HUCKLEBERRIES 
 
 GATHERED FROM NEW ENGLAND 
 HILLS 
 
 BY 
 
 ROSE TERRY COOKE 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 Cambridge
 
 Copyright, 1891, 
 BY ROSE TERRY COOKE. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 The Kivertide Prett, Cambridge, Matt., U. 8. A. 
 Electrotyped and Priiited by H. O. Houghtou & Co.
 
 I OFFEB THI8 SHEAF OF STORIES TO 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND 
 ANNIE TRUMBULL BLO8SON 
 
 AS A SLIGHT EXPRESSION OF MY DEEP IA>V 
 AND GRATITUDE 
 
 There is a friend that iticketh dour than a brother " 
 
 350432
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 I HAVE called this latest collection of New Eng- 
 and stories by the name of a wild berry that has 
 ilways seemed to me typical of the New England 
 jharacter. 
 
 Hardy, sweet yet spicy, defying storms of heat or 
 sold with calm persistence, clinging to a poor soil, 
 barren pastures, gray and rocky hillsides, yet draw- 
 ing fruitful issues from scanty sources, it is most 
 fitly celebrated by our own great poet : 
 
 " There 's a berry blue and gold, 
 Autumn-ripe, its juices hold 
 Sparta's stoutness, Bethlehem's heart, 
 Asia's rancor, Athens' art, 
 Slow-sure Britain's secular might 
 And the German's inward sight." 
 " What can the man say that cometh after the King ? " 
 
 R. T. C.

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 GRIT . 35 
 
 MART ANN'S Mnn> ....... 
 
 . . oo 
 LOVE ... ^ 
 
 ODD Miss TODD ..... 
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING .... 
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE ...... 
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL ...... 
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING ..... 
 
 HOME AGAIN ...... 
 
 How CELIA CHANGED HER MIND ..... 
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE . . -316

 
 HUCKLEBERRIES. 
 
 GRIT. 
 
 "LOOK a-here, Phoebe, I won't hev no such 
 goin's-on here. That f eUer 's got to make tracks. 
 I don't want none o' Jake Potter's folks round, 'nd 
 you may as well lay your account with it, 'nd fix 
 accordin'." 
 
 Phoebe Fyler set her teeth together, and looked 
 her father iu the face with her steady gray eyes ; 
 but she said nothing, and the old man scrambled 
 up into his rickety wagon and drove off. 
 
 " Fyler grit " was a proverb in Pasco, and old 
 Reuben did credit to the family reputation. But 
 his share of " grit " was not simply endurance, per 
 severance, dogged persistence, and courage, but a 
 most unlimited obstinacy and f ull faith in his own 
 wisdom. Phoebe was his own child, and when 
 things came to an open struggle between them, it 
 was hard to tell which would conquer. 
 
 There had been a long quarrel between the Fy- 
 
 lers and Potters such a quarrel as can only be 
 
 1 found in little country villages, where people are 
 
 thrown so near together and have so little to divert
 
 2 GRIT. 
 
 their minds that they become as belligerent as a 
 company of passengers on a sailing vessel fire 
 easily and smoulder long. But Phoebe Fyler was 
 a remarkably pretty girl, with great, clear gray 
 eyes, a cheek like the wild rose, abundance of soft 
 brown hair, and a sweet firm mouth and square 
 cleft chin that told their own story of Fyler blood ; 
 and Tom Potter was a smart, energetic, fiery young 
 fellow, ready to fight for his rights and then to 
 shake hands with his enemy, whichever beat. 
 There was no law to prevent his falling in love 
 with Phoebe because their fathers had hated each 
 other ; indeed, that was rather an inducement. 
 His honest, generous heart looked on the family 
 feud with pity and regret. He would like to can 
 cel it, especially if marrying Phoebe would do it. 
 
 And why should she hate him ? Her father wag 
 an old tyrant in his family; and the feeble, pale 
 mother, who had always trembled at his step since 
 the girl could remember, had never taught her to 
 love her father, because she did not love him herself. 
 Obedience, indeed, was ground into Phoebe. It was 
 obey or suffer in that family, and the rod hanging 
 over the shelf was not in vain. But when she grew 
 up, and left the childish instinct or habit behind 
 her, and the Fyler grit developed, she had the 
 sense to avoid an open conflict whenever she could, 
 for her mother's sake. 
 
 This, however, was a matter of no small impor 
 tance to Phoebe. She had met Tom Potter time 
 after time at sewing societies, sleigh rides, huckle-
 
 GRIT. 
 
 3 
 
 berryings, and other rustic amusements ; they sat 
 together in the singers' seat, they went to rehearsal ; 
 but Tom had never come home with her until 
 lately, and then always parted at the doorsilL 
 Now he had taken the decisive step ; he had 
 come Sunday evening to call, and every Pasco girl 
 knew what that meant. It was a declaration. 
 But while Phoebe's heart beat at his clear whis 
 tle outside, and stood still at his knock, she saw 
 with dismay her father rise to open the door. 
 "Good-evening, Mr. Fyler." 
 " How de do ? how de do ? " was the sufficiently 
 cordial reply ; for the old man was half blind, and 
 by the flicker of his tallow candle could noway dis 
 cern who his visitor might be. 
 
 " I don't really make out who ye be," he went 
 on, peering into the darkness. 
 
 " My name 's Potter. Is Phrebe to home ? " 
 "Jake Potter's son?" 
 " Yes, I be. Is Phoebe to home ? " 
 An ominous flash from Tom's black eyes accen 
 tuated the question this time, but old Reuben was 
 too blind to see it. He drew back the candle, and 
 said, in a surly but decisive tone, 
 
 " 'T ain't no matter to you ef she is or ef she 
 ain't," and calmly shut the door in his face. 
 
 For a moment Tom Potter was furious. De 
 cency forbade that he should take the door off its 
 rackety hinges, like Samson at the gates of Gaza, 
 but he felt a strong impulse to do so, and then an 
 equally strong one to laugh, for the affair had its
 
 4 GRIT. 
 
 humorous side. The result was that neither humor 
 nor anger prevailed ; but as he strode away, a fixed 
 purpose to woo and marry Phoebe, "whether or 
 no," took possession of him. 
 
 " 1 '11 see ef Potter faculty can't match Fyler 
 grit," he muttered to himself ; and not without 
 reason, for the Potters had that trait which con 
 quers the world far more surely and subtly than 
 grit, " faculty," i. e., a clear head and a quick 
 wit, and capacity of adaptation that wrests from 
 circumstance its stringent sceptre, and is the 
 talisman of what the world calls " luck." 
 
 In the mean time Phoebe, by the kitchen fire, sat 
 burning with rage. Her father came back chuck 
 ling. 
 
 " I 've sent that spark up chimney pretty ever- 
 lastin' quick." 
 
 Phoebe's red lips parted for a rude answer, but 
 her mother signaled to her from beyond the fire 
 place, and the sad pale face had its usual effect 
 on her. She knew that sore heart would ache 
 beyond any sleep if she and her father came to 
 words ; so she took up her candle to go to bed, but 
 she did not escape. 
 
 " You Ve no need to be a-muggin' about that fel 
 ler, Phoebe," cackled the old man after her. " He 
 won't never darken my doors, nor your'n nuther ; 
 so ye jest stop a-hankerin' arter him, right off slap. 
 The idee ! a Potter a-comin' here arter you ! " 
 
 Phoebe's eyes blazed. She stopped on the lower 
 stair, and spoke sharply,
 
 GRIT. 
 
 " Mebbe you '11 find there 's more things can go 
 out o' the chimney than sparks," and then hurried 
 up, banging the door behind her in very womanish 
 fashion, and burst into tears as soon as she reached 
 her room. 
 
 It was Tuesday morning when old Fyler drove 
 from his door, hurling the words at the beginning 
 of our story at Phoebe, on the doorstep. 
 
 He had found out that Tom Potter had gone to 
 Hartford the day before for a week's stay, and 
 took the chance to drive sixteen miles down the 
 river on some business, sure that in his day's 
 absence Tom could not get back to Pasco, and 
 Phosbe would be safe. 
 
 But man proposes in vain sometimes. Mr. Fy 
 ler did his errand at Taunton, ate his dinner at 
 the dirty little tavern, and set out for home. As 
 he was jogging quietly along, laying plans for the 
 easy discomfiture of Tom and Phcebe, a loud roll of 
 wheels roused him, a muffled roar like a heavy 
 pulse beat, a shriek as of ten thousand hysterical 
 females, and right in the face and eyes of old Jerry 
 appeared a locomotive under full headway, com 
 ing round a curve of the track, which the old man 
 had either forgotten, or not known, ran beside 
 the highway for nearly half a mile. Jerry was 
 old and sober and steady, but what man even could 
 bear the sudden and unforeseen charge of a rail 
 way engine bearing down upon him face to face ? 
 The horse started, reared, jumped aside, and took 
 to his heels for dear life ; the wagon tilted up on a
 
 6 GEIT. 
 
 convenient stone, and threw the driver violently 
 out; but in all the shock and terror the "Fyler 
 grit " never failed. With horny hands he grasped 
 the reins so powerfully that the horse could drag 
 him but a few steps before he was stopped by the 
 weight on the bit, and then, as Reuben tried to 
 gather himself out of the dust and consider the 
 situation, he found that one leg hung helpless 
 from the knee, his cheek and forehead were well 
 grazed, and his teeth precious possession, over 
 whose cost he had groaned and perspired as a ne 
 cessary but dreadful expense had disappeared 
 entirely. This was the worst blow. Half blind, 
 with a terrified horse and a broken leg, totally 
 alone and seventy-seven years old, who else would 
 have stopped to consider their false teeth ? But he 
 dragged himself over the ground, holding the reins 
 with one hand, groping and fumbling in the dust, 
 till fortunately the missing set was found, unin 
 jured by wheel or stone, but considerably mixed 
 up with kindred clay. 
 
 " Whoa, I tell ye 1 whoa ! " shouted the old man 
 to Jerry, who, with wild eyes and erect ears, stood 
 quivering and eager to be off. 
 
 " Darn ye, stan' still ! " and jerking the reins 
 by way of comment, he crept and hitched himself 
 toward the wagon. Jerry looked round, and 
 seemed to understand the situation. He set down 
 the pawing forefoot, lowered the pointed ears, and, 
 though he trembled still, stood as a rock might, 
 till, with pain and struggle, his master raised him-
 
 GEIT. 7 
 
 self on one foot against the wheel, and, setting his 
 lips tight, contrived to get into the wagon, and 
 on to the seat. " Git up ! " he said, and Jerry 
 started with a spring that brought a dark flush of 
 pain to the old man's cheek. But he did not stop 
 nor stay for pain. " Git up, I tell ye ! We 've 
 got to git as fur as Baxter, anyhow. Go 'long, 
 Jerry." And on he drove, though the broken leg, 
 beginning to swell and press on the stiff boot-leg, 
 gave him exquisite pain. But a mile or two passed 
 before he met any one, for it was just noon, and 
 all the countryfolk were at their dinner. At last 
 a man appeared in the distance, and Reuben drew 
 up by the roadside, and shouted to him to stop. 
 It proved to be an Irishman, on his way to a farm 
 just below. 
 
 " Say, have ye got a jackknife ? " was Reuben's 
 salutation. 
 
 " Yis, surr, I have that ; and a fuss-rate knoife 
 as iver ye see. What 's wantin' ? " 
 
 "Will yer ole hoss stan' a spell? " 
 
 " Sure he '11 stand till the day afther niver, av 
 I'd let him. It's standin' he takes to far more 
 than goin'." 
 
 " Then you git out, will ye, 'nd fetch yer knife 
 over here 'nd cut my boot-leg down." 
 
 " What 'n the wurrld are ye afther havin' yer 
 boot cut for ? " queried the Irishman, clambering 
 down to the ground. 
 
 " Well, I got spilt out a piece back. Hoss got 
 skeert by one o' them pesky ingines, 'nd I expect
 
 8 GRIT. 
 
 I broke my leg. It 's kinder useless, 'nd it 's kep' 
 a-swellin' ever sence, so 's 't it hurts like blazes, I 
 tell ye." 
 
 " The divil an' all broke yer leg, man alive ? 
 An' how did ye get back to the waggin ? " 
 
 " Oh, I wriggled in somehow. Come, be quick ! 
 I want to git to Baxter right off." 
 
 " Why, is it mad ye are ? Turn about, man. 
 There 's Kinney's farm just beyant a bit. Come in 
 there. I '11 fetch the docthor for yez." 
 
 " No, I won't stop. I must git to the tavern to 
 Baxter fust ; then .1 '11 go home, if I can fix it." 
 " The Lord help ye, thin, ye poor old crathur ! " 
 "You help me fust, and don't jaw no more." 
 And so snapped at, the astounded Irishman pro 
 ceeded to cut the boot off a slow and painful 
 process, but of some relief when over ; and Jerry 
 soon heard the word of command to start forward. 
 Three more hard uphill miles brought them to the 
 tavern, just at the entrance of Baxter, and Jerry 
 stopped at the backdoor. 
 
 " Hullo ! " shouted the old man ; and the man 
 who kept the house rose from his armchair with a 
 yawn and sauntered leisurely to the piazza. But 
 his steps quickened as soon as he found out what 
 was the matter, and with neighborly aid Mr. Fyler 
 was soon carried upstairs and laid on a bed, and 
 the doctor sent for. " Say, don't ye give Jerry no 
 oats, now I tell ye. I won't pay for 'em. He 's 
 used to hay, 'nd he '11 get a mess o' meal to-night 
 arter we get home."
 
 GRIT. 9 
 
 " Why, you can't get home to-night ! " exclaimed 
 the landlord. 
 
 "Can't I? I will, anyhow, ye'd better believe. 
 I 've got to be there whether or no. Where 's that 
 darned doctor ? Brush the dirt off'n my coat, will 
 ye? 'nd here, jest rence off them teeth," handing 
 them out of his pocket. " I lost 'em out, 'nd lied 
 to scrape round in the dirt quite a spell afore I 
 found 'em." 
 
 " Well, I swan to man ! " ejaculated the land 
 lord. " Do you mean to say you hunted round 
 after them 'ere things after you 'd got a broke 
 leg?" 
 
 "Sure's you live, sir. I hitched around just 
 like a youngster a-learnin' to creep, 'nd drawed my 
 leg along back side o' me ; I 'm kinder blind, ye 
 see, or I should ha' found 'em quicker." 
 
 " By George ! ef you hain't got the most grit ! " 
 And the landlord went off to tell his tale in the 
 office. 
 
 " Take him up a drink o' rum, Joe," was the com 
 ment of a hearer. " I know him, He polishes his 
 nose four times a week, you bet ; rum 's kinder 
 nateral to him. His dad kep' a corner grocery. 
 A drink '11 do him good. I '11 stan' treat, fur he 's 
 all-fired close. He 'd faint away afore he 'd buy a 
 drink, fur he 'stills his own cider-brandy. But 
 flesh an' blood can't allers go it on grit, ef 't is 
 Fyler grit, 'nd he '11 feel considerable mean afore 
 the doctor gets here. Fetch him up a good stiff 
 sling, 'nd chalk it down to me."
 
 10 GRIT. 
 
 A kindly and timely tonic the sling seemed to 
 be, and the old fellow took it with great ease. 
 
 " Taste kinder nateral? " inquired the interested 
 landlord, with suspended spoon. 
 
 " It 's reel refrashin',' ' was the long-delayed an 
 swer, as the empty tumbler went back to join the 
 unoccupied spoon. "Now fetch on yer doctor." 
 And without a groan or a word the old man bore the 
 examination, which revealed the fact that both bones 
 of the leg were fractured ; or, as the landlord ex 
 pressed it to a gaping and expectant crowd outside, 
 "His leg's broke short off in two places." With 
 out any more ado Reuben bore the setting and 
 splinting of the crushed limb, and accepted meekly 
 another dose of the " refrashin' " fluid from the 
 bar-room. " Now, doctor, I want to be a-travelin' 
 right off." 
 
 "Traveling! where to?" demanded the doctor, 
 glaring at him over his spectacles. 
 
 " Where to I why, back to our folks's, to 
 Pasco." 
 
 " You travel to the land of Nod, man. Go to 
 sleep ; you won't see Pasco to-day nor to-mor 
 row." 
 
 " I 'm a-goin', anyhow. I tell ye I 've got ter. 
 Important bizness. I would n't be kep' here for a 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 The doctor saw a hot flush rise to his face, and 
 an ominous glitter invade the dull eye. He knew 
 his man, and he knew what determined opposition 
 and helplessness might do for him. At seventy-
 
 GRIT. 11 
 
 seven, a broken leg is no trifle ; but if fever sets 
 in, matters become complicated. 
 
 " Well," he said, by way of humoring the refrac 
 tory patient, " if you 're bound to go, you must go 
 to-night ; to-morrow '11 be harder for you to move." 
 And with a friendly nod he left the room, and the 
 landlord followed him. 
 
 " Ye don't expect he 's a-goin' to go, do ye, 
 doctor ? " 
 
 " Lord, man ! he might as well stand on his 
 head ! Still, you don't know old Reub Fyler, per 
 haps. He 's as clear grit as a grindstone, and if 
 he is bound to go, he '11 go ; heaven nor earth won't 
 stop him, nor men neither." And the doctor 
 stepped into his sulky and drove off. 
 
 An hour afterward Reuben Fyler insisted on 
 being sent home. A neighbor from Pasco, who 
 had come down after grain with a long wagon, 
 heard of the accident, and happened in. 
 
 " I 'm bound to git home, John Barnes," said 
 the old man. " I 've got ter ; I 've got bizness. 
 Well, I might as well tell ye, that darned Potter 
 feller 's a-snakin' 'nd a-sneakin' round arter Phoebe, 
 'nd ef I 'm laid up here, he '11 be hangin' round 
 there as sure as guns. Fust I know they '11 up 'nd 
 git merried. I '11 see him hanged fust ! I 'm goin' 
 hum to-night. I can keep her under my thumb ef 
 I 'm there ; but ye know how 't is : when the cat 's 
 away " 
 
 " H'm ! " said John Barnes a man slow of 
 speech, but perceptive. " Well, ef you 're bound
 
 12 GRIT. 
 
 to go, you can have my waggin, 'nd I '11 drive 
 your'n up.'* 
 
 " But change hosses ; I can't drive no hoss but 
 Jerry." 
 
 " You drive ! " exclaimed John, in unfeigned 
 astonishment. 
 
 " My arms ain't broke, I tell ye, 'nd I ain't 
 a-goin' to pay nobody for what I can do myself, 
 you can jest swear to that." 
 
 And John Barnes retreated to hold council with 
 the bar-room loungers. But remonstrance was in 
 vain. About five o'clock the long wagon was 
 brought up, the seat shoved quite back to the end, 
 and an extempore bed made of flour bags, hay, and 
 old buffalo-robes on the floor of the rickety vehicle ; 
 the old man was carried carefully down, packed 
 in as well as the case allowed, his splinted and 
 bandaged leg tied to the side to keep it steady, his 
 head propped up with his overcoat rolled into a 
 bundle, and an old carriage carpet thrown over 
 him and tucked in. Then another " refrashin' " 
 fluid was administered, and the reins being put 
 into his hands, with a sharp chirrup to old Jerry, 
 he started off at a quick trot, and before John 
 Barnes could get into his wagon and follow, Fyler 
 was round the corner, out of sight, speeded by the 
 cheers and laughter of the spectators, and eulogized 
 by the landlord, as he bit off the end of a fresh 
 cigar, as " the darnedest piece of Fyler grit or any 
 other grit I ever see ! " 
 
 In the mean time Phoebe at home went about
 
 GRIT. 13 
 
 her daily work in a kind of sullen peace : peaceful, 
 because her father was out of the way for one day 
 at least ; sullen, because she foresaw no end of trou 
 ble coining to her, but never for one moment had 
 an idea of giving up Tom Potter, or of any way to 
 achieve her freedom except by enduring obstinacy. 
 Many another girl, quick-witted or well read in 
 novels, would have enjoyed the situation with a 
 certain zest, and already invented plenty of strata 
 gems ; but Phoebe had not been educated in mod 
 ern style, and tact or cunning was not native to her ; 
 she could endure or resist to the death, but she 
 could not elude or beguile, and her father knew it. 
 Her mother was helpless to aid her ; but, with the 
 courage mothers have, she set herself out of the 
 question, and having thought deeply all the morn 
 ing, over the knitting-work, which was all she could 
 do now, she surprised Phoebe in the midst of her 
 potato-paring by suddenly saying : 
 
 " Phoebe, I see what you 're a-thinkin' of, and I 
 want to say my say now, afore anybody comes in. 
 I 've heerd enough o' Tom Potter to know he 's a 
 reel likely young feller ; he 's stiddy, 'nd he 's a 
 professor besides, 'nd he 's got a good trade ; there 
 ain't no reason on airth why you should n't keep 
 company with him, ef you like him. It 's clear 
 senseless to hev your life spoiled because your folks 
 'nd his folks querreled, away back, about a water 
 right." 
 
 Phoebe dropped the potatoes, and gave her mo 
 ther a speechless hug, that brought the tears into 
 those pale blue eyes.
 
 14 GRIT. 
 
 " Softly, dear ! I don't mean to set ye ag'inst 
 your pa, noways ; but I don't think man nor woman 
 hes a right to say their gal sha'n't marry a man 
 that ain't bad nor shiftless, jest 'cause they don't 
 fancy him ; 'nd I don't want to leave ye here when 
 I go, to live my life over agin." 
 
 " Oh, mother," exclaimed Phoebe, almost drop 
 ping the pan again, " I think it would be awful 
 mean of me to leave you here alone ! " 
 
 "'T would n't be no worse, Phoebe. I should 
 miss ye, no doubt on 't ; I should miss ye consider'- 
 ble, but then I should n't worry over your hard 
 times here as I do, some, all the time." 
 
 Poor saint ! she fought her battle there by the 
 fireside, and nobody saw it but the " cloud of wit 
 nesses," who had hung over many a martyrdom 
 before that was not illustrated by fire or sword. 
 
 Phoebe choked a little, and her clear eyes sof 
 tened ; she was only a girl, and she did not fully 
 understand what her mother had suffered and re 
 nounced for her, but she loved her with all her 
 warm heart. 
 
 "I can't help ye none, Phoebe," Mrs. Fyler 
 went on, with a patient smile, " but I can comfort 
 ye, mebbe, and, as fur as my consent goes, you hev 
 it, ef you want to marry Tom ; but oh ! Phoebe, be 
 sure, sure as death, you do want to : don't marry 
 him to get away from home. I 'd ruther see ye 
 drowned in Long Pond." 
 
 Phoebe's cheek colored deeply and her bright 
 eyes fell, for her mother's homely words were sol 
 emn in their meaning and tone.
 
 GRIT. 15 
 
 " I am sure, mother," she said softly, and went 
 away to fetch more wood for the fire ; and neither 
 of the women spoke again of the matter, but 
 Phoebe's brow cleared of its trouble, and her 
 mother lay back in her chair and prayed in her 
 heart. Poor woman ! she had mighty need of 
 such a refuge. 
 
 So night came on, and after long delay they ate 
 their supper, presuming that the head of the house 
 was delayed by business, little thinking how he, 
 strapped into eTohn Barnes's wagon, was pursuing 
 his homeward road in the gathering darkness and 
 solitude ; for though John caught up with him 
 soon, after a mile or two some empty sacks fell 
 out of the Barnes wagon, and no sooner did John 
 miss them than he coolly turned back and left old 
 Reuben to find his way alone. But the old man 
 did not care ; he had courage for anything ; so he 
 drove along as cheerily as ever, though his dim 
 sight was darkened further by the darkening air, 
 the overhanging trees, and the limit set to his 
 vision by the horse's head, which from his position 
 was all he could see before him. 
 
 About nine o'clock a benighted traveler driving 
 toward Baxter from Pasco way, with his wife, 
 discerned dimly an approaching horse and wagon, 
 apparently without a driver. He reined his own 
 horse and covered buggy into the ditch, to give 
 room, but the road was narrow, and the other 
 horse kept in the middle. 
 
 " Turn out ! turn out ! " shouted the anxious
 
 16 GRIT. 
 
 man. "Are you asleep or drunk? Turn out, I 
 tell you ! " 
 
 But old Fyler heard the echo only of the strenu 
 ous voice, and turned out the wrong way, setting 
 his own wheels right into the wheels of the stran 
 ger's buggy. 
 
 "You drunken idiot ! back, back, I say ! you 've 
 run right into me " not without objurgations 
 of a slightly profane character to emphasize his 
 remark. " Back, I say ! The devil ! can't you 
 hear ? " 
 
 By this time both horses were excited ; the 
 horse in the ditch began to plunge, the other one 
 to rear and back, till, what between the pull of his 
 master on the reins and his own terror, Jerry 
 backed his load down the steep bank at the road 
 side, and but for a tree that caught the wheel, 
 horse, driver, and wagon would have gone head 
 long into a situation of fatal reverses, where even 
 Fyler grit could not avail. 
 
 " Murder ! " cried the old man. " I 've broke 
 my leg, 'nd I 'm pitchin' over th' edge ! Lordy 
 massy ! stop the cretur ! Who be ye ? Ketch his 
 head, can't ye ? Thunderation ! I 'm a-tippin' ? 
 sure 's ye live ! " 
 
 " Let your horse alone, you old fool ! " shouted 
 the exasperated traveler, who was trying vainly 
 to tie his own to some saplings by the roadside, 
 while his wife scrambled out as best she might 
 over the floundering wheels. But by the time the 
 man succeeded, Fyler's horse had been so demon-
 
 GRIT. 17 
 
 strative that the wagon wheels were twisted and 
 locked together, the wagon body tilted up to a dan 
 gerous degree, and the old man rolled down to the 
 other side and half out, where he hung helpless, 
 tied by the knee, sick with the pain of his wrenched 
 leg, and unable to stir ; but still he yelled for 
 help. 
 
 " Can you hold this plaguy horse's head, 
 Anne ? " said the traveler. " I never can right 
 the wheels while he plunges and rears like that." 
 
 " I '11 try," was the quiet response ; and being 
 a woman of courage and weight, she hung on to 
 the bridle, though Jerry made frantic efforts to 
 lift her off the ground and stand on his hind-legs, 
 till the wagon was righted, the groaning old man 
 replaced, his story told, and he ready once more 
 to shake the reins, which still were grasped in his 
 hard hands. 
 
 " But you ain't going on alone in this dark ? " 
 asked the astonished traveler. 
 
 " Yes, I be, yes, I be sartain. I shall git on 
 well enough ef I don't meet nobody, 'nd I guess I 
 sha'n't." 
 
 " But you met us." 
 
 ' Well, it 's a-growin' later 'nd later ; there 
 won't be many folks out to-night ; they ginerly 
 knows enough to stay to hum arter dark out our 
 way." With which Parthian remark he chirruped 
 to Jerry and trotted away, without a word of 
 thanks or acknowledgment, aching and groaning, 
 and muttering to himself, " Darned fool ! what 'd
 
 18 GRIT. 
 
 he want to be a-kitin' round in a narrer road this 
 time o' night ? Fixed me out, I guess ; but I '11 
 get hum, anyhow. Git up, Jerry ! 
 
 And Jerry got up to such a purpose that about 
 twelve o'clock that night a loud shouting at the 
 front door roused Phoebe and her mother, and they 
 were forced to call in a couple of men from the 
 next neighbor's, at least a quarter of a mile away, 
 to get the old man into the house, undressed, and 
 put to bed. 
 
 As might have been expected, fever set in ; but 
 he fought that with " Fyler grit." And though 
 fever is a force of itself, there is a certain willful 
 vitality and strength of will in some people that 
 exert wonderful influence over physical maladies ; 
 and after a few days of pain and discomfort and 
 anger with himself and everybody else, the old 
 man grew more comfortable, and proceeded to rule 
 his family as usual. By dint of questioning the 
 daily visitoi's who always flock about the victim of 
 an accident in a country village, he had kept him 
 self posted as to Tom Potter's absence ; but its 
 limit was drawing to an end now, and he took 
 alarm. He had not imagined that Tom might be 
 as well informed on his part, and that more than 
 one note had passed through the post-office al 
 ready between the young couple. Nor did he 
 know that the postmistress was a warm friend of 
 Tom's ; for he had rescued her only child from the 
 threatening horns of his father's Ayrshire bull, 
 when little Fanny had ventured to cross the pas.
 
 GRIT. 19 
 
 ture lot after strawberries, and her red shawl at 
 tracted that ill-conditioned quadruped's notice and 
 aroused his wrath. Tom's correspondence was 
 safe and secret in passing through aunty Leland's 
 hands. But as soon as Reuben Fyler ceased to 
 need doses from the drug store and ice from the 
 tavern, Phoebe was kept within range of his eye 
 and ear. Still, she knew Tom was at home now, 
 and evening after evening his cheery whistle 
 passed through the window as he sauntered by, 
 a signal to Phosbe to get outside if she could ; but 
 she never could. 
 
 However, " Potter faculty " was at work fot 
 her. When the county paper was sent over from 
 the post-office by a small boy, he had directions 
 from aunty Leland to give it at once into Phoebe's 
 hand, " and nobody else's." So he waited about 
 till Phoebe opened the kitchen door to sweep out 
 the dust, and gave it to her with a significant wink 
 not that he knew what his wink signified at all, 
 but, with the true gamin instinct, he gathered an 
 idea from the widow Leland's special instructions 
 that " somethin' wuz to pay," as he expressed it to 
 himself. 
 
 And Phoebe, as she hastened in from the door 
 to carry the paper to her father's bedside, per 
 ceived on the margin, in a well-known handwriting, 
 these words, " Look out for lambs." As she hung 
 up her broom, she tore off the inscription and 
 tossed it into the fire ; and then, while she pa 
 tiently went through the gossip, politics, religion,
 
 20 GRIT. 
 
 and weekly story of the " Slabtown News," ex 
 ercised herself mightily as to what that mystic 
 sentence might mean ; but not till the soft and 
 fragrant darkness of the June evening set in did 
 she find a clew to the mystery. 
 
 Old Fyler had a few pure-blood merino sheep 
 on his farm that were the very apple of his eye. 
 Not that he had ever bought such expensive com 
 modities ; but a wealthy farmer in the next town 
 owned a small flock some years before, which the 
 New England nuisance of dogs at last succeeded in 
 slaying or scattering. In some panic of the sort, 
 one had escaped to the woods, and, after long 
 straying, been found by Fyler, with a new-born 
 pair of lambs beside her, in a wood on the limit of 
 Pasco township, where he was cutting his winter 
 supply. Of course this windfall was too valuable 
 to be neglected. The hay brought for Jerry's din 
 ner was made into a soft bed, and, with the help 
 of an Irishman, who was chopping also, the sheep 
 and her family lifted into the wagon and taken 
 home. Pasco was not infested with dogs ; only 
 two or three could be numbered in the village. 
 And after the old sheep was wonted to her quar 
 ters a little, fed by hand, cosseted, and made at 
 home, she was turned into a lot with the cows. 
 And woe betide any dog that intruded among the 
 beautiful Ayrshires ! So the sheep increased year 
 after year, carefully sheltered in cold weather, as 
 became their high breeding, till now between 
 thirty and forty ranged the sweet short pastures of
 
 GRIT. 21 
 
 the Fyler farm, and their fleeces were the wonder 
 and admiration of all the town. 
 
 Late that night lace, I mean, for Pasco, for 
 the old-fashioned nine-o'clock bell had but just 
 rung, though Mrs. Fyler had gone to bed upstairs 
 an hour ago, and Phoebe was just spreading an ex 
 tempore bed on the lounge in the kitchen, to be 
 where her father might call her in case of need 
 a piteous bleat, unmistakably the bleat of a lamb 
 in some kind of distress, was heard outside. The 
 old man started up from his pillow. 
 
 " What 'n thunder 's that, Phcebe ? " 
 
 " Sounds some like a lamb." 
 
 " Sounds like a lamb ! Anybody 'd think you 
 was a durn fool. "Tis a lamb, I tell ye. One o' 
 them leetle creturs hez strayed away out o' the 
 paddock. I 'xpect boys hez ben in there a-foolin' 
 round 'cause I 'm laid up abed. Lordy ! I wish to 
 the land I could smash that 'ere ingine. Go 'long 
 out, gal, 'nd see to 't. It '11 stray a mile mebbe 
 ef ye don't. You 've got ter look out for lambs. 
 They don't know nothin'." 
 
 Phoebe started as her father repeated the very 
 phrase penciled on the edge of the paper ; the 
 lamb kept bleating, and the dimple in the girl's 
 rosy cheek deepened while she found her bonnet, 
 and, turning the key of the kitchen door, stepped 
 out into the starlit night. That lamb was evi 
 dently behind the woodshed, but so was somebody 
 else ; for Phoebe had hardly discerned its curly 
 back in the shadow before she was grasped in a
 
 22 GRIT. 
 
 stringent embrace, and Tom Potter actually kissed 
 her. 
 
 " Go 'long ! " she whispered indignantly. But 
 Tom did not seem to mind her, and probably she 
 became resigned to the infliction, for at least ten 
 minutes elapsed before that go-between of a lamb 
 was restored to its anxious mother in the paddock, 
 and full half the time was wasted in a whispered 
 dialogue with punctuation marks. 
 
 Very rosy indeed Miss Phoebe looked as she 
 returned to the house. 
 
 " Seems to me ye was everlastin' long 'bout 
 ketchin' that lamb," growled old Reuben. 
 
 " Well, I had to put it back, 'nd fix up the lit 
 tle gate. One hinge was off on 't, 'nd 't was kinder 
 canted round, so 's 't the lamb got out, 'nd was too 
 simple to get back." 
 
 Oh, Phoebe ! Well it was that no oath com 
 pelled the speaking of the whole truth of who 
 unhinged the gate, or who had the lamb safe by 
 a long string, having previously captured it in the 
 paddock for purposes of decoy, or how, indeed, a 
 letter came to be in that calico pocket, making 
 an alarming crackle whenever she moved, terri 
 bly loud to her, but silent to the sleepy old man in 
 his bed. 
 
 Phoebe went about very thoughtful the next day. 
 The letter contained an astounding proposition. 
 It was an artful letter, too, for it began with a re 
 cital of all the difficulties that made the way of 
 true love proverbially rugged, and convinced her
 
 GEIT. 23 
 
 of what she had unconsciously admitted before, 
 that she could never marry her lover in the world 
 with her father's consent and the pleasant obser 
 vances of ordinary life. Then it went on to plead 
 in tender and manly fashion the writer's own affec 
 tion ; his ability to give her a pleasant and happy 
 home, for he had just bought out the Pasco black 
 smith shop, the owner thereof having moved to 
 Hartford, where Tom had spent that week settling 
 up the matter, and the smithy was a good busi 
 ness, being the only one in a wide radius. And 
 it wound up with a proposal that as soon as her 
 father got so much better that her mother could 
 care for him alone, Phoebe should slip out some 
 fine night on to the roof, thence to the top of the 
 henhouse, and so to the ground, and meet Tom 
 and his sister, who would be with him, at Peter 
 Green's wood, half a mile away, and just at the 
 edge of the Fyler farm. Phoebe was to consider 
 the matter fully, and talk it over with her mother, 
 and when she made up her mind, to put a letter in 
 the corner of the cow-shed, where she milked daily, 
 under a stone, where she would also find an an 
 swer, and probably other epistles thereafter. 
 
 Phoebe was not a girl to take such a proposal 
 lightly. She did, indeed, consider it long and in 
 earnest. Day by day, as her father grew better, 
 with a rapidity astonishing in so old a man, for 
 Reuben Fyler's adventures are literally true, he 
 became more and more ill-tempered and exasper 
 ating. The pain of the knitting bones, the bed-
 
 24 GRIT. 
 
 weariness, the constant fret over farm-work that 
 was either neglected or hired out, worked on his 
 naturally growling temper, and made life unpleas 
 ant to all around him as well as himself. Phosbe's 
 mind v/as made up more by her father than even 
 her own affection for Tom, or her mother's gentle 
 encouragement. The old man vented his temper 
 on Phosbe in the matter of Tom Potter more and 
 more frequently ; he reviled the Potter tribe, root 
 and branch, in a radical and persistent way that 
 would have done credit to an ancient Israelite 
 cursing Canaan ; he even taunted Phrebe with fa 
 voring such a chicken-hearted lover, scared with 
 one slam of a door in his face ; and Phoebe's inher 
 ited " grit " was taxed strongly to keep her tongue 
 quiet lest she should betray her own secret ; yet 
 angry as she was, there was a glint of fun under- 
 lying her anger, to think how thoroughly Tom had 
 countermined her father, which set the deep, lovely 
 dimples in cheek and chin alight, and sparkled in 
 each steady eye, almost belying the angry brow 
 and set lips. 
 
 So it came about that she yielded to the inner 
 pressure and the outer persuasion. Her father 
 was able now to get about a little on crutches, and 
 sit at the window overlooking the cow-shed ; yet it 
 was there, right under his suspicious eyes, that 
 Phoebe took the time, while she was milking and 
 her mother feeding a new-weaned calf, to unfold 
 her plans. 
 
 "Mother," she began, with eyes fixed on hei
 
 GRIT. 25 
 
 pail, " I can't stand it any longer ; my mind 's 
 made up. I 'm going to Torn, if you keep in the 
 same mind you was." 
 
 " Yes, dear ; I think it is the best for both of 
 us. But don't tell me any more about it than you 
 can help. Tell me what you want me to do for 
 yon, but " 
 
 " Yes, I know," answered Phrebe. " I don't 
 want you to do anything, mother ; only you '11 
 know if you miss me." 
 
 " Yes ; and I want to tell you, Phoebe. Several 
 years back I 've kinder taken comfort a-fixin' for 
 this time. I 've hed a chance now 'nd then to sew 
 a little, 'nd I've made ye a set o' things when 
 you was off to school odd times, 'nd washed 
 'em up' nd put 'em up chamber for ye in the old 
 press drawers. Then I Ve laid up some little too, 
 out of a dozen of eggs here, 'nd a little milk there, 
 'nd twenty gold dollars grandmother give me be 
 fore she died. I guess there 's nigh about fifty 
 by this time ; and the black silk dress aunt Sary 
 sent me from York, arter her Sam spent that 
 year here, never 's ben cut. You better take that 
 to Taunton to-morrer to be made." 
 
 " Oh, mother ! " 
 
 " Well, dear, you 're all I 've got. Why should n't 
 I? Oh, that pesky calf ! " and just in time to di 
 vert sentiment into a safer channel, the calf threw 
 up its head, knocked the good woman backward 
 into the dirt, and with tail high in air, and its four 
 feet apparently going four ways at once, began one
 
 26 GRIT. 
 
 of those wild canters about the yard which calves 
 indulge in. Phoebe had to laugh, as her mother, 
 indignant but unhurt* rose up from the ground, and 
 old Fyler at the kitchen window grinned with 
 amusement. So Phoebe transported her modest 
 fitting-out little by little to Julia Potter, who was 
 her only confidante in the matter, and could not 
 even see Phoebe, but punctually went for the bun 
 dles, when Tom was notified that they would be 
 left in the further barn, which opened on another 
 road, for better convenience in haying. The black 
 silk dress also was consigned to her care, with 
 Phoebe's new bonnet, sent by express from Taun- 
 ton along with the dress. 
 
 The day set for Phoebe's departure was the 3d 
 of July, since the racket and wakefulness which 
 pervade even country towns on this anniversary 
 would make Tom's late drive less noticeable. In the 
 afternoon of the sultry day ominous flashes of tem 
 pest began to play about the far horizon, whence 
 all day long great " thunder-caps " had rolled 
 their still and solemn heights of rounded pearl and 
 shadow upward through the stainless blue of hea 
 ven. Phoebe gave her mother a stringent hug and 
 kiss on the stairs as she went up, little knowing how 
 that mother's heart sank in her breast, or how dim 
 were the sad eyes that dared not let a tear fall to 
 relieve them. By nine o'clock the house was still, 
 except for low mutterings of the storm and distant 
 wheels hurrying through the night, which made 
 Phoebe's heart beat wildly. She made a small
 
 GRIT. 27 
 
 bundle of needful things, wrapped it in a little 
 shawl, put on her hat, and, taking her shoes in her 
 hand, slipped softly out of the window to the shed 
 roof, and thence to the ground. She felt like a 
 guilty thing enough as she stole over the hencoop 
 and roused the fluttering fowls, bringing out an 
 untimely crow from one young rooster. But the 
 thought of Tom and her father nerved her to ac 
 tion. Putting on her shoes hastily, she took a bee- 
 line for Green's wood, where, at the corner of a 
 certain fence, she was to find Tom and Julia. The 
 storm was coming up now rapidly, but Phoebe did 
 not feel any fear ; the frequent flashes blinded 
 her, but the road was plain after she had passed 
 through the home lots and found the highway ; 
 and she met no one, as she had feared, for even 
 those irrepressible patriots, the boys, had sought 
 shelter from probable rain that would spoil their 
 powder and wet their fire-crackers. But when 
 Phoebe arrived at the rendezvous, her heart beat 
 thick with trouble or fear, for no one was there. 
 She knew Tom had got her letter ; he had left a 
 rapturous answer in its place, but what had kept 
 him ? 
 
 She sat down among the sweet-fern bushes and 
 tufts of long grass to quiet herself and think, and 
 being a cool-headed, reasonable girl, composed her 
 self to the idea that something had delayed her 
 lover, and she must have patience ; but as the 
 minutes went on long and slow enough, the thun 
 der pealing loud and louder, the lightning darting
 
 28 GEIT. 
 
 swift lances from heaven to earth, and a sharp 
 rush of rain rattling on the stiff oak leaves above 
 her, Phoebe determined to go home ; not without a 
 certain indignation in her heart at the carelessness 
 of the man who ought to have been not only ready, 
 but waiting to receive her, but also a reserve of 
 judgment, for she had a great trust in Tom. 
 Drenched to the skin, and chilled by the cold wind 
 that rose with the storm, she retraced her steps, 
 and dragging a short ladder from the cow-shed, 
 contrived to get back on the roof, wet and slippery 
 as it was ; but to her dismay and wonder the win 
 dow of her room was not only shut, but tightly fas 
 tened, and the paper shade let down before it. 
 Her father, waking with the noise of the heavy 
 thunder, bethought himself of the lambs in the 
 paddock, not being certain that Phoebe had re 
 membered to fold them. He got up and hobbled 
 to the stairs, calling her loudly, but with no reply. 
 In vain his wife urged him to lie down while she 
 called Phoebe ; he wanted to scold her awake, and 
 with pains and groans he drew himself up the 
 stairs, only to find her bed untouched and her win 
 dow open. At once the state of things flashed 
 upon him ; he did not swear, but setting his lips at 
 their utmost vicious angle, shut and fastened the 
 window, and let down the shade, fancying Phrebe 
 had gone out to meet her lover, and would try to 
 return. 
 
 " I Ve fixed the jade," was his first utterance, as 
 he reentered his own room. " She 's gone 'nd
 
 GEIT. 29 
 
 slipped out o' the winder for to meet that darned 
 Potter feller. See ef she '11 git in agin. A good 
 wettin' down '11 sarve her right." 
 
 " Oh, Reuben ! " remonstrated his wife. 
 
 " You shet up. She 's got to ketch it, I tell ye," 
 he growled back ; and his wife, consoled by the 
 belief that her darling was by that time in kindly 
 hands, lay down again and slept, to be roused an 
 hour after by a loud knocking at the back door. 
 
 " What ye want ? " demanded the old man, who 
 had not slept, but waited for this result. 
 
 " It 's me, father," said Phoebe's resolute voice. 
 " Let me in ; I 'm out in the rain." 
 
 Mrs. Fyler sprang from her bed, but Reuben 
 caught her arm and pulled her back. 
 
 " You lie still, I tell ye," he growled ; and then 
 went on, in a louder key, " Folks don't come into 
 my door by night onless they 've gone out on 't." 
 
 " Let me in, father ; it 's me, Phoebe. I 'm 
 wet through." 
 
 The poor mother made one more effort to rise, 
 but was held with vise-like grasp, as her lord and 
 master retorted, 
 
 "No wet folks wanted here. You could ha' 
 staid in ef you 'd ha' wanted to keep dry." 
 
 Phoebe's spirit rose at the taunt. Had she been 
 let in, even to receive the expected indignation and 
 scolding, there would have been no second exploit 
 of the kind, for she was thoroughly disgusted with 
 herself and partially with her lover ; but when 
 steel strikes steel, it is only to elicit sparks. Her
 
 80 ' GEIT. 
 
 " Fyler grit " took possession of her. Picking up 
 her soaked bundle, she set out for the Potter farm, 
 which lay two long miles away, on a hillside, and 
 was approached by a wood road as well as the 
 highway. But the wood road was the shortest and 
 most lonely. She was sure to meet no one in that 
 grassy track. So she struck into it at once. 
 
 A weary walk it proved. The storm went on 
 with unabated fury. Rain poured fiercely down. 
 Her rough way was full of stones, of fallen boughs, 
 and crossed by new-made brooks from the moun 
 tain springs, suddenly filled and overflowing. But, 
 with stubborn courage, Phoebe kept on, though 
 more than once she fell at length among the drip 
 ping weeds and grasses, and was sorely bruised by 
 stones and jarred by the fall. 
 
 But it was a resolved and rosy face that pre 
 sented itself when the kitchen door of the farm 
 house on Potter Hill opened to a firm, sharp 
 knock. There were friendly lights in the win 
 dows, and Mrs. Potter's kind old countenance 
 beamed with pity and surprise as she beheld Phoebe 
 on the doorstep. 
 
 " Mercy's sakes alive, Phoebe ! You be half 
 drowned, child. Come in, come in, quick ! 
 Where 's Tom and July ? " 
 
 " Well," said Phoebe, with a little laugh, " that 's 
 just what I 'd like to know." 
 
 "You don't mean to say they hain't fetched ye? 
 Why, how under the canopy did ye get here ? " 
 
 So Phoebe told her tale of woe, while her wet
 
 GRIT. 31 
 
 clothes were taken off by the old lady (who was 
 watching for the party, and had sent the " help " 
 and the younger part of the family to bed hours 
 ago), and was told, in her turn, how Tom anc 1 his 
 sister had set off at half past eight, and how they 
 had been expected back " ever 'nd ever so long," 
 so that Phoebe was supposed to have come with 
 them when she appeared. 
 
 " I '11 bet a cent that colt 's run away. Tom 
 would take the colt. He thought the old hoss was 
 kinder feeble 'nd slow-goin'. But I'd ruther ha' 
 took him slow 'nd sure, ye know." 
 
 Here was food for anxiety ; but it did not last 
 long, for wheels rattled up from the highway side 
 of the house, an angry " Whoa, whoa, I tell ye ! " 
 was heard outside, and in a moment Tom strode 
 in, half carrying his sister, wet with rain and cry 
 ing. 
 
 " Take care o' Jule, mother ; she 's about dead. 
 There ain't a cent's worth o' grit in her." 
 
 A low laugh stopped him very suddenly. He 
 looked round, and there, by the little blaze in the 
 chimney, which had been lit to warm her a cup of 
 tea, sat Phoebe, rosy, smiling, and prettier than 
 ever, in Julia's pink calico gown and a soft white 
 shawl of his mother's. 
 
 " Tom ! Tom ! you '11 get her all damp again ! " 
 screamed Mrs. Potter ; from which it may be in 
 ferred what Tom was about. 
 
 However, Phoebe seemed to be used to damp 
 ness. Perhaps the night's experience had hard-
 
 32 GRIT. 
 
 ened her, for she made no effort to withdraw from 
 this present second-hand shower, while Tom ex 
 plained how the colt had been frightened, just as 
 they drove by the post-office, at a giant crvkcr. 
 and dashed off down the meadow road at full sp^r. 1 
 This would not have mattered if a sudden jolt li 
 not broken one side of the thills short off, where 
 upon the colt kicked and plunged till he broke the 
 other, and with a sudden dash pulled Tom all but 
 out of the wagon, tore the reins out of his hands, 
 and set off at full speed, leaving them three miles 
 from Green's wood, two from any house, with a 
 broken wagon, no horse, and an approaching tem 
 pest. There was nothing to do but to walk back 
 to the village, hire another " team," and through 
 the pouring storm drive to Green's wood on the 
 chance of seeing Phoebe. 
 
 Naturally the}' did not see her ; and then Tom 
 in despair drove round to Reuben Fyler's house, 
 whistled under Phoebe's window, rattled pebbles 
 against the pane, and at last knocked at the door, 
 but with no sign or answer to reward him. Then 
 Julia insisted on being taken home, and Tom was 
 forced to yield, since he was at his wits' end, and 
 there he found Phoebe. 
 
 " Tom, be still ! " was the irrelevant remark ut 
 tered by Phoebe at the end of the recital, and she 
 blushed more rosily than ever as she said it. 
 
 But Mrs. Potter, with motherly sense, served 
 the hot supper that had been covered up in the 
 chimney-corner so long, and when it had been
 
 GRIT. 33 
 
 done justice to in the most unsentimental manner, 
 sent the whole party peremptorily to their rooms. 
 
 In the morning the runaway colt was brought 
 home bright and early, and Tom put him into the 
 borrowed wagon and drove off with Phoebe, Julia, 
 and his mother to the minister's house, where Par 
 son Russell gave him undeniable rights to run away 
 with Phoebe hereafter as much as he liked. 
 
 The news came quickly to her father's ears, and, 
 strange to say, the old man chuckled. Perhaps 
 his comments will explain. " Stumped it all the 
 way up there in the dark, did she ? thunderin' an' 
 lightnin' too. Well, now, I tell ye, there ain't 
 another gal in Pasco darst to ha' done it. She 's 
 clear Fyler. Our folks ain't made o' all dust ; 
 they 're three quarter grit, you kin swear to 't. 
 The darned little cretur ! she beats all. Well ! 
 well! well! Wife, hain't you heerd what aunt 
 Nabby 's a-sayiu ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did." 
 
 " Law, Mr. Fyler," put in aunt Nabby, " I 
 thought ye 'd be madder 'n a yaller hornet." 
 
 " So ye come to hear me buzz, did ye ? 'T ain't 
 safe to reckon on folks. Mis' Fyler, you fetch 
 your bunnet ; I '11 tell Sam to harness up, 'nd you 
 drive up to Potter's 'nd see the gal. She 's a chip 
 o' the old block. I guess I '11 let her hev that 'ere 
 brown 'nd white heifer for a settin' up. 'T ain't 
 best, nuther, to fight with the blacksmith, when 
 there ain't but one handy." 
 
 " Well, now, I am beat," muttered aunt Nabby.
 
 34 GRIT. 
 
 " I thought ye 'd ha' held out ugly to the day o' 
 judgment, I 've heern tell so much about Fyler 
 grit." 
 
 "I think it's likely," was the composed reply. 
 " It 's bad ye 're disapp'inted, ain't it ? but did n't 
 it never come to ye that it takes more grit to back 
 down hill than to go 'long up it ? " 
 
 " Mebbe it doos mebbe it doos," said aunt 
 Nabby, shaking her head with the wisdom of an 
 owl,
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 " The lobster loves the lobster pot, 
 The mackerel loves the sea, 
 And I, I love but thee, Mary Ann ; 
 Mary Ann, Mary Ann ; Mary Ann, 
 Mary Ann ; Mary Ann, I love but thee ! " 
 
 JAKE HAZARD shouted out this snatch of sea 
 song at the top of his pleasant voice, as he pushed 
 his old whaleboat off the beach on the reluctant 
 rollers, and at last launched her in the water. 
 
 " That 's tellin', ain't it? " inquired Hosy Long, 
 with a comic cast of his eye across the boat at 
 Jake, as he shoved at her other side with brawny 
 shoulders and deep breaths of effort. 
 
 " Haw, haw! " roared Jake. " Ain't you smart, 
 Hosy ? I 'xpect you can see through a millstone 's 
 quick 's the next man ! " 
 
 Hosy grinned horribly ; he was not a brilliant 
 creature, but he could catch fish better than any 
 man on the shore, and when you go bluefishing 
 that 's the sort of companion you want. 
 
 Now everybody in Sandy Creek knew Jake 
 Hazard was mortally in love with Mary Ann 
 Tucker ; he had made no secret of it, and she, be 
 ing a born coquette, treated Jake in cat-and-mouse 
 fashion, till he was as nearly crazy as a hard-
 
 36 MAEY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 headed young fellow with no nerves and a mighty 
 digestion can possibly be. If I said Mary Ann 
 was the prettiest girl in the town I should do her 
 great injustice ; for she was the only pretty girl 
 there; the two or three tanned, freckled, good- 
 natured daughters of the Hazards, and Tuckers, 
 and Conklins, who were " the girls " of Sandy 
 Creek, never pretended to be pretty ; they went 
 their way in peace, dug clams, baked short 
 cakes, made chowder, and darned stockings, un 
 disturbed by lovers or rivalry ; in due time some 
 body married them, because everybody could n't 
 marry Mary Ann, and thereafter they lived their 
 lives out as they might ; but at Mary Ann's feet, 
 sooner or later, every young man in the town bowed 
 down and fell. 
 
 She was a very pretty girl. Her long thick 
 hair, of the darkest, richest red, waved in great 
 loose ripples to her knees when it fell out of the 
 heavy braid in which she wore it. Her skin was 
 fair beyond all tanning, and if it was a little frec 
 kled nobody saw it in the abundant and lovely 
 color of her rounded cheeks. A low, wide fore 
 head, a dimpled chin, a saucy nose, full scarlet 
 lips, and a pair of wicked, laughing, dark eyes, 
 with lashes and brows of deep brown-red, make up 
 a fair catalogue of charms. 
 
 And then she was " everlastin' smart." Nobody 
 kept so clean a house as she did for her father, 
 nobody made such sea-pie, chowder, or clam frit 
 ters. She fried fish to such crisp perfection that
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 37 
 
 the lighthouse people always wanted to stop at 
 Sam Tucker's when they had city company and 
 took them out fishing, but Miss Mary Ann did 
 not approve of " keepin' tavern," she said, so the 
 light - keeper had to fry his own fish. Then she 
 was exquisitely neat, a virtue rare among a fish 
 ing people familiar with the unsavory produce of 
 their nets, as heads, tails, or shells lie about the 
 doors, odorous if not ornamental, till the very hens' 
 eggs have a fishy flavor. But Sam Tucker's door 
 step was always swept of every grain of sand or 
 bit of refuse. Two little posy beds boarded up 
 against the wall sweetened the air with pinks, 
 sweet basil, and a few hardy roses in their season ; 
 there was a scrupulously white bit of a curtain 
 across every little window, and the well-scrubbed 
 floors had bright rugs here and there where foot 
 of man might rest, and save the planks needless 
 stain or spot. If the curtains were old cotton or 
 bits of sailcloth, they were still snow white ; and 
 that the rugs were braided of rags, scarlet shirts 
 worn beyond any more patching, or the remains of 
 a bright blue petticoat or a gray vest, and black 
 list which the tailoress gave away, did not make 
 them less gay and tasteful in tint. 
 
 Old Sam's clothes were patched with such neat 
 patches, the buttons so invariable, the red shirt 
 always so bright, that he was a matter of wonder 
 and admiration all along shore. And if Mary 
 Ann did her housework and scoured her tins and 
 floor, and weeded her posy bed, protected by a big 
 
 350433
 
 38 MARY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 crash bib apron and a slat-sided sunbonnet, when 
 the apron came off, and she sat down to knit or 
 sew, or strolled on the beach in the afternoon, then 
 she was always arrayed in a neat and pretty calico 
 gown or a deep blue gingham ; always with some 
 white thing about her round throat, not the least 
 shade of fashion, to be sure, but a clean and pure 
 ruffle, or a queer old collar clear-starched to per 
 fection, or a strip of coarse lace tied in such a trim 
 bow. When you capped this full, wholesome 
 figure and clean attire with the beautiful, saucy, 
 rosy face, shining under a wide black straw hat 
 that Sam Tucker bought for his " gal " years ago 
 in Boston, half with an idea that it was respectful 
 in her to have " a black bun net," as he called it, 
 because her mother was dead (poor woman, she 
 had been dead six years then), and half because, 
 having seen a very pretty girl at White Rocks, 
 where he went every year to take out sailing 
 parties, with just such a hat, he thought Mary 
 Ann would become it, then, though you did not 
 see a Broadway belle, you saw a wonderfully pretty 
 girl, especially when the old black hat was set off 
 by a plume of waving grass from the salt marsh, a 
 cluster of pink wild roses, a string of glittering 
 yellow shells, a garland of gay sea mosses, or a 
 pompon of rich goldenrod put in with the artistic 
 effect a French milliner's fingers might have longed 
 to imitate, and longed in vain. Moreover, the girl 
 had a good straight shape of her own ; there was 
 room in the shapely chest for a cheery, ringing
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 39 
 
 voice that was the delight of old Sam as it trolled 
 the quaint songs of the fisherman or a good loud 
 Methodist hymn, and her strong arms, if they were 
 not white, were both round and dimpled. 
 
 No wonder Mary Ann had so many lovers. 
 Perhaps no wonder that she did not choose one. 
 It is pleasant as well as provident to have a 
 good many strings to your bow, and when Jake 
 Hazard had to go bluefishing in earnest, not for 
 fun, and she did not want to be crowded with dead 
 fish, and wet lines, and two or three men, into 
 a dirty boat all day long, there was always Joe 
 Tucker or Ephraim Conklin to go after berries 
 with her, or some other Conklin, or Tucker, or 
 Hazard to take her crabbing, or shoot peeps for 
 her, rewarded thereafter by a supper of crabs or 
 peep pie, savory meats which Mary Ann perfectly 
 understood preparing. So she really never seemed 
 to care about marrying anybody. She had her 
 father to look after, and time enough to enjoy her 
 youth, and her beauty, and her adorers. But all 
 this profited the adorers nothing. She eluded any 
 grasp that might fix her anywhere, like a sagacious 
 swallow that will wheel and flit about your head if 
 you sit still enough, but if you move hand or foot 
 darts off into space with a derisive twitter, and is 
 seen no more. So the lovers gradually dropped 
 off. They would have given their very best pos 
 sessions to move her careless heart, but it was evi- 
 lent that all the inducements they could offer were 
 iseless. They were practical beings, men wanting
 
 40 MARY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 a home and a wife to keep the home and them tidy 
 and thrifty. Sentiment being put out of the ques 
 tion, they turned to the creed of " the fat-faced 
 curate Edward Bull : " 
 
 " A pretty face is well, and this is well, 
 To have a dame indoors, that trims us up, 
 And keeps us tight," 
 
 finding plenty of good, honest girls in the scattered 
 village, less coy and scornful than the beauty of 
 Sandy Creek. But Jake Hazard remained faith 
 ful ; his nature was strong and true. The quips 
 and cranks of his fun and good-humor were but 
 the crest of foam bells on a forceful and persistent 
 depth, a constant and mighty tide setting toward 
 one shore. Perhaps Mary Ann did not perceive 
 this fact ; perhaps she thought him gay and care 
 less, as young men are apt to be. It certainly 
 never crossed her mind, as a real and earnest ques 
 tion, whether she meant to marry Jake, or even if 
 he meant to marry her ; but on his part the matter 
 was thoroughly settled, though till to-day he had 
 never spoken of it. Perhaps it was the brilliant 
 day, for it was June, and the air was vivid with 
 sky above and sea below, and the cool salt breath 
 of the ocean inspired even languid lungs and faint 
 ing vitality like a powerful elixir. The great 
 green waves reared up along the shore, shaking 
 white crests of foam in splendid defiance, and dash 
 ing their mighty length upon the sand, crumbled 
 back with hissing crush of ten thousand tiny bub 
 bles on their line, only to rise and charge again
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 41 
 
 with swing, and roar, and crash, till the shore trem 
 bled. Outside, the long waves swung the old 
 whaleboat up and down with mad delight. The 
 bluefish leaped at the bait with eager, venomous 
 heads, and tore and plunged when they felt the 
 hook, showing such fight that it was keen sport 
 to draw them, gleaming and jumping, through 
 the water and over the gunwale, and throw them 
 on to the glistening heap that already covered the 
 bottom. Jake's gray eyes glowed with excitement, 
 the blood rose in his tanned cheek, his white teeth 
 showed, set and firm, under the half-open lips, and 
 his swaying muscular figure would have been a 
 fine study for an artist. 
 
 " Ginger ! this here 's sport, ain't it? " sung out 
 Hosy Long. 
 
 " Pretty good, pretty good ! " Jake shouted 
 back to him, setting his teeth together in a short, 
 ?harp contest with the biggest bluefish of the haul, 
 vvhich in another minute lay flapping and boun 
 ding at Hosy's feet. 
 
 " Dang it all ! that 's a most monstrous fish, 
 Fake." 
 
 " That 's the sockdolager, old feller." 
 
 "Well, naow," said Hosy, keeping the boat 
 rimmed carefully while Jake rebaited his line, 
 ' that 'ere one would be tasty for supper, I tell 
 /ou, briled on the coals, 'nd buttered up, long o' a 
 jood shortcake 'nd some store tea." 
 
 Hosy paused and gloated on the fine fat fish 
 rith blinking green eyes and broad red face, that
 
 42 MARY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 was the picture of good-humor. Then he took to 
 speech again : 
 
 " Ef you 'd got an old woman naow, Jake, to your 
 house, I 'xpect you 'nd me would have a fustrate 
 supper for one time, would n't we ? " 
 
 " I reckon," answered Jake, feeling on his taut 
 line to see if it were stretched by the ebbing tide 
 or a pulling fish. " An' what 's more, Hosy, I 'm 
 gqin' to hev a house 'n' home afore I 'm gray, I 
 tell ye." 
 
 " Lor, naow ! you be ? What does Mary Ann 
 say to thet sarcumstance ? " 
 
 " She 's got to say somethin' afore long. I 'm 
 tired o' foolin'," muttered Jake between his teeth, 
 giving a vicious jerk to his line, which was ra 
 ging up and down at the mercy of another fish, 
 which, however, he speedily hauled in and added 
 to the flapping heap. " I say, Hosy, 't ain't no 
 good to flounder round on a hook. I 'd get off 
 on 't ef I tore my jaw out, soon 's I found 't was 
 for sport folks was ketchin' me ; bizness 's another 
 matter." 
 
 " Wall, wall, she 's a young cretur. Mebbe she 
 dono what she doos want." 
 
