J
GLENWOOD;
OR,
THE PARISH FARM
"0, but man, proud man I
in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven
As make the angels weep."
BY WILLIAM G. CAMBRIDGE.
BOSTON:
HIQOINS & BRADL E Y ,
20 WASHINGTON STREET.
1857.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
SHEPAKD, CLARK AND CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
HOBART 4 BOBBINS,
r HMUXD rm AXD mmwrm mnron,
BOSTON.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Glenwood. The Gregga, 9
CHAPTER II.
Joseph Gregg, Esq. Polly Haggett, 17
CHAPTER III.
Jimmey Penly. The Unkind Father. Stolen Interviews. Fatal Disas-
ter, .30
CHAPTER IV.
Cautious Whisperings. Glonwood Charitable Society. The Sinning One
driven from Home. The Storm, 40
CHAPTER V.
Tho Fallen not to be Forgiven. How Secrets are kept. Ghosts and Gob-
lins. The Haunted House. The Broken-hearted Outcast, 53
CHAPTER VI.
Deacon Glubbings and Wife. Selling the Support of Paupers. Polly Hag-
gett still seeking for the Prize, 65
2063520
IV CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VII.
The Wanderer. Lodging in a Barn. The Little Wymans. Delicious Re-
past, 73
CHAPTER VIII.
Lost in the Woods. Finds Shelter. Moll Hadley. Robbery. A Night of
Horror. The Kind-hearted Children again. Their Home. The Outcast
is welcomed, 82
CHAPTER IX.
Mr. and Mrs. Wyman. Sickness. Darkest before the Day. New House-
hold Treasure. Short-lived Joy. The Gathered Bud given to Stran-
gers, 105
CHAPTER X.
The Cunards move to the West. Ill-fortune. Return. Willie Cunard.
Death. Willie a Pauper. Glenwood buys a Poor-Farm, 115
CHAPTER XI.
Illusions of the Invalid. Morning has come. Pleasures and Duties of a
good Home. Sickness and Death at the Cottage, 123
CHAPTER XII.
The Bumpus Family. Complaints of the Paupers. Mr. Gregg visits the
Alms-house. Mrs. Gunimede. Willie's Troubles, 136
CHAPTER XIII.
Mr. Zebulon Bugbee makes his Maiden Speech in Glenwood. Betsey Slusher
left a Widow. Loss of Property and Marriage of Mr. Gregg. Polly Hag-
gett in Despair. Gets better, 1 50
CONTENTS. V
CHAPTER XIV.
Good-natured Conversation. A New Way of Smiling. Mr. Gregg apjointed
Poor-master. Bugbee purchases Tea for Mrs. Gunimede. Censures the
Town for Meanness, 159
CHAPTER XV.
Sending to a Clergyman for Brandy. Hector's Appetite. Coat of many Col-
ors. Speech on the Tariff. In Love with Arabella Mehitable. A New
Kind of Check. Laughable Joke, 169
CHAPTER XVI.
The Poor-house Boy. The New School-teacher. Her Experience with Willie.
The Triumph of Goodness, 178
CHAPTER XVII.
Poor-house Fare. Jeannie's Boarding-mistress puzzled. An Affecting Story.
Its Results. Plan for Escape, 196
CHAPTER XVIII.
Hidden Treasure Discovered. Punishment of the Suspected Culprit. Wil-
lie's Escape. Wanderings. Is cared for by Strangers, 207
CHAPTER XIX.
The Kindness of the Penlys. Willie in a New Suit. Goes to Yamford Hia
Reception by the Wymans, 222
CHAPTER XX.
The Surprise of Mr. Gregg. Mrs. Betsey in a Passion. Fruitless Search for
the Culprit. Talk and Feelings of the People. A Steeple-chase not after
the Usual Style. Hector runs away. Is brought back. Mr. Gregg not
Happy. Remorse. Hector in Search of a Wife, 239
1*
VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXI.
Ill-fortune of the Pendwicks and Bumfords. A Farce, in which a Deacon plays
the Principal Character, 252
CHAPTER XXII.
Happier Days for Willie. A New Sorrow. Return of Mr. Volens. The
Desired Information obtained, 271
CHAPTER XXIII.
Willie is told who were his Parents. Visits his Mother's Grave. Beauty of
True Piety. Death of the Good, 279
CHAPTER XXIV.
Visit of the Lunds. Willie's Thoughts in Relation to Jeannie. Betrothal.
Marriage. The Grief of Willie. Mysterious Disappearance. Jeannie's
Wedding. New Sources of Happiness, 286
CHAPTER XXV.
Why Willie left so Mysteriously. His Journey. Finds a Home with the
Penlys, 294
CHAPTER XXVI.
Reconciliation. Writes to the Wymans. Improvements on the Farm. New
Business, 303
CHAPTER XXVII.
Mrs. Luni in Affliction. Meeting of Old Friends. The Treatment due
to All, 311
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Waldo Lund. The Drooping Spirits of the Invalid revive, 324
CONTENTS. . VH
CHAPTER XXIX.
A Walk bj the Brook. A Child's Prayer. Happy Thoughts, 332
CHAPTER XXX.
The Poor-house. Hector's Religion. Sickness and Rebellion among the Pau-
pers. Polly Haggett in Luck. She starts on her Bridal Journey, . .337
CHAPTER XXXI.
Putting Things to Rights. A Ride. Old Times. A Child's Thoughts, . 346
CHAPTER XXXII.
At Church. The Young Critic. Among Old Friends. Supplies his Sub-
scribers. With the Penlys again. Returns Home, 357
CHAPTER XXXIII.
An Irish Cook. An Old Friend. A Child's Frankness. Waldo's Thoughts
and Wishes, and his Mother's Fears, 370
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A Visit from Mr. Penly. Marriage of Hattie. A Happy Home. A Splen-
did Spectacle, 380
CHAPTER XXXV.
Miss Whiting's Story. The Early Marriage of her Mother. Loss of her
Husband. Marries again. Capt. Clinton Shipwrecked. Is made a
Slave. After Eight Years' Captivity is Ransomed. Returns Home. A
Thrilling Scene. Reunion, 388
/
CHAPTER XXXVI.
The Proposal. Reasons for Hope, 400
VHI . CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Illness of Waldo. " We are but Two, Mamma ! " 406
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The Bereaved Mother. True hearted Devotion. The Reward of Faithful
Lore, . 412
CHAPTER XXXIX.
The Crowning Event. Sale of the Farm in Stetson. Purchase of the Gregg
Farm. At their New Home. Mr. Bugbee in a Passion expresses his Opin-
ion. Marriage of Miss Whiting. Mother and Child meet again. Capt.
Clinton removes to Glenwood. Home and Happiness, . . . . . .417
CHAPTER I.
^^ GLENWOOD. THE GREGGS.
THE vilfage of Glenwood (which we are about to describe,
and in which were enacted many of the scenes the reader
will find in this book) lies in a pleasant valley in one of the
New England States, at the base of a high hill, dignified by
the inhabitants with the name of mountain. Near by is a
beautiful sheet of water, bordered with flowers and green
and red shrubbery, giving it a unique and picturesque appear-
ance, and making it, in all its aspects, one of the most charm-
ing inland lakes that the eye ever beheld. Into this lake
the high hill casts its shadow ; and bright-eyed children,
when they behold it, clap their hands, and call it the looking
glass of the mountain.
The hill or mountain is covered with tall pines, which
were green and large a long time ago. They are thrifty still,
and at night, when the moon shines and the winds blow,
they wave to and fro in the blast, and reflect a large and
magical bridge into the shining lake.
The green hill has ever been a famous resort for the people
of Glenwood. Persons with lively imagination, and strong,
bold heart, delighted to wander there by night; while the timid
preferred to remain at home, for the moving shadows awoke
their fears, aid filled their souls with gloom. To the former
10 GLEN WOOD.
it was as gratifying as fairy books for children ; those dark
forms towering far up into the heavens were the giants they
had read of in their childhood ; and when the soft evening
air gently moved the tree-tops, and caused a slight murmur
or rustle as it played among the highest branches, they fan-
cied the giants were bowing their heads and whispering great
secrets, or that they were lovers saluting each other with
warm kisses, or pouring honeyed words into greedy ears.
Again, when the great winds swept through those mighty
trees with continuous roar, alternating with shrieks and
moans, the giants were angry, and they were uttering terri-
ble threats to some neighboring giants, or they were waging
v !i fierce quarrel among themselves. And children, when they
passed near the mountain in the evening, would move with a
light, quick step, for they fancied they "saw men as trees
walking," and heard strange, mysterious whisperings come
down from the dark, tall trees. But in the day-time such
fears troubled them not ; for it was the delight of old and
young, when the sun was sinking, to repair to the lovely
green slope on the south side, and lie down in the cool shade,
or sit and read or relate laughable stories, while lovers walked
apart, uttering thoughts which were too sacred for any to
listen to but themselves. Here were the children happy ;
sheltered from the burning sun, they ran and gambolled, and
boys and girls rolled down the hill-side, upon the earth's
clean, green carpet, one after the other, in an ecstasy of fun
and frolic, shouting in the fulness of their glee.
In the clear silver lake the people caught fishes, the boys
bathed, and gathered the milk-white lilies, whose long stems
were as graceful as the flowers were beautiful.
The hill and lake were the pride of the people of Glen-
GLENWOOD. 11
wood, and it was an unwritten law among them that no
more trees should be cut upon the mountain, the land should
not be ploughed upon the south side, and the lake should be
kept clean near its borders, and fishes should be caught only
at stated periods.
Glenwood has respectable pretensions in the way of import-
ance, because of size. Its location is healthy and attractive,
the streets are well laid out, the architecture of the buildings
is unusually good, and the yards and gardens are arranged
with commendable taste. Twenty-five years have wrought
little change, although there have been some additions and
improvements. A majority of the people were then wealthy
farmers, and they are so to this day. There is, however, a
commendable amount of mechanical business done here.
There is a manufactory for sleighs, and another of oil-cloths,
and another for various kinds of wooden-ware, nutmegs and
cucumber-seeds not included, those articles of commerce and
art belonging exclusively, we believe, to the land of " steady
habits." There is also an organ manufactory. These dif-
ferent kinds of mechanical business give employment to a
large number of men and boys, and have brought into the
village some original characters, which I may have occasion
by and by to introduce to the reader.
Many virtues had the people of Glenwood, though it must
be confessed that in some respects they were sadly deficient.
The majority labored diligently during the week, attended
church on the Sabbath, were honest in their dealings as the
world goes, but sharp at a bargain. Pecadilloes were winked
at; arid, though the prodigal son was freely forgiven, espe-
cially by the gentler sex, the young woman who had sacri-
ficed her virgin purity, even though she had but once sinned,
12 GLENWOOD.
was never forgiven ; men and women united to pour out
their vials of contempt upon the poor offending one, forget-
ting that not a stone would have been cast at the fallen child
if they had remembered their own infirmities, and thereby
learned that they too were sinners. Alas ! that the erring
should ever be made to feel that there is no forgiveness and
no restoration for them. When there is a frown on every
face, to whom shall the fallen go for help ? To Jesus, say
you ? It is well. All the sinful may look to heaven with
hope. But we must remember that these bodies of ours re-
quire shelter, clothes, and food; and, guilty as we may become,
we do not relish the being closed from the circle of friendship
and sympathy ; and the poor soul needs to be encouraged by
loving hearts to rely on the Lord for pardon.
The poor and unfortunate in Glenwood were not entirely
overlooked. The pauper was provided with a home so the
people generally supposed, and in a certain sense the sup-
position was correct. But what right have people to be
poor ? "If they will throw themselves upon the town, why,
then," as Mr. Blossom, of Glenwood, said, "they must ex-
pect to be taken care of as cheaply as common decency will
allow." And certainly Mr. Blossom was a reasonable man,
and a charitable man withal ; at least, he was so regarded by
many of his townsmen.
The people of Glenwood were a church-going people ; and,
twenty-five years since, there were three meeting-houses, all
well filled on fair Sundays, and now there are four. The
minister's salary is promptly paid, and donation-parties are
frequent and largely attended. At such times the clergyman's
house is well stored with provisions, and various articles of
clothing for the cold winter.
QLENWOOD. 13
By this time I think the reader is pretty well acquainted
with the people of Glenwood ; at least, as much so as he will
care to be for the present. A more intimate acquaintance
is only desirable as we progress with our story.
In a large, elegant house on the east side of the village, a
few rods from the lake, lived Joseph Gregg, a farmer, and a
manufacturer of sleighs. At the time our story commences,
he owned three hundred acres of good land, the most of it
being under cultivation. In his factory he employed twenty
men, and later a dozen more in making organs. Mr. Gregg
prided himself on his business tact, and in fact there were
not many things which, in his estimation, he could not do
as well as anybody else. He was a self-conceited man, and
took great pride in differing from other people, especially in
religion ; and he often boasted that all three of the clergy-
men in town had been " floored " by him in an argument on
Scripture and reason. In his religious creed he was liberal
in the extreme ; but his faith seemed only to play round hia
head, without once touching his heart. The former was
warm and benevolent in all its aspects ; the latter, cold and
hard.
Mr. Gregg's family consisted of himself, one son, two
daughters, and a housekeeper. Thomas Gregg, the son, was
the eldest child ; Fanny was the next eldest, being two years
younger ; and Delia, the remaining sister, was four years
younger than Fanny. The name of the housekeeper was
Mary Haggett ; she was called Polly Haggett. She had
been, so it was currently reported, quite a belle in her younger
days, and refused, in not a very lady-like way, many advan-
tageous offers, and one from an excellent young man, whom
she felt she could love devotedly if he were only rich. But,
14 GLENWOOD.
alas ! her beauty had now faded ; all her teeth were gone
but two, so that her cheeks had met with a collapse ; and on
her forehead time, or disappointment, or hopes long deferred,
had ploughed many and deep furrows ; and under her eyes
the crow-tracks were so intermingled and innumerable, that
you felt she was now
'An antiquated maid."
There was one feature upon which she still prided herself,
and she had a right to do so. Though more than forty
years had passed over her head, her hair was long, thick,
wavy, and of a beautiful brown, soft and glossy as silk.
Many a damsel of sweet sixteen envied the old maid her
lovely looks.
Mrs. Gregg died when Delia was two years old. Seldom
is there seen a more interesting child than was this little
dark-eyed one, left without a mother at that tender age.
Mrs. Gregg was entirely unlike her husband, differing with
him in his religious views, believing in a sterner creed. yet
was she gentle, loving, and faithful, in all things. Mr. Gregg
believed that woman was far inferior to man ; and he was
continually prating about "silly women," how easily they
were "gulled" by the clergy, and made to believe the most
foolish and inconsistent things. When he married, he pro-
fessed the same faith with his wife, and argued stoutly in its
defence ; in fact, was a member of the church ; and when he
changed, he fretted her continually because she did not change
also. " Women's 'rights " were an abomination in his sight ;
and he seemed to think that it was the duty of the wife to
deliver up her conscience, her mind, her faith, and heart, into
GLENWOOD. 16
the keeping of her husband. If the two were made one, it
was by sinking her identity utterly.
It may easily be surmised what would be the result of
linking the earthly destiny of a pure-hearted, high-minded
woman with such a man. Mrs. Gregg tried hard to please,
but seldom succeeded. She was continually censured,
charged with neglect of duty when rnqst faithful ; accused
of nervousness and feigning sickness, when she should have
met with sympathy. She wished that she might become so
accustomed to this treatment, and hardened, that it would no
longer cause her such cruel suffering. But it would not do ;
her nature was too pure, her temperament too nervous and
exquisite ; and so she lived only to be mortified, to suffer
the keejiest disappointment and anguish, until her warm
heart beat out its life. One bright autumn day, when the
sun was low in the heavens, she gathered her young children
around her, pressed them to her bosom, and then in strong
faith entered the valley of shadows. Mr. Gregg was away
when the weary one went home, and he wept much when he
returned ; but he did not doubt that, in the main, he had been
a most exemplary husband.
Polly Haggett, who was now dependent upon her own
labors for a livelihood, was immediately installed as house-
keeper. Little Delia had the blackest eyes, the loveliest
mouth, and the most winning expression. Her face was round
and fair, and her elfin locks, and a wayward, nameless grace
in all her movements, made her most bewitching. Her
father loved her dearly ; at one time being over-indulgent, at
another exacting and severe. His management of the other
children was after the same model ; but he showed the most
affection for Delia ; she was his pet ; and, though frequently
16 GLEN WOOD.
harsh and unkind to her, yet in his eye she was the most
perfect of children. He would often say, in an exultant man-
ner, " Delia has my blood in her ! You may see it in the
glance of her eye, in her proud step." He was right; the
bright little thing had his blood, but then it did not make
her more noble or pure. That it gave her some energy of
character is possible.; but her beauty, virtues, and winning
graces, she inherited from her sainted mother.
CHAPTER II.
JOSEPH GREGG, ESQ. POLLY HAGGETT.
THE evening of the day that Polly Haggett was installed
as housekeeper at Mr. Gregg's, these two respectable par-
ties occupied the sitting-room alone. The latter had sat
very stiffly for a half-hour, reading the weekly paper ; but
he now laid it aside, and entered without delay upon the
important matter uppermost in his thoughts.
"Hem! I understand," said Mr. Gregg, "that there
is nothing to prevent your being my housekeeper as long as
is desirable, Miss Haggett."
"Not anything that I know of for the present," she
replied.
" For the present ?" emphasizing the last word. "If there
is anything in the future, anything not of the present, I
should like to be informed in relation thereto."
This stiff, dignified way of saying little things, which is
so much in vogue with little great men, constituting, in fact,
all the claim they have to greatness, somewhat disconcerted
Miss Haggett, who was usually as affected as Mr. Gregg
was dignified. She therefore sat in silence, trying to form
an answer ; and it was just as well that she did not imme-
diately speak, for Mr. Gregg was extremely fond of hearing
himself talk, and he thought that others were even better
2*
18 GLBNWOOD.
pleased, than he. In public meetings, if people became so
weary of his long, drawn-out harangues, consisting of words
divorced from ideas long before the flood, with no probability
of a reunion this side of eternity, that one half left the house,
he would think that, if he had not been speaking, they would
have all gone, or a portion of the audience were so obtuse
that they could not comprehend him.
"You of course understand me?" he said. "I know
nothing of your future prospects. It is possible that you
are engaged to be married."
" ! no," said Miss Haggett, in some alarm, wondering
if Mr. Gregg was about to propose. " I assure you, sir,
nothing of the kind. I have no such thoughts the day-
dreams of youth are fleeting, you know."
" Yes, they are so ; nothing is lasting in this changing
world but mind, and that shall continue when the rock
in in in the water shall have been moved from its
strong foundations. I am extremely glad to hear that your
future is like your present, Miss Haggett, not appropriated ;
because I wish to have things in my house permanent."
" Per permanent did you say, sir ? "
" To a certain degree, Miss Haggett. I wish to be assured
that the one who occupies the important and responsible
mind, I say responsible position of having the charge of my
house and children, shall continue in that important and re-
sponsible position for many years. Are you willing, Miss
Haggett, to occupy that position? "
" Yes, sir, I will do the best I can to please you."
" It is well, for no one can do better than his best. Posi-
tive good, comparative better, superlative best the latter
is all I require ; and the reasonableness of this requirement
GLENWOOD. 19
should induce you to enter my service with hopes of suc-
cess. In my note to you I mentioned the sum which I was
willing to make over to you per week, for the responsibility
which you now enter upon. Is that satisfactory?"
" I think it will do ; but, should I require more "
" Should you require more ! Why, you cannot require
more. The stipulated sum will clothe you well, and find you
in spending-money. However, I do not wish to be parsimo-
nious ; and, if I am pleased with you, I will give you even
more than I had intended."
" Thank you, sir."
" Your name is Polly, I understand? "
" Mary is my name, sir, but I am sometimes called Polly,
though in my brighter days I was always called Miss
Haggett."
" Never mind if you were ; I like the name Polly best. It
is the right sort of a name for a domestic ; and hereafter I
shall call you Polly, and the children will call you nothing
else but Polly." After a pause,
" My children, Polly, are in a measure committed to
your care ; and I want you to be decided with them, but not
severe, and don't spoil them with kisses and caresses. Mrs.
Gregg was in some respects a woman of sense ; but she lacked
my judgment, and then she was always hugging and kiss-
ing her offspring when she should have been teaching them
dignity by example, and womanly hem womanly bear-
ing. This you will remember, and govern yourself in accord-
ance thereto. Other things, in relation to the general and
particular management of household affairs, will be con-
sidered hereafter; and until then let the theme remain as
though it had not been. Good-night, Polly."
20 GLENWOOD.
"Good-night, sir," she replied, and retired to think about
her responsible position, and whether she should ever succeed
in entrapping the dignified Mr. Gregg, so that she could be
the mistress of the house in reality.
After she had laid her head upon the pillow, she turned
the subject over and over in her mind, and queried how the
thing could be done. Mr. Gregg was all she could desire ;
wealthy, and more than a common person, or he could not
talk as she supposed all the great men did, with so much
dignity, and conscious, lofty bearing. And was not Polly
(for, in deference to the superior wisdom of Mr. Gregg, you
and I, reader, will call her Polly too) and was not Polly
right in supposing that Mr. Gregg was something more than
ordimry ? Don't mothers and daughters everywhere think
very highly of a man, if his bearing be lofty, and if he seems
very intellectual, and says trite things as though every word
weighed a pound, as has been said of the stout Saxon words of
Daniel Webster ? And don't men sometimes sit with open
mouths if a public speaker shall only appear to be uttering
great thoughts ? Do not, I beg of you, be too prodigal in
your compassion for the weakness and want of discernment in
Polly Haggett ; for the sound is not unfrequently taken for
the substance, and many men do an extensive business on an
amazingly small capital. And, then, if a man be wealthy, or
a young woman have wealthy parents, why, they are sensible
people they are genteel people they belong to the ton;
and the pompous speeches of the former, and witless sayings
and exceedingly small talk of the latter, are swallowed with
keen relish, and digested, too, as though dyspepsia had never
been heard of. It is very possible that the same things
from some people might produce nausea ; but they must not
GLEN WOOD. 21
be fashionable people, for that would be decidedly out of
character.
Polly Haggett resolved, that night, that she would not
always be Polly Haggett. To be Mrs. Mary Gregg was
now the height of her ambition. There was one great de-
fect, which must be remedied as soon as possible she must
have a new set of teeth. As soon as she could save a suffi-
cient sum, she would go to Boston, and be no longer " sans
teeth." But it would require quite a large amount; and, as
she received. only one dollar and fifty cents a week for her
services, she must be very economical, or it would never be
obtained. With these thoughts in her mind, Polly fell
asleep, and dreamed all night of Mr. Gregg, his offer, and
her acceptance, the renewing of her youth, the honors
which she now received, and the blessedness of married
life.
When she awoke the next morning, it was hard to per-
suade herself that it was all a dream. But, then, Polly
believed in dreams ; and, as she discarded the common saying,
that dreams always go by contraries, she arose in a cheer-
ful, hopeful mood, with a lighter heart than for many years
before.
Little Delia, as young as she was, seemed to comprehend,
in a measure, the loss she had met Avith : for it was long
before she could be made, by the most tender treatment, to
be the glad-hearted, laughing child she had been before.
So often was she found weeping, that her dignified father
did not interpose his opinion and authority when Polly
pressed her lovingly to her bosom, and kissed away her
tears. But childhood griefs are not usually of long dura-
tion, and Delia's sorrows were in due time forgotten. Then
22 QLENWOOD.
it was that Polly became more stern in her bearing ; for,
although she had a warm heart, and loved to fondle little
children, yet, as she had a great object in view, she wished
to please Mr. Gregg, and conduct herself as nearly in ac-
cordance with his views as possible. Being so submissive,
always yielding to his superior wisdom, she succeeded in
pleasing him well, and he declared that she was the pattern
of a housekeeper. The children grew up under her charge
and their father's, not truly loving either, for the latter was
often harsh and unjust, and was never willing that they
should act like children ; he wanted them little men and
women ; and Polly dared not manifest that love which chil-
dren require from those who stand in the place of parents ;
and then they were always taught by their father to regard
her as an inferior being, one whom they must obey, to be
sure, because it was for their welfare that they should.
When two years had passed, Polly, having saved the sum
desired, made a journey to Boston, and procured the long-cov-
eted teeth. It really did make a wonderful .difference in her
manner of speaking. Her cheeks were no longer so awfully
sunken, and, as soon as she became accustomed to the new
additions to her mouth, she ceased talking like an old
woman of seventy, and the full tones, long lost, seemed to
come back aa by magic.
After she returned from the metropolis, she spent the
evening with Mr. Gregg, who did not notice the difference ;
but the next morning, at breakfast, Delia espied the new
teeth, when she suddenly screamed out, clapping her hands,
"Just see Polly's mouth! It is chock full of white
teeth."
Mr. Gregg looked with surprise, and Polly blushed, and
GLENWOOD. 28
was extremely confused. The former frowned reprovingly
upon Delia, and she did not venture to say more.
In the evening, when the children had retired, Mr. Gregg
thought it his duty, as the responsible head of the family,
to inquire into the matter. He expressed his surprise that
she should have taken such a step without consulting him,
when he had so much wisdom and experience ; doubted the
propriety of expending so large a sum for false teeth, when
she would so much need it in her old age ; thought that so
many teeth a whole mouthful were entirely superfluous.
Polly justified herself on the ground that she could not
masticate the hearty food which her system required without
teeth ; that the children would hear her talk every day, and
it was requisite for their good that she should be able to
pronounce her words well ; and it must be more agreeable to
himself to have her converse with round, full tones, rather
than like a very old lady.
Mr. Gregg could not gainsay Polly's reasons, and so ac-
knowledged that the step which she had seen fit to take
without consulting him "in relation thereto," was, upon the
whole, a wise step. The latter consideration, however, was
more weighty in his mind than the former. He told her that
she could have done very well so far as her food was con-
cerned, for she had for many years ; but it was requisite that
she should pronounce her words correctly, for the children,
especially the youngest, would listen to her conversation
more than thut of any other person, and he wanted them all
to speak worthy of their origin. He believed that, if they
could learn to converse from him alone, they never would
need to study grammar at all, for they would speak all their
words with the most perfect propriety. Mr.*Grogg would
24 GLENWOOD.
not censure Polly for the " very responsible and important
step " she had taken without asking his advice, but hoped that
hereafter she would consult him in matters of serious import,
for he wished to be of service to the " humblest and most
insignificant."
Polly replied by saying that she did not doubt it at all,
for his " kind heart " would not allow him to do otherwise,
wondering all the while what he really meant by ' ' humblest
and most insignificant." "If I thought he had reference
to me," she said to herself, " I would not stay here another
day ; no not another day ! "
Under the guidance of these two wise beings, the three
children grew up. Thomas, at twenty-one, was nearly as con-
ceited and dignified as his father ; Fanny, as superficial and
affected as the old maid who had the care of her ; while
Delia remained as artless and wayward as when a little child.
At sixteen she was a very beautiful girl, of medium height,
erect and well-formed, with a handsome face, hair as black
as the raven's wings, and dark, brilliant eyes, shaded by long,
silken lashes. Her father had sought earnestly to make her
dignified and womanly, as he called it ; and Polly endeavored
to teach her the required "female accomplishments," which
consisted in part, at least, of affectation, and talking wisely
about nothing; but all would not do she was the same un-
sophisticated child, full of vivacity, fun, and frolic, and in
her bosom was a world of warm-hearted love.
All this time had Polly waited, hoping to be made a
happy wife, but waited in vain She was now quite old,
but what with her false teeth, and the new hope which had
sprung up within her heart, she looked younger and fairer
than she did when she first entered the home of the Greggs.
GLENWOOD. 25
She had taken every precaution to make herself necessary
to the comfort of Mr. Gregg. She consulted his wishes
in all things ; prepared the kinds of food which he preferred,
took the nicest care of his wardrobe, and kept the house
scrupulously neat. At night, when he returned home, his
arm-chair was always drawn up by the fire, and his slippers
ready to put on.
Sometimes Mr. Gregg would say to himself, " She would
make a good wife ; but, pooh ! shall a Gregg marry a mere
servant ? As soon as I have time, I shall look me up such
a wife as I require."
Polly, though beginning to despair, occasionally intimated
her wishes by guarded hints ; but all would not do, and so
she resolved to try the effect of stratagem. She knew that
whenever she left home for a visit of a day or two, Mr.
Gregg was very impatient for her return. She was aware
that he meant to seek a wife before he was much oldef. She
did not intend to remain one moment after a new mistress
should enter the house ; and she felt that, if she must de-
part, it would be as well to take time by the forelock. Hav-
ing so determined, she informed Mr. Gregg that he must
procure another housekeeper, for she should remain but one
month longer. Remonstrances were all in vain, and Mr.
Gregg was obliged to secure the services of some one in
Polly's place. The latter returned to her old home, where
lived a widowed sister, hoping that she might not be allowed
to remain long.
The new housekeeper was duly installed at Mr. Gregg's ;
but trouble and conflict soon followed. She was an old
servant, and had a way of her own, being very sure that
it was the rujht way; and aa for Mr. Gregg, what did
3
26 GLENWOOD.
he know about housekeeping ? She would not be dictated
to, especially by a man, who was meddling with what he
knew nothing about; and so they soon came to an open
rupture, and she left. A second and third were procured
with similar results, and Mr. Gregg learned that his peace-
ful home, where he had always had his own way in all things
had sadly changed. In this extremity his thoughts turned
to Polly, the faithful and obedient Polly, and he re
solved to try the magic effect of larger pay.
Polly was not much surprised when she saw him coming,
for she had expected him before now, though, when two
months had passed away, she began to doubt, and to wish that
she had remained, for she knew that she must soon seek an-
other place ; and, then, would she not be more sure of winning
the prize to be on the ground, rather than many miles dis-
tant ? She concluded that she had acted very foolishly, and
that s&e had better return, should the opportunity occur.
The greeting which Mr. Gregg now gave her was much
warmer than it ever had been before ; and this nattered the
simple Polly not a little, and wonderfully brightened her
hopes. She was not sorry to see that he looked more care-
worn and irritable than usual, for she desired him to feel
how essential she was to his happiness.
" I am glad to see you," he said, " very glad to see you.
The fact is, Polly, you have been an inmate of my house so
long, that it seems odd not to see you there. I have missed
you every day; yes, I can say, with truth, every day."
" You are very complimentary, Mr. Gregg."
"It is the simple truth, Polly, I honestly assure you.
I '11 tell you how it is. Since you left us, things don't go
right at all; no, not at all, Polly."
GLENWOOD. 27
" What is the trouble, Mr. Gregg? "
" 0, a great many things. I don't know how it is, but
the domestics, nowadays, yourself excepted, Polly, are just
good for nothing. The saucy, impudent things ! they don't
know their place, not one of them no, not one of them !
Why, they an't willing a man should be master in his own
house they must have their say, the husseys ! I have had
three eince you left us, and they were all of the same cloth ;
and I. have been kept in a flurry all the time no peace in
the house. Ten thousand furies ! If my temper was not
angelic, I don't know what I might have been left to do,
the saucy things actually withstood me to my face ! ' '
" Is it possible? I never ! Who would have thought
it, Mr. Gregg ? Did they dare to oppose your wishes
to disobey your instructions ? "
" They did, indeed ! I, Joseph Gregg, Esq., was told by
them that I had no business to interfere with the work in
the house that my place was in the shop or on the farm."
" I am astonished more and more. And you have such
a perfect idea of how the work should be done, and you
give your directions so calmly and pleasantly, that it makes
it all the easier ; and then one learns a good deal from such
wise heads."
" Very true. That is what I always told Mrs. Gregg.
You are a sensible person, Polly."
" Do you think so truly, Mr. Gregg? I am afraid you
are only flattering a simple girl."
" I speak the truth, on the honor of a Gregg, Polly ;
and I'll prove it to you."
" You are kind, indeed you are ; and I am very grateful,
for I think your opinion worth a good deal."
28 QLENWOOD.
" I flatter myself that it is. You lived with me some
years, Polly, and we never had the least trouble."
" To be sure not ; how could we, when both wanted to do
right?"
" That proves that you are sensible, Polly. If you had
been as senseless as your successors, we should have quar-
relled hem shortly."
" I don't think that we should quarrel, if we shouW live
together all our days ; do you, Mr. Gregg ? "
" By no means. I wish that it might be so."
" You do," Mr. Gregg ? You are very kind you wish
" Yes, Polly, contingencies excepted."
" If I could be have a home with you as long as I live,
and and you would like me always very much, I wouldn't
mind if I went back with you."
" We know not what the future has in store for us ; we
know little in relation thereto; and therefore I cannot
promise. But I want you to return to your old place, and
I will give you two dollars a week."
"I do not care so much about the money ; but it is so
hard always to be a mere servant ; one wishes to be some-
thing better, some time."
" And I am sure that a woman of your sense need not
despair of being something better, in due season, Polly ;
at least, I hope so. But, then, it isn't a small thing to be the
domestic of a Gregg ; it is an honor, Polly."
" Well, I should not like to keep house for everybody, I
am sure ; but, then, I should like to keep house for myself a
good deal better than for the best man that ever was."
" You are not to be blamed for that, Polly ; but we can-
GLBNWOOD. 29
not always do as we would, and so we must do the best that
we can."
" That's very true, I am sure," said Polly, her bright
hopes growing a little dim.
"Well, Polly, will you go with me? Thomas, Fanny,
and Delia, are expecting you, and I hope you will not dis-
appoint them."
" The dear children ! Well, then, I will go, for I feel it
a duty ; and, Mr. Gregg," and she gave him, as she thought,
one of her most killing glances, " I do so like to live where
you are, for for I learn so much by hearing you talk and
explain a good many mysterious things ; ' ' and she immedi-
ately packed up her clothing, and went home with Mr.
Gregg. Though hoping that she should go as a wife, she
was obliged to resume the position of a domestic ; but, then,
Mr. Gregg had expressed a wish that they might live
together all their days, and that meant much ; and so she
resolved to wait patiently until he should offer his heart
and hand, which she so much coveted. She would be more
faithful than ever, and he should more distinctly feel than
ever how essential she was to his happiness.
3*
CHAPTER III.
JIlOfEY PENLY. THE UNKIND FATHER. STOtEN INTERVIEWS. TATA*
DISASTER.
IN a cottage on the opposite side of the village from the
house of Mr. Gregg lived the Widow Penly, whose only
companion was a little boy, her son, James Penly, famil-
iarly known as Jimmey. Mrs. Penly had been left a widow
when thirty years of age, without property, and with a child
but a few weeks old. She was naturally of feeble health,
and difficult was the struggle to keep hunger and cold from
her door. She took in sewing, went out to wash for the
neighbors, and in various ways respectably maintained her-
self and child. The clothing of both was composed of
cheap materials, but it was cut and made with taste, and
kept so clean that their garments never looked mean ; and
so Jimmey stood as high among his playmates as other chil-
dren. The cottage was poorly furnished, and the food very
simple; but everything was so neatly arranged that each
. room had a comfortable and home-like aspect, and the scan-
tily-furnished table was not without its attractions. Jimmey
Penly was two years older than Delia Gregg, and when the
latter was four and the former six they met for the first
time on the green slope of the mountain. There was a
gathering of children on the occasion, and they had a right
QLENWOOD. 81
merry time of it. Some of the old fathers of the town,
fresh and vigorous, sitting quietly in the shade, smoking
their pipes, beheld the happy children, and heartily entered
into their sports, thus living over again, in imagination,
their own boyhood days.
As is not unfrequently the case with little children, Jim-
mey and Delia seemed to form an instinctive attachment.
As this beautiful pair, the one with blue eyes and the other
with black eyes, stood, that afternoon, in the shadow of the
tall trees, hand in hand, who would have prophesied that
the sunlight of the one should suddenly be extinguished,
casting a dark shadow upon the other ? Our little friends
were as playful and wild as the wildest of the troop ; but
now and then they would stop and look into each other's
faces, as though a magic spell drew them together.
After this, they met frequently, sometimes on the green
slope, or at the homes of the other children. Their attach-
ment grew, and strengthened with their growth. At twelve
and fourteen they attended the same singing-school, and
Jimmey always waited upon Delia home ; so that the young
boys and girls were all convinced that they were thus early
engaged, and would, in due time, be married. Strange aa
it may appear, their first meeting was the dawn of love,
and they ever seemed to feel that they belonged to each
other. Frequent were the times that Jimmey went to the
lake, and, taking a pole, reached out among the lilies, and
wound round it the long, graceful stems, drawing in many
a prize of the white, sweet flowers to present to his lovely
little Delia. In early spring he would carry to her the gay
lilac, and in June the roses. All these delicate gifts wero
welcomed ; and whole weeks would she preserve them in
32 GLENWOOD.
her room, and, while she would gaze in delight upon them,
she would think of the giver ; and then her little heart beat
wildly with joy, and she would pray that Jimmey's love and
her own might be as pure and sweet as the flowers, but not
so frail. When Jimmey was fourteen, he would take a
light skiff and row out on the lake, and search after the
largest and whitest flowers that reposed so lovingly upon
the swelling bosom of the waters; for, to his mind, Delia
was worthy of the most beautiful. When Jimmey was old
enough, as the school was in session only six months of
the year, he was employed the remainder of the time by
the neighboring farmers to aid in planting, haying, and
gathering in the harvest. In this way he procured potatoes
and corn, butter and cheese, and other home necessaries,
and sometimes a few dollars to purchase clothing. But he
always returned at night ; for he was the joy of his poor
mother, and the light of her home. With the great love of
a mother, in all its purity and intensity, did she regard her
Jimmey ; and dearly he loved her in return, and prayed to
heaven that he might be always faithful to his most devoted
parent.
When he was sixteen, Mr. Gregg employed him in his
sleigh factory, promising to teach him to manufacture or-
gans, in due time, if he manifested a mechanical genius.
Some of the workmen now remarked that Delia came
into the shop more frequently than she had previously done.
But she was so fresh and artless, they did not, in the least,
regret it. Mr. Gregg was so engrossed in farming, and
other business, that he did not notice it; neither had he
ever been aware of the attachment which had sprung up
between his daughter and the poor widow's son. In fact
QLENWOOD. 33
he was too dignified and egotistical to have his attention
called to such trifling things.
It, however, reached him at last; and then, to use hia
own words, he was " indignantly angry at the bare idea."
He went home and privately charged Delia with what in
his eyes was a grievous sin. She could not deny it. Ter-
rible, to a young, sensitive girl, was the torrent of wrath
which he poured out upon her.
"A mere beggar," he said; "and you, silly, foolish girl,
think yourself in love ! And you would marry ? Do you
think he can support you ? Can he furnish you silks and
satins, and clothe you like a lady, as I do ? Can he pro-
vide a house for you to live in such as a gentleman's daugh-
ter requires, or would you go and live in the miserable hovel
with his mother ? Let him take care of her, and keep her
from the town, and he will find his hands full. As for love,
it is the pastime of fools and silly women. Promise me, this
moment, Delia, that you will never see the pauper again ! "
In the early part of this interview she stood trembling
with fear ; but the offensive epithets of the harangue aroused
her indignation, and she answered, boldly, "He is not a
pauper, sir, and never will be. I love him the more because
of your contempt, and I will not promise."
Mr. Gregg now stamped his foot in a rage, and lifted his
hand to strike her ; but, restraining his passion, he turned
and left her alone, locking the door behind him. At this
period Delia had reached her sixteenth year. Mr. Gregg
sent immediately for Mrs. Penly, and, after pouring upon
her, all defenceless as she was, the bitterness of his heart,
he closed his ungentlemanly tirade by telling her to take
her ungrateful son home with her, and never let him see his
GLENWOOD.
face again. He paid Jimmey his wages and dismissed him,
calling him a beggar and pauper, and commanded him never
to speak to his daughter again. Jimmey, in a passion, asked
him if he had not better marry the old maid who kept his
house for him, for then he might save her wages.
This was a sad blow for Mrs. Penly, for Jimmey was con-
sidered a fine mechanic, and had been at work upon organs
for nearly a year with unusual success. In their own little
cottage he gave full vent to his feelings ; but the loving
voice of his mother soothed the deep wound in his heart, and
exorcised the demon of anger from his breast. She bade
him hold up his head proudly, for honest poverty was noth-
ing to be ashamed of, and hope for more propitious days.
Delia remained in her room, under lock and key, for
three weeks, when her father, feeling that she had too much
of the Gregg element in her to be subdued by such means,
thought it advisable to open her prison-door. No longer
would he keep her locked in her chamber, but under strict
surveillance ; and so Polly Haggett, Thomas, and Fanny,
were commanded to act as her body-guard, that she might
not be exposed to the danger of meeting Jimmey Penly
alone.
If it is true that love laughs at bolts and bars, we might
expect the merry rogue to crack his sides with merriment at
such a guard as that, composed of an affected old maid, a
conceited young man, and a foolish girl. They fancied that
they adopted the wisest precautions ; but were easily out-
witted, for Jimmey and Delia met frequently, or sent letters,
and the spies were none the wiser.
For a variety of reasons, Jimmey did not wish to leave
Glenwood to seek employment elsewhere ; and so lie was
QLENWOOD. 35
under the necessity of engaging in the coarse mechanical
business of manufacturing wooden ware.
Mr. Gregg had abused Jimmey Penly, whom Delia loved
with her whole heart ; he had locked her in her chamber for
three weeks, and had then set a guard over her ; spies con-
tinually dogged her steps, while his bearing towards her was
cold, haughty, and repelling. Such treatment was not fit-
ted to conciliate or subdue a nature like hers, but it filled
her with bitterness. People like Mr. Gregg win but little
love and respect, even from their own children ; and the
course which he now pursued with Delia was fast eradicating
what little there was in her heart. He bade her, on the
pain of his everlasting displeasure, not to speak to her lover ;
and yet she met him whenever she could elude the spies.
And she resolved that she would marry him, as penniless as
he was, whenever he should desire it.
Their favorite place of resort was in the woods upon the
hill-side ; and there they wandered many an evening by
moonlight, or sat lovingly whispering heart-secrets beneath
the tall pines, while Delia's guard supposed her spending the
evening with the daughter of a near neighbor. She had
made this young woman her confidant; and to her house she
always went when she wished for an interview with Jimmey,
or desired to send him a note. Her watch saw her go into
this neighbor's house, and always come from it ; and the
poor simple souls thought, of course, that she went nowhere
else. They forgot that there was a back door which led
into a garden, with a high fence ; and that another door,
locked on the inside, opened into a small grove. In this
grove Jimmey frequently received Delia; and here their
interviews were usually brief, but when they thought it
86 GLENWOOD.
would answer to have a longer conference, she passed
through the grove alone, and they met on the mountain.
This state of things continued until she was nearly eight-
een and he twenty, the guard more and more relaxing their
vigilance. At first their meetings were exceedingly brief,
but by and by whole evenings were spent in a bewitching
spot, with the white moonlight shimmering down through
the tall pines. The lovers sat and watched the various
figures which were thrown upon the earth, and, like little
children, they called it their carpet which the angels had
made for them. Here the long hours stole quickly away,
and the minutes flew with the swiftness of light. Here
were they happy, for every moment was brimming with love
and tenderness.
Alas ! this was not well, and woe the day which turned
their thoughts thitherward ! Alas ! that man should attempt
to break asunder what God has joined ! The circumstances
by which they were surrounded were not propitious, and
better would it .have been if the aspect of the present had
" been brighter, and the future more hopeful. It was not well
that despair should thrust in his forbidding face. They
were too young, loving so ardently, too impetuous, too
much intoxicated with the rapture of their stolen moments !
