ii t"\ -r -5- f~s t ** I T 1 X~\ T I " -' /"*"* THREE HOLES THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ; 1 [Extract from Newton Journal.] This is not a book founded on facts only, but a book of facts. The happy way the writer has of delineating character of bringing the reader face to face with the subject brought forward scenes and persons ever opening forth, interests like a drama, yet with an undercurrent of truthfulness which cannot be mistaken. The physical endurance of the child- ren ; the mental agony ; the sufferings of the boy George; extremes of cruelty; acts of kindness by characters here given ; the stings of conscience in view of dissolution ; the peaceful departure of the blessed, all tend to make this work exceedingly in- teresting and profitable to the young, the old and middle-aged. The chaste language and high Chris- tain tone will commend it to all as a temperance, household book. Copyright 1886, By B. A. WHITE. AH rights reserved. 1886. PRESS OF RICE & DRAKE, WALTHAM, MASS. THE (TREAT CHIMXEV MISS MATTIE ITOSMKK'S STUDIO IX WATEK- TO\VX. MASS., IX 1854. [See pnr/e 3.5.] T ti R K E OR, A SCATTERED FAMILY. BY D I D A M A. B . A . WHITE, N EWTON, 1886. r PREFACE. To the readers of these pages I desire to say that I have endeavored to set forth facts, things as they actually occurred, prayerfully and carefully, merely giving a brief outline of Ann and George May's suffering childhood. Many things omitted too cruel to be written, and on the other hand, kind acts shown which may not be fully known. If, by reading this story, which is true, one father may be led to see the evils of intemperance, or one man who has a loving wife to plead with him in behalf of himself, wife and children which God has given him as a sacred charge, I shall feel well repaid. THE AUTHOR. DEDICATION. I desire especially to dedicate this book to the Women's Christian Temperance Union of our land; also, to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. I believe these organizations should go hand in hand. Neglect not the unfortunate man, the wife, the children, the widow, or the orphan ! I pray you ! THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. The Garden City of New England. Robert and Annie Clarke. Aunt Mary's Story. The Nancy Weatherhead Cottage in Cumberland, R.I. Benjamin May's Family. Baby Ann. The Intemperate Father. Nannie Lare. The Maiden Aunts. Pettee's, Newton Upper Falls. The Four Little Boys. Their Aunt from Newport. Mrs. May's Father Moves to Newport. His Death in Erie, N.Y. The May's Moved to Albion. The Little Fellows in the Mill Four- teen Hours a Day. Mr. and Mrs. Homer of Boston. The Sleigh Ride. Gate's Double Sleigh, West Newton. Pul- sifer's Estate. Depot at Auburnclale. Lasell Seminary. Dr. Latimer's Home. E. B. Haskell's Estate. Mr. Winslow's Forte, The Pine Farm School. Woodland Park Hotel. Echo Bridge. Chestnut-Hill Reservoir. The Arsenal, Watertown, Mass. Gov. Gore Place, Wal- tham.. The Nonantum House. John Eliot, 1640. Tea- cher French, Waltham. The Massasoit House. Old Churches. Adams' Store. His Clerk. T. D. Stratton's Store. Gen. Banks. Allen's School. Seth Davis. Davis School. The Circuit Road. At Home again. Mrs. Clarke's Early Days. Old Dr. Morse's Homestead. Young Alfred on the Express. Dr. Hosmer. His Neph- ew's Mustard Draft. Shingle Street, Watertovvn, Mass. x CONTENTS. Miss Dana's School. Miss Hattie Hosmer. Her Museum and Studio. The Goddess of Sleep. Only a Knack of the Trade, that is all. In Rome. Old Dr. Hunnewell. Wm. White. His Death. Little Jonathan. The Scar- let Fever. The Baby has a fearful Scar on Her left Arm. The Baby Sister. Mrs. May takes Cold. Dr. Lamb is sent for. Mrs. May's Death. Six Motherless Children.. Mrs. Southwick goes Home. Mr. Ramsclell. The Ex- press Train. CHAPTER II. Albion. Deborah Gill. Tom Mann. Friend's School. De- borah ducks the Scholars. Paid in her own Way. The.- Blacksmith's Family. Deborah takes the Children Home.. The Funeral of sweet Sally May. At rest. The Grave of Emily May. The Weeping Willow. George and Ann go- to Deborah Gill's. Ann holds out her little hands and; cries " Papa, papa." Ann cries for her Mamma in Hea- ven. The Old Muzzy House. Deborah Moves. The Three Holes in the Chimney. The Well Rope. The Sur- roundings of Deborah's Home. She tries to Work Out her Road Tax. She builds Stone Wall. Her Tamarack Tree. 'CHAPTER in. Reading the Bible. She whips George with the Raw-hide in the Shop' Cellar. George May freezes his Feet. Their little Sister in Cumberland. Deborah knits all Night by Moonlight. Ann knits herself a pair of Stockings while; in her Fifth Year. The old Lapham House. The Man- nings. The Willards. G. L. Barnes. Isis Steer of Woon- socket. Aunt Olive. Deborah strikes Ann against the: CONTENTS. Table. No. 7 calf-skin Slipper. Olive Gill writes Deborah a Letter. s CHAPTER IV. Ann's Aunts from Newport visit her. Cayenne Pepper given Ann for spilling Milk. The keen Eyes of Deborah. How Sally May would sing to her little Ones. Ann reads and knits. 'Lizzie Spooner's Dolls. Deborah's brown Silk. Friend's School. Honey in the Comb. Grated Cheese and Apple Dumplings. George May. Deborah will go to Newport. Ann's Aunts leave for Home. Ann's Bed of Rags on the Hearth. Old Friends Meeting-house near Lonsdale. Whipped with the Sticks till the Blood runs. Ann is made to eat out of the Swill Pail. James and Willie near their mother's Grave. They weep together. Mrs. Sawyer weeps over the Fate of her sister's Family. Deborah prepares for yearly Meeting. Lydia Haynes. Elizabeth Ruthburn. Barton Ballon. They go to New- port. Lizzie Spooner. Ann breaks the String of Lizzie's Beads. A Tumbler of Milk. Ann sleeps on the Hearth at Home. She did not spell Methuselah right Ann shows the fearful Marks made by birch Sticks and her scarred Arm. Ann sees Deborah hide her Work bag under the Oven. She ducks Ann in a Tub of Water. Ruth Man- ning. Deborah puts Ann down Cellar under a Wash tub. Ann proposes to Run Away. Aunt Deborah haint got no dogs. Pension Money. The war of 1812. The Ships Lawrence and Niagara. Tecumseh, the Indian Chief. Tecumseh, the Horse. Ovation in Pawtucket, R.I. Pitts and Joseph Southwick. William Turner. Friend Perry. Ann visits her Grandmother on her Death Bed. Yearly Meeting closes. John Steuben of New Orleans. Stage- driver Tourtellotte of Woonsocket. Horatio grinds the CONTENTS. turkey's Toe-nails off. One of the Peacocks lame. He tries to pick live Geese-feathers. The Gander pitches into him head first. He throws a Stone at a Bee-hive. Neigh- bor Clarke. Deborah Ballon and Florintina. Anne Jen- kins. Anne Dcnnison. Post Office at Lime Rock. Out of Tea. Captain John. Scott's Pond. The family of Russell Jenks. The Ride of Death. Moshasuck. House with stone End. House of Joseph Smith. Home of the Smith Family. Butterfly Factor}'. Breakneck Hill. Hogs- head bust and spilled all the 'Lasses. Nat Morey's Tav- ern. Lime Kilns. Captain John wants to buy a Cow. A new Road contemplated. Lime Rock Meeting-house. John Carter Brown's Estate. Hedge just set out on the Bank Wall. Albion. Blackstonc Valley. The Canal. Horses and Oxen. At Home. CHAPTER V. Lydia May. Jonathan C. Robert Galan Lare of Baltimore. Uncle Ben and his Favorite. Little Sarah afraid of her Father. Phoebe Jenks. Jane Dudley's Boy. Jonathan makes Horses and Spiders on his Slate. Cayenne Pepper. Olive Gill's Letter to Lydia May. Willie and James at Centerdale. Sally's dying broke me all up. First Glass at Cumberland Hill. CHAPTER VI. John's Room. Lydia speaks her Mind. Aunt Anne and Aunt Barbara. Sam Mann. Meeting-house on Cumber- land Hill. Ann forgets to empty her Bran. She must prepare. She is shut up in the great Chimney. Crust ol Brown-bread and Tin of Water. Ann not yet Six Years CONTENTS. xiii Old. Horatio wants to grind off the chicken's Toe Nails. Little Ann May within the great Chimney, Oh dear ! oh dear ! She rubbed her little Feet to keep them warm. Old Black Henry, Ann is let out of the Chimney. Elizabeth Rathburn. Ann's Bed of Rags. Bowl of Thoroughwort. Ann feels Sick. Lydia May's Letter, CHAPTER VII. Canadians, Deborah feeds ten of them, Ann is hungry,. William Lloyd Garrison takes Dinner. Abby Kelly. White Slaves at Home. Paving Stones for Deborah's Cellar. Ann spills Milk and is ducked. Horatio's Family. Elea- nor and her little Girl. She goes to Manville. Eunice Farnham. John Steubin's Death. Elizabeth visits her Sister Waity. Friend Morey, the Minister. Spencer Whitman. CHAPTER VIII. Ann's three Brothers, The Itttle Box. Friends School and the brown Silk. The Boys sign Deborah's Petition. Ann reads to the Boys. James leaves Money with Deborah. George learns Ann how to Milk. Her Stent not done and no Supper. Joseph Batty. Elizabeth will teach School in the Shop. Deborah and the Children make Loom Har- nesses. Hiram Gill's Family. Phebe Barker. Ring of the Wash Basin. Ann and the Beggar. Her Stent not done. Beggar in the Tool House. Charles Barker. Pound Calico. Waste Thread, Silk from her Nephew. Hepsabah Harris. Ann is ducked and has no Supper. George is whipped in the Cellar for talking with the Clarke Boy. Thee loves me, Ann ? They visit Cumberland. Ann's lovely little Sister. Dost thou take the Liberator ? CONTENTS. Don't kill them, Aunty. A Nigger Driver. Elizabeth Meader. Stafford Manning. Reuben Morey and Spencer Whitman. Beds dressed in white Dimity. Viola Lapham. Their Teacher is sick Spencer Whitman takes her Place. George is whipped with Viola's Rule. The resolute Girl. George is beaten with a Rawhide. The School is broken Up. Ann is thrust in the great Chimney by Whitman. She falls down Stairs. Deborah whips her terribly. She is kept on Bread and Water. Ann's Mamma in Heaven. The gauze Handkerchief. Deborah's Friends leave. Cap- tain John comes to buy a Cow. He comes again to pay for her. Deborah gets into the Window. Captain John takes the Maiden out to ride. The Tin Peddler. Ann's visit. The News. Too old to do much Flirtin'. Ann's Description of Capt. John. She takes Supper with the Willards. Griddle Cakes. Master of his own Vessel, Aunt Nabby Sayles. Anne Gulley. Ann's new Dress. Most assuredly. The Marriage. They move to Capt. John's Farm, Lime Rock. His Family. Capt. John sends George to the Poo Hrouse. He ties his Clothes up in his red Handkerchief. George leaves the Poor House. CHAPTER IX. Dr. Humes. The doctors W T ife. Carrie Foote. Elizabeth Humes. Grandma. Deborah's new Home. Capt. John's Bath-tub. S. B. Harris. The price of Eggs. The Spragues of Cumberland. Cake and Beer. Ann's Stent not done. A Settlement. The long Stocking. No. 7 Slipper. John Rogers. Ann May's Hands and Feet blis- tered with Shingles. Ann's Screams. Ann has to stay in Bed. Deborah throws a dipper of Water upon her. Thee needn't meddle. CONTENTS. CHAPTER X. Mrs. Rhodes." Peter Pratt. Matanzas, Cuba. Leonard and Anna Pratt. Henry and Sophia Barnes. Friend Brown. Irving of Mannville. Carrie Foote. Phebe Jenks. The Resurrection Morn. Her Death. William Whipple. Squire Whipple. In Providence. Agur's Prayer. The Arcade. Capt. John's Night Caps. Aunty Munroe. Gewgaws. Lydia's Snuff. Is it yellar ? Phebe Jenk's Death. The XC Psalm. Aunt Angell. James and Willie May. Nannie Lare goes to Baltimore. All move to Deborah's House. Mary John goes to Charlestown to attend School. Her new Silk Bonnet. Ann tries it on. Ann sleeps on a Bed of Rags on the garret Floor. George May visits Ann. Dicky. The old Tyrant. The Pond. Hon. Peter Pratt. Capt. John goes with him. Samuel Gill. The Whetmore Family. The Dam gives way. Johnston, R.I. Ten of the Family lost. Hushed by its mother's Grief. Capt. John in Cuba. Scott John. Wil- liam John. Boxes of Fruit and Sugar sent Home. Ann's Visit to the Pratt's. Keen Eyes. Anna Pratt. Loring's little Cloey. The Ives'. Ann Wardwell. The Agent of Hamlet Mills, R.I. Mrs. Wythe. Peter Pratt's Death. Funeral of the eminent Lawyer. Ann hides her Bundle in the Barn. She runs away. She is caught. Edward Har- ris and his Wife Deborah of Woonsocket. Ann is shut up in the Smoke-hole in the great Chimney. Hepsabeth Harris' Death. Her Funeral. Ann goes into the Woods. She runs away. Hannah Gullys. The wrong Road. The Almys. Vose's Store. The Agent Irving. Miss Knight. Mrs. Holten. Emily Sevans. The good Grandma. Ann cries in the Streets of Mannville. No One will take pity on the poor Girl. She goes Home. Sarcastic Talk of Deborah. Ann's Stent Fifty times around in an Hour. CONTENTS. Picnic at Cumberland Hill. They ride in a Canal Boat. Miss Gladding and Miss Vinton. Rocky Point. Ann goes home with Carrie Foote. Leonard Pratt sick with the Measles. India Bridge. Tockwarton House. Carrie's Father walks out with the Children. John Wilbur of Hopkinton, R.I. George John goes West. Capt. John and Wife visit Detroit, Mich. The Delevan House. Ann goes to Cumberland. The old Ballou Meeting-house. CHAPTER XL Capt. John drives his Colt and gets hurt. Dr. Parsons. Acsah Kelly. Phebe Barker. George Bean and Viola. Break- neck Hill. Judge Manning. Capt. Clark. Neighbor Willard. Sea-faring Yarns. Capt. John's Laugh. Poli- tics. Ann leads old Peter to the Grist-mill. The Dam. The Canal-boat. The Toll. The Bag falls off. Fenner Mowrey. The lost Meat. Ann's terrible Punishment. Bellingham, Mass. Darwin Pickering. The lost Needle. Ann is put in the Barrel head first. The unconscious Girl. Darwin leaves. Hannah Gushing. The Selectmen of Cumberland. Thomas W. Dorr. The little Aphelia. Dr. Wilde's Daughters of Boston. Clerk of the Superior Court. Jane Dudley. Central Falls, R.I. The Dorr Rebellion. Martial Law in Pawtucket. Mrs. French. Deborah feeds the Soldiers on their way to Chepachet. Ann' s Brother Jonathan baptized. Her Father married. Her Brother James married. Ann's new Mother. Her ideal Mother from her Heavenly Home. The Humes Boys. Ann is tied up to the Rafters by her Thumbs. Whipped with Candle-rods. Capt. John. Ann was taken down. Her Nails came off. Ann visits her Brother. Old Tige of Nasonville. Ann goes Home in Tourtellotte'sStage. Deborah shows Ann her own Grave Clothes. Capt. John CONTENTS. xvii John Is made over. Ann cannot go to School. She prays for Strength. Her Altar. Deborah tries to throw her down Stairs. Ann holds her by the Arm. Ann will go to- her Father. Her Money. George Gill. Deborah's fare- well. CHAPTER XII. The Asay Family. Missionary Work. Aunt Emery of Bos- ton, Gov. Hancock. Sir Isaac Coffin. Sylvia Aldrich. Mrs. James Conliff. Railroad talked of between Provi- dence and Worcester. Capt. John's death. Davis Kid- der. Jimmy and Rhoda Crocker. Ann goes to Newton. W T ebster St. Bixby, the Station Agent. Her Uncle's Family. Lottie and her Violin. Neighbor Clark's. Job Manning's Fly Traps, Ann speaks her Mind to Deborah. Maryland and Virginia Lare. Jonathan cast away at Sea. Ann marries. An Invalid. Olive Manning's Visit. De- borah's wish. The Bed. Her last Hours. Her Death. Her Will. Little Willie Kiclder. George May buys the Asay Estate. His Death. The Death of the last Child of Ebenezer and Charlotte Thayer Coffin. The Scattered Family. The Grave of Deborah. The two Olives. The Holes of the Chimney. The Successor to Deborah's Pos- CONCLUSION. Mrs. Sonthwick. Mr. and Mrs. Homer. The Clarks. Wash- ington Park. Newtonville. The Graduate. The Manu- script. Mrs. Warren in Newton. The Occupant of the great Chimney in Davis Kidder's Country Home in Rhode Island. THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, OR, A Scattered Family. CHAPTER I. " AUNTIE, don't you remember you have told us children that you would tell us a long, long story about a friend of yours who lost her dear mother when she was a little bit of a girl? " It was of that little girl and her early life I was thinking about when you thought I looked sad ; and, now that you are old enough to remember what you hear, I will 1ry to collect my thoughts and relate to you, my dear friends, life experience, as it will show you that God never leaves or forsakes those who put their trust in him, although he leads them through dark places sometimes. Come into my room this evening and I will talk with you awhile. Now go and have a good time coasting, and I will go and help your mamma, as she expects company from Boston to-morrow in an early 2O THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. train, and as this is their first visit at Newton, we wish to make it unusually attractive. "Thank you auntie," said happy little Annie Clark, as she ran back to join her two brothers and younger sister Bessie. Happy, happy little children, how little they know of the sorrows and heartaches that many have even at their tender age. They are blessed with a kind father and a most loving, affectionate mother, and this is a lovely home, and well may this city be called the "Garden City of New England." But this is not helping sister Ellen, so Aunt Mary must stir about and be ready to entertain the young folks to-night. So saying, she went about some domestic duties, and all the time thinking of the dear friend whose history she knew so well, and for whom she had shed tears of sympathy times without number. Evening came, and Annie had not forgotten her aunt Mary's promise. Aunt Mary was a sister of Annie's father, and had been staying with them some- six months, as her husband had died suddenly while on a journey out west, thus leaving aunt Mary, as \ve call her, alone. She had only one child who was away at school. " Well, auntie, here we are, and I have brought my brother Robert in with me, for you know he is fond of stories ; he is twelve and I am ten, you know, and would remember and enjoy what you have to tell us. "I am glad you did," said aunt Mary. "The OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 21 more the merrier; be seated, and here are apples .and pop-corn and enjoy yourselves, my dears.'' Let us describe these persons a little, just to get better acquainted with them. Aunt Mary was a tall, genteel and nicely formed lady, with hair black as midnight, with very pleasant black eyes, and with just crows-foot marks enough to look pleasant. She had long, narrow teeth, nearly every one of which had been rilled with gold, and she had a happy way of showing nearly every one of them when she laughed. She dressed in mourning just now, and .altogether aunt Mary was a fine specimen of a well- bred lady, and as she reclined in her easy-chair she looked the picture of goodness and Christian trust. Robert and his brother were fine looking boys ; Robert, the elder, was a thoughtful, kind hearted boy, not over fond of books, but tried hard to keep up with his classes. He had brown hair and eyes like his mother's, a broad chin and a mouth full of handsome teeth. Annie looked as much like her brother as it was possible, with her square forehead .all covered up with crimps, so much worn, and by many considered so unbecoming. "Well, auntie, now for the story," says Annie. '"Yes,," says Robert, "now to business. Have an apple, auntie, and some corn ! " No, thank you ; if I have got to do the talking how can I eat? You will have to do that, and when you are tired of hearing me -talk just go to sleep and I will take the hint and stop. 22 THREK HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. " Yes," says Robert, " let up." " O, that's slang," says Annie. "Well, never mind; it's all right, now go ahead." Suppose you go with me in imagination too, and enter a small cottage house situated about eight miles from the City of Providence, R.I., on the road leading from Woonsocket to Lonsdale. It has been known as the Nancy Weatherhead house, it is quite a dis"- tance from the road. The snow is very deep, so that no woman can reach the house except on an ox sled ; but as only our minds are going, never mind the snow. Here we find the father, four little boys, the mother, a pretty dark-eyed woman, who had evi- dently seen much trouble, and just now looked un- usually pale and sick, as she holds in her arms a little baby three weeks old, a chubby red-cheeked baby. The boys had never had a baby sister before, and James, the eldest, loved to hold her while Willie and George and little curly-headed Jonathan all looked on with loving smiles. This might have been a happy home, even in comparative poverty, if the father had been a steady man. At this time Mr. May was at work for his wife's father, boat- building. His trade was that of a blacksmith, and at times he would work at it ; but he would get into bad company, get to drinking, and then abuse his family. This was the reason that poor Sallie May looked sad as she gazed in pjty on her four Tittle boys and sweet little girl. The old May homestead OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 23 was only a few minutes' walk from their home, and there lived two maiden sisters of her husband's, Lydia and Phebe May, and Nannie Lare, a sister's child, they, in their kindness of heart, took from her dying mother's arms when three weeks old, promis- ing to care for and love as their own. This they did by sewing straw and living very prudently ; nor did their good deeds stop here. They would try to make their brother Benjamin's family more comfortable by making nice warm mittens and knitting stockings for the boys. If you .were to ask them if they were lonely, they would say, " O no ; in this house our dear father sickened and died, after a short illness, leaving our mother with seven children, and we all took hold and helped her, so the children had a fair education. The boys learned trades, Benjamin, blacksmith ; Henry, who now lived in the next house to his sister's, the wheelwright ; Samuel, the machin- ist, and he lor more than thirty years worked for Pettee at Newton Upper Falls in this city, in which is your beautiful home." " O, auntie, what about that little girl who lost her mother ? " Are you not tired and sleepy, and have I not talked long enough for to-night ? I have had to tell you about the 'ancestors of this little girl so that you may better understand why in after years she had to pass through so much." "No, auntie," says Robert, "I want to know about those four little boys." 24 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. Annie says : " And that little baby, what was her name ? and " Yes, dear, I know, and I will talk with you until nine, and then it will be continued to-morrow even- ing, if your company from Boston are not here. Well, I have told you about Mr. May's family, his brothers and sisters. One sister, Salinda, married a man by the name of Angell of north Providence. She had a good home and took great e'elight in visiting her "old maid sisters," as they were called. And now about that baby and her name. It took a long time to find one pretty enough for a little girl ; but after much consideration they named the baby Elizabeth Ann. Mr. May's mother's name was Klizabeth Wood of Attleboro, and Sallie May's mother's name was Susan Ann ; so it seemed quite nice to have a little girl to perpetuate the names, so the baby was named at last. The mother had somewhat recovered her usual strength, and the coming spring one of Mrs. My's sisters from Newport made her a visit. The boys went to school ; little Jonathan went most of the time when it was pleasant weather. Their cousin, Nannie Lare, was never happier than when her aunties would let her go to her aunt May's and see the children, so they lived quite comfortably until Ann was two years old. She was born Feb. 2, 1831, and this was the spring of 1833. Mrs. May's father moved away to Newport and died in Erie, N.Y., soon after, thus taking away many OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 25 comforts she had enjoyed. It was finally decided that they must move to a place where the two oldest boys could work in the factory, and although Sink- ingfund, a village now called Ashton, was quite near, they concluded to move to Albion, as Mr. May could have a blacksmith shop there. With many tears at leaving their old neighborhood, they packed their goods and moved to Albion. Here for the first time did James and Willie know what it was to work fourteen hours a day and to get scolded and knocked about by the overseers, as well as by their intemperate father. Life seemed almost a burden to the poor mother, to have her dear boys in the mill week after week, and their earnings spent too often for rum. She worked early and late to keep their clothes comfortable so they might go to Sunday school at least. The baby had grown to be a little chatter- box, trying to talk and cheer up the poor mother when she saw her crying as if her heart would break. I cannot tell you any more to-night, dear children , come to-morrow night and I will tell you more. " Good night, auntie ; we thank you very much, but we shall dream of those two little fellows working in that awful mill," and Robert and Annie Clark went to bed more thankful to their Maker for giving them such a lovely home, a kind father and mother, and dear good auntie that had taken so much pains to entertain them, and it was a true story too. The next day proved to be a delightful winter's 26 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. day. The expected company came, and plans were made for a sleigh ride the next day, so auntie did not proceed with her story the next night, but her promise was not forgotten. The next day \vas Saturday and the last day of vacation week, and nothing was talked of but the anticipated sleigh ride. "Now for a general count of noses. Mr. and Mrs. Homer (their company), father and mother, Mrs. Southwick (their auntie), there is little Bessie, Annie and brother Charlie, and myself, of course, ?> thus mused Robert, as he was trying to plan the matter with his father. " Can we all go in a big double sleigh ? " This was the question : " Let us get Cate's three-seated sleigh and a pair of his best horses, and I tell you what, father, we will show Mr. and Mrs. Homer and aunt Mary some of the pleas- ant drives in Newton. Although they have lived in Philadelphia I think they will appreciate our city " " Well, we will start at two, sharp," says Mr. Clark. At two all were ready and soon were packed comfortably in the sleigh, Mr. Clark driving, and Robert and Charlie telling all they could think of to amuse and entertain their guests. ''We must certainly take in Pulsifers estate down by the river," says Annie. " Well, suppose we go there first ; in order to view the house and grounds, one is obliged to drive through the entrance and around the house, and, as I have a message for one OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 2 7 of his sons, we can drive around under the arch and leave it without intrusion," says Charlie. " This was only a swamp ten years ago," said Mr. Clark. " These houses were built and this street cut through under the direction of one Mr. Winslow, whose forte seemed to be in making lovely resi- dences for other people to enjoy." As they sped along by the elegant stone depot at Auburndale, then up the hill by the Lasell Semi- nary, then around by some houses of interest, here they find another residence, built by the same Wins- low, now owned by E. B. Haskill, not far distant the home of Dr. Latimer, one of the greatest scholars in all Methodism, then by Woodland Park Hotel, kept by Lee, from there by the Pine Farm School for boys, then to Newton Upper Falls to view the Echo Bridge, then to Newton Centre ; here they could see the colleges, or what is called Newton Theological Institute, where they " Coin Baptist min- isters," it is said. " It is quite a little drive down to the reservoir Chestnut Hill, yet I think we will have time," said Mr. Clark. " What do you say, Mr. Homer?" " Yes, go if you please ; it is near there that your friend, Col. Kingsbury, lives, I think you told me, who was on the Governor's staff so long, and is now city clerk of Newton," says Robert. " Ah ! is that so ? " says Mr. Homer "This was the residence of Horace Mann of edu- cational fame." 28 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. They all looked with interest at the large, quaint looking house situated at the corner of the street and the stone barn in the rear. By some turning and planning they found themselves on the way to the Reservoir. Many nice old mansions were passed the old Kingsbury estate where they now live enjoy- ing frequent visits from their sons and daughters and numerous grand children. " This is the home of my friend," says Mr. Clark, pointing to a lovely house not far from the old home- stead on the opposite side of the street. " A little farther on is Judge Lowell's, down there in the hol- low ; is it not lovely ? If you will look up on that hill at the right you will see the residence of R. H. White, Boston's A. T. Stewart. But here we are at the Reservoir; we will go in this side and out the other through the arched entrance, which is built of Westerly granite." "O, how lovely this must be in the summer," said aunt Mary. "Come and see us next summer," says Annie, "and we can drive here alone." " I will remember it, and if my daughter graduates, as I expect she will, I will bring her with me." " Yes, sister Mary ; I do want to see my niece very much," says Mrs, Clark, "but she has probably grown all out of my remembrance." " Yes, Nellie Southwick is nearly as tall as I am, but she is not yet eighteen and is quite girlish." "That is the United States Arsenal, those build- OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 29 ings you see at the extreme right. I love to see those glorious stars and stripes always waving," said Mr. Clark. "We can drive by the Gov. Gore estate, by the Bleachery through Newton ; the Nonantum House is still standing, with its little belfry or cupola on top. Here the Indians used to congregate, and under this large elm tree listen to the preaching of John Eliot as long ago as 1640. We will drive by Eliot Hall, the Library building, and up the hill by the residence of Preston Lare, Jr., and then come back, go through Watertown, then to Waltham, by the Watch Factory, through West Newton, and then home." "That is just my mind, father," says Annie. So up the hill they drove, by Eliot Church and by an elegant house with arched front entrance. "Drive slowly, if you please," said Mrs. South- wick. "This Mr. Lare is a half brother to the little Nannie Lare I was telling you about, children." " Was he not from Wrenthan ?" "Yes, he was," said Mr. Clark. " He had a number of sisters there and a half brother in Baltimore. His wife came from there ; her name was Lilly. She was an only daughter. Her father gave this place to her, and they also had an only daughter whose name was Lilly. She had been to Baltimore on a visit, and soon after they came back she was taken with a fever and died. The family are now in Bos- ton or we would call, as he is a most valued friend of mine.'' 30 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. This drive carried them through Watertown and Waltham, and when passing through Waltham Mr. Homer surprised them all by saying, " How much this town has changed since I lived here. "Did you ever live here? " said Robert. " I did not know you were ever in this vicinity before." "Well, I had almost forgotten the fact myself; but when I was a school boy I lived here and boarded with an uncle and went to school to a lame man. His name was French, I think. I was here over a year." And Mr. Homer showed them where the hotel called the Massasoit used to stand. "The Universalist Church was over there very near Ly- man's country seat. We boys used to go over there sometimes for the walk and to hear a Miss Farwell sing. She wore glasses, I remember that, and I can never forget her deep alto voice ; it was thrill- ing, and at a funeral it was a dirge in itself." Mr. Homer pointed out the old Orthodox Church as be- ing the place where his uncle's family worshipped. "And there was Rumford Hall, and on that corner a Mr. Adams kept store : a nice young fellow named Rice used to tend store for him. We used to go together sometimes to the Universalist Church. He said he preferred the singing and he felt better acquainted ; but I always had to walk home with some one else, as I found he was too well acquainted. But what have they done with the Methodist Church which used to be here on the common, and nearly opposite was Stratton's store? A clever man was OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 31 this T. D. Stratton. He kept everything from a Jew's-harp to a side saddle : and wife," said Mr. Homer, "you have seen that picture of mine which was taken with my hat on ; well, what I was going to say, we boys, some eight or ten in number, went to a Mr. Fogg's, an artist, whose rooms were in a building there at the right, and we thought