 " That ain't my sitooation by the Lord, sir I I 
 know what I want ennyway, and I '11 hev it or let 
 it go, smack and smooth, afore new moon comes 
 agin, or my name ain't Jake Hazard." 
 
 Hosy's simple soul quivered at the stern and 
 almost fierce energy of Jake's declaration. Not 
 that he was afraid himself, but he saw breakers
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 43 
 
 ahead, as he would have phrased it, storms of pas 
 sion and excitement, an end to quiet fishing bouts 
 with Jake, lazy, pleasant strolls after blueberries 
 with Mary Ann, and cozy suppers at Sam Tucker's. 
 He was an ease-loving, weak-kneed brother, ready 
 to sell what he called his soul at any time for 
 peace or pottage, the very type of man who wrecks 
 his own life and ruins others for the want of a lit 
 tle courage and candor, whose cry was always the 
 selfish howl of " Let me alone," " after me the 
 deluge." But Hosy's lazy longing for peace could 
 work no wreck or woe in Jake's affairs, though he 
 made a feeble effort to " save the pieces " in an in 
 terview with Mary Ann that very night, being de 
 puted, as soon as they came in with their spoils, to 
 carry the big fish up to Sam Tucker's as a present 
 from Jake. Mary Ann met him with beaming 
 eyes. 
 
 " Well, I declare, that 's jest what I wanted, for 
 aunt Semanthy 's come to supper, 'nd uncle Royal, 
 and I had n't a special thing for 'em, bread, 'n' 
 butter, 'n' sass, 'n' dried halibut, that 's all." 
 
 " This is the king o' the crowd," said Hosy, 
 looking at the beautiful silver-bellied, blue-backed 
 creature with honest admiration. "I guess he made 
 'em fly down below. He come up with a rush 
 naow, I tell ye, but Jake was too much for him. 
 Jake 's a masterful critter as ever I see. Say, 
 Mary Ann," and here his voice fell into an omi 
 nous whisper, " you look out for Jake. Counsel 
 with me naow. Ef I be a poor feller I 've got sense
 
 44. MARY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 into me. You let Jake hev his head giner'lly. 
 'T will be a vast better for you ef ye do." 
 
 " What air you a-talkin' about, Hosy Long ? " 
 retorted Mary Ann with an air of genuine aston 
 ishment. 
 
 "Oh, nothin', nothin' much, nothin' pertikler, 
 only 'f I was you I would n't be the one to get 
 ath'art o' Jake's hawse, not ef " 
 
 " I 'd jist hev you to know, sir," snapped Mary 
 Ann, the quick color rising " angry and brave," 
 in her glowing cheeks, "I'd jist hev, you to 
 know that Jake Hazard's nothin' to me, nor I 
 ain't goin' to cotton to no man because he 's mas 
 terful. I guess I can be masterful myself, if I 'm 
 a mind to, so there." With which shake out of her 
 flag she slammed the door in Hosy's face, and that 
 dejected being bewailed himself plaintively enough. 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! I 've gone an' done it naow, ef I 
 never did afore. I hope to glory 'n' goodness she 
 won't never tell Jake. I 'm darned to thunderation 
 ef I don't believe she will ! Oh, Jeerus'lem ! " 
 
 And Hosy betook himself to the fish house, 
 scratching his sandy poll ruefully as he went, but 
 resolved to say nothing to Jake, and to answer 
 everything he might be asked thereafter with 
 wholesale and persistent denial. 
 
 Yet after all he had done Jake an unconscious 
 service, for Mary Ann was fully and fairly brought 
 to ask herself if what she had just now said in her 
 sudden anger was really the truth. Suppose Hosy 
 told Jake what she did say, and he took it for
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 45 
 
 granted that she really did not care for him at all ? 
 It was a small point to rankle in Mary Ann's 
 mind, but it was the point of a wedge. She cooked 
 the big bluefish for supper with her usual skill, 
 and while its crisp brown surface and creamy 
 flakes of flesh were being disposed of, with sundry 
 flattering remarks both to fisherman and cook, she 
 fretted inwardly a little, while she was pleased 
 enough with the commendations. 
 
 But Mary Ann was not metaphysical there 
 are some benefits after all in a want of education ; 
 if you do not know how to analyze your emotions, 
 and take your " inwardness " to pieces as a bota 
 nist does a flower, you are spared much futile 
 speculation into profitless subjects, much soul- 
 wearying and unhappy consciousness, and may 
 live and die even as a blossom in simple trust and 
 peace. Mary Ann went about her work with no 
 special self-torment after the first uneasy idea of 
 Jake and his possibilities had entered her mind. 
 If she thought of him a little oftener, and re 
 membered what uncle R'yal had said about " them 
 Hazards," as a family, and how aunt Semanthy 
 had echoed, " Yis ; they 're dreadful reliable folks, 
 allers was. Gran'ther Hazard was one of the 
 smartest men ever ye see. Good for a fishin' bout 
 up to ninety year old ; spry as a cricket ; did n't 
 hev no sickness so to speak durin' his lifetime, an' 
 died of a shockanum palsy to the last." Why, all 
 this was what she knew before, so she thought no 
 more about it the next day, but hurried her work
 
 46 MARY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 over, and putting on her hat, took a basket and set 
 her face inland toward a hill where wild strawber 
 ries grew thick and sweet. There was a long walk 
 before her across the fields, and the sandy lanes were 
 too heavy to choose as a path when the short turf 
 lay crisply in the lots, so she stepped over the 
 low wall of loose stone, and thereby came within 
 the range of Jake's vision just as he dragged his 
 boat up the beach, having been across the bay to 
 the lighthouse. He overtook her soon with his 
 long strides, and Mary Ann was glad enough to 
 have company. With a certain native tact, Jake 
 forbore to intrude his passion on her notice till the 
 basket was filled with fragrant berries, and they 
 sat down a moment for a rest on a fallen tree. 
 Neither of them consciously admired nature, but 
 yet they felt a serene calm that hung over the 
 view spread out before them, the gently heaving, 
 beryl sea, the still, blue heaven, the distant and 
 incessant murmur of white waves lapping the shore, 
 the dull green fields bordered with tawny sand, 
 and far away the lighthouse tower and the sailing 
 ships that drifted to or from the wide horizon, all 
 these stole into their senses and kept them silent 
 for a while, but Jake's heart burned within him. 
 It was not his way to put off a crisis, to mince 
 matters ; he was full of curt courage and resolve, 
 and now he had business of mortal import to him 
 to settle with Mary Ann, he neither could nor 
 would delay it, so he broke the silence somewhat 
 abruptly:
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 47 
 
 " Mary Ann," said he, " I suppose you 've seen 
 quite a spell that I like you fustrate. I Ve spoke 
 it loud enough in actions, but I know folks has 
 g-ot to use words sometimes ef they want answers, 
 and I do want one the wust way. Will you marry 
 me, Mary Ann ? " 
 
 The hot color rushed up to the girl's face. She 
 was startled, and a traitorous echo in her own 
 heart startled her more than Jake's words. She 
 had a bunch of sweet fern in her hand, and she 
 began to pull the odorous leaves off one by one, 
 as an excuse for keeping her eyes cast down. 
 
 " Will you ? Say ! " repeated Jake. 
 
 " We-ell, I dono, Jake. I hain't thought o' 
 such a thing." 
 
 The coquettish nature was uppermost now. Her 
 lips curled at the corners with a wicked little 
 smile, her eyes sparkled, and her voice grew arch. 
 
 " Time you did," retorted Jake. " I 've been 
 a-hangin' round ye this two year, 's though the sun 
 rose 'nd sot in your face, 'nd I can't stan' it no 
 longer. I want to know suthin' for sartin, Mary 
 Ann." 
 
 "Well you see," slowly pulling the fern leaves, 
 " I don't know I haven 't made up my mind 
 yet about marryin'." 
 
 " Make it up now, then." 
 
 " Mercy to me, Jake Hazard. What an idea 
 no, sir ; I ain't a-goin' to hurry for nobody. I 
 can live 'thout gettin' married, I guess, ef you 
 can't."
 
 48 MARY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 " I didn 't say I could n't," growled Jake. " I 
 don't calkerlate to die for nobody ; but I sha'n't 
 marry nobody but you, Mary Ann Tucker, and I 
 want to know ef I 'm goin' to do that." 
 
 Mary Ann gave a little laugh. It was not 
 heartless, though it seemed so to Jake, who was in 
 dead earnest. It was merely an outlet of the inner 
 excitement she really felt, and she followed it up 
 with the truth, though she spoke it with a certain 
 levity. "I don't see how you're going to know 
 when I don't know myself. I told ye I had n't 
 made up my mind." 
 
 " Well, how long is it goin' to take ye to do 
 it ? " ventured the wrathful lover, who longed to 
 shake her soundly for her naughtiness, thoroughly 
 misunderstanding her, as men will misunderstand 
 women till the day of judgment, especially if they 
 are in love with them. 
 
 " I don't know that," she answered. 
 
 Jake controlled his rising rage manfully. 
 "Well, then," said he, rising, and looking down at 
 her, " I give ye notice, Mary Ann, I shall keep 
 askin' till I find out ; onless I ; m onlucky enough 
 to b'lieve you don't want to know yerself." 
 
 She laughed again, but made no answer. 
 They walked silently down the hill together, and 
 parted at her door. Mary Ann meant to have 
 asked him in to tea, for she was about to prepare 
 that barbarous dainty, a strawberry shortcake, for 
 supper, aunt Semanthy having brought down from 
 her farm a pail of cream the day before. But
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 49 
 
 Jake had unwittingly deprived himself of the 
 feast ; and even if Mary Ann had not been too dis 
 turbed to ask him, both luscious berries and unc 
 tuous shortcake would have been gall and bitter 
 ness to his lips, for he was terribly disappointed. 
 Perhaps he would not have been so miserable if 
 she had said " No," finally. There are some na 
 tures to which suspense is worse than despair ; and 
 his was one of that sort. 
 
 Mary Ann, fortunately for herself, had an ab 
 sorbing object in view, besides her housework. 
 There was to be a clam-bake at Point Peter on the 
 Fourth of July, at which all the village of Sandy 
 Creek, even to the babies in arms, expected to 
 be present, and long ago she had promised Jake 
 to go in his boat ; not alone, for Hosy Long and 
 Anny Hazard, and Joe Conklin and his wife, were 
 of that boatload, as well as her father ; so that her 
 late interview with Jake need not embarrass her on 
 this occasion. But she had to make a new dress 
 and some fresh ruffles, both necessitating a drive 
 to Natick Pier, the nearest village ; and then the 
 shaping and sewing of the festive attire at home, 
 after it was bought, occupied her head and hands 
 for at least two weeks, in the intervals of house 
 work. 
 
 Jake thought of her all the time, on sea and 
 land ; dreamed of her by night, and sung about 
 her by day, when he was alone, and far enough 
 from shore to be unheard. Nor did he leave her 
 quite at peace ; for once, as she sat on the door-
 
 50 MAEY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 step busily stitching at her gown, the sunlight gild 
 ing her burnished hair, and deepening the hue of 
 her bright cheeks and lips, Jake came up from 
 the shore, and suddenly darkened those level west 
 ern rays with stern and sad aspect. 
 
 " Have you made up your mind, Mary Ann ? " 
 he asked her distinctly and sorrowfully. 
 
 Mary Ann was vexed ; this was too much. She 
 snapped back pertly enough, " No, I have n't, and 
 I sha'n't never if you 're a-goin' to pester me so ! " 
 
 " Yes, you will," was the deliberate reply, much 
 in the tone of a schoolmaster to a naughty boy, 
 and Jake walked away. If he had turned to look 
 back he would have seen her crying bitterly, half 
 with rage, it is true, but at least half because he 
 walked away. 
 
 Another week went by, and one hot afternoon 
 Mary Ann and three or four of her friends had 
 gone down to bathe. The girls at Sandy Creek 
 knew how to swim, as well as the boys ; and these 
 extempore mermaids liked to splash about in the 
 fresh coolness of the water almost as if they had 
 been the genuine kind, though there was nothing 
 siren in their aspect. They had bathed and 
 dressed, and were going home from the retired 
 little cove which was set apart for their use, when 
 Jake Hazard appeared, carrying an armful of fish 
 ing tackle, bait, scoop, and lines, and a big basket 
 of fish. His way home lay by Sam Tucker's door, 
 while the rest went further down the beach. Mary 
 Ann walked on a little before him, her long drip-
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 51 
 
 ping tresses hanging to her knees, coiling and curl 
 ing, as the salt breeze blew them about her, in a 
 thousand darkly shining rings, and her white, 
 shapely ankles betrayed by the short skirt she 
 wore, for the day was so hot that she had gone 
 barefoot to the beach. They went along in silence, 
 till, just as they reached the door, Jake said, in a 
 low voice, perfectly audible, however, to this ono 
 hearer : 
 
 " Mary Ann, have you made up your mind ? " 
 
 Mary Ann was exasperated. Who would not 
 have been ? She faced Jake with the look of a 
 creature at bay in her dark eyes. " No, sir ! and 
 I never '11 find it till you stop pesterin', there ! " 
 
 Jake looked at her, full-faced, with a determined 
 expression that almost daunted her. " I never 
 shall stop till I know," he answered gravely ; 
 and went his way. 
 
 Mary Ann was angry ; but she was also scared. 
 When a man falls back on his masculine suprem 
 acy, the eternal fitness of things demands that a 
 woman shall give way. And she does, though she 
 may not always show it. Mary Ann began to feel, 
 rather than to think, that Jake was, in her fashion 
 of speech, " the biggest," and from that moment 
 began to find out that she loved him. Yet she 
 would not tell him so. 
 
 The Fourth of July came at last, bright, hot, 
 beaming, as holiday weather should be, and at 
 nine o'clock Mary Ann's fire was out, her house 
 was in order, her big basket of bread, butter, cold
 
 52 MABY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 coffee, and pickles neatly packed, her father sit 
 ting on the doorstep, and she beside him, wait 
 ing for the boat. A pretty picture they made, - 
 Sam in his Sunday clothes, with his coat over his 
 arm, his spotless shirtsleeves scarce whiter than 
 the silvery hair that showed under his brown felt 
 hat, and his wrinkled, kindly face and keen, dark 
 eye pleasant as the day itself ; and Mary Ann, in 
 the new pink -and -white calico, her pretty head 
 rising from a full, soft ruffle, clear and snowy, and 
 her old black hat smartened up with a white mus 
 lin scarf about the crown, and a bunch of pinks, 
 from the posy bed, fastened in the bow, their clean, 
 spicy breath perfuming the air about her. 
 
 Jake Hazard looked at her with adoring eyes. 
 His mind was made up even more than usual, if 
 that were possible ; for he had devised a plan, to 
 be carried out that very day, which should, once for 
 all, end his suspense ; since he too had concluded, 
 in the spirit of the old distich : 
 
 " He either fears his fate too much, 
 Or his desert is small, 
 Who fears to put it to the touch, 
 To win or lose it all." 
 
 Certainly Mary Ann would not have gone to 
 ward her fate as well as the boat with such a 
 happy and smiling face, had she known what was 
 before her. 
 
 The journey over to Point Peter was delightful. 
 A light breeze filled the sail, and flapped the long 
 red pennant above it. There was plenty of fun
 
 MAEY ANN'S MIND. 53 
 
 and laughter ; Jake himself seemed as gay as the 
 rest, and Mary Ann owned to herself, as she 
 looked at him furtively from under her broad hat, 
 that he was " awful good-looking ! " And less 
 prejudiced observers might agree with her. Jake's 
 simple costume of white duck trousers and a dark 
 blue flannel shirt, a wide-brimmed straw hat, set 
 well on the thick curls of his fine head, and the 
 keen animation of his clear-cut, honest face below 
 it, were certainly picturesque. 
 
 They landed at Point Peter in the best of hu 
 mors ; and immediately the preparations for the 
 clam-bake began, for the rest of the company were 
 there before them. For a wonder all went right ; 
 there were no mishaps, no vexations. The simple 
 fisher-folk, in their primitive fashion, enjoyed the 
 rare holiday to the top of their bent. After din 
 ner, Jake proposed to Mary Ann that they should 
 take a rowboat and go up Natick Bay to Blue 
 berry Island, where the low blueberries already 
 dotted the turf with dwarf brush loaded with tur 
 quoise spheres. 
 
 " If Hosy and Anny will go," said Mary Ann. 
 
 So Hosy was sent after Anny, and Mary Ann 
 walked down to the boat with Jake, and sitting 
 down on one of the seats, with her face shoreward, 
 to watch for the others, Jake, being behind her, 
 silently piit the oars in place, and with one sudden 
 sweep of his powerful arms drove it off. Mary 
 Ann cried out. 
 
 " Well," tranquilly replied Jake, " we might as 
 well be rowin' round till they come."
 
 64 MARY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 But Mary Ann observed that, instead of " row- 
 in' round," the boat headed straight for the mouth 
 of the bay, and remonstrated accordingly. 
 
 " Well, well, Mary Ann, I '11 just put ye ashore 
 on the Kock, 'nd go back and fetch 'em along, ef 
 you say so. You 've always hankered to go onto 
 the Rock, you said, when we was comin' over." 
 
 The Rock was a little bare islet, with one dwarf 
 cedar on it, stunted and spread by driving rain and 
 furious winds into the rough shape of an umbrella, 
 and commonly reputed to be a wonderful place for 
 pretty pebbles. Mary Ann cared less for the peb 
 bles than for getting out of a tete-a-tete with Jake, 
 so she jumped at the proposition. Now the Rock 
 was quite out of sight of Point Peter, and full 
 a mile away. Jake drew his prow close to the 
 abrupt edge of the islet, where one upward step 
 safely landed his passenger, drove the boat a sin 
 gle stroke's length off, and then, deliberately draw 
 ing in his oars, spoke as follows : 
 
 " Now, Mary Ann, I 've bobbed at the end of 
 your string as long as is reasonable ; I can't do it 
 no more. There you be, and here I be ; and here 
 both of us '11 stay till you 've finally made up your 
 mind." 
 
 Mary Ann was dumb. She was stunned for a 
 moment ; then she was angry. 
 
 " How dare you, Jake Hazard ! " 
 
 " Well, you see, I 've got to a pitch where I darst 
 do a'most anything." 
 
 Mary Ann looked at his set mouth, his steady,
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 55 
 
 resolute eyes, his air of stern self-possession, and 
 felt that he spoke the simple truth. But it was 
 not in her to give up. She saw, or rather felt, 
 very plainly that she did not want to lose him ; 
 that she liked him very, very much : but not the 
 less did she feel rebellious and outraged by this ex 
 traordinary proceeding. 
 
 " It 's fair to tell you one thing, Mary Ann," he 
 began again. " If you fin'lly make up your mind 
 ag'inst me, I shall never fault you for 't. I shall 
 clear out o' these parts for the future, i could n't 
 stay here." An unconscious tremor and sadness 
 thrilled in these last words ; and Mary Ann felt it. 
 She saw, in a flash of imagination, what Sandy 
 Creek would be without Jake. Indeed, all her 
 own life ! But even this did not move her out 
 wardly ; she sat quite still on the stone ; she forgot 
 all about the pebbles ; she only thought of Jake's 
 demand, and resolved never to yield to it, if she 
 stayed there a week. And she might have sat 
 there long enough to discomfit her jailer and her 
 self both, had not a certain sound approached her 
 ears, for the wind had suddenly veered round to 
 the east, a dip of slowly pulling oars. And in 
 a deep, nasal voice, which she recognized as Hosy 
 Long's, the following 'longshore ditty, coming 
 nearer and nearer, from the direction of Point 
 Peter, resounded distinctly : 
 
 " Uncle Keziah and his son Sara 
 
 They went to sea in the shell of a clam, 
 A-o-utside o' the P'int!
 
 56 MARY ANN'S MIND. 
 
 " They put up the helium an' put her abaout, 
 The sea it went in an' Sam he went aout , 
 A-outside o' the P'int ! 
 
 " Uncle Keziah lie cussed an' he swore 
 He 'd ne'er go to sea in a shell any more, 
 A-o-utside o' the P'int ! " 
 
 Women are " cur'tis creturs," as Hosy was wont 
 to remark : whether it was the terror of approach 
 ing observers, or the ludicrous drawl of Hosy's 
 song, or the weary waiting and heat, or some fierce 
 and subtler influence she knew not how to name, 
 suddenly Mary Ann's heart gave way without her 
 will or wish, she broke down utterly, and with an 
 unconcealed sob of agitation stretched out both 
 hands to Jake. 
 
 " Come ! " she said, and when Jake took her in 
 his strong arms and lifted her into the boat like 
 a big baby, he knew from the soft, shy look in her 
 beautiful eyes and the lingering of her arm upon 
 his shoulder that Mary Ann had made up her 
 mind at last, and that he need n't go away for 
 ever. Before either of them could speak, Hosy ap 
 peared round the corner. 
 
 " Wa'al," shouted he, *' this is kinder upsettin' ; 
 why could n't ye wait for a feller ? " 
 
 " We did wait a minute," laughed Jake. " We 
 was comin' back for ye. Mary Ann wanted to land 
 on the Rock to look for somethin' she lost t' other 
 day." 
 
 " Did she find it ? " asked the interested Hosy. 
 
 " No, I did," dryly replied Jake, and Mary
 
 MARY ANN'S MIND. 57 
 
 Ann looked over the gunwale into the water. She 
 lias always professed to Jake that she never did 
 or would forgive him ; but Jake only laughs, know 
 ing very well that there is no happier or sweeter 
 wife and mother on all the shore than Mary Ann 
 Hazard, and that in her secret heart she is very 
 ^lad he made her know her own mind, however he 
 lid it!
 
 LOVE. 
 
 DEACON GOODWIN and I were sorting apples at 
 the door of the back shed, one lovely October af 
 ternoon. Baldwins, russets, greenings, Swaars, pip 
 pins, lay heaped on the little bit of turf, in gay 
 -masses of red, gold, and brown ; the clumsy cart 
 body, tilted on end, poured out a stream of ruddy 
 fruit, that should have fallen from nothing less 
 picturesque than the horn of Ceres ; and far away, 
 over the fennel and cabbages in the garden, over 
 the green sward of the orchard, the wooded hill 
 sides stretched their bright length on and on, till 
 they were purple in the distance, though, nearer 
 at hand, scarlet and orange maples, imperial crim 
 son oaks, deep yellow birches, and purple dog 
 wood boughs, mixed with dark spires of hem 
 lock and pine, shone jewel-like, even through the 
 smoky air of that hot autumn day. Sorting apples 
 is ot bad work, if only you have somebody to 
 talk to ; at least, that was my experience though 
 I was but a temporary farmer, and, it may be, 
 more fond of a " crack " than I should have been 
 had I always earned my bread under the fullest 
 force of the curne. Deacon Goodwin was a silent 
 man, except at conference meeting, where he ha 
 rangued away with a power and glory that used up
 
 LOVE. 59 
 
 all his words for a week to come ; moreover, his 
 soul just now was vexed within him by " them 
 boys," who had tilted all the apples into one heap, 
 and how he was to discern, always and surely, 
 between Baldwins and Spitzenbergs, Roxbury rus 
 sets and russet sweets, puzzled his eyes and 
 thoughts to the last degree ; so that I, who had the 
 easier task of putting the fair apples, from one 
 heap at a time, into one of a row of clean barrels, 
 that stood, like the oil-jars in the Forty Thieves, 
 ranged against a wall, and throwing the rejected 
 fruit into a huge basket, I, who had time to talk, 
 could not even extract a gruff " Yes " or " No " 
 from the deacon. I was glad enough to hear Aunt 
 Fluldah's ponderous step coming through the shed, 
 ind her hearty voice behind me : 
 
 " Father, I want them apples you ain't a-goin' 
 ;o use, so 's I can make sass to-day. 'T ain't a-goin' 
 ;o do to put it off any longer, and Kate can't be 
 jestered with it in the middle of her ironin', so I 
 ruess I '11 have the apples, and buckle to at it my- 
 ;elf. Where be they ? " 
 
 " Well," replied the deacon, " Thomas has got 
 em in the corn-basket, and I don't see jest how 
 te 's goin' to let you hev the basket to pare out on 
 n there, when he 's a-usin' of it out here ! " 
 
 " That 's easy fixed," said aunty, never at a loss. 
 Thomas, you jest bring my old rocker out of the 
 jtchen, and fetch along the pigs' pail, so I can 
 ive 'em their share, and I '11 set right down here 
 nd do all my chores to once, while you're doin' 
 ours."
 
 60 LOVK 
 
 That 's right, exactly, aunty ! " said I, flinging 
 a greening right into the barrel of Peck's Pleas- 
 ants, in my relief at the prospect of some society. 
 I firmly believe it is not good for man to b 
 in more senses than one! 
 
 "Well I'daslievesyou should, Mis Good in, 
 chimed in her old man." " That feller 's a mas- 
 terhand to talk, and he's figgered away a good 
 spell at it, all alone, till I guess he 's about tuckered 
 out for I can't talk none; them pesky boys have 
 mixed these apples till there ain't no two alike 
 
 the hull heap ! " 
 
 "Why, husband! do tell!" laughed aunty; 
 and I went off for the chair and the pail, according 
 to orders. ArTd while I go, let me take the oppor 
 tunity to praise Aunt Huldah Goodwin, for she is 
 one of a thousand -if, indeed, there be a thou 
 sand of her class left in these days of hyper-civih- 
 zation, education, agitation, and the angels know 
 what not of progress and the like stuff. Such a 
 real, genial, healthy, hearty woman ; such a simple 
 tender, expansive heart; such sturdy sense; such 
 practical judgment, - all with a vein of most un- 
 suspected poetry running through it, that tempered 
 her shrewd insight into men with the loveliest sun- 
 shine of charity, and kept her eyes as open to 
 beauty of every nature as her heart was to kindh 
 ness in all its forms. Not of her lifeful and 
 mirthful kind come the array of moody and 
 ancholy farmers' wives who, year by year, swel 
 the lists of insanity ; no monotony of work pr(
 
 LOVE. 61 
 
 upon her steady brain till the fine fibres gave way; 
 she would have her laugh, as well as her labor, and 
 the health that rounded her ample figure and 
 tinged her somewhat wrinkled cheek with wintry 
 red helped both labor and laughter to endure the 
 long strain of life. She was " Aunt Huldy " to 
 the whole village, and I loved her as well as if she 
 had a better right to the title, and I a better know 
 ledge of her goodness than the brief experience of 
 a summer's rustication under her roof afforded. 
 However, here are the rocker and the pigs' pail. 
 
 ' Set it right down there, Thomas, alongside of 
 the steps, so's I can put my feet up and hold the 
 oan even, and put the pail side of me^ now, that 's 
 landy." 
 
 Hardly was Aunt Huldah settled in her chair 
 ind at work, before she called to her husband in 
 i half whisper : Deacon ! Deacon Good'in I ain't 
 hat Mr. Masters coming down the lane ? I de- 
 lare if 't ain't ! " added she, in a londer tone ; and, 
 ushmg away pail and pan, she went forward to 
 ieet a tall, pale man, who came creeping alono- 
 ast the pickets by the aid of a cane, till suddenly 
 
 rrested by that cheery voice, 
 
 " I want to know, Mr. Masters, if you Ve got out 
 > far ? Come in, and set down." 
 'No, thank you, Mrs. Goodwin," said a some- 
 at querulous tone. I must go to Miss Pea- 
 )dy s, to see about the singers for Thanksgiving 
 Harriet's waiting there for me, I expect; 10 
 must crawl along."
 
 62 LOVE. 
 
 " Well, I wish you would stop," said Aunt Hul- 
 dah. 
 
 "I wish I could, but I can't. Good-day," an 
 swered Mr. Masters ; and as he turned away I 
 could see he was blind. Aunt Huldah came back 
 to her seat with a great sigh. 
 
 " Poor cretur, how he does miss Love ! " said she. 
 I looked up at her rather inquiringly. 
 
 " Why, we all do that, don't we, aunty ? " 
 
 " I declare if you did n't think I meant love 
 with a little / / Law, child, I was thinkin' about 
 his wife, she that was Love Braiiierd ; though it 
 ain't much odds, for if ever anybody was called 
 pretty correct accordin' to their natur', she was ; 
 there was about as much love to her as there was 
 in her name. She beat all that ever I see for 
 livin' other people's lives, and doin' their work, 
 and bearin' their pains. I don't know as she 
 know'd herself whether she was most Achsah 
 Root, or Jim Whitman, or 'Lonzo Masters, or 
 Love Brainerd. I guess she was least of the 
 last." 
 
 " Did she live here always ? Did you know her 
 long ? " said I, eager to betray Aunt Huldah into 
 telling a story, and privately rejoicing over the 
 success of my scheme, as I saw her settle down 
 more comfortably into her chair, and draw up the 
 pan of apples further into her lap. 
 
 " Yes, she was born here ; she 'n' her mother, 
 the widder Brainerd, lived a piece up the Port 
 land road quite a long spell when Love was small
 
 LOVE. 63 
 
 I expect it was real lonesome over there nights 
 though the woods is pretty lively in daytime,' 
 what with one wild cretur or 'nother ; and there 
 Tumbling Brook come into the valley close 
 by their house, and Rattlesnake Mountain riz up 
 n^t behind 'em. But it was a good ways off 
 from folks and meetin', and Miss Brainerd wasn't 
 a very high-eouraged woman. I guess she had 
 iome scary times there, though she lived there be 
 cause she owned the farm, and it was a good strip 
 f medder land after you got down the hillside 
 where their house was, and the brook kept it wet 
 m the driest of times. 
 
 "So Love grew up there. She didn't have no 
 children to be mates for her ; she kept tight to her 
 
 A I -Tr Strlng ' and if she P%ed in the 
 woods Mis' Brainerd went along, 'cause the child 
 was afraid Fact is, I guess they both got pretty 
 trembly while old Brainerd lived, for he did have 
 the tremens like anything before he died, and acted 
 more hke ury. Well, Love she used to get a 
 ttle schoolm', and more play; f or she was n't a 
 very stubbed child : her cheeks was white, and her 
 ide forehead was most too unnatural lookin' ; but 
 e did have a pair of clever eyes, that 's a fact 
 I used to tell her she 'd catched 'em of the squirrels', 
 they was so kinder shy and soft ; she did n't smile 
 very often, to be sure, but when she did it was 
 real sunshiny; and , take her all in all, she was 
 a pretty, personable child, only she was too scary 
 They hved up there till Love was twelve year old
 
 64 LOVE. 
 
 and then Mis' Brainerd she sold the farm and 
 moved into the village jest as 't was growin' up 
 here ; for you see there was n't any village here in 
 old times, only two or three houses, this one 
 where my grandfather used to live, and one at 
 each end of Sykes's bridge, and they called it 
 South Taunton, 'cause it belonged to the town of 
 Taunton. But nigh about thirty year ago, Squire 
 Smith bought out Sykes's mill privilege and set up 
 a cotton factory, and built houses for his hands, 
 and a brick house for his own, and he wanted to 
 call it Smithville ; but Mis' Smith she stuck out 
 for an Injin name : she wanted it called Pontoo- 
 suc, after the river ; so they battled it a spell, and 
 it was n't like to be any better than 't was be 
 fore, when home comes Malviny Smith from York. 
 She always ruled to home, and she would have it 
 called Cranberry, so Cranberry 't was. So, as I 
 was tellin', Mis' Brainerd moved up here, to take 
 boarders, and be more sociable like, and send Love 
 to the 'cademy. My ! what apples these be ! jest 
 as pithy as punkins, and tasted like pigweed. 
 Father, what do you call these apples ? " 
 
 " Them ! " said the deacon, in no way surprised 
 at the interlude, and meditatively regarding the 
 fruit in question. " Well, them 's Good'in apples." 
 
 " I declare ! it 's the poorest thing of the name 
 that ever I see," laughed Aunt Huldah. 
 
 "Well, aunty, about Love?" said I, half 
 impatient and half afraid of losing the story. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I guess you 're a masterhand for
 
 LOVE. 65 
 
 stories, ain't you ? What was I a-tellin' on ? Oh, 
 I rec'lect. So Mis' Brainerd she took a house 
 back of Squire Smith's, and Love she went to the 
 'cademy. There she worked like a beaver; but 
 somehow, from havin' lived always alone, and be 
 ing naturally fearful and shy, she could n't seem to 
 fellowship with any of her mates ; she'd only just 
 study and sing ; for she did sing the most like a 
 brown thrasher of anything I know that ain't a 
 bird. However, after she 'd been two years there, 
 and was goin' on fifteen, Achsah Root come from 
 Taunton, to board at Mis' Brainerd's and go to 
 school ; for Shubael Sykes, that taught the 'cad 
 emy, had a great name for learnin', and Achsah's 
 people were well to do, and they meant she should 
 have the best of learnin'. Well, she was real 
 handsome ; her eyes, and her hair, and her teeth, 
 was as bright as a new pin, and she had a neat lit 
 tle nose, and color like my pink hollyhock ; but 
 she was n't a real pretty girl for all that. She was 
 as proud as a kingbird, and, though she was real 
 smart when she had a mind to be, it was as plain 
 as a pikestaff that she thought first about Achsah 
 Root, and after that, other folks could take their 
 chance. Besides, she was pretty mighty, and I 've 
 always noticed that when folks set up their Eben- 
 ezer as if 't was n't never goin' to come down for 
 anybody, it don't very often get so much as joggled. 
 The children of this world are wise in their gen 
 eration, the Scripter says, and I guess she was one 
 of 'em ; so it come about that Love, who had n't
 
 66 LOVK 
 
 ever had anybody very near to her but her mother, 
 now come right under Achsah's thumb, and xvhy r 
 was, nobody could tell, for never was two people 
 
 different. 
 
 But such things come, like ram, on the just 
 and the unjust, and the Lord orders it. Love fol 
 lowed Achsah, for all the world like a spaniel dog ; 
 she seemed as if she would breathe for her; she 
 was n't never tired if Achsah liked to walk ; she 
 always had time to do little jobs of sewing for her 
 when she got tired or lazy ; she walked her feet 
 nioh about off, to get her flowers, or books, or any 
 thing she wanted ; and if Achsah was sick there 
 wasn't no end to the things Love would do for 
 her ; she 'd set up nights and wait on her days. 
 I 've known her bend over the bed-head to brush 
 Achsah's hair, till her own lips was as white as a 
 sheet with pain, for she wasn't very sturdy, and 
 it 's hard work to stand bent over that way ; and 
 I 've known her cold nights to be on her knees by 
 the hour, rubbin' Achsah's feet 'cause she was so 
 dreadful nervous she could n't get sleep. Well 
 you might think Love would ha' got paid in her 
 own coin, for it don't seem reasonable to b'lieve 
 that one cretur could do so much for another and 
 not get some on 't back again ; but it ain't so or 
 dered in this world. Folks is obliged to love with 
 out help, pretty much as the angels do, and they 
 that gets the most gives the least. It ain't that the 
 Scripter means when it says, 'Give, and it shall 
 be given unto you.' I don't doubt but what Ach-
 
 LOVE. 67 
 
 sah liked Love pretty well, but it was n't in her to 
 love anybody such a sight better 'n herself. She 
 liked to be waited on and cosseted, and jest so 
 long as Love was workiu' over her, and doin' for 
 her, Achsah paid her off with pretty looks and 
 words, so 't the color would flush up into Love's 
 pale face, and her eyes would shine, and her soft 
 little lips would tremble and pucker, and then 
 Achsah 'd laugh, and tell her she was ' a dear little 
 goose,' but she never spared her none, for all that. 
 Lovin' some folks is jest like pickin' chestnuts out 
 of the burr, you keep a-prickin' your fingers all 
 the time, and the more you try and keep on, the 
 more it pricks : some will stick to it till they get 
 
 the chestnut, and then ten to one it 's wormy, 
 
 them that sticks to the burr is apt to be. 
 
 " However, loving Achsah so seemed to kind of 
 unlock Love's feelin's for other people ; 't was jest 
 like openin' the race to a milldam ; it seemed as 
 if she couldn't help lovin' everybody, 'specially 
 sick people and children. I've seen her settin' 
 on her mother's steps with half a dozen children 
 all over her, lettin' down her hair, kissin' her eyes, 
 and cheeks, and mouth, ticklin' her throat, and all 
 in such a gale, and all bawlin' after her when she 
 had to go away. Then, when anybody took sick 
 in the village, Love was always on hand, readin' 
 to 'em, or sendin' flowers, or makin' porridge ; and 
 all with such pretty kindly ways, it did folks more 
 good to hear her speak than it did to have Mis' 
 Smith or Malviny send wine-jelly or soup ; there 's
 
 68 LOVE. 
 
 so much in ways. And I don't know but what 
 that verse of Seripter I was speakin' of along- back 
 did come to pass, after all, in a certain kinc 1 of a 
 way ; for everybody did love Love, only jest them 
 she cared the most for. However, that 's gettin' 
 ahead of the story. 
 
 " Why, Thomas ! there 's a real fair apple ; a 
 Swaar, too ! I guess you 're gettin' too much 
 talk. I 'd better stop a spell ; it 's considerable of 
 a chore to work and hear an old woman chatter 
 too." 
 
 " Oh, don't stop, Aunt Huldab, don't ! I shall be 
 as careful but I do want the story. I wish I 
 had ever seen Love Brainerd." 
 
 " Well, if you want to see her, there 's a 
 d'guer'type of her down to Harri't Case's, where 
 she boarded, but it don't favor her much ; it 's 
 like most all of them pictur's, dreadful black 
 lookin'. To be sure, it 's her eyes, and her nose, 
 and her mouth, and her handkerchief pin, and a 
 square collar I give her myself when she was mar 
 ried, but for all that, 't ain't Love ; it has n't got 
 her real, livin', sweet look. I suppose it's like 
 her, for they say the sun don't lie ; but I should n't 
 never know it. So about two years after Achsah 
 Root come to Cranberry, her father died, and they 
 found he 'd give the farm, out an' out, to her step 
 mother, and left Achsah only a thousand dollars 
 in the bank and a home forever and always in the 
 old house ; but that 's a queer way to leave a 
 home to anybody, for how are you goin' to tell
 
 LOVE. 69 
 
 what it means ? If Love had it left to her to give 
 anybody, it would have meant house, and board, 
 md fire, and lights, and waitin' on jest like a real 
 borne ; but Mis' Boot made it out different. She 
 alkerlated it meant only Achsah's bed room, and 
 vas goin' to charge for board and all that ; so 
 \chsah knew she meant to have her pull up stakes 
 ind go, for nobody could pay that out of the in- 
 erest money from a thousand dollars. We was all 
 orry for the child, but she did n't pine none, 
 he was too proud. Mis' Brainerd got her a place 
 o the factory, and she come to Cranberry for 
 ood, boardin' where she always had ; so Love 
 as pretty nigh set up. Well, things went on 
 mch as they used to for a while, only the next 
 'inter Love exper'enced religion and joined the 
 hurch. It did n't appear as if it made so much 
 hange in her as 't would in most folks ; but I ex- 
 ect it was more like a growth to the best part of 
 er natur', and a leavin' off whatever there was in 
 contrary to grace, for it can't be denied she 
 id naturally a high sperit ; but now she grew 
 ore and more meek, and did n't never fret when 
 work was the hardest, but she appeared more 
 id more sot upon Achsah, and oneasy enough 
 mut her speritual state, for she hadn't got no 
 ore religion than a poppy-head, as she showed 
 ain enough by and by. 
 
 "Long about the springtime, there come a youno- 
 an from Colebrook, James Whitman by name, 
 second cousin of my husband's sister-in-law, to
 
 70 LOVE. 
 
 set up for an overseer in the factory. He boarded 
 at our house, and appeared to be a likely feller 
 enough, good-lookin' and smart, and with real in- 
 sinuatin' ways, but he was n't very reliable. Well, 
 Achsah was gone back to Taunton for a spell ; her 
 own aunt was weakly, and she 'd sent for her to 
 come and stay there with her for company, while 
 her husband was gone out West. So one night I 
 was goin' to Mis' Brainerd's of an errand, and the 
 deacon he had the rheumatiz so bad that James 
 stepped along with me it was so dark, and jest as 
 he got to the door, we heerd Love singin'. I de 
 clare it did beat all ! I could n't think of nothin' 
 but a brown thrasher on top of a white birch, just 
 singin' because it could n't help it, and thinkin' of 
 nothin' only feelin' the sun, and the piny smells, 
 and the sweet summer wind. James was clean bate. 
 ' Aunt Huldah,' says he, as spry as anything, ' I '11 
 go in and wait for you ; I 'd jest as lieves.' ' Well,' 
 sez I. I knew too much to say anything more. 
 So we come in, and I made him acquainted with 
 all the folks there was in the keepin'-room, and 
 there was several boarders, but he sot right down 
 'longside of Love, and chippered away real brisk. 
 'Twas me that had to wait for him, I tell you! 
 but finally I got up and went, and he had to. Af 
 ter that he found his way alone to Mis' Brainerd's 
 pretty often ; and though it did n't all turn out as 
 it oughter, accordin' as we thought it oughter, at 
 least, I do think he was about as fond of Love 
 in them days as ever a young feller was of a girl,
 
 LOVE. 71 
 
 without stoppin' to think whether he was in pious 
 earnest to marry her or not. The worst of it all 
 was, that Love was as believin' as she was lovin', 
 
 -she hadn't no kind of guile about her no 
 more 'n a baby ; she thought folks meant aU they 
 said and all they did, for she was too true and 
 faithful herself ever to mistrust other folks; and 
 she had n't lived long enpgh to find out the Scrip- 
 ter fact, that all men are liars. 
 
 " It was n't strange, neither, when you come to 
 think of it, that she should like Jim Whitman. 
 He was a real likely young man to look at, and he 
 was jest as good as pie to Love ; he took her to 
 walk off in the woods ; he got her posies, and win- 
 tergreens, and red leaves, and all sorts o' fancies ; 
 he lent her books, and taught her new hymn-tunes ; 
 and, last of all, he got round her the cutest way a 
 man can get round a woman matyi' of her talk 
 religion to him, for he wasn't a professor; and he 
 nade Love think she was doin' him lots of good, 
 *hile all the time she, poor, dear, simple little soul] 
 vas takin' him deeper and deeper into her feelin's 
 md her prayers, till, before she know'd it, she 'd 
 ^ot to love him better even than Achsah. 
 
 ' Now, folks say it ain't accordin' to natur' for a 
 roman to do so, that it 's unfeminine and all that. 
 
 want to know if it 's any worse in a girl to love a 
 lan that gives her every chance to love him, ex- 
 ept askin' her in words, than 't is for her to begin 
 traight off the minute he says ' snip,' when she 
 as n't had no thoughts of him before ? I tell you
 
 72 LOVE. 
 
 I 'd give jest as imich for such love as I would for 
 a corn-sheller that '11 go when you turn the crank, 
 and not before. Love Brainerd was n't no ma 
 chine ; and, if folks would only own it, there ain't 
 no woman worth havin' that ain't like her about 
 them things. It 's womenfolks that keep that 
 talk up, 'cause they don't want to own the truth to 
 men ; it 's enough to marry 'em without havin' 
 'em jaw at you all the time for likin' 'em before 
 you was asked. Well, folks said all over Cran 
 berry that James and Love was keepin' company ; 
 but when they taxed her with it, she turned as red 
 as a beet, and said 't was n't no such thing, he 
 was a good friend of her'n, and she wished they 
 would n't say no more about it. So, when they 
 see it pestered her, they let it be, and b'lieved it all 
 the more. 
 
 " In about ^ix months, Achsah came back to 
 Cranberry, and went to Mis' Brainerd's again ; 
 and of course Love was dreadful glad to see her, 
 the more that she had n't never kept one of her 
 thoughts from Achsah ; and though she 'd writ as 
 frequent as she could afford to, yet it wasn't like a 
 real talk. So Achsah had heerd enough about 
 Jim Whitman to know what he was, before he 
 come round as usual to spend the evenin'. At 
 first he did n't appear to take to Achsah so much 
 as I was afeard he would, for I knew how much 
 more menfolks think of looks than they do of ac 
 tions ; but somehow, though Love could n't hold 
 a candle to Achsah for beauty, she was really
 
 LOVE. 73 
 
 pleasanter to look at lately, for she'd got a little 
 mite of red in her cheeks, and her eyes were as 
 soft and bright as them two little ponds be under 
 the Kidge, and her face looked so restful and 
 happy, all the time with a smile comin' and goin', 
 jest as if the clouds blowed over it the way they 
 do on our medder lot of a June day. But Jim 
 was polite to Achsah, and she was pretty mighty 
 to him at first ; she was n't never very simple in 
 her ways ; she 'd fly round like a woodcock when 
 you 're close onto its nest, so 's to make folks come 
 after her, and what with her good looks, and her 
 wheedlin' ways, and her keepin' off at first, and 
 then lettin' him get a chink, to see into her feelin's 
 as 'twere, she got an even chance with Love in 
 Whitman's idees before three months was gone 
 y- 
 
 ' Well ! I see 't was as good as over with Love, 
 mt I held my tongue, and Love she didn't see no- 
 hing. She heerd Achsah laugh at him behind his 
 >ack and before his face, and she tried her best to 
 aake him like Achsah, because she loved 'em both ; * 
 >ut he would n't give in ; he 'd tell her, jest as he 
 old me, when I had a spell of talk with him, that 
 Ichsah did n't suit him, she was too proud and 
 Ifish for a woman he liked her looks and her 
 martness, but he did n't love her near so well as 
 e did Love, and nobody else did. 
 
 " I don't know what did ail Achsah ; she was 
 ound to turn his head, I b'lieve. She acted like a 
 >ent, first on and then off, till he was fairly off
 
 74 LOVE. 
 
 the hooks, and finally acted as if he did n't know 
 what he did do when she come near him. After a 
 while, Love began to think some thoughts about 
 it ; but she was so good, she took herself to task 
 for thinkin' such things, when they 'd both said so 
 much to the contrary so many times, so she stuck 
 to her text, and spared no pains to set off Achsah 
 to Jim, and him to her, as if some kind of posses 
 sion was in her to make her own bed in a thorn- 
 bush. At last, natur' was too strong for her, she 
 could n't help but see what was goin' on, and she 
 grow'd thin as a shadder, and pale as a white-ash 
 stick. Everybody said she was in a decline, and 
 she looked it, for certain, but still she kept about, 
 her dear, sweet eyes lookin' as if the tears stood 
 in them all the time, till they got past that, and 
 looked as though they was dreened of all the life, 
 and her lips sot in such a wishful, quiet, helpless 
 kind of a way, I used to get my eyes full a-lookin' 
 at her 'crost the meetin'-house, for I was married 
 to a good husband by that time, and was as happy 
 'as the day is long, and I had great feelin' for folks 
 that was n't. 
 
 " Well, before long, Achsah Root comes to me, 
 and says she : 
 
 " ' Mis' Goodin', I 'd like to have a little talk 
 with you ! ' 
 
 " ' Very well,' says I, ' it 's a good time, Achsah, 
 set right down ; my chores is all done up, and 
 husband he 's off in the wood-lot.' 
 
 " So, after a little spell, she sets to and asks me
 
 LOVE. 75 
 
 if I know'd anything about Jim Whitman's folks, 
 and whether he was altogether reliable or not. 
 Well, I hadn't nothin' to say against him, but 
 I was ehokin' to speak my mind to Achsah. 
 
 "So,' says I, 'he is going to marry Love 
 Brainerd. I think it 's time ; they 've kept com- 
 pany so long, and Love is so bound up in him.' 
 
 " She did turn real red. ' Oh, no, Mis' Good'in ! ' 
 says she, 'you mistake ; the truth is, James Whit 
 man offered to me last night, and, as I have n't 
 any of my own people here, I came to you for a 
 little advice.' 
 
 '"Did you tell Love?' says I, as soon 's I 
 could speak steady. 
 
 'No, I haven't. I thought it was best not 
 to say much about it till it was settled.' 
 
 ' For once in my life, I did let my sperit take 
 the bit between its teeth and set off. I was as 
 mad as a hornet, and I had to sting. I riz right 
 up from where I set, and flung my knittin' onto 
 the stand. ' Achsah Root ! ' says I, ' you 've done 
 a God-forsaken thing, and I don't see how you 
 have got the face to tell on 't. There's Love 
 Brainerd 's spent herself on you like a little dog, 
 and you 've stepped in and wheedled her out of 
 the only thing she could begrudge you, and broke 
 her heart. I don't say but what Jim Whitman 's 
 reliable enough for you, a man that don't know 
 his own mind is plenty good enough for you to 
 manage, and I wish you may get him I Poor, 
 clear Love ! ' So, with that, I fetched a long breath,
 
 76 LOVE. 
 
 for I was like to cry, and though Achsah looked 
 poker and tongs at me, she spoke kind o' humble 
 when I 'd done, for I 'd told her bare truth for 
 once, and folks that ain't used to it feel sort of 
 stunned when it does perk up in their faces. 
 
 " ' Well ! ' says she, ' I can't help Love's liking 
 him, Mis' Good'in ; if he likes me the best, and I 
 like him, I don't see as I 've done any wrong. I 
 don't want to make him unhappy.' 
 
 "* ' My soul ! ' thinks I, ' I wonder if the cretur is 
 a woman or an iceberg ! ' So I spoke out loud : 
 
 "'I ? ve said my say, Achsah, and, if you can 
 get round your own feelin's about right and wrong 
 that way, you can't get round mine. If 't was 
 worth battlin' it out with you, I 'd ask you how 
 things looked six months ago, betwixt him and 
 her; but I know you've fenced off your lot, so I 
 won't set no more thistles in it than there is now. 
 I hope the Lord '11 forgive you, but I can't feel to 
 yet.' 
 
 " So, with that, she says ' Good-night ! ' and the 
 next day I heerd she was gone to Taunton, and 
 in about six weeks Mis' Brainerd brought me over 
 a piece of the weddin' cake, for she had n't sus 
 pected nothin' ; she thought Love would n't never 
 have him, 'cause he was n't a professor, and Love 
 never laid her troubles on her mother's shoulders. 
 I could n't taste that cake, though. I giv' it to 
 Rover, jest as soon as her back was turned. 
 
 " The next Sunday I see Love was to church, 
 Jookin' as if death was writ on her face ; her lips
 
 LOVE. 77 
 
 was set, and her eyes shiny, and she walked home 
 M-/ith one of the boarders, talkin' and laughin' too 
 for the Sabbath. I couldn't feel to speak 
 her, because my voice was shaky. 
 " I heerd she said she was well, but I got her 
 over- to my house one afternoon about a week after 
 Achsjn,h had come back and settled down t' other 
 side ot^ the mills, in Whitman's house he 'd just 
 built. ( 
 
 "I sent for Love to come and get some yeller 
 gourd-seq>d, and when she come into the keepin'- 
 roorn and I got hold of her, I knew by the feel of 
 her hot aod dry hand that she was in a slow fever, 
 and I made her own up she was so the biggest part 
 of the tim-e. Well, I see that she was near about 
 heartsick, > so I sot down by her, and draw'd her 
 head down onto my shoulder and kissed her. I ex 
 pect she kijew what I meant, for in less 'n a minute 
 she begun to cry, great, hot, slow tears, and then 
 a real thunder-shower, and I let her. I knew 
 't would coiol her, and she told me afterward them 
 was the fir;t tears she had cried. After a spell she 
 stopped, a nd lifted up her head as weak as a baby, 
 so I laid her down on the sofa, and got my knittin', 
 and set de,\vn by her, and did n't say nothin', but I 
 hummed ;an old hymn-tune, till I see the steady look 
 3omin' b:-ick to her eyes ; then sez I : ' Love, you 
 set a grer a t deal by children, don't you?' 
 
 " ' Yes*, I do, Mis' Good'in,' says she ; ' they 're 
 ibout allj there is worth lovin', I think.' 
 
 ' W?ell,' sez I again, ' Miss Loomis is goin' to
 
 78 LOVE. 
 
 leave the little school ; don't you think you 'd feel 
 better to take it ? It ain't hard work, and there 's 
 singin' to do, and the children all love you ; 1 gue^s 
 you could have it over anybody else's head.' 
 
 " I see a little gleam a-shinin' over her face. 
 
 " ' You 're very good to think of it,' sez she /sor 
 rowfully, ' but I don't think the school committee 
 would trust me.' I 
 
 " ' Yes, they will, though, Love, for I hef ^rd Mr. 
 Sykes recommendin' of you to-day. I s*poke to 
 him yesterday, though I said I didn't 2 know as 
 you 'd be willinV 
 
 " So she riz up, and put her arms roun$ my neck 
 and kissed me, and we was good friends ifrom that 
 time forrard, always. 
 
 " Miss Loomis was n't to leave for a m'onth or so, 
 and I kep' Love with me all I could. I saw she 
 was gettin' into a poor way ; she did fn't believe 
 what anybody said ; she mistrusted everybody's 
 actions, and was as jealous of folks' words and 
 looks as if the whole world was set to w ork to hate 
 and deceive her. Poor child ! it went /to my soul 
 to think how she 'd eat the tree of knowledge, and 
 puckered her mouth all up, and I did fe<sl hard on 
 them that giv' it to her, after all her loviV ways to 
 them ! However, I knew 't was n't no us-e to row 
 ag'inst the tide, so I said nothin', but I used to 
 get her to drive me off when the deacor'n was too 
 busy, over to Scranton, and Poleville, aind round 
 the woods, to all the sightly places there) is round 
 here ; our old horse was real steady, and tl 'd take
 
 LOVE. 79 
 
 the baby, and after a little I would give her the 
 child to hold, say in' my arms was tired, and I 'd 
 drive, i I knew it was better than medicine to her 
 when I see them little pink fingers curled round 
 her'n, and the small face smilin' up into her eyes 
 till she could n't help to smile back again. Some 
 times I 'd lay it in an oneasy way, so she 'd have 
 to lift, and coax, and kiss it, and I knew when 
 *he 'd g;ot it hugged up to her, and had cooed it 
 aalf asleep, so 's she could n't stir without wakin' 
 t, that she would be content if we was drivin' all 
 lay. 
 
 " So, by help of grace, and her own lovin' heart, 
 ind time, and steady work, before she 'd kept a 
 Barter's school, I see she was gettin' some of the 
 ines rubbed off her lonesome-lookin' forehead ; 
 ind after ai year had gone by she 'd got to be more 
 ike Love , Brainerd again than I 'd ever thought 
 he would' be. However, I mistrusted that she 
 ould n't never care for Achsah again, for I could 
 I't, I am .sure but Love was better than I. I 
 lon't know now how it first come about, but after 
 while I heerd she was over there now and then, 
 nd when Aehsah's first baby was took sick Love 
 /atched it; and nursed it till it wrastled through ; 
 nd things looked as if there had n't been no dif- 
 erence between 'em ever. Somehow I was all 
 mazed, and I wanted to know how it was. I knew 
 'ell enough how Achsah come round : she was 
 lear selfish ; she did n't care for nobody else, so 
 mg as rill went pretty straight for her pleasure ;
 
 80 LOVE. 
 
 but just so soon as she was in trouble shw could 
 be as good and lovin' as you please, atid Jim 
 Whitman was another of her sort ; but Love's side 
 on 't puzzled me. So I says to her one day,' as she 
 was settin' on my doorstep, with my little Biben in 
 her arms : ' Love,' says I, 'do you care for 'Achsah 
 Whitman at all now ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, I do, Mis' Goodwin,' says Love., lookin' 
 up at me with eyes as clear as Eben's, and) as deep 
 as a well. ' I love her dearly.' 
 
 " ' As much as ever ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, but not as well. I don't respect her, 
 but I love her. I can't help it.' 
 
 " ' Well,' says I, clear beat, ' I think that is 
 grace ! ' 
 
 " ' No, it ain't,' says Love ; ' it is mjost all na 
 ture. I suppose it did help me to forgive her to 
 think how God forgave me, but I loved her before, 
 always.' 
 
 " Then there come a soft look into he/r eyes, and 
 she kind of drooped 'em, and I see a bright little 
 drop on her long eye-winkers, ' And II love her 
 enough to be glad she is happy, anyway.* 
 
 " Thinks I, ' Your mother gev you ' the right 
 name,' but I said nothin'. 
 
 " About this time Alonzo Masters, ', a young 
 man who 'd taught singin' to Taunton, come over 
 to Cranberry, to set up a school there. / He was 
 a pitiful cretur ; for when he was but a! babe he 
 took the smallpox, and lost his eyesight for good , 
 and, besides, he always enjoyed poor health after 

 
 LOVE. 81 
 
 that ; and now his mother, who 'd always cared for 
 him, had died, and he didn't want to stay to 
 Taunton no more, but come to Mis' Brainerd's to 
 board. There he tried to do for himself, but he 
 made a poor hand at it, and Love, with her kindly, 
 helpful ways, couldn't keep from waitin' on him no 
 more 'n a brook can keep from runnin' down hill ; 
 besides, she took lessons of him, and he 'd set and 
 listen to her voice as if he was drinkin' it in, till 
 he most forgot to teach her. 
 
 " Things went on so for quite a spell ; and, as 
 lookers-ofy see most of the game, I see pretty soon 
 that he \^as hangin' on to Love for the breath of 
 his life. \He was n't never easy away from her. 
 He fretted', like a sick baby when she went off to 
 school, and he kept waitin' for her by the door as 
 steady as the hop-vine 'longside of him. One day I 
 3ome alon<^ and stepped in to see Mis' Brainerd ; 
 ind, findinjg him alone on the doorsill, I set down 
 "or a bit <^>f talk, and just then Achsah Whitman 
 jassed, ancjl nodded. She looked real well that 
 lay ; and ^f ter she got by says I : 
 
 " ' Well.( you 're real pretty, that 's a fact ! ' 
 
 "'Who/?' says he. 
 
 " ' Mis' Whitman, she that jest went past the 
 loor.' 
 
 " ' Not iany where as pretty as Love, though, Mis' 
 Toodwin,^ says he, as peart as the primer, and kind 
 >f triumpihant-like. 
 
 " ' Wbfy, Mr. Masters ! ' says I, ' what makes you 
 ay so
 
 82 LOVE. 
 
 " ' Because I hear Love's voice, Mis' Goodwin, 
 and I know she must be lovely, she speaks so.' 
 
 " ' Well, I declare, you 're right,' says I ; but I 
 did pity the poor cretur, for I never thought Love 
 would trust or care for a man again. However, I 
 don't make nor mar in love-scrapes, I 'd as soon 
 try to help a bird build its nest ; so I left things 
 to Providence, and they got took care of as they 
 generally do. 
 
 " About a month after that, Love come over to 
 my house one night, and she got me out into the 
 stoop, and put her head in my lap, and, says she 
 softly, but very plain : 
 
 " ' Mis' Goodwin, I 'm going to marry Mr. Mas 
 ters.' 
 
 " ' Why, Love Brainerd ! ' says I, ' you don't tell 
 me ! My dear child, for mercy's sakes, do you 
 know what you are a-doin'? Do you- love him 
 as ' She broke right in : 
 
 " ' I know, I know, but I never shallj. love any 
 body that way again ; and I do feel $o sorry for 
 him, h's sick, and blind, and lonely. I wonder 
 who would ever take care of him, if I should leave 
 him alone ? I feel as if God had sent liiin to me, 
 and spoken about it.' 
 
 " ' But, Love, it 's a dreadful thing to g'et such an 
 idea into your head, if you don't love him. It ain't 
 right. You can't get away if once you marry him, 
 think of that ! ' 
 
 " ' I don't want to get away, dear. ' Nobody 
 cares for him but me, and I should mak$ him so
 
 LOVE. 83 
 
 happy/. What am I good for but to spend and be 
 spent for somebody? and who needs it more than 
 he ? ' 
 
 " W ell, I could n't say no more, I felt kind of 
 solemn,. She was too near like the folks in the 
 Revelations that was clothed in white garments, for 
 me to trouble her thoughts with the wisdom of this 
 world ; < so I stooped down and kissed her ; and, 
 when she went away, I could n't feel to fret over 
 it ; for jjf ever anybody was in the Lord's keepin', 
 I knew s\he was. 
 
 " Afte* a few months they was married, and it 
 come abofat just as I didn't darst to hope it would. 
 Love was{ the completest woman that ever I see, 
 and, begiijmm' with pity, she was as tender of 
 Lonzo as|f he'd been a little baby; and it ain't 
 n any realj woman's heart, 'specially such a one as 
 Love, to s^e anything hanging onto her for dear 
 ife without learnin' to love it. Beside, she was 
 onely enojigh before, she hadn't anybody to 
 ove her mW 'n all the world put together, and 
 he see Acftsah Whitman flourishin' like a green 
 >ay-tree, k)'s she couldn't well help wonderin' 
 rfiy one should be taken and t' other left, and that 
 ross was (hard to bear, I expect, though she did n't 
 tever say' nothin'. But now she acted for aU the 
 rorld like my scarlet runner that Old Red trod 
 crost one day when the boys left the gate open, 
 nd crushed it down into the mud ; and there it lay, 
 md of tuckered out, till one of the feelers got 
 lowed against the pickets, and cotched hold, and
 
 84 LOVE. 
 
 lifted itself up, ring by ring, till the whole tfence- 
 post was red with its blows, and covered witja the 
 green leaves. 
 
 " Love loved him a sight better than ewer she 
 did Jim Whitman. He was a better man . His 
 'flictions had made him pious, and he wavs nigh 
 about as good as a sick and fretted man fcan be, 
 and he was n't never cross to Love nor peevjish ; he 
 loved her a heap too much to hurt her, .-anyway. 
 He thought she was most good enough to say his 
 prayers to, and she was n't never willin' ?EO be out 
 of his sight. So the Lord rewarded heyr in this 
 world ; for, though most folks did n't th'mk 't was 
 any reward, I knew it was the nearest to heaven 
 to her to be loved so, and to love back again. 
 
 " They lived there to Mis' Brainerd's twenty 
 year, she bein' his eyes and life, and he bein' like 
 her heart, till she took sick, last falj, of a low 
 fever, and died. I was with her the last night, 
 and he too. 
 
 " I did wish he could 'a' seen those eyes. They 
 looked after him as if the Lord had tdmched 'em, 
 so 's they could speak when she couldn 't. She 
 died a-lookin' at him so, with both her hands in 
 his'n, and he sot there six hours after she was 
 gone to glory, and I guess she went right off. 
 
 " Tom, give me some more apples ! Where in 
 creation is my silk handkerchief ? I declare ! I 
 thought I hed done cryin' for Love Brainerd ! "
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 HEL father was odd before her. Barzillai Todd 
 was om of those men who crop out from the general 
 ievel of other people like a bowlder from the soft 
 ^reen sirface of a meadow. 
 