A few weeks after Jimmey's birth-day, he took his light
skiff and rowed out upon the lake, with his angling appa-
ratus. He engaged in the sport for an hour or more, with
unusual success, when he started on his return. A little
out of his most direct way, he espied an unusually large lily
floating upon the surface of the water as gracefully as a
beautiful swan, and he determined to pluck the treasure for
Delia, for they had agreed to meet that evening. He rowed
GLENWOOD. 87
to the spot, and, while he was drawing in one of his oars, the
boat floated a short distance from the coveted prize, which
caused him to grasp for it so suddenly that he overturned
the boat. The accident was seen from the shore by some
men who had been watching the angler ; they knew him to
be a good swimmer, and they did not doubt that he would
speedily right the boat, or swim to the shore ; but when the
boat tipped, he sprang to save himself, and plunged head-
long into the water, and sunk. When he arose he seemed
bewildered, grasping at the frail lily-pads, a few of which
grew near him ; at last he went down, and rose no more
until the breath had gone, and the blood was cold at the
heart. A boat was immediately procured, and three stout
men despatched in search of the lost one, hoping that he
might be found before life was extinct. A bold swimmer
went down to the bottom of the lake, and found him clinging
to the roots of the lilies. He was quickly brought on shore,
but all efforts to resuscitate him were in vain. A few mo-
ments before so full of vigorous, warm, young life; now stiff,
cold, dead. Alas for his poor widowed mother ! Alas
for his more than widowed Delia !
A terrible shriek was heard when the lifeless body was
carried to the cottage. The stricken mother fell fainting
upon the inanimate form of her son. When she revived,
reason was so terribly shaken that it never again fully re-
sumed its throne. And, when the news reached Delia, she
did not speak, no sound escaped her lips ; her face was of a
deathly pallor, and she stood as frigid as marble. Even the
affected Fanny was startled when she beheld that icy, palo
face, and looked at those dark, horror-fixed eyes, which, like
4
38 OLENWOOD.
Hamlet, when he saw his father's ghost, did seem to gaze
" on vacancy,
And with the incorporeal air to hold discourse."
In a few moments she sunk almost lifeless into a chair.
A draught of water, and bathing her head, in a measure
restored her, and she went mechanically to her chamber,
and there threw herself despairingly upon her couch, and
buried her face in the pillows. ! how terrible was the
agony of that poor soul, almost crushing out her life !
' ' What shall I do what shall I do ? " she said. " ! .
that I might die ! I cannot live ! My dear, lost one, I
cannot have it so ! Merciful Father, restore him to me, or I
shall go mad ! It is all dark dark ! He is dead ! and I
so desolate no hope, no light ! ! for the sleep of death
for the dark quiet of the grave ! Great God, save me, !
save me from myself! "
Poor child ! she was almost suffocated with grief; but this
was her first great sorrow, and by and by tears came to her
relief, and the scalding drops coursed rapidly down her pale
cheeks. That was a night of deepest bitterness, and at
times self-destruction seemed her only refuge. How much
she wished that her own mother was alive, that on repentant
knees she might tell her all ! But now she had no one to
whom she might pour out the burthen of her heart no one
to whom she should dare whisper one word. Poor Delia !
Two days after the fatal accident, the funeral of James
Penly was attended by a large concourse of deeply sympa-
thizing friends. The widowed mother and the stricken Delia
were the chief mourners. Many eyes were moistened with
tears when they looked into the white faces of those desolate
GLENWOOD. 39
ones. A brother-in-law of the widow, whose circumstances
had, of late, greatly improved, took her to his home, and Delia
returned weeping to her father's house. Widow Penly never
recovered from the awful shock ; she lingered along for a
few years, and then cheerfully closed her eyes in death.
And Delia, she too would have died, but she resolved to
suffer all that society, in its lack of charity and Christian
love, could inflict upon her, rather than " break into the
bloody house of life " with her own hand. God had given
her an existence, and he alone had a right to bring it to an
end,
CHAPTER IV.
OACTIOUS WHISPERINGS. GLENWOOD CHARITABLE SOCIETY. THE SIN
NING ONE DRIYEN FROM HOME. THE STORM.
MR. GREGG suffered some momentary qualms of conscience
when he witnessed the heart-breaking of his child. He
queried whether his course was justifiable. For a time this
worldly-minded man thought there might be such a thing as
love a true union of souls, a union in which selfishness
has no part. But Delia was so young that she would soon
outgrow this childish attachment ; for other and more noble
admirers would flock around her, and the dead would be for-
gotten. She should gratify his ambition by marrying a rich
man, one that would bring honor upon his house. He was
not glad no ! that Jimmey Penly was dead ; his tender
conscience would never allow him to harbor such a thought
as that ; he was too manly, too kind-hearted, to rejoice that a
poor widow had lost her only son ; but somehow he congratu-
lated himself, whenever he thought of Delia's future, that
the young man who had caused him so much anxiety was
now where he could not possibly interfere with his wise plans.
Poor, foolish man ! the castles of grandeur, which you have
built up with so much care, shall be destroyed in a moment,
and the hour shall come when remorse shall wring your
soul.
GLENWOOD. 41
s Delia now seldom left the house ; in fact, she remained
the most of the time in her own chamber, weeping in the
bitterness of her desolation, and trying to shut out from her
terrified heart the dark future. By and by, cautious whis-
perings began to be heard, and there were shrewd looks and
wise shakings of the head. These careful and mysterious
proceedings gradually assumed a bolder and more definite
aspect. Everybody had something to say, and nearly all
were loud in their censure and condemnation of poor Delia.
The whole matter was amply discussed, and on the part of
many with infinite gusto, at an afternoon session of the
" Glen wood Ladies' Eleemosynary Society."
" Have you heard ? " inquired Matilda Blossom, in a mys-
terious whisper, of the person who sat next to her Mrs.
Betsy Slusher, a woman with a thin face, dark, snaky eyes,
and a long, picked nose, whose tongue ran so glibly that
some had " slanderously reported " that it was hung in the
middle, so that she talked with both ends. She had the rep-
utation of being a great scold; and, in vulgar parlance, she
made husband, children, and servants, "stand round."
"It is no news to me," she replied, with a knowing sneer.
" I knew it long ago. Did n't I say to Mr. Slusher that the
girl was not taking on so for nothing ? I could have told
you all about it long since, but I don't tell all I know ! " (?)
"That 's just what I said to mother," chimed in Arabella
Mehitable Bumpus, referring, not to the last remark of Mrs.
Slusher, but to the one made to her husband. Arabella
Mehitable was a little, pert old maid, with a long face, large
mouth, crooked nose, red hair, low forehead, much wrinkled,
and eyes of a leaden color and brightness.
" I am inclined to think that we are all liable to fancy
4*
42 OLENWOOD.
ourselves as having been very knowing, and great prophets,
after a thing has transpired," said Mrs. Goose, in a half-
jesting, sarcastic tone. She was a plain-looking woman,
with a sensible, benevolent cast of countenance, who loved
a good joke and a bit of fun, but detested, from her heart,
slanderers and gossippers, and in that heart were Christian
charity and love for the erring, even of her own sex.
"lam thinking it will bring down her pride a little,"
said the envious but handsome Miranda Penelope.
"We should not be too severe in our judgment," re-
marked Mrs. Glubbings ; " for, in the sight of Heaven, we all
may be more guilty than she." The last speaker was the
wife of Deacon Glubbings, and she and her husband were
two of the most pious and benevolent people in town.
" Some folks are wonderfully virtuous, seemingly, if their
neighbors happen to make a misstep ! I agree with you, Mrs.
Glubbings, that, in the sight of God, poor Delia may be as
good as the best of us, which may not be saying a great
deal." These remarks were made by Hester Walden, a
spinster of thirty, who had remained unmarried because the
right one had not offered himself, and she had not felt that
it would be advisable to offer herself to the right one.
"I pronounce such remarks slanderous!" said Mrs.
Slusher. " You and Mrs. Glubbings may put yourselves on
a level or beneath such vile creatures, but I shall not."
" I sant neither," lisped Nannie Pottle. "I dithpithe 'em,
and all who th'tand up for 'em, I do."
"I like your spirit," said Arabella Mehitable Bumpus,
"and it is the only way to keep society virtuous. La ! I
wonder what the world would come to, if such ideas should
ULENWOOD. 43
prevail !" Referring to the sentiments of Mrs. Glubbings
and Miss Walden.
" I hope you will not be too much alarmed," replied Mrs.
Goose; " for I am sure one so virtuous as you are could not
be in danger in any society."
This quiet but cutting satire made Arabella's face as red
as her hair. I presume that there was unity of thought, just
at that moment, in this not over-harmonious assembly, and this
was the form of it : " That one of their number had never
been tempted, and never would be;" and some were so un-
charitable as to think that the highly-favored one really
wished she might be. But such thoughts are scandalous.
Why, have we not all seen ladies, in our Charitable and
Benevolent Sewing Circles, who are paragons of virtue ? and
are not such always watching, with cat-like eyes, any little
deviations or pecadilloes of their neighbors, that they may
expose them, and so nip the evil in the bud ? Some things
are so self-evident, that to summon an array of witnesses is
superfluous.
" Mother thaid that Delia wath alwaith a th'tuck-up thing,
and she would have to come down thome time, as ' pride mutht
have its fall,' as the poet thaith," said Nannie Pottle.
" It is against the rules to talk about our neighbors," said
Mrs. Glubbings.
" I don't need any instructions about the rules of our
society, for I happen to understand them !" said Mrs. Slusher.
"Nor I either," observed Matilda Blossom, "and I think
it impertinent to allude to them in that way ! "
" I geth we understand our own ruleth," said Nannie
Pottle ; " and I think I obtherve 'em as much as thome other
folkth do ! "
44 GLENWOOD.
" There is a rule, I believe, in relation to that subject,"
said Hester Walden.
" No one disputes it," said Arabella Mehitable; " but the
question is, who are our neighbors ? "
"A very important question," remarked Mrs. Goose.
" Which you may find answered in the New Testament,
by Christ himself," said Mrs. Glubbings.
" I remember," said Hester Walden, " what the Saviour
said to the sinning woman ; and a great sinner she was, and
the penalty was stoning to death. No one dare insinuate
that Delia Gregg has been guilty as she. Her sin is a mere
peccadillo, in comparison ; and yet the Saviour said to the one
so guilty/ ' Daughter, neither do I condemn you ; go and sin
no more.' "
/ "I commend his example in this case to the consideration
of this Charitable Society," said Mrs. Goose. "How
beautifully he spoke to her how careful not to wound un-
necessarily ! He did not call her wanton, as many would
have done. He did not say, Vile adulteress, you are worthy
of death, being so vile that you are unfit to live ; but he called
her by the endearing name of daughter, and told her to go
and sin no more."
" I know of nothing in the life of Christ that more clearly
proves the divine nature of his mission," remarked Mrs.
Glubbings.
" And yet, how small a number of those who profess to
follow him," said Hester Walden, " ever think that charity
for the erring is one of the Christian virtues ! "
" I thould think that you three had better go to preach-
ing," said Nannie Pottle, " for you have given us thome
pretty thmart lectures ! "
GLEN WOOD. 45
" Such lectures as I don't care about hearing verj often ! "
observed Mrs. Slusher.
"And such as I won't hear very often! " said Miranda
Penelope.
" Thuch thentiments are very deliteriouth to good morals,"
said Nannie Pottle. " Mother thayth that the prevalenth
of thuch is the reathon why thith deplorable cathe hath
occurred."
" I don't doubt it in the least," said Matilda Blossom.
" Nor I either," remarked Mrs. Slusher. " If everybody
treated them as they deserve, they would be careful how they
conducted themselves ; but they know well enough that there
are plenty, called respectable, who will uphold them in their
deviltry."
"That is rather rough talk, Mrs. Slusher," said Mrs.
Goose.
" No more so than the subject demands," said Arabella
Mehitable. " La ! should n't we have a nice time, if every-
body thought as some folks do ? Christ forgave the woman
because she had fully repented, and he knew that she would
never sin again. That is a different case entirely. There
are always exceptions to a general rule, and that was one of
the exceptions. Mr. Shackles made the matter perfectly
plain, last winter, in one of his evening lectures."
"A very curious way of explaining Scripture!" said
Hester Walden.
" If we should adopt your rule, Arabella Mehitable," said
Mrs. Glubbings, "we could prove or disprove almost any-
thing."
" Father thayth," returned Nannie, " that the Bible is
jutht like a fiddle, for you can play any tune on it you like ;
46 -GLENWOOD.
and that's the reathon there are tho many thects; and
mother alwaith explained that texth jutht as you have, Mith
Bumputh."
"If we should give such latitude as Mr. Shackles and
Miss Bumpus have taken, we could play almost any tune,
without doubt," said Mrs. Goose.
" What we want," observed Mrs. Glubbingg, " is a true
interpretation of the Scriptures, and then we have harmony."
This discussion continued until some of the members were
very angry, when a motion was put and carried to adjourn,
nearly all returning home in an unenviable humor.
A few days after this, there was a scene at Mr. Gregg's
which was heart-rending. In the presence of the family,
from her own father's lips, came the words to Delia which
she had long, long expected, and dreaded more than death.
She knew her doom, and yet those dark words fell upon her
ears like the crushing thunder-bolt, freezing her blood, con-
fusing her senses, and almost stopping the beating of her
heart. She fell to the floor at the proud man's feet ; she
embraced his knees, she implored his pardon and protection ;
but he spurned her from him, and said :
"Go, wanton, I disown you ! Leave my house, and never
let me see your face again ! " With these words, he pushed
her from him, and walked hastily away. Delia arose, gave
one wild shriek, and fainted. Restoratives soon brought
her to, when she went mechanically, and took such garments
as she thought she could carry, and tied them up in a bun-
dle ; then she kissed Polly Haggett, who did not repel her,
and would have clung, weeping, to the neck of brother and
sister, but their aspect forbade it ; and so, with only a look
a look so heart-breaking that it might have melted a
stone she left her father's house forever ! With a hurried
QLBNWOOD. 47
step, and taking a circuitous route, she succeeded in reaching
the woods on the mountain without being seen. She im-
mediately repaired to the spot where Jimmey Penly and
she had spent so many happy hours, and there she lay down,
and gave vent to the agony which crushed her heart ; and
there the poor child, in the hopelessness of her despair,
prayed that she might die !
It was now the month of June, and the scenery in Glen-
wood was radiant with beauty. Green and humid was the
landscape, dotted with flowers, like stars. The white daisy
and yellow buttercup waved in the wanton wind, and the
clover bent its head while the bee extracted the honey. On
the road-sides was the sweet-brier ia full bloom, and near
the buildings, red, white, and blush roses, pinks, sweet-wil-
liams, pansies, and syringa. Delia wiped her eyes, and from
her elevated position looked down through the trees upon the
inviting scene below ; and then she turned and gazed upon
the beautiful lake, now partly in shadow and partly in sun-
light. She looked at the reflection of the tall trees in the
water, and thought how often she had watched them when a
child. As she changed her position slightly, her Byes fell
upon some gracefully-floating lilies, and she turned them
away with a shudder. In this place she remained until the
crescent moon was slowly sinking in the west, thinking of
the past, its joys, hopes, and sorrows, and that last most
terrible blow of all. She strained her eyes until she could
see the spot where the lifeless body was brought to the shore ;
and while she sat shivering, for she was cold, although the
evening was warm, she thought that she must die ; for she
had no home, and no one to befriend her, and it would be
so blessed to end her crushing sorrows where he had given
48 GLENWOOD.
up his buoyant, dear life, and make the bottom of the lake
her silent bed, and there rest in peace ! " ! " thought
she, " that his cold body was there ; for it would be so sweet
to clasp it to my heart, and make that beautiful lake, and the
white lilies, where he was cruelly taken from me, our happy
nuptial couch ! "
It was now past nine o'clock, the village lights were ex-
tinguished, and the moon had hid her beaming face in a dark
cloud which lay heavily in the west. Delia turned her eyes
to search for the lost luminary, which she had so often gazed
upon from that spot when her now cold hands were lovingly
clasped in his ; and that slumbering cloud appeared, to her
bewildered imagination, like a vast ocean into which the
moon had sunk, and she fancied that she saw the waves mov-
ing, and there were ships with their sails all spread bound-
ing over the swelling billows ; and she wished that some
friendly vessel would bear her away to a happier land. The
sighing breeze, that hitherto seemed gently to sympathize in
her sorrow, now began playing wildly among the tree-tops,
calling her to herself ; and she saw that the fancied ocean was
but a cloud, and the waves only the movement of that huge,
black mass into the heavens. And as the clouds mounted
up faster and still higher, the wind blew with greater power,
bending those tallest and stoutest trees ; and, by and by, it
burst out into a prolonged wail ; and when there was a calm,*
it seemed to utter low moans, and hushed sobs of bitter agony.
Delia's imagination was now wrought up to the highest
pitch of excitement, and, in a tremor, she arose from the
earth ; but, whithersoever she turned, there were dark, fear-
ful objects, holding out their threatening hands.
"I will go to him !" she shrieked ; "you shall not keep
GLENWOOD. 49
me ! " and she ran swiftly down through the woods, in the
wildest affright, bruising her limbs, tearing her face and
hands, till the blood trickled down her cheeks, and dripped
from her fingers. On the spot where they laid the cold
body of her lover she fell exhausted, and lay for a time
like one dead. Recovering, she said, " I must end this
agony and horror ! Father, be merciful ; for I cannot, must
not live ! "
She arose, and, throwing off her shawl and bonnet, walked
to the edge of the lake, and was about to take the fatal leap,
when the wind swept fiercely down from the mountain,
whistling round her head, dishevelling her dew- wet locks,
and she thought she heard a voice in the blast, whispering
"Away ! away !" She paused, and gazed upon the spot
where she supposed her lover had died, and once more she
thought, " I, too, will die;" and then she seemed to see her-
self far down at the bottom of the lake, pale, stiff, and dead.
The .sight caused her to shrink back, while a cold tremor
shook her whole frame. And now a lighter breeze played
with her locks ; and that, too, had a voice which whispered
"Live, live."
" Live, live ! Yes, I will live," she thought; " I will not
be a suicide. Perchance death will soon come unbidden to
my relief!" She now regained her customary garments,
and, wrapping her shawl closely around her shivering
body, she walked hurriedly away. By this time the
wind had increased to a fierce gale, and the clouds cov-
ered more than half of the heavens, and lay black and
threatening above the mountain. As she walked along, not
knowing whither to turn her steps, a red flash leaped from
5
50 GLENWOOD.
the clouds, followed by a long, heavy peal of thunder. She
felt sure that the rain would soon come pouring down, and
where should she find shelter ? Should she seek her father's
roof, when he had told her never to let him see her face
again ? Would he not repel her with curses ? And then
she said :
"No; come what will, I will not go. He spurned me,
he he called me wanton; but no I I am not that.
If if I have done wrong, I have suffered for it a thousand-fold.
I would have humbled myself into the dust of the earth,
and asked forgiveness for the shame I have brought upon
him ; but he would not hear me. And he is not guiltless ;
he regarded not our love, and would have torn us asunder
O *
forever. And we were made for each other ; would God that
I, too, had died ! " And, some of her old pride rising up in
her heart, she said again : " No ! I will not go there ; rather
let me die ! And then my sister ; she looked so coldly, and
brother too. ! could they not speak a kind word to the
crushed one could they not even say farewell ? But no
word, no kind look, no tears, for me ! " Again the lightning
flashed from the cloud, leaping through the gathering dark-
ness, and making the whole heavens wildly bright, followed
by a crash which almost struck Delia to the earth, for a tall
pine was shivered and broken, and fell headlong to the
ground, making it tremble beneath her feet. And now the
wind blew a mightier blast, and swept out a hundred shriek-
ing voices from the mountain, as though a troop of demons
were about to rush down upon her ; and she fancied that
she saw the same objects from which she had fled in terror
a little while before. In spite of the howling wind, she
pressed on, and, passing through the. village, took the road
GLENWOOD. 51
that led to the widow's cottage, which she knew stood
empty.
It was so intensely dark that she could not have kept the
road, had it not been for the red sheets of flame, flashing
continuously from the clouds, which covered the whole
sky. And these repeated flashes were followed by the most
terrible and crashing thunders, rolling and breaking through
the heavens, as if the fierce embattled hosts, as of old,
were engaged in a mighty conflict. A few moments now
passed, and there was no flash of lightning, no sound of
thunder, and the wind was still; and the poor wanderei
walked slowly and hesitatingly, for the darkness seemed so
thick as to be almost sensible to the touch. A terrible,
blinding flash, and crashing of thunders, followed the calm,
as though the artillery of the skies had been concentrated
and prepared for one last, mighty, overwhelming assault.
Delia was well-nigh paralyzed with horror; but the rain
poured down in torrents, and she hastened on her way.
When she reached the cottage, her garments were thor-
oughly drenched. She tried the door, and, to her dismay,
found that it was fastened. She then felt her way to a win-
dow ; that was also fastened, and she went to another, which
Beemed to yield a little. In her desperation, she summoned
to her aid more than her usual strength ; and the window
yielded to it, and she threw in her bundle, and by great ex-
ertions succeeded in climbing in herself, when she shut down
the window to keep out the wind and rain. " How dark and
dreary it is here! " she thought. " If I only had a light, I
would be so thankful !" She remembered the dark cup-
board, in which Jirnmey kept matches for his own use ; she
succeeded in finding the matches, and, to her great relief, a
52 GLENWOOD.
small lamp, which had been overlooked in moving the fur-
niture. She was so wet and cold that the next thought was
to build a fire, and she commenced a search for the requisite
fuel. She found a few bits of wood and broken pieces of
furniture, and with these a fire was soon kindled, that dried
her wet garments and warmed her shivering limbs.
She was now conscious of being very faint, for the want
of food ; and, having taken the precaution to put a few crack-
ers in her bundle, she ate a part of them with a keen relish.
When her garments were sufficiently dry, she spread them
upon the floor, and laid down to rest. It was nearly morn-
ing ; she was weary with watching, and, though alone and
forsaken, the fast-falling rain lulled her to sleep. Poor,
wronged child! the angels should guard you now, and give
you refreshing slumber and pleasant dreams.
CHAPTER V.
THE FALLEN NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. HOW SECRETS ARE KEPT. GHOSTS
AND GOBLINS. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. THE BROKEN-HBARTED OUT-
CAST.
MR. GREGG returned to his home, on the evening after
Delia left it, feeling very sad ; for he thought of her as the
one who had been loved so dearly in her wayward, beauti-
ful childhood the handsome, attractive woman, who was
to bring him so much honor, by a wealthy marriage. But
she had brought disgrace upon himself and family, and he
would forget her ; she had disobeyed him, and he would not
forgive ; she should no longer hold a daughter's place in
his heart ; he would nevor receive her again.
After tea, as the family were sitting gloomily in the
room where they usually spent their evenings, which Delia's
presence had often made attractive, Mr. Gregg, in a solemn
tone, said,
"Has she gone?"
" She has, the poor thing," replied Polly.
" I do not approve of such speeches," said Mr. Gregg, " for
by the words, and the manner in which you have uttered
them, there is an implied censure upon me, for the part I have
acted in this most deplorable case. That she is a poor thing,
I well know, as all wantons are; but I have done only what
5*
64 GLEN W OD
was just and honorable in relation thereto. She has gone,
you say, and I am glad of it, for my house shall never
shelter creatures like her. If she returns I will drive her
forth again, and let her seek for her companions those who
are as vile as she. This is all I have to to communi-
cate upon the repulsive subject."
"But is she so very guilty?" remonstrated Polly.
' ' May we not consider it rather as a youthful indiscretion
faan a desire to be vicious? "
" Polly Haggett, I am surprised to hear you ; I had sup-
posed you had more common sense."
" I shan't own her as a sister, I know ! " said Fanny, with
an affected toss of her head; and, in fact, her head was always
on the move, for she seemed not to have sufficient weight of
brain to keep it long in one position, and so it was everlast-
ingly on the toss, like a cork on a fisherman's line when the
water is stirred by the wind.
" I am sure I shall not," said the conceited Thomas, "for
she is unworthy to be the sister of a gentleman. Father
nas done just right to disown her, and pack her off.
Would n't it be great to have such a baggage in the house! "
" I would n't stay here a single day, if she did. A pretty
sister. I should think the dirty creature!" Fanny re-
marked, with an extra wriggle of her cranium.
"You talk, children," said Mr. Gregg, "as though the
pure blood of the Greggs was warm in your your veins.
It is well, for for notwithstanding this vile business, this
shameful disappointment, I still have you to comfort me."
" I will never do aught that shall cause you to blush for
me," said Thomas. He was sorry for his sister's shame, but
his little, niggard soul found some consolation in the thought
GLENWOOD. 56
that when his father's property should be divided among his
children, he would be a gainer thereby.
" We will both seek to make you happy, and so you will
soon forget the vicious creature," said Fanny, with another
toss of the upper story.
" I disapprove of such conduct as much as any one can,"
said Polly ; " but would it not have been more humane and
Christian to have forgiven Delia, instead of turning her
into the street? What will the poor child do? "
" You do not look at the case in all its bearings," said
Mr. Gregg. "I hope you will not forget, in this time of
trial, Polly, that you are a domestic here. You need not
frown or get angry, for I was about to say, a favorite
domestic, and solemn duties devolve upon you, which should
be faithfully performed. We are in trouble, and you must
not a augment it, by any whimsical notions of your
own."
"I hope that my remarks," said Polly, "have given no
offence. I know that you are wiser than I am ;. but, as I
could not help pitying the poor thing, I thought I would
speak out what was on my mind."
' ' Very well, you have my pardon. And I will have no
more words in relation thereto. She has obeyed me for once,
and left the house she has so deeply disgraced ; and, hence-
forth, let not her name be mentioned beneath the pa
paternal roof."
During the fearful storm, that night, thoughts of the
wanderer would creep into the mind of Mr. Gregg, and he
was benevolent enough to hope that she had found a shelter
from the wind and rain ; and he almost wished that he had
given her a few dollars, to keep her from want until she could
56 GLENWOOD.
more. But how could she earn more ? He did not
know, but thought that where there was a will there was a
way ; and so he closed his heart to the claims of his child,
and slept, while she was exposed to the pitiless elements.
The fact that Mr. Gregg had expelled Delia from hia
home was well known in Glenwood, the day after it oc-
curred. All the particulars were in everybody's mouth. It
was a marvel to him how the matter came to be known so
soon, for he cautioned his family not to say anything about
it. In his very impressive manner, he said to them, ' ' Hold
no communication with any one in relation thereto." He
told Thomas that he thought it might be Polly, for she had
shown, he was sorry to say, for the first time, a little insub-
ordination ; and when the subject was most momentous, she
had questioned his wisdom and justice. Under such circum
stances, it would not be strange if she had disobeyed his strict
commands.
Polly most positively denied the charge; Thomas de-
clared that he would not so pollute his lips as to speak of
the subject at all ; and Fanny said, of course she would
not ; therefore the wise Mr. Gregg could come to no other
conclusion than that the people had surmised it, as Delia
had gone. He should have known that the wriggle-headed
Fanny was incapable of keeping a secret twenty-four hours.
especially if she was commanded not to divulge it. Under
such circumstances, it had become altogether too important
for her weak head to contain alone, and so she must have
aid ; and, reader, whether you doubt it or not, such aid can
be found in every village and neighborhood, persons who
will listen to the secret, and promise solemnly never to re-
veal it, and then they will relate it to everybody they see
GLENWOOD. 57
and caution them not to say anything about it, for the.
"world !
When Mr. Gregg enjoined secrecy upon his family in
relation to Delia, Fanny resolved that no one should be the
wiser because of her. But it could not do any injury, if
she did inform her dear friend, Miranda Penelope, if she
made her solemnly promise not to inform anybody else.
Now, Miranda was a paragon, in Fanny's eyes. She was
the handsomest and the most interesting lady in Glenwood.
She knew that Miranda had never used Delia well, but she
did not care for that. The reason why the former slighted
the latter was no secret, envy alone being the cause. She
had no esteem or friendship for Fanny, but she patronized
her to gratify her selfishness.
By nine o'clock, the morning after ^Delia's departure,
notwithstanding the rain was pouring in torrents, Fanny
Gregg, breathing hard, for she had run the whole distance,
and in a state of excitement because of the momentous im-
port of what she had to relate, knocked at the front door of
Mr. Penelope's. She was welcomed by Miranda, for she
was one of those persons who want to be posted up in all
things which concern their neighbors. She very willingly
promised that she would keep the secret, and then Fanny
informed her that what had been long surmised by one of
the family, at least, had at last been found out for a
certainty ; how her father had said the most severe and
grandest things to the offender ; how she had begged him
to forgive her ; how he had solemnly said that he never,
never would ; how she embraced his knees, how he
spurned her ; how she fainted, how she was restored ;
how she packed up her things ; how she kissed Polly, and
58 GLENWOOD.
wanted to kiss her and brother Thomas; how they did not
bid her good-by, but " stabbed her with their looks; "
how she had gone, never to darken the doors again ; how
she, Fanny, had cast her off as a sister ; how they were
all so terribly mortified !
This precious stuff, and much more, did Fanny pour into
the greedy ears of Miranda Penelope, all the time pretend-
ing to be very much grieved, and frequently wiping her
eyes, as though she fancied there were tears in them ; or, if
there were not, there ought to be.
When Fanny had taken her departure, Miranda called,
without loss of time, on Mrs. Betsy Slusher, and intimated to
the latter worthy that she had a secret of momentous conse-
quence. Mrs. Betsy Slusher begged that she would inform
her what it was ; and Miranda finally told her, on condition
of the strictest secrecy. Mrs. Slusher, on the same condi-
tions, informed Matilda Blossom, who happened in just after
Miranda happened out ; and she went immediately and told
Arabella Mehitable Bumpus ; and the latter told the lisp-
ing Nannie Pottle ; and so the story went the rounds, and
everybody wondered how people could learn all the facts so
soon. As for Miranda, she said she did not care for secrets
which everybody else knew.
The subject served as a nine days' wonder in Glenwood.
Some were so hard-hearted as to approve of Mr. Gregg's
course, of which number Mrs. Betsy Slusher was the most
conspicuous ; while others, more humane, strongly condemned
it. Deacon Glubbings and wife wished they could have
knovrn what sort of a man Mr. Gregg was ; in which case,
they would have invited Delia to their home until one more
suitable could be provided : and Mrs. Goose said she would
GLENWOOD. 59
certainly have taken her in, even at the risk of displeasing
her husband, which she was not aware of ever having done
as yet. There were many others who would have willingly
aided the poor, forsaken creature ; but, alas ! there were too
many ready to condemn, and say that her fate was just what
she deserved. Poor Delia !
The next Sunday evening, the Rev. Wellington Shackles
preached a sermon to the young. A crowded auditory was
in attendance. Arabella Mehitable Bumpus remarked to
Mrs. Glubbings, on their way home, that she thought the
discourse was beautiful, and just then would do much good.
The latter said, in reply, that if he had read the chap-
ters concerning the Prodigal Son, and Christ's treatment of
the sinning woman, it would have done more good. To this
the latter said that she sometimes doubted whether Mrs.
Glubbings or her husband were Christians, they were so
lenient to the guilty.
There was another subject which caused much talk in
Glenwood at this time. A young man declared that, pass-
ing near the mountain, about ten o'clock, on the night of
the great storm, he heard the most terrible and piercing
shrieks ; and that, soon after, a figure in white, ten feet high,
with a spot on its breast which looked like blood, came down
from the mountain, and walked a short distance near the
lake, and suddenly vanished. Jim Blossom, who had been
to pay his addresses to Nannie Pottle, said that when he
was going home, at eleven o'clock, he saw the same figure
come out of the lake, first seeing only the top of the head,
and afterwards the whole body. There were others who saw
the light in Widow Penly's cottage, and forthwith there were
some superstitious enough to believe that it was haunted by
60 GLENWOOD.
Jimmey Penly's ghost, and it soon became known by the
name of the haunted house ; and, as no one had the courage
to occupy it afterwards, the report being kept up that lights
were frequently seen there, and dismal noises heard at night,
it stood empty for five years, when its owner had it taken
down.
It was nearly ten o'clock in the forenoon when Delia
awoke, and for some moments she could not comprehend
her situation ; but she soon collected her scattered senses,
and then she remembered all ; the terrible scene of yester-
day, the horrors of last night, the dreadful realities of
the present. She attempted to rise, but she found that her
limbs were stiff and sore, and she felt cold and weak ; and so
she lay down her head, and wept bitterly. At length, with
much exertion, she regained her feet, and kindled up the
fire ; and, after becoming warm, the rain still pouring down,
and no one in sight, she went to the well and drank a
refreshing draught from the " old oaken bucket." Return-
ing to the cottage, she made a frugal meal on the crackers
that remained.
In the afternoon, she began to query what she should do
for food. Many kinds of vegetables were growing in the
garden, but none of them had come to sufficient maturity
to be of any service to her. Searching in the attic, she
espied a bunch of pop-corn, hanging on a nail. With a
thankful heart, she quickly took it down, and, knowing
that it had been raised by Jimmey, and gathered and placed
there by him, she kissed it again and again, while the tears
fell fast from her eyes. The remainder of the afternoon
and evening she employed in popping the corn, which was
now her only food.
GLEN WOOD. 61
It continued to rain until nearly night the next day.
When the sun was about an hour high, the wind suddenly
veered round to the north, quickly sweeping the clouds from
the blue heavens, and leaving the sun, in all its matchless
glory, slowly sinking in the west.
The cottage stood upon an elevated spot, and from the
west window, on such an evening as this, a grand and beauti-
ful panorama was spread out before the eye. On one side
could be seen a portion of the pretty lake, with the long
bhadows of the trees thrown into it from the mountain, form-
ing, as the children said, a bridge, which the fairies walked
over by moonlight, not a shadow bending beneath their feet.
The mountain was plainly in view ; and the rays, striking
the branches of the pines, made them look bright as bur-
nished gold, so that one might think that the king of the
giants was reviewing his troops, and they were decorated
with their tallest and costliest plumes, that they might do
honor to the occasion. On beyond these, as far as the eye
could reach, the undulating surface was interspersed with
green fields, strips of waving corn, rye, and wheat, flourish-
ing orchards of peaches and apples, gardens filled with a
variety of beautiful roses and pinks, hill-sides of clover, now
in full bloom, constituting one vast bed of flowers, and, far,
far aAvay where the sun was setting, a high mountain look-
ing very blue in spite of the golden rays of the departing
day.
Delia sat by this window, and gazed with a sad heart upon
this grand picture painted by the hand of nature. Often
had she sat there before, when one whom she dearly loved
had been near her, ever ready to point out new varieties of
scenery for her to admire. As she strained her eyea to
6
62 GLENWOOD.
catch all the beauties of the scene, her thoughts wandered
back painfully, and she remembered how happy she was
with him how full of hope was her heart how impossible
it would have seemed then that such should ever be her lot.
And, as her mind thus went back into the shadowy past and
came down to the dark present, she fancied it must be all a
dream, and that she should wake soon and throw off this
night-mare of horror. But this illusion was only momentary,
for she knew that it was all too terribly real that it was
no dream. She cast her tearful eyes around the naked
room, and she remembered how often she had thought, since
her father had forbidden her ever to see Jimmey more, that
ghe was willing to live in that little cottage, with the humblest
fare, and the rooms plainly furnished, if she could only be
with him.
" 0, darling ! " she said, " I did so love you ! ! cruel
death, to snatch him away so soon, and and leave his Delia
a poor cast-away driven with scorn from her home a
mock, a by-word, and the jeer of the heartless ! I cannot
have it so I cannot bear all this ! Moneyless and friend-
less ! where, where shall I go ? ! ye envious lilies, that
lured him to your embrace ! Was he so beautiful, so sweet / ye
must take him from me ? I did love him, and he was my
own ; and ye, cruel flowers, tempted him, and gave him the
embrace of death. How can I stay in this dreary place
another night, where the ghosts of old scenes, sorrows, and
joys, come back to make me wretched ? How can I remain
alone, when the gloom and the silence so fill my soul with
dread ! O my God ! grant thy sinful child thy aid, and
comfort her in this her hour of sorrow !
" ! my father, have you never sinned, that you should
GLENW'OOD. 6S
thus cast off your child ? And I have no mother no
no sister nor brother to help me to speak a kind word,
no friend to aid me ! "
While the poor child was giving utterance to these words
of woe, she had fallen upon her knees, and, bending her head
to the floor, rested her face upon her hands, and through her
fingers poured the hot tears. When she had uttered the
last of the above words, she lifted up her head and said,
" These foolish tears, they avail not they cannot help
me ! Back, back ! I will dry these eyes, which have become
like rain-clouds ; and then I will think, not of the past, for
that will not return, but of the future the future so dark !
But I will nerve myself to meet it all as woman should, God
helping me."
The sun was now receding from view, and part of the
scene, which had been all sunshine, was now in shadow. The
rain-drops,
" Sweet tears the clouds lean down and give,"
were shining on all the trees, and glittered, pearl-like, on
every shrub and bush. Delia, as sorrowful as she was,
could not shut out the enchantment of the scene and the hour ;
and some of her old feelings came back to her heart, to kin-
dle up its enthusiasm, and let in a ray of light. She arose
from her knees and stepped to the door, and, scanning the
roads and fields in every direction, went to the well and
bathed her head and face, and then returned to the cottage,
to try and form some plan for the future.
After the town clock had struck nine, having no incli-
nation to sleep, and feeling so utterly lonely in the dark,
she wandered back to her old home, and stood and looked
64 GLENWOOD.
sorrowfully at that part of the house which contained he*
own chamber. She then went into the garden, and sat by
the little bed of flowers she had cultivated so many years.
She visited, in succession, each spot she had loved; and, in spite
of all she could do, the tears would come when she thought
this was her last farewell. She now turned her steps to the
lake, and rested a while upon its banks, bathing her aching
head in its waters. She looked up to the mountain, and
wished to go there to take a last farewell ; but she thought
of the objects of dread which she fancied she saw on the
night of the storm, and she could not summon sufficient
courage to venture there again. She went to other places
in the village which were dear to her, and visited even the
grave of her mother, where she knelt and prayed ; and then,
as the moon was fast sinking, she walked back to the cottage
Being hungry now, she ate of the corn, and lay down to rest.
Early the ensuing morning, long before the sun was up, she
commenced her journey.
CHAPTER VI.
DEACON CLUBBINGS AND WIFE. SELLING THE SUPPORT OF PAUPERS.*
POLLY HAGGETT STILL SEEKING FOR THE PRIZE.
A FEW days after these events had transpired, Deacon
Glubbings went to his home with a countenance less serene and
hopeful than it was wont to be. His faithful wife soon no-
ticed the unhappy expression, and, from sympathy more than
curiosity, she wished to know the cause.
" I have been thinking," he said, "that many professed
Christians, in good standing, have but little humanity. There
is Delia Gregg we ought to have searched for her until
found, and taken the poor child home ; for she is not half so
much to blame as her father he was the cause of all the
difficulty. No matter if Jimmey Penly was poor ; he was a
good boy, and ever faithful to his mother. It was but a
youthful indiscretion of which they were guilty ; but, like
many indiscretions, it has brought a long train of evils. I
hope it will serve as a warning to others ; but it is too bad
that the least guilty should suffer so much. I can't bear to
speak to Mr. Gregg now he is unworthy to bear the name
of father."
" You speak warmly," replied his wife, " but I do not
blame you. I, too, wish that Delia was here."
6*
66 GLENWOOD.
" I have heard another thing to-day, which has tried my
patience almost as much as that."
"What is it, pray?"
" Mr. Bumford, whom we all thought one of the bright
and shining lights in the world, has refused any longer to
maintain his half-witted sister, and the town has taken
charge of her."
" Is it possible ?"
"I wish it was not; for such things try my faith, and
my patience, too."
" You should not lose your faith in humanity, or Chris-
tianity, because Mr. Bumford has done wrong ; for you
know of many who would work the flesh off of their bones,
rather than be guilty of an act so execrable."
" That is all true enough ; but just think how pious Mr.
Bumford is. I have sometimes thought that he was over-
devotional. Not a meal does he eat without saying grace
before and after ; and he reads a chapter in the Bible twice
every day, and on his bended knees addresses the throne of
grace. He is never absent at the conference and church
meetings ; and he has more to say, and offers more prayers,
than anybody else."
" But you don't think him a hypocrite, do you ? "
"No; but he has not the truest idea of religion; he
evidently lives in the present only to make sure of the
future."
" That is too often the case ; but Jesus has taught us, by
his example, that we should deal justly with all not only
love God, but our neighbor also."
"Very true. Now, Mr. Bumford has many good quali-
ties : he is very accommodating, and careful not to offend
GLENWOOD. 67
his neighbors. But, in allowing his sister to be maintained
by the town, her support sold to the lowest bidder, he has
placed himself on a level with the swearing, atheistical Mr
Pendwick, who kept his brother as long as he was able to
work, and then sent to the selectmen to ' come and take the
pauper,' for he could not support him any longer."
" And they were able to take care of them ? "
"Able! yes; as much so as almost anybody in town.
Pendwick is wealthy, and Mr. Bumford has the best farm
in the county, and money at interest."
" I have heard that this sister, Margaret Bumford, was a
great trial to his wife."
"It might have been so, but that is no excuse; for he
could have paid her board, or given up one room to her use
in his large house, or built her a little cottage, where sho
could have lived by herself, providing such work for her as
she is fitted for. The girl is not averse to labor, if praised
and treated kindly ; many things she does as well as any
body, and she is by no means a fool."
" What have the selectmen done with her ? "
" They have engaged Mr. Slusher to keep her till next
town-meeting, for fifty cents a week; and then, in the
presence of her Christian brother, her support will be sold ;
and he who offers to take her for the smallest sum per week
will be her lord and master for one year. As a general
thing, the meanest men in town take charge of the paupers,
for they underbid others, because they can afford it."
" It seems to me that there is very little Christianity or
humanity in thus disposing of the poor."
" Seems ! I know there is not. At the South, the slave
is put up at auction, and sold to the highest bidder. In our
68 QLENWOOD.
town, we put up the pauper, and he who names the smallest
sum no matter what his reputation may be is the
successful bidder ; and the pauper must accept the home
which he provides, or none."
" I hope we shall have a poor-house, some time ; for such
things are scandalous."
" I hope so, too ; but the latter is often bad enough ; pre-
ferable, however, to our present system."
When the day came for the transaction of the town busi-
ness, there was a scene which we hope, for the sake of
humanity, may never be witnessed in New England again.*
After the selectmen had been chosen, and other affairs
arranged, notice was given that the paupers would now be
disposed of for the ensuing year. Mr. Blossom, who was a
sheriff, and also an auctioneer, mounted upon one of the
pew-seats, the meeting being held in the old church.
" Gentlemen, give me your attention, and let there be
perfect order. The support of the town's poor will now be
sold, which will close up the business of the day ; and then
all who have not eaten up their gingerbread can carry it
home to wife and children." (A laugh.)
' ' I shall put up Peggy Lawson first. Gentlemen, you
all know who she is, for she is not a new comer. Peggy is
a clever crittur, gentlemen, and very good for work, al-
though getting somewhat old ; can be fed and clothed with
little cost. She ' wants but little here below, nor wants
* Since the above was written, the author has learned, with regret, that
there is a TOWN in MASSACHUSETTS which has sold its poor-house, and re-
turned to the barbarous practice of selling the support of the paupers to
the lowest bidder.
GLENWOOD. 69
that little long,' as the poet says. Now, what is the bid?
what is the sum you require, per week, for supporting her
one year ? "
" Seventy-five cents."
" Seventy-five, seventy-five, who says less?"
" Seventy." " Sixty-five."
" Sixty- five is the bid, gentlemen ; it is too much al-
together too much ! Who says sixty ? Fifty-five, now !
Well done ! Will any one take her for a less sum ? Fifty,
fifty, did I hear it ? Going at fifty, fifty ; gone to Mr.
Bumpus, a good bargain."
Johnny Pendwick was next knocked off, at one dollai
a week ; a number of others followed, and then it was Mar-
garet Bumford's turn.
