ambitious and earnest you are in all
you undertake, so / thought 'Excelsior' would have been
likelv to be your favorite watchword."
He smiled, but there was no mirth in his smile, only the
patient steadfastness of a determined, yet sorely-beset soul.
"I don't know what my motto would have been in the
old days that you love to read of, but I know what it is. and
must be now, and always — perhaps."
14
202 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Marjorie looked up at him inquiringly, but his eyes were
upon the ground, and from his dry lips came the low spoken
reply :—
"I know so little of Latin that plain English must serve
my turn even here. It is fate, destiny — whatever pretty
sounding name you choose to give it — that forces me to
square my life to fit my motto : 'Not my own, but
another's.' "
The girl's fair face brightened approvingly.
"That's a noble, more unselfish sentiment than the one I
chose for you," she said, laying her hand with a half play-
ful, half caressing motion upon the shapely one resting upon
the low fence beside which they were standing .
For an instant the young man hesitated, then withdraw-
ing his hand from the touch of those soft, warm fingers, he
said, with a sadness that unsuspicious Marjorie could not
fathom : —
"It may be noble — I know it is right, but — oh, Mar-
jorie ! it will strip my life as bare of all brightness and joy
as the waves have stripped that beach lying down there,
white and dry and lifeless, of every bit of life and verdure."
Marjorie's eyes sought his for an instant in grave bewil-
derment, then filling slowly with tears of tenderest sympa-
thy, as she comprehended something of his meaning, she
said, gently : —
"I know how hard it is, Cyrus, and what a burden you
have to bear, and my heart aches for you when I see you
going, tired and hungry, back to the home that I know isn't,
and never has been, a home to you since you were a little
child. But God is good, and — " the sweet face was up-
lifted reverently, while a hopeful smile crept into the dark,
soft eyes — "He will not let you bear this burden forever ; it
must be uplifted in time," she added, checking herself as
kabjokde's knight. 203
she remembered that only death in this rase, could remove
the weight from those patient shoulders, that had, for so
many years, borne it with such uncomplaining cheerfulness.
He made no reply to her last words, but as he resumed
his work he said in a tone so low that the words scarcely
reached her ear above the sharp click of the scythe, and
were so strangely interwoven with the hum and whirr of bee
and grasshopper all around them, that, for years afterward,
she never heard the one without thinking of the other.
••Lifted ! — but too late, it may be."
He said no more, not even looking in her direction, as.
with renewed energy, like one who bravely readjusts the
burden of life to shoulders that had, for an instant, drooped
beneath its weight, and carries it strongly and naturally
once more, he bent his well-trained limbs to the familiar
labor, looking. Marjorie thought, as she dreamily watched
him from the sheltering elm's shadows, like some strong
armed swimmer in a sea of green, whose purple and white-
capped waves, dancing in the sunshine, had no cruel rocks
or treacherous quicksands beneath their smiling surface to
work him harm.
"Marjorie ! Marjorie '."
••Yes. mother."
It was the usual ending to the girl's day-dreams, but it
never irritated nor jarred upon her moods in the least. No
home sounds ever did or could do that, for her daily out-
ward life had hitherto been in perfect rhythm with the inner.
The far-off din of knightly contests, the love song of the
troubadour, and the faint, sweet chime of convent bells, all
blended so naturally with the ever-varying, never-old voice
of the sea upon the rocky coast of her New England home,
the pleasant, familiar home voices, and even the fierce,
wintry winds that roared and laughed and shouted their
204 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
boisterous challenge to the ever-defiant waves, that she felt
no incongruity, no disappointing contrasts between them.
One was as much a part of her life as the other, and neither
had power to belittle or render commonplace the other in
her eyes.
And he — knight, swimmer, old playmate and present
friend by turn, just where the fancy of the moment chanced
to place him — as he went about his work, silent and solitary,
strove hard, as he had done many and many a time before,
to hush the sweet song of that nestling in his heart, whose
soft note telling of hope and love to which, in his spotless
young manhood he surely had a right, he had not the courage
to turn a wholly deaf ear. And yet —
He looked abroad upon the well-tilled acres loaded with
the summer's bounteous gifts ; the long, low, comfortable
farm-house not far away, and to seaward where the furled
sails and tapering masts of his trim fishing smack gleamed
white against the blue of the summer sea, and the still,
deep blue of the summer sky, and a contented smile crept
over his bronzed and bearded face as he remembered that
so far as this world's goods went, he was pretty Marjorie's
equal and need not fear the parental rebuffs that the impe-
cunious wooer is so apt to meet.
But as his glance came back to the brown, many gabled
farm-house— his own birth-place and that of his father
before him — the smile faded, and a pain, not entirely free
from bitterness, lowered in his dark eyes as he remembered
the miserable woman sheltered beneath its roof, who, from
his earliest boyhood, had poisoned every cup of happiness
for him, and who now stood between himself and the woman
he loved — a barrier that his own love was too tender and
true to overpass.
marjorie's knight. 205
Could he ask that girl, scarcely more than a child in her
experiences of life, to leave the home of which she was the
cherished idol, and bind herself down to years, maybe, of
weary servitude upon his bed-ridden step-mother? He
imagined the grieved, discouraged look growing upon her
glad voung face at the shrewish invalid's taunts and fault-
findings : he remembered his own weary hours of thankless
watchfulness, his years of unappreciated toil and care, and
the blithe bird song in his heart sank to a low. sobbing mur-
mur, that had little of hope and less of joy in its sad re-
frain.
••Spare her ! Spare her !"
••Yes." he said to himself, as he resolutely bent him to
his toil. "I will spare her the wretchedness and discomfort
that, as my wife, she would be forced to meet. God help-
ing me. I'll bear my burdens alone to the end."
And strangely enough. Marjorie's thoughts, as she leis-
urely obeyed her mother's summons, ran in something the
same channel as those of her friend. She, too. thought of
the young man's hard, loveless lot ; of the noble life of self-
denial and patient toil which friends and neighbors mar-
veled at and praised, even when incapable of estimating
the greatness of his sacrifices : of the cheerless, untidy
house to which he ever carried a cheerful, hopeful face, and
in true womanly fashion she began to feel a housewifely
loDging to set things right over there ; to tidy up the quaint
old rooms, and restore the order and neatness that had
reigned there before its capable mistress had been stricken
down in the strength and vigor of middle age, and left her
cherished household goods to the careless and irreverent
touch of a hireling.
After all, there was some excuse for Jane Harding's for-
getfulness and impatience. To lie helpless and idle upon
206 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
her bed, day after day. and see the waste and havoc made
by incapable help, was enough to try the patience of a far
better woman than the shrewish mistress of the Harding
homestead, who was forced to look helplessly on. year after
year, and see everything going to destruction.
It is doubtful if another heart in all that neighborhood
had found as many excuses for the unpopular woman, in
years, as Marjoiie's tender and sympathetic one had created
in the last few minutes : for, unsocial and quarrelsome in
health, invalidism had brought little improvement to the
sick woman, and consequently little sympathy for her was
felt by her neighbors and acquaintances.
None understood this better than did Marjorie, and yet
her own heart was very pitiful just now toward the unhappy
step-mother of Cyrus Harding, as if some of the manly for-
bearance and charity of his nature had taken root in her
own gentler heart, and bloomed into tender excuse and pity-
ing fancies that found no opportunity for speech just then,
as her mother hurriedly greeted her with : —
'•Here. Marjy I I wish you'd pick over these currants
for me. It won't do to let 'em set any longer or my jelly
won't be thicker'n cream."
Marjorie received the pan with willing hands, and seating
herself in a shady corner of the piazza, from which she
could watch both sea and shore, and have a fair view of the
narrow, grass-rimmed highway that led down to the beach,
and was usually lively with groups of summer boarders
from the hotels farther inland, who found this a pleasant
promenade when the view was not obscured by fogs or the
walking rendered disagreeable by dampness or dust. Just
now two girls, unmistakably metropolitan in dress and walk,
came strolling aimlessly along, evidently on the lookout for
something to interest themselves about, and pausing as they
MARJORIE S KNIGHT.
207
came opposite the cottage, leaned over the gate and looked
long and curiously at Marjorie and her surroundings.
Naturally Marjorie looked back at them, taking her pri-
vate observations with a coolness and ease that long ac-
quaintance with the habits of the fashionable tourist had
given her. even under far more embarrassing circumstances
than the present ones.
She saw two girl faces, not many years, it seemed, older
than her own. but already wearing the signs of a marked
individuality, as if each, in her own way, had decided the
question of life once for all. even before her teens had
bloomed into the twenties.
The one with the fluffy, yellow bangs, low down upon
her forehead, and the touch of red in her girlish cheek, that
even Marjorie could see was not genuine, had a lazy, un-
concerned air. as if. like the wild dog roses growing in the
hedge beside her. and touching with shy, rustic wonder the
crisp white muslin of her dainty Mother Hubbard gown,
she knew that all things, storm as well as shine, would but
ripen her delicate charms, and that the scarlet beauty <:>i
the autumn "hips" might be as lovely in its way as the rosv
petals that Time would scatter at last, let them be never so
carefully guarded.
Marjorie had seen scores of just such faces, and some-
times she had wondered if life really was such an idle, care-
free plav-dav for them as it seemed : but the other face was
of a tvpe new even to her. and she studied it with a nesv
and unusual interest.
The brown hair was drawn smoothly away from the
broad, white forehead, without a ripple or crinkle in defer-
ence to the reigning style : her hat was intended for shade
rather than show, and beneath its brim glanced out a pair
of dark, restless eyes— eager, bright, watchful.
208 RE -TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE .
"Looking, for all the world," thought simple Marjorie,
4 'as those of poor Queen Margaret must have looked, when
that foolish, fond old father of hers tried, with a lot of silly
mummeries, to make her forget her broken heart and her
lost crown."
Suddenly the girl with the bangs called out in the uncere-
monious fashion affected by girls of her type : —
"Is there any objection to our taking a rest upon that
shady piazza of yours?"
"None in the least," smiled Marjorie ; "you are perfectly
welcome to come in and sit as long as you please. I'll
bring you out some chairs," she added, hospitably, as the
visitors glanced rather doubtfully at the hard, old wooden
settee that nobody but her father considered a comfortable
seat.
And she brought out a couple of easy, pretty willow
rockers, placing them just inside the shadow cast by the
hop vine, and as her guests sank into them with evident
satisfaction, she resumed her own low seat and her pan of
currants, with an utter unconsciousness of observation that
puzzled, and perhaps piqued, the city girls, who really ex-
pected that she would have blushed and stammered a little
at any rate beneath the battery of two pairs of critical, met-
ropolitan eyes.
They chatted away to each other, the one of balls and
dresses and beaux ; and the other of art, literature, and the
current news of the day ; but not even a glance could they
win from the little, quiet figure, threading the scarlet fruit
leisurely through her slender fingers, and looking, as she
sat there, so cool and fresh and winsome, w^ith the shadow
of the wind-stirred vine leaves dancing saucily upon the
dark, wavy hair, and touching, with demure mischievous-
ness. the toe of the little slippered foot peeping just beyond
marjorie's knight. 209
the hem of her dress, so like a picture that even the fashion-
able miss with the bangs recognized with a start the fact
that one could really be pretty— yes, and picturesque, too,
in a calico gown made with a sacque and skirt.
It was evidently of no use to talk at this queer, little,
unimpressible country girl, and she of the bangs, encouraged
by a glance from her companion, boldly began to question
her after a fashion of her own : —
"Don't you ever get tired of living this stupid, country
life, from year to year, and long to see something of the
outside world, with its bustle and brightness and splendor?"
"And its wonderful stores of food for the mind and
taste?" interposed the other.
Marjorie shook her head, while an amused smile passed
over her face.
' 'A winter seldom passes that I do not visit Boston or
New York with my father, and I enjoy the excitement of
the trip very much, but I am always glad to be at home
again."
'•But how do you amuse yourself through the long, cold
winter?" questioned the first speaker; "I should think you'd
dry up and blow away."
Marjorie laughed outright.
"Winter is the farmer's holiday," she said brightly;
"and we have plenty of sleigh rides and social dances
among ourselves. Then at home I have my books and— I
could hardly find time to be discontented if I were disposed
to be ; there is so much to do."
"To do!" echoed one girl with a kind of pitying wonder.
"AVork is the best of all panaceas for care or loneliness !"
grimly appended the other.
Marjorie looked from one to the other in a maze of inno-
cent bewilderment. Why would these girls insist upon re-
210 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
garding her, in her pleasant happy home, as a wretched
victim of an untoward fate that had condemned her, a thor-
ough child of nature, to dwell closer to that great all-moth-
er's heart than themselves ? What queer notions they must
have ! Why, she could no more live out of hearing of that
grand, ever-changing, rhythmic sea, than she could live
without air and sunshine. A holiday in the city was pleas-
ant and entertaining, but a home there ! why her whole na-
ture would, in a little while, become as shriveled and sap-
less as one of those transparent beech leaves that cling to
the parent bough, in spite of wind and snow, the long win-
ter through, with nothing of life left them but the form and
the capacity for clinging.
"You spoke of your books — what do you read?"'
It was the girl with the restless eves who asked this ques-
tion, and in reply Marjorie rose and led the way into the
pretty, shaded sitting-room adjoining the piazza where they
were sitting.
"There are my books," she said, simply, pointing to a
neat open book-case whose half dozen shelves were filled
with uniformly covered volumes.
"There are not a great many, but," she added, naively,
"they are all so good that I never get tired of reading them
over and over again."
Miss Dustan stepped quickly to the book-case and began
to read the names upon the backs of the books : "The Wav-
erley's, first and foremost ; Bulwer's, John Burrough's
works, and Thoreau's — whew ! Whittier and Celia Thaxter
for poets — well, well ! Who selected your books for you ?'
she asked abruptly.
And Marjorie smiled, a little embarrassed for the first
time.
marjorie's knight. 211
"I did, all except the Waverleys, and those have been in
the house since long before I was born. I grew up on them,
and I loved them so well that I never could endure anything
that seemed lower, less grand— you know what I mean. I
don't like books about feople so well, because they all fall
short of my ideals, but I love to read of things, of birds and
brooks and trees. That's why I chose those other books
instead of the stories that almost everybody recommended,
for they never grate against the books I love best, or set
my teeth on edge to read something from the two in the
same day."
The girl with the bangs smiled uncomprehendingly. but
her companion's face brightened with a touch of genuine
sympathy.
"I take the idea," she said tersely, "and I'll see if I
can't bring it down to your comprehension."
The other nodded, half indifferently. She had not
dreamed of any intended sarcasm in that slightly emphasized
word. Why should she ? The silken cushion, filled with
down, would never have known a dint if King Richard had
hacked at it with his ponderous battle-axe for a week and a
day.
4 • Well," began the self-elected interpreter, '-last winter I
had a plush sacque, of the loveliest garnet shade that I
ever saw, — it was exquisite — a poem on Italian sunsets. I
used to think, when I took the time to admire its soft, warm,
glowing tints, and— well, you know I'm not one of those
who believe the woman was made for the fig-leaf apron in-
stead of the apron for her— but honestly, I did come prec-
ious near making an idol of that sacque. But one unlucky
day I was foolish enough to be attracted by a silk of the
same color, although the shade was a brighter and more
fashionable one, and my dressmaker assured me that it
212 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
would be a lovely match for my precious sacque. So 1
bought it, and when I put on the two together I just cried
with disgust. The dress, without being really half as beau-
tiful or rich or costly, actually spoiled the sacque. Its
bold, bright newness, made the richer, more mellow tints of
the plush look dull and faded beside it, and I was as angry
as if a wrong had actually been done to my favorite gar-
ment. I hung that dress away in my closet, and a few
weeks later I contributed it toward a box of clothing that
our church was making up to send to a Dakota missionary.
Now, do you understand why this young person dislikes
the modern novel after being saturated with mediaeval ro-
mance
?»
•'I tumble," was the languid response — slang seemed to
be getting almost as fashionable as bangs ; perhaps in rhyth-
mical minds one suggested the other ; at any rate, this
daintily-reared girl, with every advantage on her side, spoke
it as naturally as if it had been her mother tongue.
Her friend frowned slightly.
"Come !" she said in her short, abrupt manner, turning
her face toward the door, and then, with something more of
courtesy than she had yet shown, she thanked Marjorie for
her hospitality, and rather hesitatingly expressed a desire to
keep up the acquaintance. This was something not at all
after the fashion of summer guests usually, but there was
an honest straightforwardness about this girl, in spite of her
crispness, that won upon our little cottage maiden from the
very first, and before many days had passed, her daily calls
at the cottage had ceased to excite the surprise of its in-
mates, while Marjorie, for the first time in her life, had
found a friend to whom she could confide all her poetic fan-
cies without the least fear of being misunderstood or
laughed at.
marjorie's knight. 213
Miss Dustan, on her side, took all the keen interest of a
student of human nature in this bright, glad young creature,
to whom sorrow and care were but a name, and who had
grown up as unconscious of her own loveliness as the sweet
peas that nodded and blushed at them from behind the trel-
lis work of the piazza, to which they clung
It was a satisfaction, too, to talk of her own life — its aims,
ambitions and hopes, to this sympathetic and warm-hearted
child-maiden, without fear of criticism or betrayal on her
part ; and the proud, reserved young authoress — for such
Miss Dustan was — talked of her work, past, present and
future ; of the disappointments she had borne ; the small
successes she had achieved, and the great successes which
she confidently believed the future had in store for her.
Later on, as one who brings forth from his cabinet for
another's inspection his rarest and most cherished gem last
of all, she spoke of her brother, the only near relative that
she had living ; whose tastes and pursuits were the same as
her own, although, as she laughingly admitted, he was too
indolent to take the trouble to do his best except upon some
rare occasion when something happened to stimulate him to
extraordinary efforts.
* 'He says," she remarked one day, in her half tender,
half-whimsical fashion, "that without me he would be only
half a man. That the lire, the energy, the go, are all on
my side, and that if I were to leave him he would be com-
pletely crippled mentally, and in time would come down to
the merely animal, where all the hopes and aspirations of a
lifetime are drowned in the swinish ultimatum : 'Let us eat
and drink, for to-morrow we die.' "
"He is wrong there," gravely argued honest Marjorie.
"No heart ought to lean too hard upon that of another ; it
isn't good for either."
214 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
The other turned suddenly pale, and pressed her hand,
with a quick, half-stealthy movement, to her side.
"I shall live as long as he needs me," she said in a tone
of such concentrated passion that gentle-hearted Marjorie
looked at her in uncomprehending silence. This fierce de-
fiance of Fate for Love's sake was something new and inex-
plicable to her, and as she pondered over it in secret a ten-
der sympathy sprung up in her heart for the two whose
lives were so closely interwoven that the severing of the
tie between them meant worse than death to the survivor.
As the summer waned and the summer birds flitted, Mar-
jorie's friend flitted too, leaving behind her many pleasant,
and not a few puzzling memories wherewith our simple little
maiden bewildered her brain in a vain attempt at compre-
hension.
As the companion of an idle hour, the young authoress
had been bright, crisp and entertaining, but as a guide
through the inevitable mysteries and windings of the human
life, Marjorie instinctively shrank from and doubted her.
Her one aim, object and hope in life was an utterly selfish
one, and only that one sisterly love stood between her heart
and utter barrenness. "Every-one for himself" comprised
her gospel from Genesis to Revelations, and, in a refined,
lady-like way, of course, she lived up to it.
Her liking for Marjorie had been a purely artistic affair,
and she had studied her with the eager interest of a painter,
intent upon reproducing a rare type of feminine beauty.
She had felt from the first that she would be useful to her,
this bright, imaginative, joyous creature ; even her gentle
domestic virtues would, if cunningly portrayed, help make
up a "taking" character with the reading public, and as she
bade her good-bye to Mount Desert and went back to the
busy, congenial life of the city, she secretly congratulated
MARJORIES KXI'.HT.
215
herself upon the results of her summer's work and rejoiced
in anticipation of the charming figure that all unconsciously
little Marjorie would make in her forthcoming story.
Perhaps, too. she found inspiration in the rugged, roman-
tic scenery of the place, for, later in the season, Marjorie
heard, with considerable interest, of the arrival of Red-
mond Dustan and a party of friends at South West Harbor,
and she naturally concluded that, as it was his first visit to
that locality, he must have been greatly influenced by his
sister's descriptions of its beauties, to trust his yacht at that
inclement season in the often turbulent and boisterous wa-
ters of the bay.
It was only a flying visit that the young man made to the
now deserted scene of the summer's gayeties, and one morn-
ing Marjorie. from her favorite attic window, watched the
trim little craft sailing blithely out of the harbor as disdain-
ful of . or indifferent to. the sullen roar of the turbulent
waves, or the brent brow of the November sky, as if she
bore a charmed life in her sturdy, well-balanced hull.
Maijorie watched her out of sight, and then her practiced
eye scanned the lowering sky and sea with a look of grave
concern.
'•It promises rough weather." she said to herself, as she
passed thoughtfully down the stairs, "and they would have
been wiser to have waited here until the blow was over."
In the night, more than once, she was awakened by the
frantic howling of the wind and the near thunder of the
surf, and each time she thought, with natural anxiety, of
the yacht and its amateur crew, and hoped that they had
been wise enough to seek a safe harbor before the gale had
run to its present fearful height.
For two days the storm continued with unabated fury,
but on the third there was a lull— ••only a breather," far-
216 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
mer Dunmore called it, but a token, nevertheless, that the
worst was over, for that time, at least, and Marjorie, re-
membering the adventurous little vessel tossing somewhere
(by God's mercy) away off in that wild, black waste of
waters, took heart once more and hoped for the best.
But her father came home to dinner that day with a cloud
upon his face and the startling news : —
"A dispatch came this forenoon for that young Dustan,
saying his sister was dying and he must come home as
quick as possible. As he wasn't here to answer they sent
another to Taylor, of the House, where she stayed last
summer, asking him to find him and give him the dispatch
right off."
The tears sprung to Marjorie's eyes.
"Oh, father ! this is dreadful ; and nobody knows where
he is, to send it to him, I suppose?"
"Ye-es." The farmer was a slow spoken man, and
besides his dinner was occupying a good deal of his atten-
tion just then, but he appreciated his daughter's anxiety,
and added as soon as he was able : —
"They say the yacht is anchored off Gull Point, but who-
ever tries to reach 'er in this sea goes on peril of 'is life —
as I told Cy. Harding."
" WAo?"
Marjorie's cheeks were white as the driven snow, but her
father was too intent upon his dinner to notice her.
"Cy. Harding," he repeated. "He said if there was
any two men that would go with 'im an' help man the dory,
he'd agree to carry the dispatch to young Dustan. It was
a dretful resky thing, an' I told 'im so. Says I, you'll have
ter row all of twenty mile in a sea that no man in 'is senses
would ventur' on, an' 'tain't really a case of life or death
after all.
marjokie's knight. 217
"But he stood firm — there's a good deal o' setness in
that Hardin' blood — an' says he : —
•• -Somebody ought ter go. an' it might as well be me as
anybody.'
" 'Then Jake Miller he says to Taylor, says he : —
" 'I 'spose that young Dustan would pay pooty well for a
job o' this kind?'
•• -Oh, yes, indeed '.' says Taylor; 'there won't be no
trouble there, for he's rich and generous, an' he sets his
eves by that sister o' his.'
" 'Wal,' says Jake, 'I'll resk it, I guess, Cy., if you can
git another man ter go with us.'
" '7V/ go,' called out Dick Dillon, in 'is dare-devil fashion.
'It sha'n't be said that any man in this town dars't ter go
where Dick Dillon don't dars't ter foller.' '
'•And" — Marjorie's pleading eyes asked the question that
her lips refused to speak.
"Yes," went on the unobservant parent, * b an' so they're
goin' ter start out by one o'clock if nothin' don't happen ter
hinder. It's a terrible resk," he added, with a shake of
his gray head, "but if they git there alive with the message
they'll be paid hart somely — no doubt on't."
There was a little sheltered nook among the rocks over-
looking the sea, where Marjorie had played with her dolls
many a time in her childhood, and found a very pleasant
place to read and dream in during her later years, and now,
unobserved, as she thought, she stood there, pale and soli-
tary, to watch the fishing boat and its brave crew depart
upon their hazardous journey.
In spite of her father's insinuations, she knew, only too
well, that Cyrus Harding's object in thus perilling his life
was not the selfish hope of gain, or even the reckless fool-
hardiness of a heedless, unthinking adventurer. There
15
218 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
was surely something higher and nobler in his motives, and
Marjorie felt an answering thrill in her own heart as she
realized the full danger of the endeavor and the amount of
manly courage necessary to face it.
"Marjorie ! — you here?"
Perhaps a fluttering fragment of the crimson scarf that
she had thrown over her head as a protection from the chill-
ing wind had caught his eye ; at any rate he had stepped
aside on his way to the beach, and now stood at her side
looking gravely, but fearlessly, out upon the tossing, foam-
capped waste of water beneath them.
When was ever Marjorie at a loss for words before? Now
her fair face flushed and paled alternately, but she said
nothing, and clasping her hands with a sudden, impetuous
movement, the young man asked eagerly : —
"Did you come here, Marjorie, to give me a good-bye
look that may, very likely, be the last?'"
A tear trembled upon the girl's softly rounded cheek, but
her clear eyes met his unfalteringly.
"Yes, Cyrus, I came on purpose to have a last look at
you, and — you won't think that I underrate the danger, or
am indifferent to it ? I ajn glad of the chance to tell you
how grand and heroic your action seems to me, and how
proud — "
•She stopped suddenly, with downcast eyes and flaming
cheeks, her maiden pride up in arms at once at the incau-
tious admission of her own personal interest in the young
man beside her. But the hour for concealment was past,
now and forever, and as in few, but earnest words he told
his love, he felt that he was doing her no wrong in asking
her to share his toilsome, and, in some respects, uncongen-
ial lot. The tender, timid girl had bloomed all at once into
the brave, helpful woman, willing and able to stand by his
'<,.
"I have not risked my life for mo
n ey
marjorie's knight. 219
side in whatever of trial or temptation life might have in
store for them.
But moments were precious, and, as at parting she
wound her own warm woolen scarf about his neck, she
whispered, half laughing, half tearful: ''Remember, now,
that you wear your lady's colors, and let the gift nerve and
strengthen you to the work before you."
Her soft hand rested for a moment upon his arm, and the
touch was like a royal accolade, encouraging and inciting
him to deeds of daring that he now never doubted his
ability to grapple with.