 He hal a good farm, but he lived on it as Sel- 
 drk livef on his island. It was but half tilled ; 
 le never ;ut the huckleberry bushes or ploughed 
 hem up, f>r he ate little besides the hard yet juicy 
 ruit while they lasted. 
 
 Then no persuasion would induce him to sell the 
 /oodland ^hich rose all about his lonely brown 
 ouse. The trees were his congeners ; he knew 
 lem individually. It was his delight to lie at 
 i ngth uiide^ their aerial canopy, and see the golden 
 ecks of \shine dance athwart their perfect grace 
 id verdi , or to watch for bits of blue sky, sap- 
 liire blue " like the body of heaven in its clear- 
 3ss," revealed by the parting of a wind-swept 
 )ugh. The light susurrus of stealing breezes 
 ade the purest music to his ear, and he loved to 
 itch the thousand quaint insects that inhabited 
 oss and bark, to trace the busy life of anthills, to 
 ick beetles on their laborious journeys, or to see 
 w deftly the wren wove her mystic nest, and the 
 rtridge made of her pale eggs an open secret.
 
 86 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 He was no farmer, as all Dorset knew. Hay 
 just enough for his two lonely Ayrshire cow was 
 all he cut, and root crops were unknown co his 
 fields ; he raised acres of strawberries, and, being 
 a vegetarian, used them all their season, (elling 
 the vast surplus for money to buy books ; rorn- he 
 grew in abundance, for meal was a necessity, and 
 waving crops of rye ; a long range of beehives 
 gave him honey, and he had a wild theory that 
 honey was the cure-all, and that a man vho had 
 honey at hand and ate fruit in its season wmld live 
 to an indefinite period. 
 
 Flowers did not come into his scheme f life, but 
 flowers clustered about his brown hous^ neverthe 
 less, for he married late in life a pretty girl, below 
 him in social position, but so devoted, intelligent, 
 and lovely that in his silent fashion hi worshiped 
 her while she lived, and was constant to her mem 
 ory when she died, leaving him only one solace, a 
 girl of three, and one monument in profuse roses 
 and honeysuckles at his door. Amor the other 
 oddities of the man was his absorbing assion for 
 books. He bought every volume he Cj.ild lay his 
 hands on in days when books cost money. 
 
 Especially did he adore Shakespeare, and above 
 almost all his characters he admired the bvely lady 
 of the " Winter's Tale," and therefore, in spite 
 of his wife's gentle remonstrance, their poor child 
 figured in the family annals as Hermione Todd, a 
 "concatenation accordingly" which use and time 
 resented, and few people in Dorset ever knew that
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 87 
 
 ' Miny " Todd had any other name than this dis 
 syllable. 
 
 After his wife's death Barzillai Todd lived a 
 stranger life than ever. He hired an old deaf 
 cousin to do his housework, instructing her himself 
 in all the mysteries of rye mush, " whole-flour " 
 bread, suppawn, samp, and other doubtful corn- 
 bread dainties, which were only rendered eatable 
 by lavish supplies of cream and fresh milk. For 
 clothes little Miny depended on Hepsy's tasteless 
 selection and clumsy fingers, and being a plain, 
 dark, shy child, perhaps looked as well in the dull 
 cotton fabrics and Shaker sun-scoops that were her 
 uniform attire as in more dainty and warmer-hued 
 garments. Education she had none, in the ordi 
 nary sense of the word : she learned how to read 
 m a desultory way, and made out a cramped hand 
 writing for herself by the time she was twelve 
 years old. But it was another of her father's 
 theories that women ought not to be educated. 
 Nature, however, as nature often does, defied his 
 opinion. Though Miny never went to school or to 
 church, and taught herself to read and write, she 
 found her way to the miscellaneous library that 
 lay heaped on chairs, bureaus, tables, even the 
 floor, everywhere in the old house, except in the 
 kitchen and one sunny corner room reserved by 
 Hepsy for her sewing and rare company. There 
 were, no doubt, good materials for a liberal edu 
 cation, in these books, but, taken at haphazard, 
 they were devoured on principles of natural selec-
 
 gg ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 tion, and the dry treatises thrown aside as they 
 came uppermost ; but the histories, travels, and, 
 most eagerly of all, the biographies, were read 
 over and over till Miny knew them by heart. 
 There were no novels or poems, except Shakespeare, 
 in the whole collection ; these Barzillai Todd held 
 in the highest contempt, and it was to the absence 
 of all imaginative fiction, except as it is found more 
 or less in biography, that the girl owed her strong 
 common sense and her sturdy persistence in view 
 ing things and people through its medium. 
 
 From her rambles at her father's heels and she 
 followed him everywhere with the mute fidelity of 
 a (J g s he learned to know and love all wild 
 things, and inheriting from her dead mother a real 
 passion for flowers, she soon made a garden for her 
 self on the sunny slope before her windows that 
 would have delighted a botanist ; for every flower 
 that sprung of itself in wood or field she trans 
 planted thither, and with the reciprocal affection 
 flowers show to those who love them, they all lived 
 and blossomed. 
 
 In this way, like one of her own orchids, Miny 
 Todd grew up to her womanhood. Lovers never 
 came near her, and she had no friends. Dorset 
 people did not offer civilities to her father, because 
 he did not want or need them. Neither he nor 
 Miny had ever been ill in their lives, and when his 
 wife died of sudden congestion of the lungs, he 
 had resented help and sympathy from every one, 
 and shut himself in his lair as a beast of the forest 
 might have done when sharply wounded.
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 89 
 
 A man in New England who gives no honor to 
 church or school is ostracized at once, and Bar- 
 zillai Todd's position toward these bulwarks of the 
 state set him quite outside the pale of Dorset soci 
 ety. He did not care for this ; he was a lazy, self 
 ish dreamer, without natural energy or acquired 
 industry ; a few thousand dollars which his father 
 left him for he came of a highly respectable and 
 once wealthy New England family he had had 
 the prudence to invest safely, and this income was 
 enough, with the aid of his strawberry patch, to sup 
 ply his needs. His luxuries nature purveyed for 
 him, and life lapsed from him as the day died out 
 of heaven, easily and unlameuted. He came in 
 tired one day, lay down on the rough chintz-cov 
 ered sofa, from which he pushed a pile of books, 
 and fell asleep, never to waken. 
 
 Miny was thirty years old when this happened, 
 and her father eighty. It was time old Barzy 
 Todd died, Dorset people thought, and a few 
 kindly souls went out to the farm to help at his 
 funeral, for Miny had not a relative in the world. 
 Miny had inherited her mother's warm feeling, 
 and her biographical studies had awakened in her 
 mind a strong wish to know other people. Her 
 father had but one love in his strange gray life, 
 and when that died, with his wife, his capacity for 
 loving died too ; but Miny had a broader nature, 
 and when she found that the income which had 
 supported her father was all her own, she rented 
 the farm to an energetic young man, bought a lit-
 
 90 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 tie house in Dorset, and moving all her wild flow 
 ers to the small green yard in front of her new 
 home, and the white roses and fragrant honey 
 suckle her mother had planted to either side of the 
 door, she transplanted Hepsy also, with the best 
 of the old furniture, and began at this late hour 
 to make friends and to know the world, as it 
 wagged in Dorset, at least. 
 
 Of course the minister called on her at once, 
 and great was the Reverend Mr. Fry's astonish 
 ment to find a real and practical heathen in the 
 very midst of his flock ; he hurried home to his 
 study, and brought her immediately a Bible, which 
 she received with gratitude, and set herself to read 
 with the avidity that always possessed her at sight 
 of a fresh book. 
 
 It would be incredible to an average sinner, 
 hardened, as one may use the phrase, by continuous 
 preaching and teaching, to hear, could it be de 
 scribed, what an effect this book had upon Miss 
 Todd. The Word, indeed, fell into a good and 
 honest heart, and was received with the simplicity 
 and faith of a child. Mr. Fry, who continued his 
 pastoral calls, was put to his wits' end to under 
 stand the mental and moral position of this queer 
 woman. 
 
 She was converted, he could not doubt, but the 
 process was so peculiar, so heterodox, that he could 
 not perceive it to be a genuine conversion. She 
 did not suffer from deep sense of sin, for she had 
 not sinned as yet, for want of temptation. Her ex-
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 91 
 
 perience of life was so strange that her experience 
 of religion was equally unexampled ; but perceiving 
 the one fact that Miny Todd earnestly desired to 
 live according to the precepts of the Bible, and was 
 ready to follow Christ as her leader and king, the 
 deacons of Dorset church, never very rigid in their 
 theology, this being an inland village far removed 
 from the great centres of orthodoxy, consented to 
 let Miss Todd slip easily through her examination, 
 and join the church according to her desire. It 
 was a long time, and the process would be tedious 
 of detail, before Miss Miny understood the people 
 about her or the life they led. She herself was 
 busy always, trying to live up to her profession of 
 religion ; but the rest had something else to do, 
 and put off their spiritual experience till Sunday. 
 There were children, haying, harvesting, and all 
 that sort of thing for her neighbors to live through ; 
 and all the more that she visited the sick, fed the 
 hungry, and clothed the naked, they held them 
 selves excused from such duty. Their gossip 
 grated on her charity of soul, their little mean 
 nesses seemed to her unworthy of beings who had 
 an eternity at stake, and her heart raged at the 
 cruelties of domestic life which she could not but 
 see among those about her. 
 
 If she had been less candid and simple-minded 
 than she was, she would have turned bitter and 
 scornful ; but she was always ready to learn, to 
 wait, and to love, so that if knowledge saddened, it 
 also strengthened her, and what she deplored she
 
 92 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 directly tried to improve. Add to this disposition 
 great plainness of speech, such plainness as a 
 real child may use and only provoke a smile, while 
 custom and convention forbid it to grown peo 
 ple, and it may be imagined that at thirty-five 
 Miss Tocld, ready for all good works, was yet no 
 favorite in Dorset ; and but for the fact that the 
 Dorset and Albany Railroad had bought a hitherto 
 unproductive part of the farm for track and sta 
 tion, and paid a good price for it, and another cor 
 ner had been sold to a speculator, who fancied he 
 had discovered a mine therein (though he only 
 found a pocket of hematite ore which barely re 
 paid his outlay), all this making Miny a lady of 
 " means," as Dorset people say, she would have 
 been as unpopular as heart could desire. But 
 money appeals to the hearts of all mankind, 
 
 " Age cannot wither it, nor custom stale." 
 
 When Dorset knew that Miss Todd owned 
 thirty thousand dollars besides her fifty-acre farm, 
 it tacitly agreed that she could do and say what 
 she pleased. Probably she would have done so if 
 poverty had been her lot in life, yet she would not 
 have done it with impunity ; but her hand sweet 
 ened her speech, for it was always full of timely 
 gifts. 
 
 Still, even her benevolence did not always offset 
 her honesty. The Reverend Septimus Clark, a 
 fine young clergyman from New York, who was 
 traveling through Vermont, and, stopping at Dor-
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 93 
 
 set one Sunday, preached for Mr. Fry, will never 
 till his dying day forget his encounter with Miss 
 Miny. He had preached what Mrs. Deacon Nor 
 ton pronounced " a most be-a-utiful discourse," as 
 full of flowers as a greenhouse, liberally sprinkled 
 with poetry, gently " picked out " with sentiment, 
 and here and there a little natural religion put in, 
 like cloves into a baked ham, more for ornament 
 than use. It was a sermon a pagan or a Brahmin 
 would have admired just as much as Mrs. Deacon 
 Norton, but it stirred the depths of Miss Miny's 
 soul. Her great honest gray eyes darkened, flashed, 
 and at last dimmed with tears as she fixed them 
 on the elegant youth supposed to be preaching the 
 gospel ; and when he ceased to discourse, and, 
 pronouncing a graceful benediction, came down 
 from the pulpit, he was surprised to see a short, 
 dark, resolute-looking woman, with a pair of re 
 proachful eyes fixed on him, draw nearer and 
 nearer, and at last plant herself in the middle aisle 
 just in his way. 
 
 He stopped, courteously, to let her move aside ; 
 but she never stirred, only looked straight at him, 
 and said, " Do you believe the Bible ? " 
 
 Mr. Clark was still more surprised, but an 
 swered civilly, " Certainly I do." 
 
 "You believe," she went on, "that all these folks 
 you have been preaching to will be lost eternally 
 if they don't believe on the Lord Jesus Christ ? " 
 
 The Reverend Septimus stared blankly, yet her 
 " glittering eye " compelled response. " Why, 
 yes, madam : I am orthodox."
 
 94 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 " And knowin' that, knowin' they will never see 
 you again, 't is n't likely, and you have n't had but 
 one chance to talk to 'em and tell what responsible 
 bein's they are, you 've been and talked all this 
 stuff about roses and clouds and brooks and things 
 to dyin' souls ! You poor deluded man, what is 
 the Lord goin' to say to you in that Day ? " 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Clark choked ; he fairly be 
 came faint for a moment, for under his elegance 
 and florality he had a conscience, and a somewhat 
 dormant but living Christian faith ; but he was 
 not man enough to say, " Thank you ; " he only 
 pushed by Miss Miny, and asked Mr. Fry, who 
 was waiting for him at the door, who the woman 
 was who had stopped him. 
 
 " Oh, that is odd Miss Todd," said Mr. Fry, in 
 such a matter-of-course way that Mr. Clark did not 
 feel it necessary to mention her rebuke. But 
 Miss Miny " builded better than she knew ; " the 
 youth never uttered such idle words again ; he 
 recognized the situation and accepted it, which is 
 the key of all true life, and became one of the most 
 fervid and spiritual preachers of his sect, though 
 he never saw Miss Todd again. 
 
 Deacon Norton, too, winced under her lash, all 
 the more that he was not sure his views of the 
 matter were right. He felt called upon to deal 
 with Miss Todd because she did not attend on 
 weekly prayer-meetings, and paid her a visit for 
 this purpose. 
 
 Miss Miny waited calmly till he had delivered 
 his message, and her turn came.
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 95 
 
 " Look here, deacon," she said with quiet en 
 ergy, " to begin with, I don't see any special obliga 
 tion required in Scripter to have prayer meetings. 
 It says there folks must enter into their closets, 
 and be secret about their praying." 
 
 " But what does Scripter say about two or three 
 gatherin' together ? " 
 
 " Well, that 's another matter ; that says if 
 they '11 agree about something special to ask. I 
 should b'lieve in that if there was a fever in Dor 
 set, pr a drought, or a big flood, or a time of wick 
 edness being peculiar mighty ; but you won't never 
 makf | me believe that ' two or three ' means twenty, 
 or that agreeing about a thing to ask for means 
 the broadcast sort of fashion you pray. Why, I 
 did go once, and I was altogether taken down. 
 The first man got up, and instead of praying, he 
 told the Lord the longest string about Dorset peo 
 ple you ever heard, how bad they were ; and 
 then he rambled off about the creation, and the 
 state of the heathen. Deacon, I know that man. 
 I know he 's as cross as a tiger to his wife, his 
 boys hide when they see him coming, and he 's 
 mean enough to take double toll out of a widow's 
 meal tyag. If he stopped reviling his neighbors, 
 and l^mentin' over the isles of the South, and 
 tried to example after Jesus Christ, and be a 
 k livin' epistle,' as Paul says, I think he 'd do better. 
 No ; 1 sha'n't come to any more prayer-meetings. 
 I believe in less prayin' and more practicing ; " 
 and with a flush on her dark cheek, and a light in
 
 96 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 her deep eyes that told how earnest her feeling 
 was on the subject, Miss Miny took up the stock 
 ing she was knitting- for an idiot boy in the poor- 
 house, and clicked her needles faster that ever. 
 
 Deacon Norton uttered a horrified groan, and 
 shook his hoary head ominously as he crossed the 
 threshold ; but he was a reflective man, and Miss 
 Miny's ideas stirred a certain reformative convic 
 tion in his mind. He did not thereafter refrain 
 from prayer-meetings, for it had been born and 
 educated into him that they were a necessity of 
 Christian life, but his prayers put on a new style. 
 He was earnest in asking for spiritual gifts rather 
 than in conveying information to his audience ; 
 and many an astonished soul discovered for the 
 first time through those fervent petitions that re 
 ligion is a matter of week-day life rather thaxi Sun 
 day solemnity. 
 
 Scandal, too, found little mercy at Miss Miny's 
 door. Thei'e was a woman in Dorset who 
 
 "Made her enjoyment 
 And only employment" 
 
 in retailing some real or unreal story to somebody's 
 disadvantage. Mrs. Peek was a little woman, with 
 an indefinite sort of mouth, a pale face, and dead 
 black eyes, with a furtive glitter that betrayed a 
 lurking imp hidden in their dark pools.t She 
 was a mini, softspoken woman,, but guilefiul and 
 gliding as a snake. Miss Miny never visifced her, 
 though they met often at sewing circles, an (It it was 
 at one of these social occasions that the venomous
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 97 
 
 little creature began to retail some of her malice 
 \ to Mrs. Norton, who was sitting sewing at one end 
 i<if a sheet, with Miss Miny at the other. It was 
 o.nly a version of the old story, a girl to whom a 
 in.'in had offered marriage, and then changed his 
 iniiul without giving any reason. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Norton, " I think he 'd ought 
 to have told her right out like a man, not to sneak 
 off backhanded that way." 
 
 " iM-m," responded Mrs. Peek, with an inde 
 scribable soft murmur. " Doo you know, Mis' Nor 
 ton, for certain, that he ever did ask Albiuy to 
 marry him ? " 
 
 Mr$. Norton looked at her over her spectacles, 
 with the peculiar glare of that sort of inspection. 
 " I 'm 'as certain of it as though he told me, though 
 I can't say he did tell me," she answered sharply. 
 
 u Well, m-m, she 's a poor homeless cretur, and 
 I wislti her well. I wish her well. But maybe 
 you '11 find out things ain't jest as you think they 
 is; but I don't want to say nothin', no I don't 
 want to speak about it." 
 
 " I b'lieve she 's a good girl, Mis' Peek," said 
 the deacon's wife angrily. " I b'lieve every word 
 she says. I don' know as anybody asked him to 
 make up to her, nor as anybody cares if he doos or 
 doos n't, but I blame a man for keepin' company 
 with any gal, an' then turnin' square round an' 
 backin' down, without no reason nor rhyme to be 
 given.!*' 
 
 " Well, m-m, well, if so be, ' is so ; but I 'ra free
 
 98 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 to say I ain't by no means sure 't he ever did say 
 snip to her, so to speak. I wish her well. I hope 
 she '11 marry somebody that '11 make a good home; 
 for her, but well, I don't want to say nothin'." 
 
 " What in the world do you keep doing it QT, 
 then ? " curtly inquired Miss Miny. 
 
 An evil flash shot out of the dead black eyes, Inke 
 flame out of thick smoke ; but Mrs. Peek did .not 
 or could not answer, and Miss Todd went on : / 
 
 "If you wish Albiny Morse well, why do you 
 keep insimiatin' against her ? I guess you mistake ; 
 you don't like her, and you tell that it 's probable 
 well, that it 's likely she 's told a lie about! that 
 fellow. I don't believe it, and I don't thinkc, Mis' 
 Peek, you remember what Scripter says , about 
 doin' to others as you 'd have them do to you. 
 'T would n't be altogether agreeable, I guess, to have 
 folks say that you 'd asked Mr. Peek to have ye 
 before he 'd ever thought on 't, now would it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Peek was hit on a sore spot by this pellet ; 
 she looked at Miss Miny as if a dagger and a 
 thrust would have interpreted her better than 
 speech. 
 
 " I have n't nothin' to say to sech remarks," she 
 murmured unctuously. " No, I don't wish to say 
 no more." 
 
 "Don't say it, then; nobody asked you to," 
 stoutly replied Miss Todd. " Least said is soonest 
 mended, 'specially about your neighbors." 
 
 " Well, you sot her down consider'ble," said Mrs. 
 Norton, as the small serpent glided away, hissing 
 gently.
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 99 
 
 " I don't like such talk," was Miss Todd's re 
 joinder. " I take a lot of interest in other folks's 
 affairs. I can't help it. I have n't got kith nor kin 
 of my own, and I do get to feel as though all Dor 
 set was a sort of a family to me ; and I believe the 
 Lord made folks to be int'rested in other folks, or 
 the world could n't gee, anyhow ; but as for scan 
 dal and unfriendly talk, I don't like it. If it's 
 got to be, why speak it out. I never could bear 
 mice because they always run round under things 
 and rustle. It 's mean to sneak, and hide, and 
 burrow like that. I 've got as much respect again 
 for a man that swears right out as I have for one 
 that keeps hintin'." 
 
 " For goodness' sake ! " exclaimed the horrified 
 listener. 
 
 Mrs. Norton had her own private grievances, 
 and they were growing fast. She had but one 
 daughter, a pretty girl of sixteen, whose waving 
 red hair, white skin, blue eyes, and scarlet lips 
 were mightily attractive to the youths of Dorset ; 
 for though Dell Norton had a quick temper, she 
 had a merry wit, and was full of fun and bright 
 ness. Her father loved her with all his shut-up 
 heart, and her mother spoiled and scolded her by 
 turns, but if anybody else found fault with Dell she 
 was as ready to fly at them as an old hen whose 
 chickens are profaned by mortal approach. 
 
 Now the girl had a girlish fashion of speech 
 which Miss Todd did not like, it seemed to her so 
 near an approach to positive lying ; and she at last
 
 100 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 expressed her opinion, as usual, with entire frank 
 ness. She had gone into Deacon Norton's of an 
 errand one day, and Dell came hurrying in to ask 
 her mother if she might go to ride with Sam El- 
 derkin, a youth of good report, but a poor farmer, 
 which is next door to being a pauper in New Eng 
 land. 
 
 Regardless of poverty, however, Sam had " cast 
 a wistful eye," as the hymn-book says, into Deacon 
 Norton's fold, and Mrs. Norton suspected it. Dell 
 liked him as she liked a dozen others, and her 
 mother was wise enough to say nothing till she 
 should see real occasion. 
 
 Dell was all animation to-day. 
 
 " Oh, ma ! Sam Elderkin 's got a new horse ; his 
 uncle down to Hartford sent it up to him. My ! 
 ain't it a splendid one ! Its back 's three weeks 
 broad, and it jest goes like a livin' storm. I don't 
 believe lightnin' would more 'n keep up with it. 
 I 'd jest like to ride behind it forever. Can't I go 
 over to Wallingford with him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Norton could say neither yes nor no, for 
 Miss Miny asked so quickly and quietly, " You 
 don't mean what you say, do ye, Adelye ? " 
 
 " Why don't I ? " snapped the girl. 
 
 " Why, forever 's a long time, and I don't be 
 lieve even a Hartford horse could go like lightnin'. 
 Seems as if your words was n't needed to be so 
 big, are they ? " 
 
 Dell sunk down in a chair and stared at this 
 audacious female, but her mother blazed up.
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 101 
 
 " Look here, Miss Todd. I guess I 'm entire 
 capable of bossin' Dell. She suits me, if she don't 
 you. Go put on you bunnet, child, and go 'long. 
 What in the world air you always ineddlin' with 
 other folks's business for, Miss Miny ? Does it 
 give you real satisfaction ?" 
 
 " No," said Miss Miny quietly, with no trace of 
 vexation on her homely face. " I don't know as 
 I ought to have said what I did, but I do dislike 
 to hear girls get into such a big way of talk ; it 
 seems so disrespectful to facts ; and then it uses 
 up words so fast, makes idle words, seems to me. 
 But I allow, Mrs. Norton, I had better not have 
 spoke. I suppose I do seem to take more than my 
 lawful int'rest in folks that ain't my folks; but 
 you see I grew up in the wilderness, and I have n't 
 got any people of my own, and I have to like them 
 that don't belong to me, and I get to feeling as if 
 they was my own." 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed Mrs. Norton, aghast at the 
 honesty and humility of odd Miss Todd ; but Dell 
 rushed out of the bedroom where she had been 
 prinking, threw her arms round Miss Miny, and 
 ^ave her a hearty hug, exclaiming, 
 
 " You dear old thing ! you shall say just what 
 you 're a mind to, for you 're just as clever as you 
 ?an be, so there ! " 
 
 Miss Miny laughed, though her eyes were very 
 lim. Dell's generous young heart had been 
 ;ouched. and thereafter she found her way to the 
 ipinster's little house often, and through her confi-
 
 102 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 dences in the twilight, or beside the wood fire, Miss 
 Miny discovered before many months that Sam 
 Elderkin was resolved to marry Dell, and she was 
 as determined to marry him ; but both the deacon 
 and Mrs. Norton were opposed with equal determi 
 nation to the match. 
 
 " As obstinate as a Norton," was a Dorset prov 
 erb ; but Miss Miny, unafraid of proverbs, de 
 termined to throw herself into the breach, and 
 make things as right and straight as she could. 
 For once she showed a little- of the serpent's wis 
 dom. Instinctively she understood, what the ad 
 herents of " women's rights " ignore, the fact that 
 a woman can influence a man, or a man a woman, 
 from the very reason of their difference in sex ; so 
 instead of going to Mrs. Norton, she cornered the 
 deacon one day in the store, and asked him to 
 step over to her house, and there laid the situation 
 before him. 
 
 " 'T ain't no use talkin'," he replied. " Sam El 
 derkin ain't worth a copper to-day over 'n' above 
 his farm, and I ain't goin' to see Dell give over to 
 want nor pestered with a shiftless husband." 
 
 " Well, now, Deacon Norton, who do you expect 
 Dell will marry ? " 
 
 The man looked puzzled, but went on : " Why, 
 I expect she '11 come acrost some well-to-do feller 
 some time that '11 make her comfortable." 
 
 " There ain't anybody in Dorset you want her to 
 take up with ? " 
 
 " I don't know as there is, and I don't know as 
 there is. On the whole, I guess there ain't."
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 103 
 
 " Do you mean to send her away ? " 
 
 " No, marm. I don't hold to gals goin' visitin' 
 round ; it sure turns their heads." 
 
 " Well, then, deacon, as sure as you set there, 
 Sam is bound to marry Dell, and she is in t*he 
 same mind, whether you let 'em or no. Now ain't 
 it a lot better to give countenance to it than to 
 have all Dorset talking about you and yours, say 
 ing hard things about your bein' a professor, yet 
 so fond of money and so hard on your girl ? Have 
 yxm got any right to fetch reproach on the Church, 
 jest to have your will done in this thing? Sam 
 Elderkin is a good young man as ever was, only 
 le 's poor. Was n't Mis' Norton and you poor 
 vhen you commenced in life ; and are you willing 
 :o make Dell real unhappy, and give occasion to 
 ;he enemy to revile, because you want her to do 
 lifferent from what you did ? " 
 
 " You 're the peskiest woman I ever see ! " 
 oared the deacon, flinging out of the house and 
 )anging the door behind him. But he did not 
 shut the truths he had heard inside that door ; 
 hey rang in his ears wherever he went, followed 
 lim, like the frogs of Egypt's plague, even into 
 us bedchamber, tingled in his brain at every 
 )rayer-meeting, and, to use his own phrase, when 
 le came to confession afterward, " Them things 
 r ou said jest stuck to me like a bunch of burdocks 
 o a dog's tail. I could n't neither drop 'em, nor 
 :law 'eni off." 
 
 But the result was that in due season Dell Nor-
 
 104 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 ton was married properly at her father's house, 
 and the farm Sam Elderkin owned dowered with 
 four grade Alderneys from the Norton herd and a 
 pair of great red oxen. Dell developed into a 
 model wife and mother, and made such biitter as 
 Dorset never saw before ; and when little hands 
 grasped the old man's rough fingers, and little feet 
 toddled beside him down to the garden gate, Dea 
 con Norton, in his secret heart, felt a thrill of fer 
 vent gratitude to odd Miss Todd. 
 
 There lived in Dorset a poor widow with one 
 son. Jonas Pringle was always a good boy, in 
 fact, rather a goody boy, one of the sort that usually 
 boast of being the sons of poor but pious parents. 
 He was lean and pale as a small boy, and seemed 
 merely to draw out like a telescope rather than 
 grow with advancing years. His hair was palely 
 brown, his eyes palely blue, and his thin face and 
 uncertain mouth could not be called lovely even 
 by the extremest maternal partiality. His mother 
 was a wailing female who would have wept for 
 something she had not in the very lap of luxury, 
 and life afforded her abundant grievances. If the 
 sky shone cloudless, she shook her head and called 
 the day " a real weather-breeder ; " if it rained, 
 she prognosticated blasted grain, rotted potatoes, 
 floods, land slips, or any other evil she could think 
 of. 
 
 Jonas had the hunger for books and education 
 that his unhealthy sort of organization is so apt to 
 foster. The truest kindness would have been to 
 
 I
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 105 
 
 turn him out on a farm and make him work for 
 his living, where sun and air, keen winds, and 
 fresh earth would have brought life and color. into 
 his unwholesome visage, and hearty labor strength 
 ened his flaccid muscles and knit his loose joints. 
 He needed fibre and force, outward growth, and 
 nourishing food. But his weak mother coddled 
 him from babyhood, kept him close by the stove, 
 and taught him to knit and sew, when he should 
 have been snowballing other boys or skating on 
 Dorset Pond. She fed him on such cake and pie 
 as her poverty of money and skill both allowed, 
 messes of poor flour, lard, soda, molasses, and all 
 spice 5 she gave him strong green tea for the con- 
 sequei't, headaches these viands surely caused, and 
 tucked him up in bed with hot bricks and doses 
 of herb tea, when boys of his own age, like Sam 
 ElderkiP, slept in the garret, with snowdrifts on 
 their homespun blankets. 
 
 Miss Miny had only been established in Dorset 
 a few years, and Jonas was a tall sallow youth of 
 eighteen, when one fine day Mrs. Pringle took to 
 her bed, to rise no more. Contradictory as women 
 are, she endured her last illness with cheerful forti 
 tude, and parted from Jonas with a smile, com 
 mending him in full faith to the widow's God. Jo 
 nas did not appear to suffer as much as would have 
 pleased sympathizing friends. The truth was, his 
 bringing up had necessarily made him selfish, and 
 while he really mourned for his mother, it was 
 more because she had left him to take care of him-
 
 106 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 self than for any deep filial love or sense of lost 
 companionship. 
 
 It was the greatest comfort he could have, to be 
 taken home by Miss Todd, installed in her com 
 fortable spare room, and made much of, and Dor 
 set people were not greatly surprised when they 
 learned it was Miss Miny's intention to educate 
 Jonas for the ministry, and give him a home. It 
 required some self-denial on Miss Miny's part to 
 do this ; her old servant had died just before Mrs. 
 Pringle, and as yet she had not replaced her. She 
 resolved now to do her own work, and she also 
 bought a knitting machine, and ground out do/zens 
 of pairs of worsted stockings, which she sold. / Her 
 money had been well invested, but her charities 
 were exhaustive, and she would not discontinue 
 one of them, but did her utmost in the, way of 
 work and economy for Jonas's sake, and felt her 
 self repaid when in five years' time he cam*} back a 
 full-fledged minister of the gospel, and preached 
 in the old church of his native village. 
 
 He did not at once attempt to settle anywhere. 
 Dorset was pleasant to his soul. He was comfort 
 ably housed and fed, and it gave him keen pleasure , 
 to walk abroad among those who had looked down , 
 on his youthful poverty, and look down on them . 
 from his double pinnacle of education and office. 
 Jonas was selfish, crafty, and plausible ; his pale 
 blue eyes were true to their usual index of chara- 
 ter, an index that points to self-love and want of 
 genuine honesty ; and when he suggested that his
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 107 
 
 health was injured by study, and he thought it 
 would be best for him to spend the summer in 
 Dorset and recruit, Miss Miny joyfully fell in 
 with the arrangement. 
 
 It is a fixed law of our moral nature that we 
 love those whom we befriend, and odd Miss Todd 
 was not odd enough to evade this constitutional 
 edict. She had spent time, money, and pains on 
 Jonas as freely as if he had been her son, and she 
 loved him with as pure and fervent affection as 
 .ever mother felt for her only boy, for in her nature 
 h^y that intense maternal feeling which is not given 
 al\vays to the physical mother, that capacity of 
 dev otion, self-sacrifice, and powerful affection that 
 makjes a woman most womanly, most happy, yet 
 capa.ble of anguish unspeakable and mourning that 
 will vnot be comforted. It did not matter to Miss 
 Minjjr that Jonas was still lank, sallow, pale-haired, 
 and trJie very conformation and likeness of a solemn 
 prig '-, that he always spoke with the awful and 
 luguljvious intonation of "the sacred desk." She 
 did t^ot see in him any distasteful trait or any un- 
 comf<prtable habit ; she enjoyed his intellectual con- 
 versa^ion, his reading aloud, his rather obtrusive 
 and Outspoken piety. So Jonas basked in the com 
 fort of Miss Miny's neat bright house all the long 
 summer through, now and then exhorting at prayer- 
 meetrngs or helping at a funeral just to keep his 
 hand -in. 
 
 HQ was not naturally an energetic man ; his 
 taster were studious and dainty, his constitution
 
 108 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 frail, and all these combined to make him indolent. 
 As Mrs. Deacon Norton pungently remarked, " He 
 won't never eat smart man's bread : he likes to set 
 on a fence and see folks mow." 
 
 As he whiled away the summer, it came into his 
 head how pleasant life would be if one need not 
 work for a living, not a singular idea, and one 
 that most of us who do work for a living frequently 
 entertain, but with the thought arose a way of es 
 cape from this dreaded vista. Why should not he 
 rnarry Miss Miny ? He might perhaps have specu-f 
 lated on becoming her heir, but she had already/ 
 confided to him that her property had been left , to 
 provide a free library and reading-room for /the 
 town of Dorset, and her will was in the judgr 6 f 
 probate's hands. 
 
 It was an objection that she was twenty yr r ears 
 older than he, but in New England country tfowns 
 a woman is frequently some years older thai) 1 her 
 husband, and Miss Miny had no relatives to object, 
 nor had he. 
 
 Once married, it would be easy to persuad*? her 
 to destroy that will, and he had the acutene* 8 &>* 
 his own interest common to selfish men, and under 
 stood that odd Miss Todd could do an ode . thing 
 without provoking the comment of society- He 
 had full faith in his own powers of fascinat; n i <is 
 well as in her capacity for deep feeling, and 1 after 
 much consideration resolved to make cautions ap 
 proaches. He became more devoted in manner; 
 exerted himself to spare her fatigue and trouble >
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 109 
 
 sighed occasionally, and fixed his eyes on her in a 
 pathetic way ; interspersed his readings with poe 
 try ; put on her shawl witli almost an embrace ; and 
 never went out for a stroll without bringing her 
 wild flowers that she loved, or berries from the hills 
 and uplands. 
 
 Poor Miss Todd ! in that lone bosom the girl's 
 heait lay sleeping ; no touch of prince's lips hail 
 ever disturbed its long sleep, but it was living still, 
 and now with strange and almost painful throbs it 
 b^gan to dream, to stir. She resisted the unwonted 
 trouble as a blind man might resist unknown ap- 
 proich and alien caresses, not knowing how to 
 deiine the new and vague delight. She prayed fer 
 vently that she might not be given to idolatry, for 
 she kpew well that Jonas grew dearer to her daily, 
 though she had not yet recognized the divine un 
 rest that was sweeter than any foregone peace ; her 
 heart ached with feeling as we sometimes ache 
 physically with laughter, for it was a pleasant pain. 
 Does tae aloe leave its long verdurous quiet and 
 burst into stately bloom with such careless ease as 
 the new-sprung violet blossoms ? Does not some 
 dull pang strike through the bulb that has lain all 
 winter barren and hidden, when it sends upward 
 its odorous spike of heaven-blue bells? 
 
 I do not know whether to weep or smile over this 
 poor tale of genuine if delayed passion ; it certainly 
 is pitiful, yet it cannot help being ludicrous to be 
 tray what curious fancies possessed odd Miss Todd 
 at this crisis of her life. No " sudden interposition
 
 110 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 of several guardian angels," such as saved dear old 
 Hepzibah's turban from desecration, interfered in 
 her behalf ; she began to wear pink ribbons, which 
 she had never yet indulged in ; and further to set 
 off her dark and dingy skin, bought herself a 
 bright deep green gown ; strove with the patient 
 anguish only a woman knows to build her scant and 
 crinkled hair up in some semblance of prevailing 
 fashions ; and illuminated her decent gray and 
 black Sunday bonnet with a red rose outside and a- 
 blue bow inside. Dorset stared with all its eyes, 
 but only laughed at odd Miss Todd. She lived l>e- 
 hind her character as behind a shield ; not a human 
 being suspected that these outbursts of color, these 
 shining eyes, this alert step, were not oddities at 
 all, but genuine submissions to nature's comnxmest 
 law, the law of love. 
 
 It occurred to Jonas as the long summer days 
 went on that it would be very pleasant to drive 
 about Dorset, and would give him more opportu 
 nity to hold private converse with Miss Miry; for 
 her house was already like the cave of Adullam : 
 " every one in distress, and everyone discontented," 
 came there for help and counsel, and thei P tete-d- 
 tetes were few and brief ; so he borrowed sa ne kind 
 body's old horse and rattling wagon now ar/1 again, 
 and drove Miss Todd through winding lanes, fra 
 grant woods, up and down hills from whence the 
 outlook was exquisite ; or they wound along the 
 edge of Dorset Pond, catching the too sweet breath 
 of the white clethra on its shores, the finer odor of
 
 ODD MISS TODD. Ill 
 
 late wild roses, or the delicate perfume of grape blos 
 soms, all recalling Miss Miny's childhood to her 
 mind and her heart, and putting the wistful girlish 
 look into eyes that so long had gazed sadly on sin 
 and sorrow. But all this took up her time. House 
 work languished, and she bethought herself of get 
 ting some help in her kitchen, when one hot Au 
 gust day Parson Fry stalked in to request aid from 
 her ever-ready benevolence. 
 
 He had just received a letter from Mary Spencer, 
 a former resident of Dorset, and distantly related 
 to his wife, written on her death-bed. She had 
 married a Southerner many years ago, a man of 
 wealth, who had been attracted by her great beauty. 
 She was but a poor girl, the tavern-keeper's daugh 
 ter, and Mr. Spencer had taken her to Carolina, 
 where for a year or two she lived an ideal life, 
 happy as love and luxury can make a girl who has 
 not known either before. Then the war came ; her 
 husband lost all his property, was killed in battle, 
 and she returned to Champlin, a small town in 
 Massachusetts, where her father had moved from 
 Dorset, bringing with her a baby girl. There she 
 had lived as before, helping in the tavern work till 
 her child was eighteen years old. Her mother had 
 died long ago, and she herself been wasting for 
 years with slow consumption, when suddenly her 
 father fell dead of apoplexy, and the shock has 
 tened her own end. She had not a relative in the 
 world or a friend to whose care she could leave 
 Eleanor, except Parson Fry, and when he received
 
 112 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 her letter she was already dead, and Nora crying 
 her heart out over her mother. Parson Fry was 
 at his wits' end ; he had not a spare inch of room 
 in the parsonage. Indeed, if any brother minister 
 happened in, as they are apt to do, Deacon Norton 
 had to lodge him, for the " minister's blessing " 
 was in full force in the parson's abode, ten small 
 children and a baby giving him what Mrs. Norton 
 rather sarcastically called " John Rogers's mea 
 sure." She had been brought up on the old New 
 England Primer, and the dim crowd that sur 
 rounded that martyr at the stake ten children 
 and one to carry was present to her memory. 
 
 It was of course impossible to take Nora into 
 his own house, so he came to consult with Miss 
 Todd about her disposal, and found that good wo 
 man ready and glad to help him ; indeed, she re 
 garded it as a direct providence that the girl had 
 been sent to her in time of need. Providence 
 does not always work after our limited prescience, 
 however, but it did prove to be the divinest of prov 
 idences to Miss Miny that Nora arrived just then, 
 though it wore a dark frown for a long time, and 
 hid its " smiling face." 
 
 Eleanor Spencer had lived so long in the tavern 
 at Champlin, and been made so useful in conse 
 quence of her mother's failing health, that Miss 
 Miny's housework was mere play to her young 
 strength and older experience. After the old patri 
 archal fashion of New England, she was madj'e one 
 of the family, and Jonas opened his eyes to j their
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 113 
 
 fullest extent when Nora appeared first at the 
 breakfast-table, having arrived the night before, 
 and already cooked the pink slice of savory ham, 
 set about with milk-white eggs, the puffy biscuit, 
 the spongy flapjacks, and clear coffee that his soul 
 loved. She inherited her mother's beauty, with the 
 coloring of her father's family : a brilliant com 
 plexion, great, soft dark eyes, bright hair that waved 
 all over her shapely head and was gathered in coil 
 on coil behind, and a slight and graceful figure, all 
 of which her lilac print dress and spotless apron set 
 off as green laaves do a rose. She was " a vision 
 of delight" indeed, and Miss Miny, honest soul! 
 looked at her with pleasure and admiration. 
 
 But as the summer days went on, and Nora be 
 came more wonted to her work, she learned to be 
 more tieft and nimble, and had many an hour to 
 spend in the keeping-room, busy with her own sew 
 ing or Miss Miny's. She, too, listened to the read 
 ings and absorbed them into her quick and willing 
 mind ; her eyes darkened or shone at the lofty or 
 passionate poetry, and her beautiful dimples danced, 
 her red lips quivered with laughter, at whatever 
 wit or humor lay among Jonas's selections. She 
 was a whole audience in herself, and her attention 
 and appreciation flattered the reader deeply, but 
 her beauty did more potent execution. 
 
 For Jonas was young ; and here, face to face 
 with him day after day, was a girl beautiful as 
 flesh and blood can be, and as intelligent as beau 
 tiful. It was altogether too much. His heart tri-
 
 114 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 umphed over his policy ; in the madness of a real 
 passion he was ready to go all lengths of labor and 
 renunciation if Nora were his ; and she began with 
 that sort of hero worship inborn in most girls to 
 look up adoringly at such wonders of education and 
 intellect as his. She had seen hitherto only the 
 commonest class of men, such as frequent a coun 
 try tavern, and had no measure in her mind by 
 which to test this man's real capacity ; so she stood 
 as ready to receive and respond to his first expres 
 sion of feeling as a budded rose stands ready wait 
 ing for the expanding sun. 
 
 It was some time before Miss Miny's unsuspicious 
 nature perceived the open secret that was acting in 
 her quiet house. She was perceptive enough, but 
 it seemed to her inexperience that Jonas was as 
 much bound to prefer her to all other women as if 
 he had sworn an oath of fealty. She was as odd 
 in her ignorance of humanity as in everything 
 else ; a kiss would have been to this singular hon 
 esty of hers as sacred as a marriage vow ; incred 
 ible as it may seem, she did not imagine it possible 
 for a man to show every lover-like attention to a 
 woman, and then " whistle down the wind " to a 
 prettier face. This sort of thing, common aft blades 
 of grass, wore to her simplicity an aspect both tragic 
 and brutal ; dishonesty was an equal crime in her 
 eyes with murder, for she took her ethical standard 
 from the Bible, not from society, and found there 
 no distinction in evil, no grades of sin, save that 
 awful exception, the sin unpardonable.
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 115 
 
 Yet before October poured its living dyes along 
 the Dorset hills, odd Miss Todd began to see what 
 no other woman could have so long misunderstood. 
 She felt in her kind and faithful bosom the tortures 
 that have no parallel in this world, the remorse 
 less tortures of jealousy. She had been all her life 
 at peace with herself. Even Parson Fry had dis 
 turbed his soul over her religious experience be 
 cause she never could truthfully say that she was 
 the chief of sinners. But now she hated herself as 
 earnestly as Calvin could have desired ; for there 
 developed within her such suspicion, such unkind- 
 ness, something so near akin to hatred, that her 
 prayers were mere utterances of agony, and her 
 Bible a dead letter. 
 
 Slf.ep forsook her, and her daily food grew bit 
 ter. It was scarcely a relief to her when Jonas 
 left Dorset to find, if possible, a parish where he 
 was wanted ; for she knew, with the fearful insight 
 of jealousy, why Nora took her daily walk to the 
 post-office, and why the letters she herself received 
 from her boy were so dry and brief. She was too 
 good to be positively unkind to Nora, and the girl 
 was too deep in her bright dream to be troubled by 
 Miss Todd's unusual silence and constrained man 
 ner. Her heart would have been shocked to pity 
 she, had a kind heart to know what a life her 
 companion and friend was enduring. 
 
 Before Jonas had been prospecting if that 
 phrase is allowable a month, he was engaged to 
 fill the pulpit of a country church in Connecticut 

 
 116 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 for a year, and with tfie characteristic imprudence 
 of a man in love, he thought this was enough to 
 warrant his marriage. He argued that one engage 
 ment would at least lead to another, and most prob 
 ably to a settlement ; for he had a certain floral 
 eloquence and a " glittering generality " in his ser 
 mons that tickled people's ears, and did not dis 
 turb their consciences, two qualifications which 
 always make a clergyman popular. He had not 
 an idea that he had treated Miss Todd in a way 
 she could or should resent. He fell back on the 
 patent fact that he had never asked her to marry 
 him ; and it is a general masculine code that up to 
 this Rubicon you may fight or flee, as you like* 
 
 So he went back to Dorset in great glee ; but his 
 first entrance into the atmosphere of Miss Todd's 
 house warned him of possible explosives. He so 
 bered down his joy, was pleasant and deferential 
 to Miss Miny, and devised private opportunites of 
 speech with Nora ; in fact, his final appeal to her, 
 and her acceptance, took place in what he after 
 ward recalled as " that sacred spot in front of the 
 corner grocery." 
 
 It was agreed between the lovers that Miss 
 Todd should not at present be taken intc> their 
 confidence. They had an unacknowledged con 
 sciousness of her probable displeasure, so she was 
 left to fight with her grief in that solitude that 
 makes battle so hard, victory so long of coming. 
 She was a reasonable woman ordinarily, but what 
 jealous man or woman is reasonable ? It was the
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 117 
 
 most natural thing in the world that a young fel 
 low like Jonas, ready to marry a plain, positive, 
 odd, and old woman, from motives of policy, should 
 be turned from his intent by the daily presence 
 and contrast of abundant beauty and the divine 
 charm of youth, but Miss Todd resented it in her 
 soul as a real crime. There was nothing for it but 
 to run from this conflict, and she could not run ; 
 she had nowhere to go. Fortunately for her, this 
 inward storm disturbed the equilibrium of her 
 strong constitution ; she took to her bed, and in 
 the comfortless tossings of a long low fever prayed 
 day and night to die. No one dies, however, when 
 they wish to ; she had to submit to Nora's patient 
 and careful nursing ; for though the girl was too 
 young to show much strength of character as yet, 
 she was kind, and pitied Miss Miny from the 
 heights of her own vernal joy, as a poor loveless 
 old maid. Fortunately she did not put her feeling 
 into words, but only put off her marriage, and 
 took faithful care of Miss Todd through the long, 
 dreary winter ; and when the poor woman crept 
 back to life again, it was to have Jonas's plans and 
 happiness poured into her ears. She had a relapse, 
 of course. People said she had been imprudent ; 
 and so she had, but long before her fever, im 
 prudent with the headlong carelessness of women 
 who let themselves fall into an open pit, from 
 xvlik'h none can deliver them. 
 
 The relapse served one good purpose : it gave 
 the best of reasons why this marriage should not
 
 118 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 take place at her house. Che hired a nurse from 
 another village, and sent Nora to the parsonage 
 for her wedding ; and when the happy pair came 
 to say good-by, she was too ill to see them. It 
 was a long time before Miss Miny recovered ; but 
 by June she declared herself well, and resumed her 
 lonely life. Yet there was a great change in her, 
 odd as she still was : a deeper, tenderer charity 
 toward women, whom hitherto she had held in a 
 sort of contempt ; now she seemed to have a key 
 to many of their shortcomings, and to sympathise 
 with their pains and follies more than women often 
 do with each other. Even to those whom society 
 holds unpardonable and in as small a place as 
 Dorset there are such she extended the very 
 mercy of Christ, and with human love and pity 
 helped Him to redeem them. Toward men she 
 became pitiless and almost fierce. The injustice 
 of their social position for the first time became 
 visible to her eyes, and she resented it with the 
 force of her nature. Whatever good she die. was 
 now turned into another channel : she cared no 
 longer for the boys in the factory, but devoted her 
 self to the teaching of the girls in Dorset, sending 
 to Boston for a female teacher, and setting up a 
 private school at her own expense, except the smal' 
 fees charged for tuition, which went no further than 
 to hire and heat the schoolrooms. Jonas and his 
 wife rarely returned to the town, for Miss Todd 
 never invited them, and Mr. Fry could not. Their* 
 first child was named Hermione Todd, but never 

 
 ODD MISS TODD. 121 
 
 lonely woman was mourned and missed as few 
 women are except in their own households. 
 
 Mrs. Norton made the one characteristic com 
 ment of the day as she looked at the poor shrunken 
 face of the dead : " Well, I never did ! of all 
 things! Laid out in a night-gownd and put into 
 a pine coffin ! She has n't never got over bein' 
 odd Miss Todd."
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 " We '11 tak' a cup o' kindness yet 
 For auld lang syne, my dear ! " 
 
 " PILE in, Hannah. Get right down 'long o' the 
 clock, so 's to kinder shore it up. I '11 fix in them 
 pillers t' other side on 't, and you can set back 
 ag'inst the bed. Good-by, folks ! Gee up ! 
 Bright. Gee ! I tell ye, Buck." 
 
 " Good-by ! " nodded Hannah, from the depths 
 of the old calash which granny had given her for 
 a riding-hood, and her rosy face sparkled under 
 the green shadow like a blossom under a burdock 
 leaf. 
 
 This was their wedding journey. Thirty iong 
 miles to be traveled, at the slow pace of an ox-cart, 
 where to-day a railroad spins by, and a log hut in 
 the dim distance. 
 
 But Hannah did not cry about it. There was a 
 momentary choking, perhaps, in her throat, as she 
 caught a last view of granny's mob-cap and her 
 father's rough face, with the red head of her small 
 step-brother between them, grouped in the door 
 way. Her mother had died long ago, and there 
 was another in her place now, and a swarm of chil 
 dren. Hannah was going to her own home, to a
 
 ODD MISS TODD. 119 
 
 profited thereby, and though Jonas hoped to the 
 end he received nothing. She had made a new 
 will, and all her money went to found a female col 
 lege of the smallest size, eligible for only ten mem 
 bers, and in its rigid rule resembling a nunnery. 
 
 For at length she did die, and during her last ill 
 ness Mr. Fry, in pursuance of his office, had many 
 serious conversations with her. One day he said, 
 " And you feel in charity with all men, Sister 
 Todd?" 
 
 " I don't know that," she replied sharply. " I 
 suppose it is n't a duty to forgive folks unless they 
 ask for forgiveness, is't?" 
 
 Parson Fry looked puzzled. " Well," he said 
 meditatively, " I do suppose we ought to keep con- 
 tinooally in a forgiving frame." 
 
 " That is n't the point. You can't tell me about 
 Scripter. The Lord never forgives folks without 
 they repent. To offer such folks forgiveness would 
 come the nearest of anything I can think of to 
 throwin' pearls before swine ; they 'd turn and rend 
 you, surely." 
 
 " But you should be ready to forgive sech as do 
 repent and seek pardon," solemnly replied the par 
 son, a little disturbed by her contumacy. 
 
 " Well, I hope I am ; but there 's small chance 
 I shall be asked." 
 
 She never was. Though Jonas struggled with 
 poverty, and Nora lost her beauty and grace in 
 the hard life of a poor minister's wife, and her 
 husband repented that he had not married Miss
 
 120 ODD MISS TODD. 
 
 Todd, it was simply because he hungered for money 
 with the primal instincts of a lazy and selfish man, 
 from whom the brief insanity of passion had long 
 fled, and who pined for the fleshpots of Egypt. 
 That he had wronged her, or hurt her almost to the 
 death, never occurred to him. 
 
 Miss Miny shocked the conventions of Dorset 
 even to her last hour, for she extracted a promise 
 solemn as an oath from her nurse with regard to 
 her funeral. 
 
 " I want you should put on me a clean night- 
 gownd and cap, Semantl^. I am going to sleep 
 till the Lord comes, and I think it is a waste of 
 good clothes to bury them. I wish to look con 
 formable. Moreover, I want a plain pine coffin, and 
 no plate about it. Money isn't plenty enough, as 
 long as there 's a poor woman livin', to make a vain 
 show of it. I don't expect gown nor coffin to rise 
 no more 'n this miserable old body, and I won't be 
 answerable for foolish waste of what the Lord 
 gave me." 
 
 After this she laid her cheek on her hand, sighed, 
 and died, quietly as a brown leaf falls from the last 
 tree that holds those tawny ghosts into the edge of 
 winter. 
 
 Dorset people all came to her funeral, which was 
 held in the meeting-house, and the universal grief 
 discovered her secret benefactions as the early 
 rains discover seeds long ago sown. 
 
 She had done a thousand kindnesses, small but 
 helpful, that were all remembered now, and the
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 123 
 
 much easier life, and going with John. Why 
 should she cry ? 
 
 Besides, Hannah was the merriest little woman 
 in the country. She had a laugh always lying 
 ready in a convenient dimple. 
 
 She never knew what " blues " meant, except to 
 dye stocking-yarn. She was sunny as a dandelion 
 and gay as a bobolink. Her sweet good-nature 
 never failed through the long day's journey, and 
 when night came she made a pot of tea at the 
 camp-fire, roasted a row of apples, and broiled a 
 partridge John shot by the wayside, with as much 
 enjoyment as if this was the merest picnic excur 
 sion, and not a solitary camp in the forest, long 
 miles away from any human dwelling, and by no 
 means sure of safety from some lingering savage, 
 some beast of harmful nature, or at least a visit 
 f i-om a shambling black bear, for bears were plenti 
 ful enough in that region. 
 
 But none of these things worried Hannah. She 
 ate her supper with hearty appetite, said her prayers 
 with John, and curled down on the feather-bed in 
 the cart, while John heaped on more wood, and, 
 shouldering his musket, went to lengthen the ropes 
 that tethered his oxen, and then mounted guard 
 over the camp. Hannah watched his fine, grave 
 face, as the flickering light illuminated it, for a few 
 minutes, and then slept tranquilly till dawn. And 
 by sunset next day the little party drew up at the 
 door of the log hut they called home. 
 
 It looked very pretty to Hannah. She had the
 
 124 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 fairy gift, that is so rare among mortals, of seeing 
 beauty in its faintest expression ; and the young 
 grass about the rough stone doorstep, the crimson 
 cones on the great larch-tree behind it, the sunlit 
 panes of the west window, the laugh and sparkle of 
 the brook that ran through the clearing, the blue 
 eyes of the squirrel-caps, that blossomed shyly and 
 daintily beside the stumps of new-felled trees, all 
 these she saw and delighted in. And when the 
 door was open, the old clock set up, the bed laid 
 on the standing bed-place, and the three chairs and 
 table ranged against the wall, she began her house 
 wifery directly, singing as she went. Before John 
 had put his oxen in the small barn, sheltered the 
 cart and the tools in it, and shaken down hay into 
 the manger, Hannah had made a fire, hung on the 
 kettle, spread up her bed with homespun sheets 
 and blankets and a wonderful cover of white-and- 
 red chintz, set the table with a loaf of bread, a 
 square of yellow butter, a bowl of maple sugar, 
 and a plate of cheese ; and even released the cock 
 and the hen from their uneasy prison in a splint 
 basket, and was feeding them in the little wood 
 shed, when John came in. 
 
 His face lit up, as he entered, with that joyful 
 sense of home so instinctive in every true man and 
 woman. He rubbed his hard hands together, and, 
 catching Hannah as she came in at the shed-door, 
 bestowed upon her a resounding kiss. 
 
 " You 're the most of a little woman I ever see, 
 Hannah, I swan to man."
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 125 
 
 Hannah laughed like a swarm of spring black 
 birds. " I declare, John, you do beat all ! Ain't 
 it real pleasant here ? Seems to me I never saw 
 things so handy." 
 
 Oh, Hannah, what if your prophetic soul could 
 have foreseen the conveniences of this hundred 
 years after! Yet the shelves, the pegs, the cup 
 board in the corner, the broad shelf above the fire, 
 the great pine chest under the window, and the 
 clumsy settle, all wrought out of pine board by 
 John's patient and skillful fingers, filled all her 
 needs ; and what can modern conveniences do 
 more ? 
 
 So they ate their supper at home for the first 
 time, happy as new-nested birds, and far more grate 
 ful. 
 
 John had built a sawmill on the brook a little 
 way from the house, and already owned a flourish 
 ing trade , for the settlement about the lake from 
 which Nepasset Brook sprung was quite large, and 
 till John Perkins went there the lumber had been 
 all drawn fifteen miles off, to Litchfield, and his mill 
 was only three miles from Nepash village. Hard 
 work and hard fare lay before them both ; but they 
 were not daunted by the prospect. Hannah sung 
 over her washtub and her bread-bowl, and found 
 time to fill a " posy bed " with old-fashioned flow 
 ers, train a wild grapevine on the south side of the 
 cabin, and run up daily to the mill with dinner to 
 John. But by and by a cradle entered the door, 
 and a baby was laid in it. No more running to
 
 126 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 mill. John must come home to dinner or carry 
 his own pail, for the nursling could neither be 
 left nor taken. Hannah sung now to some pur 
 pose ; and, since there were no green blinds to the 
 window, no carpets to fade, and no superstition 
 about flies and moths, plenty of sunshine poured in 
 on little Dorothy, and she grew like a blossom. 
 
 One baby is well enough in a log cabin, with 
 one room for all the purposes of life ; but when 
 next year brought two more, a pair of stout boys, 
 then John began to saw lumber for his own use. 
 A bedroom was built on the east side of the house, 
 and a rough stairway into the loft, more room 
 perhaps than was needed ; but John was called in 
 Nepash " a dre'df ul forecastin' man," and he took 
 warning from the twins. And timely warning it 
 proved, for as the years slipped by, one after an 
 other, they left their arrows in his quiver, till ten 
 children bloomed about the hearth. The old cabin 
 had disappeared entirely. A good-sized frame house 
 of one story, with a high-pitched roof, stood in its 
 stead, and a slab fence kept roving animals out of 
 the yard and saved the apple-trees from the teeth 
 of stray cows and horses. 
 
 Poor enough they were still. The loom in the 
 garret always had its web ready, the great wheel 
 by the other window sung its busy song year in and 
 year out. Dolly was her mother's right hand now ; 
 and the twins, Ralph and Reuben, could fire the 
 musket and chop wood. Sylvy, the fourth child, 
 was the odd one. All the rest were sturdy, rosy,
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 127 
 
 laughing girls and boys ; but Sylvy had been a 
 pining baby, and grew up into a slender, elegant 
 creature, with clear gray eyes, limpid as water, 
 but bright as stars, and fringed with long golden 
 lashes the color of her beautiful hair, locks that 
 were coiled in fold on fold at the back of her fine 
 head, like wreaths of undyed silk, so pale was their 
 yellow lustre. She bloomed among the crowd of 
 red-cheeked, dark-haired lads and lasses, stately 
 and incongruous as a June lily in a bed of tulips. 
 But Sylvy did not stay at home. The parson's 
 lady at Litchfield came to Nepash one Sunday, 
 with her husband, and, seeing Sylvia in the square 
 corner pew, with the rest, was mightily struck by 
 her lovely face, and offered to take her home with 
 her the next week, for the better advantages of 
 schooling. Hannah could not have spared Dolly ; 
 but Sylvia was a dreamy, unpractical child, and, 
 though all the dearer for being the solitary lamb 
 of the flock by virtue of her essential difference 
 from the rest, still, for that very reason, it became 
 easier to let her go. Parson Everett was childless, 
 and in two years' time both he and his wife adored 
 the gentle, graceful girl ; and she loved them 
 dearly. They could not part with her, and at last 
 adopted her formally as their daughter, with the 
 unwilling consent of John and Hannah. Yet they 
 knew it was greatly " for Sylvy's betterment," as 
 they phrased it ; so at last they let her go. 
 
 But when Dolly was a sturdy young woman of 
 twenty-five the war-trumpet blew, and John and
 
 128 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 the twins heard it effectually. There was a sudden 
 leaving of the plough in the furrow. The planting 
 was set aside for the children to finish, the old 
 musket rubbed up, and, with set lips and resolute 
 eyes, the three men walked away one May morning 
 to join the Nepash company. Hannah kept up her 
 smiling courage through it all. If her heart gave 
 way, nobody knew it but God and John. The 
 boys she encouraged and inspired, and the children 
 were shamed out of their childish tears by mother's 
 bright face and cheery talk. 
 
 Then she set them all to work. There was corn 
 to plant, wheat to sow, potatoes to set ; flax and 
 wool to spin and weave, for clothes would be needed 
 for all, both absent and stay-at-homes. There was 
 no father to superintend the outdoor work ; so 
 Hannah took the field, and marshaled her forces 
 on Nepasset Brook much as the commander-in-chief 
 was doing on a larger scale elsewhere. Eben, the 
 biggest boy, and Joey, who came next him, were 
 to do all the planting ; Diana and Sam took on 
 themselves the care of the potato-patch, the fowls, 
 and the cow ; Dolly must spin and weave when 
 mother left either the wheel or loom to attend to 
 the general ordering of the forces ; while Obed and 
 Betty, the younglings of the flock, were detailed to 
 weed, pick vegetables (such few as were raised in 
 the small garden), gather berries, herbs, nuts, hunt 
 the straying turkeys' nests, and make themselves 
 generally useful. At evening all the girls sewed ; 
 the boys mended their shoes, having learned so
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 129 
 
 much from a traveling cobbler ; and the mother 
 taught them all her small stock of schooling would 
 allow. At least, they each knew how to read, and 
 most of them to write, after a very uncertain fash 
 ion. As to spelling, nobody knew how to spell in 
 those days. Rank and fashion did not imply or 
 thography. It has even been whispered by the 
 profane and iconoclastic that the great G. W. him 
 self would have been the first to sit down under the 
 superhuman test of a modern spelling-match. 
 
 But they did know the four simple rules of arith 
 metic, and could say the epigrammatic rhymes of 
 the old New England Primer and -the sibyllic for 
 mulas of the Assembly's Catechism as glibly as the 
 child of to-day repeats " The House that Jack 
 Built." 
 