them cheap at one dollar and a half each. Old Dr. Hobbs used to live in that house on the common, and here is a new bridge, and this is the factory where General Banks used to carry bobins of filling for an old house- keeper of ours. I have heard her say that he used to comb his hair when a boy the same as he did in after years, by running his fingers up through the thick, black locks which would stick up straight off his forehead ; but in his picture his hair is nicely parted." They then went by the Watch Factory on to Moody street, then to West Newton (which used to be called Squash End), by the City Hall, and Robert, pointing with pride at the school house where he went three years previous to his moving to New- tonville. This building at the right is the world- renowned classical school kept by the Aliens. Just then an old gentleman with feeble step crossed the street, and, raising his hat, bowed to Mr. and Mrs. Clark. "That old gentleman's name is Seth Davis. He is over ninety, and is, as you see, quite smart, only a little feeble. He kept school here over fifty years 32 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. ago. That school house over there at the left is called the Davis School. He gave the land for that purpose. He loves law and astronomy, and has lectured on the latter subject before the Newton Athenaeum since his ninetieth birthday. He lives in that brick mansion on Watertown St., and as we drive down Washington St. home we can see it. There are four tracks, you see, on this part of the Boston & Albany Railroad. There is to be a circuit road, so that we can reach all the Newtons by rail," said Mr. Clark. Here they are at home once more. It was nearly dark. Bessie was asleep, and all thought a good supper would be just the thing. Mr. and Mrs. Homer thought it was just probable they might move out to Newton in the spring. After they were all through talking over the pleas- ant ride which they had enjoyed that afternoon, Annie reminded her mother of her promise to tell them some interesting facts about Watertown, where she used to live when a girl. " Well, you know when we went back from Newton I showed you Morse's field, as it is called, and farther on the old Dr. Morse homestead, and then on the right a school-house which used to be the Universalist Church of Newton and Watertown. Although quite young I well re- member of going there with a friend very often, and especially noticed some lovely families. Dr. Ten- Ion's family, the Trowbridge's, the Lindley's, the Davis' of Brighton, the Derby's, the pleasant face OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 33 of Captain French, the sweet voices of Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Bemis ; but really, I was not intending to dwell upon this school-house so long, but I must mention the Tainter family, the members so active in good work, and I have many times thought of the little Alfred ; when no older than our Charlie he would drive all around the town on an express wagon when it seemed as if he would fall off the seat, for he always went on the whew. How well I remem- ber Mr. Rogers, with his long plaid cloak ; the old Dr. Morse, as he used to drive out in his yellow painted chaise with his sister-in-law, Miss Catherine Hunt, for driver. He had very long white hair, and wore a dressing gown reaching nearly down to his slippers. Let me see, I showed you the house near the bridge where our beloved Washington stop- ped, and I pointed out to you the former residence of the old Dr. Hosmer. He was our family physi- cian when we lived in Watertown, and about the time we moved away the present Dr. Hosmer had just begun his studies with his uncle ; in fact I re- member of his coming to attend me one night : the old doctor was sent for, but, as he was absent, the young Alfred came in his stead. At that time there was a great cholera scare, and if any one was sick a little, they thought of the cholera, sure ; but at any rate, the young doctor superintended the making of a mustard draft which was over half a yard square, and we hung it over the footboard of the bedstead, and laughed at it, but not until it had eased the pain 34 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. somewhat and raised blisters that lasted me a week, so that is the reason I call a mustard draft my Hos- mer remedy. That street where they used to live was called Shingle Street ; the old residents of that street were the Preist's, the Stickney's ; the Gilky's lived near there, but it is of the doctor's daughter I wish to tell you of especially, Miss Hattie. She went to school with my older brother, to a Miss Dana, when they were both children. Her mother died when she was quite young, and her father desired his Hattie to become a thoroughly good woman, and to be a comfort to him in his declining years. Never could a daughter look more like a father, except in stature : the same square forehead, and the same pleasant expression of the not very- small mouth and broad chin, always kind and affable. You know I showed you a likeness of Miss Hosmer who is now in Rome, and who represents America as one of her most noted female sculptors. You know I told you that the ribbon which was tied around her hair was quite unlike the girl, as she looked upon an orna- ment as foolish waste. I will tell you of my last call on this wonderful woman, and then I will not keep you longer ; but, as your father says, I get wound up .some times, when I commence talking about my childhood days, and who does not? " Miss Hosmer had determined to go to the old country and complete her studies, and to come home occasionally, which she did as long as her father lived, so a short time before she left her native town OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 35 she opened her house and studio to the public, which was a very happy thought. Her father's house had a long hall passing through the centre ; on the left hand side was the doctor's office, then the staircase, then a large room which she had fitted up as a mu- seum. Here she told us were articles which she had collected herself, and pointing to a nest with eggs in it, she said : ' I got this in Concord, Mass. ; it was on the highest tree for miles around ; this was at the top, and I got it at sunrise, too.' She had ducks," fowls of every description in our climate, insects, curious twigs and branches, grasses, ferns, in fact every thing a resolute girl of her peculiar taste and with such a venturesome spirit might collect. It was a very warm day, and as she handed us a big palm- leaf fan, said : ' We will go out into the studio and get cool.' Her father had given her a small, square building fixed up especially for her use, quite a little way from the house among the trees ; here she could use her great hammer and tools with which she worked unmolested. We stepped into the room or shop, as it looked to be, as on the bench were the large hammers and different tools. ' And now, ladies,' she said, ' I will show you what I have been about the last few months,' and stepping up to something which was in the centre of the room, she took hold of a dark cloth and lifted it off, and thus unveiled to our astonished gaze one of the most beautiful sights I ever saw, in marble, certainly the best. On a rough pedestal, which she had fixed herself, was placed a 36 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. beautiful statue which she had made out of a rough slab of marble a life-size bust which she called ' The Goddess of Sleep.' Around the head was a wreath of poppies, most beautifully wrought, so deli- cate one could see between each leaf, bud and stem. As Miss Hosmer stood with one hand on the handle of a large hammer which lay on the bench, I ven- tured to ask her how she could possibly use such heavy tools. She said : ' Only a knack of the trade,' that's all.' Her working suit hung up near the door, and pieces of marble and dust from her work lay around, as if she had just finished working. She shook hands with us all as we left, and I have never seen her since. She walked along with us as far as the front entrance to her father's house, and invited us to come again. Miss Hosmer wore a small fig- ured brown and white lawn dress, made with yoke and belt, plain skirt ; she carried a small gold watch and chain, and now when you read about Miss Hos- mer in Rome you will feel more interested," said Mrs. Clark. " Although a motherless girl, she was not situated like the one I have been telling you about, children," said aunt Mary. " Just a few more old familiars," said Mrs. Clarke. " Not to see good old deacon Tucker at church was a thing never heard of, and every morning we ex- pected to see old Dr. Hunnewell : he was at that time quite old and infirm ; he had long, white hair, and with his bright, figured morning gown and slip- OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 37 pers and with cane in hand he would walk to the post office and around the street a little, and then home, which was near the Town Hall, and now I think of it, the great temperance lecturer of his day was William A. White. His wife was a niece of Dr. Parkman, of Boston, who lost his life at the hands of Professor Webster, with whom he had had some business trouble.- He usually dressed in very light clothes, with his neat cutaway coat, his nicely-fitting gaiters and other peculiarities in dress. He had two lovely little girls which were his constant care, and, with their careful nurse, fared well. But not many years later this useful man was out west, and going alone to attend a convention, was found dead on a lonely road," said Mrs. Clark. "And more motherless children," said aunt Mary. The next day being the Sabbath, they all went to church and listened to a very edifying discourse, arid altogether they passed a very pleasant Sabbath. Mr. and Mrs. Homer returned to their home on Columbus Avenue much pleased with their visit. School commenced, and every thing went along after the usual way. This evening Robert and Annie will expect to hear more of the story which I have commenced to tell them, thought Mrs. Southwick ; but I am afraid I shall take them from the family too much. I will have them to-night, and I think it would be better for me to write, as I have some letters which my 38 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. dear friend has written to look over, and those I have not with me. Evening came, and after tea and a few pleasant moments spent in inquiries how the day had been enjoyed by this happy family, Aunt Mary, Robert and Annie withdrew and ran up stairs to find a nice warm fire awaiting them. "With great impatience I have been waiting for to-night,'' said Annie. "So have I," said Robert. Well, my dear children, we left Mrs. May in a sorrowful condition about her little boys. She was feeling badly because they were obliged to work in the mill when really they ought to have been at school. She had no one to help her but Jonathan, and he ought to be at school. Mr. May came in one morning and told his wife if she would get Jonathan ready he might go with him and help him get some wood near the old home stead. " I will bundle him up warm, for he has not seemed well, and you know the canker rash is around, and I am afraid the children have been exposed," said Mrs. May. But he went and had a nice time with Nannie Lare ; although she was quite a large girl by this time she was always glad to see her younger cousins. In going after the wood Mr. May was obliged to cross a very old bridge which was scarcely fit to be used at all, and when coming home he spoke to his OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 39 little boy just after crossing the bridge, but, hearing no answer, he stopped his horses and ran back, there to find the little fellow with only his head and shoul- ders above the bridge. He had nearly fallen through one of the holes in the bridge, and the noise of the water running over the dam and the rattling of the wagon had completely drowned his cries. It was only the work of a moment for his father to lift him out, but he was chilled and very much frightened. Mrs. May was thoroughly alarmed when she found out what had happened. He was kept warm as possible, but the next morn- ing he was sick, and the other children, even the little girl of three years, was complaining. Things looked dark for the Mays, for in less than a week the baby, Jonathan, and George were sick with the much-dreaded scarlet fever. James came out of the mill to help his mother, but not many days passed before he too was complaining. He was not quite so sick as the others ; but what would his mother do now, not much dependence could be placed on her husband's earnings. George was a great, healthy boy for his age ; he and his rather slender brother Will did their best, but to make a long story short, all five of them were sick with that awful disease. You know something about it, for you have heard your mother tell you what a fearful time they had with you children when your little sister Emma died. Mr. May's sister, Lydia, from Cumberland, came 4O THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. every time she had an opportunity, and staid awhile, although it was two miles away that she and her sis- ter lived. Little Ann was very sick ; she had a large blister- plaster on her left arm, and she took cold in it, in spite of her mother's tender care, and a fearful scar always remained. I am glad to say death did not visit this stricken household. They all recovered, but it was a long time before they felt strong and well again. Nannie Lare had gone to Wrenthan to visit her father, brothers and sisters. Her father had married again, but she did not leave her kind aunt who had taken care of her so long. It was now settled cold weather, fearfully cold, and it seemed almost impossible for poor people to keep warm and comfortable, and Mrs. May prayed that she might have strength given her to keep her dear children from actual suffering. It was now the last of January, and another little baby sister was added to this numerous family ; but, as is always the case, she brought love with her, with such lovely curly hair and blue eyes, that Mr. May said : " Now I have a little girl that looks like me, sure." Will had lovely curls, and his hair was very light, unlike all the others. Ann was delighted with the doll-baby, as she called the little Sarah ; but the boys looked sad when they realized that their mother's task would be harder OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 4! than ever, yet they loved the baby, and tried to do all they could that would help their mother. The baby was five weeks old when Mr. May came in and said : " I will go away to-day and get some wood, and call and see sisters Lydia and Phebe, and now be sure and not expose yourself to the cold ; baby is five weeks old to-day, but if you are not careful you will take cold." But it so happened that some few articles of wash- ing needed to be done, and Mrs May thought she might just do that, and she would be so careful. She went to work and did it, and hung them out, and possibly would have got along well had not one of the women who lived in the same house stopped her, in a very kindly way, and talked with her, in utter ignorance of the terrible cold her neighbor was tak- ing. The back hall where they stood had a free draft through, and although she stood there not more than three minutes, she caught, what so many speak of so carelessly, her death cold. That night when her husband came home he found his wife suffering terribly. "O Sallie, what have you done, and what means these chills, and what shall I do, no doctor, no noth- ing to help us ? " Both babies crying, and soon the boys would come in hungry, but nothing for their supper. They must send for Lydia or somebody ; but how could she get there until morning, and so cold ? Terrible March weather ; the wind seemed to blow a hurricane 42 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. When the boys came home they did not think about supper, but one took care of the little Sarah and another got hot things to give their poor mother to drink, and George knew how his mother heated water and put it in a jug for them when they were sick, so he fixed one and put it to his mother's feet. One got mustard and made drafts for her, but their wood was green, and in those days they only had a fireplace to heat their house with, or to use for all their cooking. Mr. May did not take all his earnings for his fam- ily's comforts, and he was away from his shop so much that people would not come to get their work done ; so you see if it had not been for these two boys working in the mill they would have starved to death, no doubt. The next morning found Mrs. May much worse. Mr. May's sisters were sent for, and some neighbors came in ; but some of the neighbors were as bad off as the May's, many of the men spending much of their earnings and that of their children at the rum- shops, within two or three miles from home. It was free rum every where. Then there was no ten-hour law, neither prohibition. The factory owners and rum sellers had every thing their own way. Lydia May came, and had the doctor sent for ; but when he went away one of the boys heard him say: "Only a question of time, madame, only a question of time ; she is past my help, poor woman. Why did you not send for me before ? " OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 43 The child did not know what it meant, but a fear- ful something seemed about. to take place. " Oh, my poor mother, my brother and sisters, my boys and babies, my poor husband ; " but she could say no more. She grew weaker and weaker, and in less than one week from the time she was first taken sick, six little motherless children and a grief-stricken father and husband were plunged into the most dis- tracting grief. " Oh, auntie," said Robert and Annie, "tell us no more no more to-night; I can see it all. Oh, auntie ! this is awful trouble : just think if my mother had left us that way," and tears were running down Annie's cheeks, and Robert could hardly speak. As they bid auntie good night they were not sur- prised to see big tears of sympathy in the eyes of their loving aunt. After they went out, and Mrs. Southwick could calmly think, she made up her mind that as she was to stay with her brother's family only one week longer, she would not sadden their young hearts by relating any more of this life experience, but with a view of doing Robert good, and of showing Annie what little girls had to bear sometimes, and how thankful they ought to be for their many blessings. She would write it for them, and, indeed, she felt more thankful herself for the pleasant paths she had been led through, although God in his providence saw fit to take away a dear kind husband, yet he had left her a loving daughter and many dear friends, not the 44 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. least among them was the friendship of this friend whose early life she was now calling to mind so vividly. The last week of Mrs. Southwick's stay with her brother's family proved to be a very pleasant one. She had never stayed with them so long before, and had never visited Newton until now, as Mr. Clark had not lived there but eight years, he having moved from Rumney, N.H., where he carried on a farm ; but he was now in provision business in Quincy Market, Boston, and living in Newtonville. Al- though he loved the mountains of his native state, he seemed perfectly contented with his present situ- ation, and when the time came for departure she really hoped that the coming season would find her- self and daughter in Newton. With many good-byes and affectionate leave-takings, with promises that she would certainly come again the coming season and bring Nellie, Mrs. Southwick stepped into the cars at Newtonville for Boston. Mr. Ramsdell, the long-employed station agent, shook hands with her, as he had seen her many times with his friend's family, and he knew she was leaving them for good, as they had questioned him the day previous concerning the express train for New York, and found 'that in order to take the train that she wished to, she would have to go into Bos- ton first, and then pass through Newton on her way ; otherwise, she would have to start very early in the morning. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 45 The children said they would be on the platform as the train passed through, and they were as good as their word ; but they received no great satisfac- tion, as the train flew past so fast they could only see some one shaking a handkerchief they thought was auntie, but could not tell for sure. They went home feeling quite lonely, for Mrs. Southwick left su.ch pleasing impressions with all she knew. She seemed to have the love of Christ in her heart spring- ing up into everlasting joy and peace. Weeks went by, and the Clarks had only heard once from Mrs. Southwick, and then briefly stating that she had arrived safely in Philadelphia, and that she found her daughter well and very glad to see her, but not forgetting to some time finish her story. She spent all her spare moments in looking up old letters and writing the best she could her friend's early history. 46 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. CHAPTER II. LET us look in once more upon the family so be- reaved. The mother of these four boys and two little girls lay in a darkened room, cold and motion- less. Her weary hands would no more toil from early morn until late at night for those she too well loved for her feeble strength to bear. Our Heavenly Father in his providence had taken her away from her earthly home to his blessed abode to dwell with him, where the inhabitants thereof shall not say " I am sick." She had fallen asleep in Jesus. It is not for sweet, patient Sallie May that we mourn, but for the dear ones left behind. And now arrangements must be made to send word to friends far distant, mother and two sisters living in Newport. One had just buried her hus- band, and was left with two little children, and Mrs. Sawyer, another sister, was on her sick bed. Her only brother lived in Erie.- It did not seem possible for any of Mrs. May's relatives to be pres- sent at the funeral, or in any way to help the grief- stricken family. The ever-present help, Phebe and Lydia May, were doing all they could to arrange matters for the family. They took the little Sarah home, and learned OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 47 her to eat as best they could. Kind neighbors came in and tried to comfort the boys, but their grief seemed to know no bounds. James, the eldest, had been his mother's confidant, and he and Will seemed to fully realize their great loss, while the others would cry and play by turn, "and the father walked the floor, groaning and crying. He thought how, in times past, he had neglected to provide for his poor dead wife's comforts, and how often she had begged of him to drink no more, but to stay at home with her ; but he would not, and now his Sallie had gone gone, never to smile on him again never to plead with him more ! and he tried to promise him- self he would do better ; but what if he did, his wife had left him and forever, and so the unhappy man mourned as one without a hope. The village of Albion is situated ten miles north of Providence, on the Blackstone river, in Black- stone Valley, as it is called. The river separates the towns, and it forms a boundary line at this place, between Cumberland and Smithfield. As you enter the village from the old stage road leading from Woonsocket to Providence, you turn off the main road and go down a hill, a sandy, crooked road, and for nearly half the way it is all woods without a house to cheer the lonely road. As you reach the bottom of the hill there is one small cottage house, all alone, no other within quite a distance. This house seemed to stand as sentinal over the gate that was placed at the entrance of this not highly-favored 48 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY. village. In this cottage, however, dwelt a woman whom one might think, to see her and to know her former history, was much out of place, and so she was. Her name was Deborah Gill. She was nearly forty-seven years old, and everyone, whether old or young, called this elderly maiden "aunt." Her father was a carpenter, and Samuel Gill was called one of the best of men. He gave his children, fif- teen in number, a good education, and some of them trades. He lived on a farm one mile north-west of Albion, in an old house which was called the old " Muzzy House." It stood down in a lot called " the meadow," near the stage road that leads from Woon- socket to Providence, on the Smithfield side of the river. This woman had so many peculiarities that her father used to say " he believed she was the only child he had which was scarcely worth raising." She grew all the same to be a strong, muscular woman, although not at all coarse, and in her general appearance and conversation could act the American lady. She had, until quite recently, lived at home with her aged father, and would go here and there teach- ing, but seldom more than one term at a place, as her discipline was altogether too severe. She could use the raw-hide with as much ease as she could do a sum in arithmetic, and more than one boy weigh- ing as much as she did has felt the full force of her muscular arms. She was five feet six inches tall. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 49 with upright figure, and was perfectly well. She had straight, black hair sprinkled with gray, low forehead, gray eyes, and a nose quite large at the end, thin, compressed lips, straight wrinkles from nose to mouth, long teeth well filled with gold ; these she took great care of, always after eating taking a string and drawing it between them. When the Friend's School was first opened in Providence she gave, as an opening offering, her services for three months as teacher, hoping she might thus help the school and also secure a good situation ; but as a parting salute for her numerous chastisements she had inflicted upon some of the scholars, was this : As she stood upon one of the steps of a building belonging to this institution, a pail of water, not over clean, was unceremoniously turned over her, thus ruining a cloak and a new silk bonnet. The scholars seemed to think that by doing this cowardly trick would be the only way of getting square with her, as one of her modes of punishment was ducking their heads under water and holding them there as long as she thought it best. So, after trials of teaching, she thought she would step out of her former tracks a little, so she hired this cottage, already described, and took boarders. She had one Thomas Mann that rather troubled her ; he was of a good family, but something of a crank. He would take the liberty of frightening her by throwing unsightly articles around her neck ; com- ing up behind her he would delight in causing her 50 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, unnecessary alarm. He was obliged to leave at last, as she could not manage her half-crazy boarder. When the girls that boarded with her came into the house the night previous to the funeral, they were talking about the death of the blacksmith's wife, and how destitute the family were for things needful for the funeral, that there were six children to be cared for. "Well," says Deborah, ''we will go and see what they need, and perhaps we can help them." (For this peculiar woman had a good side as well as a cruel one.) So, they went down into the village, past the school-house which was on the left side of the street, the only building until they reach the corner of the only street in Albion where there were houses on both sides. They turned the corner to the left until they \vere opposite the next to the last house on the east side of the street ; they then crossed over and inquired of the boy that came to the door, " If Benjamin May lived there." ''Yes, he lives here, and the children, but mother has gone to Heaven." " But we will come in," said Deborah "Who told you that your mother is in heaven ?" asked Miss Knights, " O, my mother said she would go there some time, and if we would come and see her we must be good ; we will be good, and go to heaven where she OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 51 is," so said little Jonathan, as these women were going up stairs, and while waiting to see the rest of the children ami their father. They were soon invited to view the remains of the sweet, sad woman who lay so peacefully amid the tears and grief of those she had so dearly loved. "And now, Benjamin May," said Deborah, "tell us what we can do to help thy family. I will take these children home and fix their raiment so they can attend their mother's funeral to-morrow, if thou wishest." " Yes," replied the father, " all but Ann ; the little one has gone to my sister's in Cumberland, and I cannot bear to be left without any of them." This man had great love for his children, and his marriage had been a purely love affair ; but rum had entered what might have been a happy, Christian fam- ily, except at times when he was anything but affection- ate to his wife and children whom the Lord had, in his Providence, bestowed upon him, but had now, in a measure, taken from him ; for this day was the last they would all be under the same roof. So these kind persons took the four boys home with the clothes they would wear the next day, and they worked quite late that night to get the little fellows in a presentable condition. In the morning the father took his little Ann over to the house of Deborah Gill, as he had told the boys if they would go with these women he would 52 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, come in the morning with her, as they felt bad to leave their mother and baby Ann. Short services were held at the house, and then a hearse and a few carriages were seen winding around the corner of the street on which they lived, down the rugged road leading over the bridge where Jona- than so narrowly escaped drowning, up the stony, rough road leading to the main road between Woon- socket and Providence, on the Cumberland side, by the old homestead where happily unconscious lay little Sarah fast asleep in Nannie Lare's arms, as she sat looking out of the window as the procession moved past. She could see her uncle and cousins, her aunts, her uncle Henry's family, and a few others. A little farther on they entered the Jenks burial ground ; a little way from the entrance, on the first stone you see, reads: "Jonathan May, died 1806." *J his was the grave of the grand-father of these children, many years later marked the resting place of his wife, and then the stone marked '' Emily May " was for a lovely and only daughter of Henry May's. A weeping willow silently and sadly waves over the gravt: of this dearly -beloved child. They pass these, leaving them at the right, and proceed toward the south wall of the yard, yet not far from the lot containing the members of the May family. Here they laid the beloved remains of Sallie May. No relatives of hers ever laid beside her lonely grave until, forty eight years after, one lovely April OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 53 day, the husband of her youth, at the good old age of eighty-six years, was laid quietly beside her by his affectionate children and grand children : sepa- rated in life so many years, united in death ! The friends all went to Phebe and Lydia May's and took dinner after the burial, but they never all met together again. The baby was to stay there; Deborah said she would take Ann and treat her as her own, and, if George would come, too, he could do chores for her and go to school. As she seemed so kind, no one hesitated to let her have the care of these two motherless children, they not knowing her cruel disposition toward those dependent upon her. She had never had the care of such tender plants as these, and, really, she knew nothing about the care of little children, but supposed they must do the same as old persons. Indeed, they felt pleased that such a kind woman would take them, for, in those days, if the mother was taken away, the family was broken up, the children finding homes any where they could. Mr. May could stay with his sisters for a few days ; the little boys could stay with Mr. May's cousins, the Whipples, until they could manage their affairs. So it happened that Benjamin May carried his little rosy-cheeked girl to Deborah's, and after he was eighty years old he