" We have one more," said Mr. Blossom ; " sorry to say
it. She is a new comer, and the most valuable article in
the lot, Margaret Bumford, a strong, hearty young woman,
of good disposition, in perfect health, and willing to work.
am told that she will eat very hearty ; but she will work
enough to make it all right ; dig as many potatoes, and pitch
on a load of hay as quick, as any man in town. To a large
farmer she is invaluable ; for she will milk all your cows,
churn all your butter, and do the washing for twenty, and
not sweat a drop. And" (winking to Mr. Gregg) "she
comes from one of the most respectable and pious families
in town. Now, what is the bid? "
"Fifty cents,'" said Mr. Slusher.
" That 's the price the selectmen have paid you, you old
rat ! But you will never get it again ; too much, altogether
too much, who says less ? Forty-five is the bid ; forty,
going at forty; thirty-five, thirty-five, are you all done?
70 GLENWOOD.
Thirty, thirty, thirty, who says less than thirty ? I can't
dwell, gentlemen ; shall I hear a smaller sum named ? Gone,
at thirty cents a week, to Mr. Slusher, the best bargain
yet ; " and so closed the town-meeting.
One or two of the paupers fell into decently good hands,
this year ; but the majority, as usual, were doomed to live
and labor for the most mean and niggardly. Margaret was
excessively angry when she learned that she was bid off by
Slusher ; and, as she was saucy the next day, the medicinal
qualities of an outward application of birch were tried, Mrs.
Slusher acting as physician, and her husband holding the
patient during the painful operation. A report of the same
was soon noised abroad, causing much talk and genuine
indignation. Deacon Glubbings went to the selectmen, and
demanded that Margaret should be taken from Slusher's
immediately ; but they said, in reply, that he held her by
contract with the town for one year. Mr. Blossom
was heard to say that it was good enough for the wench,
and Mr. Gregg said that it was the only way to deal with a
certain class of paupers. Margaret was ugly, or she never
would have been on the town at all ; and now she must take
the consequences of her own folly.
That Margaret was unjustly dealt with, was but too evi-
dent. She was kept constantly at work, fed with the mean-
est food, and clothed with the coarsest fabrics. - She some-
times thought seriously of seeking deliverance from her
oppressors by flight ; but the poor creature was so ignorant
that she knew not where to go. She once made the attempt
to escape, and followed the road two miles, when she turned
into another, and, to her surprise, came out near her broth-
er's house, who took her back to Mr. S 1 usher 'a, turning a
GLENWOOD. 71
deaf ear to her grievous complaints. For this act of in-
subordination, she was sent supperless to bed, and allowed only
a crust for her breakfast the next morning. During the
forenoon, she went on an errand to one of the neighbors, and
on her way called upon Mrs. Glubbings. She complained
bitterly to the latter of the usage she received, declaring that
she was starving. The "gude woman" placed before her
the most substantial food, and she did it ample justice. She
asked her to call, on her return ; and she then gave her a loaf
of wheat bread, a lot of dough-nuts, and a large piece of
cheese, advising her to put them in some safe place for a
time of need, and when suffering for food be sure and come
to her.
Polly Haggett, not disheartened by the slight progress
she had made, still continued to play, from Cupid's battery,
upon the flinty heart of Mr. Gregg. She sought diligently
to please him in all things, thinking no thoughts and cher-
ishing no opinions which did not coincide with his. She
kept the house in good order, for Mr. Gregg liked to see
taste and neatness. She had always been particular as to
her wardrobe, and now she was as prim as one could desiie.
When Thomas and Fanny were absent, as was frequently
the case, Mr. Gregg and Polly spent their evenings together ;
and then all of her former blandishments, that would come,
were summoned to her aid, that she might bring him to her
feet in spite of himself. It was all in vain, however. He
was pleased with her as a housekeeper, and there his admi-
ration stopped short, without the least probability of its ever
making another step in advance. If she had been rich, or of
family, he would have married her, for he had come to re-
gard her as a little more than ordinary ; she knew a woman's
72 QLENWOOD.
place very few women did she appreciated him re-
garding him with a feeling almost amounting to adoration.
He had impressed her with the depth of his wisdom, and
made her feel that his assumed dignity was awfully real.
She did just what a woman should consulted his ease and
comfort in all things, regardless of her own, and was willing
to spend and be spent for him. It was true that he had
sometimes thought her a little silly and vain ; but, then, in
his eyes, all women were Mrs. Gregg was, and Polly was
no worse than others.
Polly, however, was by no means hopeless, for Mr. Gregg
would yet see what was for his best good. He was too wise
to always stand in his own light. His deportment in her
presence showed more consideration now than formerly ; and
sometimes, though but seldom, he called her Miss Haggett,
and that signified much.
CHAPTER VII.
THE WANDERKR. LODGING IN A BARN. THE LITTLE WTMANS.
DELICIOUS REPAST.
THE light was just glimmering in the east when Delia
commenced her journey. She started thus early that she
might not be seen by the people of the village ; for she seemed
instinctively to shrink from all who knew her. The daily
stage had gone, on the afternoon she left her home ; and, if it
had not, it would have made no difference, for she lacked the
courage to go to the hotel, and, in the presence of many of
her acquaintances, take her departure from there. She
preferred that none should know whither she went, or in what
manner she left Glenwood. At first she walked slowly, for
her limbs ached from the effect of sleeping upon the bare
floor ; accustomed from childhood to a downy bed, and so
suddenly changed to a hard board, it made them stiff and
painful. But she was young, and still strong and healthy,
in spite of her troubles ; and the air was so fresh and invigo-
rating that the stiffness and pain soon departed, and she
quickened her steps, walking so briskly that, when the sun
rose, she was nearly four miles from Glenwood, more than a
mile from any family with whom she was acquainted, and
just on the borders of a neighboring town. She now felt so
fatigued, that, seeing a flat stone, under a maple-tree,
7
74 GLENWOOD.
in a field not far from the road, she went to it and sat down
to rest.
It was a delightful morning, and, after the copious rain,
all nature seemed refreshed, and supremely happy in its re-
newed and more beautiful life. The birds were on the wing,
or singing merrily in the trees ; and the soft hum of the bee
was heard as he gathered honey from the heart of the dewy
flowers, while armies of butterflies fluttered through the bland
summer air, in seeming ecstasies of delight. The sun came up
grandly, kindling a million bright eyes upon the dewy earth ;
but they were soon put out by the heat and brightness of his
own effulgent rays. Delia remembered how dearly she had
loved such a morning as this, and she vainly wished that the
present with its bitter reality could pass away, that she might
return to more blessed days, and so, on this God-given morn-
ing, enter into the fulness of its joy. But she well knew
that this could not be ; and so she nerved her aching heart
to meet bravely whatever the present or the future might have
in store for her.
She now reflected upon the course she had better pursue.
She well knew that the farmers and travellers would soon
be passing along the highway, and perhaps some of her own
townsmen; and then the hills, valleys, and woods, looked so
inviting, in their fresh, young beauty, and the grass felt so
soft to her aching feet, she concluded to avoid the road, and
continue her unknown journey over the fields and through
the groves, as she might think best.
After resting for half an hour, and feeling much refreshed,
she arose and bathed her head in some water which lay among
the roots of the tree under which she sat, and then went on,
WDt knowing where her wandering steps would lead her
GLENWOOD. 76
When another hour had passed, she sat down, and, being very
faint, ate the remainder of the corn. She thought, poor
child ! how sweet and refreshing it was more delicious to
her taste than the most dainty morsel she had ever taken
within her lips. And when it was all gone, she wondered
where she should obtain food. She had a little money, but
she did not like to part with that ; and yet she felt that she
must.
She now continued on her lonely way, avoiding every
house, and shrinking from every eye. Late in the afternoon
she was so faint that she felt she could go no further, and
with streaming eyes she sank down to the ground in despair.
But this would not do, and she raised her weary head and
gazed around her. A short distance away, she saw upon the
south side of a hill what appeared to be wild strawberry-
vines ; and so, summoning all her remaining strength, she
slowly dragged her weary- limbs to the spot, where she found
the whole hill-side covered with the delicious fruit. She
sat down and ate at her leisure, frequently allowing her-
self for a time to forget her sorrows, and, with the strange
delight of her early childhood, entering into and receiving
the sweet influences which nature, bounteous mother, had so
lavishly scattered around.
The stern reality soon returned, and then she noticed that
the sun was fast receding from view. She made haste to
reach the top of the hill, and anxiously looked to see if there
were any farm-houses in sight ; but not one could she discern.
This was truly disheartening, for she was too weary to go
much further. About one fourth of a mile from where she
stood, she beheld a small barn, which seemed to have strayed
away from home into the fields, like herself.
76 ULENWOOD.
" How lonely it looks ! " she thought. " I will be its com-
panion to-night, for it will not shut its doors against me."
When she reached the building, she found that one of the
scaffolds was nearly full of hay; and she climbed to the top
of it, and there made herself a bed, feeling grateful for so
luxurious a couch. While she was lying there, wishing
that sleep might come and bring the rest she so much re-
quired, reflections like these passed through her mind :
"When will my wanderings end? which way shall I direct
my steps to-morrow ? what shall I do for food ? who will
give me a home? will it not all end in death?" She
thought of the latter for some time, and it seemed to be dis-
armed of its terrors ; and she felt that she could resignedly
give up her life, under some sheltering tree in the green
fields, and go to him. The soft grass should be her couch ;
the summer winds cool her hot brow ; the bees soothe her
to sleep, even that which should have no waking ; and the
birds chant her funeral hymn.
These thoughts soothed her aching heart, and she soon fell
into delicious repose. Long, very long, did she sleep ; and,
while her senses were closed to the outward world, she went
back to the days of her early childhood, and she was rest-
ing upon the soft bosom of her mother, happy as a blessed
angel. As she lay looking up to her sad, quiet face, she
wondered why she had never seen that dear one before,
when her heart had so yearned for such beautiful love.
Then, again, she was walking with him who was dearer than
all, walking on the mountain side, the full moon looking
down through the trees smilingly upon them. joy ! his
arni was around her, his lips were pressed to hers ! The
scene was now changed, fearfully changed. A terrible
GLENWOOD. 77
night, a night of darkness and despair, had settled down
upon her ; the heavens were so black, the moon looked like *
blood, and all the eyes of the stars were put out. And he
was lost lost ! Bitterly did she moan in her sleep, while
the shadows grew more intense in their gloom. But a gleam
of hope cheered her heart, for she thought " it is the dark-
est just before the day." And now the shadows were pass-
ing away, the light was dawning in the east, and soon all
the clouds were dispersed, the sun came up in new glory,
and a heavenly morning was ushered in, and a being so
beautiful was coming from afar ; she strained her eyes that
she might satisfy her bounding heart. Swiftly he came
nearer and yet nearer it is he ! He is not lost, not dead !
and she was clasped wildly in the arms of her lover, his
heart beating against her own. In this ecstasy of love and
bliss, she awoke.
When she had succeeded in disentangling her mind from
the silken threads of her dream, so that she realized that
she was no longer in dream-land, with its light and dark-
ness, she exclaimed,
" cruel, cruel dream, to so deceive me ! Why did I
wake so soon ? ' ' And then, as though a happier thought
had struck her, she said, " My bright young hopes have all
ended in darkness and despair. The present, the future, is
all dark, but the morning will come ! "
As the rays of the sun were pouring in through the
chinks of the barn, she thought how long she had slept,
and that it was time she had resumed her pilgrim-
age. Down the ladder she went with trembling steps,
and, looking a kind adieu to the place which had sheltered
her so well, she continued on her way with a comparatively
7*
78 GLKNWOOD.
light heart. She found now and then a strawberry, and she
quenched her thirst from the clear streams. which she passed,
and found rest when weary under some friendly tree ; and
thus she went on for many hours.
About noon, she came in sight of a pretty village, com-
posed mainly of one beautiful street, with large elm and
maple trees on both sides of the way. A little distance
from it, she sat down, and thought whether she should go
there and seek for food, or take a circuitous route in the
fields, and pass by it. She chose the former, resolving to
call at a store and purchase a few crackers, she was so hun-
gry. But, when fairly in the village, people looked at her
so strangely that her heart failed her, and so she passed on
through it without stopping at all. Not far from the vil-
lage was a schoolhouse, and bright-eyed children were play-
ing around it. When she went by them, some were fright-
ened, and others disposed to mock. " And can I so have
changed," she said to herself, " that children are afraid of
me, or think me an object for ridicule?" She slowly
dragged her weary limbs along, until she came to three
beautiful little children, two sisters and a brother, who had
spread a clean napkin upon the grass, and were covering it
with apple-pie, doughnuts, sandwiches, cheese, and the whit-
est wheaten bread, well spread with the yellowest, sweetest
butter. Never did food look so inviting, so delicious, before.
How she wished that it was all her own, or that she had
enough to satisfy her craving hunger !
She sat down a little way off, and looked on, while the
tidy, bright little things tastefully arranged their tempting
meal. A whisper from the smallest one of the trio a blue-
eyed, red-lipped, dimpled-cheeked child caused them all to
GLENWOOD. 79
glance at the stranger. They did not seem frightened, they
did not laugh ; but they soon turned their eyes away, and
gazed meaningly into each other's faces. The smallest one
now approached her, and, looking up, with a sweet, dimpled,
smile, said,
"Igeth you are hundry, an't you ? "
11 Yes, dear."
" Well, I thought you was ; so you must turn and tate
dinner with us."
"Bless you, bless you, dear child !" said Delia, bursting
into tears; " I will not rob you of your dinner ; but I will
buy some of you, if you will sell it to me."
" no ! no ! no ! " they all exclaimed at once, " papa
and mamma would be very much grieved if we should do
so. We '11 give it all to you, for you look so very faint. ' ;
And seeing that she was weeping, the oldest one, a pleas-
ant girl of nine years, said,
" Don't weep, please; for we are very glad to have you
for our guest to-day. We have got plenty, and it is so
good ! "
" Mamma allus mates dood thinds," said the little one.
Delia went and sat down with those sweet little creatures,
and, telling them that they must eat, too, partook of one of
the most delicious meals that had ever fallen to her lot.
" I have a nice, bright dipper here," said the boy, a little
hazel-eyed Cupid, "and I will go to the spring, and get you
such sweet, cold water ! "
"So do, Franky," said the oldest ; "and, Jeannie, you
stay here, while I run and fetch that basket of nice straw-
berries which we gathered this morning and hid under the
bushes."
80 GLENWOOD.
" Yeth, Flora ; and I '11 be her little tumpany, as mamma
thonietimes tells me when she has nobody in the house but
just I."
"What is your other name, besides Jeannie ?" asked
Delia.
" My name an't Jeannie at all, only they call me so.
Flora says it 's my pet name. My own name is Maria Jean-
nette."
" Well, your other name, I mean."
" T' other name is Wyman."
" Thank you, you dear little angel ! I shall never forget it.
Will you come and kiss me, Jeannie ? " and she opened her
arms, and the latter sprang into them, and clung lovingly to
her neck, covering her face with kisses.
! how much of peace this brought to the aching heart
of the wanderer ! " All do not turn away," she thought;
" these beautiful children speak kindly to me, give me food,
and this little angel-one loves me."
Jeannie put one arm around Delia's neck, and laid her
head upon her bosom, and looked pityingly, but with the
sweetest confidence, into the face which was bending affec-
tionately over her. Closely the wanderer pressed that little
one to her heart ; fondly she imprinted kisses upon her
cherry-red lips. A strange feeling of tender maternal love
and joy stole over her, and for a time all was peace. Ah !
could she have looked into the unknown future, closer would
she have pressed that little one, dearer that loving em-
brace ! But Franky returned with the water ; and, soon
after, Flora with the delicious strawberries, which were
quickly devoured. A portion of the dinner was left, and
they begged Delia to accept it. She could not refuse, and,
GLENWOOD. 81
kissing them all, and bidding them good-by, she continued
her journey, her heart filled with gratitude to those kind
little ones. Looking back and beholding them walking tow-
ards the schoolhouse, hand in hand, in all their innocence,
purity, and youthful beauty, she involuntarily dropped upon
her knees, and breathed a prayer for their protection, bless
edness, and peace.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE WOODS. FINDS SHELTER. MOLL HADLET. ROBBERY.
A NIGHT OF HORROR. THE KIND-HEARTED CHILDREN AGAIN. THEIR
HOME. THE OUTCAST IS WELCOMED.
UP to this time, Delia had walked nearly all the way in
the fields, but she now concluded to keep the road. She
was tired and foot-aore, and yet on she went, with no hope
that her weary journey would end, except with the grave.
At sunset she found that the road she had followed ex-
tended no further, and so she took to the fields again. She
soon came to a piece of woodland, but, attempting to pass
through it, lost her way, and became so bewildered that she
went repeatedly over the same ground. When it was quite
dark, she sat down and cried, as though all hope had departed.
But, after the moon had risen, she collected her scattered
senses, and then decided which course would lead out of the
woods She was not mistaken, for she soon came to a pas-
ture, which, by moonlight, seemed to have no bounds, except
the woods at her back. She had not gone far before she
saw a light, and ere long she came to a little hut or cottage,
standing in the centre of the pasture. She knocked at the
door, and to the question "who was there," replied that she
was a poor woman, who had lost her way. The door was
cautiously opened, and Delia thankfully accepted the invi-
GLENWOOD. 83
tation to enter, and spend the night. She found herself in
a little, dirty room, scant of furniture, whose sole occupant,
except a cat, was an old woman, very wrinkled and gray,
with a sinister and repulsive look.
" S'pose ye took the wrong road, an' 'tempted to come
'cross through the woods," she said, in a dry, cracked voice.
"Folks is done it many a time, an' got lost in them, when
they 'd come here for me to p'int out the way. It 's too late
for ye to find it, to-night ; but ye can stay here, if you '11
sleep on the floor, for I 've got no bed for ye; and I can't gin
ye nothin' to eat, for I han't 'nough for myself."
" I have some food which I brought with me, and that
will be all that I shall require to-night," said Delia.
" It 's well ye bringed it," replied the old woman, " for I
'spect you '11 give me some of it, for lettin' ye stay here."
" 0, yes," she replied, looking at her hostess with much
terror.
"Don't ye be afeared on me, for I never hurts nobody.
I live here all alone, and sometimes I 'm half famished. I '11
only eat half, an' ye '11 get more when ye get home to-
morrow."
" How far is it to the highway ? "
"A good half-mile. Did ye get lost in them ere
woods?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Awful place for gettin' lost, them woods is. A gal like
you got lost there once, an' when they found her there was
nothin' but her skileton left." Delia shuddered. " I were
lost there once myself, a good many years ago a good many
years ago. I went wanderin' about for a whole day an'
night, e'en-a-most scart to death. Did n't know as much as
84 GLENWOOD.
I do now, though ! " and the old crone chuckled at the
thought, while the expression of her face was so hideous that
Delia instinctively drew away from her.
" I tell ye not to be afeared. I used to be jest so skittish
once," -chuckling again. "I 've got bravely over it
bravely over it; an' so will you, when you've had my 'speri-
ence. I was n't allus what you see me. Once I was young
an' fair, like ye, with jest sich raven locks, and sad, dark
eyes. Do I look like it now? Tell me the truth, gal! "
with another chuckle.
" No, ma'am."
" I know I don't, so 't 's well ye telled the truth. Ye
can scarcely think that this hideous, old, wrinkled face was
ever so fair as yourn; but it was it was. An' once, gal, it
was as pale, as pale, for many a day. These old eyes have
begun to grow dim a little, but they are purty good yet ; but
the time was when they was as bright and black as yours.
I 'm old I 'm old ! " chuckling.
"How old are you?" inquired Delia, who thought she
must say something.
" Seventy-five. I 've lived a good many years years of
woe ! an' I hate my fellur-critturs for 't I do I do ! "
"I pity you," said Delia, weeping.
4 ' Who wants your pity ? " she said, very fiercely. < ' Look
to yourself, wench ; you need it more 'n I do. Pity ! pity !
I were told that long ago; but they lied, curse them ! I
know them well ; I know what it 's worth ! " and she chuckled
again, most hideously.
Delia tried to speak, but she was so terrified that she
could not.
" Look to yourself,jwench ! " the old crone continued, for
GLENWOOD. 85
you need the pity, not I. Don't I know ? Have n't I been
through it all? But I swore revenge revenge, an' I 've
had it ! You pity me, white-face! Well, well ! " chuckling
again, " I should have done just so, when I were like you.
I will not hurt you, gal, but I tate ye all ! I tell ye I was
once as beautiful as you, with jest sich raven locks, an'
purty eyes an' lips ; but a villin won my love, an' betrayed
me. Then I found what pity was. My family cast me off,
disowned me. They told me curse them ! that they pit-
ied, while they drove me away. Wench ! " (and she took hold
of Delia's shoulder, with her bony hand, with a grip that
caused her great pain) " if ye say that word pity to me agin,
I '11 have your heart's blood ! I '11 have none of it none of
it ! Pity> do you? look to yourself ! I was treated by the
world as I was by my own family," loosening her grip and
chuckling, " an' they pitied, too, I s'pose ; but I 've had my
revenge my revenge ! I ' ve preyed upon my feller-critturs
this many a year ; an' noj you know why. When they
made me a cast-away, my young heart was full of love an'
tenderness, as the spring flowers of beauty. I had broken
over the rules of society, I know, but I was a thousand times
purer then than many of those who scorned me ; yes, yes,
for I had n't an evil thought in my heart. 0, horror ! how I
have changed ! But they are to blame they are to blame !
"In my terrible desolation, when driven from my home,
I went to an old friend, one whom I loved so well that I
would have died to save her from a fate like mine. I fell
on my knees before her ; I confessed that I had fallen ; I
told her that my parents had cast me off. What did she say,
think you, wench? Look to yourself look to yourself!
She sail she pitied me. Fool ! fool ! I thought she meant
8
86 GJ,ENWOOD.
it, an' I begged her, in my extremity, to aid me. What did
that dear friend do ? She told me, to my face, that I was
too vile to associate with respectable people that I must
not expect help from her; an' so I went broken-hearted away.
She pitied me, an' she was too pure to aid her fallen friend !
An' yet, ! I choke to think on 't, she married him, the
villin, the wretch, the monster, the devil, who won my love,
an' betrayed me ' There was her purity, an' that was her
pity! But I have had my revenge my revenge ! " and
the old hag arose and walked the floor, swaying to and fro,
in a fearful paroxysm of rage and passion, muttering and
chuckling, "A darkened household a daughter's shame
son's villiny revenge revenge ! "
Delia had long since covered up her face to shut out the
awful sight ; and, if she had not been paralyzed with fear, and
could have opened the door, she would have arisen and fled,
it was so fearful to be shut up there with such a terrible
being. When the old woman ^iad become more calm, she
saw the state her guest was in, and sought to revive her
courage.
" Shaking, are ye ? I '11 not hurt ye, gal. I 've made 'em
shake 'fore now ! But you are a poor thing, so don't fear.
Don't pity me, that 's all, an' I '11 not hurt a hair on your
head. I have power yet power yet!" chuckling.
" This talk has made me hungry. Put your vittals on my
table, an' we '11 eat."
Delia obeyed, and her hostess made a strong cup of tea,
and they sat down to supper. The food was quickly des-
patched, though Delia ate but little.
After supper, the wanderer lay down upon the floor,
taking her bundle for a pillow. She did not sleep for somo
CLENWOOD. 87
hours, for three times the old woman came close to her, and
once she put out her hand, as though about to search her
pockets. Delia knew, by the sinister expression of her
skinny face, that her intentions were evil, and so the sleepy
god was frightened away. If she had been alone, she would
have quickly fallen asleep, though the hard floor was her
couch. She felt that she would not say pity again to this
poor old creature, for the world ; but in her heart she felt
it deeply. " Could it be," she thought, " that she was ever
as pure and beautiful as she had said ? Once a lovely girl,
but now a wretched, wicked old hag, body and soul repel-
lent to everything innocent, lovely, and good? What a
mighty, lamentable change ! And my condition is so similar
to what hers was once, that I shudder to think that I may
become what she is now." She felt that she would rather
end her life by her own hand, than live to sink so low in
vice and crime. "0, heavenly Father," she prayed, " save
me from a fate so deplorable ! May my heart be kept free
from all bitterness, and be pure, and warm, and forgiving!
Thy erring, suffering child would look to thee for aid, for
deliverance. 0, forsake me not ! Send the spirits of the
good to guide and teach me the way of holiness! "
It was past midnight when the old creature went to bed,
and soon after her breathing indicated that she was in a deep
slumber ; and then Delia also slept.
The occupant of this cottage was known by the name of
Moll Hadley. She obtained the means of subsistence by
cultivating a small patch of ground near her home, fortune-
telling, begging, and stealing.
The day had dawned when Delia awoke, and, as Moll was
still asleep, she deemed it best to takejher departure without
88 GLENWOOD
awaking her. She had not inquired what course she should
pursue, and it took her a long time to reach the highway;
but it was gained at last, and now her courage revived, for
it must lead to some house, where she hoped that she might
be suffered to remain until able to continue her journey.
Her journey ! Poor thing ! why should she continue it,
when only death could bring it to an end ?
As the grass was no longer wet with the dew of last night,
and the sun was very warm, she turned back a few steps,
and, seeking the shade of a large apple-tree, lay down and
fell into a deep slumber. Soon after, the old hag, Moll
Hadley, came along, and, seeing the stranger asleep, who
had left her cottage so unceremoniously, stole noiselessly to
her, and took from her pocket what money it contained, and,
carefully removing her bundle from under her head, ran
swiftly away, and was soon out of sight.
Great was the consternation of Delia, who soon awoke,
when she found that the bundle which contained her rai-
ment was gone. She wondered if she left it at Moll Had-
ley' s cottage. But that could not be, for she knew that her
head had rested upon it when she fell asleep. Instinctively
she felt in her pocket, and then she knew that she had been
robbed.
" ! this is too much," she exclaimed, " to take all I had !
What shall I do now ? There is one thing that I can do,
thank heaven ! die ! "
More dark than ever now seemed her way, but still she
felt impelled to go on. Unembarrassed by her bundle, yet
was her heart too heavy for her to make rapid progress.
Her fate now seemed fearful, indeed, and hope died within
her bosom. She was sometimes tempted to go into the
GLENWOOD. 89
fields, far from the highway, and there lie down and wait
for death to come and end her woes. Ah ! when would it
come ? How long delay ? To lie there days and nights,
waiting, longing for death, would be too horrible ! Would
it be right to cease all efforts ? Could she feel justified in
yielding up her life, unless she had made the most strenu-
ous efforts to save it ?
No, no ; she would still struggle on, and, though the pres-
ent was so hopeless, and the future held out no other re-
lief than death, yet would she do all in her power to pre-
serve the life that God had given. At length she came to
a house, and galled, wishing that she might rest a while ; but
the woman, being alone, was so frightened, and seemed so
anxious to be rid of her, that she did not remain long.
Just as the sun was setting, she stopped at another dwelling,
and, to her request that she might be permitted to pass the
night there, was told that they had no accommodations for
such as she stragglers must look out for themselves.
Faint and sick, she left the inhospitable roof, and slowly
went onward. It soon became quite dark, and, as she could
see no light ahead, the poor creature relinquished all hope
of finding a place of refuge until another day. She left
the road and went into the fields ; and, seeing a miniature
grove, in her wretchedness and desolation, she there resolved
to spend the night.
It was very warm, and ere long the mosquitoes began to
sting her ; so she drew her veil over her face, and there the
outcast, with hunger gnawing at her vitals, her limbs ach-
ing, her head painful, her bosom hopeless, waited for the
morning, often falling asleep, but waking in terror to find
the reality more awful than the dream. Never was the
8*
90 ftLENWOOD.
day-dawn more welcome, for night's shadowy horrors fled
before the light. She sought to rise and go onward, but
she was so weak that she laid down her head in despair.
Sleep again stole upon her, a sleep sweet and refreshing,
which lasted until ten o'clock. She was much astonished
when she opened her eyes and saw how high the sun was.
She lay and reflected a while as to what she should do.
Food she must have. But where could she obtain it ? She
felt that she could not beg from those who might treat her
rudely ; but how else could she obtain those things which
were now indispensable to her existence ?
It was some moments before she could gain an erect posi-
tion, and then she moved with difficulty. Continued exer-
tion relaxed the stiffened cords, and renewed her strength ;
but, knowing that it would hold out but a brief period, she
resolved to improve it to the best advantage. She passed
two dwellings, wanting courage to call at either ; at a third
she was about to seek admittance, but, catching a glimpse of
the mistress' face, which at that moment appeared at the
window with an unpitying, repelling expression, she turned
quickly and walked away. The road now seemed familiar,
and ere long she came in sight of the school-house, and
the village on beyond.
" All this for nothing ! " she said, despairingly ; " these
days of weariness, hunger, and pain, and nights of woe !
Alas ! what will become of me ? Will no one pity me ?
I am a poor, lost child I know not what to do ! Can I
lie out in the fields another night, to be haunted by such
ghostly horrors ? I have no father now, no brother, no
sister, and and he is dead ! Does he pity his Delia his
lost, broken-hearted Delia ? All my friends are lost, and
GLENWOOD. 91
I I am in despair. Will death come soon and relieve me
of my woes ? ! then I shall go to him, and my wander-
ings will be ended. But it is so terrible to die fainting for
food sick houseless alone ! "
At this moment, a gleam of hope shot into her aching
heart, and caused a smile to light up her face. She thought
of the three little friends who shared their dinner with
her two days before, and deliverance might come through
them.
"I will wait," she said, "and those dear angels may
come again. ! I shall be so glad to see the sweet creat-
ures to see kind looks once more, and hear their artless,
loving words, the darlings ! I hope they will come, for their
smiles would warm this icy heart."
On the Tery spot where she took that delicious repast
she sat down, and eagerly waited their coming. In a brief
time, the noisy children came pouring out, happy as birds
to regain their freedom once more. The little Wymans
soon espied their friend, and hastened to her, manifesting
much joy that she had come back again. She had not
wept for many hours, but now the fount was unsealed, and
the tears fell like rain. Those dear children expressed the
greatest anxiety and sympathy for her, because she looked
so ill.
"You look sick enough to be abed," said Flora. "I
thought you were all beat out, day before yesterday ; but
you look as though you could scarcely hold up your head
now. I know where there is a pretty tree, beautiful and
shady, and under it the grass is so thick and soft, thatjt 's
just as good as a couch ; and you must go there and lie
down and rest until after school is done, and then go home
92 GLENWOOD.
with us, and we '11 give you such a nice bed in a cosey room,
and take such good care of you, that you will soon be all well
and strong. I am sure you need to be taken care of, and
have some herb-tea and gruel. Mother makes the nicest
gruel you ever did eat."
" Pa and ma were very sorry that we did not invite you
home with us, when we saw you before," said Franky.
" And they were so dlad that we dave you some dinner !
and ma said that if we had invited you home, she would
have diven you thome dood, warm supper," said Jeannie.
" Heaven bless her ! " exclaimed Delia.
" And father said that he wished you had come," returned
Flora; " for he said you must be a poor, forsaken one, and
he was fearful that you had no home to go to. You will
go home with us, won't you ? "
" Your home must be very happy," replied Delia, weep-
ing, ' ' and I should like to go there, if I could stay to-night,
and rest me, I am so very weary, but "
" Please, don't cry," said Flora, the tears moistening her
own eyes, " for you make me feel real bad. You must go
with us ; and you shall stay more than one night a whole
week, and let mother make you all well again."
" I have no money now, and I could not make the small-
est recompense," said Delia; "and I have no wardrobe, ex-
cepting what I have on. ! I I am so destitute, so for-
saken!"
" What have you done with the tlothes you had day be-
fore yesterday?" inquired Jeannie.
"-I was so weary," she replied, " that I lay down in a
field, and I soon went to sleep ; and some one came and took
my bundle, and all my money, leaving me in despair. You
GLENWOOD. 93
say that I look ill. I fear that I shall be sick for many
days or weeks, causing much trouble and expense, and I
have nothing. I am not well, I know my head feels
strangely to-day ! ! I would so so like to go home
with you ; but your parents do not know what a poor,
wretched creature I I am. ! it would be so so blessed
to lay this aching head upon a soft pillow once more, and
rest ! Then I could die ; but they would not receive the
lost one into such a home as theirs."
"You must not think so," said Flora. " They are bet-
ter than you suppose them to be ; and they would take the
best care of you, and never want you to pay them. We
shall make you go with us, and you shall stay a good many
nights ; and then your head will get well, and we will
chase your tears all away, and make you very happy."
" You are a dear, good girl, and this poor heart thanks
you for such kind words ; but, alas ! you know not what I
am, and your parents do not know, or they would not have
wished that I had come home with you. If they did know,
and would let me come and stay a little while a few days
I would be so glad ! " replied Delia.
" If you are poor and forsakfen, father said," remarked
Flora, "why, then it would be his duty to welcome you,
and, if possible, find you a home.''
" Your father must be a good man," said Delia, :< and I
will hope that he will not spurn me from his door ; but,
alas! "
" There, don't say any more about it, if you please,"
said Flora, "for I know you will be very welcome ; and
oow we want you to eat some of our nice things."
While the conversation was going on, the children had
94 GLENWOOD.
spread out their little cloth, and covered it with an abun-
dance of tempting food ; but Delia, who had eaten so heart-
ily two days before, could eat but little now.
"I geth you must be real sick," said little Jeannie, "for
you don't eat not half so much as I, and you are ever so
much bigger."
" Yes, dear, I am not well to-day, or I should eat a great
deal of such good victuals."
" I will go and get you some of that cold water," said
Franky, " and then you will be ever so much better."
"Thank you," she replied, "I should like a drink of
that water, it was so refreshing, and my mouth is so hot
and dry ! "
The boy soon returned, and the cool beverage in a meas-
ure revived the wanderer. The kind Flora told her that
if she was willing she would do to her head as her mother
did to hers when it ached ; and so she bathed it with the
water, and pressed it hard with her hands. If this treatment
did not remove the pain, it soothed the weary one, and made
her so grateful that the tears renewedly rolled down her
cheeks. Flora now took Delia by the hand, and led her to
the place she had before spoken of; and, taking her own
shawl, she made a pillow with it for her head, and, while
giving utterance to comforting and soothing words, laid her
soft hands upon Delia's fair, white brow, until unconscious-
ness gradually stole over her, and she fell into a quiet
sleep. She now stole noiselessly from the sleeping stranger,
and returned with her brother and sister to school.
As will have been noticed, Flora was a very thoughtful
child, and she was apprehensive that Delia was too sick tc
sleep so long in the open air, she might take more cold.
GLENWOOD. 96
And so, when it was time for recess, she asked to be dis-
missed; which request was kindly granted, coupled with
the permission for her little brother and sister to go with
her.
Delia was awoke from her peaceful sleep by the kind-
hearted children ; and, taking a proffered hand in each of
hers, she started for their home. But her steps were now
unsteady and slow, and the mile which they had to go seemed
to her like a long journey. Her little companions noticed
how feeble she was, and they encouraged her with the oft-
repeated assurance that it was but a little further, and they
should soon be there.
After passing over a number of hills, and through a small
wood-lot, the children exclaimed :
" There is our home ! " and Delia saw, a short distance
from where they then were, on a pleasant eminence, a large
and lovely cottage, with a most inviting home-like look
the location admirably chosen, and the architecture very
beautiful. It had an extensive garden in front, in the form
of a half-circle ; and there were beds of flowers and vege-
tables, with grassy banks, the whole length of the garden,
and continued in regular gradations to the bottom of the
hill. In the rear of the house was a graceful and inviting
arbor, covered with luxuriant grape-vines, making a pleasant
retreat. In this beautiful place were a number of seats made
of the small and curiously-formed trees which grew in a
swamp not far off; and they were so ingeniously put together
in the shape of large easy-chairs and sofas, and seemed so
well adapted to the place, that every one was perfectly de-
lighted with them. The newest and most elegant furniture
would have seemed tame there, iu comparison. In the gar-
96 GILENWOOD.
den were many flourishing fruit-trees ; and a splendid orchard,
containing four acres of young,' vigorous apple-trees, grafted
\vith all the best fruit in New England, lay just back of the
beautiful arbor. A little distance from the cottage were
fields of corn, rye and oats, potatoes, etc. The out-build-
ings were all in excellent repair, and everything in the most
complete order; so that this home had a quiet, happy, and
comfortable aspect.
To Delia, whose exhausted frame and anxious spirit would
have rendered her grateful for almost any place of refuge,
this retreat seemed like a paradise. She knew, at a
glance, that Mr. Wyman was a farmer, and a very in-
telligent and worthy one; but when she thought what
she was, and that the owners of that delightful cottage
were entirely unacquainted with her, with the circum-
stances which had so strangely conspired to bring about
her ruin, she hesitated to enter that abode, the home of
innocence and peace. With this feeling, she sat down and
began to weep ; and, when urged to go forward by the chil-
dren, she told them that she could not that they must
go without her, and she would return to the woods and lie
down and die. She almost thought that it was her duty to
hasten away as fast as her feet could carry her.
"Do come," said Flora, "and you shall lie down in
such a pretty room, and rest yourself so nice ! "
" No, no, I cannot ! " Delia replied. " They would not
want me in that happy place. ! that I might die ! "
" Well, if you will not go in with me, I will run and tell
mother, and she will come out after you ! " aud away she
went, with all haste, leaving the other children with
Delia.
OLENWOOD. 97
They did not wait long, for Flora soon returned with her
mother. Delia saw Mrs. Wyman approaching, and tried in
vain to hold up her head. But the latter went to her, and
gently raised her up, saying that her little girls had spoken
of her two days before, and she was very glad she had come ;
and now she must go into her cottage, where she should be
most welcome. Delia mechanically obeyed, leaning on the
arm of her motherly companion. When once in the house,
she suffered her bonnet and shawl to be removed ; and, being
led to a comfortable seat, she gladly sat down, thankful that
she might do so, even while her heart beat with the most
painful forebodings. And when she saw a most pitying ex-
pression steal over the face of her hostess, she instinctively
tried to shrink away from the gaze of those clear, beautiful
eyes. Not that she expected to see them flash with indig-
nation, or that she would utter words of crushing reproof;
but she feared lest she should be too great an offence to so
much goodness.
"You are shivering," said Mrs. Wyman, "and I fear that
you have taken a severe cold. Flora, go and bring in some
dry wood and kindle a fire here, and then make one in the
kitchen."
There was a bright-looking fire-frame in this sitting-room,
o o o *
and in it a brisk fire was soon burning, how pleasant to
the chilled and exhausted stranger ! She queried whether
it could be as warm out-doors as she had thought it was a few
days before. And then she wondered what Mr. Wyman
would say when he came in from his work. Should she
moot with the same compassion and kindness in him she
had already observed in his wife ? Would they allow her
to remain over night ?
9
98 GLENWOOD.
While these reflections were passing through her mind,
Mrs. Wyman was preparing herb-tea, which she soon
brought to her ; and, after that, a bowl of tepid water, in
which she bathed her face and hands ; and then she combed
and arranged her beautiful hair : and when she had done all
this, she looked into her face, and exclaimed, ' ' How beauti-
ful you are ! " bending over and kissing her forehead. This
was so unexpected to Delia, that she looked up with a smile
of surprise ; and, meeting the glance of those clear, beautiful
eyes, she leaned her head confidingly upon her bosom.
"Poor child," said Mrs. Wyman; "there is a terrible
wrong somewhere, or this could not have been. Your coun-
tenance has no look of hardened guilt, or a love of sin. If
I should hear your own lips declare it, I could not believe
it."
What blessed words were those to Delia, and how glad
she was that they should be spoken, even though coming
from the lips of a stranger ! She wished to thank her for
them, but so great was her emotion that she could not speak,
and so she wept aiiJl sobbed like a little child.
" It was not my intention to make you weep," Mrs. Wy-
man remarked ; " but the omen is a happy one, confirming
my previous impressions, that your heart is tender and
good. Dry your tears, dear, and when you are strong
enough you shall tell me all yes, everything, keeping
nothing back ; and I shall believe every word ; and in me
shall you find the friend you so much need in this hour of
bitter trial."
" ! how good you are ! " said Delia, looking up into her
face through her tears.
" "Not very good, I fear," was the reply; "but I know
GLENWOOD. 99
that you are a poor, forsaken one, in distress, and it is my
duty to help you."
".I am so glad that those dear children brought me here !
but but what will your husband say? "
" Don't be afraid of him, for he is not unworthy of trust;
and I can promise you that you will find him both ready
and willing to assist you."
" I have not doubted that he was good, but I thought he
could not be willing to let me remain in his sweet home.
Man's heart is not so tender as woman's."
" I don't know how that may be, but Mr. Wyman's is as
tender as one could Avish. I must go now and prepare the
tea, and you will remain here. I would send in one of the
children, only it is rather too warm for them. I would like,
however, before I go, to know your name, as I shall want
to introduce you to Mr. Wyman."
" Delia Gregg."
"Is that a name you have assumed for a time, or is it
your real name ? "
" It is my own name, and I have never once thought of
taking any other."
" I see that you are as artless as a child ; and I am glad
that you are. for I shall feel it so much the more my duty
to befriend you."
It was not long before Delia heard the voice of Mr. Wy-
man ; and, notwithstanding what his wife had said, she was
fearful of the result. She fancied that, if he was so very
good, he would bid her leave his house, and never enter it
again, for she must be so offensive to him. Some minutes
elapsed before she heard him approaching, the door having
been closed, and during this time her heart beat violently,
100 GLENWOOD.
and now she trembled in every limb, and her face became of
an ashy paleness.
" Miss Gregg," said the musical voice of Mrs. Wyman,
" this is my husband, who is very glad that you are here."
Mr. Wyman took Delia's trembling hand and shook it
cordially, and sa ; d, "My wife has told the truth, and you
are most welcome to my house and home ; doubt not that
you are with those who are able and willing to befriend
you."
"Just see how very pale she is, through apprehension of
your dreaded presence ! I fancy that she is the first woman
who was ever afraid of you," said Mrs. Wyman.
" I am not so sure of that," Mr. Wyman replied. " If
my memory is not decidedly treacherous, a certain lady was
once a little too timid in my presence for my comfort. But
she learned better in due season ; and so will you, Miss
Gregg."
Delia was now told that supper was ready, and, leaning
on the arm of Mrs. Wyman, she walked out and sat down
to a well-spread board. As sick as she was, she noticed
that everything was in the most perfect order, and the
bread and pastry reminded her of the delicious repast she
had taken with the children by the roadside. The table-
cloth was clean and white, the knives and forks shone, and
the plates, cups and saucers, were so bright and glistening,
that they reflected faces like a mirror.
After supper, when she had returned to the sitting-room,
little Jeannie went and sat by her side, and entertained her
with her childish prattle, frequently beseeching her not to
go away in the morning. By and by the other children
came in, kissed her, bade her good-night, and went to be .
GLENWOOD. 101
Mr. Wyman harnessed his horse and rode to the village to
do some shopping, and so Delia was left alone with Mrs.
Wyman.
"You look sick," said the latter, "and, if it will tax
your strength too much, you need not relate your history
to-night."
But Delia felt a great deal better, and she fancied that
now she was quite well, and so she said : " I don't feel much
sick, and I should rather tell you now, or I shall think of
it all night, and I wish to rest. But you will let me
remain till morning?"
' Let you remain! I will not let you go. You must
not doubt me any more, Delia, for I am not deceiving you.
It is no idle curiosity which prompts me, as you might sup-
pose, to make the request which I have. Rest assured that
my motives are pure, and I trust that my request will be
met in the spirit in which it is made. You will tell me all,
I am sure, and not try to deceive or mislead me in the least,
will you not, dear ? "
" ! yes, yes, I will ! I could not deceive one so good
to the poor outcast. 0! I should have died if you had
not taken pity upon me ! How kind in your husband
to give me such friendly greeting! I could fall down at
your feet, and kiss them, and bathe them with tears of
gratitude."
"You warm-hearted child ! but do not weep any more.
There may be rich blessings in store for you yet."
' ' I have no hope of that ; no hope of happiness in this
world, and I look for rest only in the grave."
"In the grave?"