 So the summer went on. The corn tasseled, the 
 wheat-ears filled well, the potatoes hung out rich 
 clusters of their delicate and graceful blossoms, 
 beans straggled half over the garden, the hens did 
 their duty bravely, and the cow produced a heifer 
 calf. 
 
 Father and the boys were fighting now, and 
 mother's merry words were more rare, though her 
 bright face still wore its smiling courage. They 
 heard rarely from the army. Now and then a post- 
 rider stopped at the Nepash tavern and brought a 
 few letters or a little news ; but this was at long 
 intervals, and women who watched and waited at 
 home without constant mail service and telegraphic 
 flashes, aware that news of disaster, of wounds, of
 
 130 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 illness, could only reach them too late to serve or 
 save ; and that to reach the ill or the dying involved 
 a larger and more disastrous journey than the sur 
 vey of half the world demands now, these women 
 endured pangs beyond our comprehension, and en 
 dured them with a courage and patience that might 
 have furnished forth an army of heroes, that did 
 go far to make heroes of that improvised, ill-condi 
 tioned, eager multitude who conquered the trained 
 bands of their oppressors and set their sons " free 
 and equal," to use their own dubious phraseology, 
 before the face of humanity at large. 
 
 By and by winter came on, with all its terrors. 
 By night wolves howled about the lonely house, 
 and sprung back over the palings when Eben went 
 to the door with his musket. Joe hauled wood 
 from the forest on a hand-sled ; and Dolly and 
 Diana took it in through the kitchen window, when 
 the drifts were so high that the woodshed door 
 could not be opened. Besides, all the hens were 
 gathered in there, as well for greater warmth as 
 for convenience in feeding, and the barn was only 
 to be reached with snowshoes and entered by the 
 window above the manger. 
 
 Hard times these were. The loom in the garret 
 could not be used, for even fingers would freeze in 
 that atmosphere ; so the thread was wound off, 
 twisted on the great wheel, and knit into stockings, 
 the boys learning to fashion their own, while Han 
 nah knit her anxiety and her hidden heartaches 
 into socks for her soldier-boys and their father.
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 131 
 
 By another spring the aching and anxiousness 
 were a little dulled, for habit blunts even the keen 
 edge of mortal pain. They had news that summer 
 that Ralph had been severely wounded, but had 
 recovered ; that John had gone through a sharp 
 attack of camp-fever ; that Reuben was taken pris 
 oner, but escaped by his own wit. Hannah was 
 thankful and grateful beyond expression. Perhaps 
 another woman would have wept and wailed, to 
 think all this had come to pass without her know 
 ledge or her aid ; but it was Hannah's way to look 
 at the bright side of things. Sylvia would always 
 remember how once, when she was looking" at 
 Mount Tahconic, darkened by a brooding tempest, 
 its crags frowning blackly above the dark forest 
 at its foot and the lurid cloud above its head torn 
 by fierce lances of light, she hid her head in her 
 mother's checked apron, in the helpless terror of 
 an imaginative child ; but, instead of being soothed 
 and pitied, mother had only laughed a little gay 
 laugh, and said gently, but merrily : 
 
 " Why, Sylvy, the sun 's right on the other side ; 
 only you don't see it." 
 
 After that she always thought her mother saw 
 the sun when nobody else could. And in a spirit 
 ual sense it was true. 
 
 Parson Everett rode over once or twice from 
 Litchfield that next summer, to fetch Sylvia and to 
 administer comfort to Hannah. He was a quaint, 
 prim little gentleman, neat as any wren, but mild- 
 mannered as wrens never are, and in a moderate
 
 132 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 way kindly and sympathetic. When the children 
 had haled their lovely sister away to see their rustic 
 possessions, Parson Everett would sit down in a 
 high chair, lay aside his cocked hat, spread his silk 
 pocket-handkerchief over his knees, and prepare to 
 oonsole Hannah. 
 
 " Mistress Perkins, these are trying times ; try 
 ing times. There is a sound of a going in the tops 
 of the mulberi-y-trees h-in ! Sea and waves roar 
 ing of a truth h-m ! h-m ! I trust, Mistress Per 
 kins, you submit to the Divine Will with meekness." 
 
 " Well, I don't know," replied Hannah, with a 
 queer little twinkle in her eye. " I don't believe I 
 be as meek as Moses, parson. I should like things 
 fixed different, to speak truth." 
 
 " Dear me ! Dear me ! h-m ! h-m ! My good 
 woman, the Lord reigneth. You must submit ; 
 you must submit. You know it is the duty of a 
 vessel of wrath to be broken to pieces, if it glori- 
 fieth the Maker." 
 
 " Well, mebbe 't is. I don't know much about 
 that kind o' vessel. I 've got to submit because 
 there ain't anything else to do, as I see. I can't 
 say it goes easy not 'n' be honest ; but I try to 
 look on the bright side, and to believe the Lord '11 
 take care of my folks better 'n I could, even ef they 
 was here." 
 
 " H-m ! h-m ! Well," stammered the embar 
 rassed parson, completely at his wits' end with this 
 cheerful theology, " well, I hope it is grace that 
 sustains you, Mistress Perkins, and not the vain
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 133 
 
 elation of the natural man. The Lord is in his 
 holy temple ; the earth is his footstool h-m ! " 
 The parson struggled helplessly with a tangle of 
 texts here ; but the right one seemed to fail him, 
 till Hannah audaciously put it in : 
 
 " Well, you know what it says about takin' care 
 of sparrers, in the Bible, and how we was more val- 
 erble than they be, a lot. That kind o' text comes 
 home these times, I tell ye. You fetch a person 
 down to the bed-rock, as Grandsir Penlyn used to 
 say, and then they know where they be. And ef 
 the Lord is reely the Lord of all, I expect He '11 
 take care of all ; 'nd I don't doubt but what He is 
 an' doos. So I can fetch up on that." 
 
 Parson Everett heaved a deep sigh, put on his 
 cocked hat, and blew his nose ceremonially with 
 the silk handkerchief. Not that he needed to ; but 
 as a sort of shaking off of the dust of responsibility 
 and ending the conversation, which, if it was not 
 heterodox on Hannah's part, certainly did not seem 
 orthodox to him. Yet he was a good man, and 
 served in the temple with all his placid little heart 
 and neat little brain ; and of him the Master could 
 say, rather than of many a larger nature : " He did 
 what he could." Greatest of all eulogies ! However, 
 he did not try to console her any more ; but con 
 tented himself with the stiller spirits in his own par 
 ish, who had grown up in and after his own fashion. 
 
 Another dreadful winter settled down on Nepas- 
 set township. There was food enough in the house 
 and firewood in the shed ; but neither food nor fire
 
 134 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 seemed to assuage the terrible cold, and with de 
 creased vitality decreased courage came to all. Hy 
 gienics were an unforeseen mystery to people of that 
 day. They did not know that nourishing food' is as 
 good for the brain as for the muscles. They lived 
 on potatoes, beets, beans, with now and then a bit 
 of salt pork or beef boiled in the pot with the rest ; 
 and their hearts failed, as their flesh did, with this 
 sodden and monotonous diet. One ghastly night 
 Hannah almost despaired. She held secret council 
 with Dolly and Eben, while they inspected the 
 potato-bin and the pork-barrel, as to whether it 
 would not be best for them to break up and find 
 homes elsewhere for the winter. Her father was 
 old and feeble. He would be glad to have her 
 with him, and Betty. The rest were all old enough 
 to " do chores " for their board, and there were many 
 families where he.lp was needed, both in Nepash 
 and Litchfield, since every available man had gone 
 to the war by this time. But while they talked a 
 great scuffling and squawking in the woodhouse 
 attracted the boys up-stairs. Joe seized the tongs 
 and Diana the broomstick. An intruding weasel 
 was pursued and slaughtered ; but not till two 
 fowls, fat and fine, had been sacrificed by the in 
 vader and the tongs together. The children were 
 all hungry, with the exhaustion of the cold weather, 
 and clamored to have these victims cooked for sup 
 per. Nor was Hannah unmoved by the appeal. 
 Her own appetite seconded. The savory stew came 
 just in time. It roused them to new life and spir-
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 135 
 
 its. Hannah regained courage, wondering how she 
 could have lost heart so far, and said to Dolly, as 
 they^jyashed up the supper-dishes : 
 
 " I guess we '11 keep together, Dolly. It '11 be 
 spring after a while, and we '11 stick it out to 
 gether." * 
 
 " I guess I would," answered Dolly. " And 
 don't you b'lieve we should all feel better to kill off 
 them fowls,^all but two ov three ? They 're mas 
 ter hands to eat corn, and it does seem as though 
 that biled hen done us all a sight o' good to-night. 
 Jest hear them children ! " 
 
 And it certainly was, as Hannah said, " musical 
 to .hear 'em." Joe had a cornstalk fiddle, and Eben 
 an old singing-book, which Diana read over his 
 shoulder while she kept on knitting her blue sock ; 
 and the three youngsters, Sam, Obed, and Betty, , 
 with wide mouths and intent eyes, followed Di 
 ana's " lining out " of that quaint hymn " The Old 
 Israelites," dwelling with special gusto and power 
 on two of the verses : 
 
 " We are little, 't is true, 
 
 And our numbers are few, 
 And the sons of old Anak are tall ; 
 But while I see a track 
 I will never go back, 
 But go on at the risk of my alL 
 
 " The way is all new, 
 
 As it opens to view, 
 And behind is the foaming 1 Red Sea ; 
 " So none now need to speak 
 
 Of the onions and leeks 
 Or to talk about garlics to me ! ' '
 
 136 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Hannah's face grew brighter still. " We '11 stay 
 right here ! " she said, adding her voice to the sin 
 gular old ditty with all her power : 
 
 " What though some in the rear 
 
 Preach up terror and fear, 
 And complain of the trials they meet, 
 
 Tho' the giants before 
 
 With great fury do roar, 
 I 'm resolved I can never retreat." 
 
 And in this spirit, sustained, no doubt, by the 
 occasional chickens, they lived the winter out, till 
 blessed, beneficent spring came again, and brought 
 news, great news, with it. Not from the army, 
 though. There had been a post-rider in Nepash 
 during the January thaw ; and he brought short 
 letters only. There was about to be a battle, and 
 there was no time to write more than assurances of 
 health and good hopes for the future. Only once 
 since had news reached them from that quarter. 
 A disabled man from the Nepash company was 
 brought home dying with consumption. Hannah 
 felt almost ashamed to rejoice in the tidings he 
 brought of John's welfare, when she heard his 
 husky voice, saw his worn and ghastly countenance, 
 and watched the suppressed agony in his wife's 
 eyes. The words of thankfulness she wanted to 
 speak would have been so many stabs in that wo 
 man's breast. It was only when her eight children 
 rejoiced in the hearing that she dared to be happy. 
 But the other news was from Sylvia. She was 
 promised to the schoolmaster in Litchfield. Only to 
 think of it ! Our Sylvy !
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 137 
 
 Master Loomis had been eager to go to the war ; 
 but his mother was a poor bed-rid woman, depen 
 dent on him for support, and all the dignitaries of 
 the town combined in advising and urging him to 
 stay at home, for the sake of their children, as well 
 as his mother. So at home he stayed, and fell into 
 peril of heart, instead of life and limb, under the 
 soft fire of Sylvia's eyes, instead of the enemy's 
 artillery. Parson "Everett could not refuse his con 
 sent, though he and madam were both loth to give 
 up their sweet daughter. But since she and the 
 youth seemed to be both of one mind about the 
 matter, and he being a godly young man, of decent 
 parentage and in a good way of earning his living, 
 there was no more to be said. They would wait a 
 year before thinking of marriage, both for better 
 acquaintance and on account of the troubled times. 
 
 " Mayhap the times will mend, sir," anxiously 
 suggested the schoolmaster to Parson Everett. 
 
 " I think not, I think not, Master Loomis. 
 There is a great blackness of darkness in hand, 
 the Philistines be upon us, and there is moving to 
 and fro. Yea, behemoth lifted himself and shaketh 
 his mane h-m ! ah ! h-m ! It is not a time for 
 marrying and giving in marriage, for playing on 
 sackbuts and dulcimers h-m ! " 
 
 A quiet smile flickered round Master Loomis's 
 mouth as he turned away, solaced by a shy, sweet 
 look from Sylvia's limpid eyes, as he peeped into 
 the keeping-room, where she sat with madam, on 
 his way out. He could afford to wait a year for
 
 138 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 such a spring-blossom as that, surely. And wait 
 he did, with commendable patience ; comforting 
 his godly soul with the fact that Sylvia was spared 
 meantime the daily tendence and care of a fretful 
 old woman like his mother ; for, though Master 
 Loomis was the best of sons, that did not blind him 
 to the fact that the irritability of age and illness 
 were fully developed in his mother, and he alone 
 seemed to have the power of calming her. She 
 liked Sylvia at first ; but became frantically jealous 
 of her as soon as she suspected her son's attach 
 ment. So the summer rolled away. Hannah and 
 her little flock tilled their small farm and gathered 
 plenteous harvest. Mindful of last year's experi 
 ence, they raised brood after brood of chickens, 
 and planted extra acres of corn for their feeding, 
 so that when autumn came, with its vivid, splen 
 did days, its keen winds and turbulent skies, the 
 new chicken - yard, which the boys had worked at 
 through the summer, with its wattled fence, its own 
 tiny spring, and lofty covered roosts, swarmed with 
 chickens, ducks, and turkeys. Many a dollar was 
 brought home about Thanksgiving time for the 
 fat fowls sold in Litchfield and Nepash ; but dol 
 lars soon vanished in buying winter clothes for so 
 many children, or, rather, in buying wool to spin 
 and weave for them. Mahala Green, the village 
 tailoress, came to fashion the garments, and the 
 girls sewed them. Uncouth enough was their as 
 pect ; but Fashion did not yet reign in Nepash, 
 and, if they were warm, who cared for elegance ?
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 139 
 
 Not Hannah's rosy, hearty, happy brood. They 
 sang, and whistled, and laughed with a force and 
 freedom that was kin to the birds and squirrels 
 among whom they lived ; and Hannah's kindly, 
 cheery face lit up as she heard them, while a half 
 sigh told that her husband and her soldier boys 
 were still wanting to her perfect contentment. 
 
 At last they were all housed snugly for winter. 
 The woodpile was larger than ever before, and all 
 laid up in the shed, beyond which a rough shelter 
 of chinked logs had been put up for the chickens, 
 to which their roosts and nest-boxes, of coarse 
 wicker, boards nailed together, hollow bark from 
 the hemlock logs, even worn-out tin pails, had all 
 been transferred. The cellar had been well banked 
 from the outside, and its darksome cavern held 
 good store of apples, pork, and potatoes. There 
 was dried beef in the stairway, squashes in the 
 cupboard, flour in the pantry, and the great gentle 
 black cow in the barn was a wonderful milker. 
 In three weeks Thanksgiving would come, and even 
 Hannah's brave heart sank as she thought of her 
 absent husband and boys ; and their weary faces 
 rose up before her as she numbered over to herself 
 her own causes for thankfulness, as if to say : " Can 
 you keep Thanksgiving without us ? " Poor Han 
 nah ! She did her best to set these thankless 
 thoughts aside, but almost dreaded the coming fes 
 tival. One night, as she sat knitting by the fire, 
 a special messenger from Litchfield rode up to the 
 door and brought stirring news. Master Loomis's
 
 140 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 mother was dead, and the master himself, seeing 
 there was a new levy of troops, was now going to 
 the war. But before he went there was to be a wed 
 ding, and, in the good old fashion, it should be on 
 Thanksgiving Day, and Madam Everett had bid 
 den as many of Sylvy's people to the feast as would 
 come. 
 
 There was great excitement as Hannah read aloud 
 the madam's note. The tribe of Perkins shouted 
 for joy; but a sudden chill fell on them when 
 mother spoke. 
 
 " Now, children, hush up ! I want to speak my 
 self, ef it 's a possible thing to git in a word edge 
 ways. We can't all go, fust and foremost. 'T ain't 
 noways possible." 
 
 "Oh, mother! Why? Oh, do! Not go to 
 Sylvy's wedding?" burst in the "infinite deep 
 chorus " of youngsters. 
 
 " No, you can't. There ain't no team in the 
 county big enough to hold ye all, if ye squeeze ever 
 so much. I 've got to go, for Sylvy 'd be beat out, 
 if mother did n't come. And Dolly 's the oldest. 
 She 's got a right to go." 
 
 Loud protest was made against the right of pri 
 mogeniture ; but mother was firm. 
 
 " Says so in the Bible. Leastways, Bible folks 
 always acted so. The first-born, ye know. Dolly 's 
 goin', sure. Eben 's got to drive ; and I must take 
 Obed. He 'd be the death of somebody, with his 
 everlastin' mischief, if I left him to home. Mebbe 
 I can squeeze in Betty, to keep him company. Joe
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 141 
 
 and Sam and Dianner won't be more 'n enough to 
 take care o' the cows, and chickens, and fires, and 
 all. Likewise of each other." 
 
 Sam set up a sudden howl at his sentence, and 
 kicked the mongrel yellow puppy, who leaped on 
 him to console him, till that long-suffering beast 
 yelped in concert. 
 
 Diana sniffed and snuffled, scrubbed her eyes 
 with her checked apron, and rocked back and 
 forth. 
 
 " Now, stop it ! " bawled Joe. " For the land's 
 sake, quit all this noise. We can't all on us go ; 'n' 
 for my part, I don't want to. We '11 hev a weddin' 
 of our own some day ! " and here he gave a sly look 
 at Dolly, who seemed to understand it and blushed 
 like an apple-blossom, while Joe went on : " Then 
 we '11 all stay to 't, I tell ye, 'nd have a right down 
 old country time." 
 
 Mother had to laugh. 
 
 " So you shall, Joe, and dance ' Money Musk ' 
 all night, if you want to, same as you did to the 
 corn-huskin\ Now, let 's see. Betty, she 's got 
 that chintz gown that was your Sunday best, Dolly, 
 the flowered one, you know, that Dianner out- 
 grovved. We must fix them lawn ruffles into 't ; 
 and there 's a blue ribbin laid away in my chest o' 
 drawers, that '11 tie her hair. It 's dreadful lucky 
 we 've got new shoes all round : and Obed's coat 
 and breeches is as good as new, ef they be made 
 out of his pa's weddin' suit. That 's the good o' 
 good cloth. It '11 last most forever. Joe hed 'em
 
 142 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 first, then Sam wore 'em quite a spell, and they cut 
 over jest right for Oby. My black paduasoy can be 
 fixed up, I guess. But, my stars ! Dolly, what hev 
 you got ? " 
 
 " Well, mother, you know I hain't got a real good 
 gown. There 's the black lutestring petticoat Sylvy 
 fetched me, two years ago ; but there ain't any 
 gown to it. We calculated I could wear that linsey 
 jacket to meeting, under my coat ; but 't would n't 
 do rightly for a weddin'." 
 
 " That 's gospel truth. You can't wear that any 
 how. You 've got to hev somethin'. 'T won't do to 
 go to Sylvy's weddin' in linsey woolsey ; but I don't 
 believe there 's more 'n two hard dollars in the house. 
 There 's a few Continentals ; but I don't count on 
 them. Joe, you go over to the mill fust thing in 
 the morning and ask Sylvester to lend me his old 
 mare a spell to-morrer, to ride over to Nepash, to 
 the store." 
 
 " Why don't ye send Doll ? " asked Joe, with 
 a wicked glance at the girl, that set her blushing 
 again. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Joseph, 'n' mind me. It 's 
 bedtime now ; but I '11 wake ye up airly," energet 
 ically remarked Hannah. And next day, equipped 
 in cloak and hood, she climbed the old mare's fat 
 sides and jogged off on her errand ; and by noon- 
 mark was safe and sound home again, looking a 
 little perplexed, but by no means cast down. 
 
 " Well, Dolly," said she, as soon as cloak and 
 hood were laid aside, " there 's the beautifulest
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 143 
 
 piece of chintz over to the store you ever see, 
 jest enough for a gown. It 's kind o' buff-colored 
 ground, flowered all over with roses, deep red 
 roses, as nateral as life. Squire Dart would n't 
 take no money for 't. He 's awful sharp about 
 them new bills. Sez they ain't no more 'n corn- 
 husks. Well, we hain't got a great lot of 'em, so 
 there 's less to lose, and some folks will take 'em ; 
 but he '11 let me have the chintz for 'leven yards o' 
 soldier's cloth, blue, ye know, like what we sent 
 pa and the boys. And I spent them two silver 
 dollars on a white gauze neck-kercher and a piece 
 of red satin ribbin for ye, for I 'm set on that 
 chintz. Now, hurry up 'nd fix the loom right off. 
 The web 's ready, then we '11 card the wool. I '11 
 lay ye a penny we '11 have them 'leven yards wove 
 by Friday. To-day 's Tuesday, Thanksgiving comes 
 a Thursday week, an' ef we have the chintz by sun 
 down a Saturday there '11 be good store of time for 
 Mahaly Green and you to make it afore Wednes 
 day night. We '11 hev a kind of a Thanksgiving, 
 after all. But I wisht your pa " - The sentence 
 ended in Hannah's apron at her eyes, and Dolly 
 looked sober ; but in a minute she dimpled and 
 brightened, for the pretty chintz gown was more to 
 her than half a dozen costly French dresses to a 
 girl of to-day. But a little cloud suddenly put out 
 the dimples. 
 
 " But, mother, if somebody else should buy it ? " 
 
 " Oh, they won't. I 've fixed that. I promised 
 
 to fetch the cloth inside of a week, and Squire Dart
 
 144 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 laid away the chintz for me till that time. Fetch 
 the wool, Dolly, before you set up the web, so 's I 
 can start." 
 
 The wool was carded, spun, washed, and put into 
 the dye-tub, one "run" of yarn that night; and 
 another spun and washed by next day's noon, for 
 the stuff was to be checked, and black wool needed 
 no dyeing. Swiftly hummed the wheel, merrily 
 flew the shuttle, and the house steamed with inodor 
 ous dye ; but nobody cared for that, if the cloth 
 could only be finished. And finished it was, the 
 full measure and a yard over ; and on Saturday 
 morning Sylvester's horse was borrowed again, and 
 Hannah came back from the village beaming with 
 pleasure, and bringing besides the chintz a yard of 
 real cushion lace, to trim the ruffles for Dolly's 
 sleeves, for which she had bartered the over yard of 
 cloth and two dozen fresh eggs. Then even busier 
 times set in. Mahala Green had already arrived, 
 for she was dressmaker as well as tailoress, and 
 was sponging and pressing over the black padua- 
 soy that had once been dove-colored and was Han 
 nah's sole piece of wedding finery, handed down 
 from her grandmother's wardrobe at that. A dark 
 green grosgraiu petticoat and white lawn ruffles 
 made a sufficiently picturesque attire for Hannah, 
 whose well-silvered hair set off her still sparkling 
 eyes and clear, healthy skin. She appeared in this 
 unwonted finery on Thanksgiving morning to her 
 admiring family, having added a last touch of 
 adornment by a quaint old jet necklace, that glit-
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 145 
 
 tered on the pure lawn neck-kerchief with as good 
 effect as a chain of diamonds and much more fit 
 ness. Betty, in her striped blue-and-white chintz, 
 a clean dimity petticoat, and a blue ribbon round 
 her short brown curls, looked like a cabbage rose 
 bud, so sturdy and wholesome and rosy that no 
 more delicate symbol suits her. 
 
 Obed was dreadful in the old-fashioned costume 
 of coat and breeches, ill-fitting and shiny with wear, 
 and his freckled face and round shock head of tan- 
 colored hair thrown into full relief by a big, square 
 collar of coarse tatten lace, laid out on his shoul 
 ders like a barber's towel, and illustrating the great 
 red ears that stood out at right angles above it. 
 But Obed was only a boy. He was not expected 
 to be more than clean and speechless ; and, to tell 
 the truth, Eben, being in the hobbledehoy stage of 
 boyhood, gaunt, awkward, and self-sufficient, 
 rather surpassed his small brother in unpleasant 
 aspect and manner. But who would look at the 
 boys when Dolly stood beside them, as she did now, 
 tall and slender, with the free grace of an untram- 
 meled figure, her small head erect, her eyes dark 
 and soft as a deer's, neatly clothed feet (not too 
 small for her height) peeping from under the black 
 lutestring petticoat, and her glowing brunette com 
 plexion set off by the picturesque buff-and-garnet 
 chintz gown, while her round throat and arms were 
 shaded by delicate gauze and snowy lace, and about 
 her neck lay her mother's gold beads, now and then 
 tangling in the heavy black curls that, tied high on
 
 146 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 her head with a garnet ribbon, still dropped in rich 
 luxuriance to her trim waist. 
 
 The family approved of Dolly, no doubt, though 
 their phrases of flattery were as homely as heartfelt. 
 
 " Orful slick-lookin', ain't she ? " confided Joe 
 to Eben ; while sinful Sam shrieked out : " Land 
 o' Goshen ! ain't our Dolly smart ? Sha'n't I fetch 
 Sylvester over ? " 
 
 For which I regret to state Dolly smartly boxed 
 his ears. 
 
 But the pung was ready, and Sam's howls had to 
 die out uncomforted. With many parting charges 
 from Hannah about the fires and the fowls, the 
 cow, the hasty -pudding, already put on for its long 
 boil, and the turkey that hung from a string in 
 front of the fire, and must be watched well, since 
 it was the Thanksgiving dinner, the " weddingers," 
 as Joe called them, were well packed in with blan 
 kets and hot stones and set off on their long drive. 
 
 The day was fair and bright, the fields of snow 
 purely dazzling ; but the cold was fearful, and, in 
 spite of all their wraps, the keen winds that whis 
 tled over those broad hilltops where the road lay 
 seemed to pierce their very bones, and they were 
 heartily glad to draw up, by twelve o'clock, at the 
 door of the parsonage and be set before a blazing 
 fire, and revived with sundry mugs of foaming and 
 steaming flip, made potent with a touch of old peach 
 brandy ; for in those ancient days, even in parson 
 ages, the hot poker knew its office and sideboards 
 were not in vain.
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 147 
 
 There was food also for the exhausted guests, 
 though the refection was slight and served infor 
 mally in the kitchen corner, for the ceremonial 
 Thanksgiving dinner was to be deferred till after 
 the wedding. And as soon as all were warmed 
 and refreshed they were ushered into the great 
 parlor, where a Turkey carpet, amber satin cur 
 tains, spider-legged chairs and tables, and a vast 
 carved sofa, cushioned also with amber, made a 
 regal and luxurious show in the eyes of our rustic 
 observers. 
 
 But when S} 7 lVy came in with the parson, who 
 could look at furniture ? Madam Everett had 
 lavished her taste and her money on the lovely 
 creature, as if she were her own daughter ; for she 
 was almost as dear to that tender, childless soul. 
 The girl's lustrous gold-brown hair was dressed 
 high upon her head in soft puffs and glittering 
 curls, and a filmy thread-lace scarf pinned across it 
 with pearl-headed pins. Her white satin petticoat 
 showed its rich lustre under a lutestring gown of 
 palest rose, brocaded with silver sprigs and looped 
 with silver ribbon and pink satin roses. Costly 
 lace clung about her neck and arms, long kid gloves 
 covered her little hands and wrists and met the 
 delicate sleeve-ruffles, and about her white throat a 
 great pink topaz clasped a single string of pearls. 
 Hannah could scarce believe her eyes. Was this 
 her Sylvy ? she who even threw Madam Everett, 
 with her velvet dress, powdered hair, and Mechlin 
 laces, quite into the background I
 
 148 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 " I did not like it, mammy dear," whispered 
 Sylvy, as she clung round her astonished mother's 
 neck. " I wanted a muslin gown ; but madam had 
 laid this by long ago, and I could not thwart or 
 grieve her, she is so very good to me." 
 
 " No more you could, Sylvy. The gown is amaz 
 ing fine, to be sure ; but as long as my Sylvy 's in 
 side of it 1 won't gainsay the gown. It ain't a speck 
 too pretty for the wearer, dear." And Hannah 
 gave her another hug. The rest scarce dared to 
 touch that fair face, except Dolly, who threw her 
 arms about her beautiful sister, with little thought 
 of her garments, but a sudden passion of love and 
 regret sending the quick blood to her dark brows 
 and wavy hair in a scarlet glow. 
 
 Master Loomis looked on with tender eyes. He 
 felt the usual masculine conviction that nobody 
 loved Sylvy anywhere near as much as he did ; 
 but it pleased him to see that she was dear to her 
 family. The parson, however, abruptly put an 
 end to the scene. 
 
 " H-m ! my dear friends, let us recollect our 
 selves. There is a time for all things. Yea, earth 
 yieldeth her increase h-m ! The Lord ariseth to 
 shake visibly the earth ahem ! Sylvia, will you 
 stand before the sophy ? Master Lumrnis on the 
 right side. Let us pray." 
 
 But even as he spoke the words a great knock 
 ing pealed through the house ; the brass lion's head 
 on the front door beat a reveille loud and long. 
 The parson paused, and Sylvia grew whiter than
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 149 
 
 before ; while Decius, the Parson's factotum, a 
 highly respectable old negro (who, with his wife 
 and daughter, sole servants of the house, had stolen 
 in to see the ceremony), ambled out to the vestibule 
 in most undignified haste. There came sounds of 
 dispute, much tramping of boots, rough voices, and 
 quick words; then a chuckle from Decius, the parlor 
 door burst open, and three bearded, ragged, eager 
 men rushed in upon the little company. 
 
 There was a moment's pause of wonder and 
 doubt, then a low cry from Hannah, as she flew 
 into her husband's arms ; and in another second 
 the whole family had closed around the father and 
 brothers, and for once the hardy, stern, reticent 
 New England nature, broken up from its founda 
 tions, disclosed its depths of tenderness and fidel 
 ity. There were tears, choking sobs, cries of joy. 
 The madam held her laced handkerchief to her 
 eyes, with real need of it; Master Loomis choked 
 for sympathy, and the parson blew his nose on the 
 ceremonial bandanna like the trumpet of a cavalry 
 charge. 
 
 " Let us pray ! " said he, in a loud but broken 
 voice ; and, holding fast to the back of the chair, he 
 poured out his soul and theirs before the Lord, 
 with all the fervor and the fluency of real feeling. 
 There was no stumbling over misapplied texts now, 
 no awkward objections in his throat, but only glow 
 ing Bible words of thankfulness and praise and joy. 
 And every heart was uplifted and calm as they 
 joined in the Amen.
 
 150 Atf OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 
 
 John's story was quickly told. Their decimated 
 regiment was disbanded, to be reformed of fresh 
 recruits, and a long furlough given to the faithful 
 but exhausted remnant. They had left at once for 
 home, aud their shortest route lay through Litch- 
 field. Night was near when they reached the 
 town ; but they must needs stop to get one glimpse 
 of Sylvy and tidings from home, for fear lay upon 
 them lest there might be trouble there which they 
 knew not of. So they burst in upon the wedding. 
 But Master Loornis began to look uneasy. Old 
 Dorcas had slipped out, to save the imperiled din 
 ner, and Pokey, the maid (n6e Pocahontas !), could 
 be heard clinking glass and silver and pushing 
 about chairs ; but the happy family were still ab 
 sorbed in each other. 
 
 " Mister Everett ! " said the madam, with dignity, 
 and the little minister trotted rapturously over to 
 her chair, to receive certain low orders. 
 
 " Yes, verily, yes h-m ! A my friends, we 
 are assembled in this place this evening " 
 
 A sharp look from madam recalled him to the 
 fact that this was not a prayer-meeting. 
 
 "A that is, yes, of a truth our purpose this 
 afternoon was to " 
 
 " That 's so ! " energetically put in Captain John. 
 Right about face ! Form ! " and the three Conti 
 nentals sprung to their feet and assumed their po 
 sition, while Sylvy and Master Loomis resumed 
 theirs, a flitting smile in Sylvia's tearful eyes mak 
 ing a very rainbow.
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING. 151 
 
 So the ceremony proceeded to the end, and was 
 wound up with a short prayer, concerning which 
 Captain Perkins irreverently remarked to his wife, 
 some days after : 
 
 " Parson smelt the turkey, sure as shootin', Han 
 nah. He shortened up so 'mazin' quick on that 
 prayer. I tell you I was glad on 't. I knew how 
 he felt. f I could ha' ate a wolf myself." 
 
 Then they all moved in to the dinner-table, a 
 strange group, from Sylvia's satin and pearls to the 
 ragged fatigue-dress of her father and brothers ; 
 but there was no help for that now, and really it 
 troubled nobody. The shade of anxiety in mad 
 am's eye was caused only by a doubt as to the 
 sufficiency of her supplies for three unexpected and 
 ravenous guests ; but a look at the mighty turkey, 
 the crisp roast pig, the cold ham, the chicken pie, 
 and the piles of smoking vegetables, with a long 
 vista of various pastries, apples, nuts, and pitchers 
 of cider on the buffet, and an inner consciousness 
 of a big Indian pudding, for twenty-four hours 
 simmering in the pot over the fire, reassured her, 
 and perhaps heartened up the parson, for after a 
 long grace he still kept his feet and added, with a 
 kindly smile : 
 
 " Brethren and friends, you are heartily welcome. 
 Eat and be glad, for seldom hath there been such 
 came and need to keep a Thanksgiving ! " 
 
 And they all said Amen !
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 " SAY, Josiah, let 's get up a fam'ly gatherin', 
 same as other folks do." t 
 
 " I 'd like to see a Hopson gatherin' ! Folks 
 would say 't was an ant-hill on a bender, Ozias. 
 We 're all too little. 'T won't do to make our 
 shortcomin's public, as you may say." 
 
 " Well, I 'd ruther be little and good than be an 
 Irish giant. I don't never hanker after between- 
 iiess. It goes quite a ways to be somethin' nobody 
 else is. Now there 's them Schuylers, the grandees 
 over to Newton. They do say and I guess it 's 
 so that they 're always a-talkin' pompious about 
 the ' Schuyler nub,' a kind of a bunion, like, that 
 grows on to the outside of their hands. Why, 
 they think the world on 't, because the Schuylers 
 all hev hed it as long as the memory of man en- 
 dureth not to the contrary. I 'd jest as lives be 
 little as hev a nub." 
 
 " Do tell ! Well, Ozy, folks is folksy, ain't 
 they ? Come to think on 't, there 's a tribe over 
 to Still River they call the Sandy Steeles, all of 
 'em red-heads. It 's pop'lar to call 'em sandy, but 
 you could warm your hands real well, the coldest 
 day in winter, to any crop amongst 'em. Carrots 
 ain't nowhere ; it 's coals."
 
 HOPSOX'S CHOICE. 153 
 
 " Anyhow, 'Siah, if we are little, we 're spry, 
 and that 's half the battle. Moreover, there have n't 
 none of us been hanged, nor put into state's-prison, 
 nor yet seen the inside of no jail." 
 
 " Not yet," said Josiah. 
 
 Ozias turned and looked at him with a twinkle 
 in his deep-set eye. 
 
 " Expectin' on 't, be ye ? " 
 
 Josiah laughed. 
 
 " I don't know as I be ; but life 's chock-full of 
 onexpectedness. There ; there 's the meetin' bell. 
 Come over to-night, will ye, after sundown. We '11 
 talk this here matter over deliberate then. The 
 idee kinder takes hold of me." 
 
 " Yes, I '11 drop in. 'Mandy '11 be real willin' 
 bo get rid of me for a spell. Ye see, Obed's first 
 wife's boy 's to home, and it seems as though ho 
 vvas a-thinkin' about sparkin' my girl. I don't 
 tnow. It's pecooliar, anyway, how quick girls 
 rets to be women-folks. I never see the beat on 't. 
 T is snip, snap, so to speak. Makes me think of 
 D riest Hawes's favoright hymn, or one line on 't, 
 hat he used to come down on real sollum : 
 
 ! 
 
 ' The creturs look, how old they grow I ' ' 
 
 " Hope you don't fuller that kotation out en- 
 ire," said Josiah, " next line bein', 
 
 ' And wait their fiery doom.' " 
 
 Ozias looked at him with a face of the demurest 
 an. 
 
 " Come along," he said. " 'Mandy's feller ain't 
 ne of the Still River Steeles."
 
 154 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 Josiah tried to solemnize his face, but barely 
 succeeded, as they entered the church door. 
 
 Hop Meadow was a little village in one of our 
 New England States, lying in a tiny green valley 
 shut in by low rolling hills, patched here and there 
 with yellow grainfields, squares of waving grass, 
 or crimson clover fragrant as the breath of Eden ; 
 and threaded by a big noisy brook that pursued its 
 joyful way to the great river rolling but a mile or 
 two beyond the valley, yet quite out of sight of its 
 inhabitants. In this fertile and sunny spot, when 
 New England was first settled, Andrew Hopson, 
 yeoman, from Kent, Old England, had staked out 
 his share of land, and built his hut ; he had mar 
 ried, shortly after, his second cousin, and in due 
 time a goodly family of ten children gathered 
 about them. Cousins, too, came over and settled 
 beside Andrew, and more distant relatives were 
 gradually persuaded to find homes in the new 
 country; so, partly for the sake of the numerous 
 Hopson s, and partly in memory of the goodly 
 Kentish hopfields which they hoped one day to 
 emulate, the village was called Hop Meadow. It 
 was a peculiarity of the Hopson family that almost 
 without exception its members were small in body. 
 Not a man, for years after their emigration, as for 
 unknown years before it, reached a height of over 
 five feet two ; most of them ignored the inches ; 
 and here and there a real dwarf carried the family 
 specialty to excess. 
 
 But if Nature had given them little bodily pres- 

 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 155 
 
 ence, they all had keen wits, humor, good temper, 
 and good principles, except exceptions. 
 
 Josiah and Ozias were Hopaons by name, but 
 there were Browns among the cousinry, and here 
 and there a Hopson girl had married " outside," 
 and brought her tall husband home to Thanksgiv 
 ing occasionally, half proud and half ashamed of 
 him. There was a tradition in the family that the 
 first Hopson, that Andrew who put up his log hut 
 in the sunny intervale beside Bright Brook, had 
 left Old England quite as much from pique as 
 principle. He had become a Puritan, no doubt 
 from deep conviction, but there was only the par 
 ish church for him to worship in, and the old rec 
 tor was a stanch adherent of Church and King. 
 When Parson Vivyan heard of the emigrating se- 
 ceders of Leyden he felt afraid that Andrew Hop- 
 son might cast in his lot with those fanatics ; and 
 having a kindly feeling for the small yeoman, 
 whom he had christened, and hoped to marry, he 
 exhorted him in season and out of season on the 
 folly of such rebellion against King and Church. 
 Andrew resented the interference, for he had nei 
 ther thought nor talked of leaving his goodly 
 farm ; and he grew tired, too, of the parson's one 
 theme of conversation. He evaded him every 
 where, and showed all the quick wit of his race in 
 those evasions ; like a drop of mercury he departed 
 fiom under Mr. Vivyan's touch and was off. So 
 that worthy man took unworthy advantage of his 
 position and preached a long sermon on the text,
 
 156 HOPSOX'S CHOICE. 
 
 '* The conies are a feeble folk, and dwell in the 
 clefts of the rock," in which discourse he took oc 
 casion to set out with humiliating detail what would 
 naturally be the fate of a poor little creature like 
 the cony if it forsook its home and friends in the 
 rocks that sheltered it, and went out to wandering' 
 and strife with wolves and foxes. 
 
 The natural history was correct, but the applica 
 tion was so pointed, when Parson Vivyan drew out 
 at length the analogy, and portrayed the fate of the 
 man unfitted by nature for wars and hardships who 
 should leave his neighbors and his native land for 
 the sake of a misguided and heretical opinion, that 
 not even the proverbial good-nature of the Hop- 
 sons could abide it. 
 
 Andrew took fire at once. He made immediate 
 preparation to sell his farm, a hereditary free 
 hold, and having obtained Prudence's consent to 
 follow him when he should have a home prepared 
 for her, he gathered his household goods together 
 and set sail for the New World, where, as he ex 
 pressed himself to Parson Vivyan, " there be no 
 prelatical priests to vex the soul, nor yet the un 
 godly kingdom of a carnal king." 
 
 That Sunday evening on which our story opens, 
 a bright June moonlight night, Ozias, avoiding the 
 youth who came slowly and slyly to the front door, 
 which stood hospitably open, with evident intent 
 of " sparking," betook himself to Josiah's house, 
 and perfected the plan for a Hopson reunion. 
 
 There were many letters to write, for the tribe
 
 NS CHOICE. 157 
 
 had branched far, if sparsely. There were two 
 Browns in Ohio and three Hopsons in Illinois, and 
 then three generations ago a certain Mark Hopson 
 had settled on a stony piece of land in Vermont, 
 to dig and sell iron, and called the village which 
 sprang up about his furnace, Hopyard ; but so unfit 
 was the name when that cleft in the hills became 
 strewed with slag-heaps, and overshadowed with 
 black smoke, that a scoffing stranger had said in 
 the tavern one night, " Better call it the Devil's 
 Hopyard, I should say." This ill name had fas 
 tened itself firmly on the little cluster of houses, 
 and though the Hopsons themselves swarmed 
 therein, and looked like a troop of gnomes when 
 ever there was a run of iron and they skipped 
 about the moulding beds in the lurid firelight, yet 
 outsiders were shy of settling there, and told 
 quaint stories of the tiny tribe who occupied the 
 land, and delved, smelted, and hauled pig-iron with 
 an energy that seemed to make up for strength. 
 
 It was currently reported that in the early days 
 of the Devil's Hopyard a tin-peddler from " be 
 low " stumbled on this small village and, trying to 
 catch some of the little people for purposes of ex 
 hibition, chased a dozen of them into the bung-hole 
 of an empty barrel, and triumphantly proceeded to 
 stop up the aperture and secure his prize ; but 
 while he pounded at the bung the agile creatures 
 made their escape through the spigot-hole, and de 
 rided him with shrill laughter and mocking ges 
 tures from the top of a barn, whither they had
 
 158 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 climbed on a wild grapevine. Peddler or not, 
 there were plenty of Hopsons there now. And then 
 there was Pamela Bunnell in remote parts of Iowa, 
 who had married out of the clan ; and Ozias 
 Brown, who had settled in Pennsylvania ; and Ma- 
 rinus Hopson, on Cape Cod ; and Tertius Hop- 
 son, in Quebec ; and more, whom time forbids me 
 to chronicle, but who all received an invitation 
 to this Hopson gathering ; and almost all meant to 
 come. 
 
 Then began a stir in Hop Meadow. There was 
 a big tent to be hired and pitched on the green 
 an even bit of turf with some fine elms about it, 
 right in front of the church and there were spare 
 rooms to clean and dust ; and the whole tavern 
 was engaged to afford lodgings if private rooms 
 overflowed ; and such baking, boiling, stewing, fry 
 ing, and other culinary performances set in that 
 one would have thought the ten lost tribes of Is 
 rael, all in a famished condition, were coming for a 
 month's stay, and needed unlimited pie, cake, poul 
 try, and pickles, except that there were hams, 
 boiled, roasted, and chopped or sliced for sand 
 wiches, prominent in every house ; and hams are 
 pork ! In all these preparations nobody was more 
 busied than Prudence Hopson, Widow Polly Hop- 
 son's daughter and only child. Bezaleel Hopson, 
 her father, had kept the " store " in Hop Meadow 
 forty years, when he died, and having married late 
 in life, left behind him this little five-year-old 
 daughter, and plenty of " means " to console his
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 159 
 
 wailing widow, who was an " outsider," and per 
 haps attracted her fat and jolly husband by her 
 extreme difference from any of his kindred. 
 
 Paulina Flower had been pretty in a certain 
 way : long curling yellow hair, limp and flabby 
 even in its trailing ringlets, languishing blue eyes, 
 a white skin, narrow, low forehead, and long chin, 
 seemed to express and adorn her manners and cus 
 toms with peculiar fitness. 
 
 Nobody but the Hopsons would ever have called 
 her Polly ; to " her folks " she was " Pawliny," 
 nothing less ; but Bezaleel could n't stand three 
 syllables, so he had followed the custom of his race, 
 and tried to make the best of his wife's melancholy 
 while he lived. 
 
 " She beats all," said Ozias to Josiah, his cousin 
 and special crony. " I never see a woman who 
 likes to howl so well in my life ; she 's forever 
 a-spillin' salt-water. She 'd oughter keep clus to 
 a pork-barrel, so 's to save brine. I b'lieve she 'd 
 set down an' cry to the heavenly gates, ef ever she 
 got there, to think the' wa'n't a fiery chari't sent 
 down to fetch her." 
 
 " Well," answered the more slow-minded Josiah, 
 " some folks is made so ; nothin' suits 'em, never. 
 Their eggs gets addled second day out, and if they 
 have n't really got a thing to cry for, they '11 do it 
 a-puppus. She 's one o' them that likes to cry 
 jest as well as you do to larf, Ozy. It ain't real 
 comfortin' to other folks to see 'em, and I will say 
 I 've hankered some to give Polly a hidiu'; 't would
 
 160 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 do her solid good ter have somethin' real to cry 
 for. But you can't tune another man's wife no 
 how." 
 
 " That 's so," sadly responded Ozias. 
 
 But Prudence " little Prudy," as everybody 
 called her, borrowing her title from the most ut 
 terly delightful children's books ever written 
 was a thorough Hopson. 
 
 When her father died she was but five years 
 old, and though she mourned him heartily and 
 sincerely, it was as children mourn, with brief tears 
 and tender remembrance, but a blessed incompe 
 tence of understanding what loss, death, separation, 
 really mean. She saw her mother no more, if no 
 less, tearful ; she could not be more doleful and 
 foilorn under any loss than she had been in the 
 daily fashion of her life ; and Prudy was as differ 
 ent from Polly as was possible, a gay, sparkling, 
 happy creature, everybody's pet and darling. If 
 she had lost one father she had twenty uncles and 
 cousins ready to protect and indulge her, and she 
 grew up to womanhood as nearly spoiled as her 
 sweet honest nature would allow. But who ever 
 was proof against those beautiful brown eyes, red 
 and saucy lips, that tossing, wavy, shining hair, 
 never in order, but never anything but exquisite in 
 its dark shadows and golden lights ? 
 
 Who could resist that coaxing, caressing, beguil 
 ing voice, a voice that could soften with pity 
 and sparkle with mischief? Who did not clamor 
 for the help of those deft and taper fingers that
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 161 
 
 were always ready and able to do whatever was 
 asked of them ? It was Prudy who came to the 
 front now in all the adornments of preparation. 
 She made the long wreaths of ground pine and 
 coral pine for festooning the tent and the church, 
 and fastened them up under knots of goldenrod and 
 bosses of purple aster, for the Hopsou gathering 
 was early in September. She arranged the baskets 
 of fruit that adorned the table, so that pink and 
 purple and amber grapes lay heaped together on 
 vine-leaves, and the profusion of green and gold 
 pears was set off with the earliest scarlet foliage of 
 the maple and deep maroon of lingering beet 
 leaves. 
 
 She made the wonderful ornaments of stars and 
 roses and architectural devices that would have 
 adorned the countless pies had not the oven baked 
 them out of all shape. And it was Prudy who 
 manufactured the whitest silver cake and the clear 
 est jelly that made contrast of ivory and ruby be 
 side the grosser aliments of cold ham and roast 
 turkey. 
 
 Her mother looked on and shook her melancholy 
 head when Prudy dragged that unwilling parent to 
 see what had been done. 
 
 " Yes, I dare say ; it 's pretty, I suppose. But, 
 oh, I can't help a-mournin' to think how that your 
 pa would ha' relished it. This world 's a fleetin' 
 ^how, Prudence. Ef you 'd ha' ben through what 
 I have you would n't take no great of int'rest in 
 these trifliu' things."
 
 162 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 Prudy laughed ; her father had been dead a 
 thousand years to her ; and her mother's melan 
 choly moans had no more significance to her than 
 the wind in the spout. 
 
 " Well, mammy, they 're pretty, anyway, and I 
 expect most of these things will be a fleetin' show 
 when a crowd of hungry Hopsons get hold of 'em. 
 Who 's coming to our house to stay ? do you 
 know yet ? " 
 
 " I should ha' liked to have Pamely Bunnell and 
 her boy, but she was bespoke by Ozias's folks. I 
 used to know her some before I was married, for 
 she married Bunnell when he lived to our place, 
 and while she lived here a spell I come here to 
 visit, and then I see your pa. Oh, I remember of 
 it well, the fust time I see him ; 't was to a meetin' 
 of the sons an' daughters of Massachusetts. Josiah 
 he 'd put in the paper that ' all who are or were 
 born in Massachusetts is expected to attend th' an- 
 nooal meetin' in Clark Hall.' You see, Josiah 's 
 wife she come from Hingham ; and well do I rec'- 
 lect he got up that evenin' and said the ' highest 
 "gaol" of his ambition hed always been to marry 
 a Massachusetts girl.' Some did n't really under 
 stand what he meant, but Pamely she said he 'd 
 got the wrong word ; Josiah 's a little mixy, always 
 an' forever was and will be ; and your pa he bu'st 
 out laughin' behind me, and I looked round and 
 see him. He had n't no business there, only 't he 
 provided the provisions, and he 'd jest fetched in 
 a pot of pickles 't somebody VI forgot, and Oh !
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 163 
 
 I 've kinder run off from Pamely. Well, I can't 
 hev her : she writ to Ozias for to have her place in 
 his house. I s'pose 't is more cherk up there than 
 't is to a solitary widder's like me. One that 's 
 seen so much 'fliction and is so cast down into the 
 valley of mournin' as I be ain't good company. 
 And jest my luck ! me that never could abide 
 children they've sent Marinus's people to us 
 seven small children, and she 's weakly. Oh 
 land ! how be I to bear it ? " 
 
 Prudy laughed again ; she could n't help it ; the 
 idea of seven children secretly delighted her sun 
 shiny soul. What romps they would have ! W r hat 
 corn-poppings ! she would rub up the old warm 
 ing-pan to-day; and there were five kittens in the 
 barn ! 
 
 Polly did not betray her own secret hopes to her 
 daughter. Like many languid, selfish, sloppy, 
 mournful people, she had a certain cunning or sly 
 ness which tended to amuse her, and sometimes 
 other people, when it did not vex them ! She had 
 purposely delayed asking Pamela Bunnell, who was 
 a widow with one son, to her house, lest the son 
 should take a fancy to Prudy. 
 
 Mrs. Polly did not intend to lose her girl if she 
 could help it : no servant could or would so neatly 
 curl her lank ringlets, that, threaded with the gray 
 of forty-nine years, still dropped absurdly down her 
 back ; nor would any other woman wait on her so 
 handily and cheerfully on the frequent days when 
 she chose to keep her bed, and must be fed with the
 
 164 HOPSOX'S CHOICE. 
 
 daintiest morsels that Prudy knew just how to pre 
 pare. 
 
 To be sure, Hopson Bunnell, Pamela's boy, was 
 " well spoke of " by such of the clan as had heard of 
 him, and had some property of his own, beside a re 
 version of the great prairie farm his mother super 
 intended with all the energy and skill a bigger 
 woman could have brought to bear on the prem 
 ises ; but for all this Mrs. Polly cared nothing. 
 Her listless self-absorption would have come be 
 tween Prudy and the best match possible, so she 
 had never asked Pamela who expected it of her 
 to come to her house, but had gently hinted to 
 the Reception- Committee of the occasion that she 
 could take a large family if they were mostly chil 
 dren, and could be crowded two or three in a 
 chamber. Prudy had her own intimate friend, of 
 course, in the village, for though there were but 
 few young girls in Hop Meadow, the Hopsons hav 
 ing a way of marrying young, there were a few, 
 and Lizzy Brown was the best and prettiest, next 
 to Prudy, a sober, steady, discreet maiden, with 
 brown hair and blue eyes, who looked at Prudence 
 as a robin might at an oriole, but did not treat her 
 at all as the one bird treats the other, but held her in 
 all adoration, and served her with earnest affection. 
 
 At last the day of the Hopson reunion arrived, 
 one of those soft, golden, gorgeous days in au 
 tumn when the air is quiet, the heavens serene, 
 and the earth steeped in dreams and rainbows ; 
 but the Hopsons were not still ; not at all. They
 
 ON-S CHOICE. 165 
 
 swarmed like troops of good-sized fairies through the 
 wide streets, laughing, shaking hands, chattering, 
 singing, full of welcome and cheer, slight, airy 
 girls ; rounder but still tidy matrons, with dolls of 
 babies in their arms ; fat little men, laughing and 
 joking with every new-comer, the only woeful 
 face being Mrs. Polly's ; while Prudy, in the dainti 
 est white gown, with a big bunch of red roses at 
 her belt, was threading the crowd everywhere, mar 
 shaling the guests to their several lodgings, smiling 
 at every child, coquetting with every old man, and 
 turning a bewitching cold shoulder on the youths 
 who buzzed about her like contending bumble-bees 
 on a Canada thistle, prickliest and most delicate of 
 its tribe. 
 
 But one of the race, Pamela's boy, towered far 
 above the rest, to his own disgust and their amuse 
 ment. Hopson Bunnell was all of six feet in his 
 stockings, powerful, athletic, and handsome, with 
 dark keen eyes, firm lips, a shock of deep brown 
 curls, and a silky beard of darkness that showed 
 well against the cool healthiness of his smooth if 
 sunburned skin. 
 
 " I know he 's awful tall," said Pamela, depre- 
 ?atingly, to Ozias, "and I've set my heart on his 
 narryin' one of our folks. Seems as though Provi- 
 lence interfered serious with my plans. The' ain't 
 10 girls anywhere near to us, and them that 's near- 
 >st Hopson don't seem to fellowship ; but I never 
 eemed to sense his tallness as I do now, 'mongst 
 he rest of us."
 
 1C6 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 " Well," answered Ozias, " 't ain't always best to 
 make no great of plans about folks's marryin' ; 
 they gener'lly do as they darn please about that, 
 I 've observed. Providence hes got severial other 
 things to do, I guess, than makin' matches. I 'm a 
 freewill Baptist, so fur as that comes in, now I tell 
 
 ye." 
 
 " Oh my ! " exclaimed Pamela. " I don't ex 
 pect to settle nothing, nor I have n't said a word 
 to Hopson, you better believe. I was only speakin' 
 of it to you, Ozy, out of the fullness of my heart, 
 as you may say, accordin' to Scripter." 
 
 " Well, I sha'n't tell ; and 't ain't best to put a 
 finger into sech pies. Natur is pecooliar, Pamely ; 
 you can't never tell how it '11 work ; so I calc'late 
 always to leave out the bung for fear of a bu'st. 
 There 's my 'Mandy, now. Mariar bein' dead ever 
 Bence the girl was ten year old, I 've been consider- 
 'ble pestered what to do with her ; but fin'lly I cow- 
 eluded to see 't she read the Bible right along and 
 said her prayers punctooal, and then I let her 
 went. She had her ups an' downs, but she 's come 
 up about as good as the average ; and now she 's 
 got to keepin' company with a pretty clever feller, 
 and she '11 be off my mind afore long." 
 
 Hopson Bunnell, all unconscious of his mother's 
 wish in his behalf, was meantime enjoying himself 
 mightily ; he recovered from his awkwardness very 
 fast, turning the laugh on his kindred in various 
 ways, and dangling after Prudy like an amiable 
 giant in the toils of a fairy queen. She seemed to
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 167 
 
 this tall, handsome fellow something daintier than a 
 flower, and more bewitching than a bird ; he never 
 tired of seeing that graceful little figure waiting on 
 the tables, coaxing the old men with dainty morsels, 
 filling the boys with good things, hollow though 
 they were " down to their boots," as she declared, 
 being unused to boys ; or playing with the little 
 girls, who all adored her. But to Hopson himself 
 Prudy was the most malicious elf ! Nobody teased 
 him as she did ; nobody could. 
 
 " Cousin Hopson," she said to him, the day after 
 the feast, for though almost all the rest had gone, 
 a few of the more distant remained to extend a 
 visit they had come so far to make, " Cousin 
 Hopson, will you please to do something for me ? " 
 
 " I guess I will," alertly answered Hopson, be 
 witched with the sweet, shy voice. 
 
 " Just hand me down one of them stars to put in 
 my hair, will you ? " and Prudy vanished with a 
 peal of mocking mirth, echoed by a cackle of fat 
 laughter from Tertius Hopson, the Quebec cousin, 
 i very jolly, rosy, stout old bachelor, looking for. 
 ill the world like a Sir Toby jug. 
 
 " She beats all," said Tertius. " I never see a 
 lumbird fuller o' buzz than little Prudy." 
 
 Hopson bit his lips. " I '11 be even with her," 
 le said to himself ; so that very evening, as some 
 >f the clan gathered round a tiny open fire in 
 )zias's kitchen, rather for companionship than 
 old, the young farmer said to Prudy : " You 
 lighter to be put to use, Prudy. I'd like to
 
 168 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 buy ye for a mantelshelf figure ; you 're just big 
 enough." 
 
 " I ain't for sale," snapped Prudy. 
 
 " Why, you 'd do first-rate ; them things are all 
 the go, and you 're the exact size." 
 
 So saying, he stooped, and before Prudy knew 
 what had happened, two strong hands grasped her 
 tiny waist, and she was swung up like a feather by 
 those mighty arms, and set on the broad oaken 
 shelf among the flatirons, candlesticks, and other 
 miscellaneous articles thereon ; while Hopson, re 
 treating a step, looked her in the face, and a roar 
 of laughter from Tertius, Ozias, 'Mandy, Josiah, 
 and the rest completed her discomfiture. Prudy 
 colored scarlet, her eyes flashed, and one little fist 
 clinched instinctively ; the other hand held fast to 
 the shelf. 
 
 " Cousin 'Zias, take me down," she called out im 
 peratively. 
 
 " Bless your soul, Prudy ! I ain't big enough." 
 
 " Get a chair." 
 
 " Why, folks is settin' on 'em, every one," and 
 Ozias looked round with an air of innocent dismay 
 that renewed the laughter. 
 
 " I '11 take ye down, Prudy, if you '11 say ' please,' 
 like a good baby," calmly remarked Hopson. 
 
 Prudy choked. " I '11 stay here all night first," 
 she snapped. 
 
 "Well, 'tis jest as I said now. You do make 
 about as goodlookin' a figure for a mantel as ever 
 was."
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 169 
 
 " Take me down ! " shrieked Prudy. 
 
 But oh, how pretty she was up there ! Dresden 
 could not match with her costliest figurines the 
 delicate creature in her china-blue gown (a sudden 
 chill having come after the September heats had 
 made woolen garments comfortable), falling in soft 
 dim folds just to the smallest shoes that ever a 
 Hopson even could wear, her white throat set off 
 by carnation ribbons under the lace frill, and an 
 other bow of that tender, vivid color in her waving, 
 
 O ' 
 
 shining hair, her eyes sparkling, her red lips apart, 
 and her cheeks rosier than her ribbons. Hopson 
 Bunnell could have looked at her forever, but he did 
 not say so. " Say ' please ' now real pretty," 
 was all he did say, unconsciously drawing nearer 
 ;o the lovely little creature. 
 
 Prudy was quickwitted ; she controlled her rage a 
 noment. " W-e-11 " reluctantly "I don' know 
 )ut I 'd whisper it, rather 'n stay up here all night." 
 
 Luckless man ! He drew near to catch the 
 >recious whisper, but as he turned his ear, Prudy's 
 land descended on his brown cheek with a resound- 
 ng slap that left a print of five little fingers im- 
 >ressed thereon visibly for at least an hour ; but 
 las! in avenging herself Prudy lost her balance, 
 nd Hopson caught her and kissed the lovely, indig- 
 ant face before he really knew what he was doing. 
 
 " ' A kiss for a blow, always bestow,' " cackled 
 'ertius. And everybody roared again, except 
 'rudy, who dropped to the floor, burst into tears, 
 id fled.
 
 170 HOBSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 Hopson was really ashamed of himself, but it 
 did seem to him as if his head whirled ; a sense 
 of wild bliss ran in all his veins ; he knew well that 
 he had taken an unfair advantage of Prudy, but 
 so reckless was his delight that he was not a bit 
 repentant. 
 
 However, he had to repent next day. Prudy 
 turned into a perfect snowball whenever he came 
 near her. It took a week of abasement and apolo 
 gies to put them on the old footing (externally) 
 again. Could he tell, poor fellow, being only a 
 man, how Prudy secretly exulted in the apology she 
 professed to despise ? i. e., " You were so sweet 
 and so pretty, I could n't help it, Prndy." 
 
 How was he to know that these words rang in 
 her ears like a song of joy day and night, or that 
 in the once still depths of her heart Prudy recog 
 nized a sweet perturbation that dated from the 
 second she was held in those powerful arms, close 
 against a manly, throbbing heart? 
 
 But nobody could be cross in this clear autumnal 
 weather, with gay leaves beginning to illuminate 
 the woods, daily parties to hunt for gentian blos 
 soms, to gather " wintergreen plums," to heap up 
 red and golden apples under the orchard boughs, 
 or clamber after fragrant wild grapes on the hill 
 sides. Hopson grew deeper in love with every 
 new day, and Prudy fought more feebly against 
 the chains that seemed daily to imprison her will 
 and her thoughts. Perhaps the course of true love 
 might for once have run smooth but for that un-
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 171 
 
 ruly member that spoils most of our plans in this 
 world, and brings to naught the best intentions and 
 the sincerest goodwill. Tertius Hopson still lin 
 gered in Hop Meadow, as well as Pamela Bunnell 
 and her son. Tertius was living in Quebec "on 
 his means," as we Yankees phrase it. He had made 
 some money there in trade, and settled down to 
 enjoy it in a sort of selfish fashion that was not 
 natural to his jolly, kindly disposition. 
 
 He had never known how close and pleasant are 
 the ties of kindred till now ; he seemed at last 
 to have got home ; here was the stir, the interest, 
 the sweetness of a daily intercourse hitherto denied 
 him, and it seemed to warm and rejuvenate his life, 
 to quicken his pulses, to brighten his ideas ; he 
 loved it ; he could not tear himself away ; and 
 above all things he loved to " bother " Polly Hop- 
 son. Whenever she sighed, he smiled, broad and 
 beaming as the harvest moon ; whenever she be 
 wailed herself, he laughed ; when she wept, as now 
 and then she did weep over the departed Bezaleel, 
 he would deliberately sit down and sing to her all 
 the queer old songs he had learned in the "old 
 country," as he persisted in calling Quebec, till the 
 Meadow boys learned by heart " The Leather Bot- 
 tel," "The British Grenadiers," "Hunting the 
 I Tare," " Lasses and Lads," and sundry other rol 
 licking ditties which once delighted the ears of our 
 forefathers across the water, and have in them still 
 a ringing, hearty smack of country squiredom and 
 rural sports. At first Polly was outraged ; her
 
 172 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 chin fell half an inch, and her curls frayed out of 
 cuiiiuess with the solemn shakes of her head and 
 the dampness of her tears ; but she endured from 
 helplessness, and began at last to smile wintrily 
 and forbearingly on the unconquerable jollity of 
 the man whom at first she mildly contemned. It 
 threatened to be the old story of " first endure, 
 then pity, then embrace ; " and, as usual, outsiders 
 saw most of the game. 
 