said he well remembered how Ann stood in the door-way, and held her little 54 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, hands out to him, and cried, " Papa, papa ; " but he had to force himself away. Mr. May kept Jonathan with him ; he was his favorite, and he took quite good care of him, only he was obliged to go here and there wherever his work took him. Some were kind to him, and some abused him ; no loving mother to caress him w r hen he felt sick and lonely, but had to play in the street and take care of himself as best he could. Deborah's father had built a new house very near the road, and a little north-west of the old home. Her father and mother were now both dead, and the homestead fell into her possession. She had now a comfortable home in her own name, by pay- ing some money, and at once moved from Albion to the old farm, and went to farming, which she did quite successfully. She had those two children to care for, but she meant to make it pay. After Mr. May left Ann and the baby Sarah with his sisters, and Willie and James to find places for themselves, he seemed to shirk all care and re- sponsibility for them, and with his favorite, Jona- than, went hither and thither without seeming to care whether his children were provided for or not. After Ann had ceased crying for her papa, De- borah told her that her mother was dead, and if she had not died she would not have taken good care of her, and as for old Benjamin May, " he wasn't any- body and don't thee let me see thee crying any OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 55 more." But Ann did not know what all this meant. And when she would sit her in a chair and tell her to sit there for an hour because she cried for her mother and brothers and little baby sister, Ann cried all the harder, but this must be stopped and as Deborah had no loving, affectionate feeling in her heart she could not soothe the child's distress ; but her word was law and instead of kind words to accomplish her purpose, she resorted to every method but the right one. So Ann was severely shaken and her little ears were most unmercifully boxed by this woman who sent her to bed without supper, and Ann would cry, " mother, mother, come from Heaven and take your little Ann," but if Deborah heard her she would come to her and with spanks from her great, hard hand Ann would again cry until she fell asleep. To do justice to this woman, this manner of treat- ment she thought was the only way of training up a child in the way it should go. She did not hate the child ; neither did she love or pity her. She thought she had done a great deed of charity and one that the world would give her unbounded praise for. She thought Ann would soon be large enough to help her about her work if she began right with her ; and that George would do chores ; she had a wonderful faculty of planning ; in fact, she was a great money getter, and often doing very gener- 56 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, ous deeds and real acts of kindness outside and nearly starving her poor, helpless children under her own roof. To better understand the home life of our two young friends I will describe their home. The old homestead house was taken away and all you will find to mark the spot is the well, and that is to be filled up. The new house stands in quite a hollow on the east side of the old stage road fronting the south, the end being next the road ; quite a high stone wall rui^s the whole length of the farm ; at the entrance grew a walnut-tree, and to this hung the gate which was not only unique but strong. The house was built by Samuel Gill and built much after the fashion of houses of that time when built for the owner's use. Two-story with L, every- thing about the house was solid, quaint and seemed to be made to stand forever. Let us go into the L door, for the front door being so seldom used it may creak on its loud, old- fashioned hinges ; here in this L there are places, one will notice, the plan of which must have been quite original. At the right is one quite narrow window looking toward the south : on the east side is a large chimney with open fire-place, at the right of which is a large brick oven. Here were baked pumpkin pies, beans, brown bread, Indian pudding ; and who does not know, that Deborah was a most excellent cook, but she fed those under her care with such a stingy hand that it was often said she ty, ^ ,/ :- s; - - . > OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 57 gave them milk skimmed on both sides, and not half enough of that. Then there was the set kettle where she boiled swill for the pigs ; then a door leading out ; as you step down, there is a square drain stoned up so that it looked like a box. On the north side were open cupboards, and the well was so arranged as to turn water from the out- side if desired ; then an outside door ; a cellar door some six feet wide, the great stone steps, some ten in number, running down from east to west, thus forming a jog and taking up a great deal of room. Over the cellar-way was a meal-chest, wholly unlike anything of the kind ever seen. At the left, up so high that one had to take two long steps, was a very large chest ; in it were partitions which would hold large quantities of different kinds of meal ; in the centre was a long narrow place, with sticks for the sieve to slide upon, and places for bran, and a seat so fixed that one could sit and sift meal hours at a time ; on the right was a great shelf where the large wooden bowl for brown bread was kept, the iron- ing-sheet, and all such things; then the door leading up the back stairs ; another leading into the sitting- room. The broad boards of the L floor were of oak, but the part of the room where the well was was made of stone. The well-rope run thus in a long, narrow box, reaching through the little garret over the L ; then in boxes to the extreme top the house. On the end 58 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, was fastened a long iron weight that came down through boxes that looked like posts in the corner of the room. When the bucket was being filled the weight was at the extreme top of the house ; when the weight came down, it went rattle-to-bang all the way from the top of the house to the bottom of the cellar. Before leaving the L, we will go down cellar ; ten stone steps with the timbers for rolling cider down on, lay at the side. In the northwest corner is a room parted off for a milk cellar. This is nicely whitewashed and has flag-stones for the floor. In the centre of the cellar is the chimney; in the chimney is a small sheet-iron door ; if you push this up and look in, you will see it is for ashes, thus secure from fire ; on the left are tubs, barrels, veget- able-bins and things usually kept in farmer's cellars. After entering the sitting-room, directly at the right was a broad stair and a door leading up the back stairs ; then another door leading into a large pantry which -had nice, great shelves, and deep drawers. The shelves were filled with old-style dishes, many of them left to her by her parents. The windows had shutters to slide, so that curtains were not used. The walls were dark green, the wood-work grained the old-fashioned oak style. Not a picture to relieve the dark walls. On the right of the fire-place was another large brick oven. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 59 The chambers were the same as the rooms down stairs, only in the room over Deborah's sleeping room, behind a large chest in which bedding was kept, there was another little door. This opened into a great chasm,' it seemed to be, over the oven in the sitting-room. The garret stairs led out of the upper entry lead- ing into the centre of the great garret. Here in the centre was the large chimney and great beams and rafters. Overhead, all sorts of old hatchels, spin- ning-wheels for wool, flax and looms packed under the eaves, baskets of herbs, chests with salt coarse and fine, old frames for. making harnesses for the factories, and the old cradle that all Samuel Gill's children had been rocked in ; old tin ware, chests of bedding and an old flock bed that somebody had made of woolen rags, cut up fine; and, altogether, it was a much furnished garret. No pictures, no ornaments, graced this maiden's abode, but things useful and those she really needed she had. Halfway up the front stairs at the left was a little door opening into a place in the great chimney, prepared for smoking hams, and under the stairs a dark closet. The house was shingled instead of being clap- boarded. In front of the L, Deborah had set out one rock-maple ; on each side of the front door were cherry-trees ; on the east side was a sweet- briar bush that was tacked on to the house, which 60 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, nearly reached the chamber window, and on the same side were different kinds of rose-bushes ; on the left side of the plain stone step were lilies-of- the-valley, old maid pinks, but as Deborah called them "Indian pinks." At each corner of the house were snow-berry bushes, a lovely linden-tree near the drive way, also a flowering cherry-tree that never bore fruit, two lovely elms close together near the gate that opened into the orchard oppo- site the house, plum-trees, pears and apples shaded the yard beautifully, an elegant syringa and white-rose bushes nearly reached the cham- ber windows on the west side ; a Jarge lilac shaded the pantry window, on the north side were cherry- trees and an early jenneting apple-tree, also two large pear-trees ; under the shade of one a bee- house was built which usually contained five or six hives. In the northeast corner of the yard was the leech barrel placed on a large stone, the under- pinning of which formed shelves of stone ; a car- penter's shop and grainery on the east side, a long pen for pigs, a building in which was a tool-house and a cheese-house, in the rear, wood-house, car- riage-house under which was a place for farm wagons. North of the house were two quince-orchards she had set out quite recently ; back of that was an apple-orchard in which was a rocky high hill ; on the top were two stunted apple-trees, on one OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 6 1 side a large butternut-tree ; the rocks were covered with grape-vines, flowers and bushes. She hired men that she could get cheap and worked out of doors much of the time with them herself, which annoyed them very much. One year she refused to pay her road tax so she went to work it out. The men were ashamed to have her there, so they very politely sent her into the house ; some men she hired to lay a stone wall but she thought she would help them, and went to work until she found that the men were taking her work to pieces as fast as she did it ; she took great pride in her flower garden, the entrance of which was near the gate. Leading to the road near the gate was an arbor with a run- ning locust-vine which made a lovely shade. On the right of the walk next to the road were beds of strawberries, asparagus, w r hite and red currant bushes, on the left a small tamerack tree which she had planted to be placed on her grave at some future day. A small hemlock grew gracefully near the arbor ; on the left of the walk were flower beds in which were plants of box ; many different shaped trellises with running rose-bushes, sweet peas and every kind of running plants she could think of ; also a large camomile bed and hollyhocks of all kinds and colors, and a white lilac hung most grace- fully over the garden wall. 62 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, CHAPTER III. Ann was now four years old. She had learned to read some, so had George ; it was Deborah's custom to read the Bible every morning and all her household two verses each, usually reading one or two chapters. Ann had got so she could read quite well except the hard words ; but she had her lessons and if she did not get them she was sent to bed without her supper, and then get up the next morning and learn them before she had her breakfast. George was kept at work not being allowed to have any play hours ; and, when Deborah thought him lazy, she would lay him on the floor and lash him fearfully with a raw-hide. He would be stented to do just so much, picking up stones or potatoes or apples ; and if he did not complete it, the hungry little fellow would not have any supper. She kept a bunch of birch sticks tied up, so as to whip these children on their naked flesh. She would take George in the shop cellar and whip him unmercifully. It was a very cold day in January, and piles of wood had been already cut and packed in the OR A SCATTERED FAMILY, 63 wood-house, but Deborah said George must cut some more that day ; in vain he begged and cried to wait until it was warmer, but with a cuff she told him to go out and not come in again until he had got the pile cut up. He did it, but his feet were frozen, and his ears and fingers ached so that he cried, and cried with pain. Deborah was obliged to attend to him and it was thought he would loose his feet, he never got over the effects of that day's work. These children had not seen their father nor their baby sister, and Ann had nearly forgotten her ; but George quite often told her that she had a little sister over in Cumberland, and a father and brother somewhere. When they were all alone, he would tell her that as soon as he was big enough he would go away and work, and when he got to be a man he would come and get her, and she would not be whipped or go to bed hungry. Deborah was a great knitter, and she boasted of sitting up all night on an old loom they had in the sitting-room chamber, with her sister Freelove, and knitting herself a stocking by moonlight. One day she called Ann to her and said : "thou art four years old now, and I cannot have thee idle thy time away more. Here is some black sheep's yarn for thee ; I will cast on the stitches and thee tie this string around thy waist ; and here is a cob with a place made in it to hold thy needle, there, that way." Showing her how to place it. " None of 64 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, thy pouting now ; sit down on that stair and sit there until I call thee." Ann was quick to learn ; she had often seen Deborah knit, so after much dropping of stitches and mistakes, she had to show her work. " Thee good for nothing trollop ! " said Deborah, "if thee drop any more stitches, thee shall not have a mouthful of dinner." Tears ran down the little girl's cheeks, but as young as she was she knew that crying would only bring blows from Deborah's big hand, so she tried hard to knit it right and she carried it to Deborah, and she tcld her to knit a finger's length, then bring it to her. It was some days before she could measure the right length and then something ivas wrong, she thought it did not look quite right. "Don't thee know thee has been widening all this time ? Now thee go to work and pull it all out, and thee dare to eat another mouthful again to-day ; " and so this little girl of four years was compelled to work and cry, as each day she would be stented out of all reason. In after years she was told how smart she was, to knit herself a pair of stockings when she was but four years old. Although everything looked dark for the future of these two motherless children, the cloud had a silver lining. At a little distance from Deborah's house on the opposite side of the road, stood what OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 65 was called the old Lapham house which \vas built in 1763, and has always been kept in the family name. A part of it was now let to a family working at Albion ; they took their milk of Deborah and Ann would carry it over to them, but was not allowed to get acquainted with the children. But she loved to see little faces, and then to see the fire-places in the corner of the rooms looked different from those at home, and she often washed she could change places with those little ragged, but happy children ; they had a mother to love them. So she would walk home slowly, thinking and wondering if all little girls who had a mother in heaven had an Aunt Deborah. On a cross road southwest of Deborah's lived her brother George Gill, who was a carpenter and took contracts for building for miles around. What is now used for a Town Hall in Belling- ham, Mass., once was a church and built by him ; the house he built for himself was much like Deborah's in plan ; both houses had in some rooms long wooden pegs to hang clothes upon, and also narrow windows with sliding shutters. He too had a nice carpenter's shop. He died soon after Ann came to live at his sister's, and his widow who was quite old and infirm, had rooms in the west end of the house, and her married daughter Olive occupied the rest of the house. She had a very kind husband, and two boys named 66 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, Augustus and Stafford, and a little girl very near Ann's age named Emma. A little farther along stood another house owned by the Willards, and there were two girls and two boys ; this was not the public road so in order to go through to get over on the road leading from Woonsocket to Providence by Limerock, one was obliged to pass through a number of gateways. On that road was situated the old Judge Man- ning Tavern, a little farther on was a small build- ing with the sign "Cake and beer for sale here," and at Limerock was the old tavern kept by Nat Mowrey ; thus liquor could be had very easily. One day as Emma's mother was looking out of her sitting-room window, she saw a man coming on horseback whom she recognized as George L. Barnes ; he drove up to the gate and thought in order to save time, he would reach over and un- fasten the gate without dismounting ; but for her amusement he lost his balance and over he went head first. She thought it must have hurt him, but he picked himself up all right, and led the horse along to the next gate and went that way, until he had passed them all. Some months later, it so happened that a school was kept in one of the chambers of Job Manning's house for the benefit of their own and neighbor's children. Deborah after much coaxing consented to let George and Ann go. There were the four Willard OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 67 children, three Mannings and children of the late Seneca Gill, whose widow lived there. They got a teacher from Woonsocket a Miss Isis Steer ; they liked her very much and Ann was so taken up with the acquaintance of these children, that all the punishments she got from Deborah she could bear, if she could only go to Job Manning's house and go to school and play with those children. If she carried her dinner it would be either a cold potato or a piece of Indian cake or perhaps a cracker. But many a time Olive Manning gave her something more to eat, until Deborah found it out and then she punished Ann for accepting it, by putting her head into a pail of water and holding it there as long as she dared. Olive could see by Ann's looks that she had been punished oftentimes, but did not like to question her. Noons Aunt Olive Gill would let Ann and Emma come in her room, and she would always try to have Ann have a nice time by showing her every attention ; the room always looked pleas- ant and in cold weather with a bright fire burning in the fire-place and a nice easy-chair, broad but shallow, Emma and Ann could both sit in it and rock. On the walls were hung framed samplers worked on yellow canvas ; in the chairs were nice soft cushions covered with woolen cloth on which were sewed cats, birds, flowers with pretty vines, all cut out of pieces of various colored cloth and 68 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, chain-stitch worked around the edges ; on the floors of many of the rooms were fleeces of wool for mats, where the sheep or lamb would die and the wool would not be worth saving for any other purpose. George began to go to school but Deborah was afraid that it would make him saucy, she said, so the little fellow had to stay at home. Only a few weeks had passed after the school had began, that she was afraid Ann would learn so much that she would be saucy, too. So one morning after she had got ready for school, she was told to take off her school clothes and take her knitting and not look up until she had knit ten times around. " I'll see if thee is going over to Olive's to be made a baby of; thee can read and that is enough," said Deborah. So with a heavy heart Ann sat down on the stair in the sitting-room ; she was thinking of the nice times she had been having, and now she could not see her teacher whom she dearly loved, and her hands ceased to move, all uncon- sciously, but whack went Ann's head against the table ; she had been struck by Deborah's flat hand. A great bunch swelled upon her head and she came near fainting, but Deborah caught her by her left arm and pinched it on the scar where there was no flesh. Ann screamed with pain and it was a longtime before she could knit. " Not one mouthful of dinner will thee have to- day ; I'll see who'll be mistress here ; thee keep on OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 69 with thy bird's-egging and see how thee'll come out." And thus the little girl not yet five years old, learned to, fear this woman as she would a wild animal, for, when she least expected it, bang would go her flat hand, or, better, would take off her No. 7 calf-skin slipper. The men who worked for her were not afraid to tell of her unjust cruelty and it reached the ears of Olive Gill who felt it her duty to write Deborah a letter. But she got a denial of the whole thing ; she said the neighbors were trying to get the chil- dren to leave her after she had done so much for them. She had a great many nieces and nephews, and they would come and work for her and, also, to visit, so it was seldom that she was without them ; and as they went to their cousin Olive's they would tell her how George and Ann were abused by their aunt. But how to help them they did not know, so they tried to make the children happy whenever they could. All of her relatives were kind to these motherless children. Emma Manning and Louisa Gill would visit Ann as often as possible. The children would playfully call Louisa " squeezer." As long as aunt Olive Gill could walk as far as Deborah's, she would take her cane and go down over across the plank that was placed over the brook and over across the lots to Deborah's house. When 70 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, it was time to go home, Ann would go with her to see that she did not get hurt. This good old woman was born in 1763, in the old Lapham house, which was not quite completed at that time, and, as long as she could, she loved to visit the house of her birth. She was taken sick some few years later, and after a short illness she died. Surely, the Lord rejoiceth in the death of his saints ! When Ann was told that aunt Olive had died the night before, she felt that she had lost a dear old friend. She often went in the room where aunt Olive used to stay so much, but which had been changed a little, as it had been used as a parlor since her death. It had the samp- lers on the walls, the same kitties laid on the cush- ions, and the birds and flowers were all the same, but the shutters were kept nearly closed, and no fire .on the lonely hearth. The living soul had gone home, there to meet two lovely daughters and many of the dear friends that had gone before, to dwell forever with her Lord. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 71 CHAPTER IV. It was a lovely morning in May that two ladies called at Deborah's and inquired of her niece, An- gelina Stone, if Miss Gill was at home. She told them that she was and to be seated. She put on her sun-bonnet and went down into the potato-field and found Deborah and Ann both dropping potatoes, while George and the hired man covered them. " Now, thee keep at work, George, and Ann and I will be back soon." She went into the kitchen and unpinned her dress which was fastened by the hem, around her waist ; she took her handkerchief off her head and put on her cap ; after putting on a clean, checkered apron, she went in where the ladies were. " Mrs. Spooner and Mrs. Gibbs, from Newport," said they ; we are sisters of the Mrs. May who died at Albion two years since." " Ah, then you are Sallie May's sisters that I heard thy sister's' husband speak about when his wife died, but they both were in some kind of trouble and could not be present." "Yes, "said Ann's aunt Spooner, "my husband died and I was left with two small children at that 72 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMM-.Y, time ; any other time I might have come. We come to see our sister's children that you have with you." "They are .down in the field, watching the men plant. I have to see to the men myself, as I have the care of quite a farm. Take off your things and we will have some dinner. Did you come far ? " " We have been to see Sallie's baby, in Cumber- land, and found her to be the sweetest little curly- haired baby we ever saw. She has the best of care. Lydia and Phebe May are two good women. I wish Benjamin was half as good to his children as they are to his little Sarah. We found them sewing straw with all their might, and the little one play- ing with dolls Nannie Lare had made for her. We tried to find out where the two oldest boys were, but did not certainly ; they are at work in the factory. They go to school some and work for their board somewhere not far from Providence, so Lydia May thinks. She also thinks her brother and Jonathan are in Connecticut. I am sorry not to see him, although I have been told he did not treat my sister well ; but, when they were married, a more loving couple I never saw. I was younger and used to be in their family a good deal when we lived in Cumberland, but since we moved to New- port have not known just how they got along," said Mrs. Spooner. By this time, Ann had come in and Deborah hearing her voice, got up and went out. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 73 " Thee comb thy hair and change thy dress, and thee behave thyself, for if thee don't, I will give thee a dose of cayenne pepper, worse than I gave thee yesterday for spilling the milk. These women," contined Deborah, " are thy aunts from Newport." George had told Ann about these relatives, yet she could not make it seem that any one cared for her. The ladies took her up in their laps and kissed her, while tears ran down their cheeks, and Mrs. Spooner would say, " Poor sister Sallie's child ; how she loved her first girl-baby, as she used to call her." Then she told her how her mother used to sing to all her babies, " Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber," And she repeated some of the verses. She then told her she had been to see her sister Sarah, and was quite surprised to find that Ann had forgotton how she looked, and seemed to know nothing about her father. She knew she had one, and some broth- ers, but she had seen them but once and then only for a few minutes. Deborah did not leave the room after Ann came in, so they had no chance for talking with her alone, or of asking her if she was happy. She looked well in the face, and they thought it no matter if she was shabbily dressed so long as she was well and con- tented. ' Do you go to school ? " asked her aunt. " No, I don't." 74 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, " I teach her at home," interposed Deborah. " I don't like to have her go so far ; it is too long and hard a walk. When Ann gets old enough, I shall send her to Friends' school in Providence. I have a brown silk dress that I had when I was a girl, and when she gets her growth I shall have it made over for her. "Thee get thy testament and read to thy aunts the chapter we read this morning about Ananias and Saphira. Thee can show them how well thee can read, and get thy knitting and let them see how industrious thou art." "My little Lizzie is about your age and she can't read like that, and as to knitting she would rather play with dolls," said Mrs. Spooner. "So I would, but I haven't got none," said Ann, " only a piece of wood George made a face on, and it hasn't any arms or feet like Emma Manning's dolly ; and I don't like to knit, but I like to go school to Isis Steer, but Aunt Deborah says it makes me saucy. I try to be good but it don't make no difference. I wish you were my mother come back from heaven and would take me away from here." The child in her joy entirely forgot the presence of Deborah, and when she looked up and met the keen, gray eyes, she jumped out of her aunt's lap and went out of the room crying. " I have said something I ought not to have said ; what will she do to me now,'' thought Ann. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 75 " Ann is a very willful child ; I have to hold a tight rein, but I hope it will be like bread cast upon the waters ; it will return after many days," said Deborah. " I want to see George," says Mrs. Spooner. " I have a boy about his age." Dinner was now ready, and a nice one, too. Deborah had a great faculty of making a nice apple dumpling. She made the crust of boiled potatoes, and these, to-day, would use up the last of her apples. She had lovely cream, and brown bread baked in the brick oven, and doughnuts which she always fried in a kettle which would hold a pailful, and she would keep the kettle in motion all the time she was frying them ; also, a large plate of honey in the comb, and grated cheese. Ann was allowed to come to the table and eat her dinner. She often ate off of the set kettle. George had not made his appearance ; he was at the barn doing some chores. So, after dinner, Debo- rah takes her company out and shows them around. They admire the yard, so clean. " Yes," says Deborah, " every spring I have a new broom made of white birch, and I sweep it myself, and Ann she picks up the sticks. We fin- ished this yesterday. Here is George, thy sister's third boy. These are thy aunts from Newport, come to see thee and Ann ; put thy best foot for- ward now." 76 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, But George looked down at his bare, dirty feet, and said he could not see much difference ; but she meant his behavior. His aunts told him about his sister in Cumberland, and told him he was old enough to go over there alone ; and they desired him not to neglect to visit his mother's grave, so that be would not forget her. " Don't you think I look as your mother did ? " asked Mrs. Spooner. "Yes, I think you do, only mother was littler than you, and her eyes wan't so big and my mother was crying so much. I don't know how you would look with tears running down your cheeks and trying to sing to a baby." Poor little fellow ! He did see big tears chase each other down this good woman's face, but only for a moment, as Deborah told him to go into the house and eat his dinner. She asked these ladies if they intended to live in Newport always. " It is likely we shall at present, for I have myself and children to support, and you know in June the yearly meeting is held there, and we take a few boarders." " Ah, does thee ? I have been thinking I would go this year, but don't know whether it is best or not, but, if thou will take me to board, perhaps I will go." " I will," said Mrs. Spooner, " if you will bring my little niece and nephew. Their cousins will be so glad to see them. Our mother is sick and we OR A SCATTERED FAMILY, 77 think it doubtful if she recovers," said Mrs. Gibbs. Thus it was arranged that Deborah should come and bring the children with her if nothing happened to prevent. "We must be going now," said Mrs. Spooner. "We have Henry May's horse, and we promised to be back before this." George led the horse up to the door. They kissed the children and said, ' We will hope to see you in Newport next month." The children watched the wagon until it reached the top of the hill and re- ceded from their view. Deborah had gone back into the house and had got all ready to go down into the field. She says to Ann, " None of thy dreaming change thy clothes and come with me. Thee has been idle Jong enough. I will settle with thee for thy blab some other time. All planting should be done by the tenth of May, and here 'tis the twelfth. George, thee good-for-nothing, lazy boy, come along and carry this hoe. I will cover some of them myself. We might have got that piece planted if it had not been for thy aunts' trapsing over here. Another time when I have company, thee must be seen and not heard ; children should not be so bold." They had reached the potato-patch where Charles Dex- ter, a young man she had hired a few days previous, was at work. Deborah took the hoe and worked hard until night. All were pretty well tired out, and went to bed earlv. 