Several times during that dangerous and wearisome voy-
age his exhausted companions lost heart and courage, and
but for their leader's unfaltering and cheerful determination,
would have given up the difficult quest and sought the
nearest shelter to be found.
But the yacht was reached at last, the dispatch delivered,
and in spite of his grief and anxiety, young Dustan found
thought for a word of praise and gratitude to the brave men
who had risked their lives to bring him this important mes-
sage.
"You have done a brave and humane deed," he said,
"and if you will accept this in remembrance of your ser-
vice you will be doing me another favor."
And he placed in each man's hand a sum of money
larger, perhaps, than they had ever seen at one time before
in their lives, and which only Cyrus Harding refused to ac-
cept.
"I did not peril my life for money," he said, simply.
4 'And I should feel degraded in my own eyes by the accept-
ance of it."
That evening Marjorie, as she heard her father — who
had had the story from Jake Miller — wondering at the
220 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE
young man's refusal of so generous a bounty, clasped her
own precious secret to her heart, and whispered softly, lov-
ingly to that heart : —
"My knight — God bless him! — is as generous as he is
true and brave."
And the deep-voiced sea, calling without in the dim and
dusky distance, seemed, to her girlish fancy, to have sud-
denly grown softer and more tender as, catching the con-
cluding words, it tossed them back to her like an approving
echo : —
"True and brave ! True and brave !''
Stuffing the Thanksgiving M8U.
STUFFING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY. 223
STUFFING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY.
He was a noble fellow, a very prince among turkeys, but
Susy looked upon him with an eye that expressed neither
approval nor satisfaction ; and as the settings un peeped in at
the kitchen window, revealing for a moment the grand pro-
portions of his portly frame, as he reposed in state upon the
spotless pine table, she only muttered to herself as she
brought her rolling pin down with an emphasis upon the
round, white faces of the crackers upon the moulding board :
''He's nothing but an advertisement of my skill in
cookery, and that stupid owl of a Ben. Toothacre will be
more determined than ever to secure my services as a life-
long cook in his establishment. Ugh 1" with a grimace at
the unconscious crackers, "I hate the very sight of his fat,
pimply face with its greedy eyes, and great mouth that can
talk of nothing but victuals, and how he can eat more than
any other man of his size in town — and to think that so
sensible a man as father should be willing to endure, even
cultivate him, just for the sake of the Toothacre acres —
(that's what poor John would call a pun, I suppose,") and
she laughed a little in spite of the tears that filled her eyes
as she silently rolled, chopped and seasoned the savory
mass that was to take the place of the rifled contents of the
deceased fowl's body ; while as the twilight shadows crep
slowly in, making dusky corners in the wide old kitchen,
the gloom settled down more heavily upon her heart, and
tears of sad foreboding stained her cheeks as she recalled
the words of her father the evening before :
224 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"I want you to do your best on this Thanksgiving din-
ner, Susy, for I've asked Benjamin Toothacre and his
mother to eat it with us, "then as he caught the look of vexed
surprise upon his daughter's face, he added, more sternly
than was his wont in speaking to his motherless girl :
"Young Toothacre is a friend of mine, and I expect that
you will treat him accordingly."
Poor John ! Manly, honest, large-hearted, with more
brains than would have sufficed for half a dozen generations
of Toothacres, but alas ! landless or about to be, and Susy
remembered with a pang a bit of news that she had heard
that morning at the village store while she was waiting for
the clerk to do up her paper of raisins :
"It's a hard case," remarked one old loafer to another, in
response to some communication that she had failed to no-
tice, "for John Oakman's a good, smart, steady young man
as you'll find anywhere, but the fact is the old man left the
place in bad shape with a mortgage on it that it takes all he
can rake an' scrape to pay the interest of, an' if Watkins
should foreclose as he threatens to do, why he'll be left
high an' dry, of course."
And here was Susy, an heiress in her own right to the
snug little fortune that had been her mother's— a fortune
that would pay off that terrible mortgage and give the man
she loved a chance to begin life, free and unfettered by the
harrassing burden that had worried his less enterprising and
courageous parent into his grave.
She was a practical little body in spite of some romantic-
girlish notions, and even the rosy glamour of her first love
dream could not blind her to the fact that, but for her fath-
er's unreasonable opposition, John Oakman might be the
unencumbered possessor of a house and farm as well as a
wife to help him care for and enjoy it.
STUFFING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY. 225
"And it's all on account of that hateful Ben Toothacre I"
she sobbed under her breath. "Before he took a notion to
hang round here father was always pleased to see John,
and I've heard him say a hundred times that he was one of
the likeliest young men in town, but now he hardly treats
him with common civility. I wish," with a little k 'jab" of
her mixing spoon into the savory mixture before her, "that
his Thanksgiving dinner would choke him, or," as she
slowly rubbed some dried sage leaves between her plump
palms, "that he'd disapprove of my cookery so much that
he'd never want to taste any more of it."
She smiled, rather confidently it must be confessed, as
she thought how unlikely it was that such a desirable con-
summation should be brought about by her cookery, but
the next moment she sighed heavily as she remembered
poor John eating his lonely Thanksgiving dinner, with no-
body but his snuffy old housekeeper for company, not per-
mitted even so much as a look at the dainties that had had
a thought of him moulded into each and all of them, and
for the first time in her life the active little housekeeper felt
that getting ready for Thanksgiving was a task rather than
a pleasurable excitement, whose fruits were to add new lau-
rels to her own brow, and there was a weary drag to her
step as she sought the closet where her herbs were stored,
for, thanks to some grand-motherly instruction in her child-
ish days, she had never failed, for years, to lay in a stock
each season, of herbs both for medicinal and cooking pur-
poses, all gathered, dried and labelled by her own deft fin-
gers, although the latter precaution seemed almost unneces-
sary in view of the fact that each kind had its own separate
compartment upon its own particular shelf, and it was the
boast of their owner that she "could put her hand upon the
one she wanted in the darkest night that ever was," which
226 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
was the reason perhaps, that she did not consider a light
necessary, although the evening shadows made everything
indistinct in the windowless closet, and her eyes were dim-
mer than usual as she fumbled among the carefully secured
and fragrant bundles for the summer savory whose peculiar
flavor was to add the finishing touch to the almost completed
stuffing.
"Here it is ! There, I've dropped the label !" as a strip
of paper fell fluttering to the floor. "But it's no matter,
anybody can tell summer savory without even looking at it,"
and mechanically rubbing the stiff spikes between her fin-
gers she retraced her steps to the kitchen, and by the time
that her father came in ready for his supper the turkey was
comfortably established in a big baking pan, his wings
meekly folded above his wonderfully distended breast, and
those stately legs, once the pride of the barnyard, now help-
lessly fettered by a bit of cotton yarn.
"All ready for to-morrow, Susy?" queried her father
with a sidelong glance at the unusually grave face bent over
the tea that she was pouring for him.
"Yes, sir."
"Nothing I can do to help you?"
"No, sir."
This curtness was something unusual, and the old man's
fatherly heart gave a throb of pain as he remembered the
look, half surprised, half reproachful, with which his propo-
sition of having the Toothacres to dinner on this, the great
feast day of the people, had been received, and, disguise it
as he might under the names of girlish nonsense and wilful-
ness, he could not help seeing the repugnance with which
Susy received the awkward attentions of their rich, but
coarse minded neighbor, and the unmistakable pain in look
STUFFING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY. 227
and tone that always followed his slighting treatment of her
old playmate and would-be suitor, young Oakman.
"Girls don't always know what is best for 'em," he
mused over his pipe that evening, "but," with a glance at
the trim, graceful figure opposite, "I do wish, myself, that
Toothacre had a little more wit to go with his money."
The tall eight day clock in farmer Harris' kitchen was
just on the stroke of ten the following morning, when the
sound of steps on the piazza and a blundering knock at the
front door announced the arrival of the expected guests,
and in welcoming and helping the old lady remove her
wrappings Susy managed to escape the disagreeably familiar
salutation of the delighted Ben., who was in high feather,
evidently looking upon his invitation to dinner as a decided
hint that his matrimonial projects would be received with
favor whenever he chose to unfold them.
"Benjie's been ready these two hours," remarked Mrs.
Toothacre with a little introductory sniggle, as she shook
out the folds of her best black dress that she had worn to
do honor to the occasion.
"But I told 'im 'twant best to get here too early, before
you'd got your head combed an' yer frock changed. I a'int
forgot when I was young an' had a beau, I should a' been
as mad as a wet hen if he'd a' caught me in my forenoon
rig."
Susy bridled angrily, and Ben. giggled, while father Har-
ris wisely essayed to turn the conversation by opening a dis-
cussion upon the subject of pigs, in which his younger
neighbor took even more interest than farmers generally,
having, as his mother feelingly remarked, "a soft side for
all critters, pigs particularly" and being, moreover, so
well posted in the peculiarities, habits and tastes of that in-
teresting animal that he could carry on a conversation in
228 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
that line without any extra tax upon his very limited supply
of brain power, which was quite a consideration in his case.
Left to the tender mercies of Mrs. Toothacre, Susy was
obliged to listen with all the patience she could muster to a
lengthened dissertation upon the excellencies, social and do-
mestic, of that lady's incomparable son.
"Ther's one thing about Benjie," remarked the dame,
lowering her voice to a confidential undertone and turning
up to Susy's a face just about as expressionless as one of her
own pie plates, "he's an excellent provider, an' anybody
that's kep house knows what a comfort 'tis to have enough
to do with, but" with an impressive uplifting of her skinny,
toil hardened hand, "he don't want what he brings into the
house spoiled in the cooking. Now, he's said to me, time
an' agin, 'marm, I wouldn't marry the handsomest an' best
woman in the world if she didn't know how to cook a din-
ner to suit me.' I remember the first time I mistrusted he
was takin' a notion to you. He come home one night, — he'd
been helpin' yer pa get in his corn, — an' says he, 'marm,
Susy Harris makes the best riz biscuits and doughnuts that
I ever eat in my life. I declare for't, I couldn't eat enough
of 'em.'
" 'No doubt on't,' says I, 'Susy's had practice. She's
kep house for her pa ever since she was thirteen years old,
an' she ought ter know how to cook by this time if she's
ever goin' to.'
"He didn't say much more at the time, but every now
an' then he'd fling them riz biscuits into my face if mine
wan't just up to the mark, an' at last I got out o' patience
an' says I :
" 'Benjie, why don't you get Susy Harris to do your
cookin' altogether? I'm gettin' too old to stan' it much
longer, an' when I give out you'll have tu have somebody.''
STUFFING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY. 229
••He looked at me a minute, an' then he shook his head,
an' says he, solemnly : —
" -Biscuits ain't everything, an' doughnuts ain't every-
thing ; I'll try her mince pies an' cider apple sarce before I
take sech an important step as that.'
ik There. now, that's jest like 'im !" commented the old
lady in an ecstasy of admiration, "He's that prudent in
everything, none o' yer hot headed, rushin' sort, but one
that always looks before he leaps. He won't never ruin
his fammerly with idle speculations, I can tell you."
Susv's rage had had time to cool somewhat, and her sense
of humor was fast getting the ascendency over her temper,
as she asked demurely : —
'•How does he like my pies and apple sauce now that he
has had the opportunity of trying them?''
. . Verv — well — indeed."
The words rolled slowly from the old lady's tongue with
an unctious sweetness that reminded her listener of a well
buttered stick of molasses taffy, and there was a look of
complacent proprietorship in the eyes that rested upon her
face that the young girl felt as an added aggravation.
••Perhaps my cooking taken as a whole might not suit
him so well," she said with tart significance, u and if the
cookery did I'm sure the cook wouldn't."
The old lady laughed placidly.
•Til resk it '." she said, with a glance of maternal pride
at the broad shouldered, heavy browed lubber who was. in
her partial eyes, a perfect model of manly grace and beauty.
t; Benjie 'd be reasonable an' make allowances for all
shortcomins. He'll be a peaceable husband, like his father
before 'im. jest as long as he sees that anybody is doin'
their very best to please 'im."
230 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Susy set her teeth with an angry grip, and even Mrs.
Toothacre was a little shaken out of her motherly abstrac-
tion by the sharpness of her tones as she said curtly : —
"It's nothing to me what kind of a husband he makes,"
then, with a sudden remembrance of the courtesy due to a
guest, she added with an effort : —
"If you will excuse me, now, I will go and see about my
dinner. Pray make yourself comfortable."
"Yes, yes, to be sure !" smiled the easily mollified dame,
and Susy shut the parlor door behind her with a long breath
of relief.
Would this thrice tedious day ever come to an end, and
her father and herself be left in peace to the pleasant quiet
of their own unshared fireside ? But if this day were to
be lengthened into weeks, months, years, a lifetime, perhaps ?
She fairly shuddered at the thought.
"I would rather die to-day," she muttered passionately,
"and," her courage rising with her desperation, "I'll tell
father so this very night. I cannot and will not endure this
any longer," and firm in her resolve, she went about her
duties with a lightened heart and step, intent, for the time,
upon the production of a dinner that should vindicate her
claim to the title of the best cook in town.
And the dinner was a success, as father Harris had fore-
seen when he invited his friends to share it with him. The
potatoes, squash and turnip were mashed smooth as cream
and seasoned to perfection, the cranberry sauce was, for a
wonder, sweetened sufficiently, the pickles were so crisp and
green as to call forth Mrs. Toothacre's housewifely com-
mendation, and the turkey — but Ben Toothacre can speak
for that : —
"I guess I'll take another spoonful of the stuffin', Mr.
Harris," he remarked, stretching his plate half way across
STUFFING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY. 231
the table and bringing his coat sleeve in dangerous proxim-
ity to the butter. l -I must say it's about the best stutfin* I
ever tasted. I could just about eat my weight of it. It's
too bad, ma'am," with a facetious wink at that venerable
dame, "that you can't eat stuffiu'. You don't know how-
good 'tis."
The old lady shook her head regretfully. --Turkey stuf-
fin' always briles on my stomach, and besides," the regret
deepened to a decorous solemnity, "I never can relish turkey
sence my poor husband was taken ten years ago this
Thanksgivin'. You see (a leetle more of the gravy Mr.
Harris), he was dretful tond o' hen turkeys, an' the day
before Thankssivin' he brought home one o' the finest ones
that I ever put my eyes on, an' says he, mow Cinthy, do
yer pertiest,' so I did, an' I dressed it jest as he liked it
best, in jacket an' trowsers, an' " —
•Tn what?" interrupted Susy, in comical amazement.
"Why, with slices o' bacon, of course, what else should
I mean?" retorted the speaker, a little tartly. "An' I put
it on the table, an' he helped me to a piece, an' theu he
helped Benjie to a piece, an' then he helped himself to a
o-ood big piece, an' jest as he was a puttin' the first mouth-
ful to his lips he fell back in a fit an' died before we could
<*et to 'im, an' he never got so ?nuch as a bite o' that hen
turkey after all."
The last words were spoken in a dolorous drawl that con-
trasted so comically with the placid, self-satisfied face of the
speaker, that Susy could not command herself sufficiently to
utter the stereotyped words of condolence that the widow
evidently expected, and an awkward pause ensued, broken
at last, by father Harris, who remarked, with an effort to
appear at ease : —
232
RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"You're in the same pew with me in regard to stuffing.
It always disagrees with me, and I haven't tasted any for
years, while Susy here won't eat it on account of the onions
in it."
Ben. laughed uproariously.
"That's a good one !" he cried, as soon as he could get
his mouth clear enough to speak. '-Who cares if their
breath does smell of onions Thanksgiving day? I'll give
you leave to eat 'em, Susy, an' if / can stand it, I guess
you can," with a leer that made him more disagreeable than
ever, while even father Harris looked disgusted, for the
moment, with his coarse assurance.
The dessert was duly discussed and praised, Ben. espec-
ially, growing fairly enthusiastic over it.
" That's what / call mince pie, ma'am?" taking a huge
mouthful and smacking his lips with an air of intense sat-
isfaction. "None o' your mean, sour, dried up things, with
a crust like sole leather. This is the kind that a man could
plough all day on. - '
"I shouldn't be afraid to set Susy's mince pies alongside
the best cooks in the county," added father Harris, with a
prideful glance at the white, flaky crust, and delicately fla-
vored contents of the pastry before him.
"I wanted her to send some of her cookery to the county
fair — you know they offered premiums for the best bread
and pies — but she wouldn't."
"Why not?" queried Ben, earnestly. "If you hadn't
wanted to go /could a' taken 'em along jest as well as not.
They might a' had as good luck as my Berkshires did. You
knew I got the premium for them?" to Susy.
"Yes, yes."
It was father Harris who answered, and as he spoke he
rose rather hurriedly from the table, anxious to remove the
STUFFING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY. 23o
guests for a time from under Susy's critical eyes, while he
trusted to his own wit and shrewdness to lead the conver-
sation into some more edifying and congenial channel by the
time that she would be ready to join in it again.
The table was cleared and everything in its place only
too soon, and Susy removed, with a sigh, her white check
apron, and with slow and reluctant steps sought the parlor
where her visitors were seated in solitary state, for her
father had been obliged to absent himself for an hour to
attend to some of his farm duties, and the mother and son
had necessarily been left to lind what entertainment they
could in each other's society — not very lively entertainment,
Susy thought, as, on entering the room, she caught sight of
the old lady fast asleep in her chair, while her hopeful son,
evidently exhausted with his trencher duties, lay sprawled
out upon the sofa, his clumsy heels in the air, and his well
greased head resting upon the pretty embroidered sofa pil-
low that she had spent so many precious hours in fashion-
ing.
"The boor!" she thought, Avith a glance of intense dis-
gust at the recumbent figure, asleep, as she supposed. But
as she passed he gave her dress a sudden pull, and as she
paused with a look of angry astonishment in her eyes, he
whispered, with a significant nod in the direction of his
sleeping parent : —
"Set down, jest a minute, Susy. I want to tell you
something — clo3't up, so't ma'am won't hear."
Susy gave her dress an angry jerk, and seating herself
beyond the reach of his arm, she said, with a frostiness
that would have silenced a more observant and less con-
ceited lover : —
16
234 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"If you have anything to say you have no occasion to
whisper it. I don't imagine your mother will mind having
her nap disturbed."
But before she had finished speaking he was at her side.
"I've had my eye on you this long while," he said, in a
tone that was meant to be tender, "and I've made up my
mind to — " he paused, and a sudden paleness overspread
his face and he grasped at a chair back for support.
"I — I believe I'm sick T he gasped, and falling back
upon the sofa he groaned heavily.
"What's the matter — what ails you, Benjie?" and Mrs.
Toothacre, roused from her nap, hurried to her son's side.
"Is it your head?" questioned Susy, frightened and
trembling at the dreadful pallor of his face, while visions of
sudden apoplexy, hereditary perhaps, rose in horrible array
before her.
"Oh, no," moaned the sufferer, feebly, "it's my — my
stomach, — ough !"
And Susy ran for a wash basin.
She understood it all now, — "the fool had over-eaten
himself," she thought, with a sudden diminution of sympa-
thy, and there was more of ridicule than pity in her tones
as she recommended her father's favorite remedy for all
diseases of the digestive organs, a good dose of lobelia.
"It won't hurt you," she said, trying hard to smother a
laugh at the ridiculous inappropriateness of the scene and
place, the doleful air of the sufferer and his mother's dis-
tressful sympathy, "and it may do you good. Father has
great faith in it."
But the patient shook his head decidedly, and his mother
whispered, under her breath : —
"He don't believe in any kind o' hot crop medicines, and
he'll feel better when he srets that load off of his stomach."
STUFFING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY. 235
But the hopeful prophecy seemed slow of fulfillment, for
the sick man grew worse instead of better, until even Susy
began to look frightened, and glance anxiously from the
window, hoping to catch sight of her father whose exper-
ience in sickness had made him quite an authority, both in
the neighborhood and his own family.
"There he is !" and running to meet him she told him of
their guest's sudden attack, winding up with the half fright-
ened declaration : —
"I'm afraid this is something more than a common at-
tack of indigestion. You don't suppose," catching at her
father's arm, as he was about to enter the door, and speak-
ing in a terrified whisper, "that he could have been poi-
soned''."
"Nonsense, child !" and he laughed, not ill pleased to see,
as he thought, some traces of tender anxiety in his daugh-
ter's words and tones, but his face grew grave and there was
a marked uneasiness in his manner as he watched the pain-
ful retchings of his patient.
"I'm afraid there's something more than we understand
in this, Susy," he whispered. "It does look," with a glance
at the distressed face, "as if he had taken something be-
sides wholesome food into his stomach. I think I'd better
go for the doctor, — .and, if he'll take it, perhaps you'd bet-
ter fix a little lobelia for him. It'll warm his stomach an'
perhaps turn his sickness."
"Oh, dear !" groaned the suffering youth, "to think that
I should be took like this jest now" and he cast a mourn-
fully significant glance at Susy's now anxious face, while
his mother interrupted, soothingly :
"Oh, law ! I wouldn't mind that. You couldn't be in a
better place, with Susy an' me both to wait on ye. Come,"
236 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
with an entreating look at the young girl, "and hold his
head for 'im. Won't you? now do."
But Susy shook her head with an ill-repressed look of
disgust, and the sick man groaned more dismally than be-
fore.
"Won't you try the lobelia?"
There was a compunctious softening in her tones that the
patient evidently mistook for tenderness, for his heavy feat-
ured face brightened and he murmured resignedly : —
"Yes, yes, I'll take anything you give me."
And Susy hurried away, glad of the permission to do
something that should satisfy her sense of duty and, at the
same time, take her out of the reach of any possible calls
upon the small stock of patience and politeness that the petty
annoyances of the day had left her.
The lobelia was in the herb closet, and as she drew the
bundle hastily from its niche upon the upper shelf, the stems
dropped apart in her hand, several falling at her feet. "I
am sure I tied them together," she said to herself, and as
she stooped to pick up the scattered ones her eye fell upon
the paper label that had dropped from the bunch of summer
savory the evening before, and, with habitual care, she
paused for a moment to readjust it in its place.
But what was this? The summer savory, with its label
untouched, lay undisturbed upon the shelf where she had
placed it weeks ago, — but this? — she read the before unex-
amined label : —
"Lobelia."
Bewilderment, confusion and mirth chased each other in
rapid succession over the girl's expressive face, and drop-
ping into the nearest chair she laughed till the tears ran
down her cheeks.
STUFFING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY. 237
"To think that I should have made such a mistake !" she
gasped between her paroxysms of laughter. "What will
Ben. Toothacre say to his emetic, I wonder?"
Then, as a sudden thought crossed her mind, her eyes
fairly danced with delight and triumph, and springing to
her feet she hastened into the parlor, and approaching the
sofa, remarked, in the most matter-of-fact tones :—
"I've found out what ails your son, Mrs. Toothacre. I
made a mistake in the seasoning of my turkey stuffing and
put in lobelia instead of summer savory."
"Lobelia?"
Ben. grew white about the mouth, and his mother's faded
eyes absolutely blazed with wrath.
"I should think 'twas a mistake!" she cried, spitefully.
"What on 'arth was you thinkin' on ter make sich a blun-
der as that ? A child ten year old would 'a had more wit
'n ter cut up sich a caper."
Susy was inwardly delighted, but she put on an air of
wounded dignity.
"He'll get over it as soon as the emetic has had time to
work," she said so coolly that Mrs. Toothacre could hardly
forbear shaking her.
"He'll get over wantin' to eat any more of your vit-
tles," she retorted, with what she considered cutting sar-
casm, and as her son seemed considerably revived she be-
gan to urge their departure for home, but Susy interposed :
"Don't hurry him," she said, with a politeness that the
ao-orieved pair took as an additional insult.
"The doctor '11 be here soon, and perhaps he'll give him
something to settle his stomach, — you'd better wait."
But Ben., like his mother, thought it best to seek the shel-
ter and safety of their own home, and as Susy went to
238 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
bring their wrappings she overheard the old lady asking,
in a tone of intense anxiety : —
"You hain't committed yourself, have ye, Benjie?"
"No, ma'am, I'm glad to say I hain't."
"That's lucky," replied the dame, with a sigh of relief.
"Why, there ain't no knowin' what sich an absent minded
woman 'd do. Like as not she'd put tansy in your sassages
an' fill up the pepper sass bottle with balm gilead buds.
She aint safe to be trusted to cook for decent folks."
"She won't never cook for me!" growled Ben., and Susy,
who heard it all, laughed triumphantly in her sleeve.
Ben. Toothacre never renewed his unwelcome attentions,
and father Harris ate his next Thanksgiving dinner at the
house of his daughter, Mrs. John Oakman, whose reputa-
tion as a model housekeeper is now too well established in
the community to suffer injury from the significant hints of
old Mrs. Toothacre and her still unmarried son, who, to this
day, date everything from "that Thanksgiving dinner when
Susy Harris seasoned her turkey stuffing with lobelia."
r
A Tempest in a Tea-pot
A TEMPEST EN A TEA-POT.
241
A TEMPEST IN A TEA-POT.
••Broiled partridge for two, at six p. m."
These were the contents of a note that the captain of the
steamer that runs daily between Kineo and the foot of the
lake placed in the hands of the landlord of the hotel at the
former place, with the accompanying remark :
'•It's an odd old covey and his wife from furrin parts, I
conceit, by the speech of 'em."
The message was an unusual one, for visitors at this fav-
orite summer resort usually trusted, and safely, too, to the
well-known excellence of the bill of fare always to be
found at the Kineo House ; but the jolly landlord only
-smiled good naturedly as he replied to his friend : —
••We're used to all sorts here, you know. Why, I've
had foks grumble because they couldn't have bear steaks
served up for 'em in July, and green peas in October. But
I most always manage to please 'em if they are a little
pudjiky at first. A good dish of fried trout with the clear
mountain air for a relish soon makes 'em forget that there's
anything else in the world worth the eatin' but a good fried
or boiled 'laker."
Both men laughed : but the captain's dark, shrewd face
wore a look of curious perplexity that had not faded iroin
it when, on the following day as his staunch little steamer
swung gracefully up alongside of the wharf where the land-
lord stood, ready to welcome the guests that crowded ashore,
eager to secure a supper and lodgings for the night, he nod-
ded knowingly under cover of the smoke-stack toward a
242 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
couple that, waiting until the last, walked slowly and delib-
erately up the plank, apparently unmindful of the curious
looks that their fellow-passengers, as well as the guests
from the hotel, who, according to custom, had strolled
down to see the new arrivals, bestowed upon them.