" Or beyond it. I hope that one who is dearer to me
9*
102 GLENWOOD.
than all this world contains is in heaven, and that I may,
ere long, meet him there."
"Your thoughts are sad, child, and I hope your earth-
future may not be so dark and drear as you now imagine
it must be. The blackest clouds are chased away by the
sun, and then how clear and beautiful is the sky ! It is the
darkest, you know, just before the day."
"Yes, yes; so I dreamed three nights ago, and I have
believed ever since that the day would come, and so I will
patiently wait for it."
Mrs. Wyman now found that her eyes were filling with
tears, and she arose and clasped Delia to her heart, saying,
" You dear, dear child ! you have no mother, I am sure,
or one like you could not be here. I know that you have
sinned, Delia ; but who is entirely guiltless ? And the world
would shut out such as you from all its sympathies and
loves ; and yet how many self-righteous ones, honored by
man, shining lights in the church, would knock in vain at
heaven's gate, if merit opened the door, while you would be
welcomed by the dearest angels ! "
"Do you think so? Then I will believe it, for one so
good as you must know. I have no mother on earth, but
she is in heaven. I don't remember 'her, but I have Seen
her in a dream, and she was so very beautiful that I wished
to go to her, and have her teach me to be pure and happy ;
and I shall go to her, and to him ! If the departed can
come and minister to and bless the living, I know my moth-
er will come to you ! "
" I hope so, dear ! But now put your feet on this stool,
and rest your head upon this pillow, and, before you are too
weary, relate to me the history of your life."
QLENWOOD. 103
Delia, with many tears, briefly told her all, commencing
with early childhood, and following her life down to the
present. She did as requested, relating faithfully everything
of the least importance. "And now," said she, when she
had finished, " can you let me stop with you a few days, till
I am well and strong again, or must I go to-morrow? "
"Don't talk so, Delia; for I feel now that I can love
you , and never mind what I say, and you must obey me
shall you leave this house, without you have a good home
hi view. I regret your imprudence, but I have no word of
censure ; for you have suffered too much already. Here you
are safe, and while you remain you shall be most welcome ;
and so you must try to be happy."
" ! bless you ! " said Delia, falling on her knees at the
good woman's fe9t ; "and I shall not have to go away all
alone again, with no hope of finding shelter or rest? "
" No - ! no ! you grateful darling ; I am to act the part of
mother, now that yours is in heaven. If she had lived, I
never should have had the opportunity. I am astonished at
the course of your father, brother, and sister. They have
not only forgotten the claims of blood, but of the simplest
humanity. You are not like them, but a thousand times
better. The world pities or despises you, and perhaps envies
them'; but I should much rather be like you to-night, than
to be cursed with such hard, unfeeling hearts. Take cour-
age, poor wronged one, and no longer despair! " and, kissing
her, she raised her up, and replaced her, as a mother would a
sick child, in the rocking-chair. Delia had no inclination
now to resist anything she might do for her ; for she felt that
she had fallen into the hands of one of earth's angels, and
she would do only what was for the best.' She had not
104
GLENWO D.
known before that the world contained such beautiful beings ;
and now how glad she was, and how willing to forget her
sorrows, and let quiet thoughts nestle down into her heart !
When she was more calm, Mrs. Wyman led Delia to her
couch, which was in a pleasant little room, arranged like
everything else in the cottage, with the same neatness and
taste. She found the bed so much like her own at home,
that she wanted to clasp it in her arms for very joy. And,
after sleeping upon the hard floor, and in the barn, and out in
the field, upon the damp earth, to have such a bed, it was
too much happiness, more than she could have hoped for.
When Mrs. Wyman brought her a cup of herb-tea, which,
she remarked, would throw her into a perspiration, she asked
no questions, but took it like a little child. A kiss, and a
sweet good-night, and Delia was left alone. She hardly
dared to think now, for it seemed impossible that such good
fortune should be hers. She felt happier than she had since
Jimmey Penly's death, and, breathing her thanks to Heav-
en, she fell into a deep slumbec
CHAPTER IX.
MR. AND MRS. WTMAN. SICKNESS. DARKEST BEFORB THE DAT.
NEW HOUSEHOLD TREASURE. SHORT-LIVED JOY. THE GATHERED BUD
GIVEN TO STRANGERS.
MR. WYMAN returned home a little before ten o'clock.
His wife related to him the history of Delia, and expressed
her own wishes in relation to her, in which he fully con-
curred. He was blessed with an abundance, and he would
rather the needy should have the benefit of the worldly
goods which had graciously fallen to his lot, than to have
them used only to entertain and feast those who were well
able to provide for themselves.
"But, John," she said, "we shall be severely censured,
and our motives belied ; and we may lose the good name
which has been ours so long."
" We cannot suffer in a better cause," he replied ; " and,
if you can bear it, dear, I am sure that I can. We have
nothing to fear, however, for which we need give ourselves
the least alarm. This house is our own ; this farm is our
own, and it yields an abundance ; and while I raise our own
corn, wheat, rye, and potatoes, you make our own butter
and cheese, and we are independent; so let the world wag,
who cares? "
"I like your spirit, John; but, supposing we were not
independent? "
106 GLENWOOD.
" Hardly a supposable case, I take it; for we are. But
suppose that we were not, what then ? Why, we would
do right, and let the consequences take care of themselves ;
the poor girl should still have a home with us."
" So she should, dear ! and I am glad that you think just
as I do about it ; for it is right, and the right is always the
best, if we could only believe it."
"On such subjects, Carra, we seldom, if ever, differ in
thought. I am more and more grateful, every day I live,
that I was so fortunate as to win you for my helpmeet and
life-companion."
"That could not have been otherwise, love; for we were
made for each other."
" And yet it might have been our doom never to have met
on earth, or to have met only to realize that there were
obstacles which could not be overleaped ; and the mutual
bliss, such as we now enjoy, would have been impossible.
I have heard of such cases, and they made my heart sad :
and I could not help wishing that, by some honorable means,
the obstacles might be removed which separated the two
which should be one, and so they be permitted to enter into
that state of happiness which they were so well fitted for."
" Such cases are lamentable, but I suppose they will
sometimes occur ; though I fancy they would not if people
had more faith, for then the good angels would bring the
wandering ones together. They are too often untrue to
their own natures ; and so they marry for family or property,
or because they are not pleasantly situated at home, and
thus shut themselves, with their own hand, out of the king-
dom of heaven."
"When do you expect mother will return? "
QLENWOOD. 107
" Next week. I forgot to tell you that the children
brought home a letter from her to-night. She is in good
health, and her spirits as buoyant as ever."
" What will she say to our new friend, think you? "
" I don't know ; but I fancy she will be very kind to her,
not only out of regard to us, but from pure benevolence to
her."
" I don't doubt it ; for I always thought that mother and
daughter were wonderfully alike."
" That is a compliment to me, certainly ; and, I trust,
no disparagement to her. I scarcely hope that I have the
faculty of making myself agreeable to both old and young
which she has, without the least effort to do so."
"I suppose the secret lies in the fact that her heart is
warm and good, and, having a desire to make all happy, it
comes as natural as it does to breathe."
" She is a dear, good mother, and the children are just as
anxious for her return as I am."
Delia slept until towards morning, and when she awoke
she was conscious of being very ill ; the pain in her head
had increased, and she was shivering with cold, while her
mouth and throat were burning and husky. Still being
very sleepy, however, after changing her position her eyes
closed again ; but she moaned so loud in her slumbers, that
she was heard by Mrs. Wyman, who quickly arose and went
to her.
She gave her such remedies as she thought requisite,
but they did not avail ; and in Jhe morning a physician was
sent for, who administered medicines which quickly relieved
her distress. The next morning he came again, and then
he declared that her symptoms all indicated fever. It was
108 GLENWOOD.
not long before her mind was wandering the most of the
time ; and then she would frequently exclaim :
" How dark ! dark fearfully dark it is ! But I see the
light, don't you? away, away off there!" pointing
towards the east. " And he is coming ! ! so beautiful !
He is an angel now ; yes ! yes ! he is coming ! " and then,
clapping her hands, " joy ! joy ! it is the darkest just be-
fore the day ; but the morning will come."
During these paroxysms of gloom and ecstatic joy, her
dark eyes looked wildly bright, and her handsome face,
flushed with disease, was lit up with beauty more than
earthly. And through it all, whethei clothed in her right
mind or wandering, she was the same patient, child-like
being, instinctively trusting in the kind one who was ever
hovering near her, anticipating all her wants.
As Mrs. Wyman's mother resided with her, they usually
kept no servants in the house ; but now one was immediately
procured. The next week, Mrs. -Motley returned; and then,
as she had greater experience, and was as devoted and kind
to the sick as the daughter, and her touch as soothing, the
latter felt that she could take more rest than she had done
since Delia's sickness, which the state of her health so much
required.
At first, Delia seemed to shrink from Mrs. Motley, and
was uneasy when Mrs. Wyman was absent from her side.
She soon learned, however, that she was very much like the
latter, in gentle, motherly care ; and when Mrs. Wyman could
not be with her, Mrs. Motley was preferred to any one else.
After the lapse of two weeks, every day having been very
dangerous to the patient, the doctor declared that the fever
had "turned," and that there were hopes of a speedy recovery.
GLENWOOD. 109
Delia was in a very weak state when the fever left her,
but her wandering senses were restored, and she felt per-
fectly resigned to lie in her nice bed, the best care being taken
of her, and all her wants anticipated, or quickly gratified
when made known. Her friends were so careful, so affec-
tionate, and spoke so kindly to her, that she gave herself no
anxiety in relation to all the trouble and expense she had
caused; but, like a child at home, she reposed quietly on her
soft couch, and felt that it was all right that things should
be as they were.
As she gradually gained strength, she frequently amused
herself by tracing the resemblance between mother and
daughter. She saw it to be very striking, age alone making
the difference. The former had the same clear gray eyes, with
the expression of warm-hearted love ; the complexion was
similar : the form of the face, except it was more full and
broad, and not so fair. She was a little taller, but, being
more fleshy, she seemed of the same height. Both had soft
brown hair, the mother's slightly sprinkled with gray.
The recovery of Delia was not so rapid as the doctor had
anticipated, but from day to day the change, though slow,
was for the better. By and by she could sit up two or three
hours at a time, and walk without help about the room ; but
she was very pale, and the contrast made her dark eyes won-
derfully bright. Mrs. Motley was uniformly kind, and ever
sought to cheer her heart with hopes of a brighter future.
Mrs. Wyman could not have been more faithful to a sister ;
and the three children frequently came in to see her, bring-
ing a variety of beautiful flowers, and cheering her with
the warm sunshine of their smiles. The deep gratitude
which Delia felt could not be uttered in words, but her looks,
10
110 GLENWOOD.
the eloquent brightness of her eyes, revealed it all a thou-
sand times better than the most beautiful sentences could
have done.
But, notwithstanding all this, we must not suppose that
Delia was free from sorrow. True, she had been received
into the bosom of one of the best of families, experiencing
from its members the kindest treatment and the warmest
affection ; but this could not banish from her mind the painful
consciousness of her wretched condition.
It was a relief to her to be well enough to go out again,
and ramble in the fields, and sit under the trees, and hear
the birds sing. Health, in a measure, again returned ; but
departed joys came not nature was glad and wondrously
beautiful, clothed in all the matchless glory of summer ; but,
alas ! there was a heavy cloud in her sky, and her childhood
stars had faded forever from her sight.
Early one morning in August, Jeannie came into her
room, and, climbing on to the bed, awoke the sleeper with
kisses. As soon as Delia opened her eyes, she saw that her
little friend looked unusually joyous.
"What is it, dear?" she inquired.
" ! I have dut another little brother."
" I am very happy to hear it, Jeannie is he pretty?"
" I don't know hardly yet, 't is so little ; but he will drow
bigger, dand-mamma says. ! I am so dlad ! You have n't
any baby-boy, have you ? "
" No, dear ! " and she turned away her face, restraining
herself with difficulty from bursting into tears.
This intelligence aroused in Delia's mind new feelings of
anxiety. " I ought not to remain here any longer," she
thought. " It cannot be right, when they have so many
GLENWOOD. Ill
children of their own to care for, and I can make them no
remuneration at all. I must away, and seek a home else-
where ; but where can I go ? "
Such reflections made her very unhappy ; but she arose,
and hastened to the couch of her friend, whom she was glad
to find in a delicious sleep. She kissed her when she awoke,
and from day to day sought, by every means in her power,
to return the kindness and care which had been so faithfully
bestowed upon her ; so that Mrs. Wyman often declared that
never woman had a better nurse than she.
" I am thankful," said Delia, "that you are pleased with
what I have done, for I am so indebted to you. I often feel
that it is wrong for me to be a burthen to you, and that I
should seek a home elsewhere."
" You know that I don't allow such talk," Mrs. Wyman
replied ; " and, if you do not discontinue it, I will stop your
mouth with kisses."
" You are so kind," she said, " that I cannot do otherwise
than submit to your wishes. It is true I frequently think
that I should not remain longer ; but, if I should leave you,
where could I go ? I should again be homeless and forsaken,
and I should die ! "
" You shall not leave us never without you have a
sure place of refuge," said Mr. Wyman. " Here you will
remain until it is best for you to go elsewhere."
The summer months had now passed away, and autumn,
with its brown eyes, had come. In the spring the maple-
trees made the woods look cheerful and gay, with their red
buds and flowers ; and now their green leaves were changed,
taking the most brilliant hue, red and bright like fire, illum-
inating the groves with their strange beauty. These were
GLENWO OD.
but forerunners ; and ere long light frost appeared, sending
its little spirits up on to the hills and down into the valleys,
painting the delicate foliage, and changing the whole aspect of
the woods. By and by every tree had its variety of coloring,
and in the distance the groves looked like vast and mighty
gardens of flowers. These gorgeous scenes of beauty were
doomed soon to pass away ; for the cold winds and the sharper
frosts came, and then they were rudely torn from the shaking
limbs they had clothed in loveliness so long, and hurled
fainting to the earth. Delia noticed these changes as she
had never done before ; and the gorgeous resplendence of
the dying year caused her to wish that there might be
something lovely and attractive in her, even when the win-
ter of death was drawing nigh.
It was the latter part of October, when nearly all the
flowers had been swept away by the cold winds and frosts,
that a beautiful bud, more beautiful than the richest flower
she had ever seen, was laid in her bosom, and pressed closely
to her heart, which wildly throbbed with ecstatic joy and love.
All too true it was, mournfully true, that the summer
had departed when it came ; that the green leaves of spring
had faded and fallen ; that the heavy, blighting winds were
madly revelling amid the ruined splendor of golden days ;
and yet she was glad, though she knew not why, that such
a tender, beautiful thing was her own ; and the more closely
did she enfold it in a warm embrace, shielding it from the
bitter cold without, giving it sustenance from her own body,
that it might grow and flourish still, expanding in loveliness
to the full, beautiful flower.
This joy in her new-found treasure was soon brought to
an end : for sorrow had been at work too long, slowly but
OLENWOOD. 118
surely making weaker her frame, and less able to endure
the trial through which she had passed. A fearful sickness
followed, and for many weary days and nights there was no
hope of life ; and so the beautiful bud, which was so dear
to her, was taken away, that it might not die. Very painful
was it to be near the sufferer now ; for her senses were
always wandering ; ecstatic blisses arid fearful sorrows alter-
nately held their sway. She often journeyed, in imagina-
tion, away into the past ; and the overwhelming grief at her
lover's death, and her agony when driven from her father's
house, made all weep who saw her. Every step which she
took at that fearful time of trial she now went over again.
Objects of dread caused her to flee from the mountain-side,
trembling at the lightning's flash and the crash of thunders,
seeking for shelter and safety from the pelting storm.
Hungry, faint, and sick, she pursued her lonely journey,
sleeping at night upon the cold earth, with naught but the
"sweet heavens" above her, radiant with the eyes of the
pitying stars. Those who had most bitterly censured were
silent now, and were not ashamed though tears were seen
coursing down their cheeks.
Reason at length returned, and then she inquired for her
delicate treasure (ten-fold more dear because of suffering) ;
and when it was brought to her, some hours after, she looked
mournfully yet lovingly upon it, while her lips moved in
prayer. It was soon taken again to its temporary home.
A few days after, a very* kind-hearted, benevolent man
called, who said that a family of his acquaintance, in a
neighboring town, whom he knew to bo worthy people, had
just lost their only child, and they would adopt this little
one, if they could be allowed to remain unknown. The
10*
114 GLENWOOD.
mother, poor, sick, and helpless, expecting soon to die, con
sented to this arrangement ; and then her beautiful bud was
brought to her, that she might fold it to her bosom once
more, press upon it one more kiss, and bid it farewell. As
weak and sickly as she was, she took it in her arms and held
it to her heart, and gazed long and lovingly upon it, covering
it with kisses ; and then, as her newly-summoned strength
was leaving her as rapidly as it came, she yielded up the
precious thing, turning away her eyes, too sad to weep, and
parted with it on earth forever !
CHAPTER X.
THE CUNARDS MOVE TO THE WEST. ILL-FORTUNE. - RETURN. - WIL-
LIE CUNARD. - DEATH. WILLIE A PAUPER. - GLENWOOD BUYS A
POOR-FARM.
Wymans lived in the town of Yainford ; and some
ten miles from there, in Monson, there resided a couple by
the 'name of Cunard. Ten years after their wedding-day,
their first and only child was born. The little stranger was
welcomed most joyously by his parents, and in him were
the hopes of their hearts centred ; but, alas ! those hopes
were born, like the being who called them into existence,
only to be blasted. When their child was three months old,
the death-angel came and removed it from their sight.
Mr. Cunard was a farmer ; but his farm was under a
heavy mortgage, and, as his health was delicate, both he and
his wife thought it best to sell their place, and move to the
"West, where they could purchase land and build them a
cottage, and still have a few hundred dollars which would
bring them twelve per cent, interest. Under such circum-
stances, they believed that a better livelihood could be gained
than they could hope for in New England. Their babe,
they thought, would compensate in a measure for the loss of
old friends, and be the mother's companion and solace when
the husband and father was absent. This day-dream of
116 GLENWOOD.
happiness, with the cherished one, was dissipated by its un-
timely death ; and then Mrs. Cunard felt how lonely she
should be in her far-off home. It was at this juncture
that they heard of the circumstances in relation to Delia ;
and they resolved to adopt the child, if the mother would
give it to them unreservedly, and never know into whose
hands she had consigned it.
When the proposition was first made to Delia, she felt
that she could not yield her assent ; but, being assured by
those who had been more than brother and sister to her that
Mr. Volens, the gentleman who was employed as the agent
in the business, would never be a party to such a trans-
action, unless he knew that the babe would be regarded, by
those who adopted it, as a dear son, unless he knew that
they were people worthy of such a trust, she reluctantly
yielded. Poor, destitute mother ! how could she say no, be-
ing so completely helpless? and those to whom she looked
for every good which she now received advised her, if not
for her own welfare, for the sake of the child, who would
find affectionate and faithful parents. They told her that
the longer she delayed, the older the child became, the
dearer would it be to her, and the more difficult the separa-
tion ; and it was requisite that those who had offered to
adopt it should have it now.
The thought of never seeing it again, of being kept in
ignorance of its welfare, caused Delia to shrink away from
the proposition with pain. Mrs. Wyman saw the struggle,
and told her that, if she could not give it up without too
much suffering, it should remain with them, and, whether
she lived or died, it should have a home and a mother's care.
Delia felt that it would not be right to impose an additional
GLENWOOD. 117
burthen upon these excellent people, who had four little ones
of their own ; and so, with much sorrow at her heart, she
yielded to circumstances beyond her control.
The babe was gladly received by its new parents, and
they both declared that it looked just like their own, and
they felt that it was to hold in their affections the place of
their lost one. Mrs. Cunard nourished it from her own
breast, and ere long the little stranger was as dear as the
child which now lay cold and silent in its grave.
In due time all things were arranged, and they started
for their new home in the West. They purchased land in
the State of Illinois ; but their anticipation of more pros-
perous days was not realized, for fortune was as chary of its
favors as ever.
. Mr. Cunard had hoped that a change of climate would
restore him to healthy but, instead thereof, the fever and
ague soon ruined what he had. At their new home they
remained three years, gradually but surely dissipating their
little fortune. When their ready money was all gone, they
sold their land for much less than its actual worth, and re-
turned to New England. Not long after, Mr. Cunard heard
of a small farm in Glenwood, which could be purchased for
three hundred dollars. It contained thirty acres of land,
much of it very poor, and a decent house and barn. He
immediately purchased the farm, and removed to Glenwood.
He cultivated the land as well as his shattered constitution
would allow ; but he received only poor returns for his labor,
and, as Mrs. Cunard's health was also broken, they obtained
but a meagre support.
As soon as Delia had relinquished her child to them, they
named it for the one they had lost, Willie Cunard. For a
118 GLENWOOD.
year and a half he was quite unhealthy, and exceedingly
nervous ; but the climate and the best of care restored him,
so that when they returned to New England he was a rosy-
cheeked, blue-eyed child, a dimpled, lovely cherub, as one
would care to see. Mrs. Cunard had much tact in using a
little so that it answered the purpose of an abundance ; and
she always kept Willie tidy and neat, all his garments made
in the best of taste. Thus cared for, and so dearly loved,
a winning smile played upon his countenance, revealing the
deep dimples in his cheeks, causing everybody who loved
children to notice him, and speak a kind word, or give him a
caress. The little girls, some years older, all thought him
a perfect love of a child. These things made Willie very
happy, and he did not seem to think that his home was poor,
or that his parents found it a severe task to obtain the neces-
saries of life. He knew that his ne^ds were well supplied,
and he was not old enough to fear the insidious destroyer,
which would ere long fill his cup with bitterness. He could
not realize that his happy days were to end so soon.
Mr. and Mrs. Cunard continued to struggle on ; but the
health of both was every day growing more precarious,
demonstrating that they would speedily know the horror of
biting poverty. All too soon it came, and now Willie often
went tearful to bed, because there was no food to satisfy his
hunger. His clothes gradually became soiled and ragged,
for his mother was too sick to keep them clean and in good
repair. Is it any marvel that, in a brief period, people
ceased to regard him as beautiful? The roses left his
cheeks, the smile fled from his eyes, and that winning, joy-
ous expression was superseded by one of painful sadness.
f it was cruel to his young heart to exchange those fond
QLENWOOD. 119
caresses, those kind words and glances of love, for bitter
taunts, averted looks, derisive smiles, and insults, because
of his poverty. A little while before, and the children
would gladly leave their play and their friends, if they
might have the privilege of walking with him, and leading
him by the hand. Now they called him the beggar-boy,
the rag-man's son, and turned back the current of his
warm aifections upon his heart, cold as ice.
When Willie was six years old, Mr. Cunard died ; and in
less than one year after, Mrs. Cunard was also laid in the
silent grave, leaving poor Willie alone. He wept much
when his father died, but now as though his heart would
break. The last year had been one of cruel suffering ; but
the little boy felt, when he heard the cold sods falling upon
his mother's coffin, that he would willingly live on and
suffer as he had done, if she could be restored to him.
Mrs. Cunard, in her last days, had thought much of Wil-
lie, and she queried whether she should tell him that he was
not her child. And then she felt that it would do no good,
and only add to his sorrows ; and so she died, commend-
ing the orphan to the care of the great Father of us all.
The farm on which the Cunards lived was mortgaged for
its full value, and Willie was provided with a home by the
selectmen of the town. Mr. Bumford took him for the re-
mainder of the year, for fifty cents a week, the town to
furnish him ;i new suit of clothes.
During this time the support of the paupers had been
regularly sold ; they finding such homes as might be expected
under such a system.
The Slushers had secured the services of Margaret Bum-
ford, everv season since she became a. pauper, until the last ;
120 GLENWOOD.
aad then, much to her satisfaction, she was taken by Deacon
Glubbings for a very small compensation, he being influ-
enced by a desire for her welfare' alone. The Slushers had
abused her, year after year ; and Mrs. Glubbings had been
her true friend, feeding her when hungry, and speaking
words of comfort when her trials seemed too heavy to be
borne. She had pleaded with the latter to urge her husband
to bid her off, and if he received small remuneration from the
town, she would work the more diligently. They pitied her,
but they would rather not have her in the family ; for they
had young children, and she might make trouble with them,
and in many respects be a sore annoyance. But the Slush-
ers were so outrageously inhuman that they resolved that
Margaret should not remain there any longer ; and on the
next town-meeting day she was knocked off to the deacon
at twenty-one cents a week.
Johnny Pendwick was now dead. Anger, mortification,
and grief, had killed him. He felt that his brother had not
only forgotten the claims of blood, but most wickedly robbed
him of the home which was rightly his. He could not
tamely endure the usage he received as a pauper the
indignity of being vendued, sold, and treated like a slave.
Fearful was the hatred he felt for the one who was the cause
of his misfortunes, and he cursed him with his last breath.
This was a happy year for Margaret Bumford the hap-
piest she had known since her mother's death; and she tried
to faithfully serve those who had taken her to their home
solely for her good. Now and then she was disobedient and
extremely saucy ; but kindness invariably softened and sub-
dued her, and she would beg their forgiveness, declaring that
she was sorry she had been so wicked, and promise never tt
GLEN WO OD.
disobey again, beseeching them to let her live with them
always. Mr. and Mrs. Glubbings treated her with humanity
and Christian kindness ; and the children were taught to
show her proper respect, and never by word or action to
wound her feelings. She was not ungrateful, and ever after
said that they were the best people in the world.
Willie Cunard found but an indifferent home at Mr. Bum-
ford's. He had plenty to eat, and there was a sufficiency of
piety, such as it was, praying and exhorting, but a lack of
true humanity and Christian kindness. Mr. and Mrs. Bum-
ford had nothing genial about them ; their home seemed cold,
for they both carried long, cadaverous faces, and fancied
that laughter came from the evil one himself. Willie was
well clothed now ; but he felt every day that he would will-
ingly take his rags and scanty food, if he could have his
mother restored to him.
The winter, this year, set in very early, and ere long
four persons were added to the town's poor. Mr. and Mrs.
Clasker, an aged couple, nearly seventy ; Widow Gunimede,
seventy-three, somewhat broken; and Hector Stifels, a
young man half idiotic, whose mother had just died she
had never been a wife.
It was now determined to have a poor-house ; and a meet-
ing was called for that purpose, at which it was voted to
purchase a farm, which was done forthwith. The wise com-
mittee chosen to perform the business, of whom Mr. Blossom
was chairman, manifested their superior wisdom by pur-
chasing a farm in a neighboring town, because it was cheap.
It was in justification of this act of the committee that Mr.
Blossom made the remark, u If people will throw them-
selves upon the town, why, then they must expect to be taker
11
122 GLENWOOD
care of as cheaply as common decency will allow ; " and in
Glenwood this had always been the policy of the people,
though I am happy to say that in later years a better
spirit than this has been manifested by very many. May
others copy their example !
When the town-meeting was held, all the paupers in Glen-
wood were transported ; not one was left behind. Margaret,
with many tears, left Deacon Glubbings ; and poor Willie was
hustled off, with the rest, to the poor-farm, in Sklintonbog.
This was. an era to the {own of Glenwood. No paupers
were vendued the support of men, women, and children,
sold to the lowest bidder. Was not that something to be
proud of? Certainly, for had not the people purchased a
farm in Sklintonbog with no other object in view except-
ing the maintenance of the poor ? What more would you
have a Christian community do ?
At this meeting a number of important things were dis-
cussed, and one was whether a pauper did actually require
tea and coffee. Mr. Gregg made one of his famous prosy
speeches, in which he nsserted that tea and coffee were lux-
uries, and the town could not afford to furnish luxuries for
the paupers ; and it was voted that no tea and coffee should
be provided for the alms-house, except for the use of the
master and his family. Mr. Bumpus was appointed poor-
master, and, to the great regret of his gossiping daughter,
removed from town, to take care of the town's poor. Ara-
bella Mehitable said that she was very glad the paupers had
left town, but she thought it hard that the best people should
go witn them.
CHAPTER XI.
ILLUSIONS OF THE INVALID. MORNING HAS COME. PLEASURES AND
DUTIES OF A GOOD HOME. SICKNESS AND DEATH AT THE COTTAGE.
THE night after Delia had consented to give away her
child, her symptoms were more unfavorable than they had
been for some days previous, and her mind was again wan-
dering. She seemed to fancy herself on a journey, and the
thick darkness had come, so that she knew not which way
to go, and yet she must continue on. Now she was care-
fully groping for the way ; and then, with a wild shriek, she
thought she had fallen from a precipice, and lay wounded
and bleeding among the rocks, trying to regain her feet, but
in vain ; and she would moan and weep, as if all hope had
departed ; but suddenly her eyes would brighten, and she
would wildly clap her hands, exclaiming, "It is the dark-
est just before the day ! The light ! the light ! "
These paroxysms of terror, followed with gleams of hope,
continued all that night, and the next day, and until nearly
morning the succeeding night. She was often searching for
a lost treasure, a treasure so precious that her heart was
wrung with agony at its loss. Earnestly did she seek for it,
but seek in vain. Now she was exceedingly troubled to under-
stand what the treasure was ; but by and by she would cry
out, in piercing tones, " My child ! my child ! "
124 GLEN WOOD.
Just before the morning had dawned of the second night,
it seemed, to her bewildered senses, darker than it had ever
been before. " 0, how dark ! " she said ; " no light can pierce
such terrible shadows ! The sun in the heavens is buried in
them forever lost ! lost ! ! it is so dark that it stands
up around me, like a wall, and I cannot push it away I
I can cannot cannot breathe here I I am
suffocating ! ! for light for air ! I shall die ! " And
then, with a wild laugh, she exclaimed :
"It is the darkest just before the day! but the morning
will come ! Light there ! Light in the rosy east ! 0,
jy ' jJ The shadows are moving away like mountains.
Coming ! Coming ! It is he ! Not far away ! Welcome !
Welcome, dearest ! I knew you would come ! This faithful
heart all mine will I go? Yes ! yes ! Thine thine,
forever ! " And, with a most heavenly expression, the weary
one exclaimed slowly, but full of hope,
' ' It was the darkest before the day, but the morning has
come ! " And those sweet black eyes closed, the crazed
senses wandered no more in the valley of shadows ; for the
suffering one was at rest, the night had passed away, and
the morning had come. Not the brief, beautiful mornings
of earth, but the light of eternity had dawned ; and there
was no more darkness for her, for there is "no night
there."
Tears of genuine sorrow were shed around that silent
bed. Manly tears mingled with woman's, and little chil-
dren wept, that the beautiful stranger, who came to them
hungry and faint, who so thankfully partook of their child-
ish hospitality, was so soon lost to them forever ; and the
young women of the neighborhood, who had uttered bitter
GLENWOOD. 125
words of censure in relation to Delia, and those who had
befriended her, came in and looked upon the beautiful pale
one, and they also wept.
On the day when the last offices of love and humanity
were performed, the aged and the young gazed on that fair,
marble face, which had been so often washed with tears,
with wonder, so very beautiful, so angelic, was the smile
which rested there, as though unwilling to leave a counte-
nance so lovely the smile which she caught from heaven,
when its gates opened to send forth her own dear one to
welcome the sufferer home. It was a time when her sin
was forgotten, and her wrongs remembered, and the true
Christian kindness of those who had received her, and were
so faithful when all the world was so ready to censure their
motives.
Delia was buried in the little cemetery of Yamford, and
the spot was marked by a small white stone, with the sim-
ple inscription, "Delia."
It was erected by the Wymans, and for all their good
deeds, so pure and ennobling, these excellent people found
the reward in the consciousness of having done to the
stranger as they, in like circumstances, would have had done
unto them. Trouble and expense she brought them ; but
the joy that stirred their hearts, whenever they thought
of her, recompensed them an hundred-fold. If there was
anything which caused regret, it was the advice they gave
her in relation to her child. She loved it so dearly, that now
it seemed cruel to have urged her to give it up. They some-
times wished they had adopted it as their own. They felt
that for her to part with it then was too much for her weak
frame to bear, and perchance hastened the hour of disso-
11*
126 GLENWOOD.
lution. But they knew that they had done what they
thought best at the time, and conscience reproved them not.
Could they have known what the future of that orphan one
should be, their sorrow would have been bitter indeed.
Delia's grave was a spot which the Wymans loved to
visit ; and those beautiful children planted there the choicest
flowers, and they were kept fresh and blooming through all
the summer months. Other graves have since borne the
lone stranger company, for dear ones slept with her, side
by side ; and there were more flowers flowers which were
watered with tears ! ! how true it is,
" There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there ;
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair ! "
? And such is life! the old must die, and the young may.
It seems meet that the aged should be gathered in, like a
ripe sheaf of corn, for their work on earth is done. But it
is sad to see the rosy-cheeked child cut down, the promising
young girl, just bursting into womanhood, or man or wom-
an in the very strength and pride of life. There is mys-
tery here ; but let us wait !
Two years have flown since Delia Gregg went joyously
to the spirit-land, the light of eternity's morning breaking
in upon her soul. Twice has the summer, with its golden
splendors, come and gone, bringing its blessings, and teach-
ing its lessons ; twice has young spring smiled, and autumn
glories crowned the dying year ; twice has winter reigned
over the earth, and now for the third time has he subdued
it, with his army of frost-spirits, to his iron rule. Reader,
GLENWOOD. 127
go irith me to Yamford. It is a cold evening, clear and
frosty, the snow lies deep upon the ground, and the crescent
moon sweeps proudly through the heavens, filling the world
with its pale, cold light, while the stars twinkle and glitter, as
though coquetting with the snowy crystals that glisten like
gems upon the earth. You are near the cottage of the Wy-
mans, and its red eyes are looking out warmly, and inviting
you to enter. The temptation cannot be resisted, and you
soon find yourself in the pleasant sitting-room, where a
bright fire is burning, and the good happy family forming
a circle around it. The father sits by the table reading the
late paper ; the mother holds in her arms a little child, but
a few weeks old. The tiny, helpless thing is asleep, and
she is watching her new treasure, her face brightening, and
those clear gray eyes looking sweetly beautiful, as she sees
a little smile pass over the sleeping infant's face. She is
happy, all are happy, that they have another son and
brother. The good grandmother is holding little Arthur,
her pet, as she calls him, now two years old ; and the other
children, all but the eldest, who is reading her Sunday-
school book, are sitting close to her, and she is telling them
of the rat that lost his long tail, "Little Red Riding
Hood," and other stories, which they think wonderfully
strange and interesting. When they have heard stories
enough, Jeannie, who can talk plainer now, says :
" I wish we could have some pop-corn ! " And Franky
said, " So do I; and some apples, too !"
" And you shall be gratified, darlings," said the grand-
mother. " Flora, will you lay down your book, and go
and bring a few ears of the pop-corn, and then get the
popper ? "
128 GLENWOOD.
"Yes, grandma," was the reply; and they were soon on
hand.
" Now, Franky, you take the light, and go down cellar
and bring up some of those nice Baldwin apples, and your
father will pop the corn."
The apples were soon brought, and Mr. Wyman laid
down the paper, and in a short time there was a" large dish
of corn, white and nice, waiting to be eaten ; and now all
but Mrs. Wyman join in the feast, happy as an abun-
dance of earthly things, and good, thankful hearts, can
make them. Mrs. Wyman sat looking, now at her sleeping
babe, and then gazing fondly upon the rest of her loved
ones, so well and happy, breathing thanks to Heaven for so
many cherished blessings. A few moments after, and Mr.
Wyman noticed that her face wore the expression of deep,
and somewhat painful thought. When he caught her eye,
he said :
"What is it, Carra?"
" I have been thinking," she replied (and now all eyes
and ears were turned to her, for she had been sitting a long
time in silence), " that we have greater reason, every day,
to be thankful to kind Heaven for so much good."
"So we have," replied her mother. "I have lived a
great while, seen many troubles, buried children and a dear
husband ; and yet I have renewed reasons to be thankful,
and my heart is as fresh and full of gratitude to-night as it
ever was. Here are my loved ones, and here my heart is
at rest."
"It is cheering," said Mr. Wyman, "to see people
happy, but especially in old age. How wondrously beau-
tiful is a sunset sky, kindling the soul with transport
GLENWOOD. 129
and praise ! The sun sinks wrapt in its own glory, paint-
ing the horizon with gold, which the dusky fingers of
evening slowly change to blue. Now, all this varying
splendor prepares the mind for the shadows of night, so
that the evening is welcomed with joy."
"And I trust," said Mrs. Motley, "to be prepared to
greet the shadows of death with a calm smile of hope,
catching glimpses of a brighter sky and a more glorious sun
beyond."
" That you will, I doubt not," said Mr. Wyman ; "for it
must be so with all the faithful. Like poor Delia, you will
exclaim, ' The morning has come ! '
" I had been thinking of Delia," said Mrs. Wyman,
" and the little one which she so reluctantly confided to the
care of strangers."
"And what were your thoughts, dear ?" inquired Mr.
Wyman.
"I was thinking, while I gazed upon my own happy
ones, that it might have been better if we had kept the
babe, and adopted it as our own. It would have added only
one more to the group. And while such were my thoughts,
I seemed to see him here, with blue eyes and brown hair,
with the clear complexion of his handsome mother, and
those very deep and exquisitely lovely dimples in his
cheeks and chin. He was not a stranger, here, but one of
the family; and he appeared so lovely and happy, that I was
aboulrto call him tome, that I might press him to my heart,
as I had often done his mother. But the scene suddenly
changed, and he had grown larger ; but he was no longer
beautiful, for he looked as though but half fed, his
clothes were ragged and filthy, and it seemed to me that
130 GLENWOOD.
other children slighted him. Those who had loved him
most now treated him with scorn. At this moment some-
thing arrested my attention, and when I lifted my eyes I
observed your inquiring gaze, and the vision all passed
away."
"That is just like you," said her mother; "you had
been asleep. When you was a child you used to fall asleep
just in that way ; and then you would dream, and as soon
as you awoke insist that you had seen a marvelous vision ;
and you would go on and tell all about it, and relate some
very strange and beautiful things."
" I remember it, mother ; but, as I always told you, I was
not asleep, and I have not slept to-night I am sure of
that. And, mother " (and Mrs. Wy man's face seemed to
glow with beauty almost angelic), "do you recollect the
evening when I described such a scene as this, and when I
told you that I plainly saw you, but could not see father? "
' ' Yes, yes, child ; but it might have been a dream, for all
that, and a mere coincidence."
"So it might, mother," said Mr. Wyman ; "but you
seem to doubt it somewhat, and so do I. I hope, however,
that what she fancied she saw to-night may prove, in the
end, no more than a dream."
"I hope so too, John," said Mrs. Wyman, "but I have
my doubts. The people who adopted Delia's child cannot
have any reasonable objection to our knowing what his
fate is."
"Why should they have objected to his mother's know-
ing?" inquired Mrs. Motley.
" Because," replied Mrs. Wyman, " they had known of
a family, so Mr. Volens said, who had adopted a little girl,
GLENWOOD. 131
whom they loved dearly, and treated like a darling child ;
and yet the mother, when the child was older, gave them a
great deal of trouble."
" I have heard of such cases," said Mr. Wyman.
" They cannot be afraid," Mrs. Wyman continued, "that
we shall ever trouble them, if they deal justly with the
boy ; and therefore it is our duty to learn who they are, and
if they are faithful to their promise."
"Your remarks, Carra, are perfectly just," said Mr.
Wyman; "and I will take my horse, to-morrow morning,
and go and call upon Mr. Volens, and see what I can learn."
"I remember that pretty little baby," said Jeannie;
" and I thought it would be so nice to keep it, and have it
grow up with Arthur, and be just as big ! "
"And I do, too, don't I, drand-marm?" said little
Arthur.
A hearty laugh was the little boy's answer, which so
mortified him that he had a great mind to cry. A few
consoling words healed the slight wound.
"I hope you will find him," said Franky ; "and, if he
has not a good home, you will bring him here, won't you,
father?"
" Yes, Franky, I certainly will, if the thing is possible.
But, if I do, I shall not buy any more sweetmeats than I do
now, and you would have to give him half of yours."
"0 ! no, you wouldn't, neither, Franky," said Jeannie,
" for I would let him have some of mine."
"And mine, too," said little Arthur.
Flora now looked up from her book, and said: "And 1
should rather give up all my share, a thousand times, than
to have him abused."
132 GLENWOOD.
"And so should I," said the other three.
" Precious, precious ones ! " said Mrs. Wyman; " selfish-
ness is no part of your nature, and so you will always do
good, and be happy ! "
It was now time that the children should retire ; and so,
with a mutual kiss all round, they said good-night, and the
careful grandmother, who loved and was as proud of these as
she ever was of her own, went with them, and covered them
up warm, carefully tucking in the clothes at their backs ;
after which she took the light, and returned to the sitting-
room.
In the morning, Mr. Wyman harnessed his horse, and
rode to the other part of the town, for the purpose of mak-
ing the requisite inquiries ; when, to his surprise, he learned
that Mr. Volens had left town, some months previous, with
the intention of settling somewhere in the far West ; but his
neighbors did not know where, and that was all he could
learn of the matter. This was a sad disappointment to
Mrs. Wyman and the children ; for the latter had great
hopes that the little boy would come and live with them ;
and the former was anxious to know whether he had a
good home, and, if he had not, was as willing to give him
one as she had been to receive his poor, wronged mother.
But Mrs. Wyman had too much good sense, and understood
too well the true philosophy of life, to allow such things to
continually make her unhappy ; and so, with faith that it
would all come out right at last, she was content to let the
mystery remain until time should solve it. Not that she
would forget or be false to the calls of duty, but be recon-
ciled to what she could not help. In this her husband and
QLENWOOD. 133
mother were agreed, and so they went on the even tenor of
their way.
During the winter, Mr. Wyman, as was his custom,
and as good farmers always do, with the help of hia
hired man cut and brought up to his door a large pile
of the best of wood ; and then it was all- cut the right
length, neatly piled up, and the chips raked together;
and so nothing was lost, and everything was in ex-
cellent order. In the spring, the ploughing and planting
were done, and Franky dropped corn and potatoes for the
first time, aided by Flora, who thought it pleasant now and
then to be out in the fields, engaged in some light employ-
ment. Summer followed with the haying, and autumn
with the golden harvests, when the children had parties in
the grape-vine arbor, as the little Wymans called it, and the
large clusters of luscious grapes were plucked and eaten
with the keen relish and enjoyment of childhood. Ere long
old winter came again, and the pleasures of home had now a
greater zest than in the summer time.
It was seldom that an unkind word was spoken by any
member of this excellent family, and the children had never
known what it was personally to fear the rod. They loved
their parents and each other ; and such had been their edu-
cation, by precept and example, that mean selfishness had
not taken root in their hearts. Such scenes as these were
not unfrequent :
"Flora," said her mother, "will you go and get me a
basket of chips?"
"Yes, mother," she replied.
" Let me go," said Franky, " for Flora has been at work
ironing, these two hours."
12
184 GLENWOOD.
" I am not very tired," she said, " and I can do it as well
as not."
"So can I," said Franky, "and a great deal better
than that."
" I have not done any work to-day," said Jeannie, "but
Flora has been at work nearly all the time ; so I will go with
Franky, and help him bring in the basket."
Such strife as this warmed and enlarged their hearts, and
made them love each other the more dearly. So anxious
were they to do right, that they had no disposition to shirk,
but each one strove to perform his or her part. If the op-
posite had been practised, how it would have marred the
beauty of their home ! The happiness of the family circle
is too often destroyed by a desire on the part of the younger
members to avoid, if possible, their share of the daily duties
of life. The great fear, so often manifested, of doing one
thing more than the brother or sister, causes contention
every day, and ultimately fills the heart with envy, hatred,
and bitterness. How very different would have been the home
of the Wymans, if those children had been as selfish as
many are ! Flora would have said, " Let Franky do it ; I
am so tired ! " and Franky, " I can't, but Jeannie will ! "
and so on to the end of the chapter.