 Ozias and Josiah, after their custom, sat in con 
 clave upon the matter. They had just set the cider- 
 mill going, which they owned in common, and 
 perched themselves on a cart-neap, where they 
 could " chirk up the hoss " which revolved with 
 the beam of the press, and yet indulge in that gos 
 sip which delighted their souls, combining business 
 with pleasure. 
 
 " Say," began Josiah, " have n't you sorter sur 
 mised, Ozy, that Tertius favors Hop Meadow for 
 a resid in '-place, so to speak?" 
 
 " Well, I hev," Ozias answered, " and I should n't 
 be no more 'n surprised ef that he settled down 
 here after a spell ; he 's lonesome up to Quebec, 
 I expect. There ain't nothin' like your own folks, 
 after all, when you 're gettin' along in years ; the' 
 don't nobody else sorter seem to belong t' ye." 
 
 " It does make a sight of difference," replied 
 the moralizing Josiah. " When one 's young, and 
 havin' their monsterious days, it don't make no 
 great of difference where they be, nor what they 're 
 ft-doin' of ; but come to git rheumatiz onto a feller,
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 173 
 
 and hev the grinders cease because they are few, as 
 Scripter tells, why, you begin to be everlastin' 
 thankful that there 's a house 'n' home for ye, and 
 a woman to cook your vittles." 
 
 " That 's so, Josh, and that 's why I 'm a-goin' 
 to hev 'Mandy and her feller settle down along 
 with me when they get married. She '11 hev the 
 farm when 
 
 The end o' my nose 
 An' the tips o' my toes 
 Is turned up to the roots of the daisies, 
 
 as the songbook says ; and she might as well stop 
 to hum and look after me as to go further and fare 
 worse. But seems to me kinder as if Tertius was 
 slyin' round Polly, if you '11 b'lieve it." 
 
 " Heavens to Betsey ! " gasped Josiah. " That 
 old feller?" 
 
 " Well, I never see the time, Josh, 't a man was 
 too old to git married, nor a woman nuther, for 
 that matter. It 's everlastin' queer, surely, for him 
 fco take a likin' to Polly. I 'd as lieves hang on to 
 a wet dish-rag as her, when all 's said an' done, but 
 many men of many minds,' as the sayin' goes, and 
 if she 's to his'n, why, I don't make nor meddle 
 tvith 'em. She 's got a good place for to take him 
 nto." 
 
 " Yes ; that 's suthin. He 's got means, I s'pose, 
 Dut it 's kind o' lonesome to live the way he does 
 ip to (^webec, a-lodgin', as he calls it, and to be 
 ;ook down with the sarcastic rheuinatiz as he was,
 
 174 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 " Land sakes ! what 's that ? " asked Ozias. 
 
 " Well, I don't reelly know ; I b'lieve it 's prin 
 cipally confined to one leg, an' starts pretty high 
 up, but that 's what he called it, anyway ; mabbe 
 'tis the English name on't; but it's real severe, 
 now I tell ye ; he said it made him holler like a 
 loon." 
 
 " Polly can cry for somethin' then," dryly re 
 marked Ozias. 
 
 " And I sorter surmise, Ozy, that Pamely's boy 
 is a-hankerin' after little Prudy." 
 
 " Well, I 've had my idees sot that way too. 
 He 's a clever feller as ever was ; but I should hate 
 to lose little Prudy. Darn the cretur ! ain't there 
 nobody else to Hop Meadow he could set his eyes 
 onto but her?" 
 
 " I 'd like to know who else," answered Josiah. 
 " 'Mandy 's spoke for, as well you know ; and I 
 have heered lately that Lizzy Brown is promised to 
 Marinus's nevy down to Cape Cod ; he 's mate to 
 a threemaster, so they tell, and is off on a voyage 
 jest now, so they don't talk on 't, but it 's so. Ma- 
 rinus has kep' his mouth shut. He's a kind of 
 a dumb, oyster cretur." (Poor " mixy " Josiah 
 meant " austere.") 
 
 " Nat'ral for him to keep his mouth shut," put 
 in Ozias ; " they gener'lly do." 
 
 Josiah stared, but serenely went on. " But he 
 did allow 't was so to Aunt Nancy, an' she up an' 
 told my wife, so ye see the' ain't reelly nobody but 
 little Prudy to hev."
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 175 
 
 " Hobson's choice for him, ain't it ? Hullo, 
 young feller ! Speak of a donkey 'n' you see an ear, 
 direct ; " for here Hopson Bunnell stalked into the 
 cider-mill shed, his handsome face warm with exer 
 cise, and his eyes softened and deepened by his un 
 spoken thoughts. 
 
 " We was just a-talkin' about you," exclaimed 
 Josiah. 
 
 " And Cousin 'Zias had to call me a donkey. 
 Now is that friendly ? " laughed Pamela's boy. 
 
 " There 's worse critters than donkeys," blandly 
 answered Ozias ; " but I was only a-usin' the term 
 proverbially, as it were, or was, or might be. Fact 
 is, my eyes is gettin' open to your designs, sir, and 
 I was kind of dammin' in a genteel way about 
 your carryin' off little Prudy to lowy, when she 'a 
 the one we all set by like our eyes, and I was askin' 
 in a general manner, ef there was n't no other Hop- 
 son girl you could have took up with beside her ; 
 and Josiah said the' wa'n't the rest was all be 
 spoke ; an' I said 't was Hobson's choice with ye." 
 
 Pamely's boy flushed to his dark curls ; his head 
 was lifted as if some proud delight lay on a height 
 that he could see, but no other, and his voice rang 
 ^ut in subdued yet clear cadence as he answered : * 
 
 " There is n't another girl, outside of Hop 
 Meadow neither, Ozias j there ain't in the world. 
 There 's nobody for me but little Prudy. You was 
 ight one way ; she 's Hopson's choice, and no 
 )ther." 
 
 Unlucky mother-tongue ! why are 6 and p so
 
 176 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 near alike in our queer old language that the dis 
 tinction between them is almost inexpressible by 
 human lips ? As luck would have it Prudy and 
 Lizzy Brown had privately stolen up to the cider- 
 press, thinking it deserted, to indulge in the surrepti 
 tious but dear delight of sucking sweet new cider 
 through a straw. They were old and demure 
 enough to be ashamed of the trick if any one saw 
 them, but the rich fruity beverage was delicious to 
 their girlish memories, and slyly they stole out to 
 indulge in the tipple, carrying gold-bright straws 
 in their hands, and came up behind the shed just 
 in time to hear Hopson's declaration. 
 
 Prudy's face flamed, the tender visions that had 
 dwelt in her dumb heart and softened her cool 
 brown eyes were struck by the lurid light of sud 
 den fury, and fled away ; she grasped Lizzy's arm 
 with a viselike grip. 
 
 " Come right away," she whispered ; and fleet as 
 a silent pair of goblins they left the green yard 
 where the shed stood, and disappeared down a nar 
 row lane that led to Josiah's barn. 
 
 Prudy rushed into that friendly shelter, banged 
 the door behind her, relaxed her hold of Lizz} r , and 
 sitting down promptly on a wheelbarrow, cried 
 with rage. 
 
 " Why Prudy," said the gentle Elizabeth, " what 
 in the world 's the matter ? " 
 
 " Did n't you he-he-hear him ? the awful, hor 
 rid, mean thing," sobbed Prudy. 
 
 " Hear who, dear ? "
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 177 
 
 " Why, that great, horrid Hopson Bunnell. 
 Did n't you hear him I 'in sure he spoke out 
 loud enough say that he 'd got to marry me : 
 't was Hobson's choice and no other ? " 
 
 Prudy did extend the facts a little, it is true ; 
 she did n't mean to 1 extend them, but she gave 
 the idea as she took it in, just as the rest of us 
 poor mortals do, without a thought that any other 
 construction than her own could be put upon the 
 words, or that she had confounded those confounded 
 letters, forgive the phrase, dear reader ; they con 
 tinually exasperate me, b and p. 
 
 " No, I did n't hear him," condoled Lizzy. 
 " Poor dear Prudy, did he say such a mean thing ? 
 Well, never mind, dear, that don't make it so ; you 
 know you have n't got to take him. You don't like 
 him" 
 
 Prudy reared her dishevelled little head from the 
 side of the wheelbarrow, like a snake about to strike. 
 
 " You goose ! " she said. I do like him. Oh 
 dear ! oh dear ! Lizzy Brown, 1 11 kill you if you 
 3ver tell. But I do. I can't help it, and, oh ! 
 ind and I thought he liked me first, or I never 
 -oh! oh!"- 
 
 Here a flood of tears literally drowned her voice, 
 ind in Lizzy's soft eyes tears shone with sympa- 
 ;hetic brightness. She sat down by Prudy, and 
 )egaii to sob too. 
 
 " And he oh, Liz! he kissed me once, and 
 low he says 't was Hobsou's choice. I 'd just like 
 o shoot him."
 
 178 HOPSOX'S CHOICE. 
 
 Prudy started suddenly, and the wheelbarrow, 
 overloaded with grief and girls, as suddenly tipped 
 over, leaving girls and grief in a heap on the barn 
 floor. This was too much for Prudy. Blinded 
 with hayseed, damp with tears, choked with hys 
 teric laughter, it was a good hour before Lizzy 
 could calm her or restore her to her proper aspect, 
 and make her consent to go home quietly, though 
 with burning vengeance in her heart. 
 
 Poor Hopson ! the world was hollow now, and 
 his doll stuffed with bran. If he did n't want to 
 go into a convent, he did want to go back to Iowa, 
 and yet Prudy controlled him like a Fate, and 
 kept him miserable, abject, and longing in Hop 
 Meadow, growing thin, pale, and silent, after the 
 approved hang-dog fashion of unhappy lovers who 
 are tacitly allowed to flaunt their wretchedness all 
 abroad, probably because it is so transitory. 
 
 Polly sighed and wept. Tertius laughed and 
 sang more than ever. Changeful as the aptest 
 specimen of her sex, Polly now earnestly desired 
 that Prudy should marry and leave her to Tertius, 
 for Polly had at last consented to try another Hop- 
 son " try " in more senses than one and much 
 she feared that Prudy would send " Pamely's boy " 
 home in despair. 
 
 Pamela, too, was distressed to the heart with her 
 boy's misery. She dared not try to console him, 
 for on her feeblest attempt to break the ice he 
 would turn on his heel and leave her. At last she 
 brought her trouble to Ozias, with whom she had
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 179 
 
 been brought up, and whom she regarded as a 
 brother. 
 
 " Say, Ozy, what do you suppose ails Hopson ? 
 He don't never eat a meal of vittles ; jest picks a 
 mouthful, as you may see, not enough for a 
 chippin'-bird. And he 's a-grievin' in'ardly the 
 whole time ; I know he is, for he don't sleep nights, 
 and he ain't no fatter 'n a hen's forehead. He 's 
 wastin' away, dyin' by inches, I do believe." 
 
 " Well, Pamely, he '11 be quite a spell dyin', 
 then, if that 's a comfort to ye : there 's consider- 
 'ble many inches to Hopson." 
 
 " Oh-zias, I b'lieve you 'd laugh ef I was a-dyin' ! " 
 indignantly snapped Pamela. 
 
 " Mabbe I should. I don't love to cry before 
 folks ; but really now, Pamely, I b'lieve what ails 
 Hopson is that little witch of a Prudy ; he 's most 
 amazin' sot on her, and she won't so much as look 
 at him. I 'm free "to confess I thought she liked 
 him for a spell ; but, Lord ! what can a feller find 
 out about women-folks ? They 're spryer, an' cu 
 ter, an' sinfuler, an' more pernickity 'n a fire-hang- 
 bird ! I don't see into it." 
 
 " Oh dear ! what shall I do ? " sighed Pamela, 
 despairingly. 
 
 " Don't do nothin' ! I '11 see to it. It 's one of 
 them cases where somebody's got to speak in 
 rneetin', and when there 's a woman to pay, it 's a 
 sight better to ketch a-holt of her with a strong 
 hand, same as I used ter squeeze grasshoppers 
 when I was a boy, and hold her still till she tells.
 
 180 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 I '11 tackle Miss Prudy myself, for the thing 's got 
 to be did ; this hangin' on by the eyelids ain't 
 nateral nor pleasin'. You keep still." Pamela 
 was used to the masterful ways of Ozias, so she 
 took to her rocker and her knitting, wiped a few 
 mild tears from her kind old eyes, and waited for 
 events. 
 
 Ozias, well aware of Prudy's haunts, followed 
 the path by the side of Bright Brook down to a 
 cluster of shagbark walnut-trees on a meadow that 
 belonged to Bezaleel's farm ; he knew she had 
 gone there nutting, and meeting the doleful Hop- 
 son on his way, remarked, curtly, " Young feller, 
 I want you should happen down this road in twenty 
 minutes : don't make it longer." 
 
 Hopson stared. 
 
 " Come, now ; do as I tell you : you '11 be glad 
 on't." 
 
 " I '11 come if you want me," was the listless an 
 swer. 
 
 Ozias found Prudy doing anything but nutting ; 
 her basket was on the ground empty, all about her 
 lay husks and nuts that the keen wind of Novem 
 ber had thrown down, but she left them to lie 
 there. Her shawl was drawn over her head, her 
 head leaned against a mighty tree, and she Avas 
 crying fast and silently, when Ozias jumped over 
 the fence. She tried to tie on her hat, but Ozias 
 sat down beside her and took her two hands fast 
 in his. 
 
 " Prudy," he said, " I 've got a word to say to
 
 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 181 
 
 ye : why on the face of the airth air you treatin' 
 Pamely's boy the way you be ? " 
 
 " I ain't," said Prudy, irrelevantly and femi 
 ninely. 
 
 Ozias went on, regardless of her futile remark : 
 " He 's a-actin' like a born fool, jest because you 
 won't not so much as look at him. He thinks the 
 sun rises an' sets in your face, an' " 
 
 " He don't either," broke in Prudy, " an' you 
 know he don't." 
 
 " I know he does. He don't nyther eat nor 
 sleep for thinkin' of ye. The great strong, hulkin' 
 feller acts like a sick chicken. Now what 's to 
 pay?" 
 
 " Hm ! " sniffed Prudy, her color rising and her 
 eyes flashing. " I guess he 's found out I ain't 
 Hobson's choice for him, not noway." 
 
 " Whew ! " whistled Ozias. " Who told you he 
 thought you was ? " 
 
 " Nobody. I heard him say so and you was 
 sittin' by and heard him too in the cider - mill 
 shed, that time " 
 
 " Well, if ever I did ! " and Ozias laughed till 
 the woods about them rang again. Prudy grew 
 furious. Ozias stopped when he heard her angry 
 5obs, and called out, " Hopson Bunnell, step over 
 that air five-rail fence, and come here." 
 
 Prudy struggled to escape, but Ozias held her 
 sight. He had reckoned well on Hopson's over- 
 punctuality, and the tall fellow vaulted over the 
 ails at his call.
 
 182 HOPSON'S CHOICE. 
 
 " Say, Prudy here was behind the shed that day 
 me an' Josiah was a-pesterin' you about sparkin' 
 of her. Now you tell what you said." 
 
 *' I ? I was sort of riled at your sayin' that she 
 was Hobson's choice, and I spoke up and said 
 't wa'n't so ; she was Hopson's choice, And so she 
 is, and will be forevermore, whether she cares a 
 cent about it or not." 
 
 At the strong ring of that voice Prudy felt her 
 very heart thrill, and Ozias, with preternatural 
 wisdom, let go her hands, as he said : " I 've al 
 ways heered that two was company and three was 
 none, and I 'm a-goin' to put the hearsay into ex- 
 per'ence direckly ; but it 's also a fact that two is 
 better witness than one, and I hereby say and de 
 clare, a-holdin' up my right hand to wit, that this 
 here mortal long Bunnell feller did say jest what 
 he says he said, that the aforesaid Prudy was, out 
 of all Hop Medder, and the hull creation besides, 
 Hopson's choice. And I swan to man I b'lieve 
 she is ! " he added, looking abroad at the shag- 
 barks as he saw Prudy run into Hopson's arms, 
 and kindly left the two to their own company, 
 whistling as he went, but not for want of thought.
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 " COME ! hurry up there ! " 
 
 In answer to the coarse, strong voice of Goody 
 Jakeway, who kept the Blisset tavern, her hand 
 maiden came from the kitchen into the parlor with 
 a mug of hot flip for the traveler who had just 
 alighted. 
 
 It was not strange that Guy Morgan forgot his 
 comforting cup as he looked at the bearer. Clary 
 was only a bound girl, but nature had made her an 
 aristocrat outwardly and inwardly, as the proud 
 lift of her beautiful head, the serene calm of her 
 great brown eyes, and the lithe grace of her fig 
 ure bore witness. If hard work had reddened her 
 little hands, it had not destroyed the dimples and 
 raper of her fingers, or the exquisite turn of her 
 slender wrist ; and her short, dark skirt of linsey- 
 woolsey no more hid the small arched foot, than 
 ;he coarse, short gown of linen check concealed 
 ler noble white throat or graceful shoulders and 
 ilight waist. She was pale, but the curved red lips 
 ihowed that her pallor was not that of illness, and 
 f you but looked at her too hard the very hue 
 >f a pink lily flushed that clear fairness even up 
 o the shining masses of dark brown hair, tucked 
 iway behind her tiny ears and braided in a heavy
 
 184 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 coiled knot like the tresses of a Greek statue. If 
 Clary had been born a duchess the world would 
 have heard of her ; but she was born a pauper, and 
 was bred in the poor-house. Perhaps the best 
 blood of Old England ran in her veins, but nobody 
 knew it, and the orphan child of an unknown 
 woman brought in from the roadside, dying with 
 exhaustion and cold, is not often credited with no 
 ble lineage. 
 
 Guy Morgan was Judge Morgan's son, of Litch- 
 field. The Morgans were an old Connecticut 
 family who had a genealogical tree to fall back 
 on, and Guy was now on his way home from Har 
 vard and its law school. He had been petted in 
 Boston society, for his family were of the Brahmin 
 sort, and their record indorsed him ; he was men 
 tally brilliant, too, and handsome as a young prince 
 is supposed to be. His high, regular features and 
 dark blue eyes were alight with intellect rather 
 than feeling ; but there lay a depth of unrevealed 
 passion and devotion below them. 
 
 Clary did not look up at him, for she knew 
 what eyes were upon her from behind the bar ; 
 but he looked at her, and his very heart thrilled at 
 that wonderful beauty, that gracious shape and 
 faultless coloring. He half drained the mug of 
 flip and set it down on the table, turning to speak 
 to this mortal Hebe ; but she had disappeared, and 
 nothing was left for Guy Morgan but to pay his 
 reckoning and mount his horse, reflecting in him 
 self, as he rode away, that Blisset was not ten
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 185 
 
 miles from Litchfield, and be could and would see 
 that face again. 
 
 Now he had seen all the loveliest women in Bos 
 ton over and over ; they had danced with him, 
 walked with him, and done their best to spoil him, 
 as women will spoil a brilliant and handsome young 
 fellow. But not one of them, in all the pride of 
 satin, brocade, or jewels, had ever entered so vic 
 toriously into his consciousness as this country 
 maiden in her coarse clothes ; dress adorned them, 
 but she adorned dress. He was a well-read youth, 
 ind as he trotted briskly over the rough roads, up 
 bill and down, the old ballad of Sir John Suck 
 ling kept jingling in his head : 
 
 Her feet beneath her petticoat 
 Like little mice stole in and out, 
 As they had feared the light. 
 
 Her eyes so guard her face 
 I durst no more upon them gaze 
 Than on the sun in July. 
 
 As for Clary, she did not even give him a 
 bought ; for behind the bar, watching her as an 
 U-conditioned cat glares at its prey, sat Lon Jake- 
 fay, the son and heir of her mistress, and the man 
 >oor Clary loved. 
 
 Goody Jake way had taken the child from the 
 oorhouse when she was ten years old, finding it 
 ould be handy to have a pair of quick feet to run 
 er errands, and ready hands to wait on her ; for 
 er only child, this same Alonzo, then about six- 
 sen, had run away to sea, and her husband was a
 
 186 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 wretched, drunken idler. It was she who kept the 
 family up, and on her rested all the care of the 
 tavern and farm both, as much while her husband 
 lived as after his timely death. 
 
 In the service of this rough hard woman Clary 
 Kent grew up, just as a harebell grows in the crevice 
 of some sturdy boulder, neither rightly fed nor shel 
 tered, shaken by all wild winds that blow, nipped 
 by stinging frosts, scorched by midsummer suns, 
 but by the grace of God a harebell still, clad in a 
 beauty and grace that defy position and ignore 
 circumstance. That she had food and clothing she 
 owed to her usefulness, yet they were doled out 
 grudgingly, however hard she earned them ; while 
 her sunny temper, quick perception, fidelity, and 
 serene activity made her a real treasure. 
 
 " Well, she 's pretty consider'ble helpful," owned 
 her mistress to Polly Mariner, the tailoress. as she 
 sat by the kitchen window mending Steve the hos 
 tler's overalls, for it was haying-time, and neither 
 of the women of the house could spare a moment ; 
 Steve had to hire his sewing done. 
 
 " She 's everlastin' smart, now, I tell ye," snapped 
 out Polly, viciously snipping at a patch which 
 would not fit ; " but you '11 have trouble, Mis' 
 Jakeway. She 's a sight too good lookin' for a 
 tavern gal ; somebody or 'nother will marry her up 
 afore you can wink, so to speak, seemin'ly. You 'd 
 as good get what you can out on her whilst she 
 stays." 
 
 " My land, Polly Mariner ! I guess folks ain't
 
 CLARY'S TEIAL. 187 
 
 in no gre't pucker to marry gals from the poor- 
 house. I don't feel no call whatsoever to fetch 
 trouble out o' that idee. She is reasonable good 
 lookin', I allow for 't ; but I '11 bet ye a cooky 
 she won't marry them that wants her, and them 
 she wants won't look at her. She 's real high- 
 strung, considerin' ; but she does well by me, and 
 she 's got faculty." 
 
 " Well, if she 's got faculty, that 's the end o' 
 the law, I expect ; but if I know human natur', 
 and it 's everlastin' queer if I don't, considerin' how 
 many years I 've done tailorin', you '11 reap trou 
 ble yet out of that cretur. I never was pretty- 
 lookin' myself, and I allow it tried me whilst I was 
 young ; but since I 've got along in years some 
 I 'm free to confess I don't see why th' Almighty 
 makes girls good lookin'. It fetches heaps of mis 
 chief into creation, and don't do no great o' good, 
 as fur as I know." 
 
 " Seems to me you 're sorter presumptoous, Polly 
 Mariner, to find fault with etarnal Providence that 
 way. You don't think, do ye, 't you 're smarter 'n 
 the Lord?" 
 
 " Land ! how you talk, Mis' Jakeway ! Folks 
 can have idees, I guess, without faultin' Provi 
 dence. Well, I won't say no more. time '11 
 show. And here 's Steve after them overalls ; my 
 work on 'em 's worth ninepence, ef it 's worth a 
 cent." 
 
 And in a wrangle over the ninepence this omi 
 nous conversation ended ; but not without leaving
 
 188 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 a troubled corner in Goody Jakeway's mind, for 
 of the three things that never return to their first 
 place one is the spoken word. 
 
 Two years rolled away, and Clary attained the 
 stature of her womanhood : her somewhat slender 
 figure rounded into fuller outlines of beauty ; her 
 girlish grace developed into stately poise and su 
 perb curves ; her soft eyes learned to darken with 
 scorn, or flash with passion. But so far Goody 
 Jakeway's judgment was correct : the drovers who 
 came to the tavern only disgusted the proud girl 
 with their coarse admiration, although more than 
 one would have gladly married her ; the stage-driv 
 ers who stopped for a daily dram, and seasoned their 
 flattery well with oaths, pleased her no better ; the 
 young louts of farmers, dull, rough, uneducated, 
 only just across the dividing line that separates 
 the human from the bestial, and far less attrac 
 tive than their own sleek herds, these, who as 
 sembled in the bar-room to talk and drink and 
 smoke clay pipes, were all loathsome to Clary. 
 
 Something in her whole nature revolted at the 
 idea of passing her life in any of these companion 
 ships, and besides the still but irresistible voice of 
 nature she had found for herself a certain sort of 
 education. Years before she went to the tavern to 
 live, an old man from Hartford had come to spend 
 the summer in Blisset. He was a lawyer, and a 
 native of the place, but, having amassed enough 
 propert}^ to live on, returned like a wild animal to 
 his old haunts to die ; for die he did before the
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 189 
 
 summer for which he had engaged board was over. 
 He left his property to a college, but the books in 
 his trunk, and his clothes, were never claimed. Old 
 Jakeway wore out ail the linen, and the clothes 
 were cut over for Alonzo's jackets ; the books re 
 mained, volumes of what were once called the 
 English Classics, the " Spectator," the " Rambler," 
 the " Tatler," and all that genus, with a volume of 
 Pope and one of Dryden, besides a fine edition of 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 All these had Clary fed upon at odd moments 
 with the avidity of a keen mind deprived of any 
 other food, and they had been to her instead of a 
 liberal education. Perhaps in the deepest sense of 
 the term they had educated her liberally ; at least, 
 they had lit the lamp, hitherto flameless, in the 
 alabaster vase of her beauty, and added to that 
 fair sculpture the brilliance of lofty thought and 
 ardent feeling ; but also they had unfitted .her for 
 the stolid life about her, and filled her soul with 
 that restlessness which is the penalty of know 
 ledge. 
 
 Of all the pregnant fables that ever streamed 
 from Shakespeare's pen, perhaps the saddest to 
 a woman is that of Titania and Bottom. It is 
 called comedy ordinarily ; but is there a more pro 
 found pathos or a more shuddering tragedy than is 
 contained in the story of that spiritual creature's 
 infatuation for the weaver with the ass's head ? 
 And what has time done since Shakespeare's day 
 but reiterate the spectacle of pure and high-
 
 190 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 minded women fondling the ass's head that is not 
 a mask, and whispering, in the delicate voice of 
 devotion, 
 
 " Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 
 While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
 And stick musk-roses in thy sleek, smooth head, 
 And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy." 
 
 Clary was not quite eighteen when the prodigal 
 son of the Jakeways returned from seafaring ; not 
 as the prodigal returned, in* evil case outwardly, 
 but bringing spoils of gold and garments to make 
 him welcome. His father had long since drunk 
 himself to death, but the tavern prospered more 
 and more, once relieved from the drain of drunken 
 extravagance. When Alonzo came back, he found 
 a warm greeting and a good home ; the sunniest 
 room in the house was swept and garnished for 
 him ; the choicest food and most deft attendance 
 awaited him. He stepped at once into the headship 
 of things with the instinct of manhood : lorded it 
 in stable and bar-room, ordered about his mother 
 and Clary, swore glibly at old Steve, and conducted 
 himself in as ill-conditioned a fashion as his nature 
 dictated. 
 
 There was little, one would think, that was at 
 tractive about Aloczo Jake way : he was below the 
 middle height, but his broad shoulders and long 
 arms, his powerful muscular development, and his 
 large, sinewy hands gave him a strength dispropor 
 tionate to his height ; he stooped a little, as most 
 sailors do, and his walk was ungraceful. Nor was
 
 CLAEY'S TRIAL. 191 
 
 there anything pleasing about his face except a 
 
 pair of handsome keen gray eyes, deep-set under 
 
 bushy brows, but capable of expressing every sort 
 
 of emotion as only gray eyes can. Otherwise his 
 
 features were coarse, his mouth large and sensual, 
 
 with a loose under-lip, betraying, when he smiled, 
 
 a set of strong white" teeth, looking carnivorous as 
 
 a tiger's. All this was capped with a shock of 
 
 straight pale-brown hair and a half-bronzed forehead 
 
 that told of foreign suns. And the picture was 
 
 not altogether attractive to a calm observer who dis- 
 
 3erned it to be the index of a nature passionate, 
 
 vindictive, selfish, and undisciplined ; intelligent 
 
 enough, and capable of attachment to a certain ex- 
 
 :ent, but over all brutal. No doubt he was supe- 
 
 ior to the men who frequented Blisset tavern in 
 
 nany ways ; his experience of the world had heigh t- 
 
 med his natural self-conceit to such an extent that 
 
 lis opinion was ready on every subject, and pro- 
 
 lounced in that dictatorial manner that always 
 
 mposes on conscious ignorance. Then his sullen 
 
 emper and self-absorbed reserve gave him an as- 
 
 >ect of unhappiness that is the surest appeal to a 
 
 horoughly feminine character. Yet this offers no 
 
 xplanation of the fact, which is as stubborn as 
 
 acts proverbially are, that Alonzo had not lived in 
 
 is mother's house twenty-four hours before Clary 
 
 ad lost her heart out of her bosom and dropped 
 
 lie jewel at this swine's feet. If there be meta- 
 
 hysicians who say this thing is impossible, I can- 
 
 ot confute them ; it is true, but inexplicable, that
 
 192 CLARY'S T1UAL. 
 
 there are women, and men too, who are struck as 
 by a bolt from the clouds with the one love of their 
 lives, and reason or probability has nothing to do 
 with it. 
 
 Why did Mary of Scotland love black Bothwell, 
 or delicate Desdemona the Moor? Why have the 
 worst ruffians of history always had some woman 
 clinging to them or to their memory until death ? 
 And what evil woman has not shipwrecked some 
 good man's faith and honor, and made his life a 
 drifting, wretched wreck? And in obedience to 
 this mystic and dreadful exception, which is more 
 stringent often than law, our poor little wayside 
 beauty fell desperately and utterly in love with 
 Alonzo Jakeway. Now this fellow had had the 
 ordinary experience of sailors ; he was not unac 
 quainted with women, of the baser sort, no 
 doubt, but still women. He knew very well that 
 Clary was as far above the level of those whose 
 society he had frequented in port after port as the 
 blue sky in heaven is above its reflection in a muddy 
 pool ; yet even from these low examples he had 
 learned something of a woman's nature, which is 
 not always stamped out even by degradation and 
 sin, and it did not take Alonzo Jakeway long to 
 see that this beautiful young creature worshiped 
 him entirely, without any perception of his real 
 character or instinct of his baseness. At first he 
 was naturally flattered ; but that mood only lasted 
 long enough to put a tender expression into his 
 eyes, a softer tone into his rough voice, and add a
 
 CLABY'S TRIAL. 193 
 
 little consideration to the moody and sullen man 
 ners which were his home wear ; and to the girl's 
 hungry heart these crumbs were a feast, inasmuch 
 as they seemed to her infallible promise of returned 
 affection, and fed her day-dreams with the very 
 bread of heaven. 
 
 In the bar-room, condescending to his inferiors, 
 or amusing himself with the display of his own in 
 formation and supreme experience, Alonzo could 
 be agreeable at times and affable ; but there were 
 dark hours when even the established frequenter 
 and wit of the place, Pete Stebbins, found he was 
 not to be approached. 
 
 These glooms, which Clary's tender heart laid to 
 ihe account of chronic pain, or sad recollection, or 
 vveariness of this dull life he lived, were in fact 
 lothing more than attacks of ill temper which he 
 lad never learned to subdue or conceal. If he over- 
 ite or drank too much liquor for his digestion to 
 uidure, though to do him justice he was never 
 Irunk, he felt, consequently, uncomfortable and 
 ingry, and the world about him had to bear it, 
 specially the women. Had he been brought up 
 n polite society, where the outside friction of well- 
 >red people from infancy does, in spite of the ut- 
 nost self-indulgence and uncurbed temper, modify 
 , man's manner and speech, he would still have 
 >een, like a hundred others, " street angel and 
 iouse devil," and being essentially a coward he 
 id, even here in Blisset, restrain his evil tongue 
 omewhat among men ; but his mother and Clary
 
 194 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 were at his mercy ; they could neither knock him 
 down nor return his oaths. Whenever things in 
 ternally went wrong with him, or outside matters 
 swerved from the line he ordered, it was on these 
 two shrinking women that his temper burst ; for 
 even his mother, hard, rough, enduring as she was, 
 cowered before Alonzo, because she loved him ! 
 It is a common saying that if a horse knew its 
 own strength no man could guide or mount one ; 
 but is it any less true that if a man knew his real 
 strength he might do anything with women ? If 
 Alonzo had possessed enough knowledge of charac 
 ter to understand himself, he could and would have 
 led these two in a leash after him forever ; even as 
 it was he guided them far and along cruel ways 
 before they knew their guide and the path before 
 them. It was this utter absorption of herself in 
 Alonzo Jake way that blinded Clary's sight to Guy 
 Morgan that day he stopped in Blisset to get his 
 mug of flip. He might have been one of the 
 " plough joggers," as Alonzo derisively styled the 
 rural farmers thereabouts, or a pig drover, for all 
 the notice Clary bestowed on him ; but from his 
 retreat behind the bar Alonzo noticed the long and 
 unmistakable stare of admiration Guy bestowed 
 on his handmaiden, and a sort' of wolfish jealousy 
 sprang up in his breast, mingled with a sudden greed 
 of money hitherto littnt. Up to this time he had 
 no thought of marrying Clary ; he knew very well 
 what his mother would say to that, and he did not 
 himself care to be tied up in legitimate bonds, lie
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 195 
 
 could amuse himself with her to the very brink of 
 her ruin, or beyond it, if so he pleased, but it was 
 not for his pleasure to live with mother and wife 
 at daggers drawn in one house. For sin or shame 
 he cared nothing ; the very purity of Clary's sim 
 ple and devoted nature would add a charm to the 
 lazy pursuit whose success he never doubted ; and 
 as to her future, who cares for the fate of a flower ? 
 Should it not wither and die when its fragrance is 
 over ? Nothing so metaphoric passed through his 
 mind, but this is the most delicate expression to be 
 found for his instincts, which indeed need the veil 
 of metaphor. But when he saw Guy Morgan's 
 look at Clary, and perceived that a man's admira 
 tion could be respectful, it shot across his mind that 
 bhe girl might become a great and lucrative attrac 
 tion in his business. This young spark, whose 
 ispect and dress proved his wealth and position, 
 night be the opening wedge, and spread the fame 
 )f the beautiful bar-maid in adjacent towns. Blis- 
 )et was on a frequented turnpike, and stages from 
 ETartford to Litchfield, and so on to Albany, ran 
 ihrough it. A little exertion might induce them to 
 ;top there for dinner instead of at Litchfield ; and 
 hen, well, if some crazy city fool, as he phrased 
 t, saw this girl, she might be snapped up out of 
 lis reach and use. As his wife, this would be im- 
 )ossible ; she would be a fixture in the tavern, and 
 in attraction, while in this Puritan country what- 
 ver shame attached itself to a less honorable con- 
 lection would redound to his discredit and injure 
 lis business.
 
 196 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 Beside, if Clary were his wife, young sparks like 
 Guy Morgan would have to be careful how they 
 stared at her ; and here Alonzo stretched out one 
 long arm and clenched fist, with a sudden gleam of 
 ferocity in his eye that showed what vengeance 
 would be visited on any man who meddled with his 
 property. 
 
 So, following the devices of his own craft and 
 will, he began to word the love he had hitherto only 
 looked at poor Clary ; a whisper now and then, a 
 pressure of the soft little hand in his own, a stolen 
 kiss, a gentle carefulness, all these produced 
 their effect on the guileless and tender heart of this 
 lonely girl. Busy about her house, Goody Jake- 
 way saw nothing of Alonzo's manoeuvres ; he was 
 not ready yet that she should ; he did not, indeed, 
 mean to have any previous storms. The plan that 
 suited his ease and assured him success was that on 
 some pretext or other Clary should be sent to Hart 
 ford, and he either follow her, or take her there ; 
 that she should stay long enough to make their mar 
 riage legal ; and then, when the ceremony was once 
 over, they should return to Blisset, and let his 
 mother help herself if she could. 
 
 He found chance enough to insinuate his design 
 into Clary's ear : if she went to the barn to hunt 
 eggs, he was sure to be there before her, with some 
 excuse of inspecting harness or examining the straw, 
 and in among the bean-vines, where she went to 
 gather long pods for dinner, he would be diligently 
 at work also ; when she was sent to gather wild
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 197 
 
 strawberries on the hill, he lurked in the edge of a 
 neighboring wood, and joined her, till at last, be 
 tween her overpowering passion and his plausible 
 arguments, she consented to accept his arrange 
 ments, and be in readiness to set out for Hartford 
 is soon as his plots matured. But " God disposes," 
 let us thankfully own. Before anything was even 
 rixed upon in Alonzo Jakeway's mind, a very small 
 lousehold matter, the mouse that gnawed the lion's 
 let, intervened. His stock of shirts began to wear 
 nit, and his mother, who had inwardly resented the 
 'act that he came home with a goodly supply of 
 hese articles, when she had a web of the finest 
 rish linen laid up these seven years waiting his 
 iced, and yards of linen cambric bought in order 
 o ruffle them, was only too glad to install Polly 
 vlariner in the keeping-room, with patterns and 
 hears, thread of the best, and store of needles, in 
 rder to take in hand a dozen of ruffled shirts for 
 ly master ; for Polly was as skillful at nice sewing 
 s at tailoring, and her stitching was not to be 
 latched in Blisset, even by Parson Piper's daugh- 
 ;r. She had scarce been at work three days on 
 le dainty fabric when there was an interruption 
 > her duties from a very unexpected quarter. As 
 le left her door one July day to go over to the 
 ivern, she almost stumbled over the prostrate shape 
 : a man lying with his head on her doorstep. At 
 t-st she thought him some drunken person who had 
 in down there to sleep; but calling her next neigh- 
 >r, Pete Stebbins, who was feeding his hens at the
 
 198 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 back door, to come and help her, she soon discov 
 ered that the man was burning with fever and quite 
 unconscious. He was evidently a sailor, and there 
 was good store of pieces of eight and English 
 guineas in his pocket, but no clue to his name any 
 where about his person. Pete was ready enough 
 to take him in and shelter him when he saw the 
 gold pieces, and Polly promised to stop for Dr. 
 Root. All of this made her late for her sewing 
 that day, and Goody Jake way sent Alonzo over to 
 see where the seamstress was, being in a hurry to 
 get the shirts done. 
 
 He did not find her at home, for she was in the 
 doctor's office ; so he sauntered into Pete's house to 
 make inquiry, and finding no one in the kitchen 
 went on into the bedroom. Just as he entered the 
 doorway the strange man recovered consciousness 
 and opened his eyes. Alonzo started as if he had 
 been shot, turned the color of clay, and drew back. 
 A sort of spasm convulsed the stranger ; he clenched 
 his hands and tried to spring at Alonzo, but his 
 muscles refused to obey the angry will ; the fevered 
 brain gave way with the effort, and he sank again 
 into stupor and delirium. 
 
 In Alonzo's astonishment he quite forgot that 
 Pete Stebbins stood by the bedside, and had eyes 
 whose acuteness seemed to make up in rapidity of 
 perception for the inborn laziness of his tempera 
 ment. 
 
 That night when Polly went over to watch with 
 the sick man (for Mrs. Stebbins was a deaf and
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 199 
 
 dumb woman, and of no use here), Pete accosted 
 her with, " Say ' ye ben to the tavern to-day ? " 
 
 " "Well, I guess I have," answered Polly, " I 'm 
 i-makin' Lou Jakeway a set o' shirts fit for a lord, 
 ind he 's in an everlastin' takin' to get 'em done, I 
 lo' know what for ; but Mis' Jakeway she pesters 
 ne so, seems as if I should caterpillar. I can't 
 ;ew no faster 'n I can, if the sky falls. Stitchin' 
 lin't flyin' work, now, I tell ye ; and it 's seventeen 
 mnderd linen, as sure as you 're alive ; and them 
 uffles ! Goshen ! I 'd jest as soon put them 
 hings on to the old ram as on to Lonzo ; there 
 lin't no fitness, so to speak, seemin'ly, in dressin' 
 ech a feller in purple an' fine linen." 
 
 " W-e-11," drawled Pete. "I expect he 's a hard 
 retur. I don't reely want to tell on 't ' a-flyin' all 
 ,broad,' as the hymn-book says, but he come in here 
 o-day for suthin' or 'nother, and opened the door 
 est as this sick feller kinder come \ o I 'd gin him 
 swingein' dose of brandy, ye see, fourth proof, 
 nly jest sort o' laced with water, an' I guess it 
 tung. He riz up in bed and lie see Lonzo, and 
 jon he see'd him. Good Jerus'lem ! I wisht 
 ou 'd seen Lonzo's physimogony ; he was jest the 
 olor of a cold biled turnip. I never did ! And 
 : iis feller he sot his teeth and kinder give a spring, 
 ^aw ! he could n't do it no more 'n a broken-kneed 
 rasshopper ; he gin out dyrect, and went off stupid 
 gin. But you bet there 's suthin' out o' shape be- 
 vixt 'em ! " 
 " Well, I b'lieve you \ " exclaimed Polly. " And
 
 200 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 what 's more I mistrust Lonzo is kind of sweet on 
 Clary Kent. I hope 't ain't so ; she 's a real pretty 
 girl, as good a girl as ever was ; but I keep an 
 eye out, you may rely on 't, and things looks real 
 dubious. I don't say nothin', for Goody Jakeway 
 ain't aware on 't, and she 'd like to kill anybody short 
 o' royal blood that durst to marry Lon ; but I 
 b'lieve I '11 speak to Clary. I reely think 't 's my 
 duty." 
 
 " Oh Lord ! don't ye do it, then ! " groaned 
 Pete (whose real name by the way was Petrarch !). 
 " I 've allers noticed when women-folks got a-goin' 
 on dooty, they 'd say the meanest, hatefulest things 
 that ever was ! Say ye like to torment a gal, an' 
 take her down mortally, an' you '11 mabbe see how 't 
 is, reely ; but say it 's * dooty,' an' there ain't no 
 whoa to ye, no more 'n to my old mare when she 
 gets her head. I don't see where it 's folks's dooty 
 to say pesky things, any way ; ef it 's suthin' real 
 agreeable, why " 
 
 But here the harangue was cut off by a cry from 
 the bedroom ; they found the patient stupid no 
 longer, but raving and crying out fiercely, " I '11 
 
 fetch him, my lass; cheer up, Mary! D d 
 
 rascal ! Let me go ! Let me go ! I want to get at 
 him ! " 
 
 Polly was an accomplished nurse, and under her 
 medicaments the poor fellow became more quiet : 
 but at intervals through the night he talked wildly, 
 always on one theme, a poor girl's desertion, the 
 girl seeming to be h's sister, and his fierce desire
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 201 
 
 to get hold of the man and punish him. In the 
 later hours of the night his ravings grew less and 
 he weaker ; only once he sprang up and glared at 
 the door, swearing a great oath. " It 's you, is it ? 
 I 've run you to earth, you villain ! I 've got her 
 marriage lines, and I '11 clap you into Bridewell if 
 I don't kiU you first ! " 
 
 Polly stroked and coaxed and sung a sweet old 
 hymn to him, till she could persuade him to swal 
 low a cup of strong skull-cap tea, and either from 
 pure exhaustion or the mild narcotic and stimulating 
 warmth of his dose he fell into uneasy slumber ; and 
 then she stole out and called Pete, who was mak 
 ing a fire in the kitchen, and asked him if he found 
 anything in the stranger's wallet except money. 
 
 " Well, I did n't look no further ; when I come 
 to the sinners o' war, why I see 't was all right. 
 Folks that hez money in their pockets is giner'lly 
 about right, 'cordin' to my b'lief. I '11 fetch the 
 puss an' see." 
 
 " I wisht you would," said Miss Polly. " I Ve 
 got my own misgivin's, 'count o' what he said; 
 seems to hev suthin' on his mind." 
 
 So Pete brought the old wallet, worn and stained, 
 ind left it with Miss Polly, who searched it 
 :horoughly, and at last discovered in its inmost fold, 
 ndeed, where it had slipped between lining and 
 )utside, a dirty and creased but quite legible cer 
 tificate of mai'riage between Mary Harris, of Liver- 
 )ool, England, and Alonzo Jakeway, of Blisset, 
 America,
 
 202 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 Polly was a woman of discretion, though she 
 loved to talk. She resolved not to make her dis 
 covery public, for to trust it to Pete was as if it 
 were printed in the local column of a county paper ; 
 he served as the news medium for all Blisset, where 
 only one copy of any journal, the small, dull sheet 
 of the " Hartford Weekly Courant " as it existed 
 in 1790, was taken, and that only by the minister. 
 
 She answered Pete's inquiries astutely, when he 
 came back from the shed, by displaying an old brass 
 ring, a slip from an English paper with ship news 
 on it, a true-lover's-knot of blue ribbon with a curl 
 of gold hair caught in its tie, and half a rollick 
 ing ballad, such as hawkers sold about the old 
 country. 
 
 "Had your labor for your pains, didn't ye?" 
 chuckled Pete. 
 
 "'T wa'n't no great o' labor," laughed Polly, 
 disagreeably conscious that her own small buck 
 skin purse contained Alonzo Jakeway's secret, and 
 perhaps poor Clary's heart-break. 
 
 It would indeed have been a good day for Alonzo 
 that had spared him those new shirts, and sent 
 Polly Mariner in another direction ! But her dis 
 covery bore consequences she did not dream of, 
 though they delayed long. After it she kept a 
 closer watch than ever on Clary, and made up her 
 mind that she must interpose at once to save the 
 girl from ruin. 
 
 Alonzo had gone to New York the day after his 
 interview with the stranger, if such the mere rco-
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 203 
 
 ognition could be called, but returned as soon as 
 possible. He would not have gone at all except 
 on urgent business, and he came back by way of 
 Hartford, in order to persuade his old aunt that she 
 ought to send out to Blisset for Clary to come and 
 stay with her a while, to wait upon her. Aunt 
 Smith was held in great regard by Goody Jake- 
 way. She was the only near relative her husband 
 had left ; but that never would have commended 
 her to the good graces of her niece in Blisset, ex 
 cept for the fact that she was the widow of a well- 
 to-do grocer who had kindly left her all his goods 
 and chattels to dispose of as she would, to the great 
 anger of his own relations. When Alonzo reached 
 home, with an urgent invitation from his aunt to 
 have Clary come and visit her, it happened that 
 Polly Mariner, so as to see better, had taken one of 
 the shirts upstairs to a south window. The next 
 room was Clary's, and Polly could not help over 
 hearing a conversation between her and Alonzo 
 that betrayed to her their plans, for their voices 
 were quite unguarded ; Goody Jakeway being three 
 miles off at a quilting, and Clary quite certain that 
 the tailoress was where she left her two hours be 
 fore, in the keeping-room, not in the least suspect 
 ing that the sharp ears of this equally sharp-eyed 
 woman were just the other side of a thin partition 
 in one of the unused tavern bedrooms. Polly could 
 bide her time, but she saw that in this instance she 
 must be prompt. To-day was Tuesday, and on 
 Thursday Clary was to go to Hartford ; for Alonzo
 
 204 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 well knew that however his mother might grumble 
 she could not, or rather dared not, offend his aunt 
 Smith by denying her request. So after tea, when 
 Polly was ready to go home, she asked Clary to 
 walk along with her and fetch back some red balm 
 flowers she had promised Goody Jakeway, as her 
 task at the shirts was done now. They stopped at 
 the minister's house on the way, and Polly made 
 her companion sit down in the hall while she her 
 self went into Parson Piper's study, and came back 
 with a folded paper in her hand. Then she hur 
 ried Clary on, and as soon as they had reached the 
 spinster's queer little brown house, she drew her 
 into the parlor, and without a word of explanation 
 laid before her Alonzo Jakeway's marriage certifi 
 cate. It was Polly's belief that a sharp, quick 
 thrust is the truest mercy ; but it was not pleasant 
 to see Clary's beautiful face turn dead and white 
 as a marble mask. Her hand clutched at her 
 throat a moment as if something choked her, and 
 then she gasped, " I don't believe it ! " 
 
 " Well, child, that don't make it so," said Polly 
 sadly. " It looks true, and I 've took means to 
 find if so be 't is or 't is n't ; but Parson Piper he 
 hain't a doubt on 't. He 's heered tell of the man 
 that 's put his name to 't, him that married 'em ; 
 he 's chaplain to some seaman's meetin'-house or 
 'nother over there to Liverpool. Any way, if ever 
 that sick feller comes to rights, he '11 know the 
 upshot on 't." 
 
 Clary said not another word ; like a stunned
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 205 
 
 creature she set her face toward the tavern and 
 dragged her slow steps thither ; while Polly, know 
 ing that Alonzo had gone to fetch his mother home 
 from the quilting, hastened back to give the certi 
 ficate into Parson Piper's hands again, and the 
 worthy man proposed, as he was going to drive 
 over to Litchfield early in the morning, that he 
 should take the paper over and have an attested 
 copy made of it, to guard against accident. 
 
 He and Polly both knew thait accident meant 
 Alonzo, but with proper respect for the decencies 
 kept the knowledge to themselves. And well they 
 might have dreaded his rage, for poor Clary, after 
 a night of dreadful anguish and struggle with her 
 self, resolved to tell him at once. A less simple 
 and humble nature might have trembled and dal 
 lied with some temporizing arguments, but Clary 
 had in her soul one desire, of Heaven's own plant 
 ing, that had divine endurance and strength, the 
 honest desire to do right. She knew it was utterly 
 wrong even to love Alonzo if he was another wo 
 man's husband, and she meant to give all her ener 
 gies to unlearn the passion that held her in such 
 dear slavery. But the first step was plain and 
 near : she must tell him, to begin with, that she 
 knew his double-dealing, and then take the rest of 
 her life to forget her past. 
 
 It is true that she ought, according to the strict 
 code of feminine morals, to have ceased at once to 
 have any tender feeling toward such a sinner ; but 
 poor Clary loved him I It was like taking her life
 
 206 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 in her hand to withdraw him to the barn on some 
 pretext early in the morning, and tell what she had 
 discovered. The storm that ensued was fearful. 
 Alonzo Jakeway was not accustomed to thwarting ; 
 he would just as soon have expected the white rose 
 bush by the window to uproot itself and try to 
 scratch him as to have Clary rebel if he asked of 
 her the most menial service, but to have her fly in 
 his face like this was outrageous. 
 
 Having partially exhausted his fury in words and 
 threats poured out upon the trembling creature be 
 fore him, he thrust her roughly aside, and hurried 
 over to Pete Stebbins's house to see if the sick man 
 was yet able to speak rationally, determined to stop 
 his tongue by either force or bribes, and to tell 
 some plausible lie to Clary ; for he had already de 
 clared to her with a fearful oath that the story was 
 false. He had kept close watch over this stranger's 
 condition, not personally, but through others, and 
 he knew very well that his delirium had continued 
 and his strength grown less every day ; but he did 
 not know that in those ravings his own name had 
 more than once met Pete Stebbins's ear and aroused 
 his suspicions. 
 
 To-day Alonzo hurried to the house, determined 
 to end the suspense that enraged him. The morn 
 ing was calm and full of July's rich odors ; beds of 
 fern breathed their delicate perfume on the fresh, 
 soft air, and the silence of summer filled all the 
 sky ; the sad broad fields, the granite ribs of earth, 
 the quiet woods, all were lapped in peace. There
 
 CLARY 1 S TRIAL. 207 
 
 was not a sound in Pete Stebbins's old red house 
 as the angry man strode across to the bedroom, 
 whose door stood ajar, and where lay the heart of 
 all silence, majestic death. Though the couch on 
 which the pulseless limbs lay straight and cold was 
 poor, with no folds of drapery or garlanded blos 
 soms, though the sheet that revealed the immobile 
 outline was coarse and scant, no king lying in state 
 had more serenity on his white brow or more awful 
 meaning in his pallid lips than this dead sailor, for 
 his face was at once accuser and judge of the crim 
 inal before him. And as Alonzo stood and stared 
 at that sculptural mass, memory forced upon him 
 another vision, another face, twin to this, except as 
 woman never is twin to man, crowned with just 
 such clustering gold, lit. with such great blue eyes 
 as he knew lay beneath those sealed lids ; and he 
 heard a voice saying in sonorous English ac 
 cents : 
 
 " Whom God hath joined together let not man 
 put asunder ! " 
 
 He turned away silently, and quitted the house 
 like one in a dream ; but as he left the door Pete's 
 yellow dog leaped up and flew at him, and the tri 
 vial attack turned back the unwonted current of 
 lis thought. He kicked the creature out of his 
 oath, and felt a fierce thrill of joy to think that 
 just so this babbler had been flung from his track ; 
 ;here was only the certificate now, and this he must 
 ;oax out of Polly Mariner. 
 
 But Polly was not to be coaxed ; her black eyes
 
 208 CLARY 1 S TRIAL. 
 
 snapped as she told him with serene but triumphant 
 contempt that Parson Piper had it in his posses 
 sion and was gone to Litchfield. 
 
 " 'T ain't no use to swear ! " she remarked 
 blandly. " You can't get it to-day, nohow, and 
 you can't ondo it if you could. Black an' white 
 don't lie ; " and Alonzo bitterly owned to himself 
 that this was true. 
 
 However, he did see the certificate in due time, 
 and vindicated the parson's penetration as well as 
 Miss Polly's ; for no sooner had the document been 
 placed in his hands than he tore it in pieces and 
 threw them all from the open window, looking 
 round to see only a calm smile on the parson's face, 
 and to hear : 
 
 "You have done no harm, young man ; that was 
 but an attested copy, and there are more. Beside 
 that, the original is not in reach." 
 
 Nothing now remained for the baffled man but 
 to make the best of the situation, and the best was 
 bad. The affair could not be kept from his 
 mother, of course, and she was furious ; her rage 
 all fell upon poor Clary, who found it easier to 
 bear than the other anguish which had befallen 
 her, and who did her best to please and serve her 
 mistress, in the vain hope of some future peace. 
 It so happened that her term of bondage was not 
 quite over ; it had been specially extended in her 
 case to her nineteenth year, because she was eleven 
 years old when the authorities indentured her to 
 Mrs. Jakeway. It might have been the first
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 209 
 
 result of that woman's wrath to turn Clary out of 
 the house ; but she could not do so legally, and 
 when the first bursts of fury had expended them 
 selves she felt that the girl's services were worth 
 too much to pait with, and she could at least have 
 the satisfaction of making her feel in every fibre 
 what presumption and crime she had been guilty 
 of, not only in daring to love Alonzo, but in sup 
 posing he really meant to marry her, and then in 
 " turning up her nose at him," as Goody Jake way 
 expressed it, merely because she imagined he was 
 married over seas ! So Clary's daily bread was 
 doled out to her with a full allowance of coarse 
 taunts, bitter reproaches, vulgar revilings, and the 
 low but torturing scoffs a coarse and hard woman 
 knows too well how to bestow on a sensitive, 
 shrinking girl whom she has in her power. Truly 
 she watered her food with her tears, and her nights 
 were full of an anguish which the torments of the 
 day only delayed till their hour and power should 
 ?ome upon her. But worst of all far, far worse 
 than his mother's fiercest tyranny was the per 
 sistent endeavor of Alonzo to make her put aside 
 ler sense of right and duty and elope with him. 
 
 He swore by every oath he knew that the woman 
 le once married in Liverpool was dead, dead 
 ong ago ; but he could not prove it. Then he said 
 he marriage never was legal, for there were no 
 vitnesses ; but this excuse revolted Clary more 
 han his first subterfuge appeased her. He uttered 
 very lie he could think of, and used every threat
 
 210 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 his experience suggested ; and when they all failed 
 against the strength of a pure purpose in this fra 
 gile, heart-broken, wretched girl he pleaded with 
 the traitor within her, divining in his devilish sub 
 tlety that she loved him as only a woman can love, 
 in spite of his anger, his cruelty, his lies, or his at 
 tempts to make her as evil as himself. It was his 
 tender words, the passion in his beautiful eyes, the 
 thrill of sadness and longing in his voice, that shook 
 and melted her very soul ; from which she with 
 drew, trembling and tempted, to fall on her knees 
 and beg for strength from Heaven to deny herself 
 as well as her lover. And all this obstinacy, as he 
 called it, only fired Alonzo's determination to ob 
 tain the prize. Had she been easy of attainment, 
 no doubt his desire to marry her, once fulfilled, 
 would have degenerated into coldness and indiffer 
 ence. It had indeed at first been rather as a mat 
 ter of policy and gain that he proposed to give her 
 a legitimate right to share his position in the 
 house ; but now he was in vital earnest about it, 
 and the more strenuously she resisted anger, threat, 
 or prayer, the more he set himself to form new 
 plans to subdue her, and the more furiously he 
 flung himself against all the obstacles that she 
 opposed to him, lying awake by night and brood 
 ing darkly by day over the invention of a new 
 malice or a closer tightening of grip that might 
 make her yield. For, once married, he could defy 
 his mother and order her out of the house if he 
 chose ; while as to Mary Harris, he had long ceased
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 211 
 
 to fear her, since her brother was dead, and she had 
 nobody now to help or interfere for her. 
 
 Through all this summer it is not to be supposed 
 Guy Morgan had forgotten the beautiful girl of 
 Blisset tavern. Many an excuse he made to him 
 self for extending his drives or rides as far as that 
 little village ; many a time the yellow gig and high- 
 stepping black horse stopped before the door and 
 were taken round to the barn, while he sat down to 
 a common country dinner for the sake of being 
 waited on by Clary. Deeper and deeper did the 
 fair image that already occupied Guy Morgan's 
 heart sink into that goodly abode, though Clary 
 never had given him a sly look or a flitting smile. 
 It was the old merry-go-round of life repeated. 
 Guy loved her ; she loved Alonzo ; he loved him 
 self ! and, knowing him to be jealous as no one but 
 a selfish man can be, Clary dared not offer the com 
 monest courtesies of life to any other man, much 
 less Guy Morgan. She keenly appreciated this 
 handsome young fellow's grace, refinement, high 
 breeding, and kindliness, but it was with a passion 
 Df self-devotion which only a woman in love a 
 vvoman like her can know, that she rejoiced to 
 seep even her outward manner cold and reserved 
 except to him she loved. Polly Mariner's sharp 
 ^yes, however, soon perceived the situation. She 
 tnew very well that the Morgans would not coun- 
 enance Guy's infatuation, and she knew too that 
 ie was a gentleman, a word that meant some- 
 hing in those days, and would not harm Clary
 
 212 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 in word or deed, so she only smiled to herself at 
 the little drama before her ; for, like most women, 
 she held the love of a man to be a light matter, 
 never vital, and rather enjoyed seeing masculine 
 struggles upon the baited hook, just as a trout- 
 fisher becomes interested in the beautiful creature 
 that spins and splashes at the end of his compan 
 ion's line. 
 
 But now, when Polly saw that Clary's troubles 
 were growing heavier and more unendurable day 
 by day, the courageous and sensible woman bor 
 rowed a tame old horse and rather dilapidated 
 sulky, and set out for Litchfield alone, on " law 
 business," she said. She went to Guy Morgan's 
 office, for he had begun to practice law, and laid 
 the case before him, confiding to him certain steps 
 she had already taken. 
 
 He heard her with ill-concealed rage and grief ; 
 but as the interview ended he said : 
 
 " You have done all you can, Miss Mariner ; you 
 will not have to wait a great while, I think, for re 
 sults. But meanwhile you must promise me that if 
 any new development happens you will send for me 
 at once. I suppose you will not leave Blisset ? " 
 
 " My sakes ! I guess not. I would n't leave 
 there for nothing you could mention ! She don't 
 mistrust that I 'm her friend, Clary don't. I 'v& 
 hed to fetch this trouble on to her. ' Faithful are 
 the wownds of a friend,' Scripter says, but it don't 
 say but what they hurt jest as much as the wownds 
 of an inimy. I think they do wuss, becos you 're
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 213 
 
 kind of obleeged to keep in about 'em ; can't spit 
 out, so to speak, as 't were." 
 
 Mr. Morgan smiled, and Polly, whipping up her 
 old horse, drove back to Blisset, feeling as if she 
 had some strong support to fall back on, whatever 
 occurred. She would have relied on Parson Piper, 
 but that worthy man lay at death's door with typhus 
 fever, and if ever he recovered, which Dr. Root 
 loubted, wagging his head with great solemnity, 
 he would be months in getting back to life and 
 strength again ; and Polly judged wisely in con- 
 sluding that she should need some one having au- 
 hority in any contention with Alonzo Jakeway. 
 
 About the end of August, when it seemed to 
 ])lary that endurance would fail and life with it, 
 Uonzo appeared to be relieved from some pressure 
 'f thought and doubt that had long kept him medi- 
 ative and gloomy. A dull fire lit his gray eyes 
 dth a sort of evil satisfaction ; and though his 
 lother, with feminine persistence, kept up her nag- 
 ing and reviling of poor Clary, and made her life 
 burden, he let the poor girl alone for awhile, nei- 
 ler threatening nor coaxing her. Polly watched 
 le whole thing steadily. She distrusted Alonzo 
 one the less for his present forbearance. She 
 ould gladly have extended comfort to Clary, but 
 le girl avoided her carefully, and seemed to shrink 
 om her very sight ; so the good woman bided her 
 me, not without wonder at the long delay of h^r 
 easures for Clary's help, but with no fears as to 
 ,eir ultimate result.
 
 214 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 It was now the second week in September, when 
 one morning Alonzo Jakeway came downstairs and 
 asked his mother where she had put his scarlet 
 stockings with gold clocks. These stockings were 
 the pride of his heart, for he had a weakness for 
 finery, and these scarlet hose of heavy silk, gold- 
 embroidered, he had brought with him from abroad, 
 and they figured at every feast Blisset knew in 
 gorgeous contrast with a pair of black velvet 
 breeches, a red satin vest, also gold-embroidered, 
 and a coat of fine French cloth with silver buttons. 
 