They were an oddly-assorted pair, as one could see at a
glance. The man small, thin, white-haired, with fierce
black eyes looking out from under his bushy, gray eye-
brows, leaned feebly upon the arm of his companion, a
woman of perhaps forty, whose face in its rich, dark beauty
was one that once seen could not easily be forgotten. For
an instant that face dazzled, and bewildered the beholder with
its wondrous richness of coloring, its perfect symmetry of
outline and feature ; but the next came an indefinable chill,
a feeling of disappointment that was almost repulsion, like
one who grasping a beautiful flower, eager to inhale its fra-
grance, finds it but soulless, scentless wax, merely a cun-
ning imitation of Nature at her best.
Proud, fair and placid, not an emotion either of sorrow,
anger or love had left its impress upon that coldly regal
face ; her voice, even, was modulated to one uniform tone,
never rising with sudden heat or falling to any possible note
of tenderness ; but a level, even monotone, that formed a
strange contrast to the-quick, fiery speech of her husband,
whose words, spoken with a strong foreign accent, were
launched at one with the whiz and rush of some fierce pro-
jectile.
"Oui ! suppare and room ready, you say ! All right, so
it be. Come, we follow !"
The host bowed silently ; but as they took up their line
of march to the hotel, he ventured to remark, in his usual
hospitable fashion : —
A TEMPEST IN A TEA-POT. 243
"I hope we shall be able to make you comfortable at
KiDeo. We're pretty full now ; but I've reserved one of my
best rooms for you. I hope you'll like it."
Not a word in reply — only a quick, suspicious glance
from the old man's tierce eyes, while his stately companion
moved on, evidently unheeding or unhearing the remark as
completely as she did the chirp of the grasshopper in the
grass beneath her feet, or the soft mountain breeze that
kissed her proud, cold cheek as fearlessly as that of the sun-
burnt little urchin who frolicked among the buttercups and
purple clover-heads not a rod away.
Silently, too, without criticism or comment, the strange
pair took possession of the room assigned them ; but as the
landlord withdrew with an embarrassed bow, the lady said,
curtly : —
•'Send your cook to me for directions."
And live minutes later the stout matron who presided
over that department made her appearance, her face full of
an eager curiosity that she managed to disguise beneath an
air of pleasant solicitude.
"I'm the head cook, ma'am, and I'll take any orders that
you may wish to give."
In reply, the stranger drew from the depths of her trunk
a curiously-formed metal tea-pot of a size to contain about
three ordinary cups of tea ; this, with two small, neatly
folded paper packages, she placed in the hand of the won-
dering domestic, with : —
"There are two drawings of tea — one for dinner and the
other for supper. To-morrow morning I will give you the
measure for that day ; it is as precious as gold, and not a
grain of it must be wasted. The tea is to be brought to
our table in this tea-pot, that I may pour it myself:" and,
she added, with something like a thrill of apprehension run-
244 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
ning through her smooth, even tones, "you must be very
careful not to make any mistake, for Monsieur Defoe will
not forgive any tampering with what is to him life itself."
" Yes, ma'am. I'll see that everything is all right."
But when safe in her own domain, the puzzled and amused
woman related her story to her assistants, holding up the
tea-pot meanwhile for their inspection, one of them ex-
claimed, curiously : —
''Why, its just exactly like the one that Mr. Brackett
has his tea made in, and that come from some furrin coun-
try where they raise tea. He says he promised the old
mandarin that gave it to him that he'd always drink his tea
out of it, and that's why he takes it about with him every-
where he goes."
" 'Twill be an awful bother to tell which is which," solil-
oquized the cook, looking apprehensively at the two tea-pots
that, having been placed side by side, were really exact
counterparts one of the other.
"I'll tell you what, though, Molly ; you just tie a bit of
white thread around the handle of Mr. Brackett's, and then
we'll be sure not to make any mistake."
Molly did as desired, and so far as human calculation
could go. Monsieur Defoe was sure of having his single cup
of tea at each meal from his own special and particular tea-
pot.
The days passed by, and still the mystery that from the
first had clung about the Defoes seemed to increase rather
than diminish. They made no attempt to seek, in fact they
evidently avoided, the companionship of their fellow-guests,
going out alone or with a guide upon their frequent fishing
and sailing excursions, never speaking unless addressed,
and then in the curt, constrained manner of people who
A TEMPEST IN A TEA-POT
245
were determined to hold as little intercourse as possible
with the world about them.
To this general ostracism of their fellow-guests there
was, however, one exception, and that was found in the per-
son of the jolliest, most social and popular gentleman at
the hotel, the owner of the Japanese tea-pot before men-
tioned, Mr. Brackett.
For some reason best known to himself, the unsocial
Frenchman really took some little pains to render himself
agreeable to the hearty-tempered Yankee, who in his turn
took him in tow, with much the same benevolent air as a
great burly Newfoundland might deign to fraternize with a
snappish poodle ; and the two fished, rowed, tramped and
played croquet together with an equanimity astonishing to
the lookers-on, who all to a man predicted some sudden and
violent rupture to an intimacy so strange and unintelligible.
In due time, too, that rupture came. A slight disagree-
ment in regard to their favorite game, a good-natured re-
monstrance from Mr. Brackett. met by a fiery rejoinder
from his opponent, more words, and at last an insulting
epithet hurled from the lips of the enraged Frenchman that
even Yankee coolness and philosophy could not overlook ;
and the two met at table or upon the broad piazza of the
hotel face to face without a word or look of recognition ;
only a fiery gleam that shot now and then from Monsieur's
little black eyes revealed how fierce was the smoldering
passion within his breast : and, as evil passions seldom wait
long for their opportunity, an apparently trivial mistake
served in this case as an excuse to expend the pent up wrath
of days, even though upon an unoffending object.
An unexpected influx of guests just at dinner time had
created some little bustle and confusion among the kitchen
magnates ; so that when the pretty waitress who served at
246 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
the Defoe table brought in the precious tea-pot as usual, her
heightened color and flurried manner instantly revealed to
Monsieur's suspicious eyes that she was somewhat bewil-
dered by the multiplicity of her duties ; and with a selfish
instinct characteristic of the man, he glanced from her
flushed face to the sacred burden that she bore, half expect-
ing to see some horrible dent or mutilation of his cherished
treasure.
It was intact, and he drew a long sigh of relief and set-
tled himself back comfortably in his chair ; but as his wife
proceeded as usual to pour the tea, his eye caught sight of
some secret sign or mark visible only to himself, and utter-
ing a loud exclamation, he started up, his face so inflamed
with rage that he seemed a demon rather than a man, while
in a voice hoarse with passion, he cried fiercely : "Sacre !
It is the tea urn of my foe, he that I do hate ; thus do I
spit upon the accursed scoundrel, they call him Brackett !
How dare you insult me with the urn from which he drink?"
and seizing, in his fury, the offending vessel filled to the
brim as it was with scalding tea, he made as if he would
have thrown its contents in the face of the frightened girl,
who, with one shriek of uncontrollable terror, fled toward
the door, closely pursued by the enraged man who was evi-
dently too mad with passion to realize in the least what he
was about. So sudden and unexpected had been the out-
break, that of the fifty or more guests in the crowded din-
ing-room, no man had the presence of mind to interfere for
the poor girl's protection, as she sped across the room
closely followed by her pursuer, who held the offending tea
urn aloft, ready at the first opportunity to hurl its contents
at her unprotected head.
But at the door a ready and efficient ally showed himself
in the person of Tom Cross, a well-known guide and hunter,
A TEMPEST IN A TEA-POT. 247
who, barring the doorway through which she had escaped
with his own sturdy, well-developed figure, managed with
one brawny arm to resist the onslaught of the tempestuous
little Frenchman as easily as he would have put aside an
angry child, while a smile of grim humor brightened his
dark, determined face as he said, in a voice so soft and low
that it seemed strangely out of keeping with the stout, burly
frame and bronzed face of its owner : —
' ; This won't do. sir. We don't treat women like that up
this way."
For a moment the Frenchman was silent, glaring upon
him with the impotent rage of one who feels that he is in a
grasp against which it is utter folly to rebel ; a crowd of
excited guests had. too. by this time gathered about the two,
while his wife, laying her hand upon his arm, spoke a few
words in some strange foreign tongue that seemed to have a
wonderful power over him ; for he dropped his head help-
lessly, while a painful flush rose to his pale, wrinkled fore-
head, and he whispered hoarsely, shrinking back as he
spoke from the gaze of the curious eyes about him : —
'•I do forgive her the mistake; she know no better.
But." he added, penitently, for his wife's ear alone, ''I can
have no pardon for my own mad self."
It was impossible to refrain from pitying him, as, com-
pletely exhausted, he clung to her arm, while in majestic
silence, cold and self-contained as usual, she half carried
him up the long stairway that led to their apartments.
••I will help him, madam;" and a strong arm drew the
helpless, trembling one within its firm embrace, while the
face that in the doorway a moment ago had awed the angry
man with its stern impenetrability, now beamed with such
honest kindliness and good will that the stately dame fore-
bore to refuse, as had been her first impulse, the timely
248 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
offer : but acknowledging the favor with a gesture, half
proud, half grateful, she remarked, with a sigh : —
"Thank you ; he needs a stronger arm than mine. He
will be ill for days after this."
The old man, whose little strength had, by the time they
reached his room, completely deserted him, was comfortably
disposed upon a couch, and his escort, with the natural
courtesy of his class, bowed low to the lady as he turned to
leave the room, when suddenly her voice arrested his steps
upon the threshold, as she asked abruptly : —
"Who are you?"
"Tom Cross, at your service, ma'am. I'm a guide, and"
— with an eye to business — "I've got a clean, new 'birch'
that I'd like to take you out in at any time ;" adding, with
no little pride in voice and manner, "You won't find a man
that can beat Tom Cross with a paddle if you look all the
way from Canada to the lake."
The lady smiled and nodded with a grace and affability
that, as honest Tom afterward declared, actually took away
his breath for a whole minute.
"He," she nodded toward the couch, "has his afternoon
nap between four and five, and I would like you to be in at-
tendance with your boat at that hour."
"That I will, ma'am ; I'll be on hand at four, sharp;"
and Tom bowed himself out of the room, with an odd, be-
wildered consciousness about him as of the presence of
something or somebody that had been very near to him far
away back in the misty shadows of his half forgotten child-
hood. "There's something in her voice and the turn of her
head that makes me think," and he laughed merrily at the
idea, "of my old grandame in the Provinces. When I
was there last year, old as she is, she used to speak in just
that sweet, hard voice when she asked me about the money
A TEMPEST FN A TEA-POT. L ; i'.»
that I had laid up, and urged me to get all I could, for it
was the best thiug that man or woman could have in this
world. I wonder what this proud lady would say to hear
herself compared to a poor old Canadian dame."
He laughed again, one of those curious, soundless laughs
that men who live much alone with Nature are apt to in-
dulge in: an expression of amusement, unmistakable, yet
silent, like that so often observed in the more intelligent of
dumb animals, whose merriment, while patent to the most
casual observer, never disturbs the outer serenity of their
faces as it does that of man alone.
That afternoon, floating upon the placid surface of the
lake, whose shiny waves rippled dreamily about the frail
craft, as if softly caressing its satiny sides, the young man,
whose solitary life had made him especially reticent so
tar as his own plans and purposes were concerned, sud-
denly found his tongue loosed as by magic, and in reply
to a few careless questions from his companion, related
more of his life history than even the people among whom
he had lived from boyhood had ever heard or dreamed.
••Yes." in reply to a question of his nationality. "I was
born in Canada, of French parents, and lived with my old
grandmother there until I was fifteen, when I came here as
a chore boy about the hotel. The landlord nicknamed me
•Tom,' and so everybody called me Tom Cross ; but my
real name is 'Amibel de la Crosse.' "
Did the canoe give a sudden lurch just at that moment
and frighten the lady ? for, with a sudden, sharp cry, she
made as if she would have risen to her feet, while a face
white as the face of the dead looked out at the young man
from beneath the drooping brim of her hat, as holding up
one hand with a quick, warning gesture, she cried sharply :
••Not that ! Mon Dieu, you are deceiving me !"
17
250 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AKD SHORES OF MAIKE.
"Down! Be still, or you will swamp us!" cried poor
Tom, with a frantic endeavor to keep the frail craft from
capsizing with its helpless freight. "One must keep very
still in a birch," he added, in explanation ; and drawing a
long breath of relief as the canoe righted itself, while he
experienced a feeling of profound thankfulness that he had
not been left floundering in the middle of the lake with a
drowning woman clinging to him. thus making his destruc-
tion as well as her own almost certain.
Perhaps the haughty dame resented the tone of command
that he had so unconsciously assumed ; for she sat perfectly
silent and motionless for several moments, and when she
again spoke the kindly condescension had vanished from
her tone ; instead, she spoke with a sharpness that had be-
neath it an ill-concealed chord of either curiosity or dread.
••You lived with your grandmother, you say? Were your
parents dead?"
''My father was."
"And your — mother?"
"Deserted, abandoned me in my cradle."
Everybody said that Tom Cross was one of the easiest,
best-tempered fellows in the world, with his gay, careless
French temperament ; but if they could have seen him then
— the sternly compressed lips, white and set beneath the
thick, black mustache, and a smoldering fire in the dark
eyes that told of a life-long hidden bitterness — they would
have realized that beneath that careless exterior there were
depths of feeling, of bitter feeling that none had, and few
would care to fathom.
A long, shuddering thrill passed over the woman oppo-
site, and she pressed her hand for an instant to her heart,
as she asked :
"Do you know why she did so?"
A TEMPEST IN A TEA-POT. 251
"Yes ;" and he showed his white teeth for an instant in a
mocking smile. "She was poor. A rich man saw her
and loved her beauty. He said to her, 'I will make you
my wife : you shall wear silks and jewels, live idly and
sleep softly ; but the boy I will not have. He looks at me
with his father's eyes ; yes, and I hate him. Leave him
with the old grandame, and come you with me.' And she"
— the woman beat eagerly forward and looked into his face
with a strange, pleading look in her proud eyes.
"Well?"
••Went with him; for she loved gold better than her
child."
As he finished speaking the canoe grated upon the sandy
beach, while its owner, apparently forgetful of all that had
passed, as he carefully lifted the lady over the side in his
strong arms, remarked modestly, and touching his hat
with the air of graceful courtesy natural to the man : —
"I will be proud of your company again, madam, when
you will like another sail in my birch. I can show you
very many pleasant places about here any fine day when
the lake is smooth."
She looked at him silently for a moment, then with a
quick, burning blush overspreading her face, she dropped
into his hand the bit of silver due for his services as boat-
man, and turning, without a word, walked swiftly up the
path to the hotel, where, for the next three days, not one
of the curious guests caught a glimpse either of herself or
husband.
A wonder-loving young lady who occupied the adjoining
room, told in mysterious whispers of stormy altercations
and tearful pleadings and reproaches ; but the landlord,
when questioned upon the subject, gravely remarked that
"Monsieur was very ill, and his wife devoted herself en-
252 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
tirely to the care of him," an explanation that proved sat-
isfactory to all but one, and that one the humble, unnoted
guide, Tom Cross.
He was not given to making mysteries and weaving ro-
mances about the scores of strange people that he met in
his daily life, this unlearned, unimaginative young fellow,
who held himself ready, at two dollars a day, to act the
part of guide, purveyor and cook to the oddest, grumpiest
party who had ever been lured thither by the lovely scenery
and famous trouting privileges, to find a delightful novelty
in penetrating the recesses of the unbroken forest, and for
a few days or weeks to live the unrestrained, care-free life
of a genuine woodsman. And yet the strange lady's un-
mistakable emotion, so utterly at variance with her usual
air of cold indifference, was a mystery that he found him-
self unable either to solve or forget.
Perhaps, and for an instant his heart burned hot within
him, perhaps she might have known his mother, have heard
the story from her own lips, and was naturally astonished
and agitated at hearing it again and from so unexpected a
source. But this supposition did not seem, after all, a rea-
sonable one, when he remembered to have heard his grand-
mother, who mentioned the subject as seldom as possible,
say that his mother's husband was a tea merchant, and that
she had sailed with him for China as soon as they were
married.
This grand lady, who spoke such goodEnglish, and wore
such rich and fashionable attire, had surely never been in
that u heathen land," as Tom called it ; for the simple fellow
had the idea that all foreigners migrating to that far-off
region wore, of necessity, the conventional pig-tail and loose
trousers of the race with whom they had associated them-
selves, and of course spoke a language to match the same.
A TEMPEST IN A TEA-POT. 253
It was the evening of the third day since that memorable
sail, and the guide sat alone upon a large rock that jutted
out into the water at a secluded part of the shore, lazily
trolling for the fish that at that hour often ventured so close
to the beach that their crimson and gold-spotted sides
gleamed up through the transparent water as if in mockery
of the angler's presence and skill.
Tom was a crack fisherman, as everybody allowed ; but
just now it was evident that his mind was more intent upon
other things ; for laying down his rod at the very instant
that a big trout w r as about to make a dart at the bait, he
drew from his pocket a small silver coin, and turning it
over and over in his broad palm, silently regarded it with
a curious, half-wistful look.
••I have seen no such piece of silver money before. Even
the grandames, who have a stocking full of silver, have
nothing like this. Perhaps," and a sudden glow sprang to
his dark face. ;i it is a Chinese coin."
He spoke the last words aloud in his eager unconscious-
ness, and his heart gave a quick bound as a low voice close
at his elbow remarked, composedly ; —
"Yes, it is Chinese money; but quite as good silver as
your quarter dollars in this country."
It was the stranger lady, and there was a half-defiant,
half-anxious tone in her voice that seemed scarcely in keep-
ing with the calm, cold beauty of her regal face, or the
easy indifference of her attitude as she leaned slightly
against the trunk of a gigantic pine that overshadowed
them both.
The young man started up in some confusion ; but with a
peremptory wave of her jeweled hand she bade him be si-
lent, while she spoke in her usual low, even tones :— .
254 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"You are poor and obscure," she began, abruptly, "and
your daily life is one of toil and hardships. You earn
your money a few dollars at a time, and so slow, that by even
with the most careful economy you will be long past mid-
dle age before you can hope to enjoy the comforts of a
home and fireside of your own."
He nodded his head gravely. Perhaps the memory of a
certain pair of laughing hazel eyes, whose long lashes
always sank shyly beneath the love-light in his own, lent a
bitterness to the truth that this strange woman so pitilessly
held up before him, and made him feel, *for the first
time in all his life, angrily discontented with his humble
lot. But he made no reply in words, only drew his black
brows to a deeper frown, and tapped sullenly with the
strange coin upon the bare face of the rock beneath. She
paused a moment, as if to gather new courage, then went
on, resolutely : —
"I am rich, richer than you can even imagine, and all I
have now, and will have at my husband's death, may be
yours as my own and only son."
For one dizzy moment, mountain, lake and shore were
blended in one wild, confused chaos. Familiar things that
all his life he had looked upon with careless, indifferent
eyes, seemed suddenly transformed into something weird
and strange, and he trembled and put out his hands grop-
ingly as one walking in the midst of a great and sudden
darkness that has fallen upon him without a moment's
warning.
Even in his bewilderment, however, he was conscious of
a warm thrill of filial affection that welled up from his hon-
est heart toward the woman standing there in the purple
twilight, pale but unruffled, as if this revelation were noth-
ing more to her than a mere business transaction, and he
A TEMPEST IN A TEA-POT. 255
lifted his eyes in a mute appeal, as if to read in that beau-
tiful face some answering emotion of motherly love ; but in
vain. She never even stretched out her hand to meet the
one he had unconsciously extended, while not a thrill either
of joy or pain disturbed her fair face, as she remarked, in
an explanatory tone : —
"If I had had children by Monsieur Defoe to inherit his
fortune I should never have claimed you as my son, as I
should have had nothing to bestow upon you."
'•Nothing?" he gasped, harshly; but she took no notice
of his emotion except by a slight frown.
»
"Now — and Monsieur sees it as I do — we can do no
better than to accept you as our heir. A private tutor and
a few years" travel abroad will make you presentable, I
think, in spite of your early years of obscurity and igno-
rance. But." she paused for a moment, as if half ashamed
to speak the words, "you will take our name and pass
with the world as our adopted son. The fact of my earlv
marriage is to remain a secret between us forever."
The young man lifted his head and looked sternly into
her expectant face. His eyes flashed, and he drew himself
up with an air and gesture every whit as proud as her own,
while he replied with bitter emphasis : —
"I will never sell myself, even to her who will not be
called my mother ! It is no boy, madam, but a man, and
he will be poor forever : but he cares not for you who are
ashamed to call him son."
The poor fellow's voice faltered as he spoke the last bitter
words, and leaning his head against the rough tree trunk as
naturally as if it had been the bosom of a friend, tears,
such as he had not shed for many a long year, ran down
his bronzed cheeks aud dropped upon the mossy turf be-
neath.
256 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
In all his toilsome, rough life, no pain like this had ever
wrung his stout heart to tears that he scorned even while he
could not check them.
Madame alone seemed perfectly unmoved. She had evi-
dently schooled herself to act the part that she had chosen
with dignity and decision : no gentle emotion was to inter-
fere between herself and her purpose.
"You are excited and astonished," she said, calmly,
"and do not realize what you are saying. Think it over
and let me know your decision in the morning, for we
must leave by the afternoon boat. Good-night."
Not a farewell look, not a smile even, as her stately fig-
ure disappeared through one of the leafy forest paths so
quickly that the bewildered man was half ready to believe
that what he had heard was but a dream after all.
Trusted and liked by all, he had no familiar friend and
confidant to whom he could go for sympathy and counsel in
this sudden and unexpected strait ; and, following the nat-
ural instincts of one whose life has been largely passed in
the unpeopled solitudes of the forest, he naturally sought
them among the scenes most congenial to his silent, self-
contained nature — the voiceless, yet never lonely forest
glades and walks, pathless to a stranger eye, yet as familiar
to his foot as are the city streets to one who has trodden
them from his babyhood.
The first gray dawn was creeping over the eastern moun-
tains like a faithful watchman, awaking the topmost peaks,
while the lower ridges, still enshrouded in darkness, gave
no sign as yet of throwing off their nightly slumber.
Even the lake itself looked weird and ghostly in its veil
of silvery mist, that, as Tom Cross leisurely paddled his
light birch across its sleeping face, was gradually lifted as
if in graceful acknowledgment of this early visit on the
A TEMPEST IN A TEA-PUT. 257
part of its old friend, whose troubled brow gradually cleared
as point after point, long familiar to his eyes, came into
view, and from the thickets the birds, thrifty little house-
holders, began to bestir themselves and send forth a social
greeting to their friends and neighbors — a greeting so fa-
miliar to the young boatman that he broke into a cheery,
answering whistle, laughing aloud as his tiny friends, evi-
dently entering into the "'joke of the thing," replied with a
burst of song that filled the fresh, sweet morning air with
melody, and fell upon his ear with that familiar, fond sig-
nificance that only those who are perfectly en rapport with
Nature in her most gracious moods can really understand
and enjoy.
"Aha. Monsieur sly-pate !" he cried, as a sleek, shining
head, with two black beady eyes appeared above the water
evidently swimming for the canoe. "After your breakfast
eh ?" and taking a cracker from his pocket he scattered it
in crumbs in the bottom of the birch, and resting his paddle
waited in perfect silence the approach of his curious guest,
who was none other than a large muskrat, who approached
as fearlessly as if the light craft had been his own private
castle upon the opposite bank, and, climbing over the side
began leisurely to pick up the crumbs that Tom had scat-
tered for him.
It was curious to see with what an air of friendly good-
fellowship the stout backwoodsman and the defenceless lit-
tle animal regarded each other.
Shyly trustful, the small creature made no objection to
the gentle stroking of his companion's hand : indeed, he
■even lingered a moment after finishing his breakfast, as if
to show his entire confidence in the other's good will, and
when he at last disappeared over the side of the boat with
•a regretful t *ker-plunk !" Tom promptly replied with a
258 RE -TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
grave "good-morning," as if in answer to a parting saluta-
tion intended for his ear alone.
As the morning brightened, and the sweet mountain
breeze, fragrant with the breath of pine and fern swept
down to meet him, touching his bared forehead with a ca-
ressing tenderness soft as a mother's kiss, or playfully ruf-
fling his dark curls yet damp with the early mists, the bet-
ter, the real nature of the man expanded and brightened as
in recognition of their kinship to him who, shut out from
the love of human kindred, found his heart filled to over-
flowing with an exultant tenderness that words are power-
less to describe. He, man, — "A little lower than the an-
gels, with dominion over the beasts of the field, the birds of
the air, and the fishes of the sea" — ruler, king and brother.
Every nerve in his body responded to that blessed influ-
ence, although he was no poet, no philosopher, this rude, un-
tutored woodsman; but there in the silent forest, with only
the tall, solemn pines towering above his head, and the
mossy sod, set thick with dewy harebells at his feet, he
knelt and laid his dark cheek tenderly, reverently, upon the
lap of his real mother, while the rustling pines seemed to
whimper a tender benediction upon the head that Nature
herself had honored with the crown of sonship.
That afternoon the strange pair that had been a '-seven
days' wonder" at Kineo, left, silent and mysterious to the
last, and life at the lake flowed on as placidly as before ;
while nobody dreamed that, in the favorite guide whose
boat and services were in even greater demand than ever
before, they saw one who had refused a princely fortune
among men that he might reign a loved and loving Adam
in his own unclaimed forest realm, where, in grandeur un.
marred by pride, Nature joyfully poured her richest treas-
ures into the lap of him who owned and felt her great uni-
versal motherhood.
Betsey; or the jiGM-mster's jieGiet
BETSEY : OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER S SECRET.
261
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET.
''She was an excellent woman ; capable, industrious, well
meaning, and yet few people really liked her or could find
pleasure in her society, and all just because she had an
itching linger."
"An itching fahn, you mean ?"
"No, I mean an itching finger. Covetousness was not
one of her faults by any means."
We were on our way home from the funeral, and as my
friend spoke my eye fell upon a little rosy cheeked maiden,
a grandchild of the deceased, whose innocent face, as she
walked decorously by her parent's side, expressed simply
wonder and curiosity, with not a trace of the grief that even
childhood's careless nature feels at parting with those it
loves ; and with a sudden intuition in regard to the state of
affairs, I remarked confidently : —
"No one seems to be particularly grieved at parting with
her. Her family and friends are grave and subdued as is
fitting on such an occasion, but they show no signs of vio-
lent grief:" and as my companion made no comment I
added after a moment's silence : —
"Is the offending linger to be blamed for that?"