The following spring, there were sickness and death at
the cottage, taking away loved ones, filling that sweet home
with tears, anguish, and gloom. The epidemic known by
the name of measles broke out among the children of the
school, and the five little Wymans were all sick at the same
time. It was a terrible season of trial, such as this family
had never known before. On the second week of Flora's
sickness her symptoms became suddenly alarming, her
GLENWOOD. 135
senses were wandering, and ere long her journey on earth
was ended. " I want to go home," she said, and, silently,
her life-bark floated away to the haven of rest ; and the
loving, the faithful, warm-hearted Flora, went home ! Two
days after, the little babe, the youngest of the flock, passed
away, he too went home, and both were laid by the side
of Delia. There was mourning in the cottage now, but not
without hope ; great grief, but not despair ; tears would
flow, but there was reconciliation. Those parents felt, and
so did the grandparent, that there were three dear little
ones on earth, and two in heaven.
It was not long after this afflicting dispensation, before
the other children were well again, and quiet happiness
returned to the hearts and home of this bereaved family.
They bore with patience what they could not help, and
were resigned to the will of Heaven. All seemed to under-
stand it but Arthur. He would occasionally ask what they
dad done with baby, and wish every day that Flora would
come home. He thought her cruel to stay from him so
long. But, as time passed away, he gradually forgot his
loss, and ceased to inquire for the absent ones. Mrs. Wyman
was the greatest sufferer, for her affections were so deep
and she had such bright hopes for Flora. Her husband,
mother, and children, knew well that her anguish was most
intense ; and they sought the more earnestly to manifest
their love, and give her consolation. And now she felt that
they never were so dear to her before ; that she had not
known their true worth ; and so peace came to that deeply-
afflicted heart.
CHAPTER XII.
THE BtJMPUS FAMILY. COMPLAINTS OF THE PAUPERS. MR. GREGG VIS-
ITS THE ALMS-HOUSE. MRS. GUNIMEDE. WILLIE'S TROUBLES.
THE farm in Sklintonbog which was purchased for the
poor of Glenwood did not prove a profitable speculation for
the town. The land was not only covered with rocks and
bushes, but it was worn out ; and, though the paupers were
compelled to labor diligently, the crops did not half sup-
port them. There was much trouble between the poor-master,
his wife and daughter, and the paupers. Mr. Bumpus had
been seeking for an office all his life, and he fancied that he
had reached the goal at last. He was now the master of
the poor ; and he felt his consequence not a little ; and Mrs.
Bumpus was the master's wife. She evidently took as
much pride in her position as did the woman whose husband
was chosen corporal. As to Arabella Mehitable, their prom-
ising daughter, and only child and heir, who had been twen-
ty-five years old for the last ten or twelve years, she but
acted out her natural disposition when she was domineering
over those who were entirely defenceless.
Mrs. Bumpus thought that such a young woman as Ara-
bella Mehitable was seldom met with ; and she had learned
to agree with every opinion she advanced ; and, no matter
what the subject might be, it was all law and Gospel to her.
GLENWOOD.
Arabella Mehitable had not obtained this great influence
in a moment, for there was more or less sparring between
mother and daughter, for a number of years ; but she was
the victor at last, and completely so. On the part of the
parent there was the most perfect self-abnegation. Mrs.
Bumpus was always sure that Arabella Mehitable was
right , in fact, she usually repeated what she said, using
very much the same language ; and this was not only so in
relation to things of importance, but to those which were
the most common and trite.
To live with town paupers was not exactly in accordance
with Arabella Mehitable's taste, for she wanted to be con-
sidered one of the ton, and make a noise in the world ;
but, as she was very plain, and her father by no means
wealthy, and having tried all her lifetime to produce a sen-
sation by her aristocratic, lady-like accomplishments, and
most signally failed, she was not sorry that she now occu-
pied a position where she could make her influence felt.
Three of the paupers were so unfortunate as to secure
her ill-will from the first, Widow Gunimede, Margaret
Bum ford, and Willk Cunard. In relation to Margaret
Bumford, she was, she said, well " posted up ; " for Mrs.
Slusher had informed her of Margaret's ugly temper, lazi-
ness, and monstrous appetite three unpardonable sins in
her eyes, especially the last. The Widow Gunimede excited
her contempt by asking, the first night they reached Sklin-
tonbog, for a cup of tea ; and when told that the town would
not furnish tea for paupers, she immediately commenced
crying. And no matter what was said in explanation, or in
rebuke for her presumption, every day it was the same.
" Do give me just one cup of tea ! " was the first thing in
12*
138 GLENWOOD.
the morning, and the last at night ; she even moaned about
it in her sleep. Poor Mrs. Gunimede ! all her pleadings
were in vain, for there was no tea for her.
" I declare," said Arabella Mehitable, after one week had
passed away, " she is enough to wear out the patience of
Job ! I never saw such an inconsistent, inconsiderate
woman, in all my life ! "
Reader, do you wonder at this burst of virtuous indigna-
tion, on the part of Arabella Mehitable ? It is hoped that
you will be sensible enough to see its force. I am sure that
I do. Perhaps you will say that to deprive old people of a
beverage so harmless as tea, in order to save the town a
few dollars a year, and the tax-payers a few mills or a cent
apiece, is not only mean, but cruel. " They have been ac-
customed to drinking tea all their lifetime," you say; " and
now, in their old age, when they have become feeble, they
require this stimulant, and it is niggardly and wicked to
refuse it to them."
I am aware that some narrow-minded people talk in that
way ; but I shall speak in defence of the town of Glenwood,
and say, in the borrowed language of Mr. Gregg, "Let jus-
tice be done, though the heavens fall ! "
It is a well-known fact that physicians have given it as
their opinion, after the most mature deliberation, that the
human system does not require tea and coffee ; the latter is
often injurious, and sometimes the former, neither having
nutritious qualities. therefore merely luxuries. But there
is other proof. All the water-cure doctors in the world
have decided that tea and coffee are absolutely injurious in
every case, and under all circumstances. Now, it is not to
be supposed that a town can do everything; and consequently
GLENWOOD. 139
* Js under no obligations to furnish luxuries for the poor.
Christianity or humanity does not demand it. How strange
it is that an old woman, one who would otherwise have to
die in the street of cold -and starvation, after she has been
provided with a home and enough to eat, should complain
because her appetite cannot be pampered any longer with
tea ! Why, it is beyond endurance !
There was difficulty very soon between Arabella Mehita-
ble and Margaret Bumford. The latter felt that the former
was not the mistress, and had no business to tyrannize over
her ; while Arabella Mehitable was overbearing in the ex-
treme. One day, when Mr. and Mrs. Bumpus were absent,
she told Margaret that she was a lazy, disagreeable, greedy
glutton ; and that she did not earn her salt, and never had.
The latter retorted by calling her a red-haired, cross, ill-
looking old maid. This put her in a passion, and she
made a spring at Margaret, and caught hold of her coarse,
black hair, and pulled it with all her strength.
"You saucy, impudent thing!" she said; " I '11 teach
you !
Margaret was not daunted by this furious assault in the
least, and she quickly removed her antagonist's hands from
her hair, and then shook her as though she had been a child.
She then took her by the ear, led her to a closet, and shut her
in, where she remained a prisoner until her parents returned,
some three hours after. Margaret was the victor, but she
paid the penalty of her rashness by being sent to bed three
nights in succession without her supper. She was let off
very easily, one might think ; but to Margaret it was a
severe punishment.
As soon as the poor-master's promising daughter saw
140 GLENWOOD.
Willie Cunard, she said that she knew he must be a sulky,
bad boy, for he looked so discontented, and was so lazy
withal, moving about as though it was disagreeable for him
to stir. Mrs. Bumpus, having no opinion of her own,
agreed with Arabella Mehitable; and Mr. Bumpus soon
coincided with them. It was not long before Willie knew
that all three regarded him with aversion. For the smallest
omissions of duty he was severely punished, and no pleasant
words were spoken to him. Willie had been wretched
enough when with Mr. Bumford ; but now his cup was full,
and he often stole away by himself and cried in all the bit-
terness of woe. Arabella Mehitable once found him weep-
ing, and she gave him what she called a good switching,
telling him that, as he was so fond of crying, it was best that
he should have something to cry for.
In a few months there were rumors in Glenwood that
the paupers were not used well; and, the attention of the
selectmen having been called to the subject, Mr. Gregg,
being the chairman of that honorable body, was sent to the
alms-house to investigate the" matter ; where he went, im-
pressed with the full sense of the dignity of his mission.
The poor-master was absent; but, as the more important
personages of the family were at home, mother and daughter,
he concluded to proceed with the investigation.
" I have come," said Mr. Gregg, "on a mission of import-
ance."
"I regret that pa is away," said Arabella Mehitable.
" So do I," said Mr. Gregg; " but perhaps the matter can
be satisfactorily adjusted, in relation thereto } even without
his presence."
GLENWOOD. 141
" I don't doubt it," she replied. " What is the nature of
your business, Mr. Gregg?"
"Hem! We have been informed hem! that the pau-
pers are not treated as they should be," he answered.
"I am astonished ! " said Arabella Mehitable.
" I am surprised ! " said her mother.
"I would like to know, in the first place, what sort of a
boy is the pauper called Willie Cunard."
" ! he is one of the worst boys I ever saw, lazy, sulky,
disobedient ; and those are not his worst failings, for he will
both lie and steal ! " said Arabella Mehitable.
"I never seed sich a boy," said Mrs. Bumpus. "Why,
he never pertends to mind anything that is said to him ; he
has stolen pie, and cheese, and cake, a great many times ;
and when it was laid to him, he denied it right up and
down ! Yes, Mr. Gregg, only think of it, right up and
down ! "
" Evidently a very hardened boy, Mrs. Bumpus, and
should be corrected, until there is a reformation," said Mr.
Gregg. " How is his temper? "
"It is the worst I ever saw," said Arabella Mehitable.
" I never seed anything like it, in all my born days," said
Mrs. Bumpus.
" We have had to punish him some, in order to get along
at all," said Arabella Mehitable.
" Yes, we have been 'bliged to lick him, once in a while;
for we could not control him without," said Mrs. Bumpus.
" You have done perfectly right," said Mr. Gregg, " ' for
he who spsireth the rod spoileth the child.' I should like
to see the boy."
Arabella Mehitable went and called him; and, having
142 GLENWOOD.
washed some of the dirt from his face, brought him to Mr
Gregg. Willie looked very fearful, and hung down hig
head, as though he was as guilty as his accusers had mad?
him.
"He has every appearance of guilt," said Mr. Gregg
" Come to me, sir."
Willie reluctantly obeyed, and so moved but slowly
When within reach, Mr. Gregg caught hold of his shoulder,
and almost jerked him from off his feet, saying, "I will
show you, my fine fellow, how to move with a little life ! If
you had me to deal with, you would not mope in that way.
Hold up your head," taking hold of it roughly, and turning
his face upwards. " I hear bad stories of you, sir ; and I
see your guilt in your face ; and I make no doubt that you
will come to the gallows, some day. What have you to say
for yourself, sir?"
Willie was too much frightened to speak, and so he stood
wriggling and twisting, trying hard to break away from the
strong grip of his captor.
" None of that ! " said Mr. Gregg. " I know you, sir !
You will go when I am ready to have you, and not a mo-
ment before."
" I thought you would find him out," said Arabella
Mehitable.
"0, I was sartin you 'd know what he was," said Mrs.
Bumpus.
" Trust me for that, madam. I flatter myself that I can
read character without much effort. I have never yet
failed," said Mr. Gregg. "You may go now," addressing
himself to Willie. "But, sir, be careful how you conduct
GLENWOOD. 143
yourself, or you will get into such trouble as you won't like.
A bad boy, Mrs. Bumpus."
"He is very bad," said Arabella Mehitable. "If I
should tell you all his capers, you would not believe me."
"No, you would never believe it, in the world, Mr.
Gregg," said Mrs. Bumpus. "He is all the time at his
capers."
" I make no doubt of it. I wish to inquire now in rela-
tion to the Widow Gunimede, for we have heard that she is
abused."
" Did you ever ! " said Arabella Mehitable.
"Is it possible ! " said Mrs. Bumpus.
" What an ungrateful people," said Arabella Mehitable,
" after all we have borne from that woman ! "
"After all we have borne from her," said Mrs. Bumpus,
" how ungrateful they are ! "
"I would like to be informed in relation thereto," said
Mr. Gregg.
"Why, she wanted tea the first night we arrived here;
and she has asked for it fifty times a day ever since," said
Arabella Mehitable.
" he keeps asking every day, as much as fifty times, and
she wanted a cup the first night we got here ! " said Mrs.
Bumpus.
"And so the fault was all hers," said Mr. Gregg, "and
not yours. Just as I had supposed. What presumption in
an old woman like her ! Why, Mrs. Bumpus, she had not
where to lay her head when the honorable board of select-
men took pity upon her, and gave her this good home. And
she must have her tea, as though she earned the money, and
not somebody else ! What does shfr need of tea, as old as she
144 GLENWOOD.
ill c.t'7 >. ;". .''''
is, I would like to know ? Does she still continue to ask for
it?"
"She does." replied Arabella Mehitable, "fifty times a
day ! "
"As many as fifty times a day," said Mrs. Bumpus.
"I should like to have her called in," said Mr. Gregg.
The old lady was sent for, and came in, looking pale, and
very sorrowful. She was introduced by Arabella Mehitable.
"And so," said Mr. Gregg, "you are not satisfied with
your treatment here, Mrs. Gunimede? "
"I wish you would let me have a very little tea," she
replied. " I am not well, and a little black tea would make
me feel so much better ! "
" That 's the way she always runs on," said Arabella
Mehitable.
' ' What good do you suppose tea would do, you silly
woman? " said Mr. Gregg.
" It used to do me a great deal of good. Pray, good man,
do let me have a little ! " she said.
" Do you know that you are maintained by the town? "
asked Mr. Gregg.
"I suppose I am. 0, that I should ever come to this !
It is too much too much ! You will let me have a little
tea, won't you, Mr. Grogg? "
"My name is Gregg, if you please, ma'am ! The town
cannot afford tea for the paupers, Mrs. Gunimede. Tea
never does the least good in the world, not the least, and
you must hold your tongue about it."
' ' ! I cannot ! I must have some tea I shall die if
you do not give me some ! I wonder that I have lived so
long ! Will they let me die for the want of it ? I know
GLENWOOD. 145
that I shall die ! 0, that I ever should have come to this !
Mrs. Bumper wont give me any ! You will, won't you,
Mr. Grugg?"
" Not Grugg, but Gregg. I have told you that the town
cannot afford it, and I mean what I say, and so you must
keep still about it."
" But I must have some, Mr. Grogg; I cannot live with-
out it, and Mrs. Bumper will not listen ! 0, that I should
ever come to this ! What shall I do ? What shall I do ? "
" Hold your tongue, that 's what you shall do, or there
will be trouble here yes, trouble ! Do you hear what I
say?"
"I am not deaf, Mr. Grogg, but I want a cup of tea!
I must have a cup of tea. 0, that I should ever have come
to this!"
" That is just the way she always runs on," said Arabella
Mehitable.
"Yes, that 's the way she always runs on," said Mrs.
Bumpus.
" I wish you 'd tell Mrs. Bumper to give me a cup of tea,
Mr. Grogg."
"Mrs. Bumpus," said Mr. Gregg, "I think you have a
great trial, in particular with this woman, and your patience,
I may say, is is admirable. I will report you to the
honorable board. Mrs. Gunimede, I am astonished that you
should take such an unjustifiable, unheard-of course. I
wish to inform you, madam, that, unless you change your
conduct, it will be the duty of the honorable board, of which
I am the chairman, to turn you out of doors ! "
"Mind what he says," remarked Arabella Mehitable ;
"he is one of the selectmen ! "
13
146 GLENWOOD.
"Yes, the chairman," said Mr. Gregg.
" Yes, Mrs. Gunimede, mind what he says, for he '& one
of the slackmen," said Mrs. Bumpus.
"Are you one of the selectmen of Glenwood? " inquired
Mrs. Gunimede.
" I am, madam," said Mr. Gregg; "and I hope you will
give due heed to what I say, for it is very important to you
very important."
" I know it is it must be, Mr. Grogg ; but you will let
Mrs. Bumper give me a little tea? I can't live, if you
don't ! It will not cost much, I am sure, Mr. Grogg !
Pray, good sir, do let me have a little ! "
" This is past all endurance, after what I have already
told you ! " said Mr. Gregg. " Mrs. Gunimede, you shan't
have one drop of tea, so there ! And I want you to under-
stand that my name is Gregg, Joseph Gregg, and not Grugg
nor Grogg ! Why, I should think the woman was half
crazy ! "
" 0, she knows enough !" said Arabella Mehitable.
"You are crazy, Miss Bumper, or a fool ; so you keep
still, and go and get me a cup of tea ; for I have asked for
it enough, and I can't wait any longer," said Mrs Guni-
mede.
'' Send the woman away," said Mr. Gregg ; and when she
had gone, he observed,
" Well, you do have a trial with this woman, and I may
say that you have been slanderously reported in relation
thereto. Complaint has been made in reference to the treat-
ment of Margaret Bumford ; but I will not so insult you
as to investigate the subject, for that excellent Mrs. Slusher
has informed me what a a trial she is. Commend me tc
GLENWOOD. 147
your husband, Mrs. Bumpus, and inform him that I shall
make a favorable report to the honorable board of select-
men of Glen wood." So saying, he took his departure,
leaving Mrs. Bumpus and daughter highly elated at the
result of his visit.
Mr. Gregg made his report at the next meeting of the
selectmen, and it was deemed highly satisfactory, and a
vote of thanks was passed to the " honorable gentleman " for
the efficient manner in 'which he had performed the business
intrusted to his hands. Mr. Bumpus and family were ac-
quitted of all blame. Mrs. Gunimede was severely cen-
sured, and a letter was written by the Rev. Wellington
Shackles, signed by him, and endorsed by the selectmen,
and sent to the offending woman, in which the great sin of
ingratitude was dwelt upon at length, and she was exhorted
to repent of past transgressions, ask pardon of the kind
friends who took such good care of her, and henceforth
be mindful of her conduct, and not put the town to further
trouble and expense ! After Arabella Mehitable had read
it to her with due solemnity, she said :
" ! how I' wish they had sent me a little tea ! !
that I should ever have come to this ! I shall die if I
cannot have some tea ! Miss Bumper, do just give me one
cup of tea ! "
Poor Mrs. Gunimede ! her mind was weakened by misfor-
tune and trouble when she first became an inmate of the
alms-house, but now she was a complete monomaniac on
the subject of tea, body and mind growing weaker every
day. But, dear, compassionate reader, don't say she should
have had tea ; for how could the town afford it?
In the winter Willie Cunard was sent to school. His
148 GLE^WOOD.
clothes, however, were unclean and in tatters, and the chil-
dren used him ill, calling him the little pauper ; which made
him shun the presence of his school-mates as much as pos-
sible. The master seemed to hate the sight of him, and
punished him often and severely ; and so the boys felt, as
he had no protector, that they could do with him as they
pleased. Many were the indignities they heaped upon him,
and their abuse was often outrageous. It was of no use for
him to complain, for no one pitied him, excepting Margaret
Bumford, Mrs. Gunimede, and Hector Stifels. The latter
was exceedingly indignant, and gave vent to his wrath after
this style :
" If them are boys tech ye agin, you jist let know 't,
and I '11 thresh 'em I will ! I allus user lick 'em when I
went to schule, I did. I guv a big boy some onc't ! I tell ye
jist how I does um ! I pitches right into 'em ker-smash, I
does ! "
Willie thought he had a champion now, sure enough;
and the next day, when a boy twelve years old struck him
and made his nose bleed, he ran, all bloody, to Hector, and
the latter watched for the offender, who passed by the alms-
house returning from school. As soon as Hector saw him,
he started for the purpose, he said, " of guving him jist what
he would n't like." The boy saw him coming, and picked
up a stone to use in self-defence ; which so frightened Hec-
tor, that he fled in great terror until beyond the reach of it.
He excused himself to Willie, by saying, " That are boy
could kill me with sich a big rock." The next morn-
ing, Margaret hid behind the wall, and lay in wa*t for the
culprit. He attempted to frighten her with the same weap-
on which did such good service the evening previous, but
GLENWOOD. 149
in vain. Instead of terrifying, as designed, it excited her
anger, and she sprang at him in a fury. He threw the
stone and hit her; but in a moment after his body was
making the most comical movements imaginable, legs and
arms flying up and down, and his head bobbing about, as
though he had the Shaker-jerks, or was awfully afflicted
with the St. Vitus dance.
Margaret was very strong, and, when angry, woe to the
victim of her wrath ! She almost shook his life out of him.
It was her favorite mode of administering chastisement,
and one application was entirely satisfactory. Willie's risi-
ble faculties were excited, by this comical exhibition, as
they had not been for a long time before ; and he told her
that he thought she must be the walking fever and ague.
13*
CHAPTER XIII.
IfR. 7EBULON BUGBEE MAKES HIS MAIDEN SPEECH IN GLENWOOD.
BETSEY SLPSHER LEFT A WIDOW. LOSS OF PROPERTY, AND MARRIAGE
OF MR. GREGG. POLLY HAGGETT IN DESPAIR. GETS BETTER.
AT the expiration of the first year of the poor-farm exper-
iment, it was found that, instead of diminishing the taxes of
the people of Glenwood, it had largely increased them ; and
the committee who bought the farm were severely censured,
while some thought Mr. Bumpus unfit for the station he
occupied, and that he would run the town in debt as long
as he retained it. There were others who said they did not
care for the increase of taxes, if the poor were actually
benefited thereby ; they would not grumble because money
was expended, drawn from their pockets, if the paupers were
the gainers. In their estimation, it was bad policy on the
part of the town, purchasing a farm in a neighboring town.
As the people could not exercise that scrutiny which they
might under other circumstances, the poor were more liable
to abuse. The one-sided report of Mr. Gregg they believed
utterly worthless.
At this meeting, Mr. Zebulon Bugbee. not long a resi-
dent, having become a citizen of the town for the purpose
of manufacturing wooden ware, exercised his oratorical
GLENWOOD. 151
powers in making his maiden speech in Glenwood, and he
brought down the house.
"Mr. Modrator," said Mr. Bugbee, "Mr. Joseph
Gregg, Esq., the honorable chairman of the honorable board
of slackmen, seems to think that it makes no pacific odds
whether we have a poor-farm in Glenwood or over in Sklin-
tonbog. Now, it is a maxim of the Holy Scripturs that the
poor we have always with us ; and I should like to have that
very honorable gentleman inform me, and this respectable
ordnance, how we are to have the poor always with us, when
we 've packed 'em all over to Sklintonbog ! (A laugh and
cheers.) Now, Mr. Modrator, it may be all ironical synony-
mous (a laugh), to you, sir, and me, and many others,
whether we have a farm here or a farm there ; but, sir, in
the name of all the gods at once, I would ask what business
have we to send our paupers over to Sklintonbog ? I reck-
on, sir, that it makes a decided odds to the people there ; for
they have all they desire of that indigenous class of fellow-
citizens. (Laughter.) Han't we got gumption enough to
perceive all this is ambiguous to our honor, yes, our honor,
gentlemen ! I was n't raised in Glemvood, Mr. Modrator,
but it makes no pacific odds to me, for I have lately adopted
the town as my futur place of localization. (Laughter.) I
have moved my wife and family here ; and that is ironically
synonymous with being raised here, as you will all admit.
(Cries of " Yes, yes," laughter, and cheers.) Now, sir, I in-
tend to look to things, and see that they perceed according
to Gunter. In the first place, I shall manufacture the best
wooden ware in the county ; and, secondly, I shall look
out for the honor of the town I have adopted. Well, sir,
look at our paupers attending school in Sklintonbog. Who
152 GLENWOOD.
settles the bill ? Yes, sir, who settles the bill ? I wish to
be informed (bowing to Mr. Gregg) in relation thereto.
(Laughter.) Why, sir, the people all about us are stretch-
ing their jaws with laughter ; and they call us a set of green-
horns, who don't know once, and I take it they are about
half right. (Laughter.) An't we able have n't we the
ability to pay our own school-bills ? I reckon we are we
have. If we are so poverty-stricken as all that ere conies to,
we had better pack up our duds, and take a bee-line for
Sklintonbog, and get them to take care on us. Mr. Mod-
rator, the eyes of the world is upon us, and we must account
at their tribunal for this day's business ; and you or I, or our
children, may rue it. You may think, sir, that it makes no
pacific odds in the end ; but it does. And, sir, having the
honor of the town and the welfare of posterity in view, I
motion that the present board of slackmen be permitted to
remain pretty still and quiet during the coming year ensuing;
for they have shown themselves uncompetent for the honor-
able position they have attempted to fill. (Laughter.) 2d.
I move you, sir, that a new and more proficient board be
chosen in their place ; and that they be empowered to sell,
dispose of, make over, or get rid of, the farm out of town,
and buy one in town. We are in the midst of a tremendjous
(laughter) crisis, sir ; and, if we do not wake up and cast
off our letherjay, we shall soon see our honor, now wounded,
lay bleeding at our feet ! The cries of the poor are ringing
in our ears to-day, calling upon every man to do his duty.
Ironically synonymous, I take it, of our fate, if we neg-
lect so great a salvation." Mr. Bugbee resumed his seat
amid laughter and cheers.
In accordance with the suggestions of the speaker, a new
GLENWOOD. 153
board of selectmen was chosen, coupled with instructions to
sell the farm in Sklintonbog, and purchase one in Glenwood.
The business was transacted in the midst of much fun and
frolic. As there was an uncertainty in relation to the effi-
ciency of Mr. Bumpus, many believing that he had done aa
well as any one could under the circumstances, it was voted
that he be retained as master of the alms-house for one
year longer.
The day after the town-meeting, Mr. Slusher was thrown
from his horse, and so badly injured that he died in a few
hours, leaving a widow and seven children. Betsey Ann
Slusher was the eldest, being fourteen years old when her
father died ; and between her and the next on the docket,
Jabez, there were two years, and so on to the last, namely,
Jerusha, Obadiah, Sally Ann, Peter, and Titus.
Mr. Gregg was chosen guardian for these interesting chil-
dren ; and when the estate was settled it was found, to the
astonishment of the citizens, that the property amounted
to ten thousand dollars.
Polly Haggett was still housekeeper at Mr. Gregg's, but
not the mistress. At times her prospects looked bright and
hopeful to her, and again the thermometer went down below
zero. Thomas Gregg was now paying his addresses to
Miranda Penelope, much to the gratification of the wriggle-
headed Fanny. The latter often boasted that her brother,
who was " every inch a Gregg," was " engaged to the beau-
tifulest and most accomplished lady in Glenwood." Jim
Blossom, after being very attentive to the lisping Nannie
Pottle for two years, left her for another, and she was given
over to hopeless old-maidism. The neighboring families of
Mr. Goose and Deacon Glubbings were prosperous and happy,
154 GLENWOOD.
pursuing the even tenor of their way, ruffled only, now and
then, by the wrongs and injustice of man.
Mr. Gregg was a great deal mortified that he should have
been turned out of office so summarily, but the thought that
his genius was unappreciated in Glenwood was balm to his
wounded feelings, and he became more dignified and stiff than
ever. But this proved an unlucky year for him. At its
close he had lost two thirds of his property. He manufactured
a large number of organs, which were unfit for the parlor,
and weie not considered good enough for churches ; and, as
there was a great scarcity of money, he was unable to mcc<.
his bills, and so was obliged to sell at an immense loss.
The result was that he sold out all his mechanical business,
and had to borrow a thousand dollars on a mortgage of his
farm.
Polly Haggett now redoubled her efforts to make an im-
pression. She manifested the warmest sympathy for Mr.
Gregg's misfortune, and hinted that some one should share
his troubles, for they were too heavy to be borne alone. For
his gratification, she had practised the most strict economy,
and so had saved five hundred dollars. This little fortune
she loaned to him, remarking, in a guarded manner, that if
it was united with his it would make quite a difference ; but
he was too obtuse to take the hint.
After Mr. Gregg gave up his mechanical business, he
turned his attention to farming ; but, as he had never been ac-
customed to hard labor, the best that he could do, at the end
of the year, was to pay the interest on the debt. He felt that
he must curtail his expenses, and queripd if he should not
dismiss Polly ; and so he asked Fanny if she .could do the
work. With a toss of the head, and a wriggle all over, she
GLENWOOD. 156
declared she never heard of such a ridiculous idea, for a child
could perform it as well as she.
In this estimate of her abilities she did herself no injus-
tice, and it was about the only sensible thing she was evei
known to say. Her brother Thomas had always felt himself
too much of a gentleman to till the soil ; and when his father
spoke of the essential aid he might give him, he said that he
was too weakly for such heavy work it would ruin his
precious health. Mr. Gregg, failing in obtaining assistance
from these sources, began to look elsewhere.
Mrs. Betsey Slusher was now some months a widow, and,
being such a delicate creature, and withal so lonely, having
only seven children to keep her company, began to think of
matrimony. Not that she had forgotten the submissive Slush-
er, 0, no! but she wanted to taste the sweets of mar-
ried life again. They had lived so happily, and been so highly
blessed, witness the seven abridged editions and ten thousand
dollars, that she knew not how she could show her respect
for her husband's memory, and her regard for the marriage
institution, so plainly as by marrying again, if she had a good
opportunity. That she was lonely only went to show how
highly appreciated was the companionship of her departed
husband. We will not stop to quarrel with Betsey for hav-
ing such thoughts, nor question the soundness of her conclu-
sions ; but say, in the language of Deacon Ramsdill, " It 's
natur," and certainly Betsey is not to be blamed for that.
The reader is aware that Mr. Gregg was many years a
widower ; and Mrs. Betsey was not the only one who thought
it high time that he should marry again. As he was
the guardian of Mrs. Betsey's children, why should he not
hold a nearer relation ? Could anything be more natural ?
156 Q-LENWOOD.
She thought it would be very agreeable to change the homely
name of Slusher for the better name of Gregg.
Under the circumstances, he being the guardian of the
little Slushers, they met frequently ; and, as she had resolved
to successfully besiege this seeming impregnable fortress, she
went to work very adroitly to accomplish her object. She
manifested her preference in a very delicate manner, putting
on all her youthful blandishments, and they were by no
means niggardly, and concentrating the whole battery of
charms upon his just now susceptible heart. Mr. Gregg
was well pleased with her at the first onset, and day by day
her power increased ; for, seeing that she had made an im-
pression, she resolved to deepen it, and she did it.
Mr. Slusher had left Mrs. Betsey one half of his property
by will, which caused Mr. Gregg to have some very serious
thoughts in relation to the widow, soon after her husband
died. But he was somewhat fearful of that long, sharp nose,
and those snaky black eyes. He had been accustomed to a
quiet home, having great aversion to a noisy one ; and he was
apprehensive that the seven smaller editions might sadly
interfere.
Were there not other widows and marriageable ladies in
town? Certainly, who ever knew of a scarcity? They
lacked, however, in one thing, money ; and Mr. Gregg
wanted that more than a wife. On account of his pecuniary
embarrassments, and as the black-eyed Mrs. Slusher had
manifested a decided preference for him, he resolved to offer
himself to her in marriage. She was a little coy, at first, as
in duty to the sex, especially widows, she was bound to be ;
but she was speedily won, which is not an uncommon thing
with widows who would like to change their lonely condition.
QLENWOOD. 157
And when the parties, as in this case, have learned wisdom
by experience, the matter is readily adjusted ; and they as-
tonished the people of Glenwood by being married in a
fortnight after the courtship commenced. They went to
Sklintonbog, where the services were performed by the Rev.
Mr. Lovelace, a clergyman of liberal sentiments, who Mr.
Gregg said was the most powerful preacher in the county.
So short had been the courtship that Polly had never
heard of it, and did not suspect it ; although Mr. Gregg had
returned home at a much later hour than was his custom,
for a number of nights in succession. She thought, poor thing !
that his business troubles detained him ; and they did.
After his marriage, he repaired immediately to his home,
and introduced Mrs. Gregg to Fanny and Polly. At first,
the latter could not comprehend it ; but when she realized
the truth, she gave a loud shriek, and fell on the sofa.
She was carried to her bed, where she had hysteric fits for
the next twenty-four hours.
" He has deceived me," she said, " terribly deceived me!
I shall die now, I know I shall ! To think that I should
spend the flower of my youth in vain for him ! I went
away, and he assured me that his happiness depended on
my return ! Why should he so deceive a poor, lone woman ?
What could I expect, when he declared that his happiness
depended on my presence ? And I have waited so long,
when I might have married ! waited for him ! and now
to see him in the arms of another ! 0, man ! man ! You
are a base deceiver ! You win hearts, and then cast them
from you. To go and marry that artful hussy, and leave
me in my lonely desolation ! He will suffer for it he will
not prosper ! 0, what a terrible world this is ! I can give it
14
158 GLENWOOD.
up now without a sigh or a tear, for my hopes are all blasted.
But I will leave this place, where I have been so basely de-
ceived, and return to my home, and put my trust no longer
in man."
As soon as she had sufficiently recovered from the effects
of the violent shock she had received, Thomas took the
horse, and carried her to her sister's. She said that she
should certainly die ; but, as she did not, it is reasonable
to suppose that she changed her mind. In a brief time she
was as bright as ever, and setting her cap for another wid-
ower ; but, like all her marriage speculations, she utterly
failed in her object.
That she merited better success is certain, for persever-
ance under great discouragements is a virtue. Polly still
felt young, and that was one half of the battle ; for, feeling
young, she acted young, and her faith did not waver at all
that she should marry as soon as she had the good fortune to
meet the one designed for her. We will not question the
soundness of her faith, but leave her in the anticipation of a
brighter future, hoping, for her sake, that she may not be
disappointed.
CHAPTER XIV.
GOOD-NATURED CONVERSATION. A NEW WAY OF SMILING. MR. GREGG
APPOINTED POOR-MASTER. BUGBEE PURCHASES TEA FOR MRS. GUNI-
MEDE. CENSURES THE TOWN FOR MEANNESS.
THE seven younger Slushers were duly installed at Mr.
Gregg's. They were an ungovernable set, and their new
parent thought, for a time, that their clamor would drive
him mad. In some respects they were remarkable-look-
ing children, for they all had black eyes and turn-up noses,
inheriting one feature from the father, and the other
from the mother. Their noses were so similar that they
occasioned frequent witty comments, and no one relished
a joke of the kind more keenly than Zebulon Bugbee.
The day after the wedding, Nehemiah Goose, Deacon
Glubbings, and Mr. Bugbee, happened to meet on the high-
way, when the following conversation passed between them :
" I have a compliment for you, Mr. Bugbee," said Dea-
con Glubbings.
" For me ? " he replied. "It is from a lady, of course.
My wife says that I am tremenjous sweet on the ladies."
"I don't doubt it," returned the deacon; "but it is
somewhat doubtful whether they are as sweet on you."
" Envy, deacon ! " said Mr. Bugbee ; " sheer envy ! Lord !
I always knew that I had a handsome face, and I take with
160 GLENWOOD.
the wimmin to a T. But none of your dallering ! so out
with it."
"You shall be gratified," said the deacon; "only be
careful and spare your blushes. A lady of my acquaint-
ance said that you were the meanest man in town."
" All ironical synonymous, by Jupiter ! " exclaimed Mr.
Bugbee.
" I should think it was,." said Mr. Goose, laughing.
" You evidently take with the ladies ! "
" There are always deceptions to a general rule," said
Mr. Bugbee; " so it makes no pacific odds. But I '11 bet
my hat that that are woman is a widder ! "
"Done!" said Mr. Goose. "Now, deacon, give us
your author ! "
' Mrs. Betsey Gregg, formerly Slush er," said the deacon.
" She is not a widow now, but she was when she said it."
" Did n't I tell ye 'twas a widder? I knew it ! " said
Mr. Bugbee. "Now, I know what made her say it 'cause
I got Mr. Gregg out of office."
"That's it," remarked Mr. Goose.
"Mr. Gregg has an office, now," said the deacon.
"-Lord ! I should think he had ! " returned Mr. Bugbee j
" he 's got an addition to his family."
"A very large addition," Mr. Goose said.
"I presume," said Mr. Bugbee, "that it makes no
pacific odds to you, but you don't like Gregg more 'n I do,
neither on ye. Howsomever, I reckon we couldn't wish
him anything more prognoxious to happiness than he 's got
in that are fiery widder and seven children. Only think
on 't, them snaky eyes of her'n, and that long row of flour-
ishing turn-ups."
GLEN WOOD. 161
This sally caused a hearty laugh from Mr. Goose and
Deacon Glubbings, in which Mr. Bugbee joined, fairly shak-
ing with a sort of inward chuckle, as he always did when
he imagined he had said anything particularly funny, de-
claring, all the time, that he couldn't help smiling.
" They are not to blame for their features," said Deacon
Glubbings.
"0, Lord, no!" said Mr. Bugbee, "for they did n't
make 'em! wonder who did? I could have turned out
better ones in my mop-handle machine ! " laughing and
shaking his sides again.
"After all," said Mr. Goose, " they are promising chil-
dren ; but what in the world can he do with so many ? "
"So many what?" asked Mr. Bugbee, "turn-ups?
Boil and plant 'em ! of course he likes 'em. 0, Lord ! I
can't help smiling," chuckling and shaking with laughter ;
"I '11 die if lean!"
' ' He will never domineer over the present Mrs. Gregg,
as he did over the first," said Mr. Goose.
"I should hope not," said Deacon Glubbings; "for
although his first wife .was one of the best of women, yet she
never took the least comfort while she lived with him. And
there was poor Delia, the most beautiful-looking girl in
Glenwood, with a heart as tender and full of love as that
of her mother, turned into the street, without money or
friends, and God only knows what has become of her ! I
don't wish him evil, but I have long believed that he would
see trouble before he died."
" Don't give yourself any solicitousness on that are
score," said Mr. Bugbee, " for he has got a whole house-
full of judgments come all to once, like a tribe of savage
14*
162 GLENWOOD.
injuns. It is all ironically synonymous of the futur.
Lord, won't there be a flashing of eyes and twitching of
hair, one of these days ? I '11 die if I can help smiling to
think on 't ! " and again he chuckled inwardly, and shook
himself all over.
;< There will be trouble enough, I '11 warrant," said Mr.
Goose. " That lazy Thomas will have to budge, and Fan-
ny will not be allowed to play the lady any longer. Betsey
is a great worker, and an inveterate scold she has not a
lazy bone in her whole body."
" And her tongue is n't lazy either, ha? " said Mr. Bug-
bee. ' ' It never gets tired, but everlastingly on the wag.
What a waggish thing a reglar perpetual ! Mr. Gregg
oughter make his for tin on the disci very. It 's all synony-
mous of what is to come. Poor Gregg is taken in and done
for ! " Another inward chuckle and shake followed this
speech, accompanied with the oft-repeated declaration that
he could n't help smiling.
" I am not sure that it is right for us to indulge in such
kind of remarks about our neighbors," said Deacon Glub-
bings; "so, gentlemen, we had better drop the subject."
The three now separated, Mr. Bugbee talking to himself
as he wended his way towards his shop, saying, as he sup-
posed, very witty things about Mr. Gregg and the Slushers,
to imaginary listeners, and smiling as hard as ever.
As Mr. Goose predicted, Thomas Gregg soon found that
home was a most undesirable place. The noise of the chil-
dren was intolerable ; and the evident dislike of his mother-
in-law, which she took special pains to manifest, was more
than he could submit to ; and so he engaged himself as a
clerk in a dry-goods store, in Boston, and, the next year,
GLENW001J. 163
married, not Miranda Penelope, however, for she dismissed
him when his father lost his property. Fanny remained at
home two years after Mrs. Slusher became her mother-in-
law, and the most of the time she was very unhappy ; but she
ended her present sorrows by marrying a man old enough
to be her grandfather, for the sake of his money and a home.
Up to this time, Mr. Gregg was uncertain whether he had
taken a wise step in marrying Mrs. Slusher, or not. He
was sometimes glad, and sometimes sorry. Not many unkind
words had passed between them, for she well knew that,
though she could talk the fastest, he could hold out the
longest ; and so she determined to manage him, and she played
her part well. He more than half believed that he fuled
now, as formerly, and yet everything was done in accordance
with the views of his wife. Her first husband knew well
what a venom there was to her tongue, while Mr. Gregg was
spared ; but she was as great a scold as ever, for the children
now received an extra allowance, which they took, however,
with no bad grace, for they were accustomed to it ; in fact,
they had become so hardened, that the severest censure did
not disturb their equanimity.
In accordance with the instructions given by the town to
the new board of selectmen, the poor-farm in Sklintonbog
was sold, and a farm purchased in Glenwood, about half a
mile from the village. At the close of the year, the paupera
returned to Glenwood ; and very thankful they were, for they
had felt severely the loss of their accustomed places of wor-
ship, old acquaintance, and scenes which they had loved from
early childhood.
Mr. Burnpus had never given satisfaction as poor-master ;
and the paupers complained so bitterly of Arabella Mehitable,
164 GLENWOOD.
that it was thought best to remove him, and appoint a
new master. Mrs. Gregg, having an eye to the profits, per-
suaded her husband to apply for the situation ; and, as his
was the only application, with the exception of Mr. Bumpus'
(who petitioned that he might be allowed to make a third
year's trial, as the circumstances were more favorable), he
obtained the appointment.
Mr. Gregg and wife, in taking this step, had but one ob-
ject in view, and that was to enrich themselves by the opera-
tion as much as possible ; and the poor soon learned that the
change was far from being beneficial to them. Margaret
Bumford had a severer mistress than Arabella Mehitable ;
and Willie Cunard was not only ill-used by Mr. and Mrs.
Gregg, but by all the junior Slushers, from the oldest to the
youngest. Exquisitely sensitive, he keenly felt it all, and
it would be difficult to conceive of a more pitiful face than
his was now. The idea of kindness in the hearts of his fel-
low-creatures seemed to completely die out, and he looked
upon all as his enemies. Mrs. Gunimede was too demented
to notice him at all ; while Margaret Bumford, usually kind,
in some of her moods was as unfeeling as those who tyran-
nized over her. Hector Stifels was set against him through
the influence of Arabella Mehitable Bumpus, he having con-
ceived for her the tender passion.
Willie required the care of a kind, motherly woman, as
every boy does ; but, as he did not have it, his garments were
exceedingly mean, and gave the best of evidence that they
were entirely unacquainted with water and soap. The coarse
food allowed him was not sufficient in quantity to satisfy his
wants ; and so his eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow, and
his expression wretched in the extreme. The boys, as in
OLENWOOD. 165
Sklintonbog, used him ill ; the girls thought it beneath their
dignity to speak to him, and some men were so unfeeling as
to make him a butt for ridicule. ^Vlr. Gregg, when the
young Slushers complained of him, would tie him up by his
thumbs and chastise him. When he attended school, his
dinner was a piece of coarse bread, without butter or cheese,
and, being often very hungry, -he pilferexi from other boys.
If detected, the teachers punished him ; and Mr. Gregg made
it a rule as some parents do, shame on them ! of whipping
him whenever he received correction at school.
Soon after Mr. Gregg was appointed poor-master, another
aged couple were taken to the alms-house, and the woman
united with Mrs. Gunimede in begging for tea. As all her
prayers were in vain, she became very indignant and saucy,
frequently telling the master and mistress that they and the
whole town were mean enough to steal the coppers from a
dead man's eyes. She went about among the neighbors
begging for a cup of tea, and talking continually of the con-
temptible littleness of the people of Glenwood, in refusing to
provide tea for the aged.
" It is cruel," she would say, " the basest, meanest cru-
elty, when they require it so much."