78 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, Ann slept in the room with Deborah. Some pieces of quilts were thrown upon the cold, hard brick hearth for her to sleep on, and there Ann laid her little tired body down. In the cold nights of winter Deborah had her lay at the foot of her bed so she could put her feet on her and keep them warm, and if Ann should move, a sharp punch from her .would remind Ann what she was there for. The next day was meeting-day at the old Friends' Meeting-House near Lonsdale. Sometimes she would let George and Ann go, as George could drive, but to-day she thought she would punish Ann by making her stay at home and knit. Ann felt badly enough when she saw old Jim go out of the yard without her, but she was used to disappointments. After they were gone an'd she was all alone, she knit and knit until it seemed as if her stent would never get done. They went at ten o'clock and would be back about one. The night before she did net sleep much, for she was so tired and she was thinking ahout her aunts, and how bad she should feel if she could not go to Newport. She dropped asleep, still holding her needles in her hand, and did not wake until she heard the hired man pounding on the kitchen door. His dinner was not ready, as Deborah usually got home at one o'clock, so they had to wait until she came. Ann looked at the clock and thought, " what shall I do > OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 79 my stent not half done," and she began to knit as if her whole life depended upon it, but her arms and hands seemed to move so slowly ; " and there is old Jim now ; I know him by his tread." Still Ann knit away not daring to stop. Deborah told George to make haste and change his clothes, and put Jim in the barn. " Well," says Deborah, " is this all thee has got done ? not half of thy stent done. I know thee has been idling away thy time. I will settle with thee." She took off her meeting clothes and set the din- ner on for the boys, Charles and George, and then not heeding what Ann told her, how she was knit- ting and dreamed she saw her mother coming towards her and just then she woke up. " I will learn thee to dream of thy mother and idle thy time away;" so saying, she took her out in one of the out-buildings, at the same time having a bunch of white birch sticks tied up, as many as she could hold in her hand, and whipped Ann on her bare flesh until great marks were made and the blood flowing from nearly every cut. " There, now see if thee will go to sleep when I go to fifth day meeting " Angelina Stone had eaten her dinner and put on her things to go over to her cousin Olive Manning's. She knew Deborah had punished Ann awfully for something, but how much or for what she could not tell. So THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, " It \vould serve thee right," said Deborah, after her niece had gone, " not to give thee any dinner, but here are some victuals on Charles' plate that he has left to be wasted. Thee go and bring the swill- pail in that stands under the wash-bench." Ann brought the pail all covered with swill, sour and filthy. Deborah put the dinner for Ann in the pail and told her to carry it out and set it on one end of the sink-drain, and to get down and eat it with her fingers. She was so sore, and lame from her whipping she could not get down on her knees as she was told ; so Deborah told her to stand in the drain itself and then she could just reach it out of ih said Ann; "that is on Cum- berland Hill. And them buildings this side belong to Sam Mann. He keeps lots of pigs in them long, narrow houses. He is an awful big man. I heard a man say, who used to work there, that he has to have chairs, and bedsteads, and wagoais made pur- pose for him. He rides right by here sometimes." 112 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, " Ann, thee come right into the house. I'm ashamed of thee, talking with that collegian. Thee get right up there to the meal-chest and don't thee speak again until thee gets that bushel of meal sifted that George has just brought. Thee lazy trollop ! After I have let thee go to Newport, and took so much pains with thee. I haven't forgot the settlement I have got to make. Thee had better prepare." Ann went to her task, and, as she drew her sieve to and fro on the sticks, she was wondering what kind of punishment she would have. While thinking this over, she forgot for the moment that the bran must be emptied and she must put a measure of meal in her sieve at once and shake out the fine for cooking, while the bran she emptied in a deep, nar- row chest at her right. She did it all right, at first ; but as she got deeper in thought, she shook away quite a while on the same lot. It so happened Deborah was down cellar skimming milk, and the first thing Ann realized fully was her taking her by the arm and pulling her down the steps, saying, " come clown cellar with me ; go along, none of thy pouting. I'll see if I will have such work." They went down the stone steps, and, going to the chimney, she took down the door and told Ann to get down on her hands and knees and crawl in. Not many ashes were in there now, as she had it OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 113 cleaned every spring and they had put what few they had made since around the quince-bushes. Ann had never been in there before, but she knew she must now. She begged of Deborah, but a. blow from her flat hand silenced her pleading, but increased her cries. She gave her a push, shut up the door, and went up stairs. Ann heard her shut the great cellar door, and then all she could hear was the clatter of the well-weight and when it left would wait to see how many she could count be- fore it came back again. She was not afraid of the dark, as she was never allowed to carry a candle or a lamp. At noon Deborah went down cellar and carried Ann a crust of brown bread and some water in a tin cup. " This is better than thee deserves. Does thee know what thee is shut up for ? " Ann told her because she was naughty : but what she had really done she did not know. " Didn't I tell thee that I would settle with thee, for thy actions down to thy aunts ? And thee didn't empty thy bran out of thy sieve, thee good-for- nothing trollop. I'll see who will be mistress here." She then put up the sheet-iron door and went away. The family thought Ann was out in the lot after berries, or over to Emma's, as she was not to be seen. She was naturally of a very happy disposition and generally hopeful, and always thinking what she 114 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, would do if; but the (/"was in the way. But the beginning and the ending was to mind Aunt Deb- orah. Although not yet six years old, her discipline had been so severe. She made up her mind to do the best she could and, if she got punished, to make the best of it ; and, when she got a chance to have a good time, to do it ; and if old Deborah lived until she got to be a woman, she would let her know that she was no better than her. At dinner, Horatio asked Deborah if she didn't want the chickens toe-nails ground off; they were scratching up everything. " Thee let them alone ! " "I have fixed the turkeys all right," said he. " I have heard all about thy mischief. I shall take thee with me when I go away. I can't leave any such naughty boys at home another time." " But George wan't naughty ; he worked all the time ; only I made him turn the grind stone. I told him you would lick him if he didn't. He said he wouldn't put you to the trouble. Where is Ann ? Did Lydia tell you that Ann's father and brother Jonathan came while you had gone away ? " " Has thee told Ann ? " "No." " Lydia Haynes told George." " He came the same day I came out here, and George did not see them." OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 115 " I know all about it. I don't want Ann to know anything about it, as it will make her feel uneasy. She acts bad enough, now." " George says the reason you knock him around so, is because he hain't got no mother, and his father does not see to him. Now if he had a mother and his father did not drink, you wouldn't dare to do it ; and I s'pose if my mother should die and my father should drink, you would be cross to me, too, 'cause I hain't half as good as he." "There, Horatio, thee attend to thine own busi- ness. I don't want any of thy help ; when I do, I will let thee know.' 1 Ann, in her solitary confinement, kept her eyes shut most of the time. She could not see the least bit of light through the door-way, as the cellar was quite dark. She would hold her old ragged apron up to her eyes tight, to try and shut out the awful darkness. She could now and then hear the clock strike. "Oh, dear! will this darkness never stop? Will she keep me here all day ? Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " She would then cry and hold her breath as long as she could, to see if she could not stop crying. She then would scream as loud as she dared, as she did not want any one to hear her. Sometimes she stood up and sometimes she sat down. She felt chilled ; her teeth ached ; her ear, that had ached now and then ever since she had the scarlet fever, began to Il6 THREE HOLES I^THE CHIMNEY, ache. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! Mother in heaven, take me out of this awful place," Then she would be calm again. She rubbed her bare feet to keep them warm, for she felt cold, although out of doors it was summer. " In the verses I read in the Bible this morning, Jesus says ' suffer little children to come unto me,' and why can't I go now. Oh, dear ! I won't stay here. I will die, I know I shall ; and then calmly said, " I don't care if I do. Then they will find me here and Aunt Deborah will have to tell what she did, and then she will be punished." But, as all things have an end, so did Ann's soli- tude. Deborah thinking to make Ann's fright complete, took an old coat and went softly down the cellar stairs and pulling the door of the ash-hole away a little, shook one of the sleeves within, and growled, " I am old black Henry ; I've come to get you." Then waited to hear what Ann would say ; but she was not afraid of old black Henry. He lived down near Lonsdale. She had seen him many times, and she knew that Deborah had said that black folks were just as good as white folks. Ann begged for black Henry to take her out, " I am awful cold and hungry. I never will be naughty any more. Aunt Deborah has shut me up here, and I hain't done nothing bad." She begged and begged, and Deborah finding her plan did not work, took the door away and said, " come along out ! " OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 117 She crept out, all ashes and cobwebs, and was really an awful looking sight. " Now thee go and wash thyself and clean the filth off thy clothes, and thee needn't tell where thee has been. I'm ashamed to let the folks know how thee has behaved ; and now thee go and finish sift- ing that meal before supper." Ann could hardly see after being in the dark so long. It took her a long time to comb her hair and get the ashes off her clothes. She tried to sift the meal, but her arms seemed to have lost their strength, and in a little while she lay faint and sick on the meal-chest floor. Elizabeth came and found her and called for Deb- orah. They took her up and carried her into the bed-room and laid her on her bed of rags on the hearth, as Deborah would not tumble up her bed, and she had not a lounge in the house. " Why, Deborah, her hair is all ashes ! Where has the child been ? There is quite a bunch on her head, too." Ann, had recovered sufficiently to open her eyes but, the instant the light struck them, she cried with pain. " Let her lay there," said Deborah. " She is ugly, she is only making believe." But Elizabeth knew better. " She has been out and got tired, or perhaps she is sun- struck." Il8 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, " I'll risk it." " But thee will let me get her something to take, won't thee ? " " I want some dinner," said Ann. " Hasn't thee had thy dinner ? " " Only a crust of bread and some water. I only had a piece of Johnny-cake for breakfast, 'cause aunt Deborah said I had eat enough and sent me away when I had just begun." This Ann said in a whisper, and her eyes closed from the light. Deborah brought in a bowl of strong thorough- wort tea, as bitter as bitter could be, and forced it down Ann's throat, while Elizabeth had gone to get her something to eat ; but Deborah met her and told her she could only have a cracker, as she had been a very naughty girl, and she could not have any of that which was left of their dinner. There was just enough for their breakfast, warmed over, and that Horatio and John were very fond of roast lamb. So Ann took the cracker and was glad to have anything to take the bitter taste out of her mouth. Deborah told her to go out and sit on the stair in the sitting-room, but she could hardly walk. She told her to take her knitting and go to work, and no more fussing. " If thee had behaved thyself, thee would not have got thy desserts. Ann felt she had been cruelly dealt with, but knew if she said she was sick Deborah would feed her on cayenne pepper. She would take half a teaspoon- OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. I 19 ful and mix it up to a thick paste, and make her eat it for a punishment or if she said she was sick. Hot coals of fire could not have been much worse, so she tried the best she could to keep the needles moving. " Here, Aunt Deborah, is a letter," said Horatio Dudley. " It is mailed at Cumberland Hill." " Let me have it ; no matter where it is mailed ; it is none of thy concerns." Envelopes were not used at that time : letters were written with goose-quills and sealed with little red wafers. She went into her room and opened her letter. Deborah reads with much surprise the following : " Cumberland, Aug. 8, 1837. DEBORAH GILL : I am sorry to say I feel it my duty to write to you about my brother Benjamin's children ; but different people have been here and all tell the same story. That you are not as kind to them as you would be if they were your own. But as we do not not know anything about it, except what we are told, we do not know how to judge you, but hope you will try and do what is right in regard to these two motherless children. I should like to have you come over, and bring them to see their sister. She is a great deal of com- pany for us as she grows older. Yours, in haste, LYDIA MAY. 120 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, ' " Well done ! Some of my enemies have been to Lydia May and made a complaint. They had bet- ter mind their own business. Lydia May is a nice woman, and would not have written this unless some one had said something. ' Spare the rod and spoil the child.' I hope it will be like bread cast upon the waters. I will take the children over to see their sister, and find out where this stuff comes from." OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. CHAPTER VII. " OH, aunt Deborah," said Horatio coming in," here are a lot of Canadians, and they are coming in the yard." The men came and asked her if she would give them something to eat. "Yes, certainly." She went out and found there were ten in all, men, women, and children, and all wanted to be fed. " Ann, thee set the table and let them come in and set down. They say they have not had any dinner. " I haven't neither," said Ann. " Thee hold thy tongue. These are poor people, and have not as good a home as thee has ; and, if thee does not get thy stent done, thee will not have any dinner, either. Go and tell these folks to come right in and eat all they want. I will never turn the needy from my door, ' for inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of my brethen, ye have done it un- to me,' " said Deborah. Ann sat on the step leading into the sitting-room, half wishing she was in their places. She had not finished her stent the day before and she had not eaten anything that day, except, when no one \\as looking, she would take a mouthful, and if she heard any one coming would swallow it whole. 122 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, The Canadians did not seem hungry at all, but took what there was on the table and put it in bas- kets which they had in their hands when they came in the yard. They thanked Deborah, and wanted some eggs, and some corn for their horses. Deborah gave them some and they went on their way rejoicing, for they had done the same thing at the Lapham house. They didn't get the table set for them, but got milk and food in their baskets, so they had a good meal. John said such a generous woman he never saw before, and when he was requested to sign a petition which Deborah had with her, for the purpose of procuring signers for the emancipation of the slaves at the south, he at once did so ; but said he knew very little about American slavery. Deborah took Anti-Slavery papers and told him to read how cruelly they were treated. The slaves were beaten very cruelly ; then washed with salt and water, and they were almost starved to death. They, had to work, and if they did not get their task done, they were made to go without food for a day at a time. She told him that children were taken from their parents when young, and put in a pen and raised as you would pigs ; they were shut up in dark holes, and they would run away if they could get a chance. The slave-holders had dogs to chase them ; and, if caught, would be put in irons, and many other awful things, which John thought was reason enough to sign his name, if by so doing he could OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 123 help release these black people. Deborah had this petition to carry around so as to get signers and have it presented before the legislature, thus to have legislation free this unfortunate race. She had Ann's name, Horatio's, George's, Char- lie Dexter's, and, in fact, everybody's who would like to see negroes free. She was very much pleased when William Lloyd Garrison, the great anti-slavery man of his time, dined at her house and conferred with her as to the best thing to be done to accomplish this result, to emancipate the slaves. She showed him the long list of names she had got ; and, as Neighbor Clark was their representative, she was to carry her peti- tion to him. So, when she got ready, she carried it, and wished him to attend to it, hoping that with hundreds of others of the same stamp, might cause congress to act upon the subject. Certainly, such women as Abbie Kelly and Deb- orah, and others just as active, would not fail in freeing every poor slave in the United States. She did not want them to go back to Africa. Oh, no, she would be so glad to have some of them with her, she could take such good care of them. Well ; Deborah went and presented the petition to Neighbor Clark and wished him and his family to sign it, but when he had looked at it he carefully folded it up and very politely handed it to her. " But Samuel I want thee to take it." Yes, I know, beg pardon ; but, Deborah Gill, more than 124 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, half of these names are those of children that know nothing whatever about what they signed for, or what freeing the slaves mean. And another thing, I will not have anything to do with any petition of this kind from your hands until you free your white slaves at home. When Deborah returned home, Elizabeth came to her and said, " Well, Deborah, how did thee succeed with thy petition at Neighbor Clark's?" " He said I had white slaves at home, and he would have nothing to do about it. Thee knows he is not an abolitionist. He is an old-fashioned whig. I shall inform Friend Garrison. l< Deborah, I wanted to ask thee if we had not better send for Dr. Lamb. John is evidently worse. I think his being thrown from the chaise hurt him. He has complained of his side ever since. I have felt quite lame, but have not given much thought to myself, I have been so anxious about John." " I am sorry that thee undertook to carry John out to ride, and that old Jim should have turned round so quick as to upset the chaise, but am glad it hap- pened here in the yard, so we could help thee up and see to both of you," said Deborah. '* George must go for Dr. Lamb and see what he can do for John : yet, I think, Deborah, John is on his death-bed," said Elizabeth. " Dost thou, really ? " 'Consumption is such a deceitful disease. One will walk out to-dav, and to-morrow leave us for- OK A SCATTERED FAMILY. 12$ ever,'' and Elizabeth shed tears for the man she had taken care of for the last few weeks. The doctor came and left something to relieve the sick man, and cautioned his nurse about wearing herself out. " When the doctor went out, Deborah questioned him : " What dost thee think, doctor ? " " This autumn's leaves will cover his grave, I am persuaded," said the good old doctor, He then asked her how this young man became an inmate of her house. She told him how it all happened, and he promised to call in occasionally. " Yes, thee had better." * * * * " Ann, thee come here. Thee knows I have had some stones thrown down on the ground, at the cor- ner of the house, I am going to have my outside cellar paved with them, so thee take a tin pan and carry them down for one hour, and then thee may sit down and rest and do thy yesterday's stent. But, first, go up and see if Elizabeth wants thee to do anything for her." Ann went up into the sick man's room. John could not speak loud, but he said to Ann, " Yes, I want you to go and wash your face and hands and comb your hair. I don't like to see her look so shabby, Elizabeth" Ann felt very much ashamed. She seldom looked in the glass, as Deborah told her she was so homely ^ and only silly folks prinked up before a glass, and 126 THREE HOLES IN A CHIMNEY, she didn't want to see any such actions. Ann told Deborah what John said,but she told her to go to work carrying stones down cellar, and if anybody came, to put the pan down and wash her face and go to knit- ting. So she went to work filling a pan with stones, for paving, and carried them down. She did not mind it much for the first half hour, but now her side began to ache and she was glad when she saw Isaac Lapham walking into the yard. He had come to inquire about the sick man. " Olive Manning came over to see how they all were. She said " Job is quite tired out. This has been a very trying summer." Before she went home Ann was invited to come over the next day and see Emma. " She may go ; but she must knit and get her stent done." " I will see that she does," said Olive. The next day, Ann carried stones down cellar all the forenoon. At noon, when she carried some milk down, she spilled some on the stone steps, so Deborah got a pail of water ready, and when Ann got quite near to it she took hold of her and put her head in under the water, and held her until it stran- gled her, and then she let her up. " There, how does thee like that ? See if thee can be more careful next time. Now go, get thy testament, and learn ten verses of the chapter that begins with ' I beseech you therefore, brethren, that ye love one another.'" Ann tried hard to get OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 127 the lesson, but, as she was a very little girl, and did not understand the meaning of the big words, she. was all the afternoon trying to commit the verses to memory. She knew she could not go to Emma's that day. The next day Horatio's father, mother, brother, sister Lizzie and the baby Charlie came. Then he knew that he must go home and go to school. It was true, aunt Deborah was cross to him some- times, and scolded him, yet his father did that. He liked to see George and Ann work, but did not like to see them punished, so tried to make it easy for them. Deborah was very glad to see her niece Jane and her children, Sometimes she seemed really fond of children, and would hug and squeeze them until they cried ; she said she loved Ann but it would not do to let her know it. Mrs. Dudley invited Ann to come and see Lizzie, sometime, and make a good long visit. Deborah said perhaps she might come next summer. " The stage has stopped, Deborah and Friend Tourtellotte is assisting out a lady and little girl," said Elizabeth the day following. " I hope no one has come to stay, for John is very tired and nervous. There was much noise here yesterday ; Jane's children were quite noisy, thee know." 128 '1HKEE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, By this time Eleanor Holton and a pretty little girl named Helen, had reached the door. "Oh, ah! I see it is Eleanor, that used to board with me. I heard thee was married. I am glad to see thee ; and this is thy little girl. I am astonished; how much she looks like thee. Art thou from Prov- idence, Eleanor? " " Yes : I am going to Manville to work in the mill. You did not know that my husband was dead, did you ? He was a sea captain, and his ship was lost and all on board, except one of the crew, per- ished; he in some way was saved. We were left destitute and I am going to Manville to work, and thought perhaps you could board Helen, part of the time, at least." " I have a sick man here now, but it is not likely he will be here long, and thee knows I have two of Benjamin May's children to bring up." " No ; I did not know you had any children here r or I shouldn't have thought of you taking Helen. You took them after I left Albion." Thee must stay until to-morrow, and we will carry thee to Manville. Thee may let Helen stay here until thee gets settled." But Helen cried and said she wanted to stay with her mamma all the time, so nothing more was said about it. " Where is Jonathan ? '' asked Ann. " His father came and took him away with him. I hated to have him go, but his father said he was OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 129 Mrs. Holton went to work in the Manville factory and came to Deborah's whenever she had a chance, so after awhile Helen got acquainted and wanted to stay a week with her, for she was so kind to the little black-eyed Helen. Whenever she stayed there her mother paid her board. Elizabeth came down stairs and talked about get^ ting John to come down and go out in the yard, it was so pleasant. "Dost thou think it will do him injury?" " I don't think it will. Thee knows Eunace Farn- ham said, ' let him do just as he likes for it won't really make any difference. He won't be with us long at the best.' He may live along quite awhile yet, but I think it doubtful." John Steubin is helped down stairs and George gets a chair for him. " If I could only get a little more strength in my limbs, and stop this coughing," said the sick man. But he only stayed out a little while before he tells his kind nurse he is tired and will go back to his room. This was the last time he went out alive. He died within one week. So this stranger in a strange land was buried in the burial ground Deborah pointed out to him as they passed it coming from Providence. One lone grave can now be seen on the left hand side of the drive-way. Elizabeth, his kind nurse, was his only mourner. She tried to make his last days as peaceful as possi- 130 THREE HOLES IN A CHIMNEY, ble, and he died with the assurance that they would meet again "over there." Elizabeth Rathburn desired to go and visit her sister Waity's family. The house seemed quite deserted ; John Stuebin dead, Elizabeth gone, and Horatio was missed very much by both Ann and George. Friend Morey and wife would soon be there. He was the Baptist min- ister engaged to preach at Lime Rock, also at Albion. He desired that Deborah should board a young man named Spencer Whitman. He fell from a load of hay and broke a leg, which made him quite lame. He had been a student at Brown's University, but for some reason he proposed to study with Reuben Morey and not return to Brown's until the coming spring. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 131 CHAPTER VIII. Lydia May had not seen her brother since he left her house for Woonsocket. Jonathan had stayed with her, and most of the time went to school near there. He had Will and Arnold May for playmates, although they were some older. Everybody loved him, he was such a kind, pleas- ant boy. His brothers, James and Will, came to see him, and all went to Deborah's to see George and their sister Ann. She did not know what to say when three big boys came in with George to see her. She was ashamed of herself when she looked at the old, dirty apron, and not whole at that. It was all rust, off of the old tin pan, which she had hugged up to her, as she carried her heavy load down cellar. Her hair was combed quite slick behind her ears. Her cheeks were always red, and her skin white and clear. She was really a very intelligent-looking child ; and, when interested, her dark gray eyes looked black. She was quite large of her age. Deborah seemed quite pleased with the boys' appearance, and questioned James about his earnings. He said he had money with him he had saved to go to school with, the coming winter. She told him she would hire it of him, and when he wanted it he 132 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, might come and get it ; so he left a certain amount with her. Will bought Ann a little box covered with a velvet' cushion on which were the words, "forget me not." On the inside of the cover was a looking-glass. He put twenty-five cents in it, and so did James. Ann almost cried for joy, as she thought " now they will take me away from here," but they were quite pleased with Ann's home, for Deborah got them a nice dinner and told them that when George got old enough she would send him to school away off, and Ann was going to Friends' School, and she would have a brown silk dress made out of hers, and they thought that would be " tip top." Jonathan told Ann that he and his father came to see her and George when she was at Newport. The boys said they thought they would go there, but not now ; they had heard that their Grandmother Southwick was dead. Ann and George watched for a chance to speak to the boys alone, but could not, as Deborah did not leave them alone for a moment. She told Ann to get the Testament and read to the boys, the chapter beginning with, " Children obey your parents." As Ann had committed to memory a great many chapters, she could read those very nicely. As she was reading, Lydia Haynes came in. "Why don't thee shut up thy book Ann ? thee has known^ that OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 133 chapter these six months ; " but Ann read until she finished the chapter. " These are Benjamin May's children, Lydia." "Yes, I thought so, I remember that youngest one. Thee was here with thy father when Ann was away." Deborah had not sent her petition for the libera- tion of the slaves at the south, so sent Ann in her room to get it. The boys could write nicely, especially James, so Deborah added three more to her long list. Lydia said to them, "Where is thy father now, boys? I told him to come again and see his children but perhaps he does not like to. He is not fit to have such a lot of smart boys, and I would tell him so if I had a chance, the shiftless coot." " Why, Lydia, seems to me thee is giving the man a pretty good setting out," said Deborah. Ann was trying hard to realize that these nice- looking boys were her brothers. They went out and looked around the place, and George managed to say he wanted to run away, but Will said "no ; we have to work hard in the mill, and sometimes the over- seers are cross." Deborah steps up and says, "tell thy aunt Lydia I will come and see her and bring Ann before long." The boys went back to their aunt's and stayed all night. They went to see their mother's grave. "When we get money enough we will have a white stone just like Emily May's, and a little tree with 134 THREE HOLES IX THE CHIMNEY, long leaves just like that," said James. " That won't cost much, and it looks nice." But, to this day, no stone marks the resting-place of Benjamin and Sally May. " Well, Ann, thy brothers are gone and I want thee to carry down ten pans of stones,'' said Debo- rah, "and then thee had better help George do the chores. I want thee to learn to milk. The black heifer is gentle, and George will learn thee how." So George was to learn his sister how to milk. She could not get much milk as her hands were so small, but tried until she got a good kick from the cow, and then went crying into the house. Deborah said she must not be so foolish ; she must keep trying. And so she did, until she could milk one cow. So, when George was busy, she and Deborah would milk. When apples were to be picked up, Ann worked hard all day from morning until night ; when stones were to be picked up, Ann was in the lot, doing as fast as she could ; when potatoes were to be picked up, Ann was there. And then to rest she had her knitting work. If she did not get her work clone, she was sent to bed witnout her supper. If George did not do as much as she thought he ought to, she would stop up to him, unawares, and give him a blow with a stick or a raw-hide, just which was nearest at hand. Joseph Battey was not going to live in the shop this winter, and Deborah thought she would fit it up OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 135 for a school room. Elizabeth would keep school and the neighbors would send their children. George and Ann could go some, when they were not needed for work. In order to pay her expenses and gain money, Deborah needed to practice economy, and did sell every egg, every pound of butter, every apple she could spare ; and, when she could, took a boarder now and then. She also made loom harnesses, and in doing this the children helped her. They were made of twine ; the skeins were put on swifts and Ann could fill the needles, George could do the work on one side and Deborah on the other. These three would work many nights until after ten o'clock. Sunday, they went to meeting either at Friends' or to Albion. Emma and her brothers went at Albion to Sunday school, and so did Susan and Desire Willarcl ; so the children could come part way home all together. Ann had a pair of light cotton gloves given her while she was at Newport. She lost one at Albion and was kept out in the fields for three days without finding it. She had breakfast each day, but had no dinner or supper. Deborah had company from Providence, Hiram Gill's family. Ann was told she need not waste any more time, but could go to Albion no more that season. Hiram Gill was a nephew of Deborah's* a son of her brother. He was survevor of lumber. 