"Yes," most decidedly, "you see," she went on, seeing
I suppose, that my "mouth was made up" as my mother
used to say, "for a story :" "I have known Betsey Rice
ever since she was a little girl, for we were born and
brought up in the same town, and always went to school to-
262 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
gether when we were children, so I've had as good a chance
to know her as anybody could have."
Here her voice faltered a little, and she cast a backward
glance at the new made grave that the sexton was already
filling up with the dull yellow clay, while something that
looked suspiciously like a tear glistened for a moment upon
her faded cheek, as she continued in a subdued tone : —
"She was the oldest of a big family, and as each new
one made its appearance, of course the overworked and
care worn mother was only too glad to get what help she
could from her oldest child, and I suppose that it was in her
constant care of the little ones that Betsey came to have
that way of prying into everything that was going on — dip-
ping that then useful finger into every pie that was made
under the home roof, and naturally growing to feel that it
was her duty to see that nothing was done by the younger
ones in the way of work or play, without her supervision.
At school it was the same. If two or three of us were
having a little private confab all to ourselves, as we sup-
posed, Betsey Rice's sharp ears were sure to hear, while
her equally sharp tongue never failed to proclaim from the
house top what we — poor little fools — had imagined safe in
our own keeping.
Of course this propensity for finding out everybody's se-
crets made her decidedly unpopular among her school-mates
in spite of a natural kindliness that always prompted her to
bind up a bruised finger, to help a dull scholar through a
hard lesson, or to share her own dinner with the poorest,
most neglected child in school.
In any trouble she was certainly a comfort, but under
ordinary circumstances a nuisance and a torment. I have
known her to run a mile to get some medicine for a sick
school-mate, and as soon as he was relieved of his pain, to
BETSEY; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTEB'S SECRET. 263
go prying and questioning round to find out if he hadn't
been stealing unripe fruit out of the neighbors' orchards.
There was one thing that, through life, she never seemed
to have the faintest conception of, and that was her own
unpopularity. No matter how much she was snubbed and
shunned by her mates, her overweening estimate of her own
excellencies never allowed her to feel in the least humbled
or mortified. She couldn't and wouldn't believe that any
one who knew her could fail to appreciate and admire so
perfect a creature as she honestly believed herself to be.
Her brothers and sisters were as jolly, good-natured a
set of boys and girls as you'd find anywhere, and -'Betsey's
ways" were to them oftener a source of ridicule than anger.
It was ••nuts" for the whole family when that most mis-
chievous of the whole lot, great hulking, six foot Jack,
waited upon pretty Janet Springer home from singing
school, dressed in her aunt Emmeline's hood and cloak on
purpose to mislead poor anxious sister Betsey, who had hid-
den herself behind the elderberry bushes to find out who
he was "beauing home," and who, in the abundance of her
sisterly care, took occasion the next day to remind him,
with an air of grave superiority, that : —
"'Emmeline Springer was altogether too old for him — a
very likely woman to be sure, but not the one for a young,
smart fellow like him. These marriages where the wife
was so much the oldest hardly ever turned out well."
Of course she found out the trick that had been played
upon her, and I believe she laid it up against poor Janet
till the day of her death, for, although all the family ap-
proved of Jack's choice, and gave the dear girl a large
place in their kindly hearts. I never heard Betsey speak a
word in her praise, and she never visited them without
coming home with a whole budget of "Janet's mismanage-
264 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
ments," from the pans full of dry bread that should have
been made into puddings and fritters, to the white darns in
the toes of little Tommy's drab and scarlet stockings.
That meddlesome finger had been in every pie, detecting
the slightest lack or superfluity, according to her own stand-
ard.
Of all the girls of the Rice family, little Rache, the
youngest, was the prettiest, sweetest and best beloved, not
only by her own family, but by everybody in the neighbor-
hood. It seems as if I could see her now, with her sweet,
pure face, for all the world like a pale pink apple blossom,
and her soft brown hair, that always rippled and waved so
prettily above her white forehead, nestling under Betsey's
wing, for she was always a shy little thing, only too thank-
ful to keep in her older sister's shadow — one of the kind
that never seem to have been made for the rough work of
life any more than a humming bird is to scratch for worms.
That disposition just suited Betsey, of course, for she
could team her round just as she pleased, and she couldn't
always do that with the others, let her try ever so hard.
But there came a time when even Rache showed a will of
her own.
It was the winter that she was seventeen when she first
saw Paul Westlake. Col. Grant was school agent that
year, and he was the means of our having this young man,
who was some kind of a connection of his, to keep our
winter school.
It was during the first week of school, and I s'pose 'twas
really as much to get the young folks acquainted with the
master as for the fun of the affair itself, that the Colonel's
folks gave a big candy party, invitin' everybody from far
and near.
BETSEY : OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER* S SECRET. 265
The ; -eight grains o' Rice," as brother Jim used to call
'em, from Betsey to Rache were all there, the boys full of
their fan and frolic as usual, Betsey grim and watchful,
and dear little Rache, in her grey dress and pale pink rib-
bons, fresh and sweet as Mrs. Grant's pot of winter roses,
that had blossomed out just in time for the party.
I liked the looks of Paul Westlake the first time that I
set my eyes on him. and yet he wan't what would be called
a handsome man after all. His hair wan't the least mite
curly, and there was nothing remarkable about his feature-,
taking "em one at a time, but there was a manliness, an in-
dependent, determined look about him, that would have
made you respect and trust him under any circumstances ;
and when he spoke his whole face lighted up. and he looked
so bright and hopeful that you couldn't fancy him ever un-
happy or cross in his whole life.
He was pleasant and social with everybody, but I noticed
that when he spoke to Rache Rice his voice was a trifle
lower and softer than at any other time, and once when a
drop of the boiling molasses fell on her hand, making a
tiny blister on the smooth white skin, he wet his own hand-
kerchief and wrapped it round it as tenderly as a mother
would coddle a scratch on her baby's finger ; and Rache all
the time blushing and laughing at him for his pains, and de-
claring that the smart wasn't worth speaking of, although
I noticed that she didn't take her hand away or refuse to
keep the handkerchief on until it should stop smarting.
And that somebody else noticed it too, I knew, when I
saw Betsey's little black eyes peering out from a corner
where she'd stationed herself, just for nothing else in the
world but to watch everybody without being noticed her-
self.
18
266 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
I knew, as quick as I put my two eyes on her, that she
wasn't over 'n above pleased, for her mouth was drawn
down at one corner and her nose stuck up a little farther
than usual, as if she was tryin' to smell out a secret, while
her fingers twitched and worked in a fidgety, uncomfortable
fashion, whenever the master touched the handkerchief on
Rache's hand, or smiled or spoke to her ; and when the
party was over and he offered to see them home, Betsey
just dropped one of her stiffest curchys, and says she, in a
prim little voice, and taking my arm as she spoke : —
"No, thank you, sir, I have company."
He bowed politely, but I don't think he felt very bad to
have Rache all to himself, and as they walked along just a
little ahead of us, I said, just to see if I could find out
what Betsey was up to : —
"The master seems to be a fine fellow."
"Yes."
But her voice sounded so dry and disagreeable that I
knew she didn't mean it, and the next minute she whis-
pered, in that mysterious tone that always meant mischief
with her : —
"How is this young man, this Westlake, connected with
Col. Grant's family ?"
"Not much of a connection," I said, feeling kind of un-
easy as I always did when she was pumping me about any-
thing, "Mrs. Grant's brother married his aunt who adopted
him when he was a little child."
"That was before they moved from New v Hampshire, I
suppose?"
"I don't know," and I wanted to say "I don't care,
either," but I was always a little afraid of Betsey's sharp
tongue, so I kept my own between my teeth, for once,
BETSEY; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 267
although I wondered more than ever what kind of a trail
she'd got started on now.
Rache invited me to stay all night with 'em. and as our
house was over on the East Ridge road — a long walk in a
cold night, I didn't wait for much coaxing, but just made
myself at home, as I'd done scores of times before, in the
great, warm, comfortable kitchen of the Rices, where one
more never was considered a "put out" on any occasion.
The boys and girls came stragglin' home, one after
another, and we all set round the big open fire, lauehinor
and joking, and talking over the party and the school-mas-
ter especially.
"J think." says Sim Rice, in his hearty, outspoken way,
'•that he's a first rater, an' no mistake. Why, he's jest as
free an' jolly with us rough country boys as if he'd never
seen the inside of a college."
Betsey bridled at that.
"I don't know why he shouldn't try to make friends with
us. A young man that's been all his life living on the
charity of his relations, and who can't even get through
college without keeping school winters to help pay his bills,
needn't look down on us who have never been indebted to
anybody for a pin's worth so far."
Sim laughed uproariously.
' 'That's a good one — comin' as it does from somebody
that I've heard say, a hundred times, when the unmarried
ministers happened to be plenty in these parts, that she
4 didn't consider honest poverty any disgrace.' "
A significant laugh went round the circle, and it was evi-
dent that Sim's "hit" on his eldest sister was thoroughly
appreciated by the whole family, although I had a secret
intuition that it would not help the young school-master to a
better place in her good graces than he already held.
268 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
There wasn't so much fun in sitting up, after that, some-
how, for Betsey made out to get every one of us to feeling
so uncomfortable that we were glad to get to bed, out of
the sound of her voice.
In the first place, she gave poor Sim a "dig" by asking
him if he found old Turner drunk, as usual, when he went
home with Sally from the party? Then she told Jack that
she overheard somebody say that they never saw him act
so gawky in all his life as he did when he was introduced
to Jane Bruce's city cousin ; and so on, till every one of the
boys got to looking as womblecropt as if they'd been caught
robbin' a hen roost ; and after they was all off ter bed she
turned on me an' give me a lecture for wearin' my hair
curled and a bow of blue ribbon to fasten my collar.
"And you a church member /" says she. She brought
out the words with such a tone and look that I was fairly
cowed and couldn't say a word in my own defence, but
Rache spoke up in her soft, pleasant voice, and says she : —
"Why, Betsey, her hair curls natural, you know, and
I guess a bow of blue ribbon won't be laid up as a sin
against her."
She was lighting a candle as she spoke, and as she lifted
it in her hand a crumpled white handkerchief fell from her
sleeve, and Betsey pounced upon it before she could pick it
up, and held it up to the light while she read the name
marked in the corner : —
"Paul Milton Westlake."
"It's the school-master's handkerchief that he lent me
when I burnt my hand, and I forgot to give it back to him,"
and Rache held out her hand for it, while her cheeks grew
red as poppies, and there was a flash in her eyes that I
never saw there before, as Betsey, pretendin' not to notice
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 269
her, put it into her own pocket, sayin' as she reached out
for the shovel to rake up the fire : —
"I'll wash it out with the collars an' cuffs that I've got to
do up to-morrow."
Rache didn't say a word then, but after we were in bed
she put her face up close to mine and whispered, with a lit-
tle tremble in her voice : —
"What do you suppose Betsey means to do with that
handkerchief?"
"Wash an' iron it," says I, laughing, and Rache nestled
down and said nothing more, until — -it seemed to me that
I'd been asleep for hours — when somebody grabbed my
arm and shook me till I opened my eyes, and there she
was, a sittin' up in bed, lookin' like a ghost in the moon-
light, and when I tried to speak she hushed me with : —
"Keep still, Dolly, do! There s somebody up in the
attic — just listen, now !"
I did listen, and, sure enough, I could hear steps on the
loose boards overhead, and then something clattered to the
floor, making me jump almost out of my skin, as Rache
whispered, in a voice faint with terror : —
"It's the reel, it hangs at the farther end of the attic."
Poor child, she trembled and shook like a leaf, but she
managed to whisper close to my ear: "I wish we could
wake the boys. Cy. and Jack sleep in the next room, and
if I only dared to go to their door"
"And get laughed at for being a coward," I whispered
back, my courage rising as I thought how unlikely it was
that any burglar should trouble himself to rummage an old
lumber room like that ; very likely it was nobody but old
"Bose," after all, and in spite of Rache's tears and coax-
ings, I crept out of bed and felt my way in the dark, up
the attic stairs to the door at the top, where a light shone
270 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
through a crack wide enough for me to peek through, and
there was — who do you suppose ? why, nobody in the world
but Betsey herself, in her nightcap and slippers, with her
mother's great blanket shawl wrapped round her, a lookin'
over some files of old newspapers, "The American Far-
mer," I think it was, and they must have been dreadful
old, for I noticed even then that they was as yellow as saf-
fron, and she had to handle them just as careful as if they'd
been so much tissue paper.
Her eyes twinkled an' blinked as she run 'em up an'
down the columns, and her head with its plain '-calf's head"
nightcap (she was a strict Methodist and didn't believe in
ruffles) went bobbin' up and down, almost into the very
blaze of the candle that she held in one hand, while her
nose looked as if it had been whittled down to a point on
purpose for this very occasion.
I thought, at first, that I'd speak to her. and find out
what she was up to, but the next minute I thought better of
it, so I just crept back to Rache, and we wondered over it
a little while, then fell asleep, and should, perhaps, have
forgotten it altogether, if, the next morning, Betsey's red
eyes and more than usually uncertain temper had not re-
minded us of what we were too shrewd to ask any ques-
tions about.
It was gay times with us that winter, for it seemed as if
there was something going on all the time. Now, it was a
sleigh ride by moonlight, and then it was a surprise party or
a "bee" of some kind, and somehow or other it was almost
always the school-master that was at the head of it. He
was the life of every gathering that he went to, the one
that always took the part that everybody else steered clear
of, and the one that always took the most pains to make the
shy and neglected ones, that you'll find in every company,
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 271
enjoy themselves by feeling that they have contributed their
share to the general good time.
And yet, for all his love of fun and frolic, everybody agreed
that he kept the best school that we'd had in that district
for years, and, for a wonder, nobody found any fault with
him. in school or out, for he had that free, social way with
him that everybody likes, even if they're ever so grumpy
themselves.
The Rices and he were "hand and glove," and he spent
two-thirds of his time, out of school, at their house, listen-
ing to the old man's war stories, holding the old lady's yarn.
joking with and telling stories to the "boys," compliment-
ing Betsey's housekeeping, and watching Rache as she
tripped round about her work, with a love light in his eyes,
that told its own story better than even a school-master's
tongue could possibly have told it.
That he was a favorite with the family anybody could
see. but Betsey's way toward him puzzled me from the
very first. She treated him well enough, but whenever she
could get a chance she would ask him the queerest ques-
tions, and all the time with that su-picious air that showed
there was something underneath the surface — what, nobody
could guess.
One evening we were all sitting round the fire, eating
apples and butternuts, and father Rice had been telling
one of his long-winded yarns about his father's doings in
the War for Independence, when Betsey gave a sidelong
look at the master who was busy peelin' a rosy cheeked
apple for Rache, and says she, in that sort of a tone that
always makes you feel uncomfortable, you don't know why :
••Seems to me I never heard you say much about your
family, Mr. Westlake. You know who they were, I sup-
pose?"
272 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"Of course, but I don't really know much about them,
for my mother died when I was an infant, and my father
soon after, at which time I was adopted by Mrs. Westlake,
my mother's sister, and her husband, and I have never
known any difference between them and own parents."
He spoke without the least hesitation, but I thought he
looked a little surprised when Betsey asked,
"Your own father's name was Milton, I believe?"
"Yes."
"Do you know his given name?"
The boys and Westlake himself laughed outright at that,
for it was a standing joke among 'em, Betsey's taste for
huntin' up relations, and* Jack, giving the others a sly wink,
answered her with some kind of nonsense about "relations
by marriage" that stopped her mouth for the time, but
didn't hinder her thinking about it all the more.
Well, the winter slipped away, and school was done, and
the master ready to go back to his own lessons ; but before
he went he had a long talk with father Rice that must a'
been pretty satisfactory, for it soon came to be known all
over town that he and Rache were "promised," aDd would
be married as soon as he'd finished his studies and settled
down to his callin' as a doctor.
"It may be a couple of years first," said Rache, when
she was telling me about it, "but we are young and can
afford to wait. Besides," and her sweet face grew rosier
as she half whispered the words, "I shall have time to
learn all about housekeeping, so that I can make his home
always pleasant and comfortable for him."
She looked so bright an' happy that for a minute I
actually trembled at the thought of any possible disappoint-
ment in her glad future, and the next I blamed myself
BETSEY : OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 273
for a silly old croaker, that could imagine clouds where
everybody else saw only sunshine.
Perhaps Betsey was acting as my barometer, for the sight
of her dissatisfied, suspicious face always had been a sure
indication of a storm ahead, and I knew that it wouldn't be
by any good will of hers that the young folks' love barque
sailed safe into harbor at last.
Every spare minute that she could get, all through the
spring and summer, Rache was busy as a bee, piecin' to-
gether patchwork of every kind of a pattern — ''orange
peel." '"log-cabin," i4 fox and geese," and one "rising sun."
that was a perfect beauty, only just two colors in the whole
quilt. You may be sure that I made an errand over there
pretty often just for the fun of looking over the pieces, and
talking as girls will when there's a wedding in prospect,
about beaux and husbands, and the best way of manao-in?
them under all circumstances. Betsey was authority on
this as on every other point.
"If a man had enough respect and esteem (Betsey never
said 'love' in her life.) for me to want to marrv me, I
should take it for granted that he was satisfied with me just
as I was : and as for shiftin 7 and changin' my wavs and
ideas to please him. I just shouldn't do it. Whoever mar-
ries Betsey Rice will have Betsey Rice to live with to the
end of the chapter."
Rache always seemed kind of puzzled at her sister's talk,
and sometimes she would spunk up a little and undertake
to show how, seeing we're all imperfect creatures, even the
best of us, that it might be no more than right sometimes
to change some of our ways for the sake of keeping peace
and harmony in our homes and families ; but this sort of
talk alwavs made Betsev as mad as a wet hen.
274 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
u You'll ho, a perfect slave to the man you marry," she
snapped out, one day, when Rache had been getting her
mouth open a little wider than usual on the subject. "Now,
my opinion is that the surest way to make a poor husband
is to act as if you thought him perfection. Most men are
the better for being snubbed now and then, and /say it's a
wife's duty to do it."
When Betsey hit a truth, she always hit it fairly and
squarely on the head, leaving no place for a dispute ; so
Rache and I, after exchanging a sly glance that spoke vol-
umes, wisely concluded to let the subject rest for the pres-
ent.
That was a happy surflmer, but it slipped away almost
before we knew it, and the farmers began to hurry up their
late harvestings and talk about "signs of frost," the boys
came in from their morning's milking with red noses and
cold fingers, and the children spent their Saturday after-
noons out among the ''Beeches'' hunting for the fallen nuts.
Everything showed that the cold weather was close at hand
once more.
It was a pleasant evening in October that I was taking
tea at the Rices, and Betsey came in just as we were sit-
ting down to supper with a face full of importance, and as
soon as she'd got her things off she turned to Rache and
says she : —
••The Quarterly Meeting is to be held at Goshen next
week, and Mrs. Westlake has written to her sister, Mrs.
Col. Grant, to invite us to come to the meeting and stop
with her. She wants to get acquainted with you, espec-
ially."
Poor Rache blushed scarlet and her father didn't mend
the matter much by asking if Paul would be at home.
275
•'Oh, no," and in her flurry Rache poured the contents
of the milk pitcher into her father's plate instead of his tea-
cup. "His vacation isn't for some weeks yet."
Betsey had on her primmest look all at once.
"It won't make any special difference, I guess, whether
he's there or not. Mrs. Westlake won't need his help to
entertain her company."
Rache's lip quivered, and the grieved look that always
came into her eyes when Betsey spoke in that hateful way
of Paul Westlake, was there when we got up from the table,
and she slipped her little soft hand into mine, while she
whispered in my ear : —
•'Come out in the garden with me, I want to tell you
something."
But we were scarcely out of the kitchen before Betsey
called after us.
••Where are you going, girls? Such a cold night as this ;
and you, Rache, without even a handkerchief over your
head ! I do believe you want to get sick."
••I'm only going out to turn those table-cloths on the
grass," and as she spoke Rache took down a heavy shawl
from the nail behind the entry door and pinned it over her
bare head and shoulders.
'•There. I'm all right now. Come, Dolly," and as I
latched the door behind us, I heard Betsey say, in an irri-
table tone : —
"It is strange that Rache won't take better care of her-
self, when she knows how weak her lungs are, and how a
cough always hangs on w r ith her."
We walked together down the walk to the lower part of
the garden where Rache's new linen was bleaching on the
grass. The moon was at its full, so it was almost as light
as day, and I stood still and watched Rache while she
276 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
turned the table-cloths and towels that she had helped to
spin and weave with her own hands, smoothing 'em and
patting out every wrinkle with a pretty little fussy air that
was about as good an imitation of her thrifty sister as the
dear girl could get up, and when she had finished, she came
up to me and put her arm about my waist, girl fashion,
laughing a proud, happy little laugh, while she said, in the
soft, shy tone that she always used nowadays when speak-
ing of anything connected with her future : —
"These frosty nights will whiten my table linen beauti-
fully, and even if it isn't as white as I'd like to have it I
shan't fret myself to death about it, — I'm too happy over
Paul's good luck to fret about anything just now."
"Paul's good luck?" I asked curiously.
"Yes, there is a rich college friend of his who is going to
Europe to study in the hospitals there, and he has offered
to pay Paul's expenses if he will <jo with him. He says it
will be worth more to him than years of ordinary practice
here at home, so I wrote him that he had better go."
"Sho!"
Paul Westlake going to Europe, and Rache consenting
it ! Why, I never was so dumfounded in my life, for you
see that was before the days of ocean steamers, and we
looked upon a voyage across the Atlantic, then, as some-
thing almost as risky as Stanley's hunt for Dr. Living-
stone is considered now. And then to practice in those
horrible places that our seafaring friends told such dread-
ful stories about, exposed to diseases the very names of
which made one sick with loathing and terror, and the daily
companion of those hardened men who cut off a man's leg
with just as much indifference as a butcher quarters a
sheep — oh, it was dreadful ! And to think of Rache, timid,
loving little Rache, risking the life that was so dear to her,
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 277
for what might be but an imaginary benefit after all. I
couldn't understand it and I said so.
"Rache," says I, ''Europe is a long ways off, and there's
a good deal of risk to be run in getting there. And then,
have vou thought of the chance of his catching some of
those dreadful diseases that he'll have to expose himself to,
and dying away from — "
I didn't have the chance to finish what I was going to
say, for Rache gripped my arm so hard that I fairly
screamed with pain, and says she, in a hoarse, half-frozen
voice, while her teeth chattered and she shivered all over : —
"Don't say that, Dolly ! I have thought it all over and
made up my mind that, if it is best for him to go, I — can
bear it."
I couldn't say a word to that. I just put my arms round
her and kissed her white face, while the tears that I couldn't
keep back fell on her soft, brown hair, that looked, under
the shadow of the bright plaid, like a furrow in a clover
field — brown below, bright above — and then we w^ent quietly
back to the house and sat and listened to the girls' chatter,
the boys' jokes, and Betsey's suggestions and comments the
whole evening long, while Rache seemed just the same as
usual, quiet, but cheerful and busy, until I began to wonder,
in my foolish, girl fashion, if she could really love Paul
Westlake so very much, after all, when she could not only
consent to his going into the midst of such dangers, but
could' be so calm and cool about it besides.
I didn't realize that the dear girl had gone so far beyond
me in her lesson of womanly self-forgetfulness that I couldn't
even understand what she had not only learned, but was
even now putting in practice.
The subject of Mrs. Westlake's invitation was brought
up, and the family, one and all, broke into a perfect hail-
278 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
storm of wonderments when Rache refused, right up and
down, to go ; Betsey had best accept the invitation, but she
would rather stay at home.
"Don't be scared, Rache," laughed Jack, "I'll risk you
to hold up your head with the best of 'em. I wouldn't be
afraid to match you with the best looking girl that G-oshen
can scare up."
Rache smiled, but shook her head decidedly, while Polly
joked her about "attentions to husband's relations," and
her mother added in her mild way : —
"Hadn't you better go, dear? Maybe they'll feel hurt if
you don't."
"No, they won't," and Rache's eyes were full of tears as
she looked into her mother's face. "They will understand
why I don't feel like visiting even Paul's relations, when I
must say good-bye to him so soon."
"What in creation do you mean?"
Betsey's tongue had got the start of the others as usual,
and she stood glowering at the poor girl as, in a few, has-
tily spoken words, she gave the explanation that I had
already listened to in the garden.
"It'll be a grand thing for 'im !" was father Rice's quiet
comment, while the others, getting excited over such unex-
pected news, tormented poor Rache with their questions
and suggestions, never noticing the growing paleness of her
Cheek and the faintness of her voice, till Betsey, who
Strangely enough, hadn't spoken a word since her first sur-
prised exclamation, motioned to me to take a candle from
the table, and with a —
"Come, Rache, it's time we were abed," led the way to
her own room, shutting the door hard behind her, as a hy-
sterical sob broke the poor girl's pale lips, and then wrap-
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 279
ping a shawl about her. she put her into a chair and ordered
her to 4 *cry her cry out."
Two or three times I tried to interfere and make an ef-
fort to stay the flood of tears and sobs that shook the slen-
der frame as I've seen a storm of wind and rain twist and
wring a lily that it was trying its best to uproot, but Betsey
shook her head at me and I didn't dare to say a word.
••She'll feel all the better for it," she whispered, as the
violence of the storm began to subside.
"She ain't one of the kind that can keep her trouble to
herself; it would just kill her in a little while."
Here Rache looked up with a pitiful attempt at a
smile : —
"I'm afraid you'll think I'm nothing but a weak, silly
baby," she said, stifling a sob as she spoke, and looking at
Betsey instead of me ; "But I won't give way to my feel-
ings like that again. I am sorry that I was so weak and
foolish."
••So am I. Rache, and I hope you'll remember your
promise, for I should be dreadfully mortifled to have the
rest of the family see you taking on so. just because Paul
TVestlake chooses to go galivantin' off to foreign lands
rather than stay at home and marry the woman that he
professes to care so much for."