 There was to be a wedding to-night in Goshen, 
 and Alonzo's dress must be in readiness. Clary 
 had ironed one of his new shirts, clear-starched the 
 frill, and done up his laced cravat to a nicety, lin 
 gering over the task as if it were a pleasure, as in 
 deed it still was her delight to do any service for 
 the man she loved. But this morning he could not 
 find the stockings, and great was his wrath ; he 
 stormed and swore, and his mother hunted over all 
 his possessions and her own too, but in vain. At 
 length, with a face of dark menace, Alonzo left 
 the house, and returned in two hours with the vil 
 lage constable and a search-warrant from the near 
 est justice of the peace, who lived in Noppit. On 
 the authority of this, every room in the house was 
 examined, the hostler's hair trunk, the bags of a 
 miller stopping over night on business, the chest of 
 drawers in the schoolteacher's room, who had just 
 come there to board, and last of all Clary's little 
 blue chest, where her small store of clothes lay in
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 215 
 
 due order, with sprigs of cedar and sweet basil 
 strewn amongst them. 
 
 There, in the folds of her best sprigged cotton 
 -own, her only Sunday gown, lay the red stock- 
 
 ings ! 
 
 Clary was horror-struck. Her dry lips could 
 lot part to speak ; her knees refused to support 
 ier; she sunk into the nearest chair, and all the 
 spectators cried out upon her guilty face. 
 
 So does man judge I The very agony of insulted 
 nnocence is accepted as the aspect of guilt 
 foaine and horror hang out the same signals with 
 onvicted crime. There are not two ways for the 
 >lood to leave the heart, or to rush back to it, 
 ne way of sin and another of purity; and Clary 
 'as condemned in the eyes of all who saw her by 
 ae very semblance of her guiltlessness. 
 
 But nothing availed her now; not her solemn 
 sseverations of innocence when speech at last re- 
 irned. 
 
 Law and justice if indeed it is not a matter 
 : libel to mention these together were somewhat 
 norantly and clumsily administered in Blisset. 
 
 sudden trial was held before the Noppit justice, 
 here were enough to swear that Clary had meant 
 
 marry Alonzo Jakeway, and the match had been 
 oken off some time ; doubtless she bore him a 
 udge, accordingly, an d stole the stockings in re- 
 nge. 
 
 This accusation struck poor Clary dumb. She 
 iew such pitiful meanness was as far from her
 
 216 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 soul as earth from heaven ; but she could see that 
 the judge, a heavy, plodding old farmer, believed 
 it ; he judged her, as we all do other people, from 
 his inward self, and the case was hopeless. It re 
 mained only for the constable to swear that he 
 found the said red silken hose in her chest, hid in 
 her Sunday gown, and the judge was outwardly as 
 well as inwardly convinced. He pronounced her 
 guilty, sentenced her to pay a fine of one hundred 
 dollars, or, in default of ability to pay such fine 
 within the two weeks ensuing, to receive thirty lashes 
 on her bare back at the whipping-post on Blisset 
 green ; and in the mean time to be conveyed to the 
 lockup, a bare little room with grated windows, 
 above the store and post-office of the village, being- 
 partitioned off from the public hall, which occupied 
 the second story of the store, and reached from the 
 outside by an open stairway. 
 
 For the first time in her life Clary Kent fainted 
 when she heard this sentence. Worn out with 
 long suffering, constant labor, and the intense heat 
 of the past summer, the flesh could not endure one 
 more buffet from the spirit, and in a state of mer 
 ciful senselessness she was carried back to Blisset, 
 taken up the outer stair, and left to recover as 
 she might on the rough sacking cot provided for 
 the rare occupants of the strong room. 
 
 When she came to herself she longed to faint 
 again, for the whole force of the situation rushed 
 upon her like a flood, and the judge's sentence was 
 burnt in upon her brain as with hot irons. A
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 217 
 
 hundred dollar fine ! and she had not a hundred 
 cents. Another girl in her place might have gath 
 ered some small store from the generosity of the 
 tavern guests, but Clary so disliked notice, was so 
 sure to slip out quietly when her service was ended, 
 that those who wished to give her money got no 
 opportunity to do so, and those who would have 
 given it from habit were glad of the chance to 
 escape the tax. Guy Morgan would as soon have 
 offered gold to the haughtiest woman in Boston 
 as to Clary. Yet even if all these had bestowed 
 gratuities upon her, she would have been nowhere 
 near possessing a hundred dollars ; it was as un 
 attainable to her as the wealth of Crresus. 
 
 And the alternative ! 
 
 She had once accidentally passed the whipping 
 post when a man had paid the old-time penalty of 
 stealing. An awful fascination chained the child, 
 then only thirteen years old, to the spot ; but she 
 had never forgotten the barbaric spectacle. She 
 3ould see still the thongs that lashed him to the 
 oost, the bare, glistening back, the descending lash, 
 ;he purple welt that followed ; she could recall with 
 ;he distinctness of absolute vision the quiver of 
 hat sturdy figure, the groans he vainly tried to re- 
 >ress, the brutal jeers of the crowd, and the red 
 >lood that spattered on to the snow under the vic- 
 im's feet. And all this lay before her I All ? A 
 housandfold more, for she was a woman, and the 
 ish was no more dreadful in her eyes than the 
 xposure of her sacred person, the violence done to
 
 218 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 her virgin modesty. She did not once think of 
 hope. Her nature had been so long crushed into 
 earth by misfortune and suffering that her first 
 impulse was to despair. She fell off the cot on to 
 her knees, and, prostrate on the floor, prayed with 
 the whole force of a desperate soul that God would 
 let her die before the day of her trial came. 
 
 From this absorption she was roused by the trem 
 bling voice of Polly Mariner, who had climbed the 
 stair and was calling her through the grated door. 
 Clary rose, and looked at her with a shudder. 
 
 " Keep up your heart, child ! keep up ! " sobbed 
 Polly, crying as much with rage as with sorrow, for 
 she had only just heard the story, and referred the 
 whole thing to its right source directly. " You '11 
 be took care of ; there 's them will see to 't. Look 
 here; I've fetched ye a blanket an' a big sheet. 
 It 's warm weather, but September sunshine ain't 
 reliable ; mabbe you '11 want bedclothes. And I 've 
 spoke to the constable, an' he 's goin' to fetch ye a 
 piller and suthin' to eat. You won't be here long, 
 noways. I 'm a-goin' over to Litchfield, post-haste, 
 to fetch help. Keep up your sperits." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Polly," sighed the girl, inspired with 
 hope by the cheery voice and assurance, " can any 
 body help me ? " 
 
 " Land, yes ! Anybody can pay your fine, can't 
 they? I could myself, ef I had the dollars. I 
 hain't got 'em, but I '11 get 'em." 
 
 A thrill of stronger hope awoke in the girl's heart. 
 " Oh, then I know Lon will pay it ! He will !
 
 CLARY'S TEIAL. 219 
 
 he will ! Oh, I ain't a bit afraid, Miss Polly ; 
 he '11 get me out." 
 
 " He ! " ejaculated Polly, with a scorn type is 
 powerless to express. " He help you ! Why, if 
 you war n't in trouble, I should say you was the 
 biggest fool in Blisset. Why, if you knowed beans, 
 you 'd know he was to the bottom of all on 't. 
 Do you expect them stockin's walked into your 
 chist an' crawled inside o' your gown of them 
 selves ? " 
 
 Clary's eyes grew dark with horror ; it was true, 
 somebody must have put them there. 
 
 " May be 't was her," she said tremulously ; 
 meaning, as Polly well knew, Goody Jakeway. 
 
 " Not a bit of it ; she 's ugly enough, but she ain't 
 'cute enough. Besides, she don't want to lose ye ; 
 she 's buzzin' round now like a bee in a tar barrel 
 to get somebody to help her, but there won't none 
 o' the decent gals in Blisset go where Lon Jake- 
 way is." 
 
 Clary did not notice this small scoff which Polly 
 really could not help giving ; she only went on : 
 
 " I know Lorizo will pay for me. Why, Polly, 
 he he likes me ! " and here a warm blush suffused 
 her beautiful face. " He well, I never told any 
 body before, but he wants to marry me just the same. 
 He says that woman 's dead, and I only waited to be 
 mire ; he 's promised to find out. Do you think he 'd 
 let me be whipped ? " Her piteous voice changed 
 -,o a ring of scornful triumph as she asked the 
 question, but Polly responded promptly :
 
 220 CLARY'S TEIAL. 
 
 " Yes, I do ; but there 's them that won't. I '11 
 fix it. Land! there's three-o'clock bell over to 
 Noppit; lecter preparatory, but I ain't goiii'. I 
 must hurry up. Good-by, child ; I '11 be here airly 
 in the mornin'. Keep up your sperits ! ' 
 
 But " spirits " will not come at call, and Clary 
 sank into despondence as soon as Polly's face dis 
 appeared. She was roused again by the constable, 
 who fetched her some supper and a pillow, and 
 when dusk fell, worn out by emotion, she laid her 
 weary limbs along the cot, and fell fast asleep. 
 
 It was at the dead of night that she awoke, 
 hearing her name again ; this time it was Alonzo 
 Jakeway ; her heart bounded as she recognized his 
 voice. But it sank to deeper depths when he made 
 known the object of his visit: it was to tell her 
 that if she would marry him at once he would pay 
 the fine and set her free. Here was a trial fit for 
 a martyr of old time ; she had but to do that which 
 her heart had all along prompted, and she was saved. 
 But there was one question first to ask : - 
 " You know I did n't steal them, Lon ?" 
 " I do' know who knows it better," was the surly 
 rep]y. " Look here, Clary Kent, I 've got ye now, 
 tight and sure. I 've planned and plotted on 't 
 along back, so 's it should be tight and sure. I 
 put them stockin's there, for I meant to get a grip 
 on ye. Now take your choice, to be stripped 
 and whipped, or marry me. If you 're a halfway 
 decent gal, you won't demur much." 
 
 Clary sprang back from the grating, all her blood
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 221 
 
 on fire with the dastardly insult. She seemed to 
 grow tall and strong ; her voice, softer than any 
 cooing flute, took on the ring of a clarion. 
 
 " Go away ! " she said. " I had rather die than 
 marry you now, Lonzo Jake way ! " 
 
 " Wait a bit ! " he sneered. " I guess a fortnight 
 '11 change your mind ; bread an' water an' locked 
 doors is pretty convincing" and with an evil laugh 
 he turned away and stole softly down the stairs. 
 
 Poor Clary ! this was her bitterest hour. The 
 bandage was torn from her eyes, and she saw the 
 man no ! not the man she loved, but the real 
 man, who had borne about as a garment the image 
 and superscription of her God. Death would not 
 have been as hard. In the agony of bereavement 
 and disgust she tossed on her pallet till daybreak, 
 and then she heard a heavy footstep toil up the 
 stairs ; it was Polly Mariner. She said, trying to 
 smile, 
 
 " Well, dear, I can't fetch it about to-day. The 
 feller that 's got the money he 's took an' gone off 
 to Boston of an arrand, but he '11 come back, yes, 
 he will ; he 's a-comin' shortly, and I 've left a billet 
 for him. You '11 hev to stay here a spell, mabbe, 
 but it '11 all come right." 
 
 Clary looked at her with dull eyes. " There 
 won't ever anything come right any more," she 
 said stupidly ; and this was the fixed belief of her 
 soul. 
 
 In vain Polly brought her food of the nicest she 
 could prepare, decent clothing, a Bible, a hymn-
 
 222 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 book, Boston's "Fourfold State," and Jenks's "De 
 votion," her whole store of literary amusement ; or 
 thrust through her grating early apples and late 
 peaches, or musky bunches of wild grapes ; she 
 could not coax a smile over the beautiful wan face, 
 or instill a spark of hope into the breaking heart. 
 
 She had told Clary the truth, as far as it went. 
 She found Guy Morgan had gone to Boston, and 
 she left a letter to be given him as soon as he re 
 turned ; but for security the black boy who waited 
 on the office slipped the queer, ragged note into a 
 legal volume, and then forgot all about it. Polly's 
 errand had been vainer than she knew, 
 
 So the days wore on : Clary still in the dull des 
 olation that possessed her, and Polly fuming to her 
 self at Guy's delay. She would have made another 
 journey to Litchfield, but she dare not leave Clary 
 alone ; some vague fear was always present with her 
 when she saw or recalled the girl's set face ; so she 
 waited as well as she could, not for Guy alone, but 
 for the result of measures she had taken long before 
 to deliver Clary from Alonzo's net. More than once 
 or twice in the dead of night the desperate man 
 visited Clary again, and poured threats and per 
 suasions through the grating, but never did he re 
 ceive any answer of word or look. Still he clung 
 to the belief that at the last moment he should con 
 quer, and went away in that conviction ; for he 
 could no more understand her pure and lofty nature 
 than a worm of earth can interpret the seraphs of 
 heaven.
 
 CLARY'S TRIAL. 223 
 
 At last the end of these weary hours drew Dear. 
 Miss Polly, grown desperate, dispatched Pete Steb- 
 bins by sunrise to Litchfield with a strenuous mes 
 sage to Guy Morgan. But the day crept on, and 
 he did not come, for the axle of Pete's old wagon 
 gave out halfway there, and he had first to clear 
 the road of the obstruction, and then walk the re 
 maining five miles ; happily for Polly, she knew 
 nothing of this delay. It was the first day of Oc 
 tober, and the languid splendor of early autumn 
 brooded in soft glory over the low hills about Blis- 
 set ; the woods were lit here and there by a scarlet 
 bough, and one great maple like a torch of fire 
 flamed on the little green ; nothing stirred, but the 
 sad chirping of the crickets rose sharp and griev 
 ous as a dirge from the damp g.rass, and now and 
 then a wailing south wind shed a bright leaf softly 
 to the ground. A ring of curious people crowded 
 already about the whipping-post, and close by it 
 stood Alonzo Jakeway, waiting for his victim's 
 appearance. 
 
 Just at ten o'clock the constable came down the 
 stairs of the strong room, leading Clary; her white 
 feet were bare below her short stuff petticoat, re 
 vealing their exquisite shape and dimpled beauty, 
 and over her shoulders a dark blue blanket was 
 loosely thrown. 
 
 In her cell she had only the simplest necessities 
 of toilet, so she had knotted the rich masses of her 
 hair loosely on the top of her head, tucking in the 
 ends to keep it in place as well as she could. Her
 
 224 CLARY'S TEIAL. 
 
 beautiful, despairing face was like moulded alabas 
 ter, so pure, so pallidly transparent, and her great 
 brown eyes were filled with unutterable woe. She 
 was brought forward, and her hands passed around 
 the post and lashed there. Alonzo Jakeway went 
 up to her and whispered a word. She looked at 
 him as one who saw him not ; but when the consta 
 ble, with sudden roughness, tore the blanket from 
 her back, and the sculptural shoulders and ivory 
 neck were bared to sight, over every glistening sur 
 face and perfect outline a scarlet flush swept like 
 the reflection of sudden flame, and in the agony 
 of outraged womanhood an appeal burst from her 
 parted lips : 
 
 " O Lon ! Lon ! save me ! " 
 
 But like a tiger gloating over his prey, the man, 
 
 who was less man than brute, stood moveless. A 
 
 fierce and bestial joy filled his soul; he saw this 
 
 proud girl humbled to the ground, and was greedily 
 
 glad ; his hunger of wrath and revenge tasted blood, 
 
 and as his red and eager eyes met hers with a look of 
 
 scorn, the uplifted lash descended along those snowy 
 
 shoulders, and a piercing, horrid shriek rent the 
 
 air as a long purple welt marked the smooth and 
 
 polished skin. But hardly was the constable's arm 
 
 raised again when something burst madly through 
 
 the crowd ; the whip was torn from his hands ; the 
 
 thono-s that bound her cut apart ; and as if the lash 
 
 had Btong her to life, Clary's first instinctive motion 
 
 was to lift her hand, and loosening her heavy hair 
 
 drop its dusk veil over her shouUers. She did not
 
 CLASPS TRIAL. 225 
 
 see how like a flash Alonzo Jakeway was sent flat 
 to the ground, nor yet that the interposer in her 
 behalf was Guy Morgan, whose black horse stood 
 now foaming and panting, while his master counted 
 out the fine to the indignant constable. Polly 
 Mariner, sobbing and chattering, got a big camlet 
 cloak about poor Clary, and led her away to her own 
 house. 
 
 And now into this homely drama, in the com 
 monplace chariot of a creaking chaise, entered 
 another actor, who should have been here long be 
 fore if winds and waves had not delayed Polly 
 Mariner's letter to Liverpool. When Alonzo Jake- 
 way recovered from the thorough thrashing which 
 Guy Morgan proceeded to give him with the same 
 lash that had seared Clary's shoulders, his eyes 
 opened on the living face of Mary Harris, his wife, 
 to whom Polly Mariner had written, sending all her 
 little savings that she might come to Blisset and 
 prove her rights. 
 
 It was in the eternal fitness of things that she 
 should never after forgive Polly for this interven 
 tion, for on her head, with the cowardice and bru 
 tality of his nature, Alonzo visited his anger and 
 unsated cruelty ; and no one who knew him ex 
 pected any better result. But she had saved Clary 
 from the like fate, Polly thought, and that was 
 enough for her ; for to no human being did the 
 poor girl ever reveal her midnight interviews and 
 her murdered affection. Clary lay long at Polly 
 Mariner's house ill of a dreadful fever, and when
 
 226 CLARY'S TRIAL. 
 
 at last she recovered, Heaven visited her, in mercy, 
 with utter oblivion of the past; she was even more 
 intelligent and lovely than ever, but her memory 
 was a blank. Under Polly's care she was taken to 
 Boston, and put in charge of an old lady, one of 
 Guy's friends, who was rich and lonely, and ro 
 mantic enough even in her age to sympathize with 
 young love. Here the poor girl found shelter, pro 
 tection, and affection in her new world of con 
 sciousness ; and here she received for a few years 
 the training and education of a lady. 
 
 It was nothing to her that Alonzo Jakeway be 
 came a hopeless drunkard and died like his father 
 before him, or that Polly Mariner, her truest 
 friend, fell a victim to that typhus fever which de 
 cimates some New England towns at uncertain in 
 tervals. 
 
 Clary had no past ; and if ever her awakening 
 intelligence questioned it, she was always answered 
 that she was an orphan, and Mrs. Grey had taken 
 her when she was very ill. In time Guy Morgan 
 visited her, and renewed the attentions she did not 
 remember ; and now she received them with shy 
 sweetness, for she loved him as fervently as she 
 had loved Alonzo. After their marriage they went 
 to live in a flourishing Western city, and Clary was 
 for a lifetime the pride and delight of his home 
 and heart, transmitting her beauty as a heritage to 
 children and grandchildren, who are to this day as 
 i<morant as she mercifully remained till the hour of 
 
 O 
 
 her death of Clarv's Trial.
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 " GIRLS don't know anything anyhow ! " 
 
 Sally laughed, though the tears stood in her 
 bright eyes, as grandma Jopp snapped out her 
 formula of contempt ; but the old lady neither 
 minded the gentle laugh nor the shining tears ; she 
 had " found liberty," and her voluble tongue took 
 up the role again. 
 
 " You don't know what you 're a-comin' to, Sally ; 
 you 're only a girl ; you think gittin' married is all 
 honey and posies, but I 'm an old woman, seventy 
 year old, married fifty year ago, and I know suthin'. 
 Land ! how yer granther used ter dance round me 
 when I was a gal ! There want nothin' too good 
 for me them times, nothin' too slick for him to say. 
 I was a beauty, and a poppet, and sweetheart, and 
 dear knows what all. It 's mawkish to think on 't 
 now. I don't say but what I was as big a fool as 
 you be. I did set by him a heap, but land's sakes ! 
 't was over with quicker 'n nothin', after we 'd ben 
 married a spell, an' settled down to stiddy grind. 
 
 " There wa'n't a lot o' honey and posies in get- 
 tin' a biled dinner, doing hay-makers' washin', bilin' 
 soap, an' pig-killin' time. I tell ye its work, work, 
 work, for poor folks ; and if you know what 's good 
 for ye, you '11 take up with Squire Simmons, 'nd 
 let Joe Hazard go to sea."
 
 228 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 " I hate Squire Simmons," ejaculated Sally, 
 drawing up her slender figure to its height, and 
 coloring with indignation. " I 'd ruther be an old 
 maid ten times over than marry him." 
 
 " Well, there 's wuss things than bein' an old 
 maid : ef you 're capable, and pleasant, and smart, 
 you 'd jest as good be an old maid as be a poor 
 man's wife." 
 
 " Depends on who the poor man is," put in Sally 
 demurely. 
 
 " Well, you know the old sayin', Sally, ' When 
 poverty comes into the door, love flies out o' the 
 winder.' " 
 
 " That 's because people open the windows," 
 laughed Sally. 
 
 " Oh, go 'long ! you 're a master hand to jump 
 the fence, but some day you '11 rek'lect what I tell 
 ye, and wish you 'd counciled with grandmother 
 Jopp." 
 
 " Well, grandma, if I do, I '11 tell you so." 
 
 " Shaw ! you won't hev me to tell. I shall be in 
 my grave long afore you get to that p'int, Sally." 
 
 " I never knew anybody die yet that was always 
 expectin' to, grandma. I 'in quite certin you will 
 live at least ten years after I 'm married." 
 
 " Then you be a-goin' to marry Joe Hazard ? " 
 eagerly retorted the old woman. 
 
 Sally sat down in the chair by which she was 
 standing, and laughed till the tears rose in her eyes, 
 for just as grandma Jopp faced round upon her 
 with this question, neatly dodging the matter of
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 229 
 
 her own living or dying, Sally saw Joe Hazard's 
 curly black head and laughing eyes thrust through 
 the morning-glories before the further window. 
 
 "Yes, inarm, I reckon she is," shouted the un 
 daunted Joe, and grandma whirled round again to 
 confront this unexpected visitor. 
 
 " Well, if you hain't got the most brass," was 
 her breathless remark, as she glared at him over 
 her spectacles. 
 
 " Good sea-goin' metal, ain't it ? " inquired he 
 with comic gravity. 
 
 " You 've got enough on 't to sink a ship. I 
 advise ye to take to dry land," snapped grandma. 
 
 Joe began to sing under his breath " Cease, rude 
 Boreas," which sent Sally into fresh fits of laugh 
 ter, and running out of the farmhouse, she cap 
 tured the offending party, and they both sat down 
 on the south doorsteps to hold sweet converse to 
 gether, for Sally was not in the least frightened by 
 her grandmother's grim experience and advice. 
 She was filled with diviner lessons ; dreams of 
 youth and love that laugh at experience, and be 
 lieve their world is the world, and their life the life 
 of all humanity, that grief is the exception, and 
 happiness the rule ; that " now " is eternal, and love 
 immortal. 
 
 Sweet souls ! it is " a trailing cloud of glory " 
 from their last home, and it is to life what the 
 flower is to the fruit, the calyx to the flower, the 
 shoot to the calyx, the seed to the shoot. But for 
 its shelter, its folding warmth, its strong hope and
 
 230 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 faith, the buds, yea, the very germs of life would 
 faint, wither, die, and we should reap no harvest, 
 be gathered into no heavenly garners hereafter. 
 
 Grandmother Jopp was an ordinarily pleasant 
 and sensible old lady, but, like most of her type, 
 she thought as people said of her, that " There 
 ain't much she don't know, an' what she don't 
 know ain't worth knowin'." 
 
 It did not occur to her that a more affectionate 
 nature, a gentler spirit, less selfishness and impa 
 tience on her own part, would have made married 
 life easier and sweeter both for her and her hus 
 band ; but grandpa Jopp was a silent, slow, weakly 
 sort of man, and while his wife scolded and found 
 fault with him, he only looked wretched and kept 
 out of her way as much as he could ; so naturally 
 enough, she thought herself in the right. He did 
 it "for peace's sake," poor cowardly soul! una 
 ware that in the wars of matrimony, as in the wars 
 of nations, it is necessary to conquer a peace. A 
 good sound rating, or even a sturdy shake, would 
 have restored the balance of power, and given 
 him his right position ; but he dared not assert 
 himself so, and went on into his grave, the de 
 spised servant of a wife who ought to have loved 
 and respected him, and been a comfort instead of a 
 curse. 
 
 Joe Hazard was not of this sort, nor was Sally 
 Hart fashioned after her maternal grandmother's 
 type ; her dark red hair, her soft, deep hazel eyes, 
 her merry, cheery nature, and tender, faithful soul,
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 231 
 
 all came from the Hart side of the family, and 
 promised a safe harbor for even a sailor's roving 
 heart. Sally had been " down to salt " at Matoo- 
 noc beach three years in succession with aunt 
 Lyddy, grandma Jopp's eldest daughter, a widow 
 with some property and a great deal of asthma, for 
 the relief of which she visited the shore every year, 
 taking Sally with her for company, since she was 
 the only niece the childless woman had. They 
 boarded in one of the gray, weather-beaten houses 
 that dot the meadows along the Rhode Island 
 shore, houses so dim and misty in their tempest- 
 vvorn hue that they seem like feeble mezzotints 
 'aintly outlined against the sparkling, heaving sea 
 oefore, or the verdant stretch of grassy fields be- 
 lind them. 
 
 But the inhabitants were kindly, and board was 
 ?heap ; fish, chickens, eggs, were plenty ; vegeta 
 bles grew for the planting ; the great Narragansett 
 iwamp afforded blueberries in abundance, and the 
 nils were set thick with huckleberry bushes, and 
 railed over by bounteous dewberry vines. It was 
 i simple, quiet, homely place. Aunt Lyddy's hus- 
 >and had a sister living three miles back from the 
 hore, and she had found them a boarding-place 
 vith Sam Tucker, whose wife was glad enough to 
 jet a little money for her own and her children's 
 .dornment. 
 
 It was all very well for Sally at first, this quiet 
 armhouse and this lonely shore. She spent her 
 ays out of doors entirely, though with the thrifty
 
 232 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 instinct of New England, she carried her knitting 
 or her tatting along ; but these were soon disposed 
 of in her pocket, and while her aunt sat on the 
 fish-house steps, or made herself at home in the 
 hot sun and the sand, glad enough of a free breath, 
 and resting her tired lungs, Sally scoured the beach 
 far and near: gathered stones to fill her basket; 
 fished up seaweed from the whispering fringes of 
 foam; gathered " money -purses" and "salt cel 
 lars " by the dozen ; wondered under which gray 
 old boulder, planted deep mid sand and sea, Cap 
 tain Kidd's hoard lay sleeping ; or, tired of roam 
 ing, came back and sat beside aunt Lyddy, and 
 watched the long green rollers come roaring up the 
 sand, rearing their tossing, shining manes high in 
 air, white and light with myriad foam-bells, only 
 to dash them on the shivering shore, with the soft 
 rush and crush of breaking bubbles and sliding 
 seas, that recoiled for fresh assault, and returned 
 with new splendors of beryl depths and fleecy crests, 
 to roar and fall again. Splendid vision ! which a 
 worn and weary heart could watch forever, losing 
 in this vast, dumb force and glory its own sense of 
 present anguish or despair, and feeling in every 
 fibre the sad sweetness of that mighty soul that 
 fled from its temple in such a sea, but breathed out 
 first in human words such human longing 
 
 " I could lie down like a tired child, 
 And breathe away this life of care 
 Which I have borne, and still must bear, 
 Till death-like sleep should steal on me,
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 233 
 
 And I should feel in the warm air 
 
 My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 
 
 Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony." 
 
 But Sally was young and a girl ! She craved 
 life and variety, and she was getting woefully 
 tired of the dull days before half her last sum 
 mer at Matoonoc had gone, when, luckily for her, 
 the Nancy Beers sailed into Boston Bay from a 
 China voyage, and her second mate, handsome Joe 
 Hazard, came home to see his "folks," and saw 
 Sally Hart too. 
 
 There was wailing and weeping among the beach 
 girls when they saw Joe devoting himself, day after 
 day, to this up-country creature. 
 
 Were n't his own sort good enough for him ? 
 Evidently Joe thought not. Cynthia Tucker, and 
 Demy Hazard, and Bet Hazard, and Bed Joe 
 Tucker's twins, for they were all Tuckers or 
 Hazards at Matoonoc, all these had set their vari 
 ous caps in vain at Joe, ever since he was a man 
 and a mate on the Nancy Beers, instead of boy or 
 common sailor ; for Joe had taken to the sea since 
 he was big enough to take to anything, and had 
 worked his way up ; but now, after all their fasci 
 nations had failed, after blue eyes, gray eyes, green 
 eyes, had tried their darts in vain, after every fem 
 inine charm of his own neighbors and friends had 
 proved useless, here was a girl from up-country, a 
 A'hite, slim thing, had but to look at him, and he 
 vas captured. 
 
 " I dono what he sees in that red-headed thing,"
 
 234 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 snapped Demy Hazard. " She can't no more row 
 a boat than she can stan' on her head. I scar't 
 her to death most, t' other day, when we was out a 
 bathin', a-pullin' on her out into a breaker." 
 
 " She ain't no more into her 'n a piece o' rag 
 weed," chimed in one of the Tucker twins, " she 
 can't dig a clam. I fetched her round to the salt 
 pond a Saturday, 'n' I '11 be drownded ef she did 
 n't ketch up a cr:Jb to look at it. Did n't it ketch 
 her, though ? I tell you she hollered like a gale 
 o' wind." 
 
 " Well, I expect Joe '11 suit himself ; menfolks 
 do, mostly," sighed Cynthia Tucker, who was occu 
 pied along with the rest in the pleasant amusement 
 of clawing reluctant clams from their sandy bed, 
 with a sort of tool compromised between a rake and 
 a hoe. 
 
 Demy laughed, but Bet Hazard, who was the old 
 est of the crowd, and in virtue of her sense, her 
 years, and her experience, something sarcastic, 
 growled out in a deep voice : 
 
 " I expect they do ! I dono who 'd xmdertake to 
 suit 'em. I 'd ruther sail a pinky round Pint Judy 
 pint in a sou'easter then pick out a man's gal for 
 him. A man hed oughter git leave to choose his 
 own boat 'nd his own wife, I say ; an' ef he don't 
 git it, he giner'lly takes it ; 'specially ef he 's a 
 Hazard." 
 
 There was no doubt Joe belonged to that family. 
 In any other, his inherited name of Josiah never 
 would have been shortened into Joe ; and his dark,
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 235 
 
 crisp curls, his flashing black eyes, his clear brown 
 skin, attested convincingly his descent ; for the 
 " black Hazards " were as well known about the 
 shore as the Black Douglas in Scotland. 
 
 As for Sally, she found it mighty pleasant to 
 have a devoted admirer fall at her feet in this des 
 ert ; she was used to it at home, and thought little 
 of three or four scalps dangling at her belt ; but 
 here she had been dull for a long time ; the swains 
 of Baxter had not followed her, for the good reason 
 that they were following the plough, or wielding the 
 hoe just at present, and had no time to philander 
 round the country in their Sunday clothes. But 
 here was a handsome, bright, active young fellow, 
 who had capitulated at once, and become her de 
 voted attendant. Now there were no more lonely 
 walks on the shore ; under his guidance and care 
 she walked over the bare gray hills to gather ber 
 ries ; was borne in a little rowboat over the tran 
 quil bosom of the salt ponds, and taught to catch 
 sprawling crabs with a scoop-net, not to take them 
 in her fingers. For her Joe brought luxuriant clus 
 ters of great rhododendron blossoms, cool, fair 
 blooms of rose and white, from the borders of the 
 Great Swamp ; dripping armfuls of ivory water- 
 lilies from its deeper recesses and frequent pools ; 
 spires of too fragrant clethra ; garlands of pale 
 wild roses ; quaint garnet blossoms of the dwarf 
 pitcher plant ; and rare, wild coreopsis flowers 
 tinted like a shell, and shyly fragile as a dryad 
 might be.
 
 236 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Moreover, he persuaded her so far out of her 
 terrors of the sea that she learned to enjoy a fish 
 ing-party in a whaleboat, and to draw in a big 
 bluefish as deftly as Demy Hazard herself ; he 
 taught her to paddle a canoe on the lonely, fresh 
 ponds that hid their crystal depths in the forests 
 of the Swamp ; to trace those paths that wound 
 their narrow and devious way from one of these 
 desert jewels to the other ; and even (on a rainy 
 day, to be sure !) to learn the whole economy of 
 a brig, from boom to jibber -jib, for the Nancy 
 Beers was a brig, and Joe understood her rigging 
 if anybody did! 
 
 Poor Joe, he longed to risk his fate too soon, 
 and would have done so, but that Sally, with the 
 tact of a woman, avoided and averted his declara 
 tion till he almost feared to speak, and then, just 
 as he was getting desperate enough to throw himself 
 at her head for certainty's sake, he was called away 
 to Boston on ship's business ; and though he hur 
 ried back, aunt Lyddy and Sally had gone home 
 before he reached the beach, and the honest fellow 
 took it for a finality, and departed on the long voy 
 age, both sad and sore. 
 
 It must be owned that the youths of Baxter did 
 not compare well in Sally's eyes with handsome 
 Joe, though she found their devotion unabated ; 
 and it must also come to light that her eyes glis 
 tened and her heart beat suspiciously over a pack 
 age that arrived for her by express from Boston, 
 containing a delicate China crape handkerchief, a
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 237 
 
 chain of crystal beads, and a few rare and beauti 
 ful shells, all wrapped up in a paper which adver 
 tised the Nancy Beers' sailing on Monday, August 
 30th, and this was Monday ! 
 
 Yet such is the involution and wonderful struc 
 ture of the female character that if Josiah Haz 
 ard had asked Sarah Hart to marry him, she would 
 have refused without compunction or reserve of 
 hope ; while by an unintentionally judicious si 
 lence, he awoke a mild pique, an indefinite un 
 easiness ; and then had the wisdom equally 
 unconscious to send her a nameless gift that yet 
 named its giver, and kept him always in mind. 
 
 The long, dull winter did not serve to banish Joe 
 from Sally's mind ; she could not but think of him, 
 when the storms howled frantically through the 
 forest, and shook her mother's little brown house 
 with invisible blows. When rain and snow blotted 
 out the sweet skies, she transferred the weather of 
 her inland town to the far-off Nancy Beers, and 
 pitied Joe mightily. Well for her that she did not 
 see the lucky fellow, sailing over warm and tranquil 
 seas, scampering up and down the rigging, telling 
 yarns and cracking jokes with the two or three pas 
 sengers, and behaving himself generally like a man, 
 as he was, and by no means the sentimental idiot 
 Sally thought him. 
 
 Sally did not go to the beach with aunt Lyddy 
 next summer, for her mother was seized with con 
 sumption early in the spring, and though she was 
 only her stepmother, yet she had never known any
 
 238 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 other, and loved her dearly. Poor Sally ! her fa- 
 ther had long been dead, and she was the only 
 child ; for ten years she and her mother had lived 
 there alone, and grown together as two lonely wo 
 men will, unless they quarrel. Now she was so 
 absorbed in her new fears, her unusual care, her 
 wearing anxiety, that it gave her scarcely a regret 
 to see aunt Lyddy leave without her ; but she took 
 a special interest in the shipping news, and read 
 with care every arrival. But the Nancy Beers 
 made a long voyage of it this time ; it was late in 
 August when she was reported, and in the marine 
 news was only a short paragraph stating the death 
 of the first mate on the way home, killed by a fall 
 ing spar in a gale, and the promotion of Josiah 
 Hazard to fill his place. It was unusual enough to 
 report such a small matter as this in a merchant 
 vessel, and Sally blushed and dimpled over the par 
 agraph, with a certain consciousness that it had 
 been inserted to meet her eye, and she was really 
 sorry she should not see Joe this year ; aunt Lyddy 
 was home now, so there was no chance of hearing 
 of him. 
 
 Miss Sally reckoned without her host. The 
 first days of September were warm and clear ; the 
 windows of the little brown house were set wide to 
 catch the sweet air, a few late roses and a bed of 
 luxuriant mignonette perfumed the gentle breeze 
 that swayed Sally's rich curls as she sat on the 
 doorstep with her sewing, while her mother slept; 
 perhaps it was the rustle of that breeze in the lilacs
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 239 
 
 and rosebushes close beside her that prevented her 
 hearing a step on the path ; but she felt a shadow 
 on her sunshine, and looked up to see handsome Joe 
 Hazard standing in the soft blaze, smiling like a bit 
 of sunshine himself. 
 
 Sally was gladder to see him than she meant to 
 be, and showed it, and Joe sat down beside her on 
 the doorstep, lest they should waken the invalid. 
 For the same reason their voices were lowered to a 
 confidential pitch, and though Joe, being a native 
 gentleman, forbore to harass Sally with an obtrusive 
 exhibit of his own plans and hopes, he did contrive 
 to get leave to come again before he sailed, and 
 say good-by ; for his furlough would be short this 
 time. So in a week he reappeared, and persuaded 
 Sally to take a walk with him to the Lake shore, 
 where they sat comfortably down on a log and took 
 counsel together ; on what matters may be inferred 
 from the parting words. 
 
 "You'll think on 't now, won't ye, Sally? I 
 won't plague for a real yes or no, now, for I see 
 you 've got a stormy voy'ge afore you, and you 
 ain't clear how to lay your head yet. We ain't 
 a-goin' to Chiny this year, only down to Rio ; our 
 owners hev changed their trade, or ruther we 've 
 changed owners; so 's 't Providence permittin', as 
 aunt Judy sez, I shall heave anchor in the Bay by 
 next June sartain. Can I come an' see ye then ? " 
 
 " We-e-11," said Sally slowly, tracing a square 
 on the sand with the point of her parasol as delib 
 erately as if her life depended on making four right
 
 240 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 angles, "I don't know but what it's a free 
 country, Mr. Hazard ; I suppose you can go where 
 you 're a mind to," and with that she gave him such 
 a distracting, bewitching little sidelong look from 
 under her thick, dark lashes that Josiah forgot 
 himself entirely, and a faint little scream from 
 Sally might have given him the idea that she did 
 not like to be kissed, but he did not quite seem to 
 understand it so. 
 
 And with that he departed, as sure of Sally as 
 if they had been married a week ; for the vanity 
 and self-confidence of a youth like Joe are amaz 
 ing. Sally was by no means so sure ; she returned 
 to her nursing and her anxiety, a little ashamed of 
 herself, and very uncertain as to what she had or 
 had not tacitly promised ; and it was not without 
 some indignation that she received by mail, a few 
 days after, a genuine love letter from Joe, and a 
 tiny box with a pearl ring in it, both of which she 
 consigned to the farthest corner of her locked 
 drawer, since the Nancy Beers had sailed, and she 
 could neither answer nor return the epistle or the 
 gift. 
 
 Before winter her mother failed to an alarming 
 extent, and by the New Year she was dead. Sally 
 grieved long and deeply, but she was young : the 
 springs of life and hope were still elastic within 
 her; health fortified her spirits, and unacknow 
 ledged happiness consoled her ; for Joe would keep 
 writing to her tender, manly letters, by every 
 chance he got, letters that asked for no answer,
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 241 
 
 hut seemed to know her loneliness, understand her 
 need, and bring her help just when and where it 
 was wanted. Before she knew it, Sally Hart found 
 herself " fathoms deep " in love, and when June 
 came and brought Joe with it, there were few pre 
 liminaries to be arranged before she consented to 
 wear the pearl ring on her third finger, and to give 
 Joe the promise which he so saucily flung in grand 
 mother Jopp's face. 
 
 Sally did not mean to be married right away, 
 but circumstances were too much for her. Joe was 
 to have the post of first mate in a fine new ship in 
 the China trade, owned by his old employers ; but 
 his next voyage would be a long one, though he did 
 not sail till September, and he could not leave Sally 
 homeless till such time as he should return ; for 
 though she was just now staying with grandma and 
 aunt Lyddy, he knew that the atmosphere in that 
 house was by no means tranquil or cheering, and 
 that Sally was neither mistress of her actions nor 
 her time. 
 
 " What 's the use, Sally ? " pleaded Joe. " You 
 won't have me round but a plaguy small share o' 
 the time, let me be to home all I can fix it. Then 
 if you 're settled down to the beach, aunt Lyddy 
 3an stay there jest as much as she wants ter. You 
 won't need to be lonesome an hour, either, there 's 
 :oo many Hazards 'nd Tuckers down there to let ye 
 Dine for company." 
 
 " A hazardous sort of place, is n't it ? " asked 
 sally demurely ; but simple-minded Joe did not at
 
 242 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 once take the pun. He stared at her with blank 
 eyes, then they suddenly lit up, and a loud laugh 
 followed. 
 
 " Ain't you smart ! I say for 't : Sally, you be a 
 clipper. Mebbe it '11 be so hazardous you '11 get 
 tuckered out ! There ! " 
 
 And with a fresh explosion of laughter Joe 
 launched his first and only pun. It took little 
 more persuasion to fetch Sally round to Joe's wish, 
 so he left her to go home and furbish up the old 
 gray house that had been his father's. Sally be 
 took herself to her own simple preparations, and 
 the second week in July they were married in 
 grandmother Jopp's parlor, and went home, aunt 
 Lyddy, with preternatural tact, refusing to go with 
 them, but promising a long visit in September, 
 when Sally would need her more. 
 
 A happy couple indeed they were, in more than 
 the conventional term, when they began life to 
 gether in that old house. Joe had taken Demy Haz 
 ard to Boston with him to pick out some chintz for 
 chairs and curtains, and with surprising taste for a 
 longshore girl she had not only selected the pat 
 tern and texture, regardless of Joe's pocket, it must 
 be owned, but she had offered to get up a sewing 
 bee and cover the furniture for him. Joe was such 
 a universal favorite that the clan had already for 
 given him for choosing an inland wife, and they all 
 fell to work with zeal, so that when he and Sally 
 alighted from the rickety wagon sent to the station 
 to fetch them, the house stood open and homelike,
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 243 
 
 and Demy welcomed them at the door, but dis 
 creetly slipped away ; while Sally took off her hat 
 and diist-cloak upstairs, and then went over the 
 house hand in hand with Joe. It was an old house, 
 built New England fashion, with two square rooms 
 either side of the front door, a twisted staircase in 
 the narrow entry, and a kitchen behind, off one end 
 of which a bedroom was partitioned, and off -the 
 other a big pantry ; there were two bedrooms up 
 stairs, while a long loft or garret under the sloping 
 roof ran from side to side over the kitchen and its 
 end rooms. It is true the furniture was old and 
 quaint ; but Demy had covered the great stuffed 
 sofa with soft, thick cretonne, a gray ground strewn 
 with deep red carnations, and blue sea-pink flow 
 ers ; the chairs were re-cushioned with the same 
 stuff, and curtains of it hung before the windows ; 
 there was a dark gray carpet on the floor, with a 
 coral pattern of scarlet in two shades, a red and 
 blue cloth on the round table, where also were 
 gathered Joe's foreign treaures, a Japanese idol 
 or two, a few shells, one of them holding wild roses 
 in its pink convolutions, a Chinese basket of foreign 
 nuts, and the big family Bible in the midst of all. 
 The room might have looked gaudy but for the low 
 ceiling, the gray walls, the small-paned windows ; 
 but as it was, there was only an aspect of cheer and 
 warmth, and a delicate odor of roses. The other 
 room was all of Joe's ordering ; he had brought its 
 slight bamboo chairs, its settee of the same type, 
 the nests of teapoys, the scarlet and black waiters
 
 244 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 that leaned against the wall, even the delicate mat 
 ting, home in the Nancy Beers ; and the dreadful 
 dragons, the puffy mandarins, the toppling pago 
 das nailed against the wall, relieved one's mind, 
 since they were pictured on rice paper, from a 
 dread of their long and ugly endurance. A corner 
 cupboard held a set of curious China for tea-drink- 
 ings, and a few old spoons, quaint enough to match 
 the cups, this was the summer parlor. The 
 kitchen shone with neatness ; the teakettle sung al 
 ready on the stove, the table was laid for two, and 
 in the pantry good store of fresh bread, yellow 
 butter, cake, berries, and pies, contributed by 
 friendly neighbors, promised more present solace 
 than the ungainly pots of foreign sweetmeats Joe 
 had thought it necessary to provide. It was a 
 simple, clean, cheerful old house, set in the mid 
 dle of a flat green field, but it seemed a little 
 paradise to these lovers, and the mighty diapason 
 of the sea did not daunt them, for they had each 
 other. 
 
 However, when September came, and Josiah had 
 gone, Sally began to feel that there is a price to 
 pay in this world for even natural and honest hap 
 piness. She thought she had been lonely before, 
 but what had it been ? nothing to this ! Poor child ! 
 she had not known her own measure, her own pos 
 sibilities, nor were they yet fully tested. 
 
 Aunt Lyddy came on her visit, and had all the 
 news of Baxter at her tongue's end to relate, and 
 then all the hospitalities of the beach to receive and
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 245 
 
 return ; besides, it was the year's busy season to a 
 housekeeper : Sally had fruit to dry, herbs to gather, 
 apple-sauce to boil down, cranberries to store, her 
 few house-plants to pot for winter companions ; she 
 must see to the potatoes, the carrots, the cabbages, 
 and put down her winter butter. Her deft hand, 
 clear head, and good sense had won approbation 
 and respect already from the housewives of Matoo- 
 noc, who were not the most skillful or provident 
 of their kind, but too apt to live like their hus 
 bands, sailor fashion, from hand to mouth. But 
 when aunt Lyddy went home, when the bright, 
 still days of October were gone ; the hillsides, that 
 had glowed like fields of blood with red huckle 
 berry leaves, swept bare and gray ; the great swamp 
 turned from a gorgeous mass of gold and purple, 
 scarlet and green, to a low and leafless stretch of 
 misty woodland ; when the splendid sapphire sea 
 became a livid, sweltering ocean beneath a threat 
 ening sky, and dashed its sullen anger on the shore, 
 or, lashed by mighty winds, drove its mad tides high 
 in air and far on land, with bits of wreck and 
 naked vessels ; when fogs lay low and deep over 
 land and sea, and the fog-horn from the lighthouse 
 sent its wailing, warning note through the Dreary 
 day and night ; then Sally's heart failed her, and 
 she thought she knew what it was to be a sailor's 
 wife ! 
 
 Thank God, our lives come to us only day by 
 day ! There are a few hours to endure, to work, 
 to fight with dismay, and then there is a respite at
 
 246 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 night, except for those who dream ; and Sally 
 did not dream ; she was too healthy, too practical, 
 too uninjured by trouble or pain to dream ; sleep 
 came to her as the night did, a blessing from 
 heaven, and even the fog-horn ceased to keep her 
 ears or her eyes open after a brief experience. But 
 we who dream, we who rehearse every sorrow in 
 new and ghastlier form ; who recall the dead, with 
 their averted eyes and alien speech, to mock our 
 longing and baffle our grasp ; who predict our 
 coming agonies and rehearse them, as it were, be 
 forehand, even waking with the certainty of grief 
 to come ; or, worst of all, renew in sleep the joys 
 forever lost ; clasp with fond embrace and fervent 
 caresses the little forms that land and sea separate 
 from us ; see face to face, with tender recognition 
 and welcoming kiss, the shape and countenance 
 alienated from us for long, lingering years ; and 
 then, from the keen rapture and joyful surprise, 
 wake to find it all a dream, toe know what wear 
 and tear to soul and body mortal suffering can bring, 
 but we, too, thank God that it is to-day's burden 
 only we have to bear, and not to-morrow's ; that 
 we are taught and accustomed to pray only for our 
 daily bread. 
 
 So day by day the winter wore away for Sally. 
 She had her work to do, which helped her, as work 
 always does ; she had a chicken-coop behind her 
 woodshed, and the fluttering inmates amused and 
 occupied her somewhat ; the neighbors were very 
 friendly; she had a comfortable, pleasant home,
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 247 
 
 and little care ; and with unconscious philosophy 
 she comforted herself, thinking how much worse 
 off she might be, thoughts which are wonderfully 
 consoling to all of us, if we can only think them ! 
 
 Once or twice she heard from Joe, and more 
 often she wrote to him, hoping some of her 
 letters might reach him, much as she might hope a 
 dry leaf, wind- whirled through space, would alight 
 on any given shore ; but still she wrote. Spring 
 brought her the comfort of outdoor life, the cheer 
 of springing grass, of budding trees, of soft winds 
 and showers, of work in her garden, and new life hi 
 broods of bright-eyed chicks, fluffy yellow goslings, 
 and queer little waddling ducks. She loved pets, 
 from the cross old cat she had imported from Bax 
 ter and waited on all winter, to the neighbor's 
 droning horse that carried her to and fro to the 
 occasional meeting, or to get the semi-weekly mail. 
 She wished in her secret heart, with all the shy 
 fervor of a young and childless wife, that Heaven 
 would send her a little child of her own, to share 
 her solitary, longing life, and make it blessed ; and 
 for want of such a grant she loved all little living 
 things, and felt hope bud and blossom in her heart 
 as the spring went on and the birds came, and all 
 things grew in life and strength ; for the dear 
 words of our Lord came back from Nature's inter 
 preting. "if He so care for these," and it seemed 
 to her clear as a special revelation that Joe would 
 also be cared for and returned to her* safely. 
 
 Yet it was a long year and a long voyage. Sum-
 
 248 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 mer came and went, and aunt Lyddy with it, but 
 the Clio did not appear in Boston Bay ; hope grew 
 sick, and faith almost despaired, till, in the middle 
 of October, Joe came in one day to the still, clean 
 kitchen, and put his arms round Sally, who had 
 heard his step coming up the path, but in a very 
 agony of joy could not rise to meet him. 
 
 " Only one month ! " 
 
 Sally looked into Joe's eyes two weeks after his 
 coming with a look of pain and surprise hard to 
 bear. 
 
 " Well, Sally ! I wish to mercy I could help it. 
 Bless you, my little girl, what in thunder would 
 you do ef I was a whalin' cap'en ? three years a 
 voy'ge, an' mebbe seven ; I 've knowed it so to be." 
 
 " Do ! I 'd go with you " 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! ho ! go with me ! I 'm blest if you 
 would, dear ; a whaler ain't no place for women 
 folks, now I tell ye. Ef I was only owner of the 
 Clio you could go along, easy ; but a whaler I my 
 eye ! how do you think you 'd stan' try in' out? " 
 
 " But only a month, Joe ? " Sally recurred with 
 feminine persistence. 
 
 " That 's the record, Sally, sure 's you live." 
 
 And seeing she could not help it, she resolved to 
 be as cheerful and sweet as she could while her 
 husband did stay ; she could cry and fret afterward. 
 She had her reward. 
 
 "The good Lord bless ye, little woman," said 
 Joe, in a very husky voice, as he held her tight iu 
 his arms, trying to say good-by under difficulties,
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 249 
 
 " You Ve made it fair weather and easy sailin' for 
 me ever sence I come home, an' you might ha' laid 
 an entire different course, a sight easier, too ; but 
 it 's allers ben sunshine an' fair winds, though 't was 
 much as ever you could handle the ship. I shall 
 think on 't heaps o' times a-keepin' watch, fair or 
 foul, I tell ye." 
 
 Before Sally could speak he was gone, leaving 
 her heart in a glow, heavy as the parting was. 
 
 This second year was not so hard for Sally, and 
 when the Clio reached Canton there was a letter 
 sent her that made her laugh and cry too, for it 
 ran in this fashion : 
 
 MY DEER SALLY, Here we be, safe to Chiny, 
 after a kind of a dull voyage, never sightin' nothin' 
 nor nobody so 's to hail 'em, save an' except a Brit 
 isher, whereby I sent you a letter, but like enough 
 this '11 get to you first. Also we had trouble 
 aboard. Cap'en Green he fell down the hatchway 
 one mornin' ; well, I don't say he need to, I dono 's 
 he did, and I dono as he did, but when a man crooks 
 his elbow pootty often, and afore breakfast too, 
 why, he 's liable to trip over cables and sech, and 
 I don't think he 's more 'n too fit to boss a vessel, 
 which I never told you nothing about for fear you 
 might get oneasy ; but the end on't is he had suthin' 
 on the brain or in it, an' he lay a-ravin' an' a-tearin' 
 a month, and then he up an' died two weeks afore 
 we made port, so 't I 'm yours to command, 
 Cap'en Hazard as sure as you live !
 
 250 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 P. S. You can go along next v'yage ef you 
 want to. 
 
 Your very luving husband, JOE. 
 
 When the letter got to Sally she knew very 
 well she could go no voyages with Joe ; there was 
 another future before her, and one she by no means 
 quarreled with, but fully meant to keep secret from 
 him, actuated by the same reason that had kept him 
 from telling her how incapable a captain commanded 
 the Clio when she last sailed out of Boston. 
 
 Time went faster now. Eai-ly spring brought 
 aunt Lyddy, eager to help and full of interest, 
 and the first of July actually saw grandmother 
 Jopp " lighting down," as old ballads have it, from 
 the station-master's wagon at Sally's door, in com 
 pany with an obsolete hair trunk and a big band 
 box much the worse for the wear and tear of bag 
 gage-masters and travel. 
 
 There was much bustle and sharp stir of prepa 
 ration now in the old gray house ; store of tiny gar 
 ments fluttering in the hot sun, and skillfully ironed 
 by aunt Lyddy after their due bleaching. Grandma 
 took charge of the poultry, and harried them to 
 and fro till hens remonstrated, and geese came to 
 open war, whenever her slat sunbonnet appeared 
 out of doors. In short, the dynasty of the tranquil 
 gray house was changing, and when on the second 
 anniversary of Sally's wedding-clay a pair of sturdy, 
 splendid boys appeared, the kingdom capitulated 
 at once, and was given over to its double monarchy.
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 251 
 
 If ever there was a happy woman in the world it 
 was Sally Hazard ; she had not even the speck in her 
 joy of Joe's absence, for she pleased herself,, lying- 
 quiet in the still, cool chamber, with thinking how 
 much anxiety his ignorance had spared him, how 
 delicious his surprise would be to find such a wel 
 come when he came home. So she lay there and 
 watched her babies, worshiping them with an un 
 disguised fondness that scared grandmother Jopp, 
 but in obedience to tradition she treated Sally 
 with great respect and tenderness, though it was 
 mighty irksome to her soul to do so. 
 
 " Land o' liberty, Lyddy ! " she exclaimed one 
 morning, as she came into the kitchen fresh from 
 a pitched battle with the geese, who would eat the 
 chickens' food, and the belligerent old rooster, who 
 would fight them to his own destruction. " I 'm 
 tired o' mixin' and mussin' ! I wished ter gracious 
 Sally 'd git raound agin. I 've ben a-goin' deli 
 cately, like that old cretur in the Bible, 'bout as 
 long as I can stan' it, a-whishin' here, an' a-hushin' 
 there, and a-steppin' tippy-toe till my legs ache. 
 I 'd give two cents for a firecracker, jest to hear 
 somethin' pop an' done with 't. I 'm so tired of 
 that everlastin' swash the water keeps up, an' that 
 everlastin' ' Hush ' you keep up." 
 
 Aunt Lyddy flared up in a weakly way : 
 
 " Why, mother Jopp ! you do beat all ! You 
 know Sally must be kep' quiet, now don't ye ? " 
 
 " Well, I s'pose so, but I tell ye I 'm a goin' to 
 stop till she 's outdoor agin and pootty well smarted
 
 252 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 up, 'n' then I 'm a-goin' to free ray mind to her, 
 you 'd better b'lieve ! " with which threat she strode 
 once more into the ranks of greedy geese, and sent 
 terror and dispersion into their souls by means of 
 an old broom and a ragged apron wildly beating 
 the air. 
 
 Poor Sally ! only two weeks after, she sat in 
 the summer parlor watching her precious babies 
 asleep in either end of a long cradle she had 
 found stored away in the garret, a relic of pre 
 vious twins in the Hazard family, when grandma 
 Jopp came in. 
 
 " Are n't they lovely, grandma ? " she began ; 
 just see how soft those little arms are, like satin ; 
 and such pretty dimples on their hands ; are n't 
 their heads lovely, too, so smooth and round, and 
 such mites of curls. I don't believe anybody in 
 the world ever saw such babies." 
 
 " Sally, don't be a fool ! " was the rapid retort ; 
 *' there 's ben heaps of babies in the world afore, a 
 sight harnsomer than them little puckered things ; 
 'n' I tell you what you 're a-makin' idols on 'em ; 
 you love 'em too much, you jest worship 'em ! 
 they '11 be took away from you awful quick, you 
 see ef they ain't ! " 
 
 " I don't believe it, grandma." Sally's eyes 
 blazed, and her cheeks burned with maternal fury. 
 " I don't believe mothers can love their children 
 too much ; if they don't love 'em, how can they take 
 care of them day and night, sick or well, tired or 
 not ? I believe the Lord gave them to me to love.
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 253 
 
 He ain't afraid I '11 over-love them ; He won't take 
 them away for that, I know. I 'd be ashamed to 
 think so hard of Him ! " 
 
 " Why, Sary Hazard ; ain't you kinder profane ? 
 'Pears as if you thought you was dredful intimate 
 with the Lord's ways." 
 
 " Well, I know He is good," snapped Sally, with 
 an unspoken doubt in her heart as to grandma's 
 own qualifications of that sort ; and then aunt 
 Lyddy, hearing her mother's excited tones, came 
 in and intimated war among the poultry, and be 
 guiled the officious old lady from her post ; and 
 the next day she went back to Baxter. 
 
 Sally did not stint her babies of love ; she took 
 them into her heart as she did into her arms, 
 with close and warm folding. Their gentle baby 
 breath lulled her to sleep ; she woke again and 
 again to be sure of them, to spread their coverings 
 straight, to turn them on another side for coolness, 
 to kiss with soft passion the calm brows untraced by 
 thought or care ; and then she slept again, like one 
 who wakes from a happy dream and sleeps again 
 more happily finding it is a waking truth. But she 
 neither neglected her household nor weakly coddled 
 her children. A young girl came to help her when 
 aunt Lyddy left, and to her Sally delegated the 
 housework while she took her babies out in the air, 
 one on either arm, in the fresh autumn days, or 
 put them to sleep in an old hammock, hung from 
 two small trees by the shed door. The babies grew 
 and thrived as babies will, and by November Sally
 
 254 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 began to make ready for Joe ; but the month went 
 on and on without him. Other vessels that had 
 sailed since the Clio began to come in, and in 
 answer to Sally's questions the owners of the ves 
 sel could only reply that they had news of her leav 
 ing port on the proper day, but none farther. 
 Slowly the year fell into its latter days, but brought 
 no more tidings. Sally was anxious, but all the 
 shore people flocked to reassure her, and her cour 
 age did not fail. Granny Tucker, the wise woman 
 of the clan, had found and worked the key to the 
 poor little mother's nature. 
 
 " Keep your heart up, Sally," the bent and 
 wrinkled old creature said ; " I 've come to see ye 
 a good two mile jest to say that, keep your heart 
 up ; them babies '11 pine away as sure as ye don't ; 
 keep 'em pleasant 'an you keep 'em well ; bitter 
 vittles ain't good for nobody, leastest of all for 
 babies, and them little critters is dreadful close to 
 the ma ; they 're too little to know better. You 're 
 jest as good as God to them, an' how 'd you feel ef 
 the Lord above darkened his face to folks ? You 
 keep round ; Joe '11 turn up yet all right. Haz 
 ards don't drown in water, now I tell ye ; they 're 
 a lucky lot." 
 
 And Sally was fortified more by this quaint ad 
 vice than by all her own faith or sense, for it went 
 to the heart of her heart, and flourished. It was a 
 wonder to everybody how she kept strong and 
 bright all that weary winter, and how the babies 
 grew. If anybody hinted that Joe was lost, she
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 255 
 
 resented it like an insult. Grandma Jopp sent her 
 a letter of condolence and pious quotations, mixed 
 with a great deal of complacent "I told ye so," and 
 with it an old crape bonnet and veil of her own, 
 laid aside as good as new, which Sally returned, 
 with the letter inside, by the very next train, after 
 a burst of angry tears, but with no answer or ac 
 knowledgment. 
 
 Spring came, but no word from Joe. If Sally's 
 heart sank she did not show it to the piiblic ; she 
 fought her own battles in secret for her babies' sake, 
 and rushed out from under the accumulating fears 
 and doubts that threatened to crush her, to that 
 safe fold of love her darlings inhabited, seeking rest 
 and strength from their rosy brave faces, their 
 clinging arms, their soft lips at her bosom, their 
 shining heads upon her breast, and never seeking 
 in vain. They grew in the keen salt air and broad 
 sunshine, with incredible vigor, their great dark 
 eyes were bright and calm, their dimpled cheeks 
 flushed with health, their voices sweet as the bird- 
 voices in the woods, and by the time their birthday 
 came they were able to run about the house, to 
 stand at Sally's knee, to call the " papa " they had 
 never seen, to mimic the dog, the cat, the chickens. 
 Their growth and forwardness were the wonder of 
 all the beach, and every man, woman, and child 
 loved Sally's babies, for by this time they all knew 
 Joe was dead. But Sally never gave in. 
 
 " When be you going to wean them great chil 
 dren ? " remonstrated aunt Lyddy.
 
 256 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 " When Joe comes home," was the quiet answer. 
 " I want them to be babies till he gets here." 
 
 " Oh, Sally ! " whimpered Mrs. Lydia, moved to 
 tears. 
 
 "Aunt Lyddy, stop! Joe isn't dead!" the 
 word came out with an effort. " He 's coming- 
 back. I know he is. It 's no use for you to cry 
 about it. I 'm the one to cry, if I did n't know 
 better. Babies, call papa ! " and with a tiny, ring 
 ing shout the unconscious creatures uttered the 
 name they could not understand. 
 
 " There ! " laughed Sally defiantly ; " he '11 come 
 to hear that, aunt Lyddy ! " and the woman half 
 believed her. 
 