136 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, His family often came out and stayed quite awhile ; also his brother Jabez, and Aunt Massey, his mother. Mrs. Gill thought Ann very smart, and made the remark that her children didn't know enough to step over a shingle alone at her age. Phebe Barker was an only daughter of Deborah's sister Freelove, and a great favorite with her. She would say to Phebe, "after me thee will fare well." Phebe Barker looked like the Gills somewhat. Her hair was black ; also, her eyes. She was very pleasant, and rather over the medium height, and very genteel in appearance. Her general health was not good ; in fact, she was considered an inva- lid. No one could remember when Phebe Barker said she was well. Her father and mother died when she was yet a young lady, and left her some property, but not sufficient to support a confirmed invalid ; so she visited and boarded with different relatives and friends, and as Deborah was kind to her and often made her promises that after her she would fare well, she seemed to have more claims upon her and her affections than either of her other relatives. She had a good offer of marriage once, but Deborah quickly talked her out of the notion of marriage, as she would be so much better off as she was. As Deborah had never been in that situation herself, she seemed to think it best for everybody else to remain unmarried. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 137 " George," said Deborah, " thee harness up old Jim, and thee and I will go to meeting. Ann won't go ; she has lost the ring out of the wash-basin." " I don't think Ann did it. That was in the sink the other day, and I think it may have got washed down the drain," said George. " I saw Helen pulling it out, the other day," said Ann. " No, thee didn't. Helen never does mischief. Now, if thee don't find it while I am gone to meet- ing, and knit the heel of that stocking, I will give thee a settlement. Thee keep all the doors locked, except the back door, and ^ if beggars come, thee must not let them in the house ; and thee get pota- toes on for dinner, as Phebe Barker and her brother will come home to dinner with us." And so this lit- tle girl of six years was left all a!one. Ann closed the shutters up tight and tried to be as still as possible, but she had got to look for the ring to the wash-basin and finish the heel of Deb- orah's stocking which she was knitting Ann got the potatoes on at twelve. She did not know where to look for the ring. She would look in some rubbish out by the bee-house, yet she knew well enough it had been washed down the drain. She was quite busy, when she heard some one rapping at the door, She went around to the front side of the house and her heart almost stopped beating, for there stood one of the most hideous-looking men she ever saw. He wanted something to eat, "and 138 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, quick too." Ann knew she mustn't let him into the house. She told him if he would sit on the step she would go and get him something to eat. When she had got a piece of brown bread, the only thing she dared touch,. (for in Deborah's house, they would as soon go to her silver pitcher and take money as to dare touch her food,) she went out and the man was not to be seen. He was looking around about the out-buildings to see what he could find. He soon came towards her with a stick in his hand, and asked her if the folks were at home. As Ann was sure to tell the truth, she told him " no," but they would be soon. He told her to get him some- thing more and to be quick about it. Ann was much frightened. She looked towards the tool-house and saw that the clasp was all right, if she could find the walnut peg ; so she told him that in back of that little room was the cheese room, and in there were cheeses, preserves and lots to eat. He went in and tried to open the cheese room door, which was locked, and Deborah had the key. As soon as the man had got to the door Ann, almost holding her breath, slammed the door and fastened it. It was pitch dark in the tool-house. Ann was in misery for fear he would take the iron bar and break down the door. She went into the house and hid herself where she could watch the tool-house door. She was glad enough when she saw old Jim com- ing in the yard. She said nothing until Phebe got OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 139 into the house. She then stepped up to Deborah and said that there was a beggar in the tool-house. Deborah went and unfastened the door, and saw a man nearly asleep. She said " what art thou do- ing here, friend? " She found he had been drink- ing, and saw a bottle in his coat-pocket. She shook him and that wakened him. She then said, "Dost thou want something to eat ? " She got him sonre dinner, and then inquired how he happened to be shut up in the tool-house. He said that while he was trying to get into the cheese- room, the door shut and he couldn't open it ; if he had, he " would have knocked that gal's head off," as all she gave him was a crust of bread. "Thee had better be going now," said Deborah, " and don't thee let me know of thy coming this way again, or it will be the worse for thee." Ann had not done half her stent nor found the ring. She was glad to have Phebe there, for she was always very kind to her. Charles \vas going home in a few days, but he worked out with George and went with him to ped- dle fruit. They also carried milk to Albion. Sometimes Deborah went, too. In berry time she and Ann picked berries to sell ; indeed, there seemed not to be a moment that Deborah did not work and kept the children at work from early morn until late at night. Phebe said she would fix a dress for Ann. Deb- 14 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, orah told her to have it come to the top of her shoes, in length. She wore calf skin shoes for best, and, for eveiy day, split cow-hide. She wore her aprons long and made of pound calico, as were nearly all her dresses. Deborah bought her prints at the print works by the pound. She bought waste thread by the pound ; also, silk which she got of her nephew, Samuel Gill, at Northampton. She had a friend living in Lime Rock who was blind. Her name was Hepsabeth Harris. She used to have waste thread, and she pulled it all out and made little balls, all wound up very nicely, in all colors. Everybody who came to see her received one as a present. Deborah usually had them on hand. " Now, Ann," says Deborah, " thee needn't think I have forgotten that thee has not found that ring. Neither did thee get thy stent done, and I am going to give thee a ducking ; and to-night thee will not have any supper, unless thee finds that ring ; and thee take thy bible and get ten verses of the Psalm which begins with "Blessed are the undefiled and they that walk in the law of the Lord ; " " and don't thee let me see thee look off thy book." Charles had gone home, and Deborah took this time to give George a whipping, taking him out into the shop cellar and using the raw-hide. She had sent him out to work and found him talking with OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 141 one of the Clark boys, and she thought he had been idling away his time. The potatoes were to be dug ; the apples were to be picked ; and, later, the quinces. She and Ann would work out all day, and she would do her cook- ing mornings and evenings. The children ought to have gone to school, but she could not spare them ; and so these motherless ones toiled on until their faces looked tired and worn. This was to be a very busy winter at Deborah's. Elizabeth Rathburn would teach school in the shop. Reuben Morey and his wife Abbie would board with her awhile. Spencer Whitman was coming to spend three months. She knew she ought to go to Cumberland to see Lydia May. No knowing what stories her enemies had told about her ; even her relatives were her enemies in this affair. Deborah said to Ann, one pleasant morning, " thee go and get thyself ready, and I will take thee over to see thy sister. Thee be careful what thee says. I have got eyes and ears all around me, and can tell if thee don't mind me. Thee loves me, don't thee? What dost thou hesitate for? Thee say 'yes,' willingly, or thee shan't go a step." " Yes," said Ann. " Well, if I ask thee if thee loves me, thee speak up quick. Thee knows I am going to send thee to Friend's School when thee gets old enough ; and that brown silk I will have made over for thee. Thee 142 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, carry thy knitting and show thy aunts what thee can do. We will go across lots to Albion, and then across to thy aunts." They arrived at the old May homestead about eleven o'clock. Ann could hardly believe her eyes when she saw this lovely little girl, with her pretty pink dress, and apron trimmed with edging, and pretty coral beads around her neck. She had just been over to her Aunt Phebe's house. Her husband was sick and died some months later, and Phebe May found herself a widow and with her sister Lydia once more. Lydia May felt just a little embarrassed on the subject she had written about, when she saw how vexed Deborah seemed to feel about it, '' I took thy brother's children when they had no other place to go to, and now see how my enemies compass me about. Ann, don't thee love thy aunt Deborah ? " " Yes; shall I get my testament now and read the verses I got yesterday ? " " Yes, thee may ; and then I want thee to knit, and when thy little sister gets older, thee may learn her." " But she can braid straw ; do look at her ! " " Yes," her aunt Lydia said. " Nannie, my niece, who is here with me, lets Sarah have some poor straws and a cup of water, and she will wet her little fingers and amuse herself quite awhile. Sarah, get your dolly and dishes and show Ann how you OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 143 play keep house," said her aunt. " Sarah fares well; she is the pet of the neighborhood. If their mother could only have lived until they were a little older! But it was the Lord's will that she should be taken, perhaps from the evil to come," said Lydia. " Where is Jonathan ? " asked Ann. "His father came and took him away with him. I hated to have him go, but his father said he was lonesome without him, and I suppose he might as well see to at least one of them. Did he come to your house, Miss Gill." " I haven't seen thy brother but once since his wife died." After dinner, Deborah said, ' Now friend Lydia, what did thee mean by writing the letter thee sent me a few weeks ago ? " " I will tell you. Men that have worked for you say that you shut Ann up in dark holes ; put her un- der wash-tubs ; and that you put her head under water and held it there until she strangled ; and fed her out of the swill pail ; and give her cayenne to eat, which alone would create inflammation ; and does not have half enough to eat ; and, in the sum- mer, sleeps on the brick hearth, and, in the winter, sleeps at your feet. And more than this, you keep them both at work an unreasonable amount of time. One man told me you whipped George dreadfully 144 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, with a raw hide and that his feet have been frozen. It is too barbarous to repeat." " Lydia May, dost thou believe all that thou hast just repeated ? " " It is too bad to believe. I can't think that a person of your superior education and standing in society could treat such helpless children like that ; they could not help their being born, their mother's death or their father's neglect. "There, Lydia May, thee may not say anything about it. Thee knows the wise man said, ' spare the rod and spoil the child.' Thee knows it is neces- sary to punish lazy boys. I hope it will be like bread cast on the waters. I am going to send Ann to Friends' School when she arrives at the years of understanding." " I am sorry, if I have hurt your feelings. As regards the children," said Lydia. " I have done my duty. I have told you what people say." "Yes, I know my enemies conspire against me, but they had better attend to their concerns, and I will attend to mine. Don't thee think so Friend Lydia ? Dost thee take the Liberator ? " " No, I never have." '' Thee knows not what thee loses, I assure thee. I have a petition in my work-bag which I should like to have thee sign. We philanthropic women hope to get congress to free the poor black men." OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 145 Lydia said she had read much about it in the papers, and was willing to sign her name, although she did not believe that all the papers in Christen- dom would make any difference. Deborah asked her if she would write Sarah's and Nannie's names for them, but Lydia thought as they were not old enough to consider the matter, their names would be much out of place in congress. Deborah and Ann started for home early so as to get there before dark. Ann thought she could not leave her cunning little sister, and cried when she kissed her good-bye, and nearly all the way home. They went home across lots and passed through the door-yard of Mrs. Thomas. She told Deborah she had enjoyed poor health for over ten years. Ann's crying and what she had heard seemed to enrage Deborah, and made her even more severe with the children than before. She would let people know that she was capable of attending to her own matters without any interference. The least trifling cause would bring a blow that was almost enough to stun an ox. Helen Holten came to stay a week, and George dared to ask her about the ring of the wash-basin. She said, " it came out and went down that hole and I made it go there, too." Deborah was so vexed that her favorite Helen had done a piece of mis- chief and for the other children to know it, that she 146 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, followed them out with her bunch of sticks and gave them cuts just where they would hit. Helen saw it, and cried, " don't kill them Auntie, I did it ; whip me, too." But Deborah had got through ; and as she turned to go in, Phebe and Lydia came in. She put up her sticks and came forward all smiles to meet them. " Thee has been at thy old capers again" said Lydia. " What dost thou mean whipping those motherless children ? I think thee has mistaken thy calling. Thee would do credit to a slave plan- tation. Thee put on men's clothes, and let thyself as a nigger driver." " Lydia, don't thee talk saucy to thy Aunt Deb- orah, who has done so much for thee. How did thee find thy friends in Providence? I did not know that thee was coming back until quarterly meeting." " I will tell thee. Sister Phebe is going to be married to a man named Russel, I think he sells scythes, or something of that sort. If she is so determined to be so foolish as to take a husband to bother with, I would like to be up there and give them a piece of my mind ; but they have got to suffer, not me ; " and she took out her much used snuff-box and gently tapping it said, " Phebe, thee had better take a pinch ; it is good for old maids." " Why, Lydia,'' said Deborah, ' I am ashamed of thee, calling Phebe an old maid. She is not half as old as I am." OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 147 " I know it aunt, but thee knows that thee is one, and very likely always will be. We can see the goodness of an all- wise Providence, that He tempers the wind to the shorn lamb in letting thee remain unmarried so long, for have who thee would thee certainly would wear the breeches." "Art thou going to thy father's house to-day ? " " As my husband is not well, I must go to-mor- row. Perhaps thee will carry me up, as it is pre- paratory meeting, and Elizabeth Header said she would like to be present at this meeting, and, if she is, she will eat dinner with us." '' I will go," said Deborah. " Thee had better see to some of thy things in the shop, as a school is to be kept there this winter." Deborah went to meeting fifth day and carried Lydia to her father's house. Ann went with them, thanks to kind Lydia. When Deborah got home, she found a letter which Stafford Manning had brought to her. It was from Reuben Morey, stating that he would like to come to her house within three weeks, and Spencer Whitman would be there soon, if convenient. She kept her house so nicely that nothing of importance was to be done. Friend Morey and wife would have the parlor- chamber and the room leading out of it. The beds were dressed with white dimity, with valance of the same. 148 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, Spencer Whitman would have the long back cham- ber, so there was plenty of room, and all in order. Deborah hired a man from Albion to help finish the fall work. Every fall the shag-bark trees had to be watched. Sunday's the factory boys would come with a large sack and get them and apples, too, and would throw stones at the children who watched them. Ann finished carrying the stones down cellar, this fall ; then Deborah had the cellar paved which really made it no better, for the stones were hard to walk on. In due time her friends came. She never called them boarders, but friends staying with her. The school-room was put in order in the shop and George's clothes somewhat mended. After they came, Ann had lots to do. All the running, it was Ann, bring me this, or Ann carry that, and be in haste, and to ever think of going to school ! Elizabeth came and commenced the school. Quite a number came from the Manning neighborhood. A cousin of Olive Manning came also ; a girl about sixteen, named Viola Lapham. She was larger than her teacher, and was an acquisition to the school, as she was a smart, sensible girl and not afraid to say what she thought was right. Ann could only go now and then. Sometimes she would only be in school one or two hours a day, and George, who needed schooling so much', would often OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 149 go in at recess or have to leave at recess, and some- times not go at all during the day, but was supposed to keep up with his classes just the same. He had learned to read by reading the Bible every morning with the rest of the family, but had never used a slate or knew anything about ciphering as did the other boys of his age. The teacher was kind, and tried to do all she could with both ; but, after she kept a few weeks, was taken sick, and Spencer Whitman offered to teach the school. He did not have any patience with these unfortunate children, for they could not keep along with the rest of the school. George could not spell and pronounce the word Nova Scotia as he thought he ought to, and he flew into a passion and took a long, wide ruler from the desk of Viola Lapham and gave the boy a most unmerciful whipping He tried him again and then he did not do it right, and again did Spencer Whit- man go after the ruler, and the resolute Viola put the ruler under her apron and the teacher called her to give it to him. She stood up and said, "you can- not have it to beat that poor boy with, and now I am going home." Some of the scholars were crying and some were frightened at the enraged man. The scholars went home, and the teacher got the raw-hide and beat the poor boy almost to death. Viola went into the house and told Deborah about it, and the minister said, "you know the Bible says. 150 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, ' train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. ' ' But Viola said to him, " I have read the Bible enough to know that Spencer Whitman or any other man has not any right to pound a little fellow to death, because he cannot spell a word." " I suppose thee will go home and tell Olive some of thy lies, and then I will have more letters from my enemies," said Deborah Gill. " I am not in the habit of lying and don't think I shall begin now. The truth is bad enough. I have seen all I want to. It will be a long day before I go to school to any such man as you have got there." So saying, Viola Lapham went home, and thus ended the school. Elizabeth did not fully recover her strength all winter, but helped Deborah about her work. Spencer Whitman wanted to hear Ann and George recite their lessons As they only had spelling, it did not take much time. They did not have time to study that properly ; they had cuffs and kicks from him and Deborah seemed to think him such a help to her in training up the children. One morning Ann missed a word and he pulled away the chest of bedding which was placed against the door, opening into the chimney in his room. He took her up and thrust her down, head first, into the great hole over the oven which was in the sitting room. She screamed as never before. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 151 Reuben Morey and his wife, Abbie, came running into the back chamber to know the cause of all this disturbance. They saw him pull Ann up out of this place and scold her, but when he found she could not spell the word, he was about to put her dowu again head first, but they begged him to let the child go, or she would be frightened out of her senses. He gave her a push and she fell nearly the whole length of the back stairs. Deborah said to Spencer Whitman, without inquiries, I will settle with Ann for her actions. She took her out to the wood-house and gave her a whipping with the sticks until the people in the house thought she would whip the child to death. She was then kept on bread and water for two days, not allowed to come to the table at all, and was kept at work all of the time. Ann was only six years old this February, but life seemed awful to bear and she would say, " Oh, my mother in heaven ! does God, that I read about so much in the Bible, love little children that hain't got no mother?'' And so Ann would cry and cry, and beg that she might die and be out of misery. But children's troubles are soon forgotten and their minds taken up with each changing scene. There were many comers and goers, so there was plenty to do. Deborah was always full of business, and had a happy faculty of keeping every one at work when there was a cent to be gained. 152 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, James May had sent for his money and got it with interest, for he wished to go to school. He sent the children some change as a present. Ann kept her's in the little box her brother Will had given her. Visitors now and then would give the children a cent, or more, and they were allowed to keep it. Ann had a guaze neck-handkerchief which was her mother's. This was the only thing she ever had that belonged to her mother. She would kiss it and cry over it, undo it and fold it around her neck, and then slowly do it up and lay it away with her box and tin pail she had had given her. Some one had given her a little chair about four inches tall. If she could steal away and look at these things she would. They were in a little garret over the kitchen, in a box. George and Ann were glad to hear that Deborah's friends were going away on the stage next day, for their work would be some easier. They had to run for them half of the time. When Friend Tourtel- lotte, as Deborah called the stage-driver, slammed thu stage-door and drove away, all seemed to be relieved. They had not been gone over an hour when Captain John drove into the yard. He had come to see if Deborah had a cow to sell. He had spoken to her about a heifer she had to sell the sum- mer previous, but he had not got ready to buy until now. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 153 Deborah went with him to the barn, and after much unnecessary talk, Captain John took the cow home. He then came to pay her for it. Everything seemed to go on more pleasant than usual. Debo- rah seemed to be very happy about something, and one day Captain John came and took her out to ride. When he came, she was not dressed ready to receive him, and, although it was quite cold, she opened her bed-room window from the outside, told Ann to get an old chair, and she got in her room with- out being seen. This Ann thought was very strange but as she never asked questions of Deborah, she helped her in. She dropped one of her slippers. Ann threw it in after her, which made quite a noise ; so that when she went round and went into the sitting room where Captain John was waiting and talking with Eliza- beth, she inquired of Ann who was in Deborah's room. Ann very innocently replied, "Aunt Deborah is; I just helped her get in the window. She dropped off her old shoe, and I threw it in. I guess I hit her, but I did not mean to." Ann might have said much more, had not Debo- rah come out of her room, all smiles, and with a kind "how art thou, friend John," she told Elizabeth that she might let Ann go over to visit Emma and Susan this afternoon, and said that neighbor John and she were coins: to Providence to a dinner given 154 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMXEY, by the Governor. And to see that George -has the feathers ready for Smith when he comes, as its his day, and the next time he came she would have some tin-ware for pay ; and give Ann her stent to do, and not work too hard herself. They would be back sometime during the evening. Ann rejoiced at the prospect before her, and wished the old man would come every day as it made aunt Deborah so clever. They had not been gone half-an-hour, when Smith, the tinman, came. He sat down by the fire and began to laugh, and said, "Well, Miss Rathburn, old aunt Deborah has really got a feller. I declare that beats my time. I met 'em down here near Ben Newman's, and they were talking away and seemed as happy as two mice. I shouldn't wonder if that would be a match, but who would ever thought it ! Old Captain John, a rough old chap at the best you know sea-captains always are- and for him to get hitched up with such a putcheky, precise old maid as Deborah Gill. Ha ! ha ! " And the old tin-pedler rubbed his hands in high glee. "What pleases thee so, friend Smith," said Eliza- beth. " Dost thee think it strange that my friend Deborah wants a husband ? Thee knows this farm is quite a care for her." " Yes, I know, but if that is too much for her to see to, what on airth does she want that old covy OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. I$5 for to take care on. He is all bunged up with rheumatis', but anyhow Deborah Gill will see to her own affairs and his'n too. " Folks say he hain't none too clever himself, and if he gets his match I shall be glad on't. But she can't rawhide the captain as she does that little fel- low out there, chopping wood." Elizabeth thought she had heard enough about her friend, so she told him the feathers were ready for him. The hens', turkeys' and guinea hens' feathers were all in together. She told him there were a few live-geese feathers but the down was saved to make comforters and pillows for her own bed. The nun took the feathers, and, with a few more remarks about the old couple, went his way, telling the story that Deborah Gill was going to be married sure, as he had met her and Captain John ridin' out, and, of course, they were too old to do much flirtin'. That explains how Captain John went to Deb- orah's to buy a co\v, He wanted to get better acquainted with the old lady herself, said the neigh- bors. Ann took her knitting and went over to see the girls. Olive inquired how Aunt Deborah was. Ann said she guessed she. was well enough ; she had gone away with an old, fat man, who had got no teeth, and not a bit of hair on top of his head. 156 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, "Aunt Deborah said she was going to Providence to get some dinner, and was not coming back until after dark, and so she could stay until night. I must knit twenty times round," said Ann. Brother George said, now Aunt Deborah had got a beau, she had got something to take up her mind, and he guessed she would not be so cross. Olive Manning could knit just like Ann so she would tell her to go and play with the children and then would knit once or twice around on her work so that Ann would not notice it, but would wonder how her stent would get done so quick ; and so this kind woman would try and give Ann a little time to play. They went over to Susan Willard's to stay to supper. Susan's father was a very pleasant man, with quite a happy way of speaking. He said to Ann, " I hear old Deborah is really going to be married. Prelett said he met old Capt. John and Deborah riding out pretty near the Butterfly Mill. He guessed they were going to Providence. That beats all ! I don't see what either of 'em want to get married for He has got a farm, and children, and grandchildren. I guess he will wish himself master of his own vessel ; but she may be good to the old man as long as he does not depend on her. He has got money enough to take care of himself." In a few minutes Ruth Manning, who was teach- ing school quite near, came in. She had walked OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 157 from her school and was tired. She wanted to know if they had heard the news. Smith, the tin- man, had been to their house and had told them all about how Aunt Deborah was riding out with Capt. John. "Perhaps it will be a match. She won't be quite so fond of taking children to live with her." " Yes," said Mrs. Willard, " I don't believe in having so many unmarried women around here, do you Ruth ? " " I will go over and see Olive and Elizabeth a little while, and call at Isaac Lapham's on my way home." It was near time for supper, when Susan's mother said, " come, girls, run out and get the eggs, and I will set the spinning-wheel one side ; and you, Susan, must help me get supper. The four girls all went out to get the eggs. The hen house was like a cave under the hill ; all stone with only a door, and no windows. It was very warm for the hens and every now and then, they built a fire inside, thus cleansing it by fire and smoke. The girls all enjoyed their supper. Such nice griddle cakes baked over the fire and biscuits baked in a pan over the fire, and nice custard pie. Ann seldom had pie at home, as Deborah would say to her, " have a piece of pie Ann ? " and then in a whisper say " no." Ann said, " I wish the old man would come real 158 THREE HOLES IN A CHIMNEY, often, as Aunt Deborah would not have let me come, only I boosted her into the window so nice that she seemed quite pleasant." Ann went back to Olive's