Rache's soft cheek wore an indignant flush, but, after
her usual habit, she made no reply to her sister's harsh in-
nuendo, only urging me. in her gentle fashion, to take her
place and accompany Betsey to the quarterly meeting in
her stead. I didn't like to seem to crowd myself into a
place meant for another, but there was so much said that I
couldn't seem to refuse, so I agreed to go with the under-
standing that I was going to the meeting, not to visit Mrs.
Westlake, unless by a special invitation from her.
280 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"Of course," and Betsey added, as she took off her
black silk apron and carefully folded it before laying it
away in her bureau drawer : —
"There is provision made for the accommodation of folks
from out of town, but, really, I don't believe that Mrs.
Westlake will let you go anywhere else."
It was a pretty long day's ride to Goshen, any way, and
father Rice's old "Peggy" was the slowest of all slow beasts ;
so it wasn't far from nine o'clock in the evening when we
drove up to Mr. Westlake's door, and Betsey called out her
last "whoa !" in a tone of satisfaction that I could heartily
sympathize with, for I was chilly and tired, and the lighted
windows and sound of voices within gave promise of that
rest and comfort that I was just uncomfortable enough to
appreciate.
They must have been looking for us, for the horse's
hoofs had scarcely sounded on the drive inside of the gate
before the door flew open and a woman's face looked eager-
ly out, while a pleasant, cheery voice greeted us with : —
"Good evening! Is that you, Miss Rice?" and a trim
little figure bustled out and reached up a welcoming hand
before we were fairly within the reach of it.
"Good evenin', ma'am ! Cool, this evenin'." And Betsey
climbed out of the wagon and gave her skirts a shake and
her bonnet a ''settler" before she introduced me, although
our hostess had already helped me down and was holding
my hand in hers while she looked earnestly into my veiled
and muffled face with a smile that faded at sound of Betsey's
formal introduction : —
"Mis' Westlake, shall I make you acquainted with Miss
Dutton, a friend and neighbor of ours, that was kind enough
to take the place of my sister, who concluded not to come."
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER's SECRET. 281
The lady dropped my hand, and although she made me
welcome in such a frank, kindly fashion, that I could not
feel that my visit was an intrusion, I could see that she
was sadly disappointed at Rache's failure to accept of her
invitation.
"I thought that it was she, you are so nearly the same
size," she said, "but come right in, do — you are both shiv-
ering with the cold. Our evenings are getting decidedly
•fallish,"' and she led the way into a warm, cheerfully
lighted sitting room, where she helped us off with our
wrappings, chatting all the time in a pleasant, easy way
that made us feel at home to start with.
"Your lire feels good," remarked Betsey, as she put her
feet out towards the cheerful blaze, then mindful of more
important matters, she asked staidly : —
"Do you expect many from out o' town to this quarterly
meeting? It's a good time o' year for most folks to leave
home, and you ought to have a good, full meeting."
"True — and my husband says," here the grey eyes
twinkled merrily as they rested on Betsey's carefully ironed
"Methodist collar," "that as there are an unusual number
of unmarried ministers among us this year, the sisterly
element will be likely to predominate in our meetings."
Betsey drew down her mouth and drew up the skirt of her
dress at the same moment.
"I see Miss Betsey knows how to guard against the
sparks" and Mrs. TVestlake gave me a roguish glance that
was entirely lost upon the object of the jest, who replied in
her most matter-of-fact tones : —
"Beech wood is dreadful snappy stuff. I remember once
my sister Rache just about ruined a bran new dress that she
hadn't had on more'n twice, by setting in front of a beech
19
282 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
wood fire. The front breadth was burnt in half a dozen
places."
Mrs. Westlake smiled. I could see that the sound of
Rache's name was pleasant to her, and when, later in the
evening, Betsey happened to mention her again, she said
regretfully : —
"I am so sorry that she could not come ! I had antici-
pated so much pleasure in a visit from her."
"I didn't mean to say that she could?i , t come, (Betsey
prided herself on her exactness) "but that she didn't/*^/
like coming just now."
Mrs. Westlake's sunny face grew grave in a moment.
It was p4tiin to be seen that she understood the hint.
"It will be a great trial to us all," she said, her lip
quivering as she spoke, "and we — his father and I — shall
feel the separation all the more keenly, for until he entered
college he was never away from home more than a week
at a time, and seldom that."
Betsey pricked up her ears and looked knowing :
"That is, since he was under your care !"'
Mrs. Westlake colored a little, but she answered
pleasantly : —
"He has been ours since he was six months old before
that I never saw him."
"Then you didn't live near your sister."
Betsey was knitting away with all her might, which was
the reason, perhaps, that her arm had that queer up and
down motion that always made me think of a pump handle,
for I'd seen it go just so before when she was trying to find
out Bomethiug — elbow and tongue always went together
then.
Mrs. Westlake seemed a little surprised at the question,
and I fancied she spoke rather stiffly when she said : —
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET,
283
"No. Our houses were some distance apart, and at that
time of the year— Paul was born in the fall— it was diffi-
cult travelling in such a mountainous region."
"As New Hampshire?"
"Yes."
Betsey stopped to take up a dropped stitch, and Mrs.
Westlake began to talk about something else, a little ner-
vously I fancied, as if she was anxious to change the con-
versation, and just as she was in the midst of a description
of a terrible thunder storm that had almost ruined their
wheat crop the year before, a thin, sharp voice called out
from the room beyond : —
"Huldy ! Huldy ! Come here, this very minute !"
Mrs. Westlake started to her feet in a moment, only
stopping long enough to whisper the explanation :—
"It's my mother. She is very old and feeble both in
body and mind, and I never leave her alone any length of
time, so you must excuse me for the present."
And without waiting for a reply she hurried into the next
room from which we could now hear a piteous, wailing
sound, and the fretfully spoken words :—
"What did you stay away from me for, so long? you
wicked, ungrateful child ! "
I suppose that her daughter explained that she had
visitors, for we could hear her voice in a low, soothing
undertone, but the old lady was not to be pacified.
« 'What of that ? Pm your own mother and you haven't
any business to leave me alone for other folks even if I
did drop to sleep for a minute."
Then after a moment's silence : —
"Bring 'em in and let me see 'em. I guess I'm good
enough company for them or anybody else. You needn't
think, Huldy Binks, just because you live in a fine house
284 RE -TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
an' dress in your silks an' satins, that you're a bit better
than your mother was before ye."
"The old cross-patch !" I whispered indignantly, but
Betsey shook her head reprovingly.
"She's childish, poor soul !" (Betsey always had charity
for sharp tongued folks so long as they didn't interfere
with her) and just then Mrs. Westlake came out to invite
us into her mother's room, and as I noticed the saddened,
subdued look upon her face, I knew that the burden of life
was, even to her cheerful, buoyant nature, no light one.
It was a pleasant, airy room, furnished with an eye to
beauty as well as comfort, for there were pictures on the
wall — old-fashioned, queer looking faces to be sure, but
daintily framed and ornamented with sprays of red-berried
asparagus or gorgeous-eyed peacock's feathers ; with roses
and chrysanthemums in the window seat, and a pretty hang-
ing pot of Iceland moss and wild creepers hanging from the
ceiling just in range of the eye of the old lady, who lay in
her bed, propped up by pillows, her little, sharp, restless
eves peering out from a face so wrinkled that it looked as
if the skin had heen crimped with a penknife to match the
snowy cap-border and ruffles at her neck and wrists. I
suppose she tried to smile when she saw us, but it didn't
amount to anything more than a change of puckers about
the mouth, and when Mrs.Westlake introduced us, and she
put her little, clam-like hand into mine I couldn't help a
kind of "crawly" feeling all over me, she seemed so much
like one of those "uncanny creatures" that my old Scotch
grandmother used to tell me stories about when I was a
child ; while her voice, in her efforts to modulate it to a
compa?iy key, was about as pleasant to the ear as a coffee
mill that's out of fix.
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 285
"Hope I see you well, ladies," and she bobbed her white
capped head with an air intended to be very gracious. "You
see," she went on, "that I'm so confined that I can't wait
on you myself, but I do hope that my daughter Huldy
here makes out to make you comfortable."
Of course we both expressed our entire satisfaction, and
Betsey drawing a chair close to the bedside, began to ques-
tion the old lady about her infirmities, listening with a
show of the deepest interest to a list of her ailments, and
suggesting, now and then, some remedy that "would be
sure to help if it didn't cure" her.
"Balm of Gilead buds steeped in rum would be a good
thing for your cough," she said, but the old lady shook her
head dejectedly : —
'"It ain't no kind o' use to talk about what would do me
good," she sighed. "Nobody thinks it worth while to put
themselves out to do for me. now Chirky's gone, poor,
dear, mur" —
"Mother! Mother! do stop!" and Mrs. Westlake's
face wore a startled, anxious look that was really pitiful.
"You know," she went on, in a soothing tone, and smooth-
ing back a few straggling white hairs that had crept over
the wrinkled forehead, "you know, mother, that there is
nothing that we wouldn't do to make you comfortable and
happy."
The old woman looked up into her daughter's face, and
seeing the tears in her eyes her mood changed, and reaching
out her shrivelled arms she drew her down to her, and
softly patting her cheek she said in a soft, cooing tone, such
as one would use in talking to a baby : —
"Poor little girl ! Was mother cross to her? Oh, well,
well ! I didn't mean it, after all, for you're a good child,
Huldy — a good child if / do say it, and" —
286 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Here the words grew indistinct, sinking at last into a low
murmur, and in a few minutes her daughter laid her gently
back upon the pillows sound asleep.
Mrs. Westlake stood for a moment silently looking
down upon the now quiet, placid face, then lightly touching
her lips to the faded cheek she left the room on tiptoe and
we as quietly followed. I, for one, was thankful to find
myself out of sight and hearing of this unlovely, but pitiful
specimen of second childhood, of whom our hostess re-
marked, in her gentle, womanly way. when we were again
comfortably seated in the cheery sitting room : —
'•My poor mother has never been quite herself since my
sister's death, and each year she has grown weaker in mind
and body. She has only walked from her bed to the easy
chair by the window once a day for seven years, and some-
times, for weeks at a time, she has been unable to make
even that exertion. She is very much attached to my hus-
band, and when he is away from home she is always par-
ticularly irritable and nervous. She seems, somehow, to
feel herself in constant need of a protector, and she evidently
looks upon him in that light. He has been away now
almost a week, and I am expecting him every day. No-
body knows how thankful I shall be when he comes, for
she has been worse than usual this time."
•-She seems to look upon you as a child," I said.
4i Yes, that is one of her fancies. She don't seem to
realize that I am a grown up woman, and in speaking of
Paul's mother she always calls her by the pet name of her
childhood."
"■Does she know who Paul is?"
The question was natural enough under the circum-
stances, but there was an uncomfortable significance in Bet-
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 287
sey's tone that made Mrs. Westlake color and look a little
embarrassed as she said hesitatingly : —
"Yes, I think she does, generally. But I have thought
lately that she confounds him with his father, whose name
he bears, and whom he very much resembles in looks as he
grows older."
Betsey coughed, one of those dry, disagreeable coughs
that certain people always send ahead to clear the way for
a still more disagreeable speech, and says she : —
"Does she think any the less of him for that?"
Mrs. Westlake was as true a lady as ever lived, but for
a moment I think that she forgot that Betsey Rice was her
guest, seeing in her only a prying, inquisitive woman,
whose curiosity had carried her to the very borders of im-
pudence, and says she, with a chill dignity that ten min-
utes before I wouldn't have believed her capable of: —
"My mother's private likes and dislikes are not a pleas-
ant or suitable subject for discussion between us, and we
will drop it, if you please, once for all. Is Mr. Bird as
popular with the church in your place as your last minis-
ter, Mr. Glasse, was?"
Betsey turned the seam in her stocking with a jerk that
made the needles rattle, but she answered coldly enough : —
"Yes, he's liked quite as well, if not better, I think. Mr.
Glasse was a good man, so everybody said — but he wasn't
no great of a sermonizer, and folks grumbled a good deal
about having to listen to the same sermon every few
months."
"I'm not sure that that very complaint might not have a
compliment hidden underneath it, after all, for a sermon
must really have some character to it to so fix itself upon
people's minds that they could recognize it again after the
288 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
lapse of two or three months," and Mrs. Westlake laughed
good-naturedly.
It was plain to be seen that her anger was something
that didn't last long, and I think she tried by every kindly
act in her power to make us forget the little unpleasantness
that Betsey's mistimed curiosity had brought about ; and
when we were alone in our chamber I said to Betsey that
Mrs. Westlake was one of the pleasantest women that I ever
visited."
" Pleasaiit enough "
Betsey was standing at the glass unfastening her collar,
and from where I stood I could see the reflection of her face
side to, and it actually startled me it looked so queer. We
had a picture at home that had hung over our front room
mantle-piece ever since I was a child, of a stag brought to
bay by the hunters. The noble brute had turned his face
to the dogs that were almost upon him, the foremost of
them standing poised ready for the final spring, with his
sharp, eager muzzle and fierce eyes wearing a look of sav-
age satisfaction that, to my childish fancy, had something
disagreeably human in it, a fancy that I never could rid
myself of, and — perhaps the glass was a poor one — but for
a moment Betsey Rice's long, thin, sharp face, wore pre-
cisely the look of that foremost hound, and I drew a sigh
of relief when a little turn of her head destroyed the like-
ness, although it didn't hinder the disagreeable feeling with
which I listened to her talk about the Westlakes.
••That woman has got something in her past life that she
wants to hide, and is afraid her old mother will, in some
way, let out. It's none of my business, of course, but I
should like to know why she colors up and looks so guilty
when Paul Westlake's father happens to be mentioned."
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 289
I hinted that he might not have been a favorite with his
wife's relatives, and that they chose to let his memory die
with him.
Betsey laughed significantly.
•• You've hit the nail on the head for once, and that, too,
without knowing it," she said, giving roe an odd look from
one corner of her eye, but at that moment the sound of
wheels, and a man's voice and step in the entry below, di-
rected her attention from the subject of Mrs. Westlake's
mvsteries,
; 'It's her husband got home, probably." she said, after
listening at the key hole for a few minutes, "and I must
say that I am glad of it, for I don't like the idea of sleep-
ing in a strange house with nobody but women folks in it to
call on in case of lire or sickness."
For my own part I didn't feel any special need of a pro-
tector, but I did go to sleep with an easier mind knowing
that the queer old woman down stairs would rest the better
for knowing that her son-in-law was close at hand in case
she should need him.
This, my last thought at night was my first one in the
morning, and I was surprised when I went down into the
sitting room to hear the old lady scolding away like the
head of an old fiddle : —
'•Don't come here, I tell you ! I don't want you here,
you aint a safe person to have round, and it makes my
flesh creep and my blood curdle in my veins to have you
near me."
Here a man's voice made some soothing answer, but the
old ladv screamed out fiercer than before : —
'•Don't -grandmother' me. you wolfs cub ! / can see
your teeth an' claws under the sheep skin."
RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AXD SHORES OF MAINE.
And she wound up with a cry so like a frightened, angry
child, that I almost expected when Mrs. Westlake came
out to us to see her with a screaming baby in her arms,
but instead of a baby she was followed by a tall, broad
shouldered young man. whose grave face lighted up at sight
of us. while he acknowledged Betsey's characteristic saluta-
tion : "Why, Paul Westlake, is that you?" with the old
pleasant laugh that I had heard so many times and never
without pleasure, and —
'•I: is /. Miss Betsey, sure. But I should judge by your
looks that you ; to Bee me."
"No," and Betsey eyed him sharply as she spoke. "I
underst-od that your vacation wouldn't be for some time
yet."
"That's so, but my thoughtful mother, here," and he
put his arm round her waist with an air of boyish gallai
half fun and half earnest, that made her laugh and blush
like a happy _' '.. "gave me a hint that if I could get
leave - nee for a few days I should find mvself well
repaid for the trouble of coming."
"It's a pity you should have been so disappointed," and
Betsey drew herself up with a half offended air. ''But
perhaps Mrs. Westlake will take warning from it not to
count her chickens before they are hatched, again."
This was a specimen of Betsey's style of joking, and we
all laughed because she seemed to expect - some-
- at the breakfast table that morning didn't
Beem to b< darly merry one in spite of Mrs. W
P up a pleasant, nation on
I thingsi ° al, for Paul was unusually quiet
and Betsey anasually sharp, so that the go >d-natured little
lady had her bauds full to keep up an appearance of cheer-
fulness.
BETSEY J OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 291
''You expected to find Rache here?" I said to Paul, as
we stood alone together by the suuny south window of
Mrs. West-lake's sitting room.
'•Scarcely. I didn't think that she would care to come
just now, but I couldn't be certain, knowing that my
mother expected her."
How thoroughly those two understood each other, and I
thought, as I stood watching him as he turned his mother's
roses and geraniums so that the buds could catch the sun-
shine, that a year's separation was, after all, but a very
small matter compared to a life-time of happiness such as
theirs must be.
Betsey's shrill tones and the querulous voice of the old
dame in the next room reached us as we stood there to-
gether, and I saw a look of pain pass over the young man's
face, while there was perplexity as well as regret in his
voice as he said thoughtfully : —
"It is curious, but my grandmother never seemed to have
the least affection for me, and as I grow older she seems to
fear as well as dislike me. I remember when I was a lit-
tle fellow, and I used sometimes to venture on a caress or
some little service that brought me near her, how she would
push me away with a shudder, just as she would some dis-
agreeable insect. And yet I am the only grandchild that
she has."
"She has lost her mind and isn't responsible for her fan-
cies," I said, trying to find some polite apology for this
strange freak.
"I suppose so, and yet it is a hard trial to me. You
heard her talk to me this morning?"
I nodded for I couldn't deny it.
"All that was because I proposed giving her a com-
posing draught to quiet her nerves, for she was unusually
292 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
wakeful through the night. She declared that I wanted to
poison her, and ended by ordering me never to come into
her room again."
Just the a we heard the old lady call out in her most ex-
cited tones : —
"Tell her, from me, ?iot to have him if she values her
life at a pin's worth."
Paul and I looked at each other, wondering at first, then,
as the same suspicion awoke in each with a painful embar-
rassment that Mrs. Westlake's entrance prevented finding
expression in words.
The meeting was an uncommonly interesting one and
with that and our visit the week slipped away before we
knew it, and Saturday morning we started for home, carry-
ing with us a big budget of compliments, invitations, and
regards for those at home, with some extra dainty tid-bits
for Rache's special benefit that were entrusted to mv care
alone : —
"Tell the dear girl that our mutual sorrow at parting
with the one that we both so dearly love will be but another
bond of affection between us, for the thought of her °rief
gives her a warmer place in my heart than even her beauty
and goodness had the power to do. Tell her, too, that I
shall claim a great part of her time during Paul's absence
for myself, for we shall have the right, and I believe the
power, to comfort each other."
This was the good woman's parting message, whispered
under cover of adjusting my cloak cape, while Betsey was
settling a hot brick for her own feet in the bottom of the
wagon, and a wrinkled, little old face, peered out at us
from a window of the invalid's room, nodding a farewell to
the guests that she evidently believed came expressly to
visit her.
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 293>
The old mare pricked up her ears and we started off in
grand style, but I noticed that once out of sight of the
house Betsey loosened the reins, and after a time omitting
the usual encouraging chirrup, even, she let the lazy beast
take her own time, while she scarce answered the remarks
that I made, now and then, for the sake of saying some-
thing — a queer state of affairs, considering that she was
usually so fond of the sound of her own voice that she kept
it going most of the time.
It was plain that she was in a brown study over some-
thing, and as I stole a look at her face, now and then, it
fairly puzzled me, for one moment it was pleased, satisfied,
the next, anxious and troubled.
We stopped to dinner at a little out of the way tavern,
and I never saw any creature so ridgetty and absent minded
as she was all the time we were there. In the first place she
ordered our dinner ready at twenty-two o'clock, and when
I laughed at the mistake she was as cross as a bear, snapped
me up with something about "people in glass houses" that
provoked me so that I made up my mind that I'd be as
o-lum as she was the rest of the dav, but when our team
was brought to the door and she asked the hostler if the old
mare had had her laudanum. I couldn't keep still any
longer, and as soon as we were fairly started I spoke right
out, without any ifs or ands, and says I : —
••Betsey Rice, what in creation is the matter with you?
I should say that you was either foolish or crazy, or both."
She didn't answer me at first, and I concluded that she
didn't hear me, but I soon found out my mistake.
"Dollv," says she, in a slow, deliberate way that hadn't
a touch of temper in it, k 'you've always been so intimate in
our family that you seem almost like one of us, and I can
say things to you that I wouldn't to anybody else. You
" ']
294 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
remember when I made that visit to my mother's folks in
New Hampshire, the summer I was fifteen?"
"Yes, indeed, I remember it well."
'•One of my uncles lived in Lyconia, and it was while I
was there that I heard what I am going to tell you about :
"One morning my cousin Bethiah came running in from
one of the neighbors, and says she : 'Who do you think is
dead? Guess quick, mother.' Aunt guessed a number of
folks that she knew was sick, but Bethiah shook her head
at each one.
: None o' the7?z^ says she.
'Man or woman?' says aunt Ann, beginning to be ex-
cited.
"'Man. But I guess I might as well tell you — it's
Dr. Milton.'
"Her mother stopped stirring her pan of gingerbread and
looked at her for a full minute in silence, and then she drew
a deep sigh, and says she : —
" 'Poor creature ! when did he die, Bethiah?'
" 'They found him dead this mornin', setting up straight
an' stiff in his chair ; and they sayf here she dropped her
voice and looked sideways at me, 'that it choked him to
death at last. Mis' Jimps said his face was a good deal
swelled.'
" 'It?' I was gettin' kind o' curious, and I suppose aunt
mistrusted it, for she said, with the soberest face that I ever
saw her have on : —
" 'lie's been a bad man, I'm afraid, this Paul Milton.
Most folks think him a murderer, and I must say the evi-
dence was pretty strong against him. But he's gone, now,
poor soul! to a world where folks are sure of their just
dues, whatever they are.'
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 295
" 'Do tell about him,' says I, and she went on with her
story : —
" 'He came here when he was a young man. just begin-
ning to practice, and he lived a bachelor life till he was as
much as thirty-live or thereabout, and then he married a
girl from out of town and brought her home with him. A
sweet, pretty little creature she was as ever lived, and he
seemed to think everything of her at first, although every-
body else could see that she wasn't really a co??ipa??ion for
him after all. You see, he was a highly educated man,
a great reader, and a deep thinker, while she was just a sim-
ple, timid child, well brought up and of a good family, but
altogether too young and childish for a man like him. And
after a while I noticed, especially after her baby was born,
that he spent more time with a new patient of his that had
lately moved into the place, than he did in his own home,
till pretty soon folks begun to talk — as folks will — about
his bein' too thick with the Jameson's for a married man
with a wife and baby of his own.
'•For my own part. I never wondered that he liked to go
there, for this Miss Jameson was one of the most interest-
ing women that I ever saw in my life. She could talk
about anything, and it was as good as a book to hear her
describe the people and places where she'd been, for her
father was an old sea cap'n and she had been ever so many
foreign voyages with him. The doctor used to say that he
never talked with her ten minutes without hearing some-
thing new and worth the knowing, and everybody liked her
even if they did gossip about her.
••The doctor wanted his wife to get acquainted with his
new patient, but she was feeble — she didn't get up very
well — and nervous, and she didn't take much interest in
anybody or anything but her baby. She fussed andfidgetted
296 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
over that the whole continual time. So after a while the
doctor give up trying to get her out or to interest her in any-
thing outside of her own home.
"I suppose some tattlin' busybody took occasion to tell
her of the gossip that was going on about her husband, for
she begun to grow dreadful fractious and uncomfortable,
and every week or so she would write a long letter to her
mother that she was very careful not to leave where the
doctor could get a peep at it, while she always burned the
answers as quick as she read 'em.
"It was a bad state of affairs, and I was glad enough
when I wasn't needed to nurse any longer, and could °-
home, where folks didn't have any secret trials to fret them-
selves to death over.
"I had been at home about three weeks, when one morn-
ing old Chick, the doctor's man, come drivin' up to our
house like mad, and when he saw me he gasped out : —
" 'Do come over to our house just as quick as you can !
Mis' Milton she's dead, an' even the doctor can't bring her
to. For the Lord's sake, do come, quick !'
'•When I got there the doctor was walkin' back an' forth
across the sittin' room, all alone, an' when I come in he
said 'good morning' just the same as if nothing had hap-
pened, "but his face was as white as the face of the dead,
and there was the strangest look in his eyes when he said : —
" 'I sent for you, Ann, because I knew that you had
common sense enough to know what to do in this terrible
case. I was out all last night with a patient, and when I
g(Jt home about four this morning I found my wife dead in
her bed. I want you to lay her out and see that everything
is done properly and as it should be.'
" 'But,' I said, tremblin' all over like a leaf, as I fol-
lowed him up the stairs to his wife's room, 'I must have
somebody to help me.'
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MA STER's SECRET. 297
" 'Get any one you please,' says he sharply. 'But mind,
now, I won't have my house overrun with a troop of prying,
gossiping women.'
"She laid there in her bed looking more like her old
self than she had before for months, with her arm that the
baby had laid on stretched out beside her so natural that,
for the moment, I could hardly believe that she was really
dead, and I half expected to see her open her eyes and hear
her call my name as I'd heard her so many times before.
"Well, I got one of the neighbors to help me, and we
laid her out in the white silk dress that she was married in.
(her husband told us to) and he had her buried the very
next day. so that her folks, her mother and sister and broth-
er-in-law. never got there till she was fairly under the ground.
There was a time, then, I tell you. The mother screamed
like a mad woman when she saw the doctor, declaring that
he'd killed her child and hidden her out of sight to con-
ceal the crime ; the sister cried and sobbed over the poor
little motherless baby, and the brother-in-law. who seemed
a sensible, square-minded sort of a man. made some plain
talk that the doctor didn't much relish, I guess, for he or-
dered him out of the house, and told him to do his worst,
he wa'n't afraid of him.
"But the town officers was complained to and they had
the body taken up and examined by a lot of doctors, and
the next day but one after his wife's funeral Dr. Milton was
arrested for her murder and lodged in the county jail to
wait his trial.
"When that come off, the brother-in-law proved by let-
ters in Mrs. Milton's own handwriting that her husband had
treated her with neglect and indifference for some time, and
in one of the letters she wrote : —
20
298 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
" 'I wish I was safe at home with you for I am really
afraid sometimes for my life. It would be such an easy
thing for him to put me out of his way with some poisonous
drug and nobody ever mistrust him.'