 But the babies called in vain ; the summer passed 
 with no response. Autumn mocked the dying 
 year again with idle splendors and elusive mists of 
 glory : the frost nipped sharply all earth's tender 
 things ; the north wind sounded its awful trumpet 
 and hurled wild defiance at the surging sea ; light 
 showers of snow drifted across the blue distance, 
 and dropped their chill plumage on the earth, only 
 to fade in dews in that salt air. It was November, 
 it was Thanksgiving, and Sally, returned from 
 dinner at uncle Samuel Hazard's, where the twins 
 had been the pride and delight of the day, sat alone 
 by the dying kitchen fire ; for her girl had gone 
 home to her own people, to celebrate the festival, 
 and the babies lay sound asleep upstairs in their 
 mother's bed, hugging the spoils of the day that 
 zealous cousins had heaped upon them : rag dollies,
 
 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 257 
 
 bright balls of worsted, knitted reins to drive the 
 rocking-chairs by, all lay in their arms or scattered 
 about the white coverlet. The beautiful curly 
 heads, the dark-lashed eyes, the red lips, the dim 
 pled arms, were all at rest, and Sally had left them 
 at last to think her own thoughts beside the em 
 bers. Her weary hands were clasped about her 
 knees, and with drooping head and eyes, dim with 
 coming tears, fixed on the flickering blaze, she sat 
 there in the quaint old settle a picture to make 
 one's heart ache : longing, wearying, agonizing for 
 the one presence that could alone make the day a 
 real Thanksgiving to her hungry heart, and praying 
 with a certain desperation for Joe's return. She 
 heard yet did not notice the swing of the little gate, 
 the soft sand-muffled steps she should have known. 
 A hand on the latch roused her ; she started up to 
 see the door open, to find herself in Joe's arms ! 
 
 It was a long time before she asked one question, 
 had one thought but that Joe was there ; and when 
 at last she roused to make a few inquiries, it 
 proved to be the old story, the sailor story that 
 has broken so many hearts with grief or joy, 
 tempest, shipwreck, peril, rescue, and late resto 
 ration ; but Sally was impatient of detail. 
 
 " Joe ! " she cried, between tears and laughing, 
 looking a very girl again, with quick blushes on 
 her fair face, " Joe, it is Thanksgiving Day, and 
 you have had no feast ; come upstairs, and put 
 away these worn rags for your Sunday suit, and I '11 
 get your supper."
 
 258 A DOUBLE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 " Jest as if it would n't ha' been Thanksgiving to 
 me to-day ef 't was July, Sally. But I am kinder 
 sharp-set, I allow. I 've driv all day to git here, 
 and had only jest a bite to a tavern." 
 
 But Sally was half-way up the stairs, and Joe, 
 wondering at her unusual particularity about his 
 dress, followed her to the bedside of his babies. 
 
 A long breath heaved his great chest ; he looked 
 at them, then at Sally, and fell on his knees at the 
 bedside, and hid his face in the pillow without a 
 word. It was the triumph of keen emotion over 
 the reticent New England temperament, but only 
 the triumph of a moment ; he lifted his head and 
 looked at Sally, who stood crying and smiling like 
 a rainbow, and a gleam of humor lit his suspi 
 ciously shining eyes as he spoke. 
 
 " 'T ain't fair to double up things on a feller so, 
 Sally ! One Thanksgivin' was all I could steer : 
 two on 'em 's agin chart an' compass. I vow ef I 
 ain't shipwracked agin ! " 
 
 But years after, when other children climbed to 
 his arms or leaned against his knees, .there was no 
 story they liked to hear or he loved to tell so well 
 as the story of his " Double Thanksgiving."
 
 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 " WHY can't you stay to home, Joseph, and work 
 ,he farm just as father done before ye ? " 
 
 " Well, for one thing, mother, I don't hanker to 
 York myself into an old man before my time, an' 
 ive on pork and potatoes like a Paddy." 
 
 Mrs. Gillett sighed. She was a thin, sad-eyed 
 voman of forty-five, who had worked herself almost 
 ;o death, and lived all the time on pork, potatoes, 
 ind pie, the triad of dyspeptic demons that rule in 
 ^ew England kitchens ; and she had no desires be 
 yond her round. She did want to keep her boy at 
 lome to be company and help to her ; he was her 
 irst-born, and now the only child of his mother : 
 ;he other seven filled tiny graves under the daisies 
 ind sorrel in Clinton churchyard. 
 
 Her husband had died of a sunstroke in the corn- 
 ield two years ago. He never made a will ; so 
 mly a third of his personal property came to her : 
 me third of a silver watch, one unbleached shirt, a 
 eg and a third of his pantaloons, for he had two 
 >a,ir, two out of six chairs, and so on, for his 
 ' personals " were few and poor. Joe got house and 
 and. But she could trust her boy, and she looked 
 'orward to a calm, eventless life in his house, think- 
 ng to knit his stockings, tend his babies, make and
 
 260 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 mend for his wife, till she herself should go to her 
 place with her dead. Joseph, however, was of a dif 
 ferent mind ; he was young and ambitious. To 
 this time he had not made any definite plans for 
 himself ; only fretted over his barren acres, his toil 
 in frost and sun, his monotonous food, made pal 
 atable only by hunger and outdoor labor, and his 
 longing to be and do something better than his 
 father had been or done. A night or two before 
 our story begins he had met an old schoolmate at 
 the village " store," grand resort of all the men 
 near enough to make it a place for exchange of 
 gossip, and that opinionated wrangle of ideas so 
 precious to the heart of every true American, and 
 there Harry Jenks had boasted loudly of his place 
 in New York, and displayed on his handsome per 
 son such clothes, such jewelry, and such glazed and 
 astonishing linen that Joe's patched and rustic gar 
 ments seemed to hurt him physically with the sharp 
 sense of humiliating contrast ; but it was not the 
 brilliant aspect of this butterfly alone that struck 
 Joseph ; he was bewitched with the picture his for 
 mer friend drew of the daily excitements and nightly 
 amusements of city life ; his brain reeled with the 
 ferment of new thoughts, his life seemed dull and 
 stagnant as the water of the ditch that drained his 
 swamp lots ; and before he left the store with his 
 jug of molasses and bag of meal he asked Harry to 
 look out for a place for him in New York. He had 
 been "the best hand at figgers" in his school, and 
 a sturdy honesty and common sense underlay this
 
 HOME AGAIN. 261 
 
 ;alent, fitting him by nature for the life of a busi- 
 less man, though dormant within him lay a warm 
 ind generous heart, and a repressed enthusiasm 
 ,hat must be still kept dormant if he expected suc 
 cess. It was of no use for his mother to offer her 
 'eeble arguments to his strong determination ; she 
 elt this as she saw the look of uneasiness and con- 
 empt with which he spoke of his life and labor. 
 kVith womanly instinct she brought another motive 
 o bear. 
 
 " Does Cornelye know you 're goin' ? " 
 Joe flushed to the roots of his dark hair. " No," 
 le said sharply, " not yet." 
 
 " I don't b'lieve she '11 like it," the poor woman 
 njudiciously added. 
 
 Joe's face hardened. " Then she '11 have to do 
 ' other thing." With which ungracious speech he 
 yent out of the kitchen door to the barn. 
 
 Cornelia Marvin was a delicate, gentle girl who 
 aught school in Clinton, where she had been born, 
 nd left a solitary orphan. Joe Gillett had known 
 ier from his early childhood, and had drifted 
 aturally enough into "keeping company" with 
 er as they grew older. Cornelia clung to him 
 /ith every fibre of her innocent, honest heart, and 
 e accepted the homage with contented compla- 
 ence, but rather as a matter of course than with 
 lie vivid, ardent passion of a man for his true love 
 nd future wife. No form of words had ever been 
 ttered between them ; they passed for lovers in 
 ae village gossip ; and who could see the girl's
 
 262 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 great shy hazel eyes upturned to Joseph, the color 
 coming and going in her cheek like the reflection of 
 a wild rose in the brook it overhangs, without read 
 ing in nature's own lovely language the story of her 
 heart ? But all this was a trivial matter to Joe 
 when his future called him. He might marry Nely 
 some time, but at present there was his fortune to 
 make, and he was glad that no pledge of speech or 
 letter had ever given form to the idea of their en 
 gagement : he was a free man. Yet he did not like 
 to tell her of his plans ; he left the news to drift 
 about till it reached her ; and but that she grew 
 paler, and dismissed school at three o'clock one day 
 because she had a dreadful headache, she made no 
 sign. Women do grow pale and have the head 
 ache for a thousand reasons, and who can tell 
 whether it is indignation or heart-break ? 
 
 Joe shook hands with her on Sunday, after 
 church, and said, " Good-by, Cornelye. I s'pose 
 you have heard I 'm going to York into a bank? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," she answered, smiling. " I hope 
 you '11 do great things, Joseph." And that was 
 all. 
 
 Tommy Hymny, as he was nicknamed, an odd 
 character who served as chorus to all the village 
 
 O 
 
 tragedies and comedies, hobbled up just as they 
 parted. 
 
 " Dew tell ! goin' to York, be ye now ? 
 
 ' Mid scenes of confusion an' cretur complaints,' " 
 
 he quavered out in his cracked voice. " Well, well,
 
 HOME AGAIN, 263 
 
 well ! 't ain't more 'n a few Sabba' days sence I re 
 member ye a-toddlin' to meetin' in petticoats 'long 
 :> yer ma : 
 
 ' The creturs, look how old they grow, 
 How old they grow, how old they grow, 
 The creturs, look how old they grow 
 An' wait their fi'ry doo-oo-oom ! ' 
 
 [ guess you won't have to wait for it long down to 
 Y ork, 'cordin' to the tell. 'T is pretty nigh to the 
 *ates of the oncomfortable place, to speak within 
 rounds like." 
 
 " I guess not quite so bad as that, Uncle Tommy," 
 >aid Joe with a laugh. " Harry Jenks ain't gone 
 :o the bad yet." 
 
 " I dono," said the old man sadly. " He 's got 
 :ime enough yit ; the bad way 's dre'df ul smooth 
 it first. 
 
 ' Broad is the road that leads to death, 
 
 An' thousands walk together there ; 
 But wisdom shows a narrer path, 
 With here an' there a traveler.' " 
 
 Sung to the lugubrious old tune of " Windham," 
 something in words or measure gave Joe a sort of 
 spiritual chill ; he turned away hurriedly from 
 Tommy Hymny, who certainly had justified his nick- 
 laine, and sought for Cornelia with a blind instinct, 
 onging for some friendly look or word ; but her 
 ithe and slender figure was far in the distance, and 
 Foe turned homeward a little daunted at the lonely 
 mtlook, glad to be once more by his mother's side. 
 S\> such feeling staid with him long, however ; and
 
 264 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 soon as supper was over he said to his mother, 
 " Well, I 've settled everything for ye so far as I 
 can. Deacon Hills will do well by the farm, and 
 what you don't want of the produce he '11 sell for 
 ye, and uncle 'Lias will haul to mill 'long of his 
 corn whatever you want to grind, and Tommy 
 Hymny '11 split and saw the wood, and see to such 
 chores as you want him to see to ; but I ain't reaHy 
 easy in my mind about your bein' here alone." 
 
 " Well, Joe, I don't expect I shall be alone. I 
 want to get settled to your bein' gone for a spell, 
 an' then I '11 surely have somebody ; there 's wo 
 men-folks enough 'round that 'II be glad to have 
 their board for their comp'ny, an I '11 let ye know 
 right off when I 'm suited with one." 
 
 " I 'most wish you 'd take old Tommy in ; he 'd 
 be a sight of help." 
 
 "For mercy's sakes! Why, I couldn't stan' it 
 noway. Men-folks have to be mended an' made for, 
 an' they 're always masterful an' notional, particu 
 lar an old bach like him ; an' I could n't never 
 stan' his singin' hyrnns like an old cracked hurdy- 
 gurdy, mornin', noon, an' night, whenever he see 
 fit." 
 
 " That is some nooisance, I allow. I wonder 
 how he fell into 't ? " 
 
 " Oh, he had a half -crazy kind of a aunt that 
 fetched him up, an' she learnt him the hull hymn 
 book through, so it come nateral to him to say it 
 when 't was fittin', jest as some folks kote Scripter 
 for every airthly thing, an' he was a real good
 
 HOME AGAIN. 265 
 
 inger in his young days, so lie got sort of used 
 o words an' tunes together, besides likin' real well 
 o hear the sound of his voice. Folks give him 
 lis nickname years ago. I dono as he reelly 
 cnows by this time whether his hymns be said or 
 ung, or whether his name is Hymny or Hin- 
 nan." 
 
 Joe yawned over the explanation, and sauntered 
 ipstairs to pack his old valise. His mother's heart 
 vas running over with tender counsel and motherly 
 varning, but something in Joe's cool eye and care- 
 ess manner shut her lips ; she could only carry her 
 mrden to the feet of her Master, and leave it there 
 or a power transcending even maternal love to lift 
 ind bear it instead of her faltering strength. 
 
 So Joe went to " York " the next day, and before 
 ;he week was over Cornelia Marvin had come to 
 x>ard with Mrs. Gillett, having no home of her own, 
 ind being only too glad to leave the family with 
 vhom she had hitherto lived for the peace and 
 sweetness and unspoken sympathy of Joe's mother 
 ind the shelter of Joe's home. Old Tommy per- 
 ! ormed his daily duties with faithfulness, and added 
 ;o his service scraps of song and bits of consolation 
 ;hat the widow could well have spared ; but she 
 jore with them for the sake of his really kind heart. 
 50 her days went on in creeping quiet, disturbed 
 >nly by a rare letter from Joe, who was not used to 
 jorrespondence, and did not like it. 
 
 " Heered from Joseph, hev ye, Mis' Gillett?" 
 vas the daily question Tommy asked her ; and when
 
 266 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 a long time went by between her affirmative 
 answers, he shook his head sadly, and went off wail 
 ing out, to the tune of " China," 
 
 " Why dew we mo'ru deeparted f rien's ? " 
 
 much as if he were celebrating a funeral service. 
 
 Joseph, however, had found his element in the 
 great city. The lowest clerk in the bank where 
 Harry Jenks had found him a place, he devoted 
 himself to his work so thoroughly and intelligently 
 that he soon drew upon himself the notice of 
 those above him. He unlearned che phrases of his 
 country speech, and spoke like the rest of his com 
 panions. He saved and spared till a city-cut suit 
 of clothes replaced the Sunday garments he had 
 worn at home. He looked no longer like a rustic, 
 yet not the least like a fop, and he worked with a 
 good will and intent purpose ; spent no money on 
 amusements, but studied in his solitary evenings 
 everything that could help him in his business, and 
 went to bed with a sound conscience and a cold 
 heart, sure narcotics for any man. 
 
 It had been Mrs. Gillett's one hope and thought 
 that Joe should come home to Thanksgiving the 
 first time that festival came round after he left her. 
 She had made her simple prepai-ations for the day 
 early. Tommy Hymny had provided the vegeta 
 bles that she had not raised herself , and brought 
 her the very biggest squash for her pies that ever 
 grew in Clinton. 
 
 " Look a-here," he said, as he struggled up to the
 
 HOME AGAIN. 267 
 
 back door, carrying the great straw-colored fruit in 
 his arms. " Did y' ever see sech a skosh as this 
 here ? I swow to man it beats time. Well, 't ain't 
 none too good for Thanksgivin Day pies, an' I '11 
 bet a cookey Joe never see nothin' so good down to 
 York. 'T is kinder good to hev him comin' back. 
 
 ' Who shall describe the jo-oys thet rise 
 Through all the courts o' paradise 
 To se-e-e a prodigal re-e-turn ! ' 
 
 Well, I don' know as I had ought to call him a 
 prodigal ; he ain't one o' thet sort. I had ought to 
 have broke off with line second. Deacon Hills is 
 a-goin' to send over the turkey to-morrer, an' I '11 
 kill them two chickens to-night for the pie, an' 
 Why, Cornelye Marvin, where be ye goin' ? " 
 
 " Up to Putney, to keep Thanksgiving with an 
 old schoolmate, Uncle Tommy," answered a sweet, 
 steady voice, and a pale, sad countenance smiled at 
 the good old soul, whose broad face was agape with 
 surprise. 
 
 " Well, of all things ! I s'pose you thought 
 two was comp'ny an' three 's a crowd. Dreadful 
 thoughtful women-folks be ; but sometimes they 're 
 a leetle mite too much ser. I bet Joe would n't 
 ha' thought you 'd make a crowd, anyhow." 
 
 The stage drove up just in time to spare Cornelia 
 from answering, except by the vivid blush that 
 made her thin cheeks glow, and with one more 
 good-by to the widow, who understood her too well 
 to ask her to stay', the lonely girl left her home 
 before the one home-day of all our New England
 
 268 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 world. But the same stage brought a brief, plau 
 sible letter from Joe. He could not come back so 
 soon, he said. Being the youngest clerk in the 
 bank, he did not like to ask a holiday, and the 
 journey would be expensive. 
 
 The widow Gillett sold her turkey and her squash, 
 and ate her meagre meal in bitterness of soul, with 
 no Thanksgiving story or song in her lonely heart. 
 Uncle Tommy's condolence was in vain, being of 
 that pungent and counter-irritant sort common to 
 his race. 
 
 " Well, well, well ! so he ain't a-comin' ? Beats 
 all. I expect you sot your heart on 't too much. 
 Disapp'intment is good for pussonal piety, though. 
 Some like med'cine. Mabbe you 've made a idle 
 of Joseph, Mis' Gillett, an' so Providence is a-tak- 
 in' ye to do for 't. 
 
 ' The dearest idle I-I hev kno-own, 
 Whate'er thet i-idle be-e,' " 
 
 he quavered, casting up his eyes to the ceiling as he 
 went on ; but when the verse was over, and he 
 looked round complacently for his hearer, she had 
 gone, and shaking his head mournfully, he took up 
 the swill pail and departed. 
 
 Mrs. Gillett sent no word of reproach to Joe. 
 She had a dim instinct that he preferred not to 
 come home, and a certain healthy pride of charac 
 ter forbade her to urge him to a distasteful duty 
 merely for her own pleasure. She began to under 
 stand from his rare letters that he was growing into 
 a higher place than his mother's home or heart ; his
 
 HOME AGAIN. 269 
 
 language was of another style than the rustic utter 
 ance she still used, and his talk was of stocks and 
 shares, of pressing business and astounding successes. 
 Year after year passed by, and still he did not couie 
 home to Thanksgiving, and ceased even to excuse 
 himself. Now and then a handsome present came 
 to his mother, heavy silk for a dress, winter furs, 
 soft shawls, or warm slippers ; and while he was 
 duly thanked for them, they were always packed 
 away in the old camphor chest that had kept moths 
 at bay all his mother's life, and neither worn nor 
 looked at. 
 
 " Why don't you wear your nice warm things, 
 aunt Serena ? " asked Cornelia, during one bitter 
 winter. 
 
 "I can't, dear," said the patient voice of the 
 widow. " I conceit somehow thet they would n't 
 warm me none. I 'd rather set eyes on Joseph 
 than hev all the furs and things under the hull 
 canopy." 
 
 Cornelia turned away to hide her overflowing 
 eyes. 
 
 But Joe, meantime, was drinking a full cup of 
 success ; the ten years that had already whitened 
 his mother's brown hair and changed the slight, 
 sweet girl Cornelia into a grave woman with a firm, 
 rounded figure, and serious, tender face, full of 
 thought and feeling, had transformed Joe still more. 
 He had given every power of his life to the acqui 
 sition of money, and his iron will had bent circum 
 stances to his favor, and grasped every occasion or
 
 270 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 possibility of gain ; the fleeting fancy of his youth, 
 the dark-eyed maiden who had done him homage, 
 had faded from his inner as well as his outer vision. 
 He laid dollar on dollar aside till some sure invest 
 ment presented itself, and then, after a certain 
 hoard had accumulated, began to speculate. His 
 clear head and retentive memory helped him to an 
 almost marvelous insight into the possibilities of 
 the Stock Exchange, and his money returned to him 
 again and again, doubled and redoubled, till he was 
 almost a rich man ; and then, driven by that greed 
 which grows more greedy with each new gain, that 
 devil's hunger and thirst which warps and degrades 
 the human soul like a hidden sin, he married for 
 money. 
 
 Miss Adelaide Snyder was an orphan with two 
 millions in her own right, and being long past her 
 girlhood, and always distrusting such friends and 
 lovers as approached her, because she felt in her 
 narrow soul they must be after her money and 
 not her, she at last was unfortunate enough to fall 
 
 * O 
 
 madly in love with Mr. Gillette, the handsome 
 banker, who had put another letter on to his father's 
 old-fashioned name, and given its last syllable the 
 heavy accent so much more "stylish" than that 
 which affiliated it with " billet " and " skillet." 
 Joseph Gillett had indeed developed into a much 
 handsomer man than even his mother had expected ; 
 good food had furnished him with abundant muscle, 
 and the early and long walks taken to his business, 
 in order to save car-fare, had preserved his health.
 
 HOME AGAIN. 271 
 
 Dissipation had not tempted him ; he was too busy 
 ;o play ; and he dressed well always, being keen 
 mough to perceive at once that a prosperous aspect 
 aeckons and allures prosperity, to seem successful 
 jeing half success with the world of men. There 
 ,vas no mistaking Miss Snyder's sentiments toward 
 Joseph ; she was not especially shy or wanting in 
 self-appreciation ; she understood and respected 
 Joseph's passion for money, and lavished her smiles 
 ind attentions upon him with a serene confidence 
 :hat her red hair and sharp features, her lean, 
 mgular figure and graceless aspect, would be un 
 seen in the glitter of her diamonds and the glow 
 jf her gold. 
 
 It was a brief courtship. Joe had not been used 
 to linger over any of his speculations, and he made 
 no delay about this. They were to sail at once for 
 Europe, and buy the trousseau in Paris, and he had 
 3nly time to send his mother a paper with the short 
 announcement of his marriage, and a postal card to 
 tell her of his sudden departure for another land. 
 He did not once think of asking her to his wed- 
 ling ; it was a mere business arrangement in his 
 mind, and he knew very well what scorn would 
 light up Miss Snyder's prominent green eyes at 
 sight of the homely, humble little woman who was 
 bo be her mother-in-law. 
 
 But the news came like a blow on Mrs. Gillett. 
 Deep in her heart still burned the hope that after 
 be was rich Joseph would come back and marry 
 Cornelia, who had grown nearer and dearer to her
 
 272 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 with each year, and the- patient woman's thoughts 
 would wander from her monotonous knitting, and 
 weave for themselves tender motherly dreams of a 
 house full of clinging children, a chair by her son's 
 fireside, an old age of honor and loving tendance, 
 and a renewal of her own motherhood in Joseph's 
 and Cornelia's offspring. 
 
 Now this was over. She felt with almost the 
 certainty of knowledge that her son's wife would be 
 no comfort to her, perhaps even ashamed of her. 
 She understood with a sharp emotion of regret 
 why she had not been asked to Joseph's marriage ; 
 but the regret was more for her boy than herself. 
 And a sharper pang yet was added when she per 
 ceived that Cornelia paled and grew silent for many 
 a long week. 
 
 Tommy Hymny alone received the news in an 
 appropriate spirit. 
 
 " You don't say our Joseph 's reely married. Hal- 
 lylooyer ! hallylooyer ! hallylooyer ! Amen. Well, 
 well ! a York gal too. Rich as mud, I s'pose, an' 
 pootier 'n a pictur. Sech is life, Mis' Gillett. 
 Some folks hez the pertaters an' some the parin's ; 
 tis his'n to get the old 'riginal roots, b'iled an' 
 skinned an' buttered, an' I 've got the skins. But 
 land ! I sorter like skins ; they 're hullsome. So 
 Joe 's married : 
 
 ' Blest be-e the tie-ie that binds.' 
 
 That 's so. Well, I 'd sort o' con sated that Cor- 
 nelye an' him would hitch hosses for the traviled
 
 HOME AGAIN. 273 
 
 road o' this world, but 't wa'n't so to be. Man 
 proposes an' the Lord disposes, they say. PYaps 
 he did n't propose, though, thet is, to Cornelye. 
 Anyway, I expect he 's got a good un ; " and 
 Tommy struck up, to the solemn rhythm of "Old 
 Hundred," 
 
 " ' may this pair increasin' find 
 
 Substan-shill playsures of the mind ; 
 Happee too-gether may they be, 
 An' both united ' 
 
 Darn it ! I 've forgot the rest. I don't put into 
 't reel often. This town 's consider'ble like hea 
 ven : the' ain't much marryin' an' givin' in mar 
 riage here." 
 
 And having thus cackled his congratulations, 
 Tommy walked off to the barn. 
 
 Another cloud seemed now to have settled on 
 the Gillett house ; both Cornelia and aunt Serena 
 went about softly, as did Agag of old, feeling that 
 the bitterness of life was upon them afresh. The 
 two women grew pitifully tender of each other, and 
 perhaps their daily work and duties were all that 
 saved them from that settled melancholy which 
 sometimes unfits the strongest mind for its earthly 
 existence. 
 
 Meanwhile Joseph was enjoying himself, in a 
 certain fashion, abroad. If he soon found out 
 that his wife was jealous, selfish, and exacting, he 
 set that down to the loss account of his bargain 
 against the two millions solid gain ; and if some- 
 times there arose beside the gaunt and unlovely
 
 274 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 figure of this bride in priceless costumes and jew 
 els the delicate outlines of a girl with dark melan 
 choly eyes full of love and sorrow, in a calico gown 
 and white apron, the sigh he involuntarily uttered 
 was followed by a little expletive of scorn, due en 
 tirely to the aforesaid calico and cambric, for his 
 heart was yet hardened. Some new and successful 
 speculations in foreign stocks kept him busy, and 
 Mrs. Gillette amused herself with operas and balls. 
 She too had found out that Joseph was by no means 
 the lover or the husband she had expected, but she 
 was woman of the world enough to accept the situ 
 ation and make the best of it. 
 
 So ten years more rolled by. One puny baby had 
 been born of this heartless union, and died after an 
 hour of fluttering life. In all this time Joe had seen 
 his mother but twice : once when he brought home 
 the baby body to lay it beside his father in the old 
 churchyard ; and his heart seemed open again to 
 ward his mother and his home ; he sat by her once 
 more in the time-worn but unchanged kitchen, and 
 saw how years and longing had turned her hair to 
 bands of snow, and lined her face with the fine 
 script of grief in a thousand delicate etchings. He 
 was welcomed by Tommy Hynmy, decrepit, but 
 unfaltering in his quaver : 
 
 " Deary me ! so this is Joe ! Mister Gillett, I 
 expect. How you hev growed ! And fetched your 
 babe hum to the cemet'ry for to rest beside your 
 folks. Well, well ! it beats all ! I 've felt for ye, 
 Joseph. I hev, quite a little. Providence hain't
 
 HOME AGAIN. 275 
 
 gifted me with no children, nor no wife, for the 
 matter o' that ; but I Ve bore up under 't ; less 
 hev, less lose, ye know ; and I ain't never one to 
 say, Why do ye so ? to Providence ; I 've kinder 
 squirmed along, as you may say, and hed my own 
 troubles, but ye know, 
 
 ' Not f ro-om the du-u-ust affli-hic-tions rise, 
 Nor trou-u-ubles co-o-ome by chance.' 
 
 Goes real good to * St. Martin's,' that does seems 
 to kinder sob. Well, well ; good-by to ye, Joseph ; 
 be good, an' you '11 be happy ; mabbe not jest here, 
 but there 's t' other world, ye know." 
 
 This was just what the rich banker did not know 
 practically, but he went back to his splendid home 
 and his pining, disappointed wife, with Tommy's 
 odd phrases ringing in his ears, soon, however, to 
 be forgotten in the renewed rush for the wealth 
 that was no longer a blessing to him, but only the 
 minister of a mad and degrading greed for more 
 gold. Yet neither his mother nor his mother's God 
 had forgotten this prodigal, who so filled himself 
 with husks. Near the end of this last ten years a 
 man whom he had trusted with the blindest confi 
 dence failed, as men will fail, to deserve that 
 trust; embezzlement, flight, panic, falling houses, 
 all dragged down by this false dependence on an 
 other, one here and another there, like the outlying 
 compartments of a card palace, going down with 
 shame and despair. 
 
 It is an old story, ever new, but sad as it is old ; 
 the millionaire of to-day may be the beggar of to-
 
 276 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 morrow, and his trust in uncertain riches once gone, 
 what is left to him ? 
 
 " Crumble it and what comes next ? 
 Is it God ? " 
 
 And there were added to this loss others, contin 
 gent on it, that left Joseph Gillett a solitary man. 
 The shock of ruin killed his wife as surely as any 
 death-dealing bullet ; and not her only, for with her 
 passing soul went out another, the yet untried spirit 
 of a new-born child, long desired, eagerly looked 
 for, as the heir and increaser of this money that had 
 proved but fairy gold. To say that the ruined 
 banker mourned his wife would be a mere polite 
 ness, but he did bitterly grieve for the child he had 
 so earnestly wished might give a new hope and rea 
 son to his own existence ; and when he found him 
 self almost penniless, after he had laid mother and 
 child to rest in the gorgeous suburban grave-yard, 
 where long since he had erected the most exquisite 
 monument of its vast collection, he remembered, 
 like the echo of a past life, Tommy Hymny's quaint 
 phrase, " There 's t' other world, ye know." 
 
 He had lingered behind the funeral train, send 
 ing his carriage back empty, and seated himself on 
 a little hillock to watch the filling of the grave that 
 held the two tenants, when the odd words came 
 back to him. The low sun struck across the shorn 
 and verdant grass at his feet, the sad, sweet odors 
 of late autumn filled the soft air, and above the 
 suggestive chamber in that emerald turf rose, on a 
 high and simple pedestal, the shape of a colossal
 
 HOME AGAIN. 277 
 
 foman, holding in her dropped hand a slight cross 
 hat lay against her side, and with the other point- 
 ng upward, while her face, radiant with trust and 
 xpectance, yet calm with sure and certain hope, 
 aoked away from and over all the graves beneath 
 ier to the far eastern hills, as if she hailed beyond 
 hem the advent morning, and returned in her eyes 
 he light of his coming who is the Resurrection and 
 he Life. That exalted look of serene rapture fell 
 ike a spell on the arid and rocky heart of Joseph 
 jillett; his losses and sorrows vanished for the 
 loment ; that other world drew near and enveloped 
 dm in its glory ; his flesh and spirit quailed be- 
 ore the suggestion of that glad aspect ; some old 
 morels heard in his childhood rose up to his confu- 
 ion : " Who shall abide the day of his coining ? 
 ^.nd who shall stand when He appeareth ? " and 
 efore their awful utterance his soul shrank and 
 dwindled as in the very presence of a neglected 
 nd forgotten Master asking for the talents in- 
 rusted to his unfaithful servant. It was almost 
 s if the grave gave up its dead, this arising of 
 he blinded and besotted soul at the word of the 
 jord ; but it was a true resurrection, for after a 
 ong hour of deep and torturing conflict within 
 dmself, he rose up, leaving his dead behind him, 
 nth the old repentant sentence on his lips, though 
 i an never heard it spoken, "Father, I have sinned 
 gainst Heaven and in thy sight, and am no more 
 worthy to be called thy son." 
 And it happened to him, as before, that his Fa-
 
 278 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 ther saw him a great way off, and had compassion 
 on him. 
 
 No temptation offered him to return to his busi 
 ness career had after this any tempting in it. To 
 the last dollar his money went to pay all that he 
 owed, and was barely sufficient to set him free ; 
 but his creditors were merciful, and accepted what 
 they could get graciously, knowing very well that 
 this, the chief sufferer, was not the chief sinner, 
 who had at the first alarm put wide seas between 
 him and the danger of losing the proceeds of his 
 treason. 
 
 It was hardly a grief to the widow Gillett to 
 hear of Joseph's losses ; her maternal instinct long 
 ago had convinced her that he was not happy with 
 his wife, and she knew that his money had built up 
 a wall of separation between her boy and herself. 
 There was almost a smile on her sweet old face as 
 she told Tommy, when he came tottering into the 
 house with a basket of apples, the story of failure 
 and poverty that had befallen Joseph. 
 
 " Good Jericho ! you don't say it ? Why, I 
 thought he was rollin' in gold, Mis' Gillett. Well, 
 well ! 't is the root of all evil, sartin, leastways 
 the love on 't is. I have sorter noticed, though, that 
 folks don't seem to think so. Ain't it onsartiu 
 stuff? 
 
 ' Riches take 'era -wings a-and fly ; 
 Time sha-all soon this airth remove.' 
 
 That 's so, and mabbe 't is for the best ; most 
 things is. I have n't never hed no trouble with
 
 HOME AGAIN. 279 
 
 ioney, an' I 'm a'most through, without it, praise 
 e to thanks ! 'T is kinder perilous stuff, now 
 in'tit? 
 
 ' What sinners valoo, I resign.' 
 
 ot to say Joseph 's one o' the sinners ; but mabbe 
 e '11 come into the kingdom now, seein' he 's 
 ;ripped an' wownded like the prodigy. 
 
 ' Hearken, ye lively, and attend, ye vain ones ; 
 Pause in your mirth, adversity consider ; 
 Learn from a friend's pen, sentimental, painful, 
 Death-bed reflections.' " 
 
 'he quaint old hymn, delivered in Tommy's most 
 racked and wandering quaver, sinking into a minor 
 rowl at the end, was almost too much for the wid- 
 w ? s gravity; she turned suddenly into the door, 
 ad Tommy mumbled as he went, " 'T ain't quite 
 ly death-bed, nuther ; but hymns an' psalms don't 
 t as close as a new boot allers ; there hez to be a 
 largin." 
 
 This year there would indeed be a Thanksgiving 
 t the Gillett farm, for Joseph had resolved to 
 3me home and live with his mother. In his pros- 
 erity he had given her the farm for her own, and 
 dded to the deed twenty thousand dollars, which 
 as far more than she needed in her simple life, so 
 lat now it had accumulated considerably, and she 
 ad enough to keep her boy, as she still called him, 
 i comfort. 
 
 This time Cornelia did not run away ; she thought 
 f herself as an old woman, now that twenty long 
 ears stood between her and the girl of eighteen
 
 280 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 who had believed Joe Gillett loved her as she loved 
 him ; and her color did not fade or her heart falter 
 as she held out her hand to welcome her old friend, 
 as soon as his mother's silent, tearful greeting was 
 over. 
 
 Joseph could not believe his eyes. He was gray, 
 haggard, bent, showing to the full his forty-five 
 years ; but not a line of silver streaked Cornelia's 
 abundant dark hair, her eyes were sweet and serene, 
 her broad forehead calm and noble, a steady rose 
 of health glowed on her cheek, and the firm full 
 lips were crimson as the rose's bud. She had been 
 a lovely girl ; she was now a superb and serious 
 woman, one of those who give an inexpressible 
 sense of comfort and cheer wherever they are met, 
 and can make even a poor and dreary house into a 
 real home by their presence. For a long and 
 weary time Joe Gillett had not tasted peaceful hap 
 piness. Now as he sat by the crackling fire, with 
 his mother beside him and Cornelia at the table 
 sewing, just across the hearth, he seemed to him 
 self to have been a mad fool for the last twenty 
 years ; he could not even smile without a half sigh 
 when old Tommy stumbled into the kitchen after 
 tea, to welcome him home. 
 
 " Well, well, well ! here ye be, Joseph ! jest as 
 large as life, an' twice as nateral. I 'm 'mazin' 
 tickled to see ye. I guess I be. 
 
 ' When I sot out for glory 
 I lef the world behind.' 
 
 That 's so. Now, Mis' Gillett, you '11 hev seel?
 
 HOME AGAIN. 281 
 
 another Thanksgivin' Day, won't ye ? Vittles of 
 the best, pies an' things of the reel old-fashioned 
 stripe, Joseph. I see 'em last night a-settin' on 
 the butt'ry shelf in rows, an' that there turkey o' 
 Deacon Hills's raisin' is jest as fat an' white as a 
 chestnut worm ; an' I picked the crambries myself 
 down in th' old tamarack swamp ; that 's the carnal 
 an' airthly part on 't ; the speritooal 's better ; here 
 ye be agin, th' only son, an' she a widder. 
 
 ' Hallylooyer ! 't is done ! 
 
 I believe in the Son, 
 
 An' to glory we will go, will go, will go, 
 An' to glory we will go.' 
 
 Yes, marcy 's better 'n sacrifice an' burnt-offerin's. 
 Yer boy 's got to the old pecooliar place where he 
 was fetched up, an' you 've ben an' killed the fatted 
 calf, thet is to say, the turkey, ye know ; same 
 sperit, an' you 've got your reward, yes, inarm. 
 
 ' The men of grace hev found 
 Glo-ree begun below, 
 Celestyill fruit on airthly ground.' 
 
 "Well, I must be a-goin'." 
 
 Cornelia had vanished too, tears and laughter 
 together had been too much for her ; and long into 
 the night Joe and his mother sat by the fire, saying 
 little, but full of thought. 
 
 It was a long time before Joseph Gillett dared to 
 ask Cornelia for the heart he had once thrown away, 
 and longer still before she gave it openly into his 
 keeping. He never fully knew how faithful it 
 had been to him in absence and neglect.
 
 282 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 The next year's Thanksgiving Day had a double 
 celebration. Early in the morning the old minister 
 drove over to the Gillett farm, and, before -no wit 
 ness but his mother, Joseph and Cornelia were 
 married, and even that mother felt no pang of 
 jealous affection when Joseph turned to his wife 
 and said, with trembling lips, 
 
 " Now I am at home again, Nely, and ready to 
 give thanks." 
 
 There was but one thing to regret, and that was 
 Tommy Hymny's absence ; but old age had weak 
 ened him at last, and a severe fall had broken his 
 hip ; he was fast sinking into the grave. After din 
 ner Cornelia and Joe went over to the tiny house 
 he lived in, to carry him some of the feast and cheer 
 his loneliness. 
 
 " Here you be," said the weak, cheerful voice, 
 and the still keen old eyes sparkled with welcome. 
 " I 've lived to see this day fin'ly, an' I did n't 
 skerce expect to. I 'm as pleased as pie, Joseph. 
 I tell ye she 's a dreadful good woman, Cornelye is; 
 one of the fust best. I 'd kinder like to see ye 
 livin' together in peace an' so on, but I 'm goin' 
 hum, an' that 's better. 
 
 ' I 'm goiu' hum, I 'm goin' hum, 
 I 'm goin' hum, to die no more.' " 
 
 The feeble quaver and the smiling eye were in 
 expressibly touching. Quick tears filled the bride's 
 eyes. 
 
 " Why, don't ye, now! don't ye ! " said Tommy 
 earnestly. " I 'm awful glad. I hain't never be-
 
 HOME AGAIN. 283 
 
 longed to nobody in p'ticular here below, an' I do 
 'lot on seein' our folks in t' other world. There 's 
 mother: I set by mother a sight when I was a 
 leetle shaver ; seemed as though I could n't noways 
 hev her go. Pa 'd died afore I was born, ye see, 
 fell off'n a barn ; but I hed to live ; kinder squirmed 
 up, as ye may say ; but I 've dreamed about mother 
 more times ! There 's aunt Pamelye Ann, too, she 
 that learned me sech a sight o' hymns. I expect 
 she 's ben a-harpin' an' a-singin' ever sence she got 
 there. I 'd like to jine in along of her once more. 
 S'pose pa will be pleased to see me too. Dear me ! 
 it 's revivin' to think of. 
 
 ' On Jordan's stormy banks I stan', 
 
 An' cast a wishful eye 
 Towardst Canaan's fair an' happy land, 
 Where my ' 
 
 Oh dear ! I can't sing no more. I do reely b'lieve 
 I 'in a-goin'. I'm so thankful " 
 
 A smile ran across the withered old face like a 
 gleam of sudden light, a flickering shadow followed. 
 Tommy raised himself on one arm. 
 
 " Don't think I forget the Lord. He 's the hull 
 on 't. I 'in a-goin' to keep Thanksgivin' 'long o' 
 Him. 
 
 'Glory be to'" 
 
 And with this last hymn lingering on his pallid 
 lips, he laid his head back on the pillow, smiled, and 
 died.
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 " IF there 's anything on the face of the earth I 
 do hate, it 's an old maid ! " 
 
 Mrs. Stearns looked up from her sewing in as 
 tonishment. 
 
 "Why, Miss Celia!" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I know it. I 'm one myself, but all 
 the same, I hate 'ern worse than p'ison. They ain't 
 nothing nor nobody ; they 're cumberers of the 
 ground." And Celia Barnes laid down her scis 
 sors with a bang, as if she might be Atropos herself, 
 ready to cut the thread of life for all the despised 
 class of which she was a notable member. 
 
 The minister's wife was genuinely surprised at 
 this outburst ; she herself had been well along in 
 life before she married, and though she had been 
 fairly happy in the uncertain relationship to which 
 she had attained, she was, on the whole, inclined to 
 agree with St. Paul, that the woman who did not 
 marry " doeth better." " I don't agree with you, 
 Miss Celia," she said gently. "Many, indeed, 
 most of my best friends are maiden ladies, and 
 I respect and love them just as much as if they 
 were married women." 
 
 " Well, I don't. A woman that 's married is 
 somebody ; she 's got a place in the world ; she ain't
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 285 
 
 everybody's tag ; folks don't say, ' Oh, it 's nobody 
 but that old maid Celye Barnes ; ' it 's ' Mis' Price," 
 and ' Mis' Sirnms,' or ' Thomas Smith's wife,' as 
 though you was somebody. I don't know how 't is 
 elsewheres, but here in Bassett you might as well be 
 a dog as an old maid. I allow it might be better 
 if they all had means or eddication : money 's ' a 
 dreadful good thing to have in the house,' as I see 
 in a book once, and learning is sort of comp'ny to 
 you if you 're lonesome ; but then lonesome you be, 
 and you 've got to be, if you 're an old maid, and it 
 can't be helped noway." 
 
 Mrs. Stearns smiled a little sadly, thinking that 
 even married life had its own loneliness when your 
 husband was shut up in his study, or gone off on a 
 long drive to see some sick parishioner or conduct 
 a neighborhood prayer-meeting, or even when he 
 was the other side of the fireplace absorbed in a 
 religious paper or a New York daily, or meditating 
 on his next sermon, while the silent wife sat un 
 noticed at her mending or knitting. " But mar 
 ried women have more troubles and responsibili 
 ties than the unmarried, Miss Celia," she said. 
 " You have no children to bring up and be anxious 
 about, no daily dread of not doing your duty by 
 the family whom you preside over, and no fear of 
 the supplies giving out that are really needed. No 
 body but your own self to look out for." 
 
 " That 's jest it," snapped Celia, laying down the 
 boy's coat she was sewing with a vicious jerk of her 
 thread. " There 't is ! Nobody to home to care if
 
 286 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 you live or die ; nobody to peek out of the winder 
 to see if you 're comin', or to make a mess of gruel 
 or a cup of tea for you, or to throw ye a feelin' 
 word if you 're sick nigh unto death. And old 
 maids is just as li'ble to up and die as them that 's 
 married. And as to responsibility, I ain't afraid to 
 tackle that. Never! I don't hold with them that 
 cringe and crawl and are skeert at a shadder, and 
 won't do a living thing that they had ought to do 
 because they 're ' afraid to take the responsibility.' 
 Why, there 's Mrs. Deacon Trimble, she durst n't so 
 much as set up a prayer-meetin' for missions or the 
 temp'rance cause, because 't was ' sech a reespon- 
 sibility to take the lead in them matters.' I sup 
 pose it 's somethin' of a responsible chore to preach 
 the gospel to the heathen, or grab a drinkin' fel 
 ler by the scruff of his neck and haul him out of 
 the horrible pit anyway, but if it 's dooty it 's got 
 to be done, whether or no ; and I ain't afraid of 
 pitchin' into anything the Lord sets me to do ! " 
 
 " Except being an old maid," said Mrs. Stearns. 
 
 Celia darted a sharp glance at her over her sil 
 ver-rimmed spectacles, and pulled her needle 
 through and through the seams of Willy's jacket 
 with fresh vigor, while a thoughtful shadow came 
 across her fine old face. Celia was a candid woman, 
 for all her prejudices, a combination peculiarly char 
 acteristic of New England, for she was a typical 
 Yankee. Presently she said abruptly, " I had n't 
 thought on 't in that light." But then the minis- 
 ter opened the door, and the conversation stopped.
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 287 
 
 Parson Stearns was tired and hungry and cross, 
 and his wife knew all that as soon as she saw his 
 face. She had learned long ago that ministers, 
 however good they may be, are still men ; so to-day 
 she had kept her husband's dinner warm in the 
 tinder-oven, and had the kettle boiling to make him 
 a cup of tea on the spot to assuage his irritation in 
 the shortest and surest way ; but though the odor of 
 a savory stew and the cheerful warmth of the cook 
 ing-stove greeted him as he preceded her through 
 the door into the kitchen, he snapped out, sharply 
 enough for Celia to hear him through the half-closed 
 door, " What do you have that old maid here for 
 so often ? " 
 
 " There ! " said Celia to herself, " there 't is ! 
 He don't look upon 't as a dispensation, if she 
 doos. Men -folks run the world, and they know 
 it. There ain't one of the hull caboodle but what 
 despises an onmarried woman ! Well, 't ain't alto 
 gether my fault. I would n't marry them that I 
 could ; I could n't not and be honest ; and them 
 that I would hev had did n't ask me. I don't 
 know as I 'm to blame, after all, when you look 
 into 't." 
 
 And she went on sewing Willy's jacket, con 
 trived with pains and skill out of an old coat of 
 his father's, while Mrs. Stearns poured out her hus 
 band's tea in the kitchen, replenished his plate with 
 stew, and cut for him more than one segment of 
 the crisp, fresh apple-pie, and urged upon him the 
 squares of new cheese that legitimately accompany
 
 288 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 this deleterious viand of the race and country, the 
 sempiternal, insistent, flagrant, and alas ! also fra 
 grant pie. 
 
 Celia Barnes was the tailoress of the little scat 
 tered country town of Bassett. Early left an orphan, 
 without near relatives or money, she had received 
 the scantiest measure of education that our town 
 authorities deal to the pauper children of such 
 organizations. She was ten years old when her 
 mother, a widow for almost all those ten years, left 
 her to the tender mercies of the selectmen of Bas 
 sett. The selectmen of our country towns are al 
 most irresponsible governors of their petty spheres, 
 and gratify the instinct of oligarchy peculiar to, and 
 conservative of, the human race. Men must be 
 governed and tyrannized over, it is an inborn 
 necessity of their nature ; and while a republic is 
 a beautiful theory, eminently fitted for a race who 
 are " non Angli, sed Angeli," it has in practice the 
 effect of producing more than Russian tyranny, 
 but on smaller scales and in far and scattered lo 
 calities. Nowhere are there more despots than 
 among village selectmen in New England. Those 
 who have wrestled with their absolute monarchism 
 in behalf of some charity that might abstract a few 
 of the almighty dollars made out of poverty and 
 disti'ess from their official pockets know how pos 
 itive and dogmatic is their use of power experto 
 crede. The Bassett " first selectman " promptly 
 bound out little Celia Barnes to a hard, imperi 
 ous woman, who made a white slave of the child,
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 289 
 
 and only dealt out to her the smallest measure of 
 schooling demanded by law, because the good old 
 minister, Father Perkins, interfered in the child's 
 behalf. 
 
 As she was strong and hardy and resolute, Celia 
 lived through her bondage, and at the " free " age 
 of eighteen apprenticed herself to old Miss Polly 
 Mariner, the Bassett tailoress, and being deft with 
 her fingers and quick of brain, soon outran her 
 teacher, and when Polly died, succeeded to her 
 business. 
 
 She was a bright girl, not particularly noticeable 
 among others, for she had none of that delicate 
 flower-like New England beauty which is so pe 
 culiar, so charming, and so evanescent ; her features 
 were tolerably regular, her forehead broad and 
 calm, her gray eyes keen and perceptive, and she 
 had abundant hair of an uncertain brown ; but forty 
 other girls in Bassett might have been described in 
 the same way ; Celia's face was one to improve 
 with age ; its strong sense, capacity for humor, fine 
 outlines of a rugged sort, were always more the style 
 of fifty than fifteen, and what she said of herself 
 was true. 
 
 She had been asked to marry an old farmer with 
 five uproarious boys, a man notorious in East Bas 
 sett for his stinginess and bad temper, and she had 
 promptly declined the offer. Once more fate had 
 given her a chance. A young fellow of no character, 
 poor, " shiftless," and given to cider as a beverage, 
 had considered it a good idea to marry some one
 
 290 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 who would make a home for him and earn his liv 
 ing. Looking about him for a proper person to 
 fill this pleasant situation, he pounced on Celia 
 and she returned the attention ! 
 
 " Marry you ? I wonder you 've got the sass to ask 
 any decent girl to marry ye, Alfred Hatch ! What 
 be you good for, anyway ? I don't know what under 
 the canopy the Lord spares you for, only He 
 doos let the tares grow amongst the wheat, Scripter 
 says, and I 'm free to suppose He knows why, but 
 I don't. No, sir ! Ef you was the last man in the 
 livin' universe I would n't tech ye with the tongs. 
 If you : d got a speck of grit into you, you 'd be 
 ashamed to ask a woman to take ye in and support 
 ye, for that 's what it comes to. You go 'long ! I 
 can make my hands save my head so long as I hev 
 the use of 'em, and I have n't no call to set up a 
 private poor-house ! " 
 
 So Alfred Hatch sneaked off, much like a cur 
 that has sought to share the kennel of a mastiff, 
 and been shortly and sharply convinced of his pre 
 sumption. 
 
 Here ended Celia's " chances," as she phrased 
 it. Young men were few in Bassett ; the West had 
 drawn them away with its subtle attraction of un 
 known possibilities, just as it does to-day, and Celia 
 grew old in the service of those established matrons 
 who always want clothes cut over for their children, 
 carpet rags sewed, quilts quilted, and comfortables 
 tacked. She was industrious and frugal, and in 
 time laid up some money in the Dartford Savings'
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 291 
 
 Bank ; but she did not, like many spinsters, invest 
 her hard-earned dollars in a small house. Often 
 she was urged to do so, but her reasons were good 
 for refusing. 
 
 " I should be so independent ? Well, I 'm as 
 independent now as the law allows. I Ve got two 
 good rooms to myself, south winders, stairs of my 
 own and outside door, and some privileges. If I 
 had a house there 'd be taxes, and insurance, and 
 eleanin' off snow come winter-time, and hoein' 
 paths ; and likely enough I should be so fur left 
 to myself that I should set up a garden, and make 
 my succotash cost a dollar a pint a-hirin' of a man 
 to dig it up and hoe it down. Like enough, too, 
 I should be gettin' flower seeds and things ; I'm 
 kinder fond of blows in the time of 'em. My old 
 fish-geran'um is a sight of comfort to me as 't is, 
 and there would be a bill of expense again. Then 
 you can't noway build a house with only two rooms 
 in 't, it would be all outside ; and you might as 
 well try to heat the universe with a cookin'-stove 
 as such a house. Besides, how lonesome I should 
 be ! It 's forlorn enough to be an old maid anyway, 
 but to have it sort of ground into you, as you may 
 say, by livin' all alone in a hull house, that ain't 
 necessary nor agreeable. Now, if I 'm sick or sorry, 
 I can just step downstairs and have aunt Nabby 
 to help or hearten me. Deacon Everts he did set 
 to work one time to persuade me to buy a house ; 
 he said 't was a good thing to be able to give some 
 body shelter 't was poorer 'n I was. Says I, ' Deacon,
 
 292 HOW CELT A CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 I 've worked for my livin' evar sence I remember, 
 and I know there 's no use in anybody bein' poorer 
 than I be. I have n't no call to take any sech in 
 and do for 'em. I give what I can to missions, 
 home ones, and I 'in willin', cheerfully willin', to 
 do a day's work now and again for somebody that 
 is strivin' with too heavy burdens ; but as for keep- 
 in' free lodgin' and board, I sha'n't do it.' ' Well, 
 well, well,' says he, kinder as if I was a fractious 
 young one, and a-sawin' his fat hand up and down 
 in the air till I wanted to slap him, 'just as you 'd 
 ruther, Celye, just as you 'd ruther. I don't 
 mean to drive ye a mite, only, as Scripter says, 
 " Provoke one another to love and good works." ' 
 
 " That did rile me ! Says I : ' Well, you 've 
 provoked me full enough, though I don't know as 
 you 've done it in the Scripter sense ; and mabbe I 
 should n't have got so fur provoked if I had n't have 
 known that little red house your grand sir' lived and 
 died in was throwed back on your hands just now, 
 and advertised for sellin'. I see the " Mounting 
 County Herald," Deacon Everts.' He shut up, I 
 tell ye. But I sha'n't never buy no house so long 
 as aunt Nabby lets me have her two south cham 
 bers, and use the back stairway and the north door 
 continual." 
 
 So Miss Celia had kept on in her way till now 
 she was fifty, and to-day making over old clothes 
 at the minister's. The minister's wife had, as we 
 have seen, little romance or wild happiness in her 
 life ; it is not often the portion of country ministers'
 
 HOW CELT A CHANGED HER MIND. 293 
 
 wives ; and, moreover, she had two step-daughters 
 who were girls of sixteen and twelve when she 
 married their father. Katy was married herself 
 now, this ten years, and doing her hard duty by an 
 annual baby and a struggling parish in Dakota ; 
 but Rosabel, whose fine name had been the only 
 legacy her dying mother left the day-old child she 
 had scarce had time to kiss and christen before 
 she went to take her own " new name " above, was 
 now a girl of twenty-two, pretty, headstrong, and 
 rebellious. Nature had endowed her with keen 
 dark eyes, crisp dark curls, a long chin, and a very 
 obstinate mouth, which only her red lips and white 
 even teeth redeemed from ugliness ; her bright 
 color and her sense of fun made her attractive to 
 young men wherever she encountered one of that 
 rare species. Just now she was engaged in a 
 serious flirtation with the station-master at Bassett 
 Centre, an impecunious youth of no special inter 
 est to other people and quite unable to maintain a 
 wife. But out of the " strong necessity of loving," 
 as it is called, and the want of young society or 
 settled occupation, Rosa Stearns chose to fall in 
 love with Amos Barker, and her father considered 
 it a " fall " indeed. So, with the natural clumsi 
 ness of a man and a father, Parson Stearns set him 
 self to prevent the matter, and began by forbidding 
 Rosabel to see or speak or write to the youth in 
 question, and thereby inspired in her mind a burn 
 ing desire to do all three. Up to this time she had 
 rather languidly amused herself by mild and gentle
 
 294 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 flirtations with him, such as looking at him side- 
 wise in church 011 Sunday, meeting him acciden 
 tally on his way to and from the station, for she 
 spent at least half her time at her aunt's in Bassett 
 Centre, and had even taught the small school there 
 during the last six months. She had also sent him 
 her tintype, and his own was secreted in her bureau 
 drawer. He had invited her to go with him to 
 two sleigh-rides and one sugaring-off, and always 
 came home with her from prayer-meeting and sing 
 ing-school ; but like a wise youth he had never yet 
 proposed to marry her in due form, not so much 
 because he was wise as because he was thoughtless 
 and lazy ; and while he enjoyed the society of a 
 bright girl, and liked to dangle after the prettiest 
 one in Bassett, and the minister's daughter too, he 
 did not love work well enough to shoulder the re 
 sponsibility of providing for another those material 
 but necessary supplies that imply labor of an in 
 cessant sort. 
 
 Rosabel, in her first inconsiderate anger at her 
 father's command, sat down and wrote a note to 
 Amos, eminently calculated to call out his sympathy 
 with her own wrath, and promptly mailed it as soon 
 as it was written. It ran as follows : 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, Pa has forbidden me to speak 
 to you any more, or to correspond with you. I 
 suppose I must submit so far ; but he did not say I 
 must return your picture [the parson had not an 
 idea that she possessed that precious thing], so I
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 295 
 
 shall keep it to remind me of the pleasant hours 
 we have passed tog-ether. 
 
 " Fare thee well, and if forever, 
 Still forever fare thee well ! " 
 
 Your true friend, ROSABEL STEARNS. 
 P. S. I think pa is horrid I 
 
 So did Amos as he read this heart-rending mis 
 sive, in which the postscript, according to the estab 
 lished sneer at woman's postscripts, carried the 
 whole force of the epistle. 
 
 Now Amos had made a friend of Miss Celia by 
 once telegraphing for her trunk, which she had 
 lost on her way home from the only journey of her 
 life, a trip to Boston, whither she had gone, on the 
 strength of the one share of B. & A. R. R. stock 
 she held, to spend the allotted three days granted 
 to stockholders on their annual excursions, presum 
 ably to attend the annual meeting. Amos had put 
 himself to the immense trouble of sending two mes 
 sages for Miss Celia, and asked her nothing for the 
 civility, so that ever after, in the fashion of solitary 
 women, she held herself deeply in his debt. He 
 knew that she was at work for Mrs. Stearns when 
 he received Rosa's epistle, for he had just been 
 over to Bassett on the train there was but a mile 
 to traverse to get her to repair his Sunday coat, 
 and not found her at home, but had no time to 
 look her up at the parson's, as he must walk back 
 to his station. Now he resolved to take his answer 
 to Rosa to Miss Celia in the evening, and so be
 
 296 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 sure that his abused sweetheart received it, for he 
 had read too many dime novels to doubt that her 
 tyrannic father would intercept their letters, and 
 drive them both to madness and despair. That 
 well-meaning but rather dull divine never would 
 have thought of such a thing ; he was a puffy, ab 
 sent-minded, fat little man, with a weak, squeaky 
 voice, and a sudden temper that blazed up like a 
 bunch of dry weeds at a passing spark, and went 
 out at once in flattest ashes. It had been Mrs. 
 Stearns's step-motherly interference that drove him 
 into his harshness to Rosa. She meant well and 
 he meant well, but we all know what good inten 
 tions with no further sequel of act are good for, 
 and nobody did more of that " paving " than these 
 two excellent but futile people. 
 
 Miss Celia was ready to do anything for Amos 
 Barker, and she considered it little less than a 
 mortal sin to stand in the way of any marriage that 
 was really desired by two parties. That Amos was 
 poor did not daunt her at all ; she had the curious 
 faith that possesses some women, that any man can 
 be prosperous if he has the will so to be ; and she 
 had a high opinion of this youth, based on his civil 
 ity to her. It may be said of men, as of ele 
 phants, that it is lucky they do not know their own 
 power ; for how many more women would become 
 their worshipers and slaves than are so to-day if 
 they knew the abject gratitude the average woman 
 feels for the least attention, the smallest kindness, 
 the faintest expression of affection or good will
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 297 
 
 We are all, like the Syrophenician woman, glad 
 and ready to eat of the crumbs which fall from the 
 children's table, so great is our faith in men. 
 
 Miss Celia took the note in her big basket over 
 to the minister's the very next day after that on 
 which we introduced her to our readers. She was 
 perhaps more rejoiced to contravene that reverend 
 gentleman's orders than if she had not heard his 
 querulous and contemptuous remark about her 
 through the crack of the door on the previous after 
 noon ; and it was with a sense of joy that, after all, 
 an old maid could do something, that she slipped 
 the envelope into Rosa's hands, and told her to put 
 it quickly into her pocket, the very .first moment 
 she found herself alone with that young woman. 
 
 Many a hasty word had Parson Stearns spoken 
 in the suddenness of his petulant temper, but never 
 one that bore direr fruit than that when he called 
 Celia Barnes " that old maid." 
 
 For of course Amos and Rosabel found in her an 
 ardent friend. They had the instinct of distressed 
 lovers to cajole her with all their confidences, ca 
 resses, and eager gratitude, and for once she felt her 
 self dear and of importance. Amos consulted her 
 on his plans for the future, which of course pointed 
 westward, where he had a brother editing and own 
 ing a newspaper. This brother had before offered 
 him a place in his office, but Amos had liked bet 
 ter the easy work of a station-master in a tiny vil 
 lage. Now his ambition was aroused, for the time 
 at least. He wanted to make a home for Rosabel,
 
 298 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 but, alack ! he had not one cent to pay their united 
 expenses to Peoria, and a lion stood in the way. 
 Here again Celia stepped in : she had some money 
 laid up ; she would lend it to them. 
 
 I do not say that at this stage she had no misgiv 
 ings, but even these were set at rest by a conversation 
 she had with Mrs. Stearns some six weeks after 
 the day on which Celia had so fully expressed her 
 scorn of spinsters. She was there again to tack a 
 comfortable for Rosabel's bed, and bethought her 
 self that it was a good time to feel her way a little 
 concerning Mrs. Stearns's opinion of things. 
 
 " They do say," she remarked, stopping to snip 
 off her thread and twist the end of it through her 
 needle's eye, " that your Rosy don't go with Amos 
 Barker no more. Is that so ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Stearns, with a half sigh. 
 " Husband was rather prompt about it ; he don't 
 think Amos Barker ever '11 amount to much, and 
 he thinks his people are not just what they should 
 be. You know his father never was very much of 
 a man, and his grandfather is a real old reprobate. 
 Husband says he never knew anything but crows 
 come out of a crow's nest, and so he told Rosa to 
 break acquaintance with him." 
 
 " Who does he like to hev come to see her ? " 
 asked Celia, with a grim set of her lips, stabbing 
 her needle fiercely through the unoffending calico. 
 
 Mrs. Stearns laughed rather feebly. " I don't 
 think he has anybody on his mind, Miss Celia. I 
 don't think there are any young men in Bassett.
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HEE MIND. 299 
 
 I dare say Rosa will never marry. I wish she 
 would, for she is n't happy here, and I can't do 
 much to help it, with all my cares." 
 
 " And you can't feel for her as though she was 
 your own, if you try ever so," confidently asserted 
 Celia. 
 
 " No, I suppose not. I try to do my duty by her, 
 and I am sorry for her ; but I know all the time 
 an own mother would understand her better and 
 make it easier for her. Mr. Stearns is peculiar, 
 and men don't know just how to manage girls." 
 
 It was a cautious admission, but Miss Celia had 
 sharp eyes, and knew very well that Rosabel neither 
 loved nor respected her father, and that they were 
 now on terms of real if unavowed hostility. 
 
 " Well," said she, " I don' know but you will 
 have to have one of them onpleasant creturs, an old 
 maid, in your fam'ly. I declare for 't, I 'd hold a 
 Thanksgiving Day all to myself ef I 'd escaped that 
 marcy." 
 
 " You may not always think so, Celia." 
 
 " I don't know what '11 change me. 'T will be 
 something I don't look forrard to now," answered 
 Celia obstinately. 
 
 Mrs. Stearns sighed. " I hope Rosa will do no 
 thing worse than to live unmarried," she said ; but 
 she could not help wishing silently that some wor 
 thy man would carry the perverse and annoying 
 girl out of the parsonage for good. 
 
 After this Celia felt a certain freedom to help 
 Rosabel ; she encouraged the lovers to meet at her
 
 300 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 house, helped plan their elopement, sewed for the 
 girl, and at last went with them as far as Brimfield 
 when they stole away one evening, saw them safely 
 married at the Methodist parsonage there, and bid 
 ding them good-speed, returned to Bassett Centre 
 on the midnight train, and walked over to her own 
 dwelling in the full moonshine of the October 
 night, quite fearless and entirely exultant. 
 