and then started for home. Just as Ann was going in at the gate, she met an old lady they called Aunt Nabby Sayles. She said, "you're the little gal that lives here at Deborah's, ain't yer?" " Yes," said Ann. " Well, Benjamin see Capt. John and Deborah ridin' ouf way down below the old meetin'-house> going to Providence, I'll be bound. I always knew Deborah and all the family. I don't know just how old Deborah is, but she was born in huckleberry time ; I know that, but just how many years ago I can't say ; risin' fifty though. I must go along, as it is almost dark. I want to stop in and see Ann Clark and Hammond's folks, but I stopped so long at Mary Lapham's ; for Anne Gully was there and they were speaking about it. If Deborah Gill should have Capt. John, how on airth will the prop- erty be divided ? He tried to get Anne Gully once, but she didn't want him. But good-night little gal perhaps you won't get ducked so much if she has that eld man to see to. Give my love to Deborah, and tell her his first wife was a dreadful good-natered creter," and this nearly blind old lady went on her way. Ann did not understand half what this eccentric but clever old lady meant. She had passed a very OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 159 pleasant day, and Ann felt as if the world was not all penned up within the stone wall enclosure of Deborah's domain. George had been busy all day carrying in wood and piling it up in the wood house. He had cut his finger while cutting up some small wood, and the next day Deborah wanted to know if he had nothing else to do but cut his fingers, and if he did it again she would punish him. A good deal of talking by everybody and much wondering by every one whether Deborah would be set aside from her meeting or not. If she should what an awful thing that would be. But, if she was, she could be taken back, and very likely she would have a good influence over the old sea-captain. Olive Manning made a quilting-party, inviting Deborah and all the women in the neighborhood to congratulate the would-be bride, but she was too well pleased. Weeks passed by, and it was generally known that she was to be married. Elizabeth was busy sewing and a dress-maker was sent for. Ann was to have a new dress, and as Deborah was no hand to cut dresses, she was obliged to hire. Her dress was a dark red Lyonese. It was made just a little shorter than usual, just above the tops of her shoes, with pantaletts of the same which came down over the tops of her shoes. The sleeves were made leg mutton shape, and a surplice waist. This dress must be worn to Deborah's wedding. l6o THREE HOLES rN THE CHIMNEY, She did not know what was going to happen, but knew that something out of the common way was going on. One morning she was told if she was a good girl she might go to a party they were going to have there. In the evening quite a number of carriages arrived and the house was all lighted up and looked very cheerful ; and soon the parlor, which was sel- dom used, had a fire in the fanciful stove, which had always been more for ornament than for use. The people were all assembled in the parlor and Ann was in the sitting-room looking on and wonder- ing what would be done next, when Capt. John came into the room where Deborah sat (she was dressed in a fawn-color twilled silk dress, cap and white kerchief, ) and taking her hand said to her " are you ready, my dear? " " Most assuredly." He then led her into the parlor where the Baptist minister, friend Morey, and friends of each family were waiting. Elizabeth led Ann into the room, but so many grown persons stood in front of her, and not know- ing what it all me.int, heard the ceremony, but did not see it. A good supper was enjoyed, and all went home at quite an early hour. Deborah told Ann and George that Capt. John was her husband now, and they must mind him, if they didn't she would punish them herself. George OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. l6l tried to laugh at Ann and told her she would lose her place. She asked him what he meant. " Oh, nothing,, only you had rather have a nice little room like mine, than sleep on the bricks or at the foot of Deborah's bed, hadn't you ? " Everything seemed to undergo a change this spring. Deborah had her choice to live in her own house or to move into Capt. John's. His family consisted of a son, (at home. His son John had gone west, and George. John was married and lived near them.) daughter and grandson, about fourteen years of age, who was an orphan. His daughter made it her business to take the very best of care of her father's house, but if Deb- orah liked, she could go and stay a year, and then, if she chose, could move back to her own house, So arrangements were made to pack up all she desired to carry with her, and the place left in care of a family which was to live in the shop. But what shall be done with the children ? Two boys so near of an age could not agree, and Capt. John decided not to find a place for George, but he should be carried to the poor-house. He was kept until they got all moved, and somewhat settled in Deborah's new home. She called George to her one day, and told him to pick up all the duds belonging to him, and to take his largest cotton handkerchief and tie them up strong ; and the hired man will take thee to a place l62 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, where thee belongs. " I don't want to send thee to thy Aunt Lydia's, for she has more than she can support; but, if thee is ever in want of anything to eat, thee come to me and I will feed thee. I hope my care of thee will be as bread cast upon the waters. Thee must read in thy Testament daily ; I will keep Ann until she is eighteen, and thee may come and see her, but don't thee go to telling any of thy lies about my bringing thee up, for thee knows, *' spare the rod and spoil the child." George felt glad of a change, but he knew he had no money, as he had used what little had been given him, and he had not clothes enough to make a com- fortable change. He bade Ann good-bye, and told her he would try and get work and get some clothes, as he wanted to go to school, " the same as Claw- ford Martin does." " Oh, Aunt Phebe ! ?> said Nannie Lare, '' here comes cousin George May ; " and, sure enough it was. The poor-house was only two miles from this comfortable home. "Well, George," said Lydia May, "how are you, and how is Deborah John ; I saw her marriage in the Providence Journal. Perhaps you will fare better now, and her husband is quite well off." "I have not seen the old tyrant for two weeks. She sent me to a place ' where I belonged' she said, and I didn't know it was the poor-house until the man there said, ' I used to know your father and mother! Do your folks know that you OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 163 are at the poor-house ? ' He told me my father had lots of cousins by the name of Whipple, and that I was too smart a boy to be a town pauper. I asked Mr. Jones if I might come and see you, and he said, 'yes; and see if I could get a place to work ' At any rate, I will not stay there to be called a pauper." Lydia sat down and wrote a note to Mr. Jones and gave it to George, and told him to stay until he was rested, and then go back and then she thought they would be glad to give him his bundle and let him go ; and then to come there, and she thought he might get a place near. He then told this kind aunt how it happened he was sent to the poor- house. It is strange Deborah should turn the boy out without a change of comfortable clothes ; no trunk, and not a cent of money ; yet it may be for the best for perhaps Captain John might have been a hard master and mercy knows the boy has suffered enough now, if I am not mistaken. The next day brought George and his bundle. He stayed with his aunt a few days and then found himself a place at Samuel Weatherhead's. He had to work hard, but no knocks or thumps. They treated him kindly excepting one Arnold who was cross to him at times. He could go to school part of the time, and he could see his sister Sarah often and, also, his cousin Nannie who was very kind to him and tried to make him happy, She was always telling the children 164 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, how to behave. "You must sit this way,'' or you must sit that way ; and " you must do this,' 1 or that, which she said so pleasantly that it seemed a pleas- ure to obey her. George would often say, " I do wish I could get Ann a place ; but now the old thing is married per- haps she will not have such chance to cut up as she has done. I will wait until I get some new clothes, and then I will go and see my other sister," he would tell Sarah. George had visited his aunt only once while at Deborah's, so really they were not very well acquainted, but she was so kind he soon felt at home. His uncle Henry's wife was very good to mend the boys' clothes when they came, and William and Arnold May were kind boys, and as Sarah grew older they enjoyed her childish prattle. It had been a long time since they had heard from Benjamin May and the little fellow Jonathan. Will and James had worked here and there where they could make the best pay. James had been to school more than Will ; as he, being older, could earn more, and was more determined to have an education than Will. Now and then they went to Newport to visit their mother's sisters. George felt sure that he could see his older brothers, for they never neglected coming to see their relatives in Cumberland. George was, how- ever, a little surprised, when, one morning, he was called from his work, to see two nice-looking young OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 1 6 fellows, and with a hearty shake of hands, the three brothers once more met to talk over their where- abouts and make plans for the future. They all thought and declared that it was too bad for their sister Ann to be left there with that old woman, and plagued to death ; but, as none of them had homes of their own, she must stay there a little longer and soon she would be large enough to earn something herself. Willie amused them by relating to his brother George how he managed to get to Newport the first time. He took his clothes, and, putting them in a box, tied it to his sled. He walked ten miles or more to Providence. He was looking around the wharves, and seeing some boys busy, he found that a hogshead of molasses had burst open. He procured a pail and saved enough to make some candy while staying with an aunt, thus earning eighty-five cents by making candy and selling it in Providence. He paid his fare to Bristol. He was then fifteen miles from his aunt's home in Newport, so the stage driver carried his box, but he walked the distance. He let himself for a year to a farmer named Joseph Bateman, whose family treated the poor boy very kindly. He then desired to be with his brothers ; so, at the expiration of one year, he returned to his friends near Providence. l66 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, CHAPTER IX. " WELL, Cousin Amy, what do you think of aunt Deborah's getting married, "asked Phebe Barker, as they sat at the table of Olive Manning some weeks after Deborah's marriage. " Think of it, Phebe ! I never thought she would marry the best man living, she has had her own way so long. I wondered what on earth he was over there to buy a cow of her for. Its my opinion if he is saucy to her, she'll be saucy to him, and if he is not a downright coward, he will put a stop to her treating that child so. Don't thee think so, Olive ? " Olive seldom spoke her mind about it, but most sincerely hoped that Ann May might fare better, and rejoiced that George had been sent away ; and, in her own way, answered her question by repeating her thoughts in rhyme, which she often did. Said .Plive : In farmer's lane there lived a dame Whose name is known full well ; She has taught school, learned many a fool To work, to read and spell. Four little ones this scold surrounds In torment all the while ; Some whip, some starved, some cuffed, some ducked, And put in durance vile. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 167 One of the four doth suffer more Than all the other three, And still he tries, with all his might, Her servant for to be. Old Father John has just appeared To take her for his wife ; We hope she will more pleasant be, Add comfort to his life. This little slave is now set free What glorious news indeed ! How can we thank old Father John For such a humane deed ? How Capt. John's family would treat them she did not know, at least she hoped for the best. After Deborah-John had got moved and settled down in her new home she seemed like a cat in a strange garret ; with Daniel-John, -a man grown, calling her mother, and Mary-John paying her every attention, and Clawford Martin running around the house after his grandma, and Capt. John with his " well, wife, shall we go to this place or to that place ; and shall we have this or that," and always in the most agreeable manner. Up stairs in this great old-fashioned house lived the doctor of Lime Rock, T. D. Humes : he had married Capt. John's daughter, Hannah, a very lovely lady, with none of the distant ways of Mary- John towards those not so highly favored as herself. Ann was delighted when she found that there was a little baby up stairs and one morning Aunt Han- nah, as she called the doctor's wife, sent for her to come up and see the little Elizabeth. The baby lay l68 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, in the father's arms sucking her fist. " What do you think of this little girl ? " said the doctor ; " how would you like to take care of her all the time ? " She told him she had a little baby sister once just like that one and a mother, too, but she was in Heaven ; and the baby had got big enough to play and have dolls, and she could braid straw for play, too. The doctor spoke kindly to Ann and told her she could come up and see the baby any time Aunt Deborah would let her ; then she kissed the baby and went down stairs to her knitting. Deborah told all the members of the family that they must make Ann mind, and, to call upon her to wait on them just as often as they pleased ; andj if she did not behave to tell her, and she would set- tle with her; also, that she would knit all the men's stockings, and, that she believed it best to " train up a child in the way it should go." She had scripture reading every morning, and took her place as mis- tress of the house. She felt compassion for the motherless girl, and grandson of her husband, who, in return showed her every attention. Every one in any way connected with his family were to her of royal blood ; and, instead of Ann's having an easier time, there seemed to be no end of the running to be done. When Deborah punished Ann, she would take her alone; and if she boxed her ears, Mary would say, "she deserves it, no doubt. Mother is kind to us, and she gives Ann a home. Ann is really quite a OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 169 chatterbox, and is handy to have round the house." William Foote married Capt. John's daughter, Caroline. They lived in Providence, and had a little girl, Carrie, a very delicate child, and she would come out to her grandpa's and stay a few days. She would beg of her grandma to let Ann come and see her, and she mustn't bring her knitting, as she says " it makes her tired." The doctor's wife and Mrs. Foote were not long in finding out that Ann May was not treated as their children were, by their step-mother, yet they said nothing, and always treated Ann with the greatest kindness. The home of Capt. John was not so pleasantly situated as Deborah's. The house was twice as large, and filled with old-fashioned furniture, some nice old china and silver ware, one pretty pitcher, which was presented to him by the Agricultural So- ciety as a premium, and of which they were very proud. It took a long time for Deborah to get accustomed to the ways of the John household, their ways being somewhat different from her plain mode of living. She also missed her old home. She went over to her house, now shut up, and felt almost guilty at leaving the old home her father had left her, and charged Neighbor Battey, who lived in the shop, to be very watchful of affairs around the farm, for very likely she would be back the coming spring. Her own relatives did not visit her quite as often as when she was at her own house, and she missed 1 70 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, them. She could not govern Ann and train her as strictly ; there seemed to be no good time to enforce the ducking process, for some one would be sure to- come in and catch her at it. If she set Ann to knitting, some one would say, " ain't you tired, little girl?" or, " go and do something else." Ann was bewitched after the baby, and the doc- tor's wife found many chances for her to sit beside the cradle and watch the little girl. The doctor always wore glasses and Ann aske but, could not find much in common to talk about except the absent ones. Their father was still in. Connecticut, and was going to be married again before a great while. They did not know much about it, only that the lady he was going to marry, was a daughter of the deceased Ebenezer Coffin of Boston ; that she was much older than their father, and an old-fashioned Presbyterian. James and Will were at work in the northern part of Rhode Island; James had the charge of a small factory, and Will worked for him. James had acquired an edu- cation that fitted him for an ordinary business man, although he was but eighteen years old. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 241 The children talked of different things, until their aunt told them they would have to leave Ann, as they must walk home ; but the boys wanted to see her on board the canal-boat, and ride with her as far as Albion ; then, they could walk from there, and be at home before dark. Such a happy day was seldom passed by Ann, as this never-to-be-forgotten Fourth of July. She sometimes went to Sunday-school at Albion, and she loved her teachers, Miss Vinton and Miss Glad- ding ; they kept millinery and dressmaking rooms over the company's store at Albion, and they were much liked by all in their Christian endeavors, and charitable work. During the summer, quite a number of Mary John's friends go to the "Shore," near Rocky Point, not far from Providence; and Mary, thinking Ann would be quite handy to have to wait on her, con- cluded to take her with her. She really treated her quite nicely, allowing her to play around with the other children. Carrie Foote very much wanted Ann should go home with her, and Capt. John said he would be going in town before many days, and would bring her home ; he '' guessed wife wouldn't care." A Mrs. Carr and her son, Vincent, were there from Providence, also, auntie Munroe ; the Barnes' from Lime Rock ; also, the Dexter's and Lindsey's, and Dr. Humes and his family ; Clawford Martin and his uncle Daniel, and many friends of the John 242 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, family ; and the good, old-fashioned Rhode Island clam-bake was enjoyed. Capt. John said it always made him feel ten years younger, to smell \\\& salt water even. "And now, Ann," said Carrie, " you can finish out your visit you were making when you had to go home, because your aunt died. Didn't you feel awful? if my aunt Mary should die, I would cry my eyes out." Ann told her that her aunt Phebe had not seen her as much, and did not love her as Carrie's aunt Mary did her, but she was sorry to have her die ; so Ann went home with Carrie. The next day, Mrs. Foote had occasion to send a package to the widow Pratt, but her son Leonard was quite sick with the measles, and Carrie could not go as she had never had them. Ann said she could go, as she remem- bered the way. So she went, with many cautions from Carrie not to get run over, or lost, as she was not used to city ways. As Ann passed through Mrs. Pratt's kitchen to the sitting-room, she noticed the two colored women at work, and a little tot run- ning round ; it was the little Chloe she had seen at Loring's house. "Ann, how is this?'' said Mrs. Pratt; "this young gentleman has the measles, and I am afraid you will catch them. The girls ought not to have allowed you to be so exposed." But Ann was very happy to say, that, when Sarah Richardson from Michigan was on a visit to her OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 243 aunt Deborah, she caught them from her, and had them very hard. So the kind lady received the errand, and gave her a nice orange, and Ann went back pleased enough that she could find her way around town. Carrie told her she did not believe she could find her way, over the India Bridge, way down by the Tockwarton House. " What kind of a house is that ? " " Oh ! it is almost as big as the Arcade. The bridge is covered ; you go over on one side and come back on the other." While Ann was there, Carrie's father took the girls out for a walk, and went down to the bridge, where they could see all kinds of boats. This, Ann thought the most pleasing sight she had ever seen. She said she should always remember the verse she had read in the Bible, where it says, " they that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters " " I have forgotten the rest, Carrie ; I will tell you the rest some other time. Just then they had to stop, for a long string of horses, one before the other, were drawing great loads across the square. " Those teams are filled with goods taken from the vessels which come here to the wharves. Men in that business are called stevedores." Mr. Foote kindly explained everything he could think of, for the benefit of Ann in particular. Brown University Ann looked upon with much in- terest, as from there came the passionate Spencer Whitman. 244 THREE HOLES IN A CHIMNEY, When they arrived at Carrie's home they found Capt. John and Deborah waiting ; they had unex- pectedly been called to a meeting appointed by John Wilbur, a man leading in opposite views to Joseph John Gurney. This man Wilbur lived in Hopkinton, R. I. His views were in unison with the ancient customs and manners of friends, thus form- ing somewhat of a division. Some were called Gurneyites and the others Wil- burites. Ann must now go home and go to work. Debo- rah said she supposed she had got to be very lazy, being away so much ; but Ann had learned a great deal. She loved to listen to the glowing accounts Deborah gave of the places she had visited when on her journey out west. She would tell her friends of the beautiful Niagara and the Table Rock ; also, of the busy Saratoga, and all about the wonderful prai- ries and the Delevan House where George John was then living, and how his wife cried for joy when she saw them coming, she had been so homesick ; and that they called the little boy born out in Ohio the " little buckeye boy." She also told of the visit they had made her niece whose husband was at that time lieutenant-governor of Michigan, and of the many times she had to express her opinion on slavery in the very teeth of ^lave-holders. Some would not listen to her at all ; her talk was so plain, that had she been a man she would have been chal- lenged to fight more than one duel. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 245 CHAPTER XI. ONE very pleasant morning, Capt. John was deter- mined to drive a colt which he had, and which was not thoroughly broken. In vain Deborah declared that father would get killed, or hurt at least, and that he had better let Daniel or Clawford drive him ; but Capt. John had his way for once, at least. He had not got half way to the Lapham house, before he was thrown out and quite seriously hurt. Acsah Kelly was there, and she seemed to know just what to do. Harvey Gill was at work for his aunt Deborah for a few weeks, and his cousin was on a visit. Mary John was over to her sister's, on the old place. Harvey went to Providence for Dr. Parsons, and everybody had to go somewhere, or do something. One of Capt. John's shoulders, and one hand were hurt very badly, so for a long time he had to be waited upon ; his hand never got back into shape again ; he was also much bruised by the fall, as he weighed over two hundred pounds. During his sickness, the neighbors called and offered any assistance. Friend Willard, with his sugar-loaf-shaped hat, and home-made, butternut- colored suit which his wife Susan spun and 246 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, wove herself; and, also, colored the wool of which they were made. Judge Manning, with his suit of buff linen, or nankeen, which he wore in warm weather. Most beautifully laundered were Judge Manning's clothes, by his very neat wife and three daughters. Capt. Sam Clark came quite often to inquire after neighbor John's health, and would sit and talk politics, while Capt. John would talk pol- itics, tell stories and sea-faring yarns, and laugh so hearty, that it really seemed good to have the old captain sick. Phebe Barker came, as she had not been to see her aunt Deborah for a long time. She had been staying with her cousin Jane, and Horatio Dudley was coming up to stay a week. Phebe had heard some news. She said that Samuel Gill's daughter was going to be married ; and, certainly, her intended must be a great deal older, for cousin Mary was not yet twenty. Phebe was not a little surprised, to hear that Viola Lapham and George Bean had drove down to Richard Scott's house, at Moshassuck, and got married quite on the sly. Every spring, Ann would have potatoes to sprout ; she would sit and pull off the sprouts of potatoes which were to be sold for eating. She had her stent, so many bushels a day ; it was pretty hard work for her to sit down cellar alone all day, but it only had to be done once a year. Every spring, Deborah went around her quince- bushes and bent the low limbs down and buried OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 247 them, so that they would take root and make young bushes to transplant. Just before haying she would take Ann and go into the different lots, and they would pull out all the white-weed, or daisies, as it is called. As Ann grew older, Deborah would talk with her quite pleasantly for a few minutes, sometimes; but just as Ann would begin to feel happy, Deborah would begin to scold her about something, and it would end in a cuff, or something worse. She asked Ann if she always picked up a pin when she saw one on the floor. She knew that she meant to, but she remembered she was in a great hurry once and neglected to stop, so she told Deborah she did ; only, if she was in an awful hurry she didn't stop. But she had to go to bed supperless for being so wasteful. If one bean was found dropped, she had to go up stairs and put it where it belonged. Deborah also taught her that when she made a bed she must put on a clean apron and wash her hands, and be careful and take two chairs and lay the clothes upon them and let the bed lay to air for an hour or more. She never was allowed to put away her work without knitting in the middle of her seam needle. Deborah had her gather the tops of the men's shirt-sleeves; ; she must take up two threads and leave four. All the rents in her dresses and aprons njust be darned up instead of seamed. She 248 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, also had the milk things to wash ; they must first be rinsed in cold water, then in warm, then in hot water, then scalded and turned down on boards fixed for the purpose. Deborah taught her to wash dishes in warm water and then scald them; the knife- handles were not to be wet. All these things were very nice for her to learn, and, when taught in kind- ness, very pleasant. Some years, two hundred bushels of quinces had to be picked and prepared for market. It so happened one day that a bushel of meal was needed by Deborah, and the horse had gone away, so there seemed no way of getting the corn to the grist-mill; but as it. was her custom to overcome all obstacles, she told Ann to go over to Job Manning's and see if he would let her have his horse to go down to Albion to the grist-mill. Deborah did not want to stop her work and thus waste valuable time, so she concluded to send Ann. In about half an hour after she had sent for the horse, she saw her coming into the yard leading old Peter. She had never led a horse before, and she was so afraid that he would step on her feet that she gave him a long line and then walked backward most of the way. Deborah took a bushel of corn and put it into a bag and threw it across old Peter's back, so it would be evenly balanced. " Now, Ann," she said, " thee lead that horse down to the grist mill at Albion, and don't thee be gazing around or stop to talk with the children, but come right back." OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 249 It was over a mil* she had to go and the sun was burning hot. The sand it seemed would burn her feet. If the bag should fall off the horse's back she never could get it on again and she could not leave it in the road. Not a house was there until she reached the cottage where Deborah used to live, but which was now occupied by the Elsbree's. She did not see anyone until she reached the village ; she knew very well the boys would laugh at her, she was so awkward ; she would have laughed herself had she not felt so anxious. No boys were in sight. Some men passed her and she heard them say, '' Canadians they ain't a patch. Their gals don't have to lead horses." At last the bridge over the canal 'was reached and old Peter seemed to step very carefully, as if he knew just how Ann felt. The mill stood near the bridge and not far from the dam, a little way north of the factory. " Well, well ! " said the miller, " I guess you ain't much used to a horse, be yer ? you ain't Job Man- ning's gal, but this is old Peter, I see." Ann told him how it happened that she led old Peter to the. mill. " I s'pose you're in a hurry, ain't you ? " " Yes," said Ann, sitting down and looking at the water as it went pouring over the dam. "This is nice,'' she thought ; just then looking up, she saw horses one before the other with a long rope attached. They were on a tow-path, drawing a canal-boat 250 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, laden with bales of cloth. Further down, great gates opened for them to pass through, and then shut. The noise of the grist-mill had ceased, and Ann looked around just in time to see the man take out some of the meal in a measure. " This meal is what yer call toll ; that's all I git for my trouble, yer see. Then, you live at Deborah Gill's, I take it?" " That was her name ; it's John now, since she got married." " Yes, I know 'em ; I most always git her name Gill ; I forgit the old maid's married. Then you live there, don't yer? " "Yes." " You ain't the gal that Deborah took, that belonged to Ben May, be yer? " Ann told him that her name was May, and that her father's name was Benjamin. "You had a brother there, too, didn't yer.' he used to come down here, but I ain't seen him for two or three years. Both on yer look like yer father. I use' to know him ; he was a good accom- modatin' man, but he would go off and leave his work sometimes. Yer mother was Sally Southwick ; she was the handsomest gal I ever laid my eyes on. I use' to know 'em all ! George, he went out west ; and David, his brother, fell off a bridge out there somewhere, and was drowned before they could git him. I believe your uncle George died out to Cali- forny." OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 251 Ann felt in a hurry, yet she wanted to hear every word the miller had to say. " Yer've got to be mighty careful or that bag'll fall off; " and then, as if he had something more to say, he led the horse over the bridge, and nearly up into the village. Pointing to a blacksmith shop 'behind the factor}'', he said, " there is where your father use' to work. What's yer first name, little gal ? " " Ann." " Ann May ! yes, yer the little gal Deborah ducks and shuts up in the ash-hole, and cuts up all manner of shines with, ain't yer?" " Yes." " Well, you tell her, the next time she sends you down here, to put some shoes on yer feet ; it's a shame for a little gal to go barefoot like that." Ann took the halter and started for home ; the miller looking after her, probably to see if any- one troubled her. She met some boys, one of them, the agent's son, Elisha, said, " that bag will fall off if you are not careful, Ann May." It kept on all right until she got half way up the hill, almost to the main road, when off it went on the ground. She triexlto lift it, but could not raise it off the ground, much less, on to Peter's back. She sat down and tried to think how to get that meal on that horse's back. First, she rolled it up on a bank beside the road, and then led Peter close to the bank. She would get him within a yard of the bag, and then try to roll it as near him as possible, and try to lift 25 2 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, it, but down went the bag on the ground. Now, if Peter would only lie down ! She tried to make him do so, but he only tried to feed on the grass which grew along the side of the road. She then thought if she could only get a big rail, and put one end on the bank, and the other on the horse, she might roll the bag up the bank on to the rail, and, perhaps she could slip it along on to his back, then pull out the rail and leave the bag. So, to the old Virginia fence she went, and got a rail and fixed it nicely > but, as Peter kept stepping* to get the grass, by the time she had it fixed, the bag of meal was quite a distance from the horse. " Now, whoa, Peter ! 