' 'The doctors agreed that she died from the effects of lau-
danum, and his indecent haste in burying her before her
friends came told strongly against the prisoner. Then, the
patient that he pretended to have passed the night with
swore that he left his house before eleven o'clock the evenin'
before, and that was another thing against him.
'•But the lawyer on the other side argued that the lauda-
num might have been taken for medicine and without her
husband's knowledge or consent. It was kept in the house
with other medicines and might easily have been taken by
mistake or, judgin' by the tone of her letters, in a fit of
childish jealousy.
"So they had it, back an' forth, but though everybody
else thought him guilty the jury disagreed, and at last
brought him in 'not guilty,' and he come back to his old
home a free but disgraced man. shunned by everybody,
even Miss Jameson wouldn't speak to him, and if she met
him passed him by with a shudder, and those who had been
his best friends for years wouldn't employ him, so at last
he give up tryin' to live it down as he'd said at first that he
would, and settled down alone to himself.
"His sister-in-law had taken the baby home with her
when he was arrested and was very anxious to adopt it,
and he wrote her that she might have the child if she would
bring it up as her own and never let it know of it's father's
disgrace.
"She was glad enough to agree to this, and I heard some
time afterwards that the whole family, grandmother and all
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 299
had moved away, nobody knew where, and that was the
last I ever heard of them.
"There wan't a woman in Lyconia that would have kept
house for him if he'd paid her in diamonds, so he o-ot a widow
woman and her daughter, some distant connection of his
from somewhere in York State, to come an' take the house
an' board him.
"That was ten years ago, that the trial was, and the last
eight years he has spent in his own room — the very chamber
that his wife died in — sitting day after day, in his arm chair
in a corner by the fire-place, never speaking unless spoken
to, and digging with his heavy cane at the floor with a
queer jerky motion, as if he was shovelling dirt out of a
grave. His housekeeper told me not long ago that the solid
oak floor was worn almost through in that place, and other
folks say that a cord has been all this time growin' round
his neck to strangle him with one of these days."
"That's the 'it,' I suppose?" said I, and my aunt nodded,
although she took occasion to say that such foolish notions
ought not to be mentioned even, by sensible people, who
knew better.
"We went to the funeral as did everybody else in Ly-
conia, and I saw the face that, for eight long years his
nearest neighbors hadn't had even a glimpse of, a wrinkled,
worn face, the long beard and hair white as snow, un-
trimmed in all that time, and the form so wasted that a boy
of twelve could have lifted it in his arms without any
trouble.
"There was a look in that face that I never forgot, and
when I saw Paul Westlake for the first time there was some-
thing in his looks that struck me as natural, while at the
same time it gave me a disagreeable feeling that I didn't
understand at the time, till I happened to see his name in
300 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
full on that handkerchief, and then I began to mistrust that
he might be the son of the man that I heard of in Lyconia
so many years ago.
" 'Twas only a guess, to be sure, for I didn't even know
if that child was a boy, but I hunted up some old papers
that I'd brought home with me that had a notice of the af-
fair in one, and I found the child spoken of as his "little
son," so I knew I was right so far, and that crazy old grand-
mother let the cat out of the bag, ears an' all. Didn't I really
long, when we come away, to tell that deceitful aunt of
his that I'd found her out, and that she couldn't palm the
son of a man that was tried for the murder of his own wife
upon a respectable family ?"
I was so utterly confounded that I didn't know what to
say, sol only said ''Gracious!" and stared at Betsey with
all my eyes, while she went on more as if she was talking
to herself than to me : —
"It'll be a hard thing for Rache — but she'd better know
it now than when it's too late . "
"Too later
"Yes. If they was already married it couldn't make
any difference of course."
"Do you mean to say that when Rache hears this story
of yours she will break her engagement with Paul West-
lake?"
"To be sure she will. Do you think that I'd see a sister
of mine married to a man whose father just escaped the
gallows ?"
There was an air of provoking assurance in the way she
said this that aggravated me into speaking my honest senti-
ments in spite of my habitual fear of her tongue, and I
said boldly : —
BETSEY : OK THE SCHOOL-MASTER'? SECRET. 301
••Rache -vent break her engagement with the man she
loves, let me tell you, even if you could prove that every re-
lation he ever had in the world died in State's Prison and
that he was a direct descendant from Cain himself into the
bargain."
Betsey looked astonished.
k, Do you mean to tell me." and she raised her voice to
the righting key, "that you believe my sister Rachel will
marry that man now ? '
••Yes, I do."
'•And /say she won't. Do you suppose that she hasn't
any natural feelings that would keep her from disgracin' her
family as well as herself by such a match?"
••I don't see what disgrace it would be to anybody." I
said stubbornly. "He is just as good now as he was before
you managed by your peeking and prying to find out all this
mess about his family : and if / was in Rache Rice's place
I shouldn't think one grain the less of him on account of his
father's sin."
••Humph:"
I believe if I could have boxed the ears under Betsey
Rice's big straw bonnet at that moment, that I should have
known for once what it was to be perfectly happy, and
even to this day I never can recall the contemptuous air and
tone, and the complacent superiority with which she pro-
nounced that one little word without a suspicious tingling in
my ringer tips, that warns me that the old Adam isn't quite
dead in me yet in spite of my three-score years' discipline
of toil and poverty and care.
"Time will show I" I muttered, and time did show that
Rache Rice wan't exactly the pliant twig that her sister had
counted on. To be sure there was a great commotion in
the Rice household when the story of that old man in Lv-
302 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
conia was told. Everybody talked at once, wondering and
questioning about it, until Rache, who had been sitting pale
and still in the midst of the tumult, turned her calm, ear-
nest eyes upon her sister, while she asked, quietly : —
"Why did you take the trouble to find all this out now,
Betsey?"
Betsey gave her a withering look as she answered
sharply : —
"Do you think I wanted a sister of mine to marry the
son of a murderer ?"
Rache looked bewildered.
"You didn't think that — that this would make any differ-
ence in ?ny feelings toward Paul?"
"Rachel Rice, are you a born fool !" and Betsey's wrath
flamed hot and high.
"Do you think that / — that any of your family would
consent to your throwing yourself away upon that man,
noivT
Rache smiled, and her voice was just as low and soft as
ever, as she said with a glance at her sister's angry face : —
"I shall have to marry 'without your consent then."
"Good for you, Rache!" called out Jack approvingly,
and as all the rest of the family seemed more or less ready
to admit that she was right in holding to her engagement,
Betsey's grand discovery that she had taken so much pains
to make seemed to have made but little difference in her
sister's plans after all.
I said "seemed," for Betsey Rice was not one to give up
anything that she had set her mind on so easily, and when
Paul came to make his parting visit before leaving, she took
that time to tell him the sad story that had been for so many
years mercifully withheld from him ; and then in the midst
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 803
of his grief and mortification she hinted at the "dreadful
disgrace," that, as his wife, Rache would have to suffer.
But she missed her mark there, too, for Paul refused to
consider himself disgraced by the accusation that had ruined
his father.
"You have succeeded," he said, "in planting a thorn in
my pillow that must wound me as long as I live. Whether
the terrible crime of which my poor father was accused was
really committed by him God only knows, but even if he
were guilty it was no fault of mine, and I cannot see why
any disgrace should fall on me on account of it."
"You take it wonderfully easy," snapped Betsey. "For
my part I consider it an honor to me that I can trace back
my ancestors for half a dozen generations and not find a
murderer, a drunkard or a thief among them."
"It must be a great satisfaction, no doubt it is ; but as to
its being any special honor to yon, this array of honest
forefathers, I must say that I fail to see it in that light.
You had nothing to do with their honesty any more than I
had to do with my father's disgrace."
Betsey argued and scolded by turns, but the sturdy self-
respect and common sense of the young man was like an
immovable wall against which poor Betsey beat her angry
fists in vain, until at last, apparently seeing for herself
that longer fighting was useless, she, as she expressed it,
"gave up" and let matters take their own course.
She "had no ill will against the young man," she said,
and when he took his final leave of the family she shook
his hand as cordially as any of them, and wished him a
"prosperous journey and a safe return" with as much ap-
parent sincerity as anybody could desire. Under the influ-
ence of his hopefulness and courage Rache had come to
look upon their parting with a cheerful confidence that up-
304 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
held her even under Betsey's unexpressed but only too evi-
dent displeasure.
And yet it was no light trial to the affectionate girl to see
her life-long place by her sister's side, at home or abroad,
always rilled by Sarah or Polly, whose society Betsey
seemed, now, for the first time in her life, to reallv enjoy,
while if Pache proffered her any of the little loving services
that she had for so many years received as her right, she
was coldly repulsed and given to understand that one of the
other girls could do quite as well.
"She'll get over it in time, just let her alone." I used to
say to Rache when she came to me for sympathy, and the
dear, patient little soul would go back to her trial, bravely
facing the coldness and neglect that her loving, dependent
nature was no better fitted to endure than a lily of the val-
ley is the frosts of a November night.
But I could see as the days and weeks went by that it
wore upon her, although at last she stopped speaking of it,
even to me. and if I said anything about it she would try
to turn it off by talking of something else as fast as she
could. But she didn't deceive me. I knew her too well for
that, and I knew as well as if she had told me that Betsey's
treatment of her was a constant torture let her try as hard
as she might to hide it.
I never shall forget one night, at class meeting, a few
weeks after Paul left, there was an unusually full attend-
ance, and Betsey got up there before them all and began
t - Speak of her ••dome-tic griefs," and the terrible trial
that she found it to "forgive those who would trample on
tin- closest bonds of natural affection, "and at last wound up
by asking the prayers of her Christian brothers and sisters
that she "might bear with patience the heavy burden that
human selfishness had laid upOD her shoulders."
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 305
Now we all know that human nature is human nature
just the same in a class meeting as anywhere else, and it
isn't strange that everybody's curiosity should be aroused to
know "What the trouble was with Betsey Rice?" or that
the young minister, while he exhorted her to be of good
cheer and look to Heaven for strength and patience to bear
her trials, should cast a reproachful yet pitying glance at
the flushed, tear-stained face of the younger sister, who,
astonished and mortified at this public exhibition of private
troubles, sat silent, with tightly clasped hands and a terri-
ble sense of personal humiliation swelling her heart almost
to bursting.
"Oh, Betsey! How could you?' she sobbed, as soon as
we were fairly started on our way home. "What will
people think you meant?"
"No matter what they think," and Betsey gave a sniff
that she meant should pass for a sigh. "As long as my
mouth is shut at home I must find sympathy somewhere."
••Yes; and in hunting for sympathy you have managed
to set every tongue in town wagging over the dreadful mys-
tery that you hinted at," I cried, angrily. "Everybody
knows of Rache's engagement, and after what you have
said to-night they won't be long in guessing that your
trouble has something to do with that."
"/ain't responsible for their guessings," snuffed Betsey,
with an injured air. "Rache knows that her obstinacy is
just killing me by inches, for if I once see her the wife of
that man I never shall hold my head up afterwards, the
shame and sorrow together will break me down entirely."
"Fush !" I muttered, while Rache sobbed imploringly : —
"Oh, Betsey ! How can you be so cruel and unjust? I
would do anything in the world to please you, but I have
no right to break a solemn promise even for your sake."
306 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"A bad promise is better broken than kept," and with
this final "fling" Betsey wrapped her shawl closer about
her and stalked on ahead, never deigning either of us
another word, good or bad, all the rest of the way home.
It all came to pass just as I said it would, and in a
week's time the story was in everybody's mouth that "the
Rices were dreadfully opposed to Rache's marrying the
young doctor on account of so?nething that they had
found out about him."
What these discoveries were, nobody pretended to know,
but of course everybody had his or her private theory, and
it was really curious to hear the list of crimes that were
suggested as possible in one who, only a few months before,
they had welcomed to their homes as an honored and trusted
guest, holding him up as an example to their sons, of manly
stability and honest independence of character, all of which
seemed to be forgotten in the general, and in most cases un-
charitable, wonderment that Betsey's ill-timed plea for sym-
pathy had started up.
It was awkward for the Rices, for, although when ques-
tioned, all (Betsey excepted) indignantly denied the reports
against Paul's character, they could not deny that Betsey
had some grounds for her opposition to the match, and this
very mystery that they were all too loyal to Paul, as well
as too proud to unravel for the satisfaction of the public,
only fanned the flame the higher, uutil at last, Mrs. Col.
(irant, who was rather a hasty, quick-tempered woman,
wrote her sister, Paul's mother, about it, telling her that
the Rice family had influenced Rache to break her encase-
ment, and that they had set afloat all sorts of disgraceful
stories about him, to excuse their opposition, and — I don't
know what all — but, at any rate, Mrs. Westlake felt so
provoked and insulted that she dropped Rache entirely,
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 307
didn't even answer the letter that the poor child wrote try-
ing to explain the matter ; while Mrs. Grant took occasion
to tell everybody that the "mitten was on the other foot,
and if there was a broken engagement she guessed Rache
Rice wouldn't have a chance to do the breaking."
Of course there were plenty of busy bodies to carry all
these disagreeable reports to the ears of the ones most in-
terested, making the usually cheerful, happy household of
the Rices a constant scene of indignant, angry excitement,
in the midst of which poor timid Rache was as helpless as
an infant.
With the natural delicacy of a young and modest girl,
the very publicity given to her love affairs by this general
gossip, was an infliction almost too terrible to be borne, and
when to this was added the certainty that Pauls reputa-
tion was really suffering from the reports that busy tongues
were never weary of circulating, the poor girl, strong only
in her affections. lo>t heart entirely, and when her loud-
voiced sisters repeated in angry, excited tones, some new
bit of the popular gossip, she would creep silently away,
with a white, drawn face that excited their sympathy, al-
though they could have no more idea of her suffering than a
Hottentot has of the mortification and disappointment of an
unsuccessful author, and it was a continual wonderment to
them, as the weeks went by. to see her shrink more and
more from those around her, refusing to go out, even to
church, and avoiding her most familiar acquaintances and
neighbors as much as possible.
As I have said, the girls '-wondered" greatly how she
could be "such a baby." They wouldn't worry themselves
to death about what other folks said about Paul so long as
they knew themselves that he was all right.
308 KE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
That was common sense to be sure, but we are all slow
to comprehend that what is no trial to us, may be a cruel,
crushing weight to another of a different temperament, and
Rache Rice's sensitive, imaginative nature was and always
had been, a complete puzzle to her coarser and more matter-
of-fact family.
It took a good while for letters to come across the ocean
in those days, and Rache heard from Paul but seldom, and
even then there was as much to worry as to comfort her in
his letters, for, as he naturally would, he wrote a good deal
about his life in the hospitals, and of the dreadful spread of
contagious diseases that had filled all the wards t) overflow-
ing — "splendid practice for a young M. D.," he wrote,
with professional satisfaction, never mistrusting that, to the
timid girl whose heart was with him in all those scenes of
danger and suffering, this knowledge of the risk which he
must necessarily run was an added thorn in her already
sleepless pillow, until at last she grew so white and thin
that people began to notice it, and hint that she seemed con-
sumptive, while even Betsey forgot her displeasure in her
anxiety about her sister's failing health, and ransacked wood
and field and garden for roots and herbs to make strengthen-
ing mixtures, that she dosed her with faithfully, but without
effect, for she oaly grew weaker and paler every day, while
the worried, anxious look never left her face, and she would
start up, all of a tremble, if she heard a strange footstep or
voice. She seemed like one who is all the time expecting
to hear some dreadful news, and she was never really at
rest for a moment when she was awake.
It was a pleasant day late in September, and I remember
as w.dl as if it had been only yesterday, what a bright scar-
let the woodbine over Father Rice's back porch was, when
I called there on my way to the post-office to see if there
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 309
were any letters to be sent, for I generally took Rache's let-
ters for her since she had grown too weak to undertake so
long a walk herself.
Betsey met me at the back door, and I noticed that she
had been crying ; but when I inquired for Rache, she put
on that little important air. (she couldn't help it, poor soul!)
while she told me of the sleepless night that she had passed
in trying to quiet her sister who was unusually restless.
"The fact is," she whispered confidentially, "Rache hasn't
had a letter from Westlake for a loug time now, and she is
worrying over that. I do hope that you'll find one at the
post-office to-day, for she'll just wear herself and me out
if she don't get one soon."
Remembering this, I was glad enough when the postmas-
ter handed me a letter for "Miss Rachel Rice," with a for-
eign postmark on it. till I took a second look at the direc-
tion, and then my heart came right up into my mouth, and
my fingers trembled so I could hardly hold the letter still
while I examined it.
Now I knew Paul Westlake's handwriting as well as I
did my own, and this was nothing at all like it, for it was a
stiff, cramped looking hand, different from any I ever saw
before, and with a sort of foreign look about it that I didn't
at all like.
What could it mean ? Was Paul sick or — dead? I re-
peated the word to myself in a frightened whisper, for I
seemed to see Rache Rice's pale face and sad eyes looking
out at me from the worn and soiled envelope, and I had half
a mind to keep the letter from her, after all, I dreaded so to
have her find bad news in it.
She was at the window watching for me, and I couldn't
help holding up the letter, just to see her sweet face brighten
for a moment, with the old glad smile, but it faded when
310 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
she saw the strange hand, and hurriedly breaking the seal
she sat looking at it for a minute or more with a look of
frightened perplexity.
"Come here, girls," she called, and as Betsey and I came
to her side, she added, in a hoarse voice, while she pointed
with a trembling finger to the few lines that the sheet con-
tained : —
"It is from one Jules Le-Fevre, and is written in French.
What shall I do? I can't read it."
"7 can." And Betsey took the letter from her sister's
trembling fingers and glanced curiously at the stiff, odd
looking characters. "I don't know much about French, to
be sure," in answer to Rache's inquiring look, "but there's
an old French dictionary up stairs that Master Rawlins left
here, and I know I can manage to find out what the letter
means by the help of that."
"Hadn't you better get Mr. Bird to read it for you ? He
understands French, I know, for I heard him offer to give
Ellen Grant lessons."
I said this innocently enough, but Betsey resented it in a
minute.
"I shan't ask Mr. Bird nor anybody else to read our pri-
vate letters for us as long as I've got my own eyes and wits
about me," she said, sharply, and I knew 'twas no use to
say anything more, so I ju3t sat down to keep Rache com-
pany while Betsey went off to hunt up the dictionary.
She was gone all of an hour, and when she did come
back her face was almost as pale as Rache's, and her voice
trembled, although she had evidently braced herself up for
the task before her.
"It's no use to hide the truth from you, Rache, and I
hope you'll try to bear it like a Christian woman. That
letter was from one of the French doctors in the hospital,
BETSEY : OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 311
and he says that Paul caught the fever from some of the pa-
tients there, and that he is — dead."
"Dead — dead — dead."
Rache repeated the words over and over in a dazed sort
of a way. looking helplessly all the time from Betsey to me,
then, all at once, as the full meaning of her sister's words
seemed to strike her, she clapped both hands over her heart
with a cry of such utter despair that it seemed to me for the
moment that her very life must have gone out with it, while
she moaned, between her white, quivering lips : —
"Paul dead! Parted forever !"
"Don't Rache, dear! Don't take on so about it. Try
to say 'Thy will be done', like a good child, now."
The tears were streaming down Betsey's cheeks, and
there was a look of womanly sympathy in her brimming
eyes, as she bent over the convulsed and shuddering form
that had crouched down in her chair in the complete aban-
donment of an over-whelming grief.
This was a sorrow that she could understand and sympa-
thize with, while the idea of a life-long estrangement be-
tween the two had seemed to her a very foolish thing to
grieve about. That her sympathy now was genuine no-
body could doubt, and yet she could not forget herself en-
tirely, even now, as I found when, leaving Rache to herself
for a time, as she begged us to do, we were alone for a
minute in the entry, and Betsey, wiping her eyes compos-
edly, whispered, with an air of resignation touching to wit-
ness : —
"It's a dreadful thing and I'm sorry for Rache's sake,
but don't it seem wonderful' now just to see how Provi-
dence has interfered and taken this trial out of my path?''
I was crying like a great baby, but for the life of me I
312 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
couldn't let this chance pass of giving Betsey a hit, and
says I : —
"Yon make me think of old Jake Todd, who used to
say that whenever he saw a ring round the moon he knew
that some of his family would cut a finger or two before the-
week was out."
She didn't make any answer, only looked at me suspic-
iously for a moment before she went away to tell her bad
news to the rest of the family.
Now, I suppose if I had asked her in plain words :
"Betsey Rice, do you believe that God let Paul Westlake
die just to keep him from marrying your sister against
your wishes ?" she would have denied it ; been mad with me
probably for saying such a thing, and yet that was her
idea after all. You see she had got into such a habit of
looking upon herself as the "hub" in her domestic and so-
cial life that she thought herself of the same importance
in her Maker's sight as she was in her own.
After that poor Rache gave up entirely. She just
drooped and wilted like a frost-bitten flower, never com-
plaining, seldom speaking of her sorrow, but fadiug day by
day, till everybody, even her own family, who were the last
to believe it, felt sure that her days, were numbered and
that she never would live to see the trees in leaf again.
The old doctor who had known her ever since she was a
baby shook his gray head mournfully, and there were
tears in his grave eyes when he told them honestly that he
could do nothing more for her — that her case was beyond
his skill.
But they couldn't give her up so, and Father Rice sent to
the city for a doctor that had the name of almost bringing
the dead to life again — and he came, and he looked at her
tongue, and felt her pulse, and put his ear to her side to see
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER S SECRET. 313
if her heart beat right, and questioned her about her symp-
toms, and when he heard that she didn't have any pain or
cough, but just grew weaker every day. he looked rather
contemptuous and muttered something about "lack of en-
ergy" and • -nervous prostration." But he left her some
medicine and recommended her to try out of door exercise
every pleasant day. and to keep her mind cheerful and act-
ive.
So she tried the going out to ride, but before they could
get her to the door she fainted dead away, and that was
the last of her ;, out of door exercise.*' As for the ••cheerful
mind" that the doctor prescribed, all the medicine in the
world couldn't give her that, at any rate his didn't, and
she failed faster after his visit than she did before.
It was a cold winter's morning — so cold that I shivered
all over as I stood outside the door long enough to sweep
the snow off the steps, so I was a little surprised when a
shadow fell across my broom handle, and I looked up to
see Jack Rice's tall figure close to my elbow.
••"Why. Jack." I laughed, '-you almost frightened me. I
didn't even hear you, still I saw your shadow. How is — "
But I didn't finish the sentence, for a second look at
Jack's troubled face told me that his errand was no pleasant
one. and I forgot the cold and my own uncovered head as
I listened to the hastily spoken words : —
••They want you to come over to our house just as soon
as you can. They don't think that Rache — " he stopped _
trying hard to gulp down the grief that would come upper-
most, while two great tears rolled down his rough cheeks
which he wiped off with the back of one mittened hand as
he finished the sentence with an effort — "will live through
the day."
21
314 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
You may guess that I wasn't loug in answering to the
call, and I never shall forget to rny dying day how dreary
and desolate the big old kitchen looked that morning when
I went into it. Father Rice sat at one side of the fire-place
his head resting against the jamb and his face hidden be-
hind one of the rough, toil-hardened hands that had worked
so long and so patiently for the dear ones that had grown
up about his hearth-stone — a hearth-stone that had never be-
fore in all these years felt the chill of the shadow of death
upon it until now ; the table with the untasted breakfast
still upon it was pushed back against the wall, while Rache's
pet kitten was helping herself from the cream pitcher from
which nobody had the heart to drive her away.
The boys nodded silently as I came in, but their father
never lifted his head or noticed me in any way, and hearing
the voice of Mr. Bird in prayer in Rache's room, I stood
for a moment outside till the sound ceased, and then I went
in.
The sick girl was lying propped up by pillows, her eyes
closed and her breathing so faint that it scarcely stirred
the snowy folds above her breast, while the little, white,
thin hands resting upon the counterpane, were as nerveless
and still as if moulded in snow.
Betsey stood by the bed's head fanning her, while the
mother with her face buried in the bed clothes sobbed pit-
eously, unheeding Polly's distressful whisper : —
Don't, mother ! Don't cry so, perhaps she can hear
you," or the young pastor's consolatory words : —
"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, Blessed
be the name of the Lord."
Suddenly a step — not the mullled step of any in that
mourning household, but a firm, free, manly tread sounded
upon the kitchen floor, a confused murmur of voices reached
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET. 815
our startled ears, and as we turned to look, there, upon the
threshold, a little paler and thinner than when we saw him
last, but alive and well once more stood Paul Westlake.
Betsey gave a little cry and hid ber face in her hands,
but Paul took no notice of any of us as he walked with a
pale cheek but with a firm step to the bedside, and bend-
ing over the unconscious girl pressed one long, lingering
kiss upon her white lips.
In an instant the blue eyes unclosed and a look of joy-
ous recognition flashed like sunshine over the pale face,
while from the lips that we had believed silent forever fell
in a soft but perfectly distinct murmur : —
"Dear Paul ! I have come to you at last."
"She thinks she is dead, and that this meeting is in
another world," whispered the awe-struck pastor, and in-
stantly comprehending the idea, Paul gathered the frail
form for a moment in his own strong arms, while he an-
swered in his strong, cheery tones : —
"No, my darling, it is /who have come back to you."
A look of bewilderment clouded the girl's clear eyes as
her dulled faculties rallied to take in the meaning of his
words, and she glanced doubtfully from his loving, hopeful
face to the tearful, anxious countenances around her, then
as if comprehending the whole meaning of the scene, a
faint color crept to the pale cheek, and with a smile of the
most perfect contentment and trust she nestled closer to his
breast, while her eyes closed in a sleep, restful and calm —
such a sleep as had not visited her weary eyelids for many
a long week , and which Paul afterwards declared was bet-
ter for her than all the medicine in the world.
Of course everybody was incredulous at first, and pre-
dicted that when the excitement was over she would "sink
again." But Paul took care of that. To be sure, her get-
316 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHOERS OF MAINE.
ting about again was rather a slow affair : but skill and af-
fection together can work miracles, and one by one the
dimples came back to Rache's thin cheeks, while the glad
heart within went far towards giving strength to the feeble
body, until the June roses, that blossomed out just in time
for the bridal wreath, were scarcely brighter than the blush-
ing face beneath them.