 But she was not to come off unscathed. There 
 was a scene of wild commotion at the parsonage 
 next day, when Rosa's letter, modeled on that of 
 the last novel heroine she had become acquainted 
 with, was found on her bureau, as per novel afore 
 said. 
 
 With her natural thoughtlessness she assured her 
 parents that she " fled not uncompanioned," that 
 her " kind and all but maternal friend, Miss Celia 
 Barnes, would accompany her to the altar, and give 
 her support and her countenance to the solemn cere 
 mony that should make Rosabel Stearns the blessed 
 wife of Amos Barker ! " 
 
 It was all the minister could do not to swear as 
 he read this astounding letter. His flabby face 
 grew purple ; his fat, sallow hands shook with rage ; 
 he dared not speak, he only sputtered, for he knew 
 that profane and unbecoming words would surely 
 leap from his tongue if he set it free ; but he must 
 he really must do or say something ! So he 
 clapped on his old hat, and with coat tails flying in 
 the breeze, and rage in every step, set out to find 
 Celia Barnes ; and find her he did.
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 301 
 
 It would be unpleasant, and it is needless, to 
 depict this encounter ; language both unjust and 
 unsavory smote the air and reverberated along 
 the highway, for he met the spinster on her road 
 to an engagement at Deacon Stiles's. Suffice it 
 to say that both freed their minds with great en 
 largement of opinion, and the parson wound up 
 with, 
 
 " And I never want to see you again inside of 
 my house, you confounded old maid ! " 
 
 " There ! that 's it ! " retorted Celia. " Ef I was 
 n't an old maid, you would n't no more have darst 
 to 'a' talked to me this way than nothin'. Ef I 'd 
 had a man to stand up to ye you 'd have been 
 dumber 'n Balaam's ass a great sight, afore it 
 seen the angel, I mean. I swow to man, I b'lieve 
 I 'd marry a hitchin'-post if 't was big enough to 
 trounce ye. You great lummox, if I could knock 
 ye over you would n't peep nor mutter agin, if I be 
 a woman ! " 
 
 And with a burst of furious tears that asserted 
 her womanhood Miss Celia went her way. Her 
 hands were clinched under her blanket-shawl, her 
 e} r es red with angry rain, and as she walked on she 
 soliloquized aloud : 
 
 " I declare for 't, I b'lieve I 'd marry the Old Boy 
 himself if he 'd ask me. I 'm sicker 'n ever of bein' 
 an oil maid ! " 
 
 " Be ye ? " queried a voice at her elbow. " PVaps, 
 then, you might hear to me if I was to speak my 
 mind, Celye."
 
 302 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 Celia jumped. As she said afterward, " I vum 
 I thought 't was the Enemy, for certain ; and to 
 think 't was only Deacon Everts ! " 
 
 " Mercy me ! " she said now ; " is 't you, dea 
 con ? " 
 
 " Yes, it 's me ; and I think 't is a real provi 
 dence I come up behind ye just in the nick of time. 
 I 've sold my farm only last week, and I 've come 
 to live on the street in that old red house of grand- 
 sir's, that you mistrusted once I wanted you to buy. 
 I 'm real lonesome sence I lost my partner " (he 
 meant his wife), " and I 've been a-hangin' on by 
 the edges the past two year ; hired help is worse 
 than nothing onto a farm, and hard to get at that ; 
 so I sold out, and I 'm a-movin' yet, but the old 
 house looks forlorn enough, and I was intendin' to 
 look about for a second ; so if you '11 have me, 
 Celye, here I be." 
 
 Celia looked at him sharply ; he was an apple- 
 faced little man, with shrewd, twinkling eyes, a 
 hard, dull red still lingering on his round cheeks in 
 spite of the deep wrinkles about his pursed-up lips 
 and around his eyelids ; his mouth gave him a con 
 sequential and self-important air, to which the short 
 stubbly hair, brushed up " like a blaze " above his 
 forehead, added ; and his old blue coat with brass 
 buttons, his homespun trousers, the old-fashioned 
 aspect of his unbleached cotton shirt, all attested 
 his frugality. Indeed, everybody knew that Deacon 
 Everts was " near," and also that he had plenty of 
 money, that is to say, far more than he could
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 303 
 
 spend. He had no children, no near relations ; his 
 first wife had died two years since, after long in- 
 validism, and all her relations had moved far west. 
 All this Celia knew and now recalled ; her wrath 
 against Parson Stearns was yet fresh and vivid ; 
 she remembered that Simeon Everts was senior 
 deacon of the church, and had it in his power to 
 make the minister extremely uncomfortable if he 
 chose. I have never said Celia was a very good 
 woman ; her religion was of the dormant type not 
 uncommon nowadays ; she kept up its observances 
 properly, and said her prayers every day, bestowed 
 a part of her savings on each church collection, 
 and was rated as a church-member "in good and 
 regular standing ; " but the vital transforming 
 power of that Christianity which means to "love 
 the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and mind, 
 and soul, and strength, and thy neighbor as thy 
 self," had no more entered into her soul than it 
 had into Deacon Everts's ; and while she would 
 have honestly admitted that revenge was a very 
 wrong sentiment, and entirely improper for any 
 other person to cherish, she felt that she did well 
 to be angry with Parson Stearns, and had a perfect 
 right to " pay him off " in any way she could. 
 
 Now here was her opportunity. If she said 
 " Yes " to Deacon Everts, he would no doubt take 
 her part. Her objections to housekeeping were 
 set aside by the fact that the house-owner himself 
 would have to do those heavy labors about the house 
 which she must otherwise have hired a man to do ;
 
 304 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 and the cooking and the indoor work for two peo 
 ple could not be so hard as to sew from house to 
 house for her daily bread. In short, her mind was 
 slowly turning favorably toward this sudden pro 
 ject, but she did not want this wooer to be too sure ; 
 so she said : " W-e-11, 't is a life sentence, as you 
 may say, deacon, and I want to think on 't a spell. 
 Let 's see, to-day 's Tuesday ; I '11 let ye know 
 Thursday night, after prayer-meetiu'." 
 
 " Well," answered the deacon. 
 
 Blessed Yankee monosyllable that means so much 
 and so little ; that has such shades of phrase and 
 intention in its myriad inflections ; that is " yes," 
 or " no," or " perhaps," just as you accent it ; that 
 is at once preface and peroration, evasion and defi 
 nition ! What would all New England speech be 
 without " well " ? Even as salt without any savor, 
 or pepper with no pungency. 
 
 Now it meant to Miss Celia assent to her propo 
 sition ; and in accordance the deacon escorted her 
 home from meeting Thursday night, and received 
 for reward a consenting answer. This was no love 
 affair, but a matter of mere business. Deacon 
 Everts needed a housekeeper, and did not want to 
 pay out wages for one ; and Miss Celia's position 
 she expressed herself as she put out her tallow can 
 dle on that memorable night, and breathed out on 
 the darkness the audible aspiration, " Thank good 
 ness, I sha'n't hev to die an old maid ! " 
 
 There was no touch of sanctifying love or con 
 soling affection, or even friendly comradeship, in
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 305 
 
 this arrangement ; it was as truly a marriage de 
 convenance as was ever contracted in Paris itself, 
 and when the wedding day came, a short month 
 afterward, the sourest aspect of November skies 
 threatening a drenching pour, the dead and sodden 
 leaves that strewed the earth, the wailing northeast 
 wind, even the draggled and bony old horse behind 
 which they jogged over to Bassett Centre, seemed 
 fit accompaniments to the degraded ceremony per 
 formed by a justice of the peace, who concluded 
 this merely legal compact, for Miss Celia stoutly 
 refused to be married by Parson Stearns ; she would 
 not be accessory to putting one dollar in his pocket, 
 even as her own wedding fee. So she went home 
 to the little red house on Bassett Street, and begun 
 her married life by scrubbing the dust and dirt of 
 years from the kitchen table, making biscuit for 
 tea, washing up the dishes, and at last falling 
 asleep during the deacon's long nasal prayer, 
 wherein he wandered to the ends of the earth, and 
 prayed fervently for the heathen, piteously un 
 conscious that he was little better than a heathen 
 himself. 
 
 It did not take many weeks to discover to Celia 
 what is meant by " the curse of a granted prayer." 
 She could not at first accept the situation at all ; 
 she was accustomed to enough food, if it was plain 
 and simple, when she herself provided it ; but now 
 it was hard to get such viands as would satisfy a 
 healthy appetite. 
 
 " You 've used a sight of pork, Celye," the dea-
 
 306 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 con would remonstrate. " My first never cooked 
 half what you do. We shall come to want certain, 
 if you 're so free-handed." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Everts, there was n't a mite left 
 to set by. We eat it all, and I did n't have no 
 more 'n I wanted, if you did." 
 
 " We must mortify the flesh, Celye. It 's hull- 
 some to get up from your victuals hungry. Ye 
 know what Scripter says, ' Jeshurun waxed fat an' 
 kicked.' " 
 
 " Well, I ain't Jeshurun, but I expect I shall be 
 more likely to kick if I don't have enough to eat, 
 when it 's only pork 'n' potatoes." 
 
 " My first used to say them was the best, for 
 steady victuals, of anything, and she never used but 
 two codfish and two quarts of m'lasses the year 
 round ; and as for butter, she was real sparin' ; 
 she 'd fry our bread along with the salt pork, and 
 't was just as good." 
 
 " Look here ! " snapped Celia. " I don't want 
 to hear no more about your ' first.' I 'm ready to 
 say I wish 't she 'd ha' been your last too." 
 
 " Well, well, well ! this is onseemly contention, 
 Celye," sputtered the alarmed deacon. " Le' 's 
 dwell together in unity so fur as we can, Mis' Ev 
 erts. I have n't no intention to starve ye, none 
 whatever. I only want to be keei'ful, so as we 
 sha'n't have to fetch up in the poor-us." 
 
 " No need to have a poor-house to home," mut 
 tered Celia. 
 
 But this is only a mild specimen of poor Celia's
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 307 
 
 life as a married woman. She did not find the 
 honor and glory of " Mrs." before her name a com 
 pensation for the thousand evils that she "knew 
 not of " when she fled to them as a desirable change 
 from her single blessedness. Deacon Everts en 
 tirely refused to enter into any of her devices 
 against Parson Stearns ; he did not care a penny 
 about Celia's wrongs, and he knew very well that 
 no other man than dreamy, unpractical Mr. Stearns, 
 who eked out his minute pittance by writing school- 
 books of a primary sort, would put up with four 
 hundred dollars a year from his parish ; yet that 
 was all Bassett people would pay. If they must 
 have the gospel, they must have it at the lowest 
 living rates, and everybody would not assent to 
 that. 
 
 So Celia found her revenge no more feasible 
 after her marriage than before, and, gradually 
 absorbed in her own wrongs and sufferings, her 
 desire to reward Mr. Stearns in kind for his treat 
 ment of her vanished ; she thought less of his futile 
 wrath and more of her present distresses every 
 day. 
 
 For Celia, like everybody who profanes the sac 
 rament of marriage, was beginning to suffer the 
 consequences of her misstep. As her husband's 
 mean, querulous, loveless character unveiled itself 
 in the terrible intimacy of constant and inevitable 
 companionship, she began to look woefully back to 
 the freedom and peace of her maiden days. She 
 learned that a husband is by no means his wife's
 
 308 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 defender always, not even against reviling tongues. 
 It did not suit Deacon Everts to quarrel with any 
 one, whatever they said to him, or of him and his ; 
 he " did n't want no enemies," and Celia bitterly 
 felt that she must fight her own battles ; she had 
 not even an ally in her husband. She became not 
 only defiant, but also depressed ; the consciousness 
 of a vital and life-long mistake is not productive of 
 cheer or content ; and now, admitted into the free 
 masonry of married women, she discovered how few 
 among them were more than household drudges, 
 the servants of their families, worked to the verge 
 of exhaustion, and neither thanked nor rewarded 
 for their pains. She saw here a woman whose chil 
 dren were careless of, and ungrateful to her, and 
 her husband coldly indifferent ; there was one 011 
 whom the man she had married wreaked all his 
 fiendish temper in daily small injuries, little vexa 
 tious acts, petty tyrannies, a " street-angel, house- 
 devil " of a man, of all sorts the most hateful. 
 There were many whose lives had no other outlook 
 than hard work until the end should come, who rose 
 up to labor and lay down in sleepless exhaustion, 
 and some whose days were a constant terror to 
 them from the intemperate brutes to whom they 
 had intrusted their happiness, and indeed their 
 whole existence. 
 
 It was no worse with Celia than with most of her 
 sex in Bassett ; here and there, there were of course 
 exceptions, but so rare as to be shining examples 
 and objects of envy. Then, too, after two years,
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 309 
 
 there came forlorn accounts of poor Rosabel's situa 
 tion at the west. Amos Barker had done his best 
 at first to make his wife comfortable, but change of 
 place or new motives do not at once, if ever, trans 
 form an indolent man into an active and efficient 
 one. He found work in his brother's office, but it 
 was the hard work of collecting bills all about the 
 country ; the roads were bad, the weather as fluc 
 tuating as weather always is, the climate did not 
 agree with him, and he got woefully tired of driving 
 about from dawn till after dark, to dun unwilling 
 debtors. Rosa had chills and fever and babies with 
 persistent alacrity ; she had indeed enough to eat, 
 with no appetite, and a house, with no strength to 
 keep it. She grew untidy, listless, hysterical ; and 
 her father, getting worried by her despondent and 
 infrequent letters, actually so far roused himself 
 as to sell his horse, and with this sacrificial money 
 betook himself to Mound Village, where he found 
 Rosabel with two babies in her arms, dust an inch 
 deep on all her possessions, nothing but pork, pota 
 toes, and corn bread in the pantry, and a slatternly 
 negress washing some clothes in a kitchen that made 
 the parson shudder. 
 
 The little man's heart was bigger than his soul. 
 He put his arms about Rosa and the dingy babies, 
 and forgave her all ; but he had to say, even while 
 he held them closely and fondly to his breast, " Oh, 
 Rosy, I told you what would happen if you married 
 that fellow." 
 
 Of course Rosa resented the speech, for, after all,
 
 310 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 she had loved Amos ; perhaps could love him still 
 if the poverty and malaria and babies could have 
 all been eliminated from her daily life. 
 
 Fortunately the parson's horse had sold well, for 
 it was strong and young, and the rack of venerable 
 bones with which he replaced it was bought very 
 cheap at a farmer's auction, so he had money 
 enough to carry Rosa and the two children home 
 to Bassett, where two months after she added an 
 other feeble, howling cipher to the miserable sum 
 of humanity. 
 
 Miss no, Mrs. Celia's conscience stung her 
 to the quick when she encountered this ghastly 
 wreck of pretty Rosabel Stearns, now called Mrs. 
 Barker. She remembered with deep regret how 
 she had given aid and comfort to the girl who had 
 defied and disobeyed parental counsel and author 
 ity, and so brought on herself all this misery. She 
 fancied that Parson Stearns glared at her with eyes 
 of bitter accusation and reproach, and not improb 
 ably he did, for beside his pity and affection for 
 his daughter, it was no slight burden to take into 
 his house a feeble woman with two children help 
 less as babies, and to look forward to the expense 
 and anxiety of another soon to come. And Mrs. 
 Stearns had never loved Rosa well enough to be 
 complacent at this addition to her family cares. She 
 gave the parson no sympathy. It would have been 
 her way to let Rosabel lie on the bed she had made, 
 and die there if need be. But the poor worn-out 
 creature died at home, after all, and the third baby
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 311 
 
 lay on its mother's breast in her coffin : they had 
 gone together. 
 
 Celia felt almost like a murderess when she heard 
 that Rosabel Barker was dead. She did not reflect 
 that in all human probability the girl would have 
 married Amos if she, Celia, had refused to help or 
 encourage her. It began to be an importunate 
 question in our friend's mind whether she herself 
 had not made a mistake too ; whether the phrase 
 " single blessedness " was not an expression of a 
 vital truth rather than a scoff. Celia was changing 
 her mind no doubt, surely if slowly. 
 
 Meantime Deacon Everts did not find all the sat 
 isfaction with his " second " that he had antici 
 pated. Celia had a will of her own, quite undisci 
 plined, and it was too often asserted to suit her lord 
 and master. Secretly he planned devices to cir 
 cumvent her purposes, and sometimes succeeded. 
 In prayer-meeting and in Sunday-school the idea 
 haunted him ; his malice lay down and rose up with 
 him. Even when he propounded to his Bible class 
 the important question, " How fur be the heathen 
 ree-sponsible for what they dun know?" and asked 
 them " to ponder on 't through the comin' week," 
 he chuckled inwardly at the thought that Celia 
 could not evade her responsibility ; she knew 
 enough, and would be judged accordingly : the dea 
 con was not a merciful man. 
 
 At last he hit upon that great legal engine 
 whereby men do inflict the last deadly kick upon 
 their wives : he would remodel his will. Yes, he
 
 312 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 would leave those gathered thousands to foreign mis- 
 sions ; be would leave behind him the indisputable 
 testimony and taunt that he considered the wife of 
 his bosom less than the savages and heathen afar 
 off. He forgot conveniently that the man " who 
 provideth not for his own household hath denied 
 the faith, and is worse than an infidel." And in 
 his delight of revenge he also forgot that the law 
 of the land provides for a man's wife and children 
 in spite of his wicked will. Nor did he remember 
 that his life-insurance policy for five thousand 
 dollars was made out in his wife's name, simply as 
 his wife, her own name not being specified. He 
 had paid the premium always from his " first's " 
 small annual income, and agreed that it should be 
 written for her benefit, but he supposed that at her 
 death it had reverted to him. He forgot that he 
 still had a wife when he mentioned that policy in 
 his assets recorded in the will, and to save money 
 he drew that evil document up himself, and had it 
 signed down at " the store " by three witnesses. 
 
 Celia had borne her self-imposed yoke for four 
 years, when it was suddenly broken. A late crop 
 of grass was to be mowed in mid-July on the 
 meadow which appertained to the old house, and 
 the deacon, now some seventy years old, to save 
 hiring help, determined to do it by himself. The 
 grass was heavy and over-ripe, the day extremely 
 hot and breathless, and the grim Mower of Man 
 trod side by side with Simeon Everts, and laid him 
 too, all along by the rough heads of timothy and
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HER MIND. 313 
 
 the purpled feather-tops of the blue-grass. He did 
 not come home at noon or at night, and when Celia 
 went down to the lot to call him he heard no sum 
 mons of hers ; he had answered a call far more 
 imperative and final. 
 
 After the funeral Celia found his will pushed 
 back in the deep drawer of an old secretary, where 
 he kept his one quill pen, a bottle of dried ink, a 
 lump of chalk, some rat-poison, and various other 
 odds and ends. 
 
 She was indignant enough at its tenor ; but it 
 was easily broken, and she not only had her 
 ' thirds," but the life policy reverted to her also, 
 as it was made out to Simeon Everts's wife, and 
 surely she had occupied that position for four 
 wretched years. Then, also, she had a right to her 
 support for one year out of the estate, and the use 
 of the house for that time. 
 
 Oh, how sweet was her freedom ! With her 
 characteristic honesty she refused to put on mourn 
 ing, and even went to the funeral in her usual gray 
 Sunday gown and bonnet. " I won't lie, anyhow ! " 
 she answered to Mrs. Stiles's remonstrance. " I 
 ain't a mite sorry nor mournful. I could ha' wished 
 he 'd had time to repent of his sins, but sence the 
 Lord saw fit to cut him short, I don't feel to rebel 
 ag'inst it. I wish 't I 'd never married him, that 's 
 all ! " 
 
 " But, Celye, you got a good livin'." 
 
 " I earned it." 
 
 " And he 's left ye with means too."
 
 314 HOW CELT A CHANGED HER MIND. 
 
 " He done his best not to. I don't owe him 
 nothing for that ; and I earned that too, the hull 
 on 't. It 's poor pay for what I 've lived through ; 
 and I 'm a'most a mind to call it the wages of sin, 
 for I done wrong, ondeniably wrong, in marry in' 
 of him ; but the Lord knows I 've repented, and 
 said my lesson, if I did get it by the hardest." 
 
 Yet all Basse tt opened eyes and mouth both when 
 on the next Thanksgiving Day Celia invited every 
 old maid in town seven all told to take dinner 
 with her. Never before had she celebrated this 
 old New England day of solemn revel. A woman 
 living in two sma 1 ! rooms could not "keep the 
 feast," and rarely had she been asked to any fam 
 ily conclave. Wft Yankees are conservative at 
 Thanksgiving if nowhere else, and like to gather 
 our own people only about the family hearth ; so 
 Celia had but orce or twice shared the turkeys of 
 her more fortunate neighbors. 
 
 Now she called in Nabby Hyde and Sarah Gil- 
 lett, Ann Smith, Celestia Potter, Delia Hills, So- 
 phronia Ann Jenkins and her sister Adelia Ann, 
 ancient twins, who lived together on next to no 
 thing, and were happy. 
 
 Celia bloomed at the head of the board, not with 
 beauty, but with gratification. " Well," she said, 
 as soon as they were seated, " I sent for ye all to 
 come because I wanted to have a good time, for one 
 thing, and because it seems as though I 'd ought to 
 take back all the sassy and disagreeable things I 
 to be forever flingin' at old maids. ' I spoke
 
 HOW CELIA CHANGED HEE MIND. 315 
 
 in my haste,' as Scripter says, and also in my igno 
 rance, I 'm free to confess. I feel as though I 
 could keep Thanksgivin' to-day with my hull soul. 
 I 'm so thankful to be an old maid ag'in ! " 
 
 " I thought you was a widder," snapped Sally 
 Gillett. 
 
 Celia flung a glance of wrath at her, but scorned 
 to reply. 
 
 " And I 'm thankful too that I 'm spared to help 
 ondo somethin' done in that ignorance. I 've got 
 means, and, as I 've said before, I earned 'em. I 
 don't feel noway obleeged to him for 'em ; he 
 did n't mean it. But now I can I 'm goin' to 
 adopt Rosy Barker's two children, and fetch 'em 
 up to be dyed-in-the-wool old maids ; and every year, 
 so long as I live, I 'm goin' to keep an old maids' 
 Thanksgivin' for a kind of a burnt-offering, sech as 
 the Bible tells about, for I 've changed my mind 
 clear down to the bottom, and I go the hull figure 
 with the 'postle Paul when he speaks about the 
 onmarried, ' It is better if she so abide.' Now let 's 
 go to work at the victuals."
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY 
 MOUSE. 
 
 " WELL, Mis' Phelps, I 'm reelly a-goin' to Glover 
 to see Melindy at last. I be, pos'tive. Don't seem 
 as though it could be true, 't is so long sence I sot 
 eyes on her ; and I 've lotted on it so much, and 
 tried so often and failed up on 't, that I can't hardly 
 believe in 't now it 's comin' to pass. But I be a-goin' 
 now, sure as you live, Providence permittin'." 
 
 The speaker was a small, thin old woman, alert 
 and active as a chickadee, with a sharp twitter in 
 her voice, reminding one still more of that small 
 black and gray bird that cheers us with his gay 
 defiance of winter, though he utter it from a fir 
 bough bent to the ground with heavy snows. Her 
 dark gray hair was drawn into a tight knot at the 
 back of her head ; her tear-worn eyes shone with a 
 pathetic sort of lustre, as if joy were stranger to 
 them than grief ; her thin lips wore a doubtful 
 smile, but still the traces of a former dimple, under 
 that smiling influence, creased itself in one lined 
 and sallow cheek. You saw at a glance that she 
 had worked hard always ; her small hands were 
 knotted at the joints and callous in the palms ; her 
 shoulders were slightly bent. And you saw, too, 
 that poverty had enforced her labor, for her dress,
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 317 
 
 though scrupulously neat, and shaped with a certain 
 shy deference to the fashion of the day, was of poor 
 material and scant draperies. 
 
 Amanda Hart was really a remarkable woman, 
 but she did not know it. Her life had been one 
 long struggle with poverty and illness in her fam 
 ily, to whom she was utterly devoted. She had 
 earned her living in one way or another as long as 
 she could remember. Her mother died when she 
 was a mere child, and her father was always a 
 " shiftless," miserable creature, in his later years 
 the prey of a slow yet fatal disease, dying by inches 
 of torture that defied doctors and wrung poor 
 Amanda's heart with helpless sympathy. 
 
 All these years she not only nursed, but sup 
 ported him ; scrubbed, sewed, washed, did any 
 thing that brought in a little money ; for there were 
 doctors' bills to pay, besides the very necessities of 
 life to be obtained. Her one comfort was her sister 
 Melinda, a child ten years younger than Amanda, 
 a rosy, sturdy, stolid creature, on whom the elder 
 sister lavished all the deep love of a heart that was 
 to know no other maternity. At last death mer 
 cifully removed old Anson Hart to some other place, 
 he had long been useless here ; but before that 
 relief came, Melinda, by this time a young woman, 
 had married a farmer in Glover, and Amanda had 
 moved into Munson, and was there alone. She 
 " kinder scratched along," as she phrased it, and 
 earned her living, if no more, in the various ways 
 Yankee ingenuity can discover in a large country
 
 318 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 town. She bad friends who helped her to employ 
 ment, and always made her welcome in their homes ; 
 for her quaint shrewdness, her very original use, or 
 misuse, of language, her humor, and her kind heart 
 were all pleasant to have about. 
 
 Melinda's marriage was a brief experience. 
 She was left a widow at the end of two years, with 
 a small house and an acre of land ; and there she 
 lived alone, on a lonely country road, three miles 
 from the village of Glover, and with no other house 
 in sight. 
 
 " I guess it is as good as I can do," she wrote to 
 Amanda. " I can't sell the house, and there 's quite 
 a piece of garden to it, besides some apple-trees 
 and quince bushes. Garden sass always was the 
 most of my living, and there 's some tailoring to be 
 did, so as that I can get a little cash. Then folks 
 are glad to have somebody around killing times and 
 sech like. Mary Ann Barker used to do that, but 
 she 's been providentially removed by death, so I 
 can step right into her shoes. I guess, any way, 
 I '11 chance it for a spell, and see how it works." 
 
 Melinda had "faculty," and her scheme did 
 " work " so well that she lived in the tiny house 
 for years, and in all that time Amanda had not seen 
 her. It was a long journey, and money was hard 
 to get. Perhaps Melinda might have gathered 
 enough to take the journey, but she was by no 
 means affectionate or sentimental. Life was a 
 steady grind to her ; none of its gentle amenities 
 flourished in the red house. She had her " livin' "
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 319 
 
 and was independent : that sufficed her. But 
 Amanda was more eager every year to see her sis 
 ter. She thought of her by day and dreamed of 
 her by night ; and after fifteen years her cracked 
 teapot at last held coin enough for the expedition. 
 Her joy was great, and the tremulous, sweet old 
 face was pathetic in its constant smiling. She 
 planned her journey as she sat at work, and poured 
 her anticipations into all the neighbors' ears till 
 their sympathy was well worn out. 
 
 But at last the day came. Amanda's two rooms 
 were set in order, the windows closed, every fly 
 chased out with the ferocity that inspires women 
 against that intrusive insect, and the fire was raked 
 down to its last spark the night before. 
 
 " I don't care for no breakfast," she said to the 
 good woman in whose house she lived. " I should 
 have to bile the kettle and have a cup and plate to 
 wash up ; and like enough the cloth 'd get mildewy, 
 if I left it damp. I '11 jest take a dry bite in my 
 clean han'k'chief. I 've eet up all my victuals but 
 two cookies and a mite of cheese that I saved a 
 puppus." 
 
 " Why, Mandy Hart ! you 're all of a twitter ! 
 Set right down here and hev a cup o' tea 'long o' 
 me. You 've got heaps o' time ; now don't ye get 
 into a swivet ! " 
 
 " Well, Mis' Phelps, I thank you kindly ; a drop 
 of tea will taste proper good. I expect I be sort o' 
 nervy, what with takin' a journey and the thought 
 o' seein' Melindy. Now you tell : do I look good
 
 320 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 enough to go travelin' ? I thought, first off, to 
 wear the gown Mis' Swift give me, that Henery- 
 ette, I b'lieve she called it ; but I 've sponged and 
 pressed it till it looks as good as new, and I sort 
 o' hate to set on 't in the dust o' them cars all day. 
 I thought mabbe this stripid gown would do." 
 
 " You look as slick as a pin," Mrs. Phelps 
 answered. 
 
 It was an odd pin, then ! The " stripid " dress 
 was both short and scant even for Amanda's little 
 figure ; it did not conceal an ancient pair of pru 
 nella shoes that use had well fitted to her distorted 
 feet, and her ankle-bones, enlarged with rheuma 
 tism, showed like doorknobs under her knit cotton 
 stockings. Over her dress she wore a brown linen 
 duster, shiny with much washing and ironing, and 
 her queer little face beamed from under a wide 
 black straw hat wreathed with a shabby band of 
 feather trimming. 
 
 But she did not look amiss or vulgar, and the joy 
 that shone in her eyes would have transfigured sack 
 cloth, and turned ashes into diamond dust. She 
 was going to see Melinda ! The unsatisfied mother 
 heart in her breast beat fast at the thought. Neither 
 absence nor silence had cooled this one love of her 
 life. 
 
 " I expect I shall enjoy the country dretfully," she 
 said to Mrs. Phelps. " It 's quite a spell sence I 've 
 been there. Mother, she set such store by green 
 things, trees and sech, and cinnament roses, and 
 fennel. My land ! she talked about 'em all through
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 321 
 
 her last sickness, even when she was dangerous. 
 I shall be proper glad to get out to Glover." 
 
 Poor soul ! all this meant Melinda. 
 
 So she trotted off to the station, with her lunch 
 tied up in a handkerchief in one hand and her 
 cotton umbrella in the other, a boy following with 
 her old cow-skin trunk on a wheelbarrow. lie 
 was a bad boy, for on the way he picked up an 
 advertisement of a hair restorer and fastened it upon 
 that bald trunk, chuckling fiendishly. But this 
 was lost on Amanda ; she paid him his quarter with 
 an ambient smile, and mounted the car steps with 
 sudden agility. The car was not full, so she sat 
 down next a window, struggled with a pocketful of 
 various things to find her ticket, thrust it inside 
 her glove, to be ready, and resigned herself to the 
 journey. Outside the window were broad fields 
 green with new grass, budding forests, bright and 
 tranquil rivers, distant mountains, skies of spring, 
 blue to their depths, and flecked with white cloud- 
 fleeces ; but they were lost on Amanda. She had 
 not inherited her mother's tastes : she saw in all 
 this glory only Melinda, the rosy girl who had left 
 her so long ago ; to that presence she referred all 
 nature, wondering if this quiet farmhouse were like 
 that at Glover, if Melinda's apple-trees had 
 bloomed like those on the hillsides she passed, or 
 if her sister could see those far-off hills from her 
 windows. It was a long day. The " dry bite " 
 was a prolonged meal to our traveler. Every 
 crumb was eaten slowly, in order to pass the weary
 
 322 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 time. Nobody spoke to her ; the busy conductor 
 had short answers for her various questions. She 
 was tired, dusty, and half homesick when at last 
 that official put his head in at the door and yelled : 
 " Sha-drach ! Sha-drach ! Sha-drach ! Change 
 for Medway, Racketts-Town, and Glover ! " 
 
 So Amanda grasped her handkerchief, and, helped 
 by her sturdy umbrella, for she was stiff with long 
 sitting, found her way to the door, and was, as she 
 phrased it, " yanked " off the steps upon the plat 
 form by an impatient brakeman. Why should he- 
 be civil to a poor old woman ? Fortunately for her, 
 th^e stage for Glover stood just across the platform, 
 and she saw the driver shoulder her bare brass- 
 nailed trunk which was duly directed to Melinda 
 and Glover. A long five miles lay before her. 
 The driver was not talkative, she was the only 
 passenger, and it seemed a journey in itself before 
 the stage drew up at the gate in front of Mrs. 
 Melinda Perkins's farmhouse, and she came out of 
 the door to meet her sister. A faint color rose to 
 Amanda's cheek, her lips trembled, her eyes glit 
 tered, but she only said, " Well, here I be." 
 
 Melinda smiled grimly. She was not used to 
 smiling ; there was no sensitive shyness about her. 
 Tall and muscular, her heavy face, her primmed- 
 up mouth, her hard eyes glooming under that deep 
 fold on the lids that in moments of anger narrows the 
 eye to a slit and gives it a snaky gleam, her flat, low 
 forehead, from which the dull hair was strained 
 back and tightly knotted behind, all told of a
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 323 
 
 narrow, severe nature, at once jealous and loveless, 
 the very antithesis of Amanda's. It is true, she 
 stooped and kissed her sister, but the kiss was as 
 frigid as the nip of a clamshell. 
 
 " Come in," she said, in an overbearing voice. 
 " Hiram Young, you fetch that trunk in right hero 
 into the bedroom." 
 
 "You '11 hev to sleep 'long o' me, Mandy," 
 announced Melinda, as she swung open her bed- 
 room door, " for the' ain't no other place to sleep." 
 
 " Why, I sha'nt object, not a mite," beamed 
 Amanda. " It '11 seem like old times. But you 've 
 growed a sight, Melindy." 
 
 " I think likely, seein' it 's quite a spell since you 
 see me ; but I 've growed crossways, I guess," and 
 Melinda gave a hard cackle. 
 
 " How nice you 're fixed up, too ! " said admiring 
 Amanda, as she looked about her in the twilight of 
 green paper shades and spotless cotton curtains. 
 The room was too neat for comfort ; there was a 
 fluffy, airless scent about it ; the only brightness 
 came from the glittering brasses of the bureau, 
 that even in that half-dark shimmered in well- 
 scoured splendor. Outside, the sweet June day 
 was gently fading, full of fresh odors and young 
 breezes ; but not a breath entered that apartment, 
 for even a crack of open window might admit a 
 fly! 
 
 Melinda introduced her guest to a tiny closet on 
 one side of the chimney, and then went out to get 
 tea, leaving Amanda to unpack her trunk. This
 
 324 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 was soon done, for even that small closet was more 
 than roomy enough for her other dress, her duster, 
 and her hat ; so that she soon followed her sister, 
 guided by savory odors of hot biscuit, " picked " 
 codfish, and wild strawberries. This was indeed a 
 feast to the " town mouse ; " such luxuries as raised 
 biscuit and aromatic wild fruit were not to be 
 indulged in at her own home, and she enjoyed them 
 even more for the faint, delicious odor of old-fash 
 ioned white roses stealing in at the open door, the 
 scent of vernal grass in the meadows, the rustle of 
 new leaves on the great maple that shaded the 
 house-corner, and the sharp chirp of two saucy 
 robins hopping briskly about the yard. 
 
 It was delightful to Amanda, but when night shut 
 down the silence settled on her like a pall ; she 
 missed the click of feet on the pavement, the rattle 
 of horse cars, the distant shriek of railway trains. 
 There was literally not a sound ; the light wind 
 had died away, and it was too early in the season for 
 crickets or katydids, too late for the evening love- 
 songs of toads and frogs. 
 
 In vain did she try to sleep ; she lay hour after 
 hour " listening to the silence," and trying not to 
 stir, lest she should wake Melinda. Had a mouse, 
 her lifelong terror, squeaked or scratched in the 
 wall, it would have relieved her ; but in this dead 
 stillness there was that peculiar horror of a sense 
 suddenly made useless that affects the open eye in 
 utter darkness, or the palsied lips that can make no 
 sound.
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 325 
 
 Night seemed endless to the poor little woman ; 
 but when at last birds began to awake and chirp to 
 the gray dawn, she fell so soundly asleep that not 
 even Melinda's rising, or the clatter of her prepa 
 rations for breakfast in the next room, aroused her. 
 But her sister's voice was effectual. 
 
 "Be you a-goin' to sleep all day?" said that 
 incisive and peremptory tongue. 
 
 The question brought Amanda to her feet, quite 
 ashamed of herself. 
 
 " You see," she explained to Melinda at break 
 fast, " I did n't get to sleep till nigh sun-risin', 't was 
 so amazin' still." 
 
 " Still ! That had ought to have made ye sleep. 
 Well, I never did ! Now I can't sleep ef there 's 
 a mite o' noise. I 'd hev kep' chickens but for 
 that. Deacon Parker wanted to give me some o' 
 his white Braymys, but I said : ' No ; I 've got 
 peace and quietness, and I ain't goin' to have it 
 broke up by roosters.' ' ; 
 
 " I s'pose it 's accordin' as we 're used to 't," 
 meekly replied Amanda, with an odd sense of being 
 in the wrong, but she said no more ; she was begin 
 ning to discover that it was not serene bliss to be 
 with Melinda again. In their long separation she 
 had forgotten her sister's hard and abrupt ways, 
 and indeed in Melinda's solitary and very lonely 
 life her angles had grown sharper and sharper ; no 
 thing had worn them off. We can enjoy idealizing 
 a friend, but the longer that ideal fills our hearts the 
 harder does reality scourge us. Amanda could not
 
 326 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 have explained her heart-sinking to herself. She 
 laid it to the isolation of her sister's house, and, 
 while Melinda made bread, went out to walk a 
 little way, to see if she could not enjoy the country. 
 All about lay green fields, wooded hills, and bloom 
 ing orchards : for spring was late here in Glover, 
 and only the sheltered hillsides had cast all blossoms 
 from the later trees. A deep sense of desolation 
 clutched Amanda's homesick heart ; there was not 
 a house to be seen, not even a curl of smoke to show 
 that one might be hidden somewhere. Used all her 
 days to the throng and bustle of a large town, she 
 found this country peace unendurable. She went 
 back to the house, took up her knitting, and tried to 
 be conversational. 
 
 " Have n't got any neighbors at all, have ye, 
 Melindy ? " 
 
 " Nearest is Deacon Parker, 'n' he lives three 
 mild back behind Pond Hill." 
 
 " My sakes ! what if you should be took sick ? " 
 
 " But I ain't never took sick," snapped Melinda, 
 looking like a sturdy oak-tree utterly incapable of 
 ailments. 
 
 " But you might be ; nobody knows when their 
 time is comin'. Why, when I had the ammonia 
 last year, I do'no but what I should ha' died, 
 guess I should, if it had n't have been for the 
 neighbors." 
 
 " Well, I sha'n't go over no bridges till I come 
 to 'em," sharply replied Melinda, paring her pota 
 toes with extra energy.
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 327 
 
 " Glover is quite a ways from here, ain't it ? " 
 queried Amanda. 
 
 " Three mild." 
 
 Evidently Melinda was not given to talking, but 
 Amanda would not be discouraged. 
 
 " Don't have no county paper, do ye ? " 
 
 " No, I have n't got no time to spend on them 
 ;hings. I can 'tend up to my own business, if 
 )ther folks '11 take care of theirn." 
 
 Amanda gave an inaudible sigh, and tried no 
 nore conversation. After dinner Melinda did ask 
 i few questions, in her turn, about old acquaint- 
 mces, but her sister's prattle was effectually cut 
 *hort. Never in her life had Amanda found a day 
 ?o dreary or a night so long, for she had it to dread 
 beforehand. Even the sharp rattle and quick flash 
 }f a June thunder-storm was a relief to her, for it 
 woke Melinda, and sent her about the house to 
 shut a window here and fasten down a scuttle there, 
 and for a brief space kept her awake ; but after 
 that little space the capable woman slept like a log, 
 she did not even snore, and the night resumed 
 its deadly silence. 
 
 Oh, how Amanda longed for the living noises 
 that she had so often scolded about in Munson ! The 
 drunken cackle of men just out from the saloons, 
 the rapid rush of a doctor's carriage whirling by in 
 the small hours, a cross baby next door that would 
 yell its loudest just when she was sleepiest, any, 
 all of these would have been welcome in this ghastly 
 stillness.
 
 328 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and when the rigidly 
 recurring Sunday breakfast of baked beans and 
 codfish balls was over Amanda inquired timidly: 
 
 " Do you go to meetin' on the Sabbath, Me- 
 lindy ? " 
 
 " Well, I guess so ! We ain't clear heathen." 
 
 " I did n't know but 't was too fur to walk." 
 
 " 'T is, but Deacon Parker goes right a-past here, 
 and stops for me. He's got a two-seater, and 
 there '11 be room for you, for he don't take nobody 
 but me and Widder Drake." 
 
 "Where's Mis' Parker?" 
 
 " I do'no. She 's dead." 
 
 Amanda's eyes opened wide at this doubtful 
 remark about the late Mrs. Parker, but she said 
 nothing; she satisfied herself with watching Me- 
 linda dress. Her Sunday garments were a black 
 alpaca gown, shiny with age, what she called a 
 " mantilly " of poor black silk edged with ema 
 ciated fringe, and the crowning horror of a Leghorn 
 bonnet, " cut down " from its ancient dimensions into 
 a more modern scoop, but still a scoop. It was sur 
 mounted with important bows of yellow-green satin 
 ribbon and a fat pink rose with two stout buds. 
 Amanda felt a chill run over her at this amazing 
 head-gear. She did not know that the rose was 
 Melinda's last protest against old age, her symbol 
 of lingering youth, her " no surrender " flag. 
 
 " Why don't you wear a hat, Melindy ? " she 
 asked meekly, as she smoothed out the dejected band 
 of her own. " Bunnets is all gone out down to 
 Munson."
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 329 
 
 " Well, they ain't here, and I don't think it 's 
 seemly to wear them flats to meetin' j they '11 do 
 to go a-huckleberryin' or fetchin' cows home from 
 pastur', but, to my mind, they 're kinder childish 
 for meetin'." 
 
 Amanda said nothing, and just then the deacon 
 drove up to the gate, a spare old man, with long, 
 scanty white hair and red-rimmed, watery eyes. 
 Amanda was duly presented. 
 
 "Make you 'quainted with my sister, Mandy 
 Hart, down to Munson." 
 
 " Pleased to see ye," bobbed Deacon Parker, with 
 a toothless grin. " I 'd get out to help ye in, but old 
 Whitey don't never stand good without tyin' ; and 
 gener'lly Mis' Drake holds her, but she 's gone to 
 Shadrach this week back. She 's gardeen to a 
 child over there, and there 's some court business 
 about the prop'ty." 
 
 " Lawsy ! we can get in good enough," said 
 Melinda, alertly climbing over the hind wheel, and 
 helping Amanda to follow. 
 
 " Spry, ain't she ? " said the deacon to Amanda, 
 with another void and formless smile. " Huddup, 
 Whitey ! We don't want to be late to the sanc- 
 tooary." 
 
 The drive was beautiful, and gave poor Amanda 
 a gentler opinion of the country. It wound by 
 little silver brooks, under the fragrant gloom of 
 pine woods, and the sweet breath of the fields filled 
 her weak lungs with new life. But alas ! the 
 meeting-house was a square barn with a sharp
 
 330 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 steeple, and as she sat down on the bare seat of 
 a corner pew, and choked with the dead odors of 
 " meetin'-seed," the musty chill of the past week, 
 the camphor that exhaled from Sunday clothes 
 but recently taken from their wintry repose, and 
 the smell of boots that had brought their scent of 
 stable and barnyard, she longed to be back in the 
 handsome, well-ventilated church at Munson, with 
 the soft rustle of a well-dressed, perfumy congrega 
 tion about her, and the sound of a fine organ and 
 well-trained choir in her ears, offended now by the 
 tuneless squalls and growls of these country sing 
 ers. Poor town mouse ! She was ready to exclaim 
 with the mouse of Horace : 
 
 " But, Lord, my friend, this savage scene ! " 
 
 That very night she told Melinda that she must 
 leave her on Tuesday, on account of promised work, 
 and accordingly Tuesday saw her safely back again 
 in dear Munson. Her tiny rooms seemed like a 
 refuge to her, as she opened the blinds and let in 
 the warm air. Her natural vivacity, subdued by 
 Melinda and the solitude of the country, returned. 
 
 " Goodness gracious, Mis' Phelps ! " Amanda 
 exclaimed to her landlady, " I would n't no more 
 live in the country than nothin'. Why 't was as 
 still as a ear-trumpet out there. I 'd ha' give all 
 my old shoes to ha' heard a street car or a coal 
 wagon a-rumblin' by. And lonesome ! There 
 was n't so much as a rooster a-predicatin' by in the 
 road. I thought I should die for want of knowin'
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 331 
 
 I was alive ; and the nighttime shuts down onto ye 
 like a pot-lid. You know you can't go marvelin' 
 round in other folks' houses. I jest had to set and 
 knit daytimes, and sense the lonesomeness. I know 
 I should have shockauuni palsy if I had to stay 
 there. Melindy is comin' to see me for a spell 
 early in July, about the Fourth, when it 's kinder 
 lively, and I guess 't '11 wake her up some." 
 
 " I expect you had good country victuals and 
 plenty o' flowers, though ? " asked Mrs. Phelps, in 
 the indirect Yankee fashion. 
 
 " Well, I did. Melindy 's a most an excellent 
 cook, and the' was a patch of wild strawberries 
 growed to the south side of her old barn that was 
 ripe a'ready ; they have got taste into 'em, I tell 
 ye ! But, land ! victuals and drink ain't the chief 
 o' my diet. I 'm real folksy ; grasshoppers ain't no 
 neighbors to me. I want to be amongst them that '11 
 talk back to me ; not dumb things that won t never 
 say nothing if you should merang 'em all day." 
 
 " Why, how you talk ! How does Mis' Perkins 
 stan' it?" 
 
 " I do'no. I expect she 's hardened to it, as 
 you may say. / 'd jest as lives set down on a slab 
 in the sempitery all my days as to stay out to 
 Melindy's. I do'no but I 'd ruther ; for there 'd be 
 funerals, and mourners, and folks comin' to dese- 
 srate the graves with flowers, and sech, inter venin' 
 'most every day there. 'T would be real lively in 
 comparison with Melindy's house." 
 
 Now Amanda set herself to adorn her little rooms
 
 332 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 and keep them in spotless order till her sister should 
 come ; and when that happy day arrived she met 
 her at the station, her smiling old face as pleasant 
 as a hollyhock blossom. 
 
 " If I ain't tickled, now ! " she beamed on 
 Melinda. " I 've reelly got you here." 
 
 " I said I 'd come, did n't I ? " answered Melinda, 
 with a laborious smile. " I have n't fetched no 
 great of clothes, for I can't stay long; fruit is 
 comin' in, and I 've got to make preserves for quite 
 a few folks down to Glover." 
 
 She secretly blessed herself for making this 
 announcement early, when she reached Amanda's 
 little tenement : two rooms over a grocer's store, 
 redolent with smells of kerosene, cloves, pepper, 
 and the like, added to the fumes of bad tobacco 
 from customers' pipes. 
 
 Not only smells, but dust and the^heat of a 
 blazing July day added to her discomfort, though 
 she had the grace not to complain ; and when 
 Amanda had laid aside that wonderful " bunnet," 
 and set Melinda by the north window with a fan, 
 the country mouse felt a little more comfortable. 
 The tea daunted her ; she could not eat the sliced 
 " Bolony," as Amanda called it ; the baker's bread 
 was dust and ashes to her taste ; the orange mar 
 malade found no favor, though it was a delicacy 
 Amanda had kept for this special purpose, the gift 
 of a friend. Poor Melinda gave afterward a graphic 
 description of this dainty meal to Deacon Parker. 
 
 " I never see sech victuals in my life ! No won-
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTS Y MOUSE. 333 
 
 der Mandy 's lean. Cake and bread jest like saw 
 dust, and, if you '11 believe it, raw sassages, actooally 
 raw, sliced up on a dish ! I never could eat raw 
 meat, much less pork. And the preserves was as 
 bitter as boneset ! I went hungry to bed, you 'd 
 better believe." 
 
 Yet worse was in store for the country mouse. 
 Amanda had given up her bed to her visitor, and 
 lain down on the sitting-room lounge ; and though 
 it was a breathless night, at first Melinda slept, she 
 was so tired, in spite of the noisy horse cars, rat 
 tling wagons, and click of feet. 
 
 It was the night of the third of July, and as a 
 neighboring church clock struck twelve the first 
 giant cracker exploded right under the bedroom 
 window. Roused by the crash, that was followed 
 fast by 'another and another, Melinda started up in 
 all the terror of darkness and din, screaming: 
 
 " Mandy ! Mandy ! where be ye ? What on 
 earth 's the matter ? " 
 
 Smiling superior, though but half awake, Amanda 
 answered : 
 
 " 'T ain't nothin' ; it 's the Fourth, and them 
 boys is a-settin' off crackers. Pesky little sarpents ! 
 I s'pose there is a puppus in boys, but I 've wished 
 frequent that men growed out o' somethin' more 
 pleasant. You turn over an' go to sleep, sister ; 
 the' won't nothin' do ye no harm." 
 
 " Oh-h ! " shrieked Melinda again, as a cannon 
 roared from the green close by, and then the whole 
 pandemonium set in.
 
 334 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 The cat Civilization, with the ribbon of simulated 
 patriotism round its neck, set upon our country 
 mouse now with feline fury. Every noise that 
 could be made by gunpowder, horns, or bells, as 
 well as yelling boys, crashed upon this poor wo 
 man's head till she was all but crazy. How she 
 longed for the sweet quiet of her own home, and 
 longed in vain, for she could not get away ! Stern 
 and silent as she seemed to be, she was but a wo 
 man, and a real feminine panic ensued. 
 
 Amanda had her hands full for the rest of the 
 night. Her panacea of "red lavender" was use 
 less, and this was no case for her favorite salve that 
 cured everything. She fanned Melinda, soothed 
 her as she best knew how, and tried with all her 
 heart to comfort and compose the frightened wo 
 man, steadied herself by a shy sense of superiority 
 and courage to which Melinda could not attain. 
 But not until sunrise dispersed the crowd of cele- 
 brators, and a sort of silence replaced the clamor, 
 could Melinda close her eyes and snatch a nap be 
 fore breakfast. 
 
 Coffee, steak, and stewed potato she could eat 
 when that breakfast came ; and later on, when 
 Amanda said timidly, "Would you like to walk 
 out a ways ? 'T is n't quite so hot, and we can 
 get a good place to see the percession," Melinda 
 did not refuse. She was glad to get out-of-doors, 
 but nothing could induce her to ride in the horse 
 cars ; so Amanda guided her about the pretty town, 
 showed her the public buildings, the fine houses of
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 335 
 
 summer residents, the various churches, and the gay 
 shop- windows, till, worn out, they sat down on one 
 of the hard benches set here and there on the green, 
 to wait for the event of the day. 
 
 " Who goes into the pr'cession ? " inquired Me- 
 linda. 
 
 " Oh, fire comp'nies, an' temperance s'cieties, the 
 perlice, and th' elect men. Bands, too, brass 
 bands with instermeuts." 
 
 Melinda stared her fill at the melange that soon 
 wheeled by. 
 
 " Say, Mandy, what be them fellers with muffs 
 on their heads, a-throwin' up sticks and ketchin' of 
 'em ? " 
 
 " They call 'em drum majors, I b'lieve, though 
 I don't see no drums. I do lot on seein' 'em al 
 ways, they 're so pompious, and yet so spry. Look ! 
 d' ye see that one catch his batten an' twirl it ? " 
 
 Melinda nodded her great bonnet, which had all 
 day attracted nearly as much attention as she be 
 stowed on the drum majors, but she was tired 
 enough to go home now and enjoy a cold dinner. 
 
 Perhaps she thought the terrors of the day were 
 over, but they were not. For years before her mar 
 riage they had all lived in the deep country, so that 
 the most common sights of the town were unknown 
 to her ; and when Amanda insisted on her going 
 out to see the fireworks that wound up that holi 
 day, Melinda's nerves received another shock. The 
 star-dropping rockets, the spitting pinwheels, the 
 soft roar of Roman candles, the blare of " set "
 
 336 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTS Y MOUSE. 
 
 pieces, neither pleased nor interested her : she was 
 in terror lest those irresponsible fire-flakes should 
 light on her Sunday bonnet, and every fierce rush 
 of a rocket made her jump with fresh fear. 
 
 " Don't say no more, Mandy ! " she declared the 
 next day, when her sister tried to have her stay 
 longer. " I 've got to go. I could n't stan' it an 
 other minute. I 'in real obleeged to ye for what 
 ye 've did to make it pleasant for me, but I can't 
 stan' a town. I 'm all broke up a'ready, and I 'm 
 as homesick as a cat to get back. I 'd rather have 
 a hovil out in the lots than a big house here. 
 There 's too many other folks here for me. I wish 
 't you 'd come out to Glover and make it home 
 'long o' me." 
 
 " Land, Melindy ! I could n't live there an 
 hour. I should die of clear lonesomeness, I know 
 I should. Why, when I had the neurology in my 
 diagram, last winter, and there come a dretful snow, 
 so as that the neighbors could n't none of 'em hap 
 pen in, I thought 't would finish me up. What 
 should I do if I was took sick to your house ? No 
 doctor, no folks around ! It makes me caterpiller 
 to think on't. But I 'm jest as obleeged, and I 
 hope you '11 come to Munson some time when 't 
 ain't the Fourth." 
 
 So Melinda went back to her solitude, and 
 Amanda settled down again to her town life, yet 
 with a vague sense of trouble. She could not have 
 defined it, but it really was the consciousness that, 
 having obtained her heart's desire, it had not
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 837 
 
 satisfied her. We all come to it sooner or later. 
 " I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy like 
 ness," says David. Is not the phrase a tacit con 
 fession that nothing on earth had ever satisfied him, 
 king and poet as he was ? 
 
 A month or two after Melinda went back to 
 Glover, Amanda received a more positive, an ap 
 preciable shock in the following letter : 
 
 DEAR MANDY, I take my pen in hand to in 
 form you that I am usually well and hope you en 
 joy the same blessing. I have been busy continual 
 sence I come back, finding quite a little to do about 
 the house and gardin. 
 
 I supose I had better speak wright out, though 
 you will be some surprised I expect to hear that I am 
 intending for to change my condishun soon. Fact 
 is Deacon Parker and I calculate to be joined in 
 the bans of Matrimony Monday next, 'twas quite 
 onexpected to me when he spoke, but after a think 
 ing of it over it looked as though the' was a Provi 
 dence into it for I called to mind what you said 
 about my being took sick here all alone, and though 
 I am not fur along in years, nor sickly, still the' is 
 sech a thing as accidents to be pervided against at 
 all times. I have heered folks say that they would 
 n't be no man's fourth, but law ! what 's the differ 
 ence ? The others is all dead, and buried. 
 
 We sha'n't make no weddin', but he and me will 
 be pleased to see you when you can make it con 
 venient to come out to Glover for a spell. Mabbe
 
 338 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 you would n't be so lonesome now for he keeps 
 quite a few chickens ; he 's a master hand for eggs. 
 So no more at present from 
 
 Yourn truly MELINDY PERKINS. 
 
 " Oh, Lordy ! " shrieked Amanda, as Mrs. 
 Phelps opened the door and she dropped her let 
 ter. " Oh ! I never did ! What upon airth is she 
 a-thinkin' of? Heavens to Betsey ! that miser' ble 
 old stick ! " 
 
 " Why, Mandy Hart, what 's befell you ?" 
 
 " Befell me ? 'T ain't me. I ain't nobody's fool. 
 Mis' Phelps, Melindy is a-goin' to marry a old 
 feller out to Glover as white-headed an' red-eyed as 
 a albinia rabbit, and as toothless as a punkin lan 
 tern. Pos'tive ! I don't no more see how she can ! 
 Moreover, she sort of twits me with sayin' that I 
 should n't know how to be took sick in her house, 
 't was so lonesome, and no doctor within five mild, 
 and no way of gettin' to one at that. Says that put 
 it into her head ! " 
 
 " Well off, ain't he ? " asked Mrs. Phelps, with 
 the crisp acerbity of a woman who knows her 
 world. 
 
 " She says he 's got means and she '11 hev a home. 
 A home, with that little ferret a-hoverin' around the 
 hull endurin' time ! I 'd ruther grind a hand-organ 
 round Munson streets ! I did n't think Melindy 
 could" 
 
 Two irrepressible tears trickled down the grieved 
 old face from eyes that were sadder than the tears.
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 339 
 
 But Amanda had made her moan. She did not 
 answer Melinda's letter ; she went on her tedious 
 way with more patience but less cheer than ever, 
 and the next thing she heard of her sister was the 
 following spring, when a note from Deacon Parker 
 arrived, running thus : 
 
 Miss AMANDY HART, This is to inform you 
 that your sister is real sick with a fever ; the doctor 
 thinks she 's dangerous. She 's kep a-askin' for you 
 for a week back, but I did n't pay no attention to 't, 
 thought she was kind of flighty and 't would only be 
 a bill of expense to send for ye. But now Doctor 
 Fenn says she 's got to hev a nuss any way, so I be 
 thought me to send for you. I expect to pay your 
 way so I put in a five dollar bill. If you '11 come a 
 Wednesday I shall be pleased to see ye. 
 Yours to command, 
 
 AMMI PARKER. 
 
 Amanda was alert immediately ; she had short 
 notice to set her house in order and buy a few little 
 delicacies for her sister. A born nurse, she knew 
 just what to get and what to take, and was ready 
 to set off on the early train next day. The jour 
 ney seemed longer than before, the stage road was 
 heavy, and it was much further to the deacon's 
 house than to her sister's. She found Melinda very 
 ill indeed. 
 
 " You poor dear soul ! " Amanda said, as she 
 bent over her sister, with her heart in her kind eyes.
 
 340 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTS Y MOUSE. 
 
 " I wish 't you 'd sent for me before. I wish I had 
 ye down to Munson in the Home Hospittle ; you 'd 
 be so much better off." 
 
 A flash of hot color surged up into the sick 
 woman's sallow, listless face ; she lifted herself, 
 with the sudden force of will, higher on her pil 
 low ; a weak, hoarse voice issued from her black 
 ened lips. 
 
 " I would n't go ! Don't ye speak on 't ! None 
 o' them institootions for me. I ain't so low down 
 as that, not yet ! " It was the last protest of 
 sturdy independence ; she sank down again, and 
 began muttering to herself. 
 
 Amanda looked about her to see what could be 
 done. The room was small and dark, opening out 
 of the kitchen. The one window faced the north ; 
 not a ray of sun ever visited it, and its outlook was 
 on a rough lane leading to the near barnyard. On 
 the other side of the lane was a swamp, where the 
 first grass was just greening the tussocks, and 
 folded cones of skunk cabbage were slowly growing 
 up out of the black stagnant water. The window 
 could not be opened ; evidently no one had tried to 
 open it since it was paint-stuck, years ago. She 
 could do nothing there, so she set the door wide into 
 the kitchen and opened the outer door. Fumes of 
 boiling cabbage and frying pork came into the bed 
 room in clouds, but there was fresh air mingled 
 with them. Melinda lay in the hollow of a feather 
 bed, burning with typhoid fever, and Amanda 
 could not lift her without help ; the deacon was
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 341 
 
 milking, and old Moll Thunder, the temporary 
 " help," was half drunk. Amanda thought with a 
 pang of the clean rooms and easy beds of the Cot 
 tage Hospital at Munson, the white-capped nurses, 
 the skillful doctors, and her heart sank, though she 
 knew, from long experience of sickness, that no 
 human power could save Melinda now ; but it 
 might have been othepwise, and she was her only 
 sister, the last tie of kindred blood. She did what 
 she could to make the poor woman comfortable, but 
 it was too late. Melinda did not utter a rational 
 word again : a few broken whispers, " To home," 
 " What a green medder ! " " Tell Mandy," 
 and then stupor overpowered all her faculties. 
 There were a few hours of sonorous breathing ; 
 the stem features settled into the pinched masque 
 of death. Melinda had gone beyond her sister's 
 help. 
 
 "Yes," said Amanda, the week after, to Mrs. 
 Phelps, who had come in to sympathize with her, 
 " she was dretf ul sick when I got there ; reelly you 
 may say she was struck with death. And now the 
 last one I 'd got lies a-buried in the sand an' stuns 
 in that lonesome graveyard, full o' hardbacks and 
 mulleins. 'T wa'n't much of a funeral, but I had 
 'em sing Jordan, for you know it tells about ' sweet 
 fields beyond the swellin' flood ; ' and she favored 
 the country so, it seemed sort o' considerate so to 
 do. Oh, dear ! she was all the sister I 'd got, 
 Mis' Phelps, and 't is a real 'fliction. Deacon
 
 342 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 
 
 Parker was a mind to have me stay 'long o' him, 
 for company ; he was, pos'tive ! But mercy ! I 
 should ha' gone crazy a - lookin 1 at him, if I 
 had ! " 
 
 Now Amanda was alone indeed : she had been 
 so for years, but there had always been an aim and 
 object to her life ; Melinda was in her mind and 
 on her heart. The pleasant expectations, the frail 
 hopes, that had been so dear to her tried in vain to 
 live : they had no resting point ; they recoiled on 
 her with a dull sense of want and solitude. She 
 grew listless, feeble, and sad ; yet when a friend or 
 neighbor came in to see her she brightened up, and 
 was so cheery that it was a surprise to them all 
 when she took to her bed and had a doctor. He 
 could find nothing that seemed to warrant her 
 weakness ; ordered nourishment, as doctors do, gave 
 her some harmless pills, and went away smiling. 
 
 " He do'no nothin' what ails me," Amanda said 
 in a half whisper to Mrs. Phelps. " I guess I 've 
 got through. I 've always looked f orrard to Me- 
 lindy's comin' finally to live with me ; an' fust she 
 went an' married that old Parker, an' then she up 
 an' died. I wish 't I 'd ha' stayed with her longer ; 
 mabbe she would n't have died. She was n't old ; 
 not nigh so old as I be. I feel as though there was 
 n't nothin' to live for ; but I s'pose if 't is the 
 Lord's will I shall live, only I guess 't ain't. I 
 feel a goneness that I never had ketch hold o' me 
 before. Well, I sha'n't be lonesome, anyway ; 
 there 's many mansions, and they tell about the
 
 A TOWN MOUSE AND A COUNTRY MOUSE. 343 
 
 holy city ; and all my folks is there or some 
 where." 
 
 A vague look clouded her eyes for an instant, but 
 she was too weak to speculate. Once more she 
 spoke, very softly : 
 
 " I hope M'lindy likes it. ' Sweet fields,' that 
 s what the hymn tells about." 
 
 She turned her head on the pillow, sighed and 
 was gone. 

 
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