'till I get the bag." But Peter did not seem to hear ; he kept slowly moving along, picking at the grass, when down went the rail ! In this way, Ann must have tried for nearly an hour, and at last she sat down and cried. The sun was pouring down on this sandy road and not a tree was there for her to get under. No one happened to pass that way. At last, Peter got tired nibbling and let Ann lead him near the bank. She then found a wider rail and fixed it the same as before. Peter stood still, so at last she got the bushel of meal on his back ; but when half way down the hill, off came the bag again. Ann, now so near home, thought she would go and get Deborah to come and help her, but she saw a man coming up the hill in .an open wagon, so she waited. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 253 The man stopped and said, " What have you got there, young woman ? " Ann told him what had happened, so he very kindly got out of his wagon and put the bag on old Peter's back. She thanked him and went on her way rejoicing. She recognized him as Fenner Mow- rey. She opened the gate and led old Peter in, up to the rock-maple tree near the kitchen door. Deborah had been watching for her for the last two hours. " Well done, Ann ! Thee has been idling away thy time nicely." But Ann told her what had happened. Deborah said that another time she would go herself, and Ann heartily hoped she would. She then had to lead old Peter home and tell Job Manning she was very much obliged. The next day, Deborah went to the funeral of a child belonging to Harris, the cooper, who lived not far from the Lime Rock neighborhood. Ann was left to keep house. At night, when Deborah and the rest of the family came home, Mary John went to the pantry to get a plate of cold meat small pieces which had been left from the table but it was nearly all gone. She spoke to Deborah about it. Deborah accused Ann of taking it, but she knew she had not been in the closet at all, but had knit all the time, trying to get her stent done. In vain, Ann told her she knew nothing about it. Deb- orah took her out in the wood-house, and took the 254 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMXEV, bunch of sticks and gave her an awful whipping for taking the meat, and then saying she didn't. She would whip her and rest, and then begin again. She told Ann at last, that, if she would own that she took the meat, she would not whip her any more, but would feed her on cayenne pepper, and send her to bed without any supper ; if not, she would put her in the ash-hole and whip her again the next morning. Ann considered a moment, and then told Deborah she would say that she took it, but she hoped she would not be struck down dead as Ananias was, for lying. When Deborah had finished punishing Ann, she had occasion to go into the pantry ; going toward the window, she stepped on something and slipped, hurting herself quite badly. A light was brought, and there on the floor was all the meat, some of it gnawed, plainly showing that a cat had done all the mischief. The next day, Ann was kept in the ash-hole for telling a lie ; and she must look over the chapter in the Bible that tells about Ananias, and repeat the whole to Deborah ; and if she would continue to tell lies that way, she might be served the same way. The next winter, Barton Ballou's family moved to Bellingham, Mass., as he was teaching school there. Deborah had an errand to send Elizabeth Rath- burn, which was very urgent. Capt. John said he would take Ann, and they would have a sleigh-ride. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 255 The Ballou's lived in a cottage situated on the right-hand side of the road, leading from Belling- Jiam Centre to Franklin, about a mile from the Centre ; in after years, the same house was occupied by the Cherry family. It was a terrible cold day, but the sleighing was fine ! and, old Betsy was not long going the twelve miles. The day was not half long enough ! The Ballou's had not seen Ann since Deborah went out west. So many questions were asked by the children ; " Ann, do you remember this and that mischief?" which had been cut up, the summer she lived with them in Cumberland. All their dolls, and picture-books and playthings were taken out to show Ann ; now, that she was near eleven years old, books of stories and pictures she most admired. If she found any of them did not know how to knit, she offered to teach them ; and, really thought their education had been terribly neglected. Racing round, and playing in the old-fashioned kitchen, Ann caught her dress on a nail. "Pound calico is rotten, for Lydia said so," said Ann ; " and aunt Deborah says the slaves won't wear it." But it was very neatly darned up before Capt. John said, " come, Ann, put on your things ; we must go now.'* Ann never forgot her pleasant visit at Bellingham. The summer of '41, Deborah hired a man by the name of Darwin Pickering. He had not been there long, before he found out that Deborah was not only cross to Ann, but cruel. Ann was mending her torn 256 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, apron, one day, as she sat in the kitchen while Deb- orah was making brown bread, and doing the work around the house, when, suddenly, Ann's needle caught on something and flew out of her hand, and fell into one of the cracks in the floor. Deborah asked her what she had lost. " My needle has gone down that crack, and I can't see it." " Very well ! " said Deborah ; " thee go and tell Darwin to come in ; I want to see him." " Darwin, thee get the pounding-barrel up, and set it on the steps by the well ; I want it. Fill it full of water; I want it to use." Then, turning to Ann, she said, " thee wash up these dishes and then come to me ; I want thee." Darwin drew the the water, and then went about his work. Ann had not got the dishes quite done, when Deborah went out the back door near the well, and, calling Ann to her, said, " thee sees that barrel of water, don't thee ? " "Yes." " Well, I am going to put thee in it, and then see if thee will lose another needle." And, in an in- stant, she caught Ann up and put her into the barrel, head first. She screamed as Deborah took her up, and Hannah Gushing, who lived in the shop, ran out ; and Darwin, hearing Ann scream, came to see what was the matter ; Capt. John, also, who had been out waiting to see the stage-driver, to send a message, came in as Deborah took Ann out of the M/IKf- Au /^ 1^1 V 1A$ OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 257 water. They all thought she was nearly dead. They took her out of Deborah's hands, and turned the water out of the barrel, in much less time than it took to put it in. Ann was carefully laid over it, and rolled on the barrel as directed by Capt. John. Everything was done to restore the unconscious girl. Capt. John was heard to say, "if you want to kill her, wife, why don't you do it, and not torment her to death ? " Darwin was very saucy, Deborah thought, when he told her he wanted his pay for what he had done, and snid that if she wanted water drawn for such purposes, she could draw it herself. He went up stairs, packed his trunk, and went directly to Cum- berland and entered a complaint to the selectmen, entreating them to see that Ann had better treat- ment. Some men called on Deborah, and, after a private conversation with her, they left seeming quite satis- fied, and remarking that it made a great difference, hearing both sides of a story. " You can't always tell by what you hear," said Mr. Sessions, one of the officers of the town. Deborah told her side of the story with an appear- ance of Christian truth that could not be doubted. The winter of '41 and '42 passed like many others in Deborah's household work and scold, scold and work. But, really, no one was much the worse for that, except Ann, as the other members of the family got along much as they pleased ; all were 258 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, too well-bred to pick up or notice little things which did not happen to suit them. As will be remembered, this winter, which was previous to Harrison's taking the presidential chair, was one of great interest to all, and especially to politicians. Capt. John could hardly wait for Friend Tourtel- lott to toss the paper over the gate. He would sit and read, while Deborah and Ann worked on har- nesses for the Manville factory. And now, the Dorr rebellion was the great subject of interest ; although Thomas Wilson Dorr was a cousin of Capt. John's, he was not at all in favor of his trying to take the seat of government without being elected in the usual way, and not by a mob, he said. The spring of '42, was also quite an eventful one at the Manning's. One morning, Emma Manning was rejoiced beyond expression, when her father said to her, " well, Emma, did you know we have a little sister for you now ? " What to say, or how to act, Emma hardly knew. Such a pretty little round faced baby ! and then what to name her ! It always takes longer to name a girl than it does a boy ; but, at all events, she must have a name 1 . So they called the little stranger Aphelia a pretty name, Ann thought, and, so differ- ent from the other names which were familiar to her. Deborah said that Ann was bewitched to see Olive's baby ; the baby was well enough, but, she OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 259 no need to waste so much valuable time in running after a little thing that didn't know enough to hold its head up. " Thee can't go over to Emma's to-day," said Deborah to Ann, one fine May morning, " as Mary expects company, and Anne Jenkins, and John Meader and his wife Elizabeth will be here after meeting. Thee wash down the cellar stairs, and the floor of the milk cellar." John Meader kept a grocery store in Providence. He often took potatoes and apples and eggs any- thing Deborah had to spare. She dried great quantities of apples and corn ; and, also, sold him a great many quinces. She had a measure with the bottom pushed up on the inside, so if the measure was heaped she would not lose anything by it. Dr. Wilde's daughters, of Boston, came, and with them a Mr. Smith, a friend of theirs. He was clerk of the Superior Court of Providence, and a very agreeable gentleman. The young ladies were dressed very tastefully, in the fashion of the day. One wore a white fan waist, with buff skirt and sash ; the other, a buff fan waist, with blue skirt and sash. They roamed all over the farm, and in the woods the other side of the road, cutting their names on trees. When it came time to return to Providence, one of them said to Ann, " I almost envy you this quiet, happy home." But Ann thought the young lady much happier as she was. 260 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, It so happened, that Jane Dudley wanted Ann to make her a visit, and go to school with her daughter Lizzie. She knew something of the hard time she had with her aunt, for Horatio had been there enough to know. So it came about that Ann went to visit Lizzie Dudley at Central Falls, R. I. She could go to school a little while before the sum- mer vacation. The Dudley's lived in a large square-roofed house on Jenks Street. Lizzie's uncle Francis lived up stairs. He was a fine musician, and was organ- ist at the church where the Dudleys attended. Ann was delighted with her new home ; if, only for a little while, it would help her along on her hard journey through childhood and dependence. The Dorr rebellion was now at its height, and when martial law was enforced in Pawtucket, the girls scarcely dared to venture down street. Yet they loved to get into grandpa Dudley's house, which opened directly off the sidewalk (now Dr. Wheaton's ofBce) and look at the soldiers on their respective beats. When the story was told in great excitement that a man had been killed the night previous, the children were willing to stay within doors as they were desired to do. Now and then, a woman more courageous than the rest would try to find out what news she could, and, in that way, help her party interest as much as possible. A Mrs. French, a delicate, blue- eyed woman, who was living on Constitution Hill, OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 261 in Providence, and a lady friend of hers, took the boards up off the floor, and hid all the fire-arms which were in the house, so that if search should be made for them, none could be found. The same lady also carried the news on Benefit Street, of Dorr's capture, which caused much disappointment on the part of his followers. Finally, law and order were restored, and the wishes of the people were, in a measure realized, without more disturbance or loss of life. Although Deborah disapproved of fighting, she very kindly waited upon the soldiers, inviting them, with Capt. John, to stop at her house for refresh- ments on the morning of their march from Provi- dence to Chepachet, where, at that time, a battle seemed inevitable. Ann had been staying with the Dudleys some three weeks, when, one morning, two quite young ladies called and inquired if Ann May was staying there. She was not a little surprised to see her cousin Lizzie, and a Miss Dunham. Ann and Lizzie had not met since they kissed each other good-bye on the wharf at Newport. She told Ann that her mother had married again, and that they were now living at Valley Falls ; that Ann's brother James was married, and the other boys were with him. She also told her that her own father (Ann's) was married. Thus, Ann found that she was not quite as motherless, but felt really just as friendless as before. Ann felt really thankful when she was 262 THREE HOLES IN A CHIMNEY, told that her brother's wife, and her brother Jona- than had been baptized, and had united with the church. The week following Lizzie's visit, a lady called and inquired if Benjamin May's daughter was visit- ing there. She was told that she was for a few weeks. " Well," said the lady, " will you tell her that her mother desires to see her ? " Ann had no idea how her new mother looked ; but every pretty, dark-eyed little woman she saw, she imagined that her own mother must have resembled. So her first impression, upon being told that her mother desired to see her, was of her ideal mother from her Heavenly home. She started up, and putting the baby Julia into the cradle, told her to keep still, as her mamma had laid down to rest and must not be disturbed. Ann thought she ought to fix up a little, and, really, she dreaded to meet her new mother. But she went into the sitting-room, and an elderly lady came towards her, took her hand, and stooped to kiss the astonished girl. Still keeping her hand, she exclaimed, "The very image of Mr. May! I don't need to ask you if you are Benjamin May's daughter. But, my dear, what a lovely home you have here ! " Ann asked her new mother to take off her things and have dinner, but she told Ann that she had been to Capt. John's, and had taken dinner there. She told how pleased she was with his wife, and how fortunate Ann was to have such a lovely home > OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 263 " and she thinks so much of you ! She said she was going to make you a silk dress, another year, and that very likely you would commence going to Friends' School, in Providence. If you could be a teacher, you know that they make good pay, and a fine education will carry you into good society, other things being equal." Mrs. May, said that Ann's father arfd herself would visit the boys, who were now. at Exeter, R. I. She had visited Cumberland, and was more than pleased with her sister's home and surroundings. Many promises of a better acquaintance and motherly interest were made by this precise, but truly Chris- tian step-mother. To make things easier, Mrs. Dudley came in with little dark-eyed Julia, and talked over common affairs. With an affectionate good-bye, the step-mother went away, leaving Ann to wonder if she could ever love her, with her rather stiff, yet lady-like ways. Ann had so many associates, independent of Deb- orah's cruel treatment, she would wonder if she ever could find friends away from that neighbor- hood. She forgot her troubles when away from them, but when in the presence of Deborah, a sour, unhappy look would creep over her face quite un- consciously. Ann's visit at Central Falls had been quite pleas- ant. She was very fond of baby Julia, if they did all say that she was a cross baby, and want her to sleep 264 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, all the time she could. The week before Ann went home, Lizzie took her down to her father's thread factory. They went to grandpa Dudley's, and Ann bade the kind, old people good-bye. They spent one evening up stairs. Ann listened to the music of the piano as if her very life depended upon each note. She was really sorry when the next day came, and Deborah brought home Horatio. She knew she must return to durance vile. Capt. John's son had moved back from out West, and a family party was to be given Thanksgiving Day. All came the little "buckeye," .George, also, little Thomas Humes and the baby, John : the oval-faced Elizabeth Humes, and the square-faced, but pleasant, Ann John. All helped to make merry. Some of the company must stay all night. Next day, Deborah gave little Thomas a doughnut for luncheon. Ann was not allowed to taste of any kind of food between meals. Little Thomas put a part of his doughnut on the table in the sitting-room, and then he came and got it and ate it up ; but Deborah had seen it, and now missed it. She said, "I saw thee chewing something, Ann." Ann told her it was only a thread she had to mark her stent with ; but she was told to go up garret, and she would come and see to her as soon as the com- pany had gone. So not long after Ann went up stairs, she heard Deborah coming. Telling Ann to hold her thumbs together, she then tied them together ; getting a OR. A SCATTERED FAMILY. . 265 chair, she threw a rope over a beam, and tied Ann up to the beam by the thumbs, so that she just rested her toes upon the floor. She then whipped the poor, helpless girl with candle rods a bunch of them usually lay on a chest, thus being handy for this woman to carry out her Satanic ugliness. Ann was now determined to stop this business, of being made to lie. She had come to the con- clusion that Deborah could only hurt her body, which was now all marked with her cruelty. After repeated blows, Deborah said, "Wilt thou say thee ate the doughnut ? " " No !" said the poor girl; "I did not touch It." She then whipped her again, and then went down stairs. Ann had been trying to serve the Lord as best she knew how, and had made up her mind to let Deborah kill her if she chose, but she would not lie again to get rid of punishment. After Capt. John came, Deborah told him that Ann had told a lie. She told him to go up garret, and take the candle-rods and whip her until she said she ate the doughnut, and to see if she had tied her up as he did the cabin-boys at sea. The old man came up the garret stairs, and, taking a rod in his hand, came toward the suffering child ; " You've been lying, wife tells me ; what did you do that for?" But Ann told him the truth. He stood and looked at her a moment, bur did not strike her, and then went down stairs. Deborah came up within an hour, and went to 266 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, beating Ann again ; but found that she was deter- mined to tell the same story, so she untied her hands. Such agony as the poor child was in ! she could only wish that she might die. She cried with pain, but Deborah told her to go down stairs and go to work, and she would settle with her another time. Ann told her she could not work if she killed her. She was sitting on the broad stair in the sitting-room crying with pain. As Ann grew taller, her head came above the round mahogany table which was kept between the stairs and the pantry door ; so, in order to strike Ann's head when Deborah struck her, she did it with her left hand ; it then struck the house. When Ann was smaller she struck her with her right hand, so that her head would be bruised with the edge of the table ; thus, a bunch on her head was no unus- ual occurrence. Ann was down sick with a cold, and her thumb- nails came off. Capt. John told Deborah, that the cabin. boy he had tied up by the thumbs was a great ugly fellow, who would steal butter and put in his hat ; in fact, he would steal anything he could lay his hands on. He had been flogged and placed in irons ; then they tried the thumb-screws, but it didn't seem just the tiling for a girl. Ann asked Deborah if she might visit her brother's family, as they were now living in the northern part OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 267 of the state. She would come back when Deborah wanted her. As the last punishment she gave Ann did not meet with good results, she felt that she was getting old and weak, and that Ann was getting older and stronger, and she found it was not so easy to train her up in the way she should go. Ann had been quite miserable for a while. A few months after her being hung up in the garret, Capt. John had occasion to go quite near to the factory where James May was manufacturing cloth for the Southern market, and said to her one morning, that if she would get ready, he would carry her to her brother's. After a long ride they reached the home of James May. Capt. John introduced himself, and then said, " Ann, this is your brother." He told James that he had brought his sister to stay a while with him. Ann tried to feel acquainted with the great, nice-looking man she knew was her brother. Mrs. May was quite out of health and kept her room most of the time. The affairs of the family were conducted chiefly by a middle aged Scotch woman ; she seemed to think that the new comer might possibly take her place and that she might lose her situation. In spite of Ann's kind endeav- ors, the woman was continually running to her mis- tress with a complaint that Mr. May's sister had done or had not done this or that. Ann soon perceived that she was not over-wel- come in the family, although her brother seemed very anxious to have her there. She seldom saw him 268 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, except at meal times. If she said anything about Deborah's cruel treatment, she did not feel assured that they fully realized the life she had led, so she made it a rule not to refer to her previous life or speak of her troubles, unless she was questioned. A Mrs. Wheelock, one of the neighbors, was sick and wanted Ann to come and stay with her a few days. She was glad to go. While there, she re- ceived a letter stating that Deborah was quite sick and, at that time, had no one with her but Elizabeth Rathburn, who was herself very delicate. When Ann left Deborah, she hoped never to go back ; but Mrs. Wheelock told her that she was large enough now to look out for herself and if Deborah would send her to Friends' school perhaps she could learn to teach. But she advised her not to go to work in the factory until she was older. She thought Ann had better write and tell Deborah that she would come back and go to school, and would try to do the best she could. Ann was very conscientious, and fully desired to do right ; and although she knew that Deborah had treated her cruelly, she remembered that she had given her a place to stay in, and had taught her many useful things. And now, if she was sick, she ought to forgive, for the Bible says, " Forgive your enemies and pray for them who despitefully use you," so Ann wrote a letter to that effect. But she made up her mind that she would stay no longer than she was well treated. OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 269 Deborah wrote to Ann, saying she had better come in the stage. Mr. Whee!ock carried her to Woonsocket and from there she went in Mr. Tour- telotte's stage to Deborah's door. They all seemed^ glad to see her. Deborah had great trouble with her eyes, and for days would have to stay in a dark- ened rocm. Ann's thumbs were nearly well. She had told no one what was the matter with them, but had tried to keep her troubles to herself. She had been away three months ; she had picked up some slang words which Deborah had to break her of, such as " yes, over the left ; " and for " yes," "I reckon." She thought old Betsey only an " old plug;" Mr. Wheelock had a horse that could go a "two-forty gait," and her brother Jim had one called old Tige that could " beat anything on the road." Elizabeth Rathburn was terribly shocked when she heard Ann telling old Betsey, " 2-40 on a com-' mon road ; what would you do on a good road, with a good driver ? " This horse-talk she had heard the boys talk over, and she thought it sounded so differ- ent from any horse-talk she had ever heard ; for when Deborah drove, she said, ''Get thee along, Betsey ! " and when aunt Olive drove her old horse Peter, she said, "Thee make haste, Peter! " But Ann soon dropped her slang, and was ashamed that she had been so unladylike. Deborah treated her much better than she had done for quite a while. She let her to go to school to Catherine 270 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, Clarke, at the Albion, but for her dinner gave her only a cold potato, a cracker, or a crust of brown bread. Although she would box her ears, duck her head under water, and not give her more than ^p; half enough to eat, she no longer shut her up in dark-holes or hung her up by the thumbs ; but she continued to stent her beyond endurance. Ann went to school only six weeks, and then had to stay at home to help on loom harnesses. Deb- orah seemed to think it possible she might lose her at any time, so she must have her do all she could. She told Ann that if she would stay with her until she was eighteen, she would do well by her. One day she showed her the garments she had prepared to " be laid out " in. She said she would make all of her children a present in her will. When she talked this way, Ann would think, that, come what might, she would stay with the old woman ; but, perhaps in less than an hour afterwards, she would almost knock Ann down for some trifling offence. Capt. John was troubled with rheumatism. When he was able, they went to meeting regularly. Deb- orah would carry her satin shawl and nice gloves, and when nearly there she changed her shawl and on her way home she folded her satin shawl and placed it in the paper again, saying, " there, ^Ann, thee see how to be prudent of thy clothes." That Capt. John was fast becoming a Friend no one could doubt. He seemed to fill his place well, the hardy old sea-captain, under the training of his OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 271 energetic wife, and was quite unconsciously being made over, much to the .delight of his family who were really very anxious that the stirring, business- like Deborah should take their father and train him in the way he ought to go. Capt. John spent much of his time in reading such works as Fieetwood's Life of Christ, the Life and Teachings of George Fox, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Prog- ress, and Baxter's works. Many hours he would read aloud while Deborah and Ann made harnesses for the factory. He also read all the political news and much enjoyed his evening paper and Deborah's paper, called the " Friend," but the " Liberator " he did not value so highly. Although Capt. John had the name of having been in the slave traffic, he posi- tively declared that he had not been guilty of that, (as did his brother who had settled in Matanzas, Cuba.) He really did not dislike the colored race socially. Ann felt quite disappointed when Deborah told her that she had education enough, and that she should not send her to school, not even to Friends' School ; that for a girl in her sphere in life, she had learning enough ; as she was quite quick to learn, she could listen to others and learn of them. Ann knew she had been to school a few weeks at a time, but she had never had a slate, nor ever done a sum in her life ; neither had she studied grammar. Here were three teachers, more or less in this home, and these women were professed followers of the meek 272 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, and lowiy Jesus. Mary John, Ann. knew, had her special hours of devotion ; but she had not treated this motherless girl with much kindness, and not with half the attention one would show a pel cat. Elizabeth, more tender than Mary, seemed to pity Ann. At one time she happened to see her blis- tered arm, almost black from Deborah's cruel pinching, and she said, " is that Deborah's work, Ann ? is it possible ! " and she left the room. Since Ann's return from Mrs. Wheelock's, she slept in the room over the pantry ; a cunning little table with a small case of drawers which Deborah's father had made for his girls, and a little stand were in this room Ann called this stand her altar, with a piece of white cloth which she spread over it, and her testament, which she almost knew by heart, on it. Ann tried with all her might to pray for strength, to bear Deborah's ugliness just a little longer, and then she would go to work in some place. In the summer, Ann was put out in the shop to sleep, so that the hired man might have her room. The great trap door was shut down, and the outside door locked ; mornings, Deborah would come and raise the great door, and bring a dish of water to throw in Ann's face, if the tired girl should happen to be asleep at five o'clock. Deborah seemed to have forgotten her resolve to treat her better, and with more consideration. More than once had she been the means of her OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 275 falling down the cellar stairs, and making fearful bunches on her face and head. Ann had washed down the cellar stairs one morning, as was her cus- tom. She was told to carry down a pan of milk, and, it being quite full, she spilled nearly a pint of the skim-milk which was to be for the men's supper. Deborah saw it ; and, taking the pan and setting it down on the top step, she grabbed Ann by the arms and set her nails into her arms with a fearful grip ; but Ann, quick as thought, for the first time in her life, with a view to saving, it might be, her life, took hold of Deborah in the same way, except the pinching ; thus, they stood on the top step of this long set of steps, leading down cellar. Not a word was spoken by either. Ann could feel Deborah's foot trying to trip her up ; then Ann held on just a little harder, and braced herself against the wall. Five minutes, at least, the pair stood in this way, when Deborah let go her hold, and Ann loosened her grasp, as she saw Deborah was inclined to step up into the kitchen. " Ah, Ann ! " she said, " thee is too strong for me ; thee keep on with thy birds'-egging and see how thee'll come out." When Ann could sufficiently calm herself, she said to Deborah, " I will never do another day's work in this house ! since I came back you have whipped me awfully, and have made me go all day without a mouthful to eat, and make harnesses until my back and side and shoulder ached so you have 274 THREE HOLES IX THE CHIMNEY, been obliged to ccver them with plasters ; you have fed me on cayenne pepper and thoioughwort-tea ; you have told me lies about sending me to school, all these years, and I never will stay here any more. My father is now keeping house only sixteen miles from here, so you heard the other day, you know- and if you will send me there, I will work