There's but little more to tell, for you know yourself
that there isn't a man in the county more loved and respected
than Dr. Westlake ; but you'd scarcely think now, to see
Mrs. Westlake with her plump figure, and rosy, matronly
face, keeping watch and ward, with a firm but gentle hand
over her great family of bright eyed boys and girls, that
she was the shy, faint-hearted girl whom Paul Westlake's
strong hand once brought back from the very Valley of the
Shadow of Death.
Ah, well! we never know what these human buds will
blossom into, and — why. didn't I tell you about that letter?
I thought I did. Why, you see when Paul found he'd
got the fever he gave the surgeon who tended him Rache's
address, with directions in case of his death to write her
the particulars. He was so sick that they thought he couldn't
live, and the kind-hearted Frenchman thought it best to
prepare his friends for the worst, so he wrote the letter that
Betsey tried to translate, and, somehow or other, made the
mistake of reading it that he was dead instead of danger-
ously sick, as the surgeon had written it.
That's how the mistake was made, but Betsey was dread-
fully "cut up" about it, and you couldn't say "French" before
her, to the day of her death, that she didn't color up like a
boiled lobster. She lived to be very proud of her popular
brother-in-law, and when, the night before she died, the
BETSEY ; OR THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S SECRET.
317
news came that he was elected to the Legislature, she said
to me, (I was watching with her) : —
"Paul Westlake may thank me for this for I've always
stood his friend, and I don't doubt that I've been the means
of his getting many a vote that he wouldn't otherwise have
had."
Betsey was Betsey to the last.
pu(;K 19 t^ pulpit.
PUCK IN* THE PULPIT 321
PUCK IS THE PULPIT.
The church door creaked solemnly upon its hinges, as
church doors have a habit of doing, and the faint rustle of
feminine garments gave the signal for every head in the
congregation to turn curiously toward the entrance, and as
manv pairs of eyes to take a swift but comprehensive sur-
vev of the dainty little figure, whose rosy face grew a shade
rosier, although the small head assumed an air of jaunty,
half-unconscious dignity, as its owner flitted up the aisle.
and stood demurely waiting for a moment at the door of one
of the square, old-fashioned pews, until good Deacon
Stinchfield should so far awake from his pious abstraction
as to notice her presence and open the door far enough to
allow her the privilege of crushing her new overskirt be-
tween his pepper-and-salt covered knees and the pew front.
There was a little unavoidable stir, of course, as the new-
comer seated herself, and just then the young minister rose
to place his open Bible upon the desk before him, and as
almost anv man would have done, glanced carelessly for
an instant'at the cloud of fluttering blue drapery in the dea-
con's seat beneath : and again, as any man would have
done, at the sweet girlish face, flushed a little still, and
wearing a look about the rosy lips that was just a bewitch-
ing compromise between a pout and a laugh ; while the blue
eyes, a perfect match for the dress, looked up into his own
with an innocent surprise not unmixed with satisfaction.
322 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Any change from Parson Longbow's dry, doctrinal es-
says was desirable, and the little maiden in blue was not
the only one who looked with a feeling of pleased expectancy
at the strong yet intellectual face of the stranger, as, in a
clear, manly voice, he commenced reading the scriptural se-
lections for the occasion : —
" 'I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse : I
have gathered my myrrh with my spice.' "
Slowly, reverently he repeated the sacred words, with a
keen appreciation of their poetic beauty that lent an uncon-
scious softness to his voice, as, glancing downward for a
single second, he caught the look from a pair of upturned
eyes that had in them, just now, an expression more mis-
chievous than saintly, while some irreverent elf seemed to
jog his elbow and whisper in his startled ear a decidedly sec-
ular rendering of the sacred passage : —
"Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad ;
And the musk of the roses blown."
A guilty flush crept to his forehead, while conscience gave
him a smart rap with her ever ready baton that again un-
loosed his tongue, and enabled him to read, with a solemn
distinctness that to his abashed and shame stricken soul had
in it a ring of something almost farcical : —
" 'She shall be brought to the king in raiment of needle-
work.' "
Something blue, with a downy, cloud-like border, flut-
tered tantalizingly between his eyes and the sacred page,
but he read bravely on : —
•• 'Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, comely as
Jerusalem. Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thou
hast dove's eyes between thy locks. Turn away thine eyes
from me, for they have overcome me.' "
PUCK IN THE PULPIT. 323
There must have been a secret significance in this appeal
that made itself felt, unconsciously, perhaps, by one at
least of his flock, for the blue eyes in the deacon's pew
drooped beneath their snowy lids, and a repentant quiver
disturbed the dimples about the rosy mouth, as, forgetful of
all but the sacred majesty of the throne to which he now
appealed, the young preacher stood, with reverent mien
and face that seemed suddenly to have lost whatever of
earthiness yet clung to it, as he pleaded humbly, yet with
the eloquence of an earnest, man loving soul, that the God
of their fathers would bless and strengthen this branch of
His holy church.
He was an honest man and an upright, this young
preacher, a faithful, diligent laborer in his Lord's vineyard;
but (I use the doubtful conjunction in deference to some
possibly particular reader) he had the eye of an artist with
the soul of a poet, and with that sweet, tempting, girlish
face beneath his very eye, and the elfish tormentor that, iu
his desperation, he stigmatized as the Prince of Evil him-
self, assaulting him with half- forgotten scraps of poetry not
to be found in the hymn book, and never-before-thought-of
bits of dainty imagery from the depths of his own sorely
perturbed, yet guiltily delighted heart, it is no wonder that
he actually trembled as the choir sang the last verse of the
opening hymn, and he knew that in a moment more he mast
stand up before that people as an expounder of God's word,
while his own weak human heart wa^, as he painfully real-
ized, far beyond his control.
For a moment his head was bowed in silent, earnest
prayer for help, and when he once more faced his people,
there was a firm look about the clear cut lips, as, in simple,
yet rarely beautiful phrase, he depicted the love of Christ
for His church, the tender unforgetfulness, the loving lor-
324 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
bearance, to which only the purest, highest type of human
love can even compare ; while with a reverential tenderness
that sent a magnetic thrill to the heart of many a callous
sinner and world-hardened Christian, he spoke of the pa-
tient long-suffering, the ever ready forgiveness of that often-
neglected, often slighted One who ever waits with dew wet
locks and outstretched, bleeding hands for the first word,
the first tear even of repentant love, to extend anew his for-
giveness and trust.
And as the blessed truths fell from his lips the young
preacher felt his own soul strengthened and refreshed. The
blue eyes still looked up into his own, no longer curious or
mischievous, but softened and tearful with emotion ; no
longer a distraction, but an inspiration that lent both power
and beauty to the words upon his lips.
The services were concluded, and the minister stood in
the shadow of the tall pulpit, drawing on overcoat and
gloves with a slow, mechanical exactness, while he furtively
watched, over the head of Deacon Stinchfield, who stood at
the foot of the altar stairs patiently awaiting his coming, a
girlish figure that, floating down the aisle, jostled and over-
topped by the taller and less tastefully attired farmer's wives
and daughters, made him think of a bright faced pansy in
a tangle of buttercups, and he started half-guiltily as the
good deacon's voice met his ear : —
"You give us a dretful good sermon this time, elder, an'
one that deserves a good dinner ; so if you'll just come
along with me I'll see't you have it."
The deacon laughed a little at the conclusion of his hos-
pitable speech, but there was something deeper than mirth
in his honest eyes as he added in a lower tone than usual : —
"I tell you that's the sort of a sermon that does folks
good — a sermon that comes straight from an' goes straight
•A long walk t'"r Rose, such a cold day as ibis i.-
PUCK IN THE FULPIT. 325
to a man's heart. Why. it's warmed up the frosty corners
of my old heart wonderful, au', if you'll believe it, I tuned
up in that last hymn an' sung it right through, a thing I
ain't done afore these ten year."
The minister smiled. The old man's cordial approval of
his sermon heartened him up wonderfully, and he began to
think that the work might be blessed after all, even if the
workman's hand was grimy from contact with the common
things of earth.
Just then a merry jingle of sleigh-bells warned them to
step aside into the untrodden snow, while a sleigh full of
cloaked and hooded girls dashed past, and seated on the
front seat beside the driver, a tall, stalwart young country-
man, was the deacon's pretty pew-fellow, her girlish face all
aglow with the frosty air and the exhilarating drive, while
the dainty down-bordered cape seemed to have an intimate
acquaintance with the rough sleeve of her companion's over-
coat — too near the minister thought, and he frowned invol-
untarily as the deacon said good-naturedly : —
"I'm glad Xate Buck thought to offer Rose Mayberry a
ride in his cutter : for it's a long walk to her home such a
cold day as 'tis ter-day."
"Kose Mayberry I" The minister liked pretty names,
and this seemed remarkably appropriate he thought : but
he only asked in an indifferent tone : —
•'Is that the name of the young lady in blue?"
The deacon stared. He was evidently bewildered at the
young man's description
"Well, ye — s, I s'pose so. She don't seem nothin' but a
little gal ter me, and — I guess her gown ivas blue, come
ter think on't. At any rate, she's the one that sot in my
pew. P'raps you noticed her there ?"
••Yes."
326 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
That was very meekly spoken, for the speaker's heart
was full of shame and contrition as he thought how he, the
very priest at the altar, had so far stooped from his high and
holy calling as to take note of a pretty face and dress, even
in the midst of his solemn duties, and he fancied that even
the good deacon seemed a little constrained and ceremonious
as he ushered him into the "front room" of his comfortable
mansion, and after bidding him sit down an' make himself
terhome, went in search of his wife and daughter, who,
having ridden home, were already busy in active prepara-
tions for the entertainment of their expected guest.
'-How do you do, Mr. Eldon ?— It's an awful cold clay !
Do set up nigher the fire, an' let me get you somethin' hot
— a cup of weak ginger tea, now, with milk an' sugar in it,
is so warmin' after a cold walk. No ? Well, do let me
take your overcoat an' hat. Here, Abigail ! Mr. Eldon,
shall I make you acquainted with my daughter Abigail?
Abigail, do put another stick o' wood on that fire. Seems ter
me the chill ain't fairly off of the room yet, for all we built
a fire in here before eight o'clock this mornin'. Deacon,
do take Mr. Eldon's things an' hang 'em up in the entry
closet. Well, Mr. Eldon, you give us an excellent sermon
this mornin', if I do say it— an excellent sermon, one
that '11 be remembered too."
Here Mrs. Stinchfield stopped to take breath, and Abi-
gail, a dejected-looking damsel, with downcast eyes and a
timid nervous manner, remarked under her breath that the
"parish needed & minister very much."
And Mrs. 8., having taken time to "steam up," caught
at the idea and was off again : —
"Yes, that they do you'd better believe. After old Elder
Parsons was turned out ter grass, or what's the same thing,
sent off as a home missionary, we had Elder Smart, an'
PUCK IN THE PULPIT. 327
part o' the church thought the sun riz in the heels of his
boots ; an' 'tother part didn't, an' so, 'fore long, he thought
'twas best ter leave ; an' then Elder Barton tried it, but
folks found so much fault with 'is wife 'cause she wore four
ruffles on 'er dress an' kep' a hired girl all the time, that he
wouldn't stay, an' here we've been dependin' for the last
year on old Parson Longbow from the Cross Corners, with
a stray student, now an' then, from the Seminary. Now I
do hope, Mr. Eldon, that you'll turn out ter be the right
man in the right place."
The deacon and his daughter echoed the wish, and the
young minister himself modestly acquiesced, remarking,
with a touch of ministerial dignity in tone and manner, that
he hoped iv her ever he might be, that it might be the right
place for him ; while the deacon gravely quoted from his bib-
lical store, ''All my steps are ordered by thee," whereat
Abigail looked apprehensive and her mother sternly inflex-
ible.
'•There's some things," continued the deacon, emboldened
by his wife's unwonted silence to take a part in the conver-
sation, ''that it's dretful hard to find out what really is or-
dered as to 'em. There's marry in' an' giviu' in marriage,
for instance : now, you don't want ter force a child's feel-
ings in such a matter — "
"Deacon !" interrupted his wife, warningly.
••But, at the same time, perhaps, you see, just as plain
as day, yerself, that she's particularly fitted for a perticular
place that she can't fill if she marries the one she's sot on
havin' an' that wants — "
••Deacon!"
The warning was more sharply spoken than before, and
the poor deacon colored and stammered like an embarrassed
school-boy.
328 RE-TOLD TALES OE THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"He's always gettin' up some sech i?naginary case jest
for the sake of an argyment," explained the lady, with an
indulgent nod in the direction of her discomfited spouse. '-I
always tell him there's real fences enough ter climb over in
the course of a life-time without troublin' himself with im-
aginary ones."
"Very true," assented the minister, guardedly, for one
glance at poor Abigail's conscious face was enough to make
transparent her mother's flimsy subterfuge, and a feeling of
kindly interest suddenly sprung up in the young man's heart
— an interest that all the poor girl's awkward attempts at
agreeableness could never have awakened.
It was evident that the deacon's daughter, plain and un-
romantic as she seemed, was meekly trying, with all her
woman's strength, to sing her psalm of life in spite of the
constant drizzle of parental disapproval, and Maurice El-
don's chivalrous soul was up in arms at once in behalf of
the evidently oppressed damsel.
"This is Jotham Springer, Mr. Eldon — a young man
that I brought up from a boy," remarked the deacon, as
they sat down to dinner. And Mr. Eldon looked into the
face opposite him at the table— a rough, sunburned, yet
manly face, that flushed still deeper as its owner shyly ac-
knowledged the deacon's off-handed introduction with a
gruff "Hope ter see yer well, sir!" and immediately ap-
plied himself to the business of the occasion with a steady
devotion that left him little leisure to join in the table talk
that Mr. Eldon found quite as amusing as profitable.
He was, or ought to have been edificed by Mrs. Stinch-
field's plainly expressed opinion that it was a "minister's
duty to marry," as well as her conviction that "if it could
be brought about, 'twas a great deal better to marry in than
out of his own parish," to which the minister assented,
PUCK IN THE ITLl'lT. 329
rather sheepishly, it must be confessed, as he caught a
o-learn of fun from Jotham's watchful eyes, and felt uncom-
fortably conscious that his would-be monitress was making
him decidedly ridiculous in the eyes of this silent but evi-
dently wide-awake personage.
That night on their way home from the evening service,
the deacon took occasion to remark, guardedly, that there
was ''to be a church meetin' Monday night," and " 'twouldn't
be at all surprisin' if they should conclude ter give some-
body a pretty strong call," a prophecy that soon proved
itself, for. before the Christmas holidays were quite over.
Maurice Eldon was fairly installed as pastor of the long
pastorless church, and an inmate for the present of the hos-
pitable deacon's well-ordered household.
Of course the young minister's first duty was to make
the acquaintance of his flock individually, and here his
host's ever ready horse and sleigh were brought into requi-
sition, and with Miss Abigail as a guide he drove across
the wide, snow-covered levels, where the eye was dazzled
and delighted by long reaches of white, glistening snow,
that shone beneath the eye of the midday sun like the face
of Israel's deliverer as he came forth from the presence of
his God : up and down the pine-crowned hills, where sturdy
evergreens stood calmly looking sky-ward, unmindful of
the winter's chill winding-sheet beneath ; to the scattered,
outlying farm-houses, where genial smiles and a hearty, if
homely greeting, were always ready for the new minister,
who seemed somehow to have found a warm corner in every
heart throughout the length and breadth of the parish.
But far more precious than this personal popularity to the
heart of the young preacher was the evident spiritual im-
provement of his people.
22
330 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
Old grudges were laid aside, old enemies reconciled, old
rivalries forgotten, and brother met brother with outstretched
hand and friendly word, strewing the sweet flowers of Chris-
tian charity over the graves of all old enmities, and ear-
nestly striving, each in his own way to be a helper and
friend to the church and to his fellow-men.
Miss Abigail had really brightened up considerably, and
when out from under her mother's sharp eye, she sometimes
indulged in a burst of girlish enthusiasm that would have
astonished any one who had only seen her in her cramped
and contracted home orbit.
"Mr. Eldon," she said to him confidentially, as they
started off one morning on their calling tour, "I suppose it
will be proper to call at Deacon Parmeter's and Squire
Holden's and old Cap'n Lovell's first, and then I want to
take you to see two of the sweetest, dearest, very best peo-
ple in the whole parish."
The minister laughed. "Of course nothing could give
me greater pleasure ; but who are these paragons of yours?"
"Only an old lady and — I was going to say 'a little girl ;'
but, I declare Rose is eighteen next month, although she is
such an innocent, unaffected little thing that she seems even
younger than that ; and her grandmother, old Mrs . May-
berry, is one of the most interesting and lovable old ladies
that ever lived. She has seen better days, so people say,
but I really doubt if she has seen happier ones, even if she
is lame and poor and old ; for Rose is strength and wealth
and youth to her, and she didn't have her in her days of
plenty if she had everything else."
The minister only nodded in reply, and his companion,
fearing that she had been too free-spoken in her friend's
praises, grew suddenly silent, although she did not fail to
notice and wonder at the sudden nervousness displayed by
PUCK IN THE PULPIT. 331
one who had seemed so perfectly self-possessed in the best
parlors of the best houses in the parish, when, on alighting
at the door of grandmother Mayberry's little unpretentious
cottage, he fidgeted uneasily with the fur gauntlets of his
riding gloves for a full minute before knocking, and when
Rose's sweet face appeared, with its smile and blush of wel-
come, she was tempted to laugh at the embarrassment that
showed itself both in look and tone as he stammered out a
few hasty words of greeting so different from his naturally
cordial and easy spoken manner.
"Grandmother will be delighted to see you, Mr. Eldon,"
the young girl said, with a modest self-possession that gave
an air of womanliness to her girlish face and figure, as she
led the way to an adjoining room, where, comfortably seated
in her chintz covered rocking-chair was an old lady — I use
the term advisedly, for Mrs. Mayberry was a "lady" from
the crown of silvery hair, smoothly banded above the placid
forehead, to the toe of the neatly slippered foot that rested
helplessly upon the cushion beneath, and the young man
knew, even before her gentle, cultured tones fell upon his
ear, that here was a woman, delicate and refined, and — with
a second look at the peaceful, chastened face — pure in heart
as in word and deed.
There was a motherly tenderness in her manner as she
laid her feeble hand impressively upon his arm, and as her
clear, calm eyes scanned his face, she remarked with that
simple directness that is always best calculated to make a
stranger forget his strangerhood : —
"I am glad to see you ; very glad as well as grateful for
your kindness in giving us such an early call when there
were so many claimants upon your time and attention."
Then passing with easy facility to other topics, she grad-
ually drew from him many a treasured pearl of thought and
332 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF 31 A INK.
fancy that had hitherto lain unseen waiting for the sum-
mons of a congenial soul ; while from the varied stores of
her own strangely disciplined life she brought forth many a
wonderful gem of comfort, encouragement and hope.
"I have suffered many things," she said, in her sweet,
quaint phraseology; "the loss of husband, children, friends
and fortune, but I have never lost my trust in Him, the
giver and taker of all my blessings ; and now. in my old age
and helplessness, He has given me this little snug home-nest
and my own baby's baby to comfort me with her love to the
last."
An arm crept tenderly around her neck, and a soft tear-
wet cheek was pressed lovingly for a moment against her
own. There was no need of words ; heart answered to
heart, and the aged woman was comforted and the younger
strengthened by this little wordless expression of mutual
love and trust.
It was a beautiful picture, and when that evening the
young minister read the chapter for family devotions, Abi-
gail's womanly shrewdness was quick to take the hint when
he chose the touching story of the fair Moabitess and her
aged friend, while pleasantly abstracted, she recalled the
events of the day and the minister's evident interest in the
inmates of the little cottage.
"Rose is shy and don't show her best graces of heart
and mind to a new acquaintance," she thought ; "but she
is always at home with us. and can speak freely and
without restraint ; so perhaps it will be best to have her
here as much as possible, and if — "
••Forgive all our vain and wandering thoughts," prayed
the minister, and poor Abigail dropped her guilty head upon
her hands and tried to forget all about Rose Mayberry's
possible future in an earnest, silent petition for the patient
PUCK IN THE rULPIT.
333
endurance of which her own sorely tried heart stood so
much in need.
That was a happy winter, and if Mr. Eldon did spend a
great deal of his leisure at the Mayberry cottage, nobody
wondered, for old Mrs. Mayberry was such "pleasant com-
pany." and besides, Abigail Stihchtield was almost always
with him on these occasions, aud public opinion had already
established her as the future mistress of the parsonage. To
be sure, there were some who hinted that "Jotham Springer
might have a word to say about that," but they were
frowned down by the more knowing part of the community.
It was at the close of a raw March day, and Mr. Eldon
had just returned, tired in body and mind, from along, soli-
tarv drive over the hills to visit a sick parishioner, and as
Ik* rode slowly along through the fast gathering twilight-
shadows, his eyes instinctively turned toward the bend in
the road just beyond, from which the lighted windows of
Mrs. Mayberry's c ittage always looked out at him with a
gleam of friendly welcome — a welcome that had never
failed him, he thought gratefully, as across the cold stretch
of snow shone a tiny ray of brightness, that somehow,
while it reminded him of Rose Mayberry's sunny smile,
made him forget Mrs. Stinchfield's waiting tea-table, as
making his way up the snow-covered path he knocked
lightly at the door of the cottage.
He waited shiveringly beneath the sharp wind for some
moments, but no one answered his summons, and taking
the privilege of an every-day friend, he quietly lifted the
latch and entered the little kitchen, warm, lighted, and with
the daintily spread table in the centre of the Moor, but va-
cant. A murmur of voices in Mrs. Mayberry's sitting room
attracted his attention, and advancing, he stood for an in-
stant upon the threshold of the open door, unseen and un-
334 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
heard, while he took in at a glance the full beauty of the
picture before him.
Upon the low cushion at her grandmother's feet sat the
young girl, her brown hair brightened to gold in the fire-
light, and her sweet face gravely shy as she said, apparently
in reply to some question of her grandmother's : —
"No, grandma, no; so don't urge me, please; I have
thought it over and over, but I don't and I can't love him."
The old lady smoothed caressingly the soft bands above
her child's forehead, and there was a little quaver of disap-
pointment in her tones as she said hesitatingly : —
'•I always thought that — that you liked him very much.
He is a good, honest, intelligent man ; what can you have
against him?"
"Nothing."
And the fair forehead grew crimson in the ruddy light,
while a regretful look saddened for a moment the girlish
face, as she added in a lower tone : —
"I did like him very much, so much that I used to think,
sometimes, that it was really love, especially when he was
so kind and helpful during your sickness last summer ; and
if he had asked me then, perhaps I should have answered
him differently ; but now — "
"What has changed your mind?"
For a moment there was no answer. The girl's face
was hiddeu in the folds of her grandmother's dress, while
even the small hands that rested upon her lap grew red with
shame.
k 'Do you remember," and she raised her head with an
air of pretty womanly dignity, as if deprecating her display
of childish weakness a moment before, "the first sermon
that Mr. Eldon preached for us? I told you all about it
when I came home. It was on the love of Christ for his
PUCK IN THE PULPIT. 335
church, and he compared it in strength, tenderness and en-
tire unselfishness, to the purest, highest type of earthly love
— the love that God himself sanctioned and blessed in the
beginning when the world was new. I cannot explain it
to you, to myself, even ; but I knew, while I listened to his
noble conception of a real, true earthly love, that / had
never before known even the meaning of the word, much
less its power."
"You are wiser than I dreamed little one," and as she
bent to kiss the rosy lips uplifted to her own, Mrs. May-
berry met the eyes in the door- way fastened upon them with
a look she could not fail to interpret ; while, unheeding her
startled salutation, the young man stepped hastily forward,
his face pale with emotion, and dropping upon his knees by
the girl's side drew both her shrinking hands within his
own, as he said, w T ith a manly tenderness that was in itself
the best declaration of his love : —
"•Rose, it was your own sweet face that inspired my
tongue at that time. Will you be my inspiration through
life, walking hand-in-hand with me to do our Lord's work
by proving in our own lives that 'love is the fulfilling of the
law?'"
Dear little Rose ! She had learned the full meaning of
that sacred word now, nor was she ashamed to acknowledge
its power.
"To be sure, it's a family matter, but it's a case o' con-
science, too, an' Mis' Stinchfield an' me concluded I'd better
talk the matter over with you an' get your a-lvice on't."
The deacon was evidently embarrassed, and with a good-
natured desire to help him to an explanation, Mr. Eldon re-
marked encouragingly : —
"You are welcome to my opinion, such as it is, and you
"336 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
may be sure that, whatever is of personal concern to you
cannot fail to be of interest to me."
"Yes ; no doubt on't," with a thoughtful nod of his griz-
zled head ; then, having made up his mind for the plunge,
he added, squarely : —
"You see, we've been to a deal of expense in time and
money a' givin' our daughter Abigail a good eddication, an' if
I do say it, there ain't a better-brought-up girl, or one that can
read a chapter in the Bible without blunderin', or write a
fairer hand, to say nothin' of spelliu', than our Abigail. Then,
she's naterally stiddy an' well disposed, an' her mother always
said she believed she was meant for a missionary, or a min-
ister's wife at the least ; in fact, she gin 'er in 'er very cra-
dle ter the cause, an' there ain't never been no doubt in our
minds that she was foreordained to that special service."
"Does she share in this feeling herself?"
"Oh, dear no !" groaned the deacon ; "there's the rub ; for
she's fairly bound not to see it in that light, an' declares,
out an' out, that if she can't have Jotham Springer she
won't have nobody. Now what are we to do?"
'•Nothing that 1 can see."
"But," urged the deacon, apprehensively, "this alio win'
her ter shirk her duty an' make a Jonah of herself — "
"An hcnest heart is its own best judge of what is duty."
Deacon Stinchfield looked unconvinced, but the other
went on more boldly as he thought of poor Abigail's ap-
pealing face : —
"You have nothing against the young man personally?"
"Oh, no indeed ! nothin' at all. Jotham's a smart, savin',
well-principled young man as you'll find anywhere ; but if
Abigail marries him she'll have to work hard with her
hands all her life instead of doin' the Lord's work, such as
visitin' the sick an' leadin' in the female prayer-meetin's.
PUCK IN THE PULPIT. 337
Now, don't you think that will be like buryin' of her talent
in the ground?"