One very pleasant day, Mrs. Gunimede ventured to take
a walk, and on her way she encountered Mr. Bugbee. As
soon as he had approached within speaking distance, she said,
" My dear, good man, I wish you would give me just a
little tea ! I shall die if I can't have some tea ! "
" A little tea ! " said Mr. Bugbee ; " what do you want of
a little tea? Where do you put up ? "
' ' Put up ! I don't put up I want some tea. ! that I
should ever come to this ! You will give me one cup of tea ? ' x
166 GLENWOOD.
" Yes, I will give you twenty cups of tea, if you want 'em,
and twenty more on top of 'em. It makes no pacific odds
to me. But where do you live, old lady ? "
"Me? I don't live anywhere I stay with old Greggor.
But will you give me twenty cups of tea ? "
"Yes, and twice twenty."
"Twice twenty! How many will that make? Twice
twenty is is twice twenty is "
" Forty, my good old lady."
" Forty ! 0, how much I shall have ! forty cups of
tea ! I shan't die if I can have forty cups of tea. 0, the
Lord will bless you if you give me forty cups of tea ! "
" Well, then, I shall expect a regular shower of blessings ;
for have the tea you shall. But who is old Greggor ? "
' " He keeps the poor-house, over there."
" You mean Mr. Gregg ? "
" Yes, Mr. Grigg."
" And don't he let you have any tea ? "
" No, he don't let me have one drop."
" What a mean old fellow ! Don't none of the old people
have tea?"
" Nobody at the poor-house has any but him and her, and
those little Slutgers."
" Well, if that is the way the town takes care of the poor,
it is mean enough ! Here, let me help you to set right down
on this hillock, and I '11 get ye some tea in about a jiffin or
less. There, now, old lady, keep still, and I'll bring you
some ! " And away he went on a fast run, for a man of his
bulk and age. But he suddenly stopped and turned round,
and said,
" What kind of tea will you have, marin ? "
GLENWOOD. 167
" Black tea nice, black tea ; and forty cupa ! "
" And a hundred and forty," he replied, starting again
for the store. He soon returned, bringing with him a
pound of Souchong tea.
" There," he said, throwing it into her lap. " Now you
may go home, and make some tea, and drink as much as
you like."
"0, bless you ! " she said, " everybody bless you ! Such
a nice, good man ! But I don't know as they will let me
draw it." .
"I didn't think of that. Well, well it's all ironical
synonymous, so I '11 go home with ye ; " and he helped the
old woman to arise, and, taking the tea, walked with her to
the poor-house. When there, he went in, and told Mrs.
Gregg that he had bought some tea for an old lady there ;
and if it did not make any pacific odds, he should like to
have a good cup made for her, three times a day ; which
Mrs. Gregg promised should be done, as she did not care
how much tea the paupers used, if people were foolish
enough to buy it for them. She thought Mr. Bugbee
must lack common sense, or he would not throw away his
money in purchasing tea for half-crazy old women.
Mr. Bugbee went immediately to the selectmen, and in-
quired why coffee and tea were not furnished for the paupers,
and was told that the town could not afford it.
"Can't afford it?" he said ; "what is the reason the
town can't afford it ? An't there folks enough in Glen wood
to buy tea for a few old people, who have been in the con-
stant practice of having it, all their lifetime ? What great
odds will it make, I should jest like to know? "
" Tea is considered a luxury," it was said iu reply, u and
-(,- e,4M
168 GLENWOOD.
the town voted not to furnish luxuries for the poor. Tea is
not nutritious ; and Glenwood, in refusing it to the paupers,
is but following a wise precedent set by other towns, a long
time before Glenwood had a poor-farm."
" Don't other towns let the aged have tea to drink ? "
asked Mr. Bugbee.
" They do not," was the reply.
" Then they are almighty mean, and Glenwood is meaner
than dirt for following in their precedents, and that 's all
I 've got to say about it ! " said Mr. Bugbee.
CHAPTER XV.
SENDING TO A CLERGYMAN FOR BRANDY. HECTOR'S APPETITE. COAT
OF MANY COLORS. SPEECH ON THE TARIFF. IN LOVE WITH ARA
BELLA MEHITABLE. A NEW KIND OF CHECK. LAUGHABLE JOKE.
No one was better pleased with the change in the loca-
tion of the poor-farm than Hector Stifles. While his mother
lived, he -resided with her in a little hut in the north-west
part of the town, four miles from the village, and so he but
seldom visited the latter place. While in Sklintonbog, he
did not go there at all ; but now he was only half a mile
away, and he could go every evening, and quite often in the
daytime. The boys, and many of the young men, soon be-
came aware that he was a rare specimen of humanity, with
whom they could have as much fun as they chose, as he
seemed to think that he must do whatever was required of
him by man, woman, or child, and all they told him was
true to the letter.
About this time, the temperance reformation was making
gome stir in Glenwood, and the Rev. Mr. Reek, in opposition
to the views of Rev. Wellington Shackles, \vho thought a
clergyman should be judicious, preached very plainly
against the use of distilled liquors as a beverage. Some of
his parishioners were much excited, and severely censured
his course. Mr. Bumpus had recently opened a small shop,
15
170 GLENWOOD.
and was expecting to derive a large part of his profits from
the sale of intoxicating drinks, having fitted up a room in
the back part of the building for that jurpose. He was a
member of Mr. Reek's parish ; and, as he thought that his
minister was unjustly interfering with his business, he re-
solved to be revenged; and so he sent Hector to him for a
gallon of brandy. The latter had frequently been sent to
the shops for liquor, and rewarded for his trouble with a
taste of the crittur, and so he was glad enough to do the
errand for Mr. Bumpus. He thumped loudly on the front
door, as he was told to do, and Mr. Reek soon made his
appearance.
"Ah ! " he said, " was that you, Hector? You have a
tough fist, to pound in that way ; what do you wish for ? "
" I wants to git a gallon o' brandy," said Hector.
" A gallon of brandy," he said, thoughtfully; "walk in,
Hector, and we will see about it." The family had just
dined on roast turkey and plum-pudding, the former sent in
by a devoted lover of the temperance cause. " Will you
sit up and take sonvj dinner, Hector? "
Like poor Joe, in Bleak House, Hector thought he was
in luck to-day, and he thankfully accepted the invitation.
The larger part of the turkey and plum-pudding were left,
but Hector devoured the whole, washing it down with fif-
teen cups of best Mocha.
" And" so, Hector, you came after a gallon of brandy ? "
"Yeth, Misser Rick;" his mouth stuffed with turkey;
"an' I bringed the money, I did."
"How do you enjoy your dinner, Hector ? ''
" 0, fus' rate, Misser. Rick; it's good, monstrous good,
't is ! I never seen sich a fus' rate dinner, afore."
GLBNWOOD. 171
"You seem to have a v,erj good appetite, Hector."
" Yether ; but I dunno what an appetite be, I don't."
" I mean that you can eat heartily a whole turkey ot
so at a time, and a plum-pudding."
" yeth, Misser Rick, I jist does that," thrusting into
his capacious mouth, a large junk of turkey and as much
pud ling to keep it company ; "I likes turkey, and puden,
and razens I does."
" You must come to see me again. Hector."
This invitation from a clergjwnan, whom he looked upon
with so much awe, wonderfully astonished Hector ; and,
with a piece of turkey on his fork, and as much pudding as
he could conveniently get on to his knife, both held between
his plate and mouth, he gazed wonderingly at Mr. Reek,
his great, staring eyes being the only part of him which
was not perfectly still for some moments, and they rolled as
only Hector's could. When he was satisfied that the man
was not insane, he replied,
"Yeth, Misser Rick, I geth I will. I likes to come
agin I does. ' '
" What do you want of so much brandy, Hector? "
l - lor ! Misser Rick. I don't want it at all I don't."
" Who sent you for it, then?"
Hector's eyes rolled and stared again, as though he won-
dered if it was all right ; and just then it seemed to strike
him as rather strange that a minister should keep brandy to
sell and he remembered that he had heard Mr. Gregg de-
nounce Mr. Reek for preaching against drinking, when he
should be preaching the Gospel.
" You must toll me who sent you here after brandy."
" Yeth, Misser Rick , I '11 tell ye, I will."
172 GLENWOOD.
"Well; who was it?"
" Misser Bumping telled me to come here and git it."
"Mr. Bumpus?"
"Yether."
" You go and tell Mr. Bumpus that he should be in bet-
ter business."
" Yeth, Misser Rick ; I'll tell him jist that, I will."
Mr. Bumpus was much mortified when he found that
Hector had informed Mr. Reek who sent him after the bran-
dy, and he felt that it would not do to send a fool on a fool's
errand. This foolish joke affected Mr. Bumpus' pocket
more seriously than he had supposed it possible. Every-
body was disposed to laugh at him, and he could only quiet
the parties who gathered in his store by a treat all round ;
and this was repeated so many times that he lost hours of
sleep in thinking of it. After a while, however, the joke
became stale, and Mr. Bumpus was left in peace.
Mr. Reek continued to bear faithful testimony against the
use of intoxicating liquors, until his church was burned.
the work of an incendiary, and he was obliged to leave
town. But the seed sown was not thrown away, for in due
time it sprang up and bore an abundant harvest. It seemed
wicked, however, that Mr. Reek should have been obliged
to seek a location elsewhere, when he had but done his duty,
while Wellington Shackles remained in the full tide of his
popularity. But here was the difference : Mr. Reek uttered
his thoughts boldly, in the fear of God, with true love for
man ; while Wellington Shackles was eminently judicious,
for it was good Lord or good devil, just as suited best. But,
then, the exemplary man was so fond of peace, and wanted
his people to dwell together in unity ! He was certain that
GLENWOOD. 173
he was in favor of all the reforms, as much so as anybody ,
but they should be treated judiciously, and so he would
preach about them in such a way that his hearers could not
tell whether he was for or against ; and, in fact, he scarcely
knew himself. Arabella Mehitable Bumpus once remarked,
in the sewing-circle, that she did not exactly understand
him when he preached on such subjects ; but, without doubt,
the peace-making Mr. Shackles knew just where he stood ;
and so she was satisfied with his preaching, and thought it
well calculated to promote harmony and good-will among
the people.
Mrs. Goose said, in reply, that she would not give a fig
for such preaching. She wanted the plain, naked truth,
and not such "diluted, namby-pamby, dilettante stuff"
" I declare," she continued, " that persecuted man, Mr.
Reek, would preach more truth in one sermon than Welling-
ton Shackles in a whole year ! "
" I call that slander ! " said Arabella Mehitable.
" That 's what father thayth ! " said Nannie Pottle.
"And I know it is the truth," said Mrs. Glubbings.
At this, Arabella Mehitable held up both hands in aston-
ishment, and Mrs. Betsey Gregg, formerly Slusher, looked
daggers ; and there, for a marvel, the discussion ended.
Soon after this, the young men had a coat made for Hec-
tor, of many colors, with which he was mightily pleased.
And it was of many colors literally, and of many kinds of
goods, calico and silk, plaid and red flannel, broadcloth and
striped cassimere, etc. etc.
It was a pleasant afternoon the first time he appeared in
his new garment, and there was a large gathenrg on the
15*
174 GLENWOOD.
green hill-side, for it had been whispered around that Hector
was to come out to make his maiden speech.
When he had been sufficiently admired, he mounted a
chair, with a false leg for the occasion, and commenced" a
speech in imitation of Mr. Gregg ; pulling up the right leg
of his trousers, as that distinguished individual was in the
habit of doing, previous to commencing one of his elo-
quent harangues.
"Mr. Moditor," said Hector; " I ax your subdivided
contention, for I 's going to speak on the tariff Why, the
tariff, gintlemen, is the only constitution in this 'varsal Yan-
kee nation which saves our towns an' cities from going to in-
complete dissolution. If it wan't for the tariff, sir, the green
grass would grow in our streets, an' our wars (wharves) would
come to be as they was in the days of the gem-bargo. Where
is the danger, thin, gintlemen ? In the construction of
the tariff. If that goes, we are all gone, past condemption.
Sir, I call upon you to hold on to the tariff, for "
Here his speech was suddenly cut short by some one
kicking out the false leg, and down he fell ; when three
rousing cheers were given for his unanswerable argument in
favor of the tariff. A wag told him that the tariff had
caused the fall of greater men than he. After this, Hector
was frequently called upon for a speech on the tariff, and he
was always ready. He was not permitted to wear his coat
of many colors long, for such a crowd of boys followed him
wherever he went, that there was a continual uproar in the
streets,
As he had confessed that he was in love with Arabella
Mehitable Bumpus, he was assured that she was equally
smitten with him ; and so he hung round the house, as other
dLENWOOD. 175
lovers sometimes do, not having sufficient courage to enter
and declare his passion ; and then a song was composed for
him, which he sung under her window, to the tune of "Hi
Betty Martin." His serenade met with such a reception
as to entirely dispel the illusion ; for the lashing which she
gave him from her chamber window so terrified him that
he shunned the premises ever after.
A day or two after the downfall of Hector's hopes, Mr.
Bugbee met him with a sheet of pasteboard attached to his
neck by a small cord, on which was pasted a large handbill.
" What in the nation, Hector," said Mr. Bugbee, "have
you got there? "
" Got a check ! " said Hector.
" Got a check ! What kind of a check ? "
" Got a check on the bank ; going up to draw it, I am."
" That 's a joke ; au, au, au, au ! I can't help smiling,
I '11 die if I can ! How much shall you draw, Hector? "
" Twenty thousand dollars is what this ere check says,
an' 1 's gonto draw um."
"0, my gracious ! what a lot ! What will you do with
it all?" "
"I'll git married, I will ; an' I won't have Arabella,
nuther, I won't. I'll 'corn her as she 'corned me, I will.
I 's gonto bought Mr. Gregg's big house, and perside in
great rupture and insignificance."
" Then Arabella will feel bad."
" I geth she will ; but I won't have her now. I '11 'corn
her all the time ! " Here Mr. Bugbee left him to go and
get his check cashed, while he walked towards home, smiling
with all his might.
There was no person in Glenwood who liked a good joke
176 GLENWO'OD.
better than Mrs. Goose, especially when she was at the bot-
tom of it. She had noticed that old Mr. Clasker, one of
the paupers, was very arbitrary with Hector, frequently
striking him when angry, and making him do whatever he
pleased. In the spring Mr. Gregg often sent the two into
the fields with potatoes to plant, or with ashes for the corn,
and in the autumn after the potatoes which had been dug ;
when Mr. Clasker made Hector draw the whole load, while
he pretended to push behind.
As soon as Mrs. Goose had a good opportunity, she told
Hector that he ought not to allow Mr. Clasker to tyrannize
over him so, and make liim bear all the burden.
" I's afraid, I am," said Hector; " for he strikes me so
hard, he does."
" What do you let him for ? "
" Cos I can't help it, he's so strong. Why, he telled
me that he 's jist as strong as a mad bull."
"He's only fooling you, Hector. You are as strong
as a dozen of him. He is tall, but his limbs are like a pipe-
stem ; while you are short and thick, and your arms are
enormously large, and when you walk you move one side at
a time, and such folks are as strong as giants. Now, the
next time you have a load to draw, you make him get into
the thills, and you push behind. And, if he blusters, don't
be afraid, but double up your fist and shake it at him, and
make him do as you say. But don't you strike him, Hector,
or hurt him in the least ; if you do, you had better never
see me again, or Mr. Goose."
Hector promised that he would follow Mrs. Goose's direc-
tions; and, soon after, being sent into the field about half
a mile from the house, for potatoes, he carried his instruc-
GLEN WOOD. 177
tion into effect. When they were loaded, Mr. Clasker said,
authoritatively :
" Get into those thills, Hector."
The latter did not stir, but stood eying his companion
somewhat doubtfully, when the former spoke again :
" Why don't you mind, sir ? " Still he did not move.
" What do you mean? " said Mr. Clasker, in a passion.
" Get into those thills in a moment, and take those potatoes
home, or I'll punish you, rascal ! "
" I shan't do no sich a thing ! " said Hector.
"Dare you disobey me? In there, quick, or I'll give
it to you! "
" You git in thar, yourself, in them are fills, or I '11 guv
it to yer, I will ! "
" I get in there ! I'll not do it, sir. Take your place
this minute, or you '11 be sorry, villain ! "
"Don't yer telled me to git in thar, for I won't do 't!
Git in yoursel, in with ye, or I '11 put my fist right
inter yer face, I will ! " and Hector walked up to him reso-
lutely, shaking his fist in the frightened old man's face, and
he dared not disobey ; and so he placed himself according
to directions, for the first time drawing home the load,
while Hector walked behind, following the example of Mr.
Clasker, and saving some of his strength for another day.
The old man was so frightened that he could not be coaxed
or driven anywhere with Hector again, unless some one else
Was with them.
Mr. Bugbee never laughed more heartily than when he
was told of this joke. He chuckled and shook till he was
unable to stand, declaring, over and over again, that he
could n't help smiling.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE POOR-HOUSE BOY. THE NEW SCHOOL-TEACHER. HER EXPERI-
ENCE WITH WILLIE. THE TRIUMPH OF GOODNESS.
WILLIE CUNARD was still the same sad, neglected boy,
the sport of the unfeeling, and the pity of the wise and
good. And there were none to love him, and this made him
feel that he was an outcast from human sympathy. He did not
so much wonder, however, that there were no love and re-
spect for him, when he thought how ragged and uncleanly
he was. Now and then he caught a glimpse of his face in
the glass, and he saw that it had nothing attractive ; that its
expression was wretched, while his long, bushy, uncombed
hair added to the repulsiveness of his face. It was impos-
sible, he was sure that it was, for any one to love such an
unnatural, unwholesome-looking object as he. But, never-
theless, he felt that it was not right ; that he ought to be
clothed, fed, and respected, like other boys, and kept clean,
and not be misused made a butt for the witty and heart-
less. At times he would steal away to some beautiful,
shady spot, and dream over the past ; and then he would
remember when he did not have to go hungry when he
had good clothes, and his hands were white and clean, and
everybody loved him.
GLENWOOD. 179
Sometimes, in his reveiy, he would forget the sorrowful
present, and live only in that delightful time when he had
a kind father, and a dear mother, always so faithful, press-
ing him so fondly to her large, warm heart. And now the
scene would change, and the present, with all its horrors,
came back to fill his soul with unutterable woe ; and he
would turn his face to the ground, and lean it upon his
hands, and the great tears of agony would trickle through
his fingers. He would wonder why it was that so many
were enemies to him ; that he should be starved, whipped,
ridiculed, and treated as an outcast; and there were times
when he almost wished that he had been born a fool, like
Hector, so that he might not suffer when imposed upon, as
he did now, so that his heart might not bleed, as his flesh
did, now and then, when whipped ; and that he might forget
as quickly the many indignities which were heaped upon
him.
Again, he would wander into the future, and he was no
longer a poor-house boy, but a man respected and beloved,
and basking in the smiles of true friends ; and he had won
the affections of the black-eyed girl, who once seemed to
look at him with pity, through the rounds of the large,
square pews at church. Now they were married, and had a
delightful cottage of their own, and around it were the beau-
tiful flowers which her fair hands had planted. They were
all the world to each other, and past sorrows and indignities
disturbed him no more. But, alas ! this waking dream
could not continue long, and the reality again, with all its
horrors, soon looked him sternly in the face ! And then he
thought of running away ; but he knew not where to go,
and by what means he could obtain subsistence. As he had
180 GLENWOOD.
no friends where he was known, what must be his fate
among strangers ? He wondered if people were everywhere
so unfeeling and hard-hearted as they were in Glenwood.
He thought that there was a strong probability that they
were, for in Sklintonbog he had met with the same persecu-
tions as here, and so everybody was cruel, and none cared for
the friendless and unprotected. The world was his enemy,
and he would be the enemy of the world. He heard the
minister say, on the Sabbath, that he must be good, and love
his enemies, and be reconciled to all the allotments of
Providence ; never complain, but cherish a mind of con-
tentment and cheerfulness. He thought the minister a
hypocrite, or he had never been a poor-house boy, and had
no one to care for him he had never been jeered and
mocked until there were but few faces he cared to look
at. He had never known what it was to go hungry and
ragged, and dread to meet a fellow-creature, for fear of
abuse and insult. If he had, he would know that love and
reconciliation were impossible. It was an easy matter to
say such things in his pulpit, having plenty to eat every
day, and being finely clothed, while his people hung with
admiration, and almost worship, upon his lips. But let him
change places, and such preaching would be but a mock-
ery.
There was one man whom Willie dreaded to meet most of
all, for his persecution was incessant. Elam Sacket moved
into Glenwood for the purpose of pedling wooden ware ; but,
becoming tired of that, he turned his attention to Connecti-
cut clocks, and travelled over the country, selling enough to
give him a decent livelihood, without occupying more than
half of his time. He was a man who did not like to work.
GLBNWOOD.
and cared but little for reading ; a very lazy fellow, content
to loiter around the stores, taverns, and workshops, and spend
his time in telling frivolous stories, uttering stale jokes and
witticisms, relieved now and then by cutting satire, which
he delighted in, and the deeper the wound the better was
he pleased. And his satire was the most severe and cutting
upon those who were unable to return it. Let him come in
contact with his equal, and his pointed arrows were dulled
at once, and he would adroitly change the subject, that he
might escape the shafts he was so fond of aiming at others.
This was the man whom Willie both feared and hated.
Wherever he met him, especially if there were others present,
he was overwhelmed with ridicule. Not that these inces-
sant attacks were always brilliant or witty, for they were
often pointless as they were cruel. But they served
their purpose just as well, and Willie was made as wretched
as it is possible for a child. He would sometimes try to
avoid Sacket, and, if he went into a store while he was there,
immediately resolve to leave it; but his persecutor would
usually manage to detain him as long as he wished. There
seemed to be a charm to his evil eye, which, snake-like,
often held Willie, in spite of the strong desire to break
away from it. The serpent knew his power over the de-
fenceless well, and he used it whenever he chose ; and the
more his victim suffered, the better was he pleased. The
mischief did not stop here, for Sacket's course gave
the boys a license to treat Willie with still greater indig-
nity.
There were those in Glenwood who never abused him or
ridiculed him ; and they felt, as very many do under similar
16
182 GLENWOOD.
circumstances, sorry for him, and they would not for the
world have spoken an unkind word, or added one drop to
his bitter cup. Such were Deacon Glubbings and wife, Mr.
and Mrs. Goose, and many others. But here their sympa-
thy stopped, for they did nothing to better his condition.
And was this all that was required of them ? Should they
have been satisfied with merely wishing ? To have stepped
between him and his persecutors, would have done some
good. To have taken him away from that miserable poor-
house, and given him a home, would have made the wretched
child happy, and the very angels of God to rejoice. But,
as benevolent as they were, they did nothing, for they had
children of their own to care for; and so Sacket still
persecuted Willie, often aided by others, and those who
were present joined in the laugh ; and even Mr. Bugbee,
who was very kind-hearted, and furnished tea for Mrs. Gun-
imede as long as she lived, would frequently laugh heartily
at Willie's expense, protesting that he could n't help smil-
ing, but it was too bad. Poor Willie !
For a number of winters, the money expended for teach-
ing, at the principal school in the village, might as well have
been thrown away, for there was a continual conflict between
the master and pupils. It commenced one New Year's
day, when the scholars, for the sake of a joke at the teach-
er's expense, fastened him out, during the noon intermission.
Two held the nail over the door, and it was struck with a
stone by each member of the school, Willie included. The
teacher was so angry, that he procured an axe to cut the
door down ; and, to prevent this, one of the older girls broke
off the nail, and let him in. His first words were, when he
entered, "I will find out who did this !" He questioned
GLENWOOD. 183
every pupil, and they all denied it ; and, with a look in
which he gave them to understand that, though baffled then,
he should not always be, he went on with the exercises of
school. In the evening he made a visit to the alms-house,
and, as Willie still said that he knew nothing about it, as
agreed upon by the scholars, Mr. Gregg and the master
tied him up by his thumbs and whipped him until he re-
vealed the whole. The result was that some were punished,
some subjected to humiliating confessions, and others ex-
pelled from school.
The master won the victory, so he thought ; but it was
dearly bought, for there was no more peace, and the school
closed before the money was expended. The next two
winters witnessed no improvement, but the evil had in-
creased.
When Willie was twelve years old, Deacon Glubbings was
chairman of the school committee ; and he was in favor of
employing a young woman to teach the school, if the right
one could be found. The other members had no faith in the
scheme, but they were willing that he should take the re-
sponsibility. Hearing of a young lady in Yamford, who
had had a few months' experience in teaching, he went to see
her. He found her all that he desired, well accomplished,
beautiful, and with the most winning manners ; and so he
engaged her to teach the winter school for the larger scholars
at Glenwood. At first she instinctively shrank from the
responsibility, for the deacon gave her a faithful history of
former troubles. But he urged her so much x and as her
parents encouraged her to make the trial, she at last yielded
her reluctant consent.
And who does the reader think this beautiful young lady
184 GLENWOOD.
was? He has surmised, no doubt, that it was Jeannie
Wyman !
Deacon Glubbings found the Wymans the same united
and happy family as of old, and more cheerful than when
the reader made his last visit, for they felt less keenly now
the loss of the dear departed. Those loved ones were not
forgotten, 0, no ! but the old wounds were healed, and
there was reconciliation in all their hearts.
The good grandmother was still living, having become
more corpulent, but she was as well and kind as ever. Mr.
Wyman was in excellent health and spirits ; but his wife
was afflicted with a cough, which caused the family some
anxiety, and we observe that her face has less color and
fulness.
Jeannie was now in her sixteenth year, and the people of
Glen wood believed it a great piece of folly to employ a girl
like her to teach and govern such an unruly set. The
scholars thought the idea decidedly novel; and each one
queried how she looked, and what she would do with young
men and women older than herself.
The morning that school began, the pupils were early in
their seats, and Jeannie entered the school-room with some
trepidation, knowing that all those bright eyes were blazing
upon her. She deliberately "took off her things," and
hung them up, and then gave one glance at the scholars ;
and there were so many such large boys and girls, some
men and women grown that her heart sunk Afithin her; and
she sat down and leaned her head upon her hand, when, in
spite of all that she could do to control her feelings, she
wept. During this time all the members of the school
maintained the most perfect silence, so that if a pin had
GLEN WOOD.
dropped, it could have been heard distinctly. They ali
seemed struck with amazement at her youth, her beauty,
her nameless grace, and the gentleness and suavity of her
whole aspect. It was not to be wondered at that they were
surprised ; for they knew of no reason why such a young,
lovely damsel, but little more than a child, should be chosen
to teach such a school.
She soon gained the mastery over her emotions, and
arose and commenced the exercises. From the first, the vic-
tory over those ungovernable natures was complete. She
brought no ferules, or, more properly, clubs, to make the
children fear and obey her ; but it was simply herself, with
her own magic beauty and goodness, the sweetness of her
temper, the warm, trusting love of her heart, that won the
battle, and never, for a moment, lost any of the vantage-
ground. And yet there was perfect order no whipping or
scolding. It would have made her heart ache for days if
she had struck a blow ; and sometimes, when she had chidden
severely, she would go home and weep, fearing that she had
been unjust, or had said more than the nature of the offence
demanded.
No one had been so indifferent, in regard to the new in-
structor, as Willie. He had heard that a woman was to
teach the school, but he cared not. The teachers had never
taken any notice of him, except to correct him, which they
had done often ; they had never seemed to care whether ho
improved or not, and he expected nothing better from a
female teacher than from a male. If she was beautiful and
much beloved, she would only dislike him so much the more.
But the first glance of her awoke him from his indifference,
and he seemed, for a time, like one entranced ; for he almost
16*
186 GLENWOOD.
thought himself in the presence of a being more than mor-
tal. He had never dreamed that a creature of earth could
look so beautiful and good.
As she heard the different classes read, and gave out the
various lessons, she noticed that the pale, dirty, ragged boy,
Willie, was watching her closely. She looked at him ear-
nestly, and he turned away his gaze. Her heart ached as
she saw how sadly he was neglected, and he seemed instinct-
ively to feel that she pitied him. She went to him, and
spoke to him with more of pathos and kindness than she
could have done to any other child in school ; for she felt it
all in her heart she perceived that here was a naturally
fine boy uncared for and abused. Willie listened to her
words in wonder ; and when she asked him a question about
his studies, he tried to answer, and leaned his head against
her and wept. The tears sprang to her own eyes ; but, as
many of the scholars were gazing upon the strange scene,
she quickly wiped them away, and whispered to Willie not
to cry, and, as if nothing unusual had happened, turned
away, and directed her attention to other duties.
A chord had been touched in Willie's heart, and it vibrated
sweetly, as it never had done since his mother's death.
Heretofore his time had been wasted, and he could scarcely
read at all ; but he wished that he could now, and he felt
ashamed to have the teacher know what a miserable scholar
he was. His determination was at once fixed, that he would
study all the more diligently, and she should know that he
was not so dull and stupid as he seemed to be, and could
learn as well as others. He took hold with resolution, and
Jeannie aided and encouraged ; and his success was all that
she could have desired during the first week of the term.
GLENWOOD. 187
Mr. Gregg was away when the school commenced, and did
not return until the latter part of the week. On Monday
he visited the school, and told the teacher, before all the
pupils, that Willie was a bad fellow, and she must be very
strict with him.
" I do not find him so very bad," she said.
"You are deceived," replied Mr. Gregg. "The Bible
says, ' Trust not to appearances, but judge righteous judg-
ment.' That boy, Miss Wyman, is a pauper, and a very
vile one. Mrs. Gregg and myself have had a trial with him
yes, a trial. We have managed to get along with him
somehow, but it has been a terrible trial. Correction,
severe and and prompt, has been the only alternative.
You cannot trust him at all no, not at all. He is cun-
ning to deceive, stealthy in theft, and ingenious in in
falsehood. He is so idle and lazy that he will not learn.
For the proof of what I have said, I refer you to those
present, who know him well to those from whom he has
stolen their dinners, and then denied it. Only chastise-
ment, such as he richly deserves, will keep him within
bounds. It is expected, Miss Wyman, by Mrs. Gregg and
myself, that you will do your whole duty in relation
thereto."
When Mr. Gregg had thus delivered himself, he bowed
stiffly and walked out of the house, thinking what a fool
Deacon Glubbings was to employ a little, silly girl to teach
such a school.
Poor Willie ! his heart almost died within him, as he
listened to Mr. Gregg's harangue. Jeannie looked at him
inquiringly, hoping that she might detect the evidence in
his countenance of the falsity of these charges ; but he could
188 GLENWOOD.
not lift his head. When a number of the children whispered
to her that he had stolen from them, and then lied about it,
confirming the words of his accuser, she felt very sorrowful,
and knew not what course to take. He was unable to look
her in the face : was that proof of guilt, of repentance, or
was it merely shame at the exposure ?
Poor Willie ! He had resolved to do so well ; to learn so
much ; to suffer for food, rather than steal it ; to be so faith-
ful, that he might win his teacher's love, and have the privi-
lege of listening to those sweet words which so thrilled his
whole being ! But now all was lost. She thought him as
vile as did others ; she despised him too, and he should never
win one friend. He did not care now to learn ; and he had
little fear of chastisement, he was used to that ; and yet he
felt, though he knew not why, that he would rather anybody
else in the world should correct him than she.
Jeannie soon noticed the difference in his lessons, and she
was at a loss whether to attribute it to what Mr. Gregg had
said, or to his natural inclination to shirk and neglect his
studies, as was evident he always had done.
Another week passed away, and he had become utterly
indifferent ; and, though Jeannie told him sternly that she
should have to correct him, if he did not leave play, and
attend to his studies, it did no good. At length he was
detected in the act of stealing one of the scholars' dinners.
That night, Jeannie went home with a heavy heart, and be-
fore she closed her eyes in sleep she prayed earnestly, while
the tears trickled down her face, that she might be guided
aright in the management of that poor child. She knew
that Mr. Gregg was making bitter complaints for her neglect
of duty ; and yet she resolved to only do what she thought
GLENWOOD. 189
was for the best. She believed that correction was some-
times necessary, though she had no faith in corporal punish-
ment. She felt that the child, as well as the man, instinct-
ively rebels against the indignity of a blow ; and, though
usage may deaden this instinct, yet nothing is gamed, but
the loss is great. She did not believe that the will of the
child should be broken, but rather brought into subjection
to reason. It should be preserved in all its original strength,
and directed aright ; for then it would serve as a propelling
power for good. A boy with his will broken by severe casti-
gations and continued censures can never be the man that
he otherwise would have been. She was aware that men
and women had become so accustomed to the whip that a
blow disturbed them very little; and, though they might obey
their masters in all things, and receive the greatest indigni-
ties without the red blood for once mantling the cheek, yet
it did not prove that they were the more exalted because of
these things, because of ready submission to insult, but
the reverse. Their wills had been broken; true, and they
were left poor, spiritless things, abject, degraded slaves.
Jeannie knew that in her home the children were never
whipped, and, if her parents resorted to punishment at all,
they were careful not to wound unnecessarily. And they
never passed sentence when angry ; their rebukes were all
given in a low tone, and yet in a manner not to be mistaken.
No loud, harsh words had been heard there ; and when the
parent censured, the child knew that it was from a strong
sense of duty, and the offender wept because of the offence,
and because of the sorrow to the good parent's heart. Jean-
nie resolved that this example should not be lost upon her,
GLENWOOD.
and that she would govern her pupils as her parents gov-
erned at home.
The next day, when the school was dismissed, Jeannie
told Willie that she wished to see him after the other chil-
dren were gone. He had been expecting correction ever since
he attempted to steal, and now he thought that he should
receive it ; and, feeling that it was no use to run away, for
he should have to meet her on the morrow, he sat down,
apparently with a dogged indifference. Some of the other
boys, seeing that Willie was detained, lingered around the
house, and gave each other knowing winks and nods, which
finally found utterance in such school-boy phrases as these :
" Well, he '11 have to take it now ! " " Cunard J s in for it ! "
" I knew he 'd catch it ! " etc. etc.
Jeannie sat for some minutes with her face leaning upon
her hand ; and when she lifted her head, and was about to
speak to Willie, she unconsciously glanced at one of the
windows, and she encountered three pairs of eyes. She
, now looked at the others, and found that there were boys
at every window ; but they all suddenly disappeared the
moment they met her glance. She went out and chid them
for this breach of etiquette, and requested them to go home
at once, and they immediately obeyed. She then returned,
and resumed her seat, and said :
"Willie Cunard, come here."
He slowly obeyed the command, querying in what manner
she would punish him, for he saw no stick or ferule.
" Willie," said she, " I have been disappointed in you,
sadly disappointed. At the commencement of the school,
you were one of the best boys I had, and no one made more
progress in his studies than you. But you have become I
GLENWOOD. 191
am sorry to say it, Willie ! very idle, and almost wholly
neglect your lessons, spending your time in play ; and yet
you can scarcely read at all. I had expected better things
of you. And yesterday, Willie, only think of it ! you
were caught in the mean act of stealing ! "
She now took hold of his right hand, and Willie instinct-
ively tried to draw it away, for, though he saw no ferule,
yet he fancied she had one concealed ; for very many times
had his faults been arrayed before him, and the teacher had
ended his charges by taking his right hand, and feruling
him severely. Jeannie held it firmly, and, after the first
impulse, he did not wish its release. There was an exquisite
thrill to her touch, like that he experienced when he first
caught the glance of her eye, only it was much more
intense. Its effect upon him was magical indeed ; and how
bitterly he repented his idleness, his lack of obedience, and,
most of all, the taking of that which was not his own ! He
now hoped that she would not strike him, for he felt that he
could not endure it. Others might punish, and he could
receive it, as he had done ; but a blow from her would be
too much. He was willing to fall down and kiss the dust
at her feet, beseeching her pardon ; but he could not be
whipped.
Jeannie gazed anxiously into his face, but she saw no evi-
dence of hardened guilt. The more she studied his counte-
nance, the stronger was the conviction that the whole diffi-
culty was to be charged to the usage he had received. Those
who neglected and abused him were to blame, and not he.
As these thoughts were passing through her mind, large
tears stole down her cheeks. When Willie saw them, he
192 GLENWOOD.
also wept, and, falling upon his knees, he buried his face in
her dress, and said :
" 0, don't ferule me ! I can't bear it ! I will never steal
again ! I wil study and obey you, but do not strike me ! "
" And do you fear punishment so much as this? '
" Yes, yes ! from you I fear it ! "
" From me ! And why from me, Willie ? "
"You are so good, so beautiful, that I cannot have you
strike me ! "
' ' You are stronger tnan I, and I have no weapon, no
ferule, except that little thing for the books. We are alone,
Willie, and, if I should strike you. you could return the
blow "
" No ! no ! I could not ! I would would not strike you
for all the world ! "
" And I shall never strike you ; and we shall always be
friends always, Willie."
At these words, Willie cried in good earnest. But
Jeannie said to him :
" Don't cry any more, but arise and take a seat. Now,
I want you to tell me why you attempted to steal the din-
ner of Henry Davis, yesterday ? "
" I was hungry ; but I will never, never do it again! "
" Do you not have enough to eat? "
" I do not."
" What do you bring for your dinner ?"
" Some bread."
" What kind of bread ? rye and Indian ? "
" Yes, ma'am."
" Is it buttered?"
" No, ma'am."
GLENWOOD. 198
"You have cheese with it, I suppose ?"
" No, ma'am."
" Do you never have anything but coarse bread ? "
" That is what I always bring to school for my dinner."
" Don't you have pie, or apples, or cake ? "
" Never anything but bread."
" This is all very wrong, Willie ; and I do not blame you
so much for stealing, the dinners of your schoolmates ; but
I would not do it, for it would be better for you to go
hungry."
" I know it would ; and I will never take any again."
" I believe you ; I know you never will. I shall trust
you, Willie, and not doubt you at all. But I want you to
tell me why it was that you learned so well when the school
first commenced, and now neglect your studies, scarcely
learning at all ? "
"Because because I thought you so very good, and
because you you spoke spoke so kindly to me. I was
ashamed that I I could not read and spell, and I wanted
to become a good scholar."
" You learned very fast for a few days ; why did you
change your mind ? "
"Mr. Gregg came in and told you how how wicked I
was ; and then I could not look you in in the face any
more, for I I thought you you believed him ; and some
way I did n't care any any more about learning, or trying
to be good, for for nobody would care for me."
" Poor child ! I was fearful, all the time, that such were
your thoughts. But I shall care for you, Willie, and love
you very much, I know, for you have such a good heart ;
and you will study and learn, for my sake and your own.
17
194 G LENWOOD.
and no boy in school will make greater improvement than
you."
" Yes, I will study, and I will learn. ! you are so
very kind ! I thought everybody were bad, but I know
they are not now.
"You have seen the dark side of life, poor boy! but
better days will come, and so you must study that you may
be a man, worthy and intelligent. Thoughtless people have
made you doubt the goodness of the human heart ; but you
are deceived, for there are more good people than bad ones ;
so you must cheer up, and, I d< ubt not, you will soon be
surrounded with friends."
" Shall I? I wish that I could be. I remember when I
was loved ; but that was a long time ago, before father or
mother died. I wasn't a poor-house boy then, and I was
not so dirty and ragged, and I could read a great deal better
when mother died than I can now."
" I should presume so. Do your schoolmates treat you
ill? "
"Yes, ma'am."
" I am very sorry. But you have one friend; " and she
gave him a look with those sweet blue eyes, which went to
his heart; "and I hope that you will soon have more. I
shall change my boarding-place to-night, and board down
beyond the poor-house, at Mrs. Jones' ; and, as I shall not
go home at noon, I shall bring a luncheon, and I will give
you all you want, for I never eat but little at noon. To-
morrow I wish you to let me see what you bring for your
dinner, will you ?" <.,^
"Yes, ma'am."
GLENWOOD. 195
"And now there is one more thing which I will say to you ,
and I do it for your good, so you must not be offended."
" no ! I cannot be ; I can weep, but but I cannot be
offended with you."
"Your hands are very black and dirty, and your face is
not so clean as it should be ; and here is a nice little hand-
kerchief which I bought on purpose for you. Now, be care-
ful and wash you a number of times every day ; and to-
morrow you will commence with your lessons, and I doubt
not you will outstrip all the rest."
Willie gave Jeannie an earnest look of gratitude, and
started for home ; but his heart was so light that his feet
hardly seemed to touch the ground ; and he felt that now he
could endure all things and suffer all things. She had
opened a new world to him, and revived his dead faith in
human goodness.
That night he dreamed of Jeannie that she held him
by the hand, and he felt such an exquisite thrill of pleasure
that he thought he could willingly let her hold it forever.
And then a beautiful angel came, whom he conceived to be hia
mother, yet she looked not like her at all, and she smiled
upon them both.
CHAPTER XVII.
POOR-HOUSE PARE. JEANNIE's BOARDING-MISTRESS PUZZLED. AN
AFFECTING STORY. ITS RESULTS. PLAN FOR ESCAPE.
DURING the intermission, the next day, when the other
members of the school had gone to their homes or were en-
gaged in play, Willie carried his "dinner" to the teacher.
She looked at it with astonishment, for it consisted entirely
of crusts of mouldy bread, and there was not half enough in
quantity for a well and hearty boy. She took the crusts and
went to the door, and, with more anger than she ever remem-
bered of feeling before, threw them as far as she could ; and
then came back and gave him nearly all she had brought for
herself, and the amount was by no means niggardly. After
this, Willie had one good meal every day ; for Mrs. Jones,
noticing that Jeannie ate sparingly at breakfast and supper,
provided liberally for her dinner such hearty food as boiled
tongue, doughnuts, sandwiches, mince-pie, and the like. As
there was seldom anything in the basket when Jeannie
returned at night, the good woman felt almost as much as-
tonished as the landlady in David Copperfield, at the time
the large waiter ate the custard-pudding and drank the beer.
" Take care of that boy," she said, referring to David, who
she supposed had ate and drank all that was set before him,
GLENWOOD. 197
" or he '11 bust." Mrs. Jones might not have had the same
fears ; but it was a mystery to her how any one could eat so
much and remain so small. And sometimes, when Jeannie
was afflicted with headache, and could eat scarcely any sup-
per at all, her landlady did not attribute it so much to a close
room, bad air, and the thousand perplexities of a large school,
as she did to the quantity she consumed at dinner-time.
She did not care for the food in the least ; but she felt it her
duty to speak a word of caution, now and then, in a kind,
motherly way, that Jeannie might be induced to use more
care when very hungry, and not overload her stomach, for
it was very sure to cause lassitude and headache.
" However," she would say, " I know what it is to be
hungry at school, especially if I did not have much appetite
for breakfast. I used to eat so much, quite frequently, that
I went home with a sick-headache. I presume that keeping
school gives one a keener appetite than merely studying and
reciting. How did you like your dinner to-day ? "
"Very much," was Jeannie's usual answer to this oft-
repeated question.
"Well, I am glad of it. I do like to see people who
board with me eat as though they enjoyed my cooking ; and,
though I don't pride myself, yet the children do say that no
food tastes quite so good as mother's. But, then, I don't
think much of that ; for I thought just so, when I was a girl.
I dare say you think the same of your mother's cooking.
Well, if I can only get something that you can eat, I shall
be satisfied."
To such and similar remarks, which were made frequently,
Jeannie answered with a quiet smile, or with an assurance
that her victuals were always very good.
17*
198 GLENWOOD.
Willie's progress was now so rapid that Jeannie was highly
gratified, and the children all wondered what had wrought
such a marvellous change, making the idle, vicious one
the best-behaved and the most studious boj in school. That
Jeannie was well pleased Willie did not doubt, for her
glances of approval made his heart to burn within him. Aa
she passed by the alms-house to and from school, he fre-
quently had the benefit of her company ; and much did he
prize these interviews, for she spoke to him words of encour-
agement, and explained his grammar lessons, or his sums
in arithmetic. The poor fellow was now terribly mortified
with his tattered garments much more so than when he was
idle and vicious. There was, however, a marked improve-
ment in his appearance. His face and hands were no longer
begrimed with dirt ; his hair was neatly combed, and teeth
white. He almost worshipped his teacher, and thought that
an angel could not be purer or more beautiful than she.
Every word she spoke to him was treasured in his heart,
and he sought to gratify her every wish.