some, where, and go to school a year or more perhaps, for now, I feel as if I didn't know much." When Capt. John came in, Deborah told him that Ann had got too strong for her, that she couldn't manage her, and that she would carry her to her father and tell him what a naughty girl she was. Ann picked up her few clothes, but she had no trunk. Deborah told her Mary John said that she had an old trunk up garret, which Ann might have for two dollars and a half. Deborah said that if she took her cloak and all of her other clothes, she must pay two dollars and a half more. "But I have no money," said Ann, "only the five dollars in the bank which I had given me for so many years." Deborah said, "That is the money we will take." So, in this way, Ann was cheated out of the change she had had given to her from time to time, for ten years. It was said that she gave the bank- book to Ann John, but Ann never knew for certain. Ann went over to Emma's house to bid these kind, good people good-bye ; also, Susan and Desire Willard. She kissed the little Aphelia, who could OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 275 run alone now. Ann thought she would never see so cunning a baby again. "We shall always be glad to see thee," said Olive Manning ; " and I feel that thee will yet see pleas- ant days, for thee has naturally a very happy disposition, and thou art quick to learn." Ann would have felt better to have seen Lydia Haynes once more, but she never did ; neither did she see the Sunday-school teacher at Albion, or Miss Clarke, whom she thought so gentle and kind. Deborah's nephew, George Gill, came in, and, finding Ann rejoicing in her freedom, he took her hand and said, " Thank Heaven ! you are out of aunt Deborah's clutches at last, I hope." Deborah went with Ann to her father's, but her father and mother were away for the day, so she left her with the family who lived in the house with them. Their name was Asay. Mr. Asay was a cousin of Mrs. May's. Deborah seemed unwilling to leave Ann, and gave her advice. She said she hoped her care would be like bread cast upon the waters ; and she told her, as she had her brother years before, that, if she ever needed a meal of victuals, to come to her, and she would feed her. She wished her to come and see her, and she must read her Testament daily. Deborah then said farewell, and left for home. Ann gave a sigh of relief as she beheld Debo- rah's wagon move slowly up the hill towards home. 276 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, CHAPTER. XII. MRS, ASAY was a very highly educated lady of strict orthodox principles. She was away from home that afternoon, attending a missionary meeting of which she was president. Here were three girls to entertain Ann ; they all gathered around her and asked her her name, and where that queer old lady lived. They told her that they called her new mother aunt Betsey, and that she would be at home soon. " " Here is mother, no\v," said Etta, the youngest, a little, fat, red-cheeked girl. Mrs. Asay came in, and such a lovely counte- nance as she had ! Her hair was light, she wore curls caught back from her face with side-combs, and wore gold-bowed spectacies. " This is Mr. May's daughter, aunt Betsey has told us about, you know," said Myra. " Aunt Betsey has gone to see Mrs. Lovett, this afternoon, and we want Ann May to eat supper with us." " Certainly," said her mother ; " she will stay with us." Ann could not help but notice their comfortable home and the lovely warm-looking dresses and OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 277 pretty, white aprons which these girls wore. Their beautiful hair was braided and tied with ribbon. These girls did not sit idle, although their father was a rich man. They were braiding straw ; " pretty fine cord," they called it. They said that they earned a certain sum every week ; so much for the Home Mission, and so many cents for the Foreign Missions, and for the Sunday-School. Ann had never felt so ashamed of her clothes as she did now. She was fourteen years old, but living with old people so long had made her have quite old-fash- ioned ways. Mary John had made her a dress of red and black striped pound calico, and had cut it like her own, plain waist, hooked in front, with sleeves gathered at the wrist. The long, plain skirt was finished with a narrow hem. She had low, calf-skin shoes, and sheep's black stockings. Neither collar nor buttons, nor a piece of ribbon was there to relieve the homeliness of Ann May's dress, Her cloak was of black alpacca, made with a skirt and fan waist, the sleeves fulled at the wrist ; a quilted hood and sheeps' black mittens she also wore, and all were warm and comfortable. " It is supper-time, and Ann May must sit here at my right hand," said Mrs. Asay. " Now, my dear, try to feel at home and happy." She introduced Ann to Mr. Asay and the five boys who were soon seated around the comfortable table. The boys' names were Jackson, Charles, Francis, Lucius and Walter. 278 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, " What a lovely family this is ! " thought Ann. She forgot all about the dress and all her troubles. Mrs. A say said that she loved to look at Jonathan May. -He had been at home with his father some, and she had become quite attached to the bright, curly headed young man. All talked and seemed so happy. " There's Mr. May and aunt Betsey coining," said the little Walter, who was not yet old enough to wear jacket and pants. " Wait until they get their fire built," said the old- est of the three girls, " and then we will surprise them both." Both Mr. and Mrs. May were surprised at seeing Ann. She could not remember how her father looked; she had seen him twice within ten years, for a few moments only, and then he was dressed up, with a tall hat and nice clothes on ; now, he wore a farmer's frock and a fur cap. They seemed very much pleased with their daughter. Ann told them that she could not stop at Capt. John's any longer, because Deborah was so unkind to her, and now she was old enough to take care of herself; but she wanted to go to school, if possible. She stayed at her new home and made quite a visit, and got quite well acquainted with her parents. As Ann would earn nothing at home, she went to stay with a Mrs. Justin, a friend of her step-mother's. She went to school to Miss Sylvia Aldrich, the niece OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 279 of Mrs. May's whom she spoke to Ann about when at Central Falls. Ann earned her clothes by knit- ting, and doing what extra work she could ; as she worked for her board, she did not have much time. Ann's mother was kind to her : she would often take her into a quiet room and pray for her welfare, and for the whole world even, in a manner which would touch the hearts of persons much less thought- ful than this young girl. She also enjoyed telling Ann about her first visit to Boston in a stage coach, to visit her father's relatives ; one was her aunt Emery, who lived in a building called the Tontine Building. She told how pleased she was with the elegant presents she received ; and, that, when her aunt kissed her good-bye, she placed a ten-dollar gold piece in her hand. She was introduced to Gov. John Hancock, as they were to journey together some miles. He said to her, " Is it possible young lady, that you are the late Ebenezer Coffin's daughter? How many children had he ? " "There were three sisters of us/' she replied. " Sir Isaac Coffin is an uncle of yours ? " " Yes," said the young lady of eighteen. ' Well, Miss Coffin, there is great wealth in Eng- land for you children if it was looked up." Ann's mother told her that her sisters were always laughing at her, about her rich relatives, and the wealth in England which they might never possess ; but they did not doubt the truth of this wise man's 280 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, story. The families were on visiting terms in their day. Ann would cut out and make her own clothes and her mother's. She was a very industrious girl. She learned a great deal in the six months she went to school to her mother's niece, and she had made many friends. She seldom spoke to anyone of her " dark days," as she called her prison-like life, and few knew that she had not always been the cheerful girl she was now. Ann had written to her aunt, Lydia May ; she received an answer saying, that Nannie Lare had been staying with her aunt Angell in Providence; while there, she made the acquaintance of a Mr. James Conliff, a factory owner, to whom she had been married a few weeks. She did not like to live alone with Sarah, so they were now at Wrentham, where Sarah was going to school with Virginia and Maryland Lare, who were visiting their grandfather's family this summer. Nannie's father was again a widower ; his son, Lorenzo, was dead and his widow had married a Mr. Howe, who was then the mayor of St. Louis. Ann was much pleased to hear from her sister, and wondered if they would ever become acquainted. She had written to Emma Manning. Emma some- times would answer, but more frequently her mother wrote for her. This time the news was as follows : Elizabeth Rathburn had married and Hannah Appleton, who used to board with Deborah, had left OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 281 for Providence. The agent Brown's son hadmarried Lina Hammond, and Catherine Clark had married and gone away, and her sister WAS doing a great business horseback riding that season. Now sur- veyors were at work between Providence and Wor- cester for a railroad, and there was no knowing how many would get killed if cars should run right through the village. Dr. Hume's family had moved to Connecticut and George John's family had moved to Woonsocket. Deborah had hired a young man from Sandwich, N. H., who proved to be very trusty and who helped to take care of Capt. John in his last sickness. Capt. John did not live many years after Ann May left ; then Davis Kidder was just the man Deborah needed. Although under her immediate direction he managed to do very much as he pleased. At his request, she would raise his salary nearly every year, thus insuring his services, as very few persons could be found who would put up with her eccentricities. Although Deborah was so unkind to children un- der her charge, she again found two little helpless ones her niece's grandchildren. So poor little Jimmy and Rhoda Crocker were rilling Ann May's place in this woman's home. The little, three-years- old Jimmie slept on the brick hearth where, some years before, lay the abused little Ann. Ann, still anxious to go to school, tried to form plans to that effect. She knew that her uncle Sam- uel lived in Newton, some nine miles west of Boston, 282 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, and, that, possibly she might go there and go to school. So it was decided that Ann should write to her uncle whom she had never seen. In due time, an answer was received, which was written by Ann's cousin Lottie, saying that they would be glad to have her come, and would see what arrangements they could make. Ann was much pleased with the prospect before her. Within a few days after receiving Lottie May's letter, Ann left her home amid the tears of her mother, and the best wishes of the Asay family, who had been very kind to her ever since she was so unceremoniously introduced into the family. Ann's father carried her to Whitinsville, where she took the stage for Worcester ; at Worcester, she crossed the city and stepped into the cars bound for Boston and way stations. As this was the first time Ann had travelled in the cars, she began to watch for West Newton soon after leaving Natick, and she felt sure, that in all prob- ability she would be carried by. Sitting on the left- hand side of the car, the gothic cottages on Webster street at West Newton attracted her attention ; the conductor had told her that the next place would be West Newton, and that a carriage would be await- ing the train for L'pper Falls. As Ann stepped upon the platform, the conductor pointed to a man and said, " There is Bixby, he will tell you all you want to know." Within five minutes Ann was on her way to New- OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 283 ton Upper Falls; up the long hill, it seemed a long ride. A new world seemed to open before her, as she admired the scenes which she passed ; this was not as rocky as her native state, she thought, but here were hills without number. The two miles were at last travelled, and they stopped at a nice comfortable house where the driver said Mr. Sam- uel May lived. He helped Ann out of the carriage ; the Mary John trunk, (with straps on to hold it together, as there had not been a lock o;i it for many a year, ) was put upon the step at the front door. Ann paid the man the last quarter she had. Her aunt met her at the door, and seemed glad to see her husband's niece. Her daughter Lottie who had been out ever the shed practicing on a violin, then came in. rfer mother said that she made such a screeching she could not endure it ; Lottie laughed at her mother's compliment. Soon, James May came in to see his new cousin. " My eldest brother's name is James," said Ann. ' : Yes," her aunt said; "your brother was named for the president, James Monroe ; and your cousin was named for your uncle, James Angell, of North Providence." Ann did not see her uncle until tea-time. She then learned that the pastor of the Methodist church was boarding in her uncle's family. Many inquiries were made of Ann, concerning her father and her family, generally. She found her uncle a very pleasant, quiet man. 284 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, In the evening, her cousin James took her down street to call on his sister, whose husband was at that time postmaster. Ann was very much pleased with her new relatives ; yet, when she saw the elegant clothes they wore, she felt sure they would be ashamed of her appear- ance, though at home she had thought she looked quite presentable. Ann had been at her uncle's house a few weeks, and nothing had been said about school. Her aunt had been sent for, to attend her sick daughter, Mrs. Wellington, who died some weeks after, and was brought home and buried from her father's house. Thus the time passed and Ann found herself quite unable to attend school. Her wardrobe, which was certainly scanty enough at first, had not improved. So it happened that Ann did not go to school, as she fondly hoped, but went to Wal- tham, where she learned the dress maker's trade with one Miss Wetherbee, a very excellent lady. Thus, Ann persevered until she gained a very nice living. One thing she always kept in mind ; that she would, at some future day, be baptized and unite with the church, and thus be strengthened in her Christian life. This she did in Waltham, a few years after leaving her uncle's home. Ann had heard from her Smithfield friends now and then. She decided to visit her father and mother, also her old friends, as she knew she OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 285 was always welcome. Arriving in Smithfield, she stopped at neighbor Clarke's all night, as a severe snow-storm had set in and she could not reach Job Manning's house on the cross-road. She was treated very kindly and enjoyed sitting by the great, open fire-place. Although she was so near the house with the three holes in the chimney, she had no one now to fear. She learned that she had always had the sympa- thy of all the neighborhood in her suffering child- hood, but no one cared to meddle with Deborah's affairs; yet no one denied that it was a cowardly thing not to do so. Early the next morning, she took breakfast with this kind family. Many inquiries were made by them concerning her brothers, and they were anx- ious to know how she had got along since she left Deborah's watchful care. Mr. Clarke's youngest son harnessed the horse and carried Ann over to the Mannings. The snow was so drifted it was almost impossible to reach the house. It was not a very pleasant time to travel, but it was just as pleasant in-doors, Ann thought, as her tongue was once more let loose in the Manning kitchen. The little Aphelia stood behind her mother's chair looking on in mute astonishment. Her father had just brought in a new-fashioned fly- trap which he hoped to use the coming season, and Ann wanted to see how it would work, so one of the boys said, " You put some molasses on the lower 286 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, board, and when the flies go in to eat it, step up behind it and slap it down and they will be mashed. If yon- don't believe it, put your finger in and I will slap it down." But Emma thought that the trap made of two shingles fastened together with a string and hung on a pole which was placed overhead in the kitchen, to hang squashes and yarn on, was much better. This kind father was very fond of making bird- cages, and squirrel-cages, little chairs for the child- ren, both high and low, and chairs for their dolls. Specimens of his handiwork could be seen in every room. If a book-case was wanted, or a closet, or anything handy "Well, father will make it." Before Ann went home, she thought she must call on Deborah. She seemed glad to see Ann, and said she was proud to see such a nice, great girl ; she always thought her bringing up would be like bread cast upon the waters. After awhile, Ann thought it best to tell this woman what she thought, as life \vas uncertain, and she might never have another chance. So she told her of many cru-1 things she had done. She asked her if she thought the evil one would ever tempt her to treat the puny little children now under her care, as she had treated herself and her brother. And if she ever heard of such actions she would have her arrested, and she would have to part with some of the money she her- self had helped her to accumulate. Ann told her that she tried to forgive her for her cruelty but OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 287 her brother would not hear a word of it ; he said that would not be human nature. Deborah inquired after George, and Ann told her that he was at work for their brother James. Deborah told Ann to come and see her, as she always loved her. "Thee knows the Bible says, 'spare the rod and spoil the child.' " Ann bade this woman good-bye, and shed tears of pity for poor Jimmy, as he stood by the door nib- bling a piece of cracker, which she knew was all the supper the little fellow would have. The only hope Ann felt for the little boy was that her Heav- enly Father would, in His mercy, take him home. Ann called upon Susan and Desire Willard, and in a few days went to visit her father and mother. She again heard her mother <-ing the gcod old hymns she had heard her sing so many times before. The Asay family had moved up town. Mr. Asay was now deputy-sheriff of Worcester county, and the farm was too far away. Ann found them and was moie than welcome, for they were more than delighted to see her. But Ann must" return to her work. She had learned that her sister was at Wrentham, and that her aunt Lydia had gone to Manchang, Mass., to spend the rest of her days with her niece, Mrs. Con- liff. Soon after Ann had returned to Waltham, she received letters stating that her brother Jonathan had been cast-away at sea, after being out two weeks only. Ann felt thankful that he had become a 288 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, Christian when so young, and she felt that the cord of love was growing stronger and stronger between her and her loved ones in Heaven. The last words Jonathan was heard to say were, " My poor father ! what will he do ? " Ann received letters fron Lewis Pond, of New York City, who was saved from the wreck on which her brother was lost. Some years have passed, and we find Ann no longer Ann May, but the wife of the oldest son of a Watertown family, named Warren. Ten years later finds Ann Warren surrounded with a lovely family of children, but she is an invalid. Deborah hears of her long sickness and desires Olive Manning to visit her. She was now living in the southern part of Rhode Island. Mrs. Warren was overjoyed at seeing her old friend ; and, al- though she could not sit up, she tried hard to be cheerful. Olive told her that Deborah was quite feeble, and could not live long ; that the children whom she had with her had been provided for, and that the hired man, Davis Kidder, had married a girl who worked for Deborah, named Lois Xye. She had been teach- ing at Lynn, Mass., but had stepped into Deborah's household quite fortunately. Deborah was quite pleased about it, and went to their marriage at Ber- wick, Maine, and report said she got them a wed- OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 289 ding supper which was characteristic of her con- sisting of crackers, doughnuts and cheese. Olive went home much pleased with her short visit and told Deborah how Ann Warren was situated. Deborah desired Davis to send Ann a bed and all its belongings, but he thought she had better wait until she got stronger ; she was really very near her end. When she would tease him to send the bed, he would advise her to leave it until a more conve- nient season. Whatever her intentions were toward the woman she had so cruelly wronged when a helpless child, she really had nothing to give ; for, after many times changing her will, she had finally given her property to the faithful Davis, except cer- tain legacies which he was bound to pay. She willed but a little to her relatives, or to others who richly de- served it. So it happened that Ann Warren did not get a bed, an article which Deborah denied the poor girl most of the time she lived under her roof. But all earthly things come to an end ; and so, at last, did Deborah's strength. She must die and leave all these possessions, many of which were made up of the groans and cries of hunger and the fearful sufferings of the poor, sick woman, Ann, when a helpless child ; and the cries, and distress, and sufferings of the motherless, frozen-footed boy. In her last moments she heard the cries of children. In her half-slumber did she view the little one cry- ing for her mother in heaven ? Did she see the great purple marks on this little one's flesh ? Could 290 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, she see her kneeling on the cellar-floor, crying and begging not to be shut up in the hole of, the great chimney ? or the drowning child, as she was taken up out of the barrel of water, or down in the sink- drain eating from a filthy swill pail ? her terrible dis- tress when forced to take cayenne pepper and the bowls of bitter thoroughwort tea ? In her fits of slumber, did she see the blistered feet of the poor child, or her tired little body on her bed of rags ? or the poor girl hung up by her thumbs in the cold, lonely garret ? Could she see the scarred arm which she so delighted in pinching until it was purple ; the great bunches on her head ? Did she hear the sobs of the tired girl as she worked at the harness bench, sometimes until nearly midnight, to gain wealth for strangers to use ? Days of suffering for what ? The friends of her husband turn their backs upon her ; the children she abused abhor her very name ! Deborah John is led to the door ; she views her land, and the beautiful yards which she used to sweep so clean. She said, ''I shall never sweep it more, I am persuaded." Lydia Haynes, her friend Huldah, and others, watched her last moments, and they were shocked to hear her last words : " Have I always given them children enough to eat ? " Friends for different motives came to the funeral of this noted woman ; some to whom she had been very kind, felt sorry to see her laid away in the OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 291 ground ; they would no more receive favors at her expense. One friend prayed over her open grave with great earnestness, and enjoyed one thousand dollars of the dead woman's possessions, also, most of her clothing. The two little orphans, Jimmy and Rhoda, had only twenty-five dollars each, and were not to receive that until they were of age. Her invalid niece must have been somewhat disappointed. Her kind niece, Olive, received a much-worn bed- quilt. The hackmatack tree was taken from her garden and placed on her grave ; another of the same kind waves in unison. Emblematical of this woman's life are these trees ; they are always covered with thorns. Once more are childish voices heard in this coun- try home, but how different ! A kind father is the faithful Davis Kidder, and the gentle Lois is an affectionate mother. The great holes in the chimney will never hold their little boys. Yet, sorrow has entered this quiet home, and now the loving parents must gaze on the still, lovely form of their Willie, who, a short time before had gone out to play. He climbed the wall which was in the pond ; (where Ann May stood and bade her brother George good- bye, with tears) he slipped, fell into the water and was drowned. Twenty-five years have passed since Olive Man- ning bade the sick Mrs. Warren farewell, and charged her husband to be very careful of his 292 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, invalid wife, praying that she might be spared to her children. It appears that this prayer was granted, for Mrs. Warren yet lives, and now she relates the story of her scattered family, and some of her old acquaintances. The kind-hearted Lydia had long ago entered into that rest which remaineth for the people of God. Ruth Manning, though quite aged, enjoys life in her own quiet way at the old Manning homestead. The resolute Viola with her industrious husband, still live at their pleasant home near Break Neck Hill, and count their grandchildren by the score. Emma Manning married a well-to-do merchant, and lives in East Providence, R. I., enjoying the society of her good old parent Job, and the happy mother of a lovely family ; while the once timid Aphelia holds forth the gospel truth in her own quaint way, to interested audiences. The invalid, Phebe Barker, yet lives. Although her beautiful hair is sprinkled with gray, and time has left its mark on her intelligent face, she is the same sprightly, graceful person of fifty years ago. The pleasant little fellow, Horatio, died of con- sumption, while yet a young man, and his sister, the little black-eyed baby, Julia, still lives at the old Dudley mansion. Susan and Desire Willard both married well, but were left widows while yet young women ; each having a family of boys. They were both strong- OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 293 minded Christian women, and, truly, may their sons rise up and call them blessed. Mary John, who married quite late in life, proved herself to be a most devoted wife and step-mother > and, when left a widow a short time since, all vied with each other in doing her homage, and to express their regard for her many deeds of charity, and the Elizabeth, of babyhood fame, rejoices in the society of her beloved aunt Mary. Clawford Martin still lives at the Capt. John homestead, surrounded by a large family of children, and with his little dark-eyed grandson on his knee and his gray hair speaks plainer than words of the years which have passed, since, when a slender lad, he handed the empty saucer to th*e disappointed little girl, Ann May. Mrs. Gibbs and Mrs. Sawyer (Ann's aunts) still live, at the advanced ages of eighty years and upwards ; while Mrs. Spooner, after years of suffer- ing, found rest in the grave a few years since. Ann's only sister, with her wealth of curls now sprinkled with gray, is the happy wife of a much respected citizen of Pawtucket, R. I., whose father was one of the leading factory owners of his day. Their brother Will still lives in his native state. He often speaks of the dark days at Albion, and calls to mind the times his sainted mother called him to her bedside and curled his flowing locks, and kissed him good-bye as he went to his work. 294 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, Her brother James, after journeying in the far west, returned to his family, bought him a home, and died soon after, when yet a young man. Her brother George had married and purchased the Asay estate, and he also died soon after, while yet in the prime of life. Her step-mother lived to the good old age of eighty-seven years. When visited by Mrs. Warren a few days before her death, she said, " O, my daughter, I thank the Lord I have lived to see your dear face once more ! " Just before she breathed her last, she declared she could behold her savior as plainly as she ever beheld her earthly friends, and she died viewing the face of her Lord. Who can doubt she is singing the songs she loved so well while here. She was buried in the town of Douglass, near Worcester, Mass. Her nephew, Joseph Crocker, then living at Fort Hamilton, N. Y., erected a nice stone to mark her resting-place, and on the stone is this in- scription : " Aunt Betsey. Thus passed away the beloved daughter of Ebenezer Coffin, of Boston, and Charlotte Thayer Coffin, of Uxbridge, Mass." Again Mrs. Warren stands in the doorway, where fifty years ago she stood holding out her hands, and crying, "papa! papa!" without effect. Again she travels the sandy, lonesome road, now gladdened with dwellings. She stands beside the grave of Deborah ; the trees are now large and shadow her resting-place. She turns away with a sigh of relief that Deborah now rests OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 295 from her labors, and her works do follow her. Weeping over the graves of the two Olives, she said, " They were kind to us poor children ; verily, they shall have their reward." The angel of death, came so silently to Olive Manning, and her departure was so peaceful that his presence was not known until after he had gone. Mrs. Warren finds herself in the prison house of her childhood. The holes in the chimney are still there and also the well which had supplied so much water for her distress. The broad stair in the sit- ting-room has been taken away ; gilt paper adorns the walls, and a bay window lightens the once dark room. Deborah's parlor carpet covers the floor. In the corner where the clock used to stand, (watched by Ann May when it seemed as if she would give worlds for an hour of time to get her stent done), there is now a tastefully arranged desk, and the successor to Deborah's earthly pos- sessions can here count up his acquired wealth and thank his old benefactress for giving him such a start in business. Why should not this man say he believes, if there is a saint in heaven, she is one ? 296 THREE HOLES IN THE CHIMNEY, CONCLUSION. " O, MOTHER," said Annie Clarke, "aunt Mary will be here next week, and cousin Nelly is coming with her. I have just got this letter from her, say- ing that they wish to be here to attend the graduat- ing exercises of the Lassell Seminary. You know her friend from Baltimore graduates this term. I hope that she will bring the rest of that story which she commenced to tell us. I have forgotten half of it, already." " She will bring it, fast enough," said Robert, "for aunt Mary always does as she says she will, every time, and don't you forget it, sis ! " Mr. Clarke received a postal from his sister, say- ing that she and Nelly would be in Boston the next Thursday, on an early train from New York. Noth- ing was talked of but the coming of aunt Mary and cousin Nelly. " Here they tome," cried Bessie Clark ; and such a happy re-union as it was ! One of the first things which aunt Mary was told was that Mr. and Mrs. Homer had moved to Washington Park, next door to the Clark s. After a while, Annie whispers to aunt Mary, " Did you bring the story ? " OR A SCATTERED FAMILY. 297 "Yes, dear," and unlocking her trunk she took out quite a package of manuscript, saying, " there, children ; I have tried to write this simply and plainly, and, as you see, have scribbled this paper all over ; but, after 1 began, I didn't find any place to stop. I hope this true story will amuse you and do you good ; and .as Mrs. Warren is now making her home in your own beautiful city, I will help you to make her acquaintance. You will not wonder that I love her so well when you see her happy counte- nance, and I very much doubt if you can recognize in this lady the Ann May of aunt Mary's story, or can believe that she ever had been the occupant of the great chimney in Davis Kidder's country home in Rhode Island. THE END. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-Sorios 4939 F 89. C9W58 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 001 338 061 3