"By no means!" And the young minister's face grew
bright, and he spoke with an earnestness that rather sur-
prised the good deacon. "There is no duty so homely, no
work so humble, that may not be ennobled and elevated
into a holy service by the soul that, clasping with one hand
the divine, with the other a human love, walks patiently
along the way that lies before it, satisfied with its own al-
lotted work however humble it may be."
"P'raps you're right. In fact, on the whole, I don't
know but what you are," thoughtfully replied the deacon,
after a few moments. "An' so you'd advise our lettin' Abi-
gail serve the Lord by suiting 'erself ?" -
There was a sly twinkle in the old man's eye that encour-
aged his companion to a little personal confidence on his
own part, and Abigail was equally mystified and delighted
the following morning at her mother's order to Jotham to
"tackle up an' carry Abigail over to the Corners to get
another yard for her dress an' some currants an' raisins,
for she was going to invite the minister's intended, Rose
Mayberry, an' her grandmother, there to tea next week,
and" (to Abigail) "we might as well make our cake to-
morrow as any time."
The long-forbidden privilege of a ride with Jotham was
fully explained by the concluding bit of information, and as
the two rode blithely away together over the smooth, snowy
road, the deacon's daughter blessed in her heart the sweet
girl whose charms had removed the unconscious obstacle to
her own happiness, and convinced her tyrannical but not
ill-meaning mother, that a minister may have an eye for
beauty and a heart as susceptible to youth and grace as any
other man ; while the minister himself, flushed with the
338 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
realization of his dream of bliss, takes to his heart, humbly,
reverently, the once startling truth, that '-Love can never be
out of place, even in the pulpit."
^u^arii^ Off
SUGARING OFF.
341
SUGARING OFF.
-First rate day f" r sugar makin' ! Last night froze
everything stiff as a stake, and the sun has riz as clear an'
bright as a new brass button."
And Squire Strong rubbed his rough palms complacently
as he bent over the glowing stove upon which his thrifty
wife was frying her breakfast cakes ; then with a sidelong
glance from beneath his shaggy eyebrows at the girlish fig-
ore just emerging from the pantry, he went on :—
"I jest met Ben Worth out here in the road and he of-
fered to lend a hand in the sugar orchard ter-day."
The pretty face in the door-way flushed a little, but the
rosy lips remained firmly closed as Mrs. Strong looking up
from her work remarked in her always pleasant, kindly
tones : —
-Oh, he's got home then, has her How thankful Mis'
Worth '11 be! She misses him dretfully when he's away.
and no wonder, seem' he's all they've got left of their live
children. When did he come, father?"
-I dunno. Why. I d'clare. I never thought to ask 'im.
Did you know that he'd got home. Say?"
"No."
The pantrv door and Say's lips closed simultaneously
with a snap that was significant of something wrong, judg-
ing by Mrs. Strong's anxious glance from the door to her
husband's face, which wore a shrewd, and to her reassuring
smile : —
342 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHOERS OF MAINE.
"Don't you worry yerself one bit mother," he whispered,
with a nod of his wise old head, "Things '11 all come out
right in the end, never you fear, and we'll see our little girl
settled down in a happy home of 'er own close to us in our
old age without a doubt. Give the young folks line enough
I say, and they'll twist it into a marriage noose fast enough
if they're only jest let alone"
Mrs . Strong smiled rather doubtfully.
"But I'm afraid — " she began, when in walked Say,
cream pitcher in haud, and a color in her cheeks that fairly
put to shame the scarlet asparagus berries that nodded at
her so knowingly from their perch above the kitchen look-
ing-glass.
"Shall I put the cakes on the table now. mother?" she
asked, in very much the same tone with which a moment
later she rebuked the encroachments of her pet kitten : —
"Scat! what are you up to, now, you naughty little
thing?" The breakfast passed off without its usual accom-
paniment of pleasant chat and good-natured merriment, for
Mrs. Strong was too greatly troubled over her daughter's
unaccountable behavior to say much, while her husband,
who was engrossed in his plans for the day, failed to be as
talkative as was his wont on such occasions, and Say,
having the field entirely to herself, availed herself of the
privilege in a way that aroused even her gentle mother's in-
dignation : —
"I do wish, child," she said, with unusual sharpness,
"that you'd stop tormentin' that poor kitten so. If you're
goin' to give 'er that bit o' meat, why f'r the land's sake,
don't you do it, and not keep puttin' it close to 'er nose and
then snatchin' it away? I do hate to see any critter tan-
talized so."
"I'm only playing with her, mother," laughed the girl.
SUGARING OFF. 343
"She rather likes it, and" — in a lower tone — ;, so do /."
"I guess," interrupted the Squire, who. having finished
his breakfast, was now briskly preparing to take his depart-
ure for the scene of his day's labors. "I'll send Jim over to
Watson's and borrer his biggest kittle, for if I have Ben
Worth to help me we might as well keep two fires a' goin',
as one. And, Say," turning to his daughter, "if you don't
mind the trouble, I wish you'd bring us a snack o' some-
thin' relishin' sometime along in the evenin'. I don't s'pose
I shall get through till pretty late, an' some hot coffee, and
if you have 'em handy, a few hot buttered biscuits won't
come amiss after eatin' a cold dinner an' supper. Got my
dinner pail ready, ma'am?" to his wife ; and as she hurried
off to bring the nicely packed lunch, he whispered with a
comical glance under his daughter's down-cast lids : —
"Ben asked after you this morning; but I thought I
wouldn't ask 'im in just at breakfast time so."
"I'm glad you didn't."
There was a good deal of petulance, with a not quite hid-
den undertone of disappointment in the tone that the lis-
tener was shrewd enough to interpret and wise enough to
pretend ignorance of.
"Well, I shall look for you with my supper any time
before nine," he said, in his briskest, most matter-of-fact
tones ; while Mrs. Strong, who had entered just in time to
hear the concluding words, remarked helpfully : —
"I'll go with you, Say, if you're skittish about goin'
alone."
"Oh, dear, no! I'm not such a fool I hope, as to be
afraid to go over ground that I've known every foot of all
my life ;" and with this energetic disclaimer of her mother's
imputation upon her courage Say whisked up a pile of
plates which she deposited in the sink just in time to catch,
344 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
through the back window, a full view of a young man, tall,
strong armed and broad chested, whose light, closely curl-
ing hair was covered with a jauntily worn jockey cap
while the trousers beneath his loosely fitting blouse were of
a fashionable cut and material that made Say's sharp little
nose take to itself an extra elevation, as she muttered
scornfully : —
"Why didn't he wear an old hat and trousers as anybody
else would? Broadcloth pants! They'll look pretty, I
guess, after a day's work at emptying sap buckets." And,
thriftily indignant, the little housewife rattled her dishes
into the pan with a vim.
"He's growing to be a regular dandy, a perfect sap-head !"
she mused, half-angry, half-regretful, as she leaned for-
ward, involuntarily, to catch a last glimpse of the tall figure
disappearing in the path that led to the sugar orchard;
k, and," with a little defiant twist of her dish towel, * l if
there's anything on the face of the earth that I do hate and
despise it's a silly man"
It was a clear, cold night, and the snow that carpeted the
wood path crackled frostily beneath Say's light tread, as,
with her pail of steaming coffee she hastened along in the
direction of the sugar orchard, where her father was already
getting a little impatient for the appearance of his promised
lunch.
The moon was at its full, and shed a flood of light upon
the .-now-laden branches above her head, until every sepa-
rate twig seemed a ghostly finger pointing, as with one ac-
cord, toward the sugar orchard.
"Forward — to your fate!" whispered imagination, ren-
dered suddenly bold by the stilly beauty of the time and
place, and for a moment the girlish face assumed a look of
dreamy tenderness in keeping with its fair, yet half-weird
•'Why didn't he wear an old hat and trousers, as anybody
else would."
SUGARING OFF. 345
surroundings ; but the next her favorite watch- dog, common-
sense, gave the alarm — the spell was broken, and with an
angry flush at her own foolish fancies she hurried forward
muttering : —
•'My coffee will be as cold as the moonshine if I stop to
watch that."
And yet. as she caught a glimpse of the ruddy firelight
through the trees she paused for a moment, toying ner-
vously with the tassels of her hood, as through the stillness
she could distinctly catch the sound of a familiar voice that
was neither "her father's rough, unmusical bass, or Jim's
boyish treble, but a clear, ringing tone that sent its cheery
echo down the long wooded avenues, until it seemed as if
the snow spirits had caught the pleasant sounds and were
tossing them gleefully from one to the other in the shadowy
tops of the pine and fir trees.
"He's there still!" Say muttered in a pettish undertone,
"but I don't know as that's any business of mine ;" and she
stepped boldly forward into the lighted circle, and without a
look to right or left marched straight up to where her father
stood carefully watching the boiling sap in a great iron ket-
tle that swinging lazily from its crane of tough birchen
wood, presented its round, black sides to the attacks of the
roaring, wrathful lire with an equanimity worthy of notice.
"Here's your coffee, father. How are you getting along?"
,; First rate ! We've had an uncommon good day ; sap's
run like a sluice all day long, an' I've been on the clean
jump every minute till I'm pretty well tuckered out. Ben V*
raising his voice high above the noisy bubbling of the boil-
ing sap, and the equally noisy snapping and roaring of the
fire beneath — "Ben, here's our luncheon. Let Jim tend
your fire an' you come an' get yer coffee before it cools.'
23
346 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
A heavy step crunched the snow beside them, and Say's
brown eyes were uplifted in careless recognition.
''How do you do, Ben?" with a glance at the soiled and
bespattered broadcloth, "you're quite a stranger to your
country friends. I didn't even know that you were at home
until father happened to mention it this morning."
"I only came last night."
The young man's tone was subdued, and he cast a timid,
appealing glance at the coldly indifferent face of the girl
beside him.
She laughed rather derisively : —
"You must have felt particularly anxious to see your
friends at home to spend the whole day out here in a neigh-
bor's sugar orchard."
"Oh, Ben knows what he's about !" interrupted her father
laughing. "He knows that I can tell him more news in
one day than he could hear at home in a week."
It was a happy diversion, restoring che young man's self-
possession, and giving Say time to feel somewhat ashamed
of her uncalled for sharpness, and the two were soon chat-
ting together with the freedom and frankness of life-long
friends and neighbors.
"When are you going back to the city?"
And Say took a dainty sip of the delicious syrup that
she was cooling in her father's coffee cup, — a sip too soon,
judging from the slight grimace that distorted her pretty
face as Ben replied significantly : —
"Never, — to stop."
"I thought you liked there," she said coldly.
"No; country life is the life for me. Clover fields are
sweeter to me than the perfume of jockey club and cologne,
and," giving his voice a tender significance, "the artless
simplicity and unadorned beauty of the country maiden is
SUGARING OFF. 347
far more lovely in my eves than the flounces and furbelows,
the airs and affectations of her fashionable city sisters."
Say gave a little impatient twist to the cup in her hand.
••Nonsense !" she retorted contemptuously, "you talk like
the hero in a third-rate newspaper story."
The young man colored, as much with anger as mortifi-
cation.
•'How sharp you are, Say !" he said deprecatingly. -'You
won't allow any one to express his own sentiments in his
own fashion without making fun of him. I do like the
country and everything about a farmer's life better than I
do the city and trade, and as for — "
Say interrupted him again in her most acid tones : —
* 'There, there ! I've heard enough of that. No doubt
your parents will be glad to have you at home with them."
She spoke the concluding words with a cool indifference
that made her listener's face redden angrily.
••I'm not going to stay at home now. I shall start for
California next week," he said, with a little quaver of pain
in his voice that Say pretended not to notice.
••Do you think you'll like country life there better than at
home ?"
She asked the question with an ill-concealed smile that
roused the young man's temper beyond control.
"If I meet with scorn and contempt there," he said,
wrathfully. '-it will be easier to bear as coming from the
hands of strangers than from those whom I have counted
upon all my life as friends."
Say said nothing, but her face, as seen by the ruddy fire-
light, was coldly unmoved, and the young man turned
away with a proud light in his eye that contrasted strangely
with the grieved and quivering lip.
348 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
"Well, squire," he said, with an effort at careless ease
that did not escape the old man's keen eye, "you don't need
me any longer I suppose, so I'll just say 'good night' and
be off for home." And scarcely waiting to hear the other's
cordial thanks for his timely assistance, he walked hastily
away, and in a moment more was lost to sight in the
shadowy forest beyond.
The old man watched his retreating figure with a face at
once grave and puzzled.
"There ain't a finer lookin' young fellow in town," he
said to himself, and the look of perplexity deepened on his
kindly face as he glanced across at his daughter's trim little
figure, clearly defined against the glowing fire that she was
leisurely feeding from a stock of chips and broken branches
on the ground beside her; "and she always did think, till
lately, that he was as good as the best. I don't see, for
my life, what's come over her all at once. Here, Jim," ad-
dressing his boyish assistant, "this kittleful is biled enough
an' you may dip it off into the pans while I see to the
rest."
And he walked briskly across to where his daughter was
still assiduously feeding the fire beneath the other kettle.
"Biled most enough?" he asked, and pouring as he spoke
a ladleful of the boiling liquid upon a patch of clean, un-
trodden snow at his feet.
"Not quite," taking a piece of the suddenly hardened
mass in his practiced fingers. "It'll take half an hour's
bilin' yet ;" and comfortably disposing himself upon one end
of the mossy log that served his daughter for a seat, he ad-
ded in the most innocent tone imaginable : —
"Ben's gone home."
Say answered never a word.
SUGARING OFF,
340
"I never see sech a fellow," resumed the old man, medi-
tatively whittling away upon a soft pine chip which he was
slowly fashioning into the form of a probe : '*why, he's as
strong as an ox : he's done one o' the biggest day's works
ter-day that I ever saw done in my life. I don't wonder,
with his bones an' muscles, that he can't be contented ter
sell salts an' senna over a city counter all his life."
Say nibbled unconcernedly at the bit of candied syrup in
her hand while her father went on in a more confidential
tone : —
'•He's saved enough out of his clerk's wages to pay his
expenses out ter Californy ; an' there he'll stay till he gets
enough ter pay ofF the mortgage on the old place, stock it
well an' put up new buildin's, with maybe, a nest-egg for
a rainy day. and then he's comin' back to spend his life with
them he loves in the old home."
There was a bit of unconscious romance in the conclud-
ing words that Say shrewdlv mistrusted was but the echo
of another's words — an echo that grated harshly upon her
stubbornly uuappreciative ear, and she said shortly : —
••Good plans are well enough if they are only carried
out, but it's ?7iy opinion that Ben Worth will get as sick of
California as he has of city life. He never knows his own
mind ten minutes at a time."
The squire looked gravely reproachful, but Say would
not heed the look, and as he spoke she held up before her
face a oreen. bristling pine bough that served no less as a
screen from her father's keen eyes than from the heat of the
blazing fire.
-Say, my girl, what's the trouble? What have you got
a^in Ben Worth, lately, that you don't treat him hardly de-
cent? an' when you speak of him it's pretty sure to be
with a slur. Everybody else likes 'im, and I'm sure you
S50 re-told tales of THE HILLS AND SHORES 01 MAINE.
won't find a steadier, smarter, better-behaved young man
anywhere round than he is. Now. what do you hate 'im
91 1 for?"
Say's face changed from red to white and back to the red
again, behind hef improvised screen, before she answered
hesitatingly : —
••I don't hate him. father, and sometime- I do really
like him very much. But. father." her voice grew
stronger now, "he has taken to Baying and doing such fool-
ish, nonsensical things, lately, that lie put- me out of all
patience with him. A silly woman is b id enough, but
there's nothing on earth that I do so despise as a silly man.*'
••Got some o s yer old father's L r rit about ye. I guess."
laughed the squire, with a brightening face, and as he
slowly stirred the clear, golden brown liquid in the kettle,
he added sagaciously: ••! understand it ah now, — Ben
needs time to sitgar off, that's all. You see," dropping into
the philosophical with a relish and readiness that proved his
taste for that mode of reasoning; "everybody, men and
women, too. have a sap season in their lives when they're
all sunshine one minute an' all frost the next — they're like
maple sap. just sweet enough ter be terrible sickish as a
regglar drink, and not half sweet enough ter be of any
earthly use.' Now what they need is a good thorough bilin'
over the fere of experience, an' very often of real surl'erin'
ter scatter the nonsense an' vanity in 'em and bring all the
real goodness an' strength of their naturs into one sweet.
frm. perfect whole."
Say's lips quivered a little, but she answered with a well-
assumed indifference : —
'•I have seen sugar that was of little more use than the
sap itself."
••That's the fault o' the bilin' !"
SUGARING OFF. 351
And the old man bestirred himself to dip off the now
perfected syrup, while Say watched with outward compos-
ure, but with an unsettled, restless heart the familiar process.
Day after day,— a week had gone by, and not once had
Ben Worth's tall figure darkened the door-way of his old
playmate's home ; and to-morrow he would leave for New
York, on his way to the land of gold. Say had grown
strangely silent and uncommunicative of late, and when
Mrs. Worth "ran in" to consult her old neighbor on the
number of shirts and socks necessary for her son's outfit,
Say asked no questions, expressed no sympathy at sight of
the good woman's tears, and made no offer, whatever, of
her assistance in launching the traveler on his way. Even
her mother's hints in regard to -'that travelin' dressin' case
that you made for your father when he went to Boston,— it
hasn't been used since, and might as well go to somebody
that it'll be of some use to," passed unheeded.
^'It was no use," Mrs. Strong admitted in confidence to
herself. "Say was her father's own child— sot as the hills
when she was once sot." And there she left the matter,
where she had long since learned to leave all her cares and
perplexities, in the bosom of a God-directed, God-sheltered
future.
Ben dropped in for a moment on the evening before his
departure to say good-by to his old friends and receive
their hearty wishes for his success and safety.
''When you see a chance to make five dollars, take it r
an' make sure o' that much, ruther 'n ter spend yer time
floatin' round waitin' for a possible fortin' ter spriug up in
yer path. l A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush/
just remember that my boy." And the squire shook his
young favorite heartily by the hand, while he winked hard
352 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
to keep back the moisture that would gather upon his rough
lids.
'•Don't forget the God of your fathers," whispered Mrs.
Strong, with her hand upon his arm and her motherly face
all aglow with tender interest, "and he'll never forget or
forsake you. Remember the promise : 'Thev who trust in
the Lord shall not lack for i ny good thing.' "
The young man's lips trembled, and with a shy, sudden
impulse, he bent his head reverently as he pressed a kiss
upon the wrinkled but comely face upturned to his own.
"Now. Say," he said, half-laughing to hide his emotion,
"haven't you a good word for me before I go?" And he
looked searchingly into the quiet brown eyes that met his
own without the least timidity or shrinking, as their owner
replied with a low significant laugh : —
"Only that I would advise you to stick to your business,
whatever it is ; or, to put my advice into a more compact
and portable form, always remember to "hoe out your row.' "
'•Your advice is sensible as well as characteristic," he
said coldly : but when the leave-takings were once fairly
over, and he was at liberty to drop the mask that both pride
and prudence had compelled him to wear in the presence of
her he loved, even Say's unbelieving soul might have been
satisfied with a sight of the bitter, unsatisfied tears that his
humiliating disappointment wrung from him.
Five years have slipped away, bringing little outward
change to the quiet dwellers beneath Squire Strong's com-
fortable roof. The squire and his wife still go about their
daily duties with the same quiet yet energetic faithfulness,
while their Beats at church and at the weekly prayer-raeet-
ing are seldom vacant, even when the wintry drifes and
Biimmer'a heat discourages many a younger Christian from
venturing beyond the shelter of his own roof. As for Say,
SUGARING OFF.
353
no one has noticed it, and yet there is a change, deep and
abiding as it is beautiful.
The quick, sharp spirit that so often gave offense in her
earlier girlhood has, somehow, unconsciously perhaps, be-
come toned down into a pleasant briskness that is pleasing
to all. and fits well with the matured and more softly
rounded face that has lost its look of keen suspiciousness,
and wears an expression far more in keeping with the ever
kindly, often tenderly sympathizing words that now seem
native to her lips. Nor have these graces of mind and
bodv been suffered to develop in unnoticed obscurity. ]Siore
than one of the young farmers thereabouts has been seen to
tie his horse at Squire Strongs gate on a Sunday evening :
but it has been observed that the sam? team was never seen
there twice, and even the most uncharitable gossips in
town have always exonerated Say from any imputation of
coquetry.
But of late people have begua to shake their heads know-
ingly, whenever a certain grave, handsome, middle-aged
gentleman, in garments of unmistakably city make, has
made his appearance at the depot in the village : is received
and entertained by the squire with his usual hearty hospi-
talitv. and introduced to friends and neighbors as "Mr.
West, a friend of ours from the city." "A city lawyer."
the gossips say, while -rich and a widower" is added, with
sundry significant nods and winks, when the said -wid-
ower." accompanying Say Strong and her parents to church,
hands her to her seat in the choir with an air of -rave, old-
fashioned courtesy, before seating himself with the old
couple in their pew below.
It has been noticed, too. of late, that Say's cheerful face
has grown strangely thoughtful, not sad exactly, but un-
decided and doubtful, as if her heart and brain were refusing
354 RE-TOLD TALES OF THE HILLS AND SHORES OF MAINE.
to agree upon some point of more than usual ■ interest to
their owner.
It was a pleasant, sunshiny Sabbath, the first in April,
and as Say Strong took her seat in the choir, she noticed
that the singers already present were clustered together
peering curiously at somebody or something in the body of
the church, — what, she had no time to ask nor see, for at
the moment of her entrance the leader gave the signal, and
every one dropped into his or her seat with the habitual
promptness that a system of careful training had made easy
and natural.
As they rose to sing the opening hymn Say's eyes wan-
dered for an instant to the dear old faces that always
looked up at her with that little touch of prideful tenderness
that she alone saw and felt, and that warmed her heart and
mellowed her voice as by some magic power. But to-day,
a quick rush of emotion choked down the half-uttered notes,
and her head grew giddy with a whirl of surprise, joy,
pain, — for there, in the very seat next their own, was a tall,
well-knit figure, only too familiar to her strained gaze,
although the boyish red and white of his complexion had
given place to the sun and beard-darkened hue of ripened
manhood, and even the closely curling hair had lost some-
thing of its old-time gold ; but the clear blue eyes looked up
just as clearly and unsuspiciously into her own as of yore ;
indeed, she fancied for a moment that there was a half-
smile of tender recognition in them, as, with a mighty ef-
fort, she put aside the throng of bewildering memories, and
her sweet voice rose, full and clear, in the first line of the
old familiar hymn
"Return, ye wandering sinners home."
The service was over at last, and as Say's foot touched
the last stair she looked up to meet that same frank smile
SUGARING OFF. 355
and outstretched hand that had so often greeted her years
ago, while a voice that was music to her ear exclaimed,
eagerly : —
'•Won't you welcome me home, Say?"
'•How are ye? How are ye, Ben? Glad ter see ye agin !"
and Deacon Sparmint crowded himself between the two, in
the heartiness of his greeting, which was now re-echoed by
old and young, who crowded joyously about their old fa-
vorite with a perfect chorus of subdued welcomes, ques-
tions and comments, while Say, quietly accepting Mr.
West's oifered escort, walked silently away, her heart full
to overflowing with its bitter-sweet memories — trifles, per-
haps in their day, but now to her time-awakened vision,
things of infinite importance to her future peace.
The next morning Mr. West took a dignified leave of
his host and family, with the air of one who has no inten-
tion of returning at present, and Say, with a lightened
brow, but with a little air of nervous expectation, that she
tried her best to hide, busied herself with her usual tasks,
that, as the day waned, seemed gradually to lose their in-
terest for her, and as the twilight began to fall, she re-
marked in a wearied tone : —
'*I believe I'll go down to the sugar orchard and carry
father his supper ; perhaps the walk in the open air will
help my headache." And following up her own suggestion ,
she was soon picking her way along the old familiar path
that, five years ago, she had threaded upon the same errand,
with a step as firm, an eye as clear, and a heart (she smiled
sadly, wonderiugly to herself as she recalled that time) not
yet wise enough to know itself.
The lunch was gratefully received and enjoyed, and Say
stood watching with a dreamy, half-absent eye, the form of
her father, as he passed briskly from fire to fire, stirring,
356 re-told tales of the hills AND SHORES OF MAINE.
testing and discoursing with pleasant volubility upon the
quality, quantity, etc., of this year's sugar crop.
"It's the best, take it all together, that we've had for five
years. You remember, Say, that year that Ben Worth
went — "
His voice died away in the distance as he hurried off to
replenish a decaying fire ; and Say stood looking thought-
fully down upon the blazing brands, while her slender fin-
gers played nervously with a twig of soft, silky catkins that
she had plucked on her way through the woods, and there
was an unconscious pathos in her tones as she softly re-
peated her father's words : —
"Five years — -of patient waiting, of uncomplaining silence,
of—"
"Sugaring off!"
It was Ben Worth's voice that spoke the words, and Ben
Worth's hand that clasped her own, as he whispered with a
tender, yet half-roguish significance : —
"Will you accept the sugar as it is now, Say? It may
not be of the first quality to be sure : but if you will only
try it I will promise that it will do its best toward sweet-
ening away whatever drops of bitterness fate may mingle
in your cup of life."
Say's face was turned away, but a loving hand gently
drew the drooping head into the full light of the shameless
fire, and a pair of tender, yet masterful eyes looked search-
ingly into her own. She tried to laugh, but the tears would
come instead, and dropping her head upon the broad shoul-
der beside her she sobbed out a few broken words of lovino-
o
acknowledgment that made her listener's heart bound with
grateful joy.
"But where did you get that idea of the 'sugaring off?' "
she asked, a little later, as they sat side by side before the
SUGARING OFF. 357
cheerful fire, and Ben answered with a slightly embarrassed
air : —
"Thereby hangs a confession. On the night that we
parted here I came back for my sap ladle, that in the an-
gry excitement of my leaving I had forgotten, and which I
knew would be needed by my father the next day. I came
just in time to hear your conversation with your father
about me, and I stole away in a perfect agony of grief and
mortification. It was that which sealed my lips on the even-
ing of my departure for California, and it is that which now
emboldens me to offer you the sugar that five long years of
trial, toil, and self-denial have produced."
Say smiled— yet with tearful eyes—as she placed her
hand in his, and from that day forth the fancy was never
alluded to by either, but was laid aside amid other precious
relics of the past as something too sacred for careless hands
to intermeddle with— a sealed memory to which their two
hearts alone kept the key.
THE END.
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