By making inquiries, Jeannie learnecl Willie's early his-
tory, and she resolved to use it for his benefit. When she
had fully matured her plan, she told the scholars, one day,
that, if they would remain after school was dismissed, she
would relate to them a story, which she believed would in-
terest them, and do them good.
When the different classes were through with, she remarked
that it might be desirable that some should return home
immediately, and if so she would riot detain them. The ses-
sion had closed for the day, and any one was at liberty to
go, though she wished them all to remain. The pupils re-
spected and loved her, and not one left the room. She sat
GLENWOOD. 19ft
down a moment and leaned her head upon her hand, and
then arose, and ; with her clear, musical voice, 8poke as
follows :
" I have promised you a story ; and, if you will give me
your undivided attention, you shall now have it ; and every
word shall be true, and that will make it so much the more
interesting.
" Not many years since, a family lived at the West, con-
sisting of three persons, the husband and wife, and one son,
a bright, beautiful little boy, whom everybody loved. For
various reasons, it was thought best for them to leave the
West, and remove to New England. They came ; but for-
tune favored them no more here than there, and the father
of this beautiful little boy, who had been sickly for some
years, daily grew more feeble, and the mother's health also
failed. But the boy was still beautiful, dressed with care, and
kept clean ; and people said how handsome and bright he is,
and young girls were very proud to lead him by the hand.
Our little friend was then quite happy, notwithstanding that
his parents were very poor, for he had so many to love him.
It may be that you do not realize how much love and sym-
pathy can do ; they can cheer the saddest lot in life.
" The father died, and the mother was unable to provide
for her child. Often did he lay his little head upon his
pillow at night and weep himself to sleep, he was so hungry.
His face soon became pale and disconsolate, his clothes
ragged and uncleanly, and the children slighted him when
he most needed their sympathy. The beautiful little girls,
who had been so proud to take his hands, and walk with
him in company, now treated him with contempt. This
was a sad change for the poor boy, and he would have had
200 GLENWOOD.
no solace at all, if it had not been for his mother. Her love
was unchangeable, and it was the only green spot in his life
all else was barren desert.
' ' You love your kind, good mothers, and you would feel
very sad to lose them. Our little friend loved his mother,
more dearly perhaps than you, for he had no one else to love.
But, alas ! ere long she too died, and the poor boy was left
alone ; for, as incredible as it may appear to you, he was not
aware that he had a single relative or friend in the world.
Who now would pity who love him, or give him a home ?
Poor and friendless, the alms-house was his only refuge, and
thither he was sent.
" If his lot was deplorable when his mother was living, it
was ten-fold more so now. She loved him ; and, as I have
told you, love can do much. At the alms-house he received
but little care ; he was clothed meanly, and his food was
coarse, and dealt out with a niggardly hand. For trifling
oflences he was severely punished, and so he became a piti-
ful object indeed. As he had no one to defend him, the
thoughtless imposed upon him, and ricRuled him ; the chil-
dren sneered at and abused him. It was no marvel that, by
and by, he came to believe that all hearts were hard that
none would ever love him. ! what a miserable life he led,
and how guilty were those who so cruelly wronged him !
You have such good friends, that you can scarcely realize
his hopeless condition. At school he fared no better, from
teacher or pupils ; and he often went away by himself, and
wept in the bitterness of his soul. How strange it seemed
to him that the lot of others should be so happy, and his so
wretched !"
Jeannie now stopped and looked round upon her audience,
QLENWOOD. 201
and there were tears trickling down many faces. The silence
which prevailed showed that she had created a deep interest
in every mind; and she was about to resume her story, when
they were all startled by a wild cry of grief. Every eye
was directed to the spot from whence it came, and they saw
Willie Cunard lying at full length upon the floor, his face
buried in his hands, sobbing loud and bitterly. The effect
was electrical, for all the members of that school knew, in a
moment, that he was the hero of the tale, and they were
self- condemned. No kindness or respect had they ever felt
for him ; they had stung him with ridicule, and abused him
from day to day.
Jeannie immediately went to Willie, and raised him up
with great tenderness, whispering words to comfort and cheer
him. And now there was a scene which can be more easily
imagined than described. The children gathered around
him and expressed their sympathy, promising to be his faith-
ful friends in every emergency. The more noble confessed
how little and mean^id been their conduct towards him,
and hoped he would pardon them. To Willie this sudden
revolution was astounding, and he could hardly believe his
own eyes and ears.
A few days after this interesting scene had transpired, his
playmates manifested their good will by furnishing him
better clothes. One boy brought him a jacket, another a
vest, another a pair of pants, and another stockings, boots, a
cap. &c. These garments were all second-handed, but in
good condition, and they much improved Willie's appearance.
He now felt like a new being, and quite happy, in spite of
the indignities he so often received at the alms-house. He
202 GLENWOOD.
came to love his books and school-mates dearly, and to look
forward with hope for brighter days. So great was the prog-
ress he made in his studies, that at the close of the term
no scholar in that school of his age was his superior.
But ere long he began to grow gloomy and despairing
again ; for his teacher must take her departure soon, and
then he felt that he should lose his only faithful friend.
The more he learned, and the more respect was shown him
by Jeannie and his playmates, the more did the insults
which he daily received from the hands of those who tyran-
nized over him eat into his soul. But, as he could see his
friend every day, and read her approving looks, and walk
home with her occasionally from school, and have many
things explained to him on the way, the instruction coming
from her sweet lips, the wrong could be borne for a season.
But when she shall have gone, he thought, his patience
would be too sorely tried, and he must sink into his former
indifference, or flee from the hand of the oppressor. Poor
fellow ! He was unacquainted with the world, and he knew
not where to go, or by what means to obtain a subsistence.
He had read but little, either of books or papers, and who
would impart to him the information he required? Inex-
perienced as he was, the obstacles in the way of success
seemed insurmountable ; and yet he resolved to make his
escape, and seek somewhere in the wide world a better
home than the alms-house. He felt degraded now, and
there were too many who still imposed upon him. His
schoolmates had learned to respect him, but he feared their
feelings would change when the mistress had gone.
The day before the school closed, Jeannie and Willie
GLENWOOD. 203
walked home together, when the following conversation
passed between them :
"Well, Willie, the school closes to-morrow. Are you
glad or sorry?"
" I am very sorry, Miss Wyman ! "
" I am rejoiced that you are ; but you have studied very
hard, and it will be a respite to you."
" I am not tired of study I like it very much ! "
" It gives me pleasure to hear you say so; and you may
well feel proud of the progress you have made, fairly out-
stripping all your competitors."
" I have no reason to be proud ; for to you I owe it all ! "
" But I did not study or learn for you ! "
"I know you did not, but you were always ready to
assist, and never impatient. I feel as though I had been in
a new world, since you detained me, that night, as I supposed
for the purpose of correction. I knew you would be pleased
if I got my lessons well, and at first my greatest desire was
to gratify you ; but by and by I became fond of my studies,
and while at school I have forgotten that I was a poor-house
boy I have forgotten the unkindness and ridicule which
made me so unhappy I thought of nothing but the books
I studied, and the pleasure which my success seemed to give
you. I have been very much happier than I was, and many
of the boys and girls are very good to me."
"You have done nobly, Willie, and, now that you are in
the right path, you must follow it. Don't let anything
tempt you to turn aside ; for by and by you will be a man,
and then what you have learned will be invaluable to you.
You have gained the respect of those who thought that you
were a very vile boy. Do they all use you well now? "
204 GLENWOOD.
"With very few exceptions. There are some who seem
envious ; but, if they wrong me, I shall not wrong them.
They would like me better if I was more ignorant. If it
had not been for you, I should have always remained
ignorant."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, ma'am, I do; for this winter would have gone like
the rest You have been very kind to me, and I know riot
what I shall do when you are gone ! "
" Shall you miss me, Willie? "
"Yes, ma'am, everyday; and I shall have no no
one to to encourage me. I shall have to bear my sorrows
alone ! "
"Have you made up your mind to remain at the poor-
house?"
" No. ma'am, and I cannot. I don't feel as though I
could stay another day after you are gone ! "
" What would you do, run away ? "
" I have thought of running away, a great many times,
but I have neither clothes nor money : and yet I must go,
for I cannot live in a poor-house, to be looked down upon
by everybody, and treated as I am by Mr. and Mrs. Gregg,
and the children ! "
"My father says that it is a hard world for a friendless
child ; but, if I were you, I should rather trust it than stay
where you are."
" So I have often felt, and go I shall. If I should re-
main and not have you here to encourage me, I fear that
I should forget my books and studies forget to keep
myself clean; and so I should lose all that I have won
GLENWOOD. 205
through you, and become what I was when you first saw
me."
"That would be lamentable, and you must, therefore,
leave the alms-house. But you are too young and inexperi-
enced to go out into the wide world alone. You might not
readily find employment. When you escape from here, you
must go directly to my home, and there you shall be wel-
comed. I can't promise, but I think that father will em-
ploy you ; and then my home, Willie, will be yours also.
However, you must remain where you are until I return
home, and then I will write to you and give the necessary
directions. You may require money on the way, and so you
take this three-dollar bill and put it in some safe place, until
you are ready to start. Let me think. If I should direct
my letter to you, Mr. Gregg, or somebody else, might take
it out of the office. I will put my oldest brother's name
upon it, Frank Wyman, and you be sure and inquire for
it."
"I thank you very much indeed. How long will your
visit be?"
"A few short weeks."
" I fear they will be very long ones ! "
" To yourself, you mean ? Well, I hope not. But do not
be too impatient."
" I will try not to be ; but how I long for the hour to
come when I shall leave that terrible place forever ! "
The next day the committee visited the school, and were
highly gratified, praising both teacher and pupils. Deacon
Glubbings, in his speech, alluded particularly to Willie
Cunard, and expressed surprise and admiration at the
progress he had made.
18
206 GLENWOOD.
There were not many dry eyes when Jeannie in a few
appropriate remarks took her leave of the school ; and Willie
leaned his head upon his desk, and buried his face in his
hands, and sobbed so loud, that she was moved to go to
Him and speak a few soothing words, before school was dis-
missed. She could not say much to him afterwards, for
the children gathered around her, and some went with her
to her boarding-house. What she did say, however, was to
the purpose ; for her words inspired Willie with the hope of
happier days.
CHAPTER XVIII.
HIDDEN TREASURE DISCOVERED. PUNISHMENT OF THE SUSPECTED
CULPRIT. WILLIE'S ESCAPE. WANDERINGS. is CARED FOR BY
STRANGERS.
LONG and dreary seemed the days to Willie, now that his
beloved teacher had gone. He had no heart to work, and
yet he must toil from morning till night, without a moment
for reading or recreation. How anxiously he looked forward
to the time of deliverance from this hated bondage !
Mr. and Mrs. Gregg were greatly incensed against Jeannie
for the exposure she had made to the whole school of Willie's
treatment at the alms-house. The latter did not fare any
worse, however, but rather better ; for they feared her mild,
reproving eyes, and the influence she had acquired with
both parents and children. Arabella Mehitable Bumpus
was very indignant, and said that Jeannie Wyman was a
slanderer ; but few believed it.
About four weeks after the school had closed, Margaret
Bumford was stirring up the straw in Willie's bed, a thing
which was only done semi-annually, when she found a three-
dollar bill, wrapped up in quite a large piece of brown paper.
Willie had placed it there, thinking that it would be per-
fectly safe. As ill-luck or the fates would have it, Margaret
took it into her head to stir up the straw some weeks before
208 GLENWOOD.
the usual time ; and so she found the bill only a few days be-
fore the owner would have drawn it from its hiding-place.
She had very little acquisitiveness was proverbially hon-
est and she immediately carried the bill to Mrs. Gregg,
and told her where she found it. That night Willie was
called to an account for having in his possession a three-
dollar bill.
Previous to his acquaintance with Jeannie Wyman, he
would at once have denied any knowledge of the matter ; but
now he could not tell a falsehood. She had talked to him
of the meanness and sin of lying ; and, whatever the conse-
quences might be, he must speak the truth, or refuse to speak
at all. He was taken into one of the back rooms of the alms-
house, and informed that Margaret Bumford had found a
three-dollar bill in his bed, and no one else but he could
have put it there, and so he must confess where he ob-
tained it.
This discovery was very unexpected to Willie, and he knew
not what reply to make.
" Where did you get this money?" said Mrs. Gregg.
" What shall I say ? " thought Willie. " I must not tell
: I must not expose my dearest friend ;" and he remained
silent, with his eyes cast upon the floor.
" This business must be cleared up," said Mr. Gregg.
" It looks very suspicious, my young man. You could not
have come by the money honestly ; and so you must confess
tell us the whole truth in relation thereto."
" Did you secrete the money? " inquired Mrs. Gregg.
" I did," replied Willie.
" I knew it ! " she said to Mr. Gregg. " He is always up
to some devilish mischief. ! you villain ! " shaking her
GLENWOOD. 209
fist in his face. " From whom did you steal it ? Tell me
that ! "
" I did not steal it," said Willie. "I never shall steal
again."
" Just hear that, Mr. Gregg ! He denies that he stole it,
and, to deceive us and get clear of punishment, he says he
never shall steal again ! "
" He is a very hardened boy, Mrs. Gregg, very ! If you
did not steal the money, where did you get it ? "
"Yes," said Mrs. Gregg, "just tell us where you got it,
if you don't want us to believe you stole it."
" I can't tell you," said Willie, firmly.
" Do you hear that, Mr. Gregg ? ! you rascal, you !
we'll see whether you will tell us ! " And those snaky eyes
flashed, and her voice was raised to a key which indicated
furious passion.
' ' We are firmly persuaded that you stole this money, and
it is our duty to chastise you for the great offence," said Mr.
Gregg. " Punishment you must have, or you will be a thief
all your life, unless you are put where you can't steal. If
you own from whom you stole the money, it will make the
correction less severe ; but, if you do not confess, we shall
whip you till you do. The al alternatives are before you,
young man; and all you have to do now is to take your
choice between them."
"I did not steal it," said Willie.
"How came you by it, then?" inquired Mr. Gregg.
" Answer me that ! "
" I did not steal it. I never stole money in all my life.
I never wished to steal money. I have only stolen victuals
when I was hungry."
18* '
210 GLENWOOD.
" Dare you insinuate," said Mrs. Gregg, " that you don't
have enough to eat? " springing at him, and boxing his ears
and pulling his hair. " I will teach you better than that !
Just observe him, Mr. Gregg, and see how guilty he looks !
Did you ever see a culprit with the guilt any more plainly
stamped upon his features?"
" Never, Mrs. Gregg. You say that you did not steal it.
We do not believe you ; but, if you speak the truth, your
innocence can be easily shown by your confessing how and
where the money was obtained. Come, sir, where did you
get the money ? "
" I cannot tell you."
" ! I knew you could not," said Mrs. Gregg, " unless
you had something to quicken that slow tongue of yours ; and
that you shall have, and very shortly, too ! "
He was now stripped naked to his waist and beaten with
a strap, and then plunged into icy-cold water, his head held
under until he could scarcely catch his breath. It was all
in vain, however ; for they failed to extort a confession from
him.
It was a chilly night in April, and, wet and bruised as he
was, they left him without fire or a bed, to spend the hours
of darkness alone. This, they informed him, was a continua-
tion of his punishment ; and still greater sufferings awaited
him in the morning, if he did not confess his crime.
The poor boy sat down upon the cold floor, for the room
was destitute of furniture, and thought what a fearful thing
it was to fall into the hands of such people, whose tender
mercies were cruelties. He felt sure that it was right for
him to escape from those who so wronged him. He was
certain that he ought not to expose the kind friend who had
GLEN WOOD. 211
so generously given him the money to help him on his way,
He had shed no tears while receiving his punishment, nor
resisted in the least ; but when he thought of the many cruel
blows upon his naked body, and of his almost strangling in
the cold water, he wished that he had turned upon his per-
secutors, and he resolved to be amply revenged.
As he had had no supper, he was very hungry, and became
so chilled that his teeth chattered, and his whole frame shook.
And then he thought of the morrow, when he must be sub-
jected to renewed outrage, feel again the horrid strap upon
his naked, bruised flesh, and be held under water until
almost suffocated. If confession was not obtained by these
means, other punishments, more cruel still, had been threat-
ened, and would be resorted to, until he should make a clean
breast of it ; and that he had resolved he would never do. He
felt that he could die ; and he would, rather than expose the
faithful friend who had done so much for him.
" ! how cold I am ! " he said. " How dark and gloomy
it is here ! They may find me stiff and dead in the morning,
and then their work will be done. 0, mother ! mother !
mother ! why did you leave your poor Willie ? ! come
to me dear, dear mother ! I I am freezing here. I am
lonely and heart-broken. You are in heaven, I know ; but
are your joys so great that you cannot know how your child
is wronged ? ! come to me, mother, and comfort me, or
I shall die ! " His garments were now partially frozen, and
his wet feet ached with the cold.
." This is too much ! " he said. " I would call for help, but
it would do no good. They would not come, should I bawl
myself hoarse. h ! how cold, how terribly cold I am !
It is like winter to-night like the night in December, when
212 GLENWOOD.
I was obliged to lie to get out of this cold room. But but
I cannot, will not now."
Just at this moment he seemed to be strongly impressed
that he must escape then, or he should die ; or, if he did not
perish that night, further cruelties would be continued until
he had not strength to go. He arose and tried the door and
the windows , but they were fastened, and in despair he sank
down upon the floor again. His thoughts were now busy
with the past, the injustice he had received from his fellow-
creatures, until his loving teacher came, so good, so beautiful.
How very kind of her to take so much notice of the des-
pised, neglected boy, manifesting so much patience, and such
a spirit of self-sacrifice for his welfare ! Their last walk
from school came up vividly before his mind the advice
she gave him, and the money to supply his wants while on
his way to Yamford, where he had hoped to find a home
such as he had not known since the death of his parents.
What would she do if she could realize his condition now
his sufferings, which ho must endure through the long night,
with the terrible dread of greater horrors on the morrow ?
! she would weep in bitter agony, did she know all
this. And then tears filled his eyes, and he lay down upon
the floor with his face in his hands, and sobbed and cried for
a long time. When he arose, the thought was again im-
pressed upon his mind that he must escape from his prison.
But how ? The door and windows are fastened, and he has
not power to open them. What can he do there in the dark
and cold ? He has no implements to work with, and yet he
must escape. He will break through one of the windows.
Would this be right ? Why not, when it is his only hope ?
Determined to be free, he again arose, and, going to on*
GLENWOOD. 218
of the windows, in his desperation he pushed out a pane of
glass with his hand, cutting his fingers badly. His wounds
gave him but little anxiety ; but he had really committed an
offence now, and it would not do to stop there, but without
delay make good his escape. He listened a while ; but, hear-
ing nothing, with more care and less noise, broke another
pane of glaSs, then a third, and thus he continued until none
were left in the lower frame. To remove that was an easy
matter, for the house was old, and the sash much decayed.
The required exertion in removing the window gave
warmth to his shivering limbs, and he sprang through the
opening, and ran from the house with great speed. The
noise which he made when he struck the ground, and the
clatter of his feet as he fled, awoke the dog, and he gave
chase for the supposed intruder. Willie was fearful that
his loud barking would awaken Mr. Gregg, and lead to his
recapture; so he stopped, and the faithful sentinel recog-
nized him, and rubbed against him caressingly, and lapped
the blood from his hand. Willie put his arms around his
neck, and, patting him on the head, hastened away. His
fears gave him strength, and he ran with remarkable rapidity.
Sometimes he fancied that he heard footsteps behind him ;
and, stopping to listen, to learn if he was pursued, his heart
beat so loudly that the sound made him tremble. At such
times he would lie flat upon his face, close to the wall. Re-
maining in that position a few minutes, and finding that his
fears were baseless, he would start on his way again. And
thus he went on, until the day began to dawn.
When the sun rose he had gone twenty miles, and he was
BO exhausted that he lay down to rest. And now he realized
how desolate was his condition, far from home, weary, faint,
OLEN WO OD.
and hungry ; his head bare and his clothes in tatters ; for
those the boys had given him had been put by for Sunday
wear. He wondered what he should do now ; whether Mr.
Gregg would pursue him what people would think when
they saw such a looking object as he. It was unsafe, he
felt, to remain in the highway, now that it was day ; and sc
he wandered into the fields. In the course of The forenoon
he came to a corn-field, in which was an image, placed there
the year before, to frighten the crows. It had upon its head
an old-fashioned bell-topped hat, very much battered, large
enough for a man. Willie gladly availed himself of the
prize, thinking it, poor as it was, better than no hat. He
found it much too large ; for it came down over his eyes,
and every few minutes he was obliged to push it up in order
toxsee at all.
By this time he was almost famished, and so he went into
the woods, and, as he had often done before, when suffering
for food, broke off some black-birch twigs, and ate the tender
bark ; still further on. he found checkerberry and box-plums,
and so in a measure satisfied his desire for food. By and
by he came to another road, which he thought best not to fol-
low, but crossed it, and still continued in the fields. Early
in the morning it was very cold ; but now the air was bland,
and the sun poured down its hot beams, making a beautiful
spring day. The little wanderer became so tired that he lay
down in a sunny spot, and soon fell asleep. When he awoke
he heard the horns calling the farmers to dinner. At first
it was difficult for him to realize his condition ; but he soon
regained his truant senses, and then he felt that, although he
was faint and weary, he must proceed on his way. Ere
long he came to another road, and, following it, he soon met
GLENWOOD. 216
a man with a horse and carriage, of whom he inquired the
distance to Yamford, and was told that it was forty miles.
This answer was astounding, for Jeannie had assured him
that it was only twenty-five from Glenwood. It made him
feel almost discouraged to know that he had gone fifteen
miles out of his way. The man informed him the best route
to take. No marvel that the poor boy now sank down upon
the ground and wept ; for it seemed impossible, in his weary
and famishing condition, ever to reach the desired haven.
But weeping would do no good, he well knew ; so he sum-
moned his strength anew, and slowly went on.
About the middle of the afternoon, the little wanderer was
overtaken by an unpolished, kind-looking man, who seemed
to watch him very closely. When first in sight, Willie
thought he would ask him for a ride ; but, as he came nearer,
he lacked the courage to make his request, and he now trem-
bled lest it was some one in pursuit of him. The man con-
tinued to observe the ragged, comically-dressed boy, until
he was satisfied that he was very weary, when he stopped
his horse and said,
" Wai, my boy, won't you have a lift? I can carry you
in my wagon jest as well as not."
Willie required no urging to accept the invitation.
" Where are ye joggin' ? " said the man.
"To Yamford," replied Willie.
" That 's a plaguy long ways for you to go a foot, any how,
thirty-six miles, every inch of it, if 's a rod ! However, I
can carry you sixteen of it ; an' I will, if yer mind to ride ; "
and, putting his hand into his pocket, he took out a large
russet apple, and asked Willie if he would n't like it. The
216 GLENWOOD.
hungry boy almost snatched it from his hand, and ate it with
great voracity.
" I declare," said the man, " you are awful hungry, or
you like apples some. I 've got two more in my pocket, an'
both on 'em is bigger than that are one you've jest swal-
lered, an' you shall have 'em ; for they are wholesome for
those who take to 'em in that are way."
These were devoured so quickly, that the giver said that
it did him " a plaguy sight " more good than though he had
eaten them himself.
" Do you live in Yamford ? " he inquired.
" No, sir, but I expect to."
" Goin' there to hire out, I s'pose? Wai, I hope they
will pay ye, so ye .can 'ford to wear better clothes than them
are things ye 've got on."
"I hope so, too."
" How much do you 'spect to get a month ? "
" I don't know, sir, but I suppose all I am worth."
"Jest so, 'xactly. Wai, don't you let 'em cheat you.
Folks will take the 'vantage of boys when they can. Now,
I gin a boy no bigger than you five dollars a month, last
year, and I 'm to give six this year ; so don' t you take a cent
less than five."
" I shall try and get all I am worth, sir."
" So do ; but, mind you, not a cent less than five a month.
Wages are high now, and the Avork must be done. It 's
e'enamost sundown ; so you can't get to Yamford to-night
you '11 jest have to turn in and stop with me, I guess. Come,
my lad, what say ? "
"I should like to, but but "
" But what out with it ! "
QLENWOOD. 217
" I have no money to pay you, sir."
" Whew ! who supposed you had ? Think I 'd take money
from you ? catch me at it ! If you had any, I would n't
take a cent. My old woman will be glad to see you, an' BO
will the gals, too."
"You are very kind, sir ;" and Willie's eyes filled with
tears.
" Sakes alive ! if the boy an't cryin' at that are ! Wai,
you an't the kind of boy that one might take you for at fust
sight, with them are plaguy ragged things on your heart
is jest as tender as boiled lamb. But don't simper any more
about it; 't an't called for. Would n't you take me in without
money, if I was tired and hungry as you are, and you had
a good home, as I have ? "
" Yes, sir, I should be very glad to."
" 'Xactly ! I knew you would ; and so I shall do by you
jest as you would do by me, don't you see, ha? "
" Yes, sir, I understand it."
" Of course you do. Now, that 's my 'ligion ; I han't never
'sperienced, as 'tis called, but I try to do 'bout right. It's
the best way in this world ; help a feller-crittur when you
can, and the bread cast upon the waters shall come back
when the tide is right. Now, as it is understood that you
stop with me over night, I jest want to know your name."
Willie reflected a few moments, querying whether he had
better give an assumed name or his own ; but, feeling
instinctively that he could safely trust his illiterate friend,
he answered :
" Willie Cunard."
" Willie Cunard ! Why, I saw a man from Glen wood, to-
day, who was inquirin' for a boy of that name ; and he said
19
218 GLENWOOD.
that he had stolen money, an' broken winders out of the
poor-house, in order to get away ! I snum ! if he didn't
describe you out 'xactly ; and you are the very boy, an't
you?"
" I am, sir ; but I did not steal the money. It was given
me by a friend, who advised me to run away, because I waa
so ill-used."
" But how came you to break out the winder? "
" They beat me so badly with a strap, and then they held
me in the cold water until I was almost suffocated, because
I would not tell them where I got the money which I had
hid in my bed. And they left me wet and cold in one of
the back rooms, and I had no supper ; and they said I should
stay there all night, and be treated worse in the morning, if
I did not confess. I was so cold that I should have perished
in that room before morning."
" So you would. An' they held your head under water,
did they?"
" Yes ; and they beat me upon my naked body, and I
am very sore now."
" Why, they are worse than savage Injuns, a good deal
worse ! An' so you didn't have any supper? "
" Not a mouthful."
"I don't blame you for kickin' out the blasted old win-
der ! You got some breakfast, I s'pose ? "
" No, sir."
" Not any breakfast ! sakes alive ! Wai, you must have
lined your hide at dinner-time? "
"I haven't had any dinner, either."
"Haven't had any dinner ! I don't wonder you liked
apples! Get along there, Kate, or I'll put the string
GLENWOOD. 219
on ! Faster than that ! Here 's a feller-crittur starvin' !
There, that 's it, you beauty ! See how she goes ! she knowed
what I telled her. You jest keep a good heart, if you can,
an' we '11 soon be there. I 'd been there afore, if you 'd
jest told me how 'twas. Come, come, no snifflin' ! I can't
bear that ; you would do jest the same by me, I know you
would. I can tell, by the looks on ye, that ye wouldn't let
a crittur starve, when ye had a plenty of yer own.
"An' so you've lived in Glenwood? I used to have a
brother there once. He was a monstrous clever feller, but
he took to books an' larnin' . Now, I never had any taste
that are way. I never read any books in my life but the
Bible, Pilgrim's Progress, and my school-books, 'cept Rob-
ert B. Thomas's Almanic. I read that clean through every
year. But I have lots o' readin', though, for I take the
Farmer's Cabinet, an' that comes every week, you know.
I have been an abscriber for that are paper these twenty
years, an' I've got every one of 'em presarved to this day.
Go ahead there, Kate ! that's it, you beauty ! See how she
puts it ! Now, I '11 tell you how I does when we have a long
storm, an' I have read the paper clean through : I jest goes
an' gets some o' the old ones, and they are about as good
. as new. My old woman never knows whether I am readin'
the last paper, or one twenty years old ; it 's all the same to
her. I have read one of 'em to her as much as six times,
an' she never knowed the difference. Now, that brother of
mine. Jim Penly, he had as much as a t hundred books ;
an' when he died they was sold at auction, but they didn't'
fetch nothin', scarcely. He hadn't much gumption, an'
the mortgage on his farm was so much, that it took 'bout all
220 QLENWOOD.
it fetched to pay it. He left a widder, and one son, poor
enough. D' ye ever hear anything about 'em ? "
"No, sir."
"I don't wonder that ye never did; for 'the boy was
drownded afore you was born, an' it e'enamost killed his
mother ; and she went to live with one of her 'lations ; but
the poor, heart-broken woman soon followed Jimmey. I
have hearn tell there was a gal mixed up with the business
somehow ; but, as my old woman says, I can't make neither
head nor tail to it. Get along there, Kate ! I declare, how
pale you do look ! Cold, are you ? I don't wonder at it.
But keep up your sperits, for we are e'enamost there. Jest
see Kate, now! she's off like a broom-handle. She's a
knowin' crittur. There, my boy, there 's the house behind
that monstrous elm-tree, biggest tree in the county. My
old woman 's standin' in the door, 'spectin' me. Steady,
Kate ! how she goes it ! An' here we are, safe an' sound."
" Sakes alive ! husband, who have you got there ? " in-
quired Mrs. Penly.
"A starvin' feller-crittur, old woman." And as Willie
was about to step from the wagon, Mr. Penly took him in
his arms and carried him into the house, setting him down
near the blazing fire.
"A starving, is he?" said Mrs. Penly. "He looks as
though he was, poor boy ! What shall I give him to eat ?
I '11 make him some porridge, with a cracker in it, and that
will warm him; for he is terrible cold."
Mrs. Penly was a large, fat woman, but she stepped
round very quickly, as she always did when a little excited ;
and, as she had hot water, the porridge was soon ready.
"There, my poor boy," said she; "eat that are, and
G L B N W D. 221
you '11 feel a good deal better ; and when I get supper ready t
you shall have a cup of tea ; but I shan't let you eat too
much to-night, for you are too sick."
Willie took the bowl with a grateful heart, and, notwith-
standing it was hot, he was so hungry that he could not
stop to eat slowly.
" Sakes alive ! " said Mr. Penly, " how hungry you bo !
But don't burn you to death, for you will find 'nough to
eat here. Take time, if you be hungry. A little slower,
my boy ; there, that will do. Now I'll go straight and put
up old Kate, for she 's hungry, too."
19*
CHAPTER XIX.
THE KINDNESS OP THE PENLYS. WILLIE IN A NEW SUIT. GOES TO
YAMFORD. HIS RECEPTION BY THE WYMANS.
As the reader has probably surmised, Mr. Penly was a
farmer, and, though ignorant and unpolished, his heart was
in the right place. He had the reputation with many people
of being wealthy ; and when they hinted as much, he re-
plied that he was not rich, but well to do in the world. He
lived in a large, old-fashioned house, two stories and a half
high, with rooms in it sufficient for a country tavern.
Mr. and Mrs. Penly were, at this time, about fifty years
old, she being six months the eldest. They had known
and loved each other from childhood, and were married at
nineteen. Seven children were born to them, but only four
wrere now living, all girls, the two eldest married. The
most severe affliction they had ever experienced was the
loss of their only son, at the age of ten years. Sarah and
Hattie, the unmarried daughters, had called upon one of
the neighbors, the afternoon their father came home, bring-
ing with him Willie Cunard. They returned in season for
tea, and Willie was introduced to them. Very pretty blue-
eyed girls they were. ' The youngest, Hattie, who had a
roguish twinkle to her eyes, was strongly inclined to laugh
at such a ragged boy, at the same time feeling very sorry
QLENWOOD. 223
for him. Mrs. Penly was a kind, motherly woman, sympa-
thetic and good-natured, and, like her husband, lacking
refinement. He usually addressed her as his old woman,
and she called him daddy.
When supper was ready, Willie sat down with the family ;
but he had no longer a desire for food. He was very thirsty,
however, and he occupied the time in drinking tea.
"Wai, old woman," said Mr. Penly, "you gin him that
are porridge jest in the right time to spile his supper. I
'spected he would eat us e'enamost out of house and home,
to begin with."
"It isn't best he should eat much to-night, for he's got
cold and feverish like," said Mrs. Penly. " Won't you
have a piece of this ere nice custard-pie ? it won't hurt
you, for I shortened the crust with cream."
" No, I thank you," said Willie.
"You had better take a cracker, then, and soak it in
your tea; that'll be better than nothin', won't it, daddy? "
"Jest about, I should think. Somehow, crackers don't
fill up. I can eat a dozen, and then be hungry. Brown
bread is the stuff, an't it, Hattie ? "
" You know I don't like it, father! " said Hattie.
" You 've been kept too well, you young witch ! that 's
the reason. Jest live as I did when I was young, an'
you would like it well enough. Now, this boy has lived in
the poor-house, an' I '11 warrant you that he likes it."
" I don't believe he does ! " said Hattie.
" You don't believe it? What '11 you bet on 't ? "
" My pullet against the old black hen."
" 'S done ! Now, you ax him, Hattie."
224 tiLENWOOD.
" Do you like rye and Indian bread ? " inquired Hattie
of Willie.
"Not very well," said Willie.
" There ! there ! " said Hattie ; " the black hen is mine ! "
"So tis, you jade-hopper !" said Mr. Penly. "But
who 'da thought that I'd lost it? Wai, Willie, what is
the reason you don't like brown bread? "
" Because I have_had to eat it three times a day."
" Sakes alive ! " said Mrs. Penly. * ^
"I might have known how 'twas, if I'd only thought,
when you 've lived at the poor-house ! That 's the way
we Christian people take care of the poor ! treat 'em e'ena-
most as well as they do at the states-prison. But, then, they
have to be pretty careful, or too many might like to board
there, 'specially through the cold weather," said Mr.
Penly.
"He don't talk just as he means," said Mrs. Penly to
Willie; " so don't you mind him. He thinks that the poor
are not used as they ought to be, and so do I."
When supper was through with, Willie was placed in the
large rocking-chair near the fire ; but he was so cold that
Mrs. Penly made him a bowl of composition tea, and put
him to bed, with a hot stone at his feet. In the morning
he was still feverish, and so Mrs. Penly gave him a sweat.
The next day she administered an emetic of lobelia, and
now he began to amend.
In the mean time Jeannie had returned home, and, having
her parents' permission, wrote to Willie, the letter arriving
at Glen wood the morning that Willie left. When a week
had passed, and he did not come, she knew not what to
think, and was fearful that Mr. Gregg by some means had
GLBNWOOD. 225
obtained possession of the letter. She thought so much
about it, that it made her very unhappy. . She concluded
that it was best to wait another week, and, if he did not
come, send her brother Frank to learn the reason.
When Willie was nearly well again, he told his kind
friends that he must go ; but Mrs. Penly said that he had
better stay a few days longer, until he was entirely re-
covered.
" Your clothes," she remarked, " are awful ragged, just
like poor-house clothes. Any one might know where them
are come from. Now, my Benny was smaller than you
when he died; but, if you can wear his clothes, you shall be
welcome to them, for they will do you some good, and you
are such a clever boy that I can't bear to see you look so
like a fright."
Mrs. Penly went to a trunk, and took out two suits, and
gave the best one to Willie, the tears falling fast while she
did it.
" He was a good boy," she said, " a very good boy, and
we all worshipped him. God saw fit to take him, and I
have tried to be reconciled; but it was very hard. I've
been afeard that we idolized him too much ; but we could n't
help it. He was our only son !"
" When did he die ? " asked Willie, feeling sad for her.
"Ten years ago this spring; though it don't seem so
long. I always weep when I see his clothes, they look so
much like him ; but you see if you can get them on."
Willie appeared very comical when rigged out in his
new suit, for Benny Penly was small of his age, and two
years younger when he died than Willie was now. The
pants fitted close to his skin, and were eight or ten inches
226 G L E N W D .
too short ; the jacket and vest were as much too short as
the pants, and the sleeves of the jacket came just below
his elbows.
As the hat which Willie found in the corn-field was so
large, and so badly battered, it was thought best that he
should throw it aside, and take the one that Benny used to
wear to meeting, a little, round, wool hat, with a narrow
rim, which he could just squeeze on to the top of his head.
How Hattie did laugh when she saw Willie in this suit !
She made her father quite merry by telling him that hia
legs looked just like a pair of candle-moulds.
When Willie was ready for his journey, Mrs. Penly filled
his pockets with doughnuts and cheese, and Mr. Penly har-
nessed his horse and carried him ten miles.
"There," said Mr. Penly, "you are now just half way.
Mind an' not go wrong! An' I tell ye what 'tis, Willie, I
want ye to come to see us one of these days. What say,
my lad ? We '11 all be glad to see you, the old woman,
gals, an' all."
"I shall be very glad to come, sir, for you have been
very kind to me ; I am thankful, indeed I am ! "
" Wai, you needn't go for to feel bad about it. But you
are a good boy. Nancy says that she never saw a better
boy, an' she understands human natur as well as any one I
ever seed. I 'spect you 've 'bout fallen in love with that
are school-marm, 'cordin' to what my old woman telled me
ye said of her."
" 0, no, sir ! I "
"You needn't deny it, for that's jest the way I did
when I was in love with Nancy. You see I 've been through
GLEN n D . 227
the mill. Wai, wal, don't forget us, my lad, an' come an'
see us whenever ye can."
Willie now pursued his journey with good courage, hop-
ing to reach Yamford before night ; but he missed his way,
and travelled some miles before he learned his mistake, so
that it was quite dark when he arrived there. Mr. Wyman
lived a mile beyond the village, and it was a little after
eight o'clock when he came to the house.
But now he thought, for the first time, that he had re-
ceived no letter from Jeannie ; and he was fearful that, if
she had not returned, her parents would not receive him,
for he was a stranger to them. He had not the courage to
knock at the door, and he sat down querying what he had
better do. After sitting some time, he arose and went to the
window, and tried to look in. He thought that it might be
wrong to do thus, but he felt conscious that he had no bad
intentions, for he only wished to learn if Jeannie was there.
When close to the house, he stumbled and fell against it
with such force as to startle the inmates. But Willie was
more frightened than they, and he ran as fast as his feet
could carry him, so that Mr. Wyman only caught a glimpse
of him as he opened the door. After Willie had gone some
twenty rods, he looked back, and, not seeing any one in pur-
suit, he stopped.
This was a poor beginning, and he had less courage now
than ever; but he slowly retraced his steps.
"What was it? " asked Mrs. Wyman, when Mr. Wyman
returned.
"I presume that it was a boy, for I saw one running
from the house very fast," said Mr. Wyman.
"What do you suppose he was doing?"
228 GLENWOOD.
"Nothing serious, I think. Most likely he thought ho
would frighten us a little."
"How large a boy was it, father?" asked Jeannie, who
sat by the table, reading.
"I should think he might be twelve or fourteen years
old," said Mr. Wyman.
"I shouldn't be surprised if it was Willie Cunard,"
said Jeannie.
"It might have been," said Mrs. Wyman; " and he
tfas most likely trying to look into the window, to see if
you were here."
" That must be it, mother ; so I will go out and see if I
can find him," said Jeannie.
She now went to the door, and, not seeing any one,
walked a few rods from it, when she saw a boy at a little
distance from her, who appeared to be looking towards the
cottage.
"Willie Cunard," she said, "is that you?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied.
" ! how glad I am to see you ! We were expecting
you before this; " running to him, and taking his hand and
shaking it very warmly. " Come, Willie, the folks are
anxious to see you ;" and she led him into the cottage, and
presented him to her parents and grandmother.
"I am very happy to see you," said Mr. Wyman.
' Jeannie has informed me that you have lived at the poor-
house, and that you have had a very hard time. I have
concluded to offer you a home with us. My youngest son,
Arthur, is going away, this summer, to attend school ; and,
if you and I can make a bargain, you shall stay and work
for me."
GLENWOOD. 229
" I shall be very glad to," said Willie.
" Jeannie," said Mrs. Wyman, "you go and make him a
nice cup of tea, and get him some supper, for he looks tired
and hungry."
" Make him a good cup of black tea," said Mrs. Motley,
- and then he will feel a great deal better."
" That 's your specific, mother," said Mr. Wyman, "and
you know I always told you that mother and daughter were
very much alike."
"And if that specific was not provided for you, when you
came home weary and faint," said Mrs. Motley, "a certain
face would be too long to be agreeable."
"That 's the truth, John, every word of it," said Mrs.
Wyman. "I never saw anybody, not even an old lady,
enjoy a good cup of tea better than you."
"I plead guilty to the charge, but I sometimes think
that cold water is the best drink, after all," said Mr.
Wyman.
" I presume you read that article in the paper, last week,"
said Mrs. Wyman, "advocating the drinking of water
alone."
"I did, and I thought it ve,ry reasonable," returned Mr.
Wyman.
"I have always had my cup of tea," remarked Mrs.
Motley, " and I believe I always shall. I am very sure
that it does me good."
" And I shall not give up mine," said Mrs. Wyman.
" Nor I mine, as long as I have such good company to
drink it with," said Mr. Wyman.
"Then I hope you will continue to drink it for many,
20
230 GLENWOOD.
many years," said Jeannie, who came in just in time to hear
the last remark.
"I hope so, too, dear," Mr. Wyman said, giving Mrs.
Wyman an anxious glance, which was unperceived by her.
At this moment her cough, which had continued ever since
we last saw her, was heard ; and, though but slight, it caused
Mr. Wyman to cover up his face with his hands, and draw a
half-suppressed sigh.
" How far have you come to-day? " said Mrs. Wyman to
Willie.
" Twenty miles," he replied.
"Did you come that distance on foot?" inquired Mrs.
Motley.
" No, ma'am," said Willie. " I rode ten miles with Mr.
Penly ; but I missed my way, and so I have walked nearly
that distance."
" I am glad that Mr. Penly was so kind and thoughtful,"
said Jeannie, " but sorry that you went out of your way so
much. When did you receive my letter, and who is Mr.
Penly?"
" Your letter! I did not get any," said Willie.
" You did not ? How long since you left Grlenwood? "
" Ten days ago this evening."
" You did ? I thought you were to wait until you heard
from me."
"I could not," said Willie, his eyes filling with tears.
"I see how it was," said Mr. Wyman. "They abused
you so badly that you could not remain any longer."
"Yes, sir," said Willie,
" Poor boy ! " said Mrs. Motley ; " I am glad you did not
wait."
GLENWOOD. 231
" So am I," said Jeannie, " very glad ; but where have
you been all this time, we were very anxious about you?"
"I have been sick," he said, speaking very indistinctly;
for the manifestation of so much kindness filled his eyes with
tears, and choked his utterance. " Can it be," he thought,
"that there are such good people in the world? A little
while since, and they were all cruel, but now I am over-
whelmed with kindness ! "
"And so you have been ill, poor child!" said Mrs.
Wyman ; " and where were you then ? "
" At a Mr. Penly's. He overtook me on the road, and
carried me to his house," said Willie.
" And they were good to you, were they not? " inquired
Mrs. Motley.
"Yes, ma'am, very good," said Willie. "Mrs. Penly
took the best of care of me, and would not let me start to
come here, until I was quite well and strong. And Mr.
Penly took his horse and wagon and brought me ten
miles."
" Heaven bless them ! " said Mrs. Wyman.
"Amen ! " responded Mr. Wyman, Mrs. Motley, and
Jeannie ; and Willie responded amen with his heart, which
was brimming with gratitude.
" Penly Penly ! It seems to me that I have heard that
name before," said Mr. Wyman.
" It strikes me that I have," said Mrs. Wyman ; " but I
cannot remember when nor where."
"I presume that you have quite ah interesting story to
tell," said Mrs. Motley; " and, after you have taken your
tea, we should all like to hear it."
Supper now being ready, Willie gat down to a well-spread
232 GLENWOOD.
table, with a most inviting aspect. At the alms-house the
dishes that the paupers used were so unclean that you could
have written your name upon them with your finger, and
the knives and forks were black as the ace of spades. Those
before him now were so clean and polished that they shone
like silver, and the same care had been bestowed upon all
the other eating utensils. He was fearful lest he should
6oil them too much in using them. He had been accustomed
to make a supper on coarse bread and cold water, but now
he might partake of a variety of the most tempting viands.
The change seemed marvellous to him, and too much like a
dream to be real. " Is it possible," he thought, " that such
food is prepared for me? "
Jeannie took her seat at the head of the table, poured the
tea, and helped him to the different kinds of food. This was
so different from what he had been accustomed to, that he
felt extremely bashful and awkward, and he made some
ludicrous blunders, causing him to blush scarlet. His friend
saw, at a glance, what the difficulty was ; and she pretended
not to notice his mistakes, talking to him in a manner well
designed to make him forget them. A delicate, sensitive
child herself, desiring to do as she would be done by, it was
an easy matter to conduct herself in a way that should relieve
him from his excessive modesty and sheepishness, and give
him some self-respect. And this, reader, is always com-
mendable in man or woman.
The bashful girl, in the midst of a gay throng of young
men and maidens, is so confused that she cannot hold up her
head ; and so she seeks the most obscure corner, and there
sits alone. Others are happy, but she is wretched. She
wishes that she could walk about the rooms, and join in the
GLENWOOD. 233
conversation, and appear like other misses. Her wishes are
vain, however, for she has not the confidence to arise from
her seat. The cords that bind her she cannot break, nor
throw off the incubus which is crushing her soul. She can
appear like other people at home, and converse without em-
barrassment, but not here ; it is a marvel to her that she
cannot. Now she fancies that some of the company are
casting furtive glances at her she is the subject of their
merriment. To be made a butt for ridicule is too much,
and she wishes that she had not come.
Among the visitors is a gentleman with a heart so kind
that he desires to see everybody happy. He has been
watching the bashful one, though she is not aware of it.
He knows that it is diffidence alone which causes her to
appear so foolish and awkward. The spell that lies so
heavily upon her, which makes her so miserable when she
should be happy, she has not the power to break. Without
a formal introduction, he sits down by her side, and very
delicately draws her into conversation, leading her thoughts
along so ingenuously that her timidity and bashfulness are
forgotten ; the chain that held her so fast has been melted,
but she knows not how ; the nightmare has departed,
leaving her free and happy. Now she mingles with the
company, is cheerful, lively, and interesting, for the remain-
der of the evening, and she will never be so bashful again.
The effect of this kind act will not be momentary, but lasting
as life, conferring strength in the hour of weakness. 0,
blessed, thrice blessed, are they who thus skilfully and
lovingly chase away the shadows which have gathm-d
around the young soul, letting in the sunlight warm and
golden !
20*
234 GLENWOOD.
Soon after Willie had finished his supper, Frank and
Arthur returned, and, in accordance with a suggestion of
Mrs. Motley, seconded by the rest of the family, he told
them his affecting story, with which the reader is sufficiently
acquainted. When he had finished, Jeannie said,
' ' I little thought that my three-dollar bill would cause
you so much suffering."
" You were very unlucky in choosing your place of con-
cealment," said Mr. Wyman; "but, as the straw had never
been meddled with before, except at two particular periods
in the year, I am not so much surprised that you should
have placed the bill where you did."
" I am sorry that it made you suffer so, but it was all for
the best," said Mrs. Wyman. " Under other circumstances
you might not have escaped so easily, and you would not
have fallen in with the Penlys, who were so very kind to
you. You will be better and happier, all through your life,
because you have experienced such disinterested friendship.
Now that you are here, I hope that we shall be mutually
pleased, and that you will remain with us many years. If
you do, we will endeavor to make you forget your past
trials."
" That we will," said Mrs. Motley. " Mr. Wyman has
a nice farm, and, if you are faithful, and I am sure you will
be, we shall make you very happy, for we never have any
unhappy ones under this roof."
" I remember one," said Mrs. Wyman.
" True," replied Mrs. Motley; "but she was a stranger
and with us but a brief period, and the circumstances were
peculiar. I never pitied any poor child as I did her she
was really heart-broken ! "
GLENWOOD. 235
"Alas, yes!" said Mrs. Wyman. "I was fearful how
it might be, from the first. I tried to heal the wound, but
in vain ! But, notwithstanding her unfortunate mistake,
she was a beautiful creature, and I loved her as though she"
had been my own."
" She was worthy of it," said Mr. Wyman. " Well, she
is in heaven, and our dear Flora, who loved her so well,
bears her company."
" Mr. Gregg would not let you wear the clothes the boys
gave you?" said Jeannie, interrogatively.
" Only Sundays," replied Willie. " He said my others
,were good enough to wear every day."
" Good enough such dirty rags ! " said Jeannie ; " they
were not good for anything. I sometimes think that people
suppose that poor-house children are of a different order of
being ; and that rags are all the clothes they deserve ; the
meanest and coarsest food, what their natures require."
" Most likely Mr. and Mrs. Gregg think so," said Frank;
" but they are not everybody."
"Very true," said Mrs. Motley. "I have lived a great
many years, and seen many people ; and some whom I have
known have been very unfeeling and hard-hearted, while
others were truly good. I am happy to say that I have
found more of the latter than of the former, and I believe
that every year their number increases."
" That 's good doctrine," said Mr. Wyman. " It is true
that the world is growing better, and not degenerating, as
the croakers would have us believe."
"Everybody has faults," said Mrs. Wyman; "but the
number in the world is by no means small who desire to do
as near right as it is possible under the circumstances."
236 GLENWOOD.
After the young people had retired, Mr. Wyman remarked
that the name of Gregg sounded more familiar than Penly ;
and it had just come into his mind that Delia's surname was
Gregg.
"I thought of it," said Mrs. Wyman, "when Jeannie
first spoke of Willie ; and, though it had passed out of my
mind, it was so many years ago, yet I soon recollected that
she told me she was from Glenwood ; and I doubt not this
Mr. Gregg was her father."
"I presume so," said Mr. Wyman; "for a man who
would cast off his own child in that way would be very
likely to abuse others. But I can't make it out about the
name Penly."
" I can," replied his wife. " Was it not Jimmey Penly,
Delia's lover, who was drowned, and the father of her
child?"
"0,1 remember now ! Well, wife, who does this boy
look like?"
" I don't know that I can tell who he looks like, for his
eyes are blue, and hers were very black ; and his hair is
different; but I can tell you who he reminds me of."
"Who? Delia Gregg?"
"Yes."
" So he does me ; and I think he looks like her."
" What if it should turn out that he is her son ? "
" Pooh ! nonsense ; that is not at all probable."
"I don't know about that."
' ' You are always sure to imagine something strange and
unnatural, where there is the least mystery," said Mrs
Motley.
GLENWOOD. 287
t
"You say so, mother; but, then, you know that I am
usually correct."
"Well, perhaps you are," said Mrs. Motley, thought-
fully.
" You mean that she is pretty good for guessing," said
Mr. Wyman.
" We will inquire about his early history in the morn-
ing," said Mrs. Wyman, "and perhaps that will settle
the question. It would be strange, indeed, if he should
prove to be Delia's child."
"In that case," said Mr. Wyman, "his own grand-
father has been his worst enemy."
"As he was to his own child," said Mrs.- Wyman.
Willie slept that night in the same bed which was pressed
by his mother the first night she came to the cottage, and
where she breathed out her troubled life. He was very
grateful for such a luxurious couch on which to repose his
tired limbs ; his sleep was sweet, and his dreams consoling.
He awoke in the morning refreshed and happy.
Willie's garments were so small, and he looked so queer
in them, that Mrs. Wyman gave him a suit of Arthur's ;
and, though the clothes were not in so good a condition as
those the Penlys gave him, he was well pleased with the
change, for they fitted him. In relation to his early child-
hood, he only remembered of living in Glenwood, where
both father and mother died. He had been told by them
that they came there from the West ; and that much of his
history Jeannie was already acquainted with.
After Willie had been at Mr. Wyman's a few days, he
engaged to remain until he was fifteen, for his board, clothes,
and four months' schooling each year. And now he was
238 GLENWOOD.
happy. Cheerfully he labored through the day, and in the
evening joined in some pleasant recreation, or in reading an
interesting book. Mr. Wyman allowed him as many houra
for play as was desirable. Willie thought that he had the
best home in the world ; and he strove to be faithful, and
all the family loved him.
CHAPTER XX.
THE SURPRISE OF MR. GREGG. MRS. BETSEY IN A PASSION. FRUIT-
LESS SEARCH FOR THE CULPRIT. TALK AND FEELINGS OF THE PEO-
PLE. A STEEPLE-CHASE NOT AFTER THE USUAL STYLE. HECTOR RUNS
AWAY. IS BROUGHT BACK. MR. GREGG NOT HAPPY. REMORSE.
HECTOR IN SEARCH OF A WIFE.
THERE was great commotion and excitement at the poor-
house when it was known that Willie had broken out a win-
dow and made his escape. Mr. Gregg expressed the utmost
astonishment that a boy of his age should have the audacity
to do such a thing. He was so angry for a time, and so
horror-struck, that he forgot his usual dignity ; and as for
Mrs. Gregg, she was furious.
" h ! " she exclaimed, " I wish I had him here now !
Let me but get hold of him once more ! To think that he
should dare to break out a window of this house, and run
away ! the thief the vagrant scoundrel ! How I would
shake him, if I could only lay my hand upon him ! Mr.
Gregg, not a moment is to be lost ! Harness your horse
and pursue him! He cannot have gone far we '11 have
him back here, and settle with the house-breaker ! Get
Mr. Blossom, and send him after the states-prison bird !
Offer a reward do anything, rather than he should es-
cape ! "
240 GLENWOOD.
Mr. Gregg procured the services of Mr. Blossom, and
sent him in one direction, with a fast horse, and he went in
another ; but with what success we have already learned.
They did not find any one who had even seen him ; and for
several days after they watched the movements of Deacon
Glubbings, Mr. Goose, and Mr. Bugbee, and some others
whom they suspected of sufficient humanity to aid a poor
fugitive. But, as they thought they had stronger reasons
for distrusting Deacon Glubbings and Mr. Goose, they se-
creted themselves near their dwellings for a number of
nights.
The report that Willie Cunard had stolen a three-dollar
bill, and made his escape from the alms-house by breaking
a window, was the cause of various remarks and specula-
tions by the people of Glenwood. There were some who
doubted if Willie had actually stolen money ; and they re-
joiced that he had broken out of his prison. Others were
ready enough to believe him guilty ; in fact, they expected
nothing else from a ragged, dirty, poor-house boy; and
they had no doubt that, in a brief time, he would find a
prison which he could not break out of so easily; at least, they
were charitable enough to hope that he would meet with his
just deserts, for society must be protected.
Among this latter class were persons who were members
of the different churches, and those who did not belong to
any church ; people who professed much, and others who
were unbelievers and nothing-arians. That they supposed
Willie might reach a prison or the gallows, is not strange ;
for the people of Glenwood had taught him to distrust and
hate his fellow-creatures to believe them his enemies ; and,
as they made war upon him, he should, for his own preser-
GLEN WOOD.
vation, nerve himself for the contest, and bravely fight it
out. They regarded not his welfare, and he should not re-
gard theirs ; they had made him suffer, Wnd he should
seek revenge.
Supposing this had been the result of Willie's poor-
house experience, would those who predicted a home for
him in the states-prison have been entirely guiltless? But
Willie was saved, thanks to the loving one who taught him
that humanity was not all evil ; that down deep in the hu-
man heart there is much of goodness, and, though many
were ever ready to oppress the unprotected, there were
others always willing to make some sacrifice to save and
bless the wronged and defenceless.
From whom did Willie steal the money ? That was the
interrogatory frequently put, which no one could satisfac-
torily answer. There were, however, several persons who
were sure they had lost money ; . and Mr. Bumpus
was certain that at the close of one week there was just
three dollars missing. He could not swear to the identity
of the bill which he had lost ; but Willie was often in his
store, and, as ho was known to be light-fingered, it was very
probable that he obtained it from his drawer. But none of
the claimants gained the prize ; for Mr. Gregg thought,
and Mrs. Gregg entirely coincided, that as there were a
number who felt quite certain they had been robbed, he
was not justified in giving the bill to either, but should
keep it himself.
On the day that Willie escaped, and for some days after,
the paupers had a very unpleasant time, and Margaret
Bumford felt the weight of a certain feminine fist, with
which she was not entirely unacquainted ; while Hector
21
242 GLENWOOD.
Stifles performed a " steeple-chase " with the same fair one
for an antagonist who owned the fist ; and this was the way
it was brought about : Mr. Gregg was absent in search of
Willie Cunard, and Mr. Zebulon Bugbee took the occasion
to give Hector certain instructions, which, he supposed, if
carried out, would furnish him food for smiling for some
time. He told him to tell Mrs. Gregg that he didn't be-
lieve that Willie stole the money ; that they ought to be
ashamed of themselves for shutting him into a room, with-
out bed or fire, when he was wet and cold ; that he was
glad that he kicked out the window ; and much more of the
same sort. Knowing tha^Iector stood in great fear of Mrs.
Gregg, he promised hinji'a meat-pie every day for a week,
if he would follow^hJSF^wltructions to the letter.
When Hector j-e^fc&i the alms-house, Mrs. Betsey S
Gregg was stajg^fng^befoii^.the glass in the large kitchen,
combing her lon^hjsrk hait> s As soon as she saw Hector,
she said:
,*'p jr -A..
" Has that'thi^S aud vagrant been heard from yet, Hec-
tor?" v * : ^ ; ~
11 Dunnq,^ ""slud Hector, rolling his eyes at her rathei
strangely, 'av^;.foE. him.
"Why did'n't you ask, you fool? If you knew any-
thing at all, "I would send you ^in search of him : for you
can travel as fast as a horse."
" I 's glad he 's gone, I is."
" You are glad he is gone ? " her snaky black eyes flash-
ing furiously upon him. " What are you glad of that for ? "
" Cos you 'bused him, yer did ; and put him in the water,
and shet him up to freeze, yer did."
"If you wasn't a fool," said she, "I would give you
GLENWOOD. 243
what you deserve ; but some meddler has been filling your
head. But don't use any more of your insulting language
to me, or you '11 wish you had not ! "
" I don't b'lieve that he stole the money ; and I 's glad
that he smashed out the old winder, I is."
This was too much for Mrs. Betsey Gregg, and she caught
hold of a stout beech stick, kept for the benefit of the seven
smaller editions, and aimed a blow at Hector's head, which
he dodged and then ran, and Mrs. Betsey after him. Out
into the back room they went, through the back yard,
round the house, into the front door, up stairs and down,
so swiftly that Mrs. Gregg's hair stuck out behind like a
coat-tail going against a heavy wind. Hector's eyes were
rolling in the greatest frenzy of alarm ; and the long strides
which he took through the rooms, and yards, and up the
stairs and down, were laughable in the extreme. Mrs.
Betsey's voice was raised to the highest pitch, and her tongue
was giving utterance to terrible threats, and various naughty
phrases, which our readers will not care to see. At last,
the young Slashers gathered in such numbers as to block up
the outer doors, and then Hector bolted for the barn, followed
in full chase by his adversary. She now thought she had
him, sure, for the back door of the barn was fastened.
Hector perceived his mistake when he had reached the
middle of the floor, and then, as he had seen the boys do,
he suddenly threw himself upon his hands and knees before
the snake-eyed virago, and she pitched head foremost over
him, bumping her nose upon the floor, so that the claret
flowed very copiously; while Hector as suddenly picked
himself up, and ran for dear life. When some twenty rods
away, finding that Mrs. Betsey did not follow him, he
244 GLENWOOD.
mounted the fence, and, looking back exultingly, clapped
bis hands upon his sides in imitation of a cock, and crowed
most lustily, and then went to report progress to Mr . Zebu-
Ion Bugbee. How the latter individual did smile when
Hector described the ridiculous scene ! He shook himself
and chuckled all over, from the top of his head to the ends
of his great toes ; and when he could not stand any longer,
he lay down and rolled upon the floor. " I shall never
leave off smiling ! " he said. "I'll die if I can ! "
Soon after the melee commenced between Mrs. Gregg and
Hector, the paupers all assembled to witness it, stretching
their mouths with laughter ; and when they saw the result,
Hector on the fence, crowing, and Mrs. Betsey holding on
to her streaming nose, which had so swollen that it resem-
bled that remarkable feature of the seven smaller editions,
they clapped their hands and hurraed at the top of their
voices old men and women, little children and all.
Mrs. Gregg felt rather crest-fallen ; but she went in the
first place to the sink, that she might stop the generous flow
of claret, and wash the undue proportion of red from her
f ice, and prevent the unlucky feature from further enlarg-
ing its dimensions. Her next step was to set the offending
paupers at work ; and she made them march at double quick
time, tipping over very unceremoniously the smaller ones
that came in her way.
When night came, Hector had not sufficient courage to
return to the alms-house, and so he concluded to follow
Willie's example, and run away. Having no particular
place in view, he travelled till morning, without stopping
at all. For a fortnight he roamed about the country, beg-
ging his food, and sleeping in barns. At last, he was arrested
QLENWOOD. 245
as a vagrant; and, as he informed those who took him in cus-
tody that he came from the alms-house in Glenwood, they
sent to the selectmen, and they went after him. Hector was
not sorry to return, for he had had a hard time, often suffer-
ing for food. The selectmen told Mr. Gregg that he must not
be punished, and so he fared better than he expected. But
Mrs. Gregg renumbered the affray, and her bumped nose,
and took frequent occasions to annoy the poor idiot.
When there was no longer hope of finding Willie Cunard,
things settled down again at the alms-house into their usual
routine. Mr. Gregg was again stiff and dignified, and Mrs.
Gregg content with her ordinary scolding, fretting, and fault-
finding.
And was Mr. Gregg happy with such a wife, and a house-
full of noisy children, the reader is disposed to ask.
By no means. There were times when he was very
wretched ; when he longed for his quiet home of old, with
Polly Haggett to consult his wishes in all things, growing
more and more faithful day after day. He was now well
aware that Mrs. Gregg, in spite of his remonstrances, was
evidently becoming less careful of his feelings and comforts.
If the children annoyed him with their incessant turmoil,
she did not seem to care, for she was sure that his nerves
were as strong as hers. Mr. Gregg once said, and he
thought it a great many times, that he lived a widower for
many years, and he wished he had continued to live so to the
end of his life.
There were seasons when he thought of his first wife,
how gentle and submissive she was ; and he wondered if he
made her as happy as he should, if he did not require too
much, if he had not wounded when he should have healed.
21*
246 QLENWOOD.
He thought how careful she was with her speech, in compari-
son to the present Mrs. Gregg. And then he would think
of Delia, the beautiful little child, the handsome young
woman, so much superior to his other children, his hopes
of her, and his bitter disappointment. He was fearful that
he had not done quite right in compelling her to leave his
home, friendless, dependent upon the cold charities of the
world. What could have become of her and her child ? It
was very strange that none of her acquaintance had ever
heard from her. She was dead, perhaps ; the night after
she left home, she might have committed suicide by drown-
ing. So much did this idea haunt him. that he frequently
saw her, in his dreams, lying at the bottom of the lake,
among the roots of the lilies, pale, cold, and dead ; and her
spirit would rise up before him, and point to the lifeless
body, and say, " This is thy work." From such dreams
he would awake with a shudder of horror, and the cold
sweat would stand upon his forehead. These troubles seemed
to grow upon him, and he thought that he would go many
miles if he could see Delia once more alive ; he would even
ask her forgiveness, if he could only drive off these harrow-
ing thoughts, and end his fearful dreams. When his agony
was so great that he moaned in his sleep, Mrs. Gregg would
awake him, and tell him his food must distress him, or he
would not have the nigh'tmai'e so often.
In the management of the poor, Mr. Gregg often queried
whether things were just as they should be ; and after Willie
had gone he began to be troubled about him. Had he been
clothed and fed as is requisite for a human being ? Did he
require the severe treatment he had received ? Was it
judicious or beneficial ? If he should fall into crime, would
OLBNWOOD. 247
not himself and wife be in a measure guilty ? If the paupers
are not justly dealt with, why is it ? Am I not master here ?
Should not woman be subordinate to man ? Certainly, I,
Joseph Gregg, Esq., am master in my own family; and why,
then, are not all things as I choose to have them ? He could
scarcely^ tell ; for, though nearly everything displeased him,
yet they had his sanction ; for Mrs. Gregg worked her card
sg ingeniously, that he finally agreed to all that she pro-
posed, half believing that he originated the plans, when they
were in reality all her own. But when he came to reflect
upon them more seriously, he disliked them very much. It
was useless to remonstrate, however ; for she quietly told him
that he had given them his sanction, and that he could not
deny.
As often as Mrs. Gunimede was out of tea, she sent to
Mr. Bugbee, and he immediately purchased more ; and so
the poor old creature felt quite content. On her dying bed,
she fancied herself in her former happy home, and many
times did she express her thanks that God had given such a
blessing as tea for the aged and weak. The last thing which
she did was to call for a cup of black tea, which she drank
in an ecstasy of delight. Poor old lady ! how grateful she
had been to the unpolished, smiling Bugbee, for the harmless
beverage which was such a solace to her ! Of all the men in
the world he was the best, for she said that he furnished her
the elixir of life when there was none to pity. The real
comfort which she took in drinking her tea was a source of
happiness to him, and he called frequently to see her. He
furnished her a block-tin pot, that she might make tea aa
often as she chose ; and sometimes he took a cup with her.
When she died he was her most sincere mourner.
248 GLENWOOD.
The young men and boys still continued to play off theVi
jokes upon Hector Stifles ; but, as he had not sense enough
to know when he was imposed upon, he enjoyed the sport aa
well as they. Take him all in all, he was a very strange
being, and he seemed to have a stomach as capacious as an
ox. His greatest enjoyment in life was in eating ; and he con-
sumed enormous quantities of food, and drank accordingly.
If I should state the number of quarts of water which ke
frequently drank at a time, to please the boys, and others
who doubted the possibility of the thing, only those who have
witnessed his feats in that line would give me the credit of
telling the simple truth. He had great strength, and Mr.
Bugbee procured his services of the town to turn a wheel
which carried a labor-saving machine. The boys so often
detained him on his way to the shop, that his employer
laughingly told him that he would give him a loaf of baker's
bread every day that he came tp his work at half-past eight
in the forenoon. This made him punctual, and in the even-
ing Hector strode through the village with the loaf of bread
under his arm, now and then dropping into a singing-school,
or other public meeting, on his way home.
His gait was peculiar ; for, although he was short and
thick, his steps were twice as long as men usually take, and
he went with a sort of a swing, seeming to move one half of his
entire body every step he took.
He had a great desire to marry ; was quickly interested in
any woman, old or young, if he was told that she was in love
with him ; and he would hang round the house where she
lived, dog her steps, but always keep at a respectful
distance.
At one time he was made to believe that there was a rich
GLEN WOOD.. 249
young lady in Sklintonbog, by the name of Arden, who was
dying of love for him ; that she saw him frequently while he
was at the poor-house there, and since the first time her eyes
fell upon him she had not known a moment's peace. The
story was told to Hector in a strain so pathetic that he shed
tears that she should have suffered so much for him so
long have felt the pangs of unrequited love ; and he resolved,
as soon as Mr. Bugbee could spare him, to go in search
of the love-stricken maiden, and offer her his hand in mar-
riage. This, he was assured, was a solemn duty, for the
enamored one might die of a broken heart.
The village of Sklintonbog is six miles from Glenwood,
and the authors of the tale were not aware of the fact that
a family lived there by the name of Arden. Hector walked
the whole distance in one hour. The village was quite large,
and, as he was unacquainted with the lady's residence, he
commenced on the outskirts, and inquired at every house he
came to. When he had called at three quarters of all the
dwellings, asking, at each, " Does Misser Arden live here ? "
(for he was informed that she resided with her father, and
that her mother was dead) at length he knocked at the door
of a large, elegant house, the finest establishment in the
village. His summons was answered by one of the domes-
tics. For the first time Hector varied his question a little,
and said,
" Is this Misser Arden's house ? "
"It is," replied the domestic. " Would you like to see
him?"
" Yeth, mum, I would."
" Well, sir, walk in. He is in his study, and I will show
you up."
250 GLENWOOD.
Hector followed his conductor up a flight of stairs covered
with splendid tapestry, and was ushered into an elegant study,
where sat a fine-looking, middle-aged gentleman, writing.
"Be seated, if you please," said Mr. Arden.
"Yeth, sir, I will;" and he awkwardly dropped into an
elegant damask-bottomed chair, which was so elastic that
he imagined he was going to the floor, and he sprang up
about two feet, looking very much frightened, rolling his
eyes in the most strange and comical manner. Having
examineM the chair with his hands, until he was satisfied that
it was sufficient to hold him, he sat down.
Mr. Arden was greatly amused ; and. as Hector did
nothing but stare at him, he asked him the nature of his
business.
" Is your name Misser Arden?" inquired Hector.
"My name is Arden," he replied.
" Is you got a darter ? "
-"I have ; and what of her?"
" They telled me ye had ; are she married ? "
" She is not married ; anything more ? "
" Wai, the fellers over in Glen wood said I could come
in here, that she was e'enamost dyin' for me,- -an' so I
come over to marry her."
Mr. Arden arose from his seat, very much excited, for he
was naturally passionate.
" Do you see the door, sir ? " he said. " Leave this house
quickly, too and don't you ever come within gun-shot
of it again. If you do, I will give you a flogging you will
never forget! "
Hector fled as though frightened out of what sense he
had, and he ran more than half of the way home. You
GLENWOOD. 251
should have seen Mr. Bugbee smile when told of the result
of Hector's visit !
"And so the old fellow was mad, was he?" said Mr.
Bugbee. " Too bad decidedly too bad ! " and he chuckled
and shook himself, as was his usual custom.
Those who sent Hector in search of his lady-love consoled
him for his disappointment by assuring him that it was all
the fault of her father ; that such things were not uncom-
mon; that cruel parents were continually breaking their
daughters' hearts, and they doubted not Miss Arden would
die for him.
In a few days after, they pretended to have heard from
her, and she was sinking fast ; by and by they informed him
that she was dead, and they put a weed upon his hat, which
he wore for a number of weeks. When his mourning days
were ended, and they did not last as long as he wore the
weed, which is not unfrequently the case with wiser persons
than Hector, there was another selected, and for whom,
he said, his love was stronger than it had ever been before ;
but his experiments in the matrimonial line were as fruitless
as those of very many other people, who seem to be seeking
a helpmate all their days ; but, alas! they never find.
CHAPTER XXI.
ILL-FORTUNE OF THE PEJfDWICKS AND BUMFORDS. A FARCE, IN WHICH
A DEACON PLAYS THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTER.
SOON after the death of Johnny Pendwick, his brother
began to be very unfortunate. His cattle died, and his
children, one after another, were laid in the grave. The love
of money influenced him more than anything else to take
such a heartless course in relation to Johnny; yet he lived
to see his wife and all his children dead ; and then, old and
hopeless, he felt that he had nothing to live for. But he
lingered on for many years ; and when he died his property
was inherited by his grandchildren.
The fate of the Bumford family was equally calamitous.
The parents died in the prime of life, and the children spent
the property.
I am not so superstitious as to believe that these misfor-
tunes were judgments sent upon the Pendwicks and Bum-
fords because of their sins and selfishness, because they
refused to support their poor relatives ; but I have mentioned
them for the purpose of showing how culpable and foolish
they were, when they had an abundance of worldly goods,
and could have saved them the mortification of being main-
tained by the town. And, as is always the case, the Con-
sciousness of having performed their duty would have
GLENWOOD. 253
brought them peace, while the terrible neglect of it caused
them, and justly too, much unhappiness. Mr. Bumford in
his last moments felt the pangs of remorse, but too late to
accomplish any good ; and Margaret remained a pauper,
and will to her dying day.
There was an understanding between Mr. Pendwick and
his parents, when the homestead was made over to him, that
Johnny was to be respectably maintained as long as he
lived, unless he chose to seek a home elsewhere. Mr. Pend-
wick could not keep this out of his mind in his last sorrow-
ful, lonely years ; and, unbeliever as he was, he sometimes
fancied that his great misfortunes had been sent upon him
for the fearful wrong he committed when he forced his
brother from his rightful home.
There were not many happier families than those of Dea-
con Glubbings and Mr. Goose. They were farmers, and
lived a mile from the village, their houses but a few rods
apart. Deacon Glubbings and wife were now some more
than fifty years old ; and Mr. Goose a few years younger,
while his good-hearted, fun-loving helpmeet was five years
younger than he. Deacon Glubbings' hair had been white
ever since he was a young man of twenty ; and, as his wife
was a little vain, to please her he wore a wig, which fact
Mr. Goose and wife were unaware of, as they had formerly
lived. in a different neighborhood.
One very warm evening in June, just as the sun was
setting, the deacon was reclining in his large arm-chair,
holding his wig in his hand, when Mrs. Goose came in un-
expectedly, for it was so warm the doors were open. Sarah
Glubbings. the deacon's eldest daughter, immediately intro-
duced her father by the name of Thompson. He arose, and.
22
254 GLENWOOD.
dropping his wig behind his chair, inquired for her health,
shook her by the hand, and then resumed his former position,
querying in his mind whether Mrs. Goose knew him. She
appeared as though in the presence of a stranger. For the
purpose of bringing her to a test, after they had conversed
a while, he took a seat by her side, remarking that he be-
lieved they were formerly acquainted. She answered that it
must have been a long time ago.
" Not very long," said he.
" Well, I declare ! " she returned; "I can't recall your
looks nor your name. I think you must be mistaken."
" No, I am not mistaken ; I am very sure of that."
" Then you must have changed very much ! "
" I doubt not that I have changed some, but not much;
and you have changed very little."
" It is strange, very strange ! "
"Mrs. Goose, don't you know Brother Glubbings?"
" I declare ! if it isn't you, deacon ! What in the world
makes you look so different ? ! I know now ; you have n't
got your spectacles on."
" Was you not aware that I wore a wig ? "
"Why, no, deacon ! What a white head! How queer
you do look ! Who would have thought it ? You bear
but little resemblance to Deacon Glubbings, but you look
just like Doctor Frances, who went to Illinois about ten
years since ; and he said he should return in ten or twelve
years, and he would be sure to come and make us a visit.
Now, you shall go over and be introduced to Mr. Goose as
the doctor ; for he won't know the counterfeit from the genu-
ine, and we'll have some fun at husband's expense."
They sat and chatted until it was quite dark, when the
GLENWOOD. 255
deacon walked home with Mrs. Goose, and she informed
him how the doctor usually appeared, and imitated, as
nearly as she could, the sound of his voice.
"We hadn't any children, then," she said; "and the
doctor remarked that he had no doubt he should find
some little goslings running about by the time he should
return ; and now, you know, we have four."
"I don't think it best to go in to-night," said the dea-
con; "but I will come over to-morrow night."
"Very well," said Mrs. Goose; "I will be ready for
you."
The deacon had worn for his Sunday castor one of the
old-fashioned bell- tops ; but he had just purchased a hat of
the more modern style. And he had also replenished his
wardrobe by a new suit, which Mr. Goose was not aware of.
The next evening, having donned his new garments, that
he might look as well as a doctor need to, he proceeded to
make the promised call. Crossing the fields, he continued
on some distance beyond the house, and then took the road
and came back, and went into the front yard (which people
seldom did, unless they were strangers), and rapped at the
door.
Mrs. Goose was waiting for him, and answered the sum-
mons.
" Why, Doctor Frances ! " she exclaimed, " how do you
do ? " shaking his hand with great vehemence.
As soon as Mr. Goose heard the name Dr. Frances, he
came, in great haste, and caught the deacon by the hand,
and said :
" Doctor Frances ! can it be possible that this is you?
Well, what a stranger you are ! and how glad I am to see
you ! "
GLEN WO OD.
" And I am equally happy to see you both, after being
absent so long," said the deacon.
" Walk in, doctor; walk in," said Mr. Goose. "I will
take your hat, if you please. Sit in the rocking-chair,
doctor. You are the greatest stranger I have seen this
many a day. How is your health, now? "
"Very good, I thank you; how is yours?" said the
deacon.
"Pretty much after the old sort," said Mr. Goose.
" There is no business so healthy as farming, I think. I
work hard, rather too hard for comfort; but I scarcely know
by experience what sickness is."
"Farming is healthy work," said the deacon; "and,
though a man don't get rich fast, he obtains a good living,
and he is as independent as a king. Is your health good,
Mrs. Goose?"
" Y-e-s," she said, restraining herself from laughing with
much difficulty.
" When did you leave Illinois ? " inquired Mr. Goose.
" Well, really, I cannot tell," said the deacon; "but I
have not been there of late."
" You have been roaming all over the country, I don't
doubt; it is just like you," said Mr. Goose.
" I was always fond of travelling, as you are aware,"
replied the deacon.
"Yes, yes !" returned Mr. Goose; "never satisfied to
remain in one place long at a time, since I have known you.
How was you pleased with Illinois?"
With what I saw of it, I was well pleased. It is a very
fine country."
" I have always thought so ; and I have told Mrs. Goose,
QLBNWOOD. 257
time and again, that, if ever we go West, Illinois is the
place, right on the prairie, haven't I, Hannah? "
" Y-e-s," she replied.
"People who settle there from New England," said the
deacon, " will have to do without many of the conveniences
and luxuries which they have been accustomed to, at least
for a time ; but, by prudence and industry, all the obstacles
are soon overcome, and wealth flows in as rapidly as one
could wish."
" What is your opinion of the quality of the soil? Will
it produce large crops with little labor?"
" The soil is excellent, especially that of the rolling
prairie. No dressing is required, and but little labor, com-
paratively speaking. The crops that are obtained are actu-
ally astonishing."
"Is it a healthy country? "
" As much so as New England, after they become accli-
mated. When people first settle there, they are pretty sure
to have the fever and ague, and then they shake a great deal
more than they care about; but, by pursuing the right course,
they soon get well."
"I presume they are tuking up the land quite fast?"
" Yes, they are flocking in from all parts of the country ;
from the south, New England, and the Middle States."
" Grain grows much more rank there, I suppose, than
here? "
' ' Bless you, yes. The corn would astonish you. . And
such immense fields of it ! Ten or fifteen acres in one lot
are not uncommon. When you pass through them, flocks
of large birds fly up, darkening the heavens like a cloud."
"You surprise me doctor. I wish I could visit Illinois
22*
258 GLENWOOD.
such fields of corn must be worth seeing, and such immense
flocks of birds. Are those birds good for food ? "
'.' Some of them are excellent."
"Just the place for rare sport in the way of shooting
I should like that. Have any foreigners settled in Illi-
nois?"
"Yes, quite a number."
" Some Irishmen, I presume."
" A small proportion of the inhabitants is Irish."
"I don't like the Irish at all. I believe the Catholics
mean to flock over here, from Ireland and other countries,
and destroy our religion, and undermine our liberties."
" That may be the intention of some, but not of them all,
by any means."
" I wish they would stay in their own country."
" We must not be too selfish. The Irish are so oppressed,
in their own well-loved land, that their only hope is emigra-
tion ; and it seems to me inhuman and unchristian, when we
have so much land lying waste, that we should be unwilling
for them to occupy it."
" That 's my opinion, doctor," said Mrs. Goose.
"But they are so filthy," said Mr. Goose, "that one
cannot bear to have them round."
"Their habits are very uncleanly, no doubt," said the
deacon; "but they improve them very much after they
come to this country. The fact is, Mr. Goose, they are
here, and there is no getting rid of them ; and the better we
treat them, the better citizens will they become."
"I presume you are correct, doctor, for you have seen
more of them than I have. How are the morals of the
people in Illinois ? "
GLENWOOD. 259
" About the same as they are here ; not quite so good,
perhaps ; they seldom are in a new country."
At this juncture Mrs. Glubbings and Sarah came in, for
they wished to see the sport.
Mr. Goose arose and said, "Mrs. Glubbings, this is Dr.
Frances; Dr. Frances, Mrs. Glubbings, Sarah Glubbings."
The deacon, Mrs. Glubbings, and Sarab, shook hands, and
inquired for each other's health. When they were seated,
Mr. Goose said :
' ' Dr. Frances is an old friend of ours ; and we have not
seen him before for some ten years. He has been off to Illi-
nois, and all over the country, the Lord knows where. He
has a genius for roaming. Where is your husband this
evening? Mrs. Glubbings, doctor, is the wife of a near
neighbor of ours, Deacon Glubbings ; and Sarah is the
eldest daughter. I should like to introduce you to him, for
he is, begging your pardon, Mrs. Glubbings, very intel-
ligent and interesting, and as good a neighbor as ever a
man need have."
" I doubt not that I should be pleased with him," said the
deacon.
"I think you would," said Mrs. Goose, in a half-
smothered voice, for she had her handkerchief crammed into
her mouth, to keep her from breaking out into a laugh.
Mrs. Glubbings and Sarah were as well pleased, but they
had a better command over their risible faculties.
"He may drop in before nine o'clock, as Mrs. Glubbings
and Sarah are here. We are such good friends that we go
back and forwards, just as it happens," said Mr. Goose.
"That makes it very pleasant," said the deacon. "I
like to live in that way very much. But, Mr. Goose," and
260 GLENWOOD.
the deacon looked around the room, with a half-comical ex-
pression, " where are those little goslings ? "
" 0, doctor ! " said- Mr. Goose, slapping him on the
knee, and laughing heartily, f: you have n't forgot the gos-
lings, have you ? Well, me and my old Goose, there, have
got quite a brood ; but you can't see them to-night very
well, for they are all in their nest asleep."
" How many have you? " inquired the deacon.
" Four ; and they are as pretty, little, green fellows as you
ever saw, doctor," said Mr. Goose.
" I don't doubt it, and I am happy to learn that you are
so fortunate," said the deacon.
The conversation now took a more general character,
which all united in, though it was exceedingly difficult for
Mrs. Goose to keep from laughing ; she sat all the time with
her handkerchief to her mouth.
When the clock struck nine, the deacon arose, and said
that he must be going.
"Going!" said Mr. Goose; "I guess you will go to-
night ! "
"It is very essential that I should," said the deacon.
"Come, come, now, sit down, and don't say another
word about it ! Only think, we have not seen each other for
ten years, and now you can't stop over night ! "
' ' I can remain some other time, but I cannot to-night,
possibly."
"I am very sorry; but, if you must go, why, then, we
must submit to it. You will come again to-morrow? "
" 0, certainly. I intend to have my visit out, I assure
you."
GLENWOOD. 261
" That 's right. Well, come to-morrow and take dinner,
doctor."
" I shall be very happy to. But don't make yourselves
any extra trouble on my account."
He then bade them all good-evening, an/1 went out the
way he came in. As soon as the door was shut, he ran
home as fast as he could, and put on his wig, exchanged his
3oat and hat, and in five minutes was back at Mr. Goose's
house, rapping at the other door. Mr. Goose opened it, and
eaid :
" Good-evening, Deacon Glubbings; what did you stop to
knock for ? I never do when I come to your house. Walk
in, deacon ; your wife and daughter are here, and have been
for some -time. I wish you had come before, for Doctor
Frances, an old friend of ours, whom we have not seen for
ten years, has just left. He is a very interesting man, and
you would be delighted with him ; he has been living in
Illinois, and told us all about that country and the people.
He says the land is excellent ; the people moral ; that it is
healthy after you get acclimated ; and a man who is willing
to work can become rich in a few years. I have a great
mind to sell my farm, and pack up my duds and start."
"That would be bad policy," said the deacon. "You
have a good farm, and money at interest; and, besides, you
are getting along in years. u
"I know it, but I have to work too hard. The doctor
is coming again to-morrow, and I '11 take him over and
introduce him ; I know you will be pleased with him. By
the way, you remind me of him, though I never thought of
it before. Did it ever strike you, Mrs. Gooae, that the
doctor and the deacon were something alike?"
262 GLENWOOD.
"Y-e-s," said Mrs. Goose, crowding more of the hand-
kerchief into her mouth.
' ' I should say that the resemblance was remarkably strik-
ing," observed Sarah Glubbings.
" They look enough alike to be twins," said Mrs.
Glubbings.
" Not so close a resemblance as that," Mr. Goose said.
" Well, wife, what made you so much disposed to laugh, this
evening."
" You know that I was glad to see him."
" Yes, but I would n't act like a fool."
At this they all laughed heartily, which was a great relief
to Mrs. Goose. After a few minutes spent in general con-
versation, Deacon Glubbings, wife, and daughter, went home.
Early in the forenoon, the deacon was ready to visit Mr.
Goose again, in the character of Doctor Frances. He thought
he would call before nine o'clock, or Mr. Goose would be off
to the village in search of something for dinner. He took a
more circuitous route than the night before, and when he
reached the road, he walked leisurely back, gazing around
upon the fields and woods, as though he was an admirer of
the beautiful, or was interested in the nature of the soil and
the manner of its cultivation. When he arrived at the
house, he rapped again at the front door. Mr. Goose obeyed
the summons.
" Good-morning, doctor." he said ; " I -am glad you have
come. I did not expect you quite so early, however, and I
have not taken off my beard or changed my clothes yet ; but
no matter for that, so walk in and make yourself com-
fortable."
' No necessity for any apologies at all ; old friends must
GLENWOOD. * 263
|
not be too ceremonious," said the deacon. " The early part
of the day is the best time for a ramble, I think. That you
did not expect me before nine o'clock, is by no means sur-
prising."
" There is the last paper, doctor ; I suppose you will ex-
cuse me for a few moments? "
" 0, certainly. You must by no means neglect your busi-
ness on my account."
Mr. Goose was absent from the room about twenty minutes,
and then he came back with his four children, three girls
and a boy, the latter rigged up with his Sunday clothes, and
the girls all dressed in white.
"Here are the goslings, doctor, and I am not one bit
ashamed of them."
"There is no reason why you should be;" and the deacon
took them up, one after the other, and kissed them ; said they
were the whitest, prettiest, sweetest goslings he had ever
seen.
" Now, doctor," said Mr. Goose. " I want you to entertain
yourself until I shave and change my clothes, promising,
however, to be very expeditious."
"0, certainly," said the deacon, "and don't hurry too
much, for there is plenty of time."'
After he had left the room, the deacon put on his wig,
and carefully opened the front door, went round to the other,
and rapped. (It was customary, when either family went
or sent to the village, to let the other know, so that errands
might be done for both at the same time.)
Mr. Goose opened the door, and said, "Good-morning,
Deacon Glubbings."
" Good-morning, Mr. Goose," said the deacon. "I think
264 GLENWOOD.
of going to the village this forenoon, and I thought you
might like to send."
" Very glad you called, for I should like to have you do
an errand for us very much. By the way, Doctor Frances
is in the front room ; and, if it is not too much trouble for
you, I should like to send and get something for dinner. I was
not expecting him quite so early, and so lie found me unshaved
and in my every-day clothes. But here I am keeping you
at the door ; walk in and take a seat ; as soon as I can shave
and fix up a little, I will introduce you to the doctor."
When Mr. Goose was ready, he said,
" Come, deacon, I will now make you acquainted with my
old friend."
As he pushed open the door, he remarked, supposing the
doctor was sitting just back of it,
" Doctor Frances, shall I have the pleasure of "
Here he stopped short, for he saw that there was no doc-
tor in the room. He seemed a little puzzled, but remarked,
" The doctor has stepped out a minute; we will wait until
he comes in."
Mrs. Goose now joined her husband and the deacon.
"Have you seen the doctor anywhere about the prem-
ises?" inquired Mr. Goose.
" N-o," she replied.
" I left him here, a few minutes since ; but I presume he
thought that, as I was busy, he would step out and take a
glance at the farm. He is one of the queerest geniuses you
ever saw ; nothing escapes his notice, and he seems to take
great delight in rambling all about the country, examining
the different soils, making geological collections, and bring-
ing together various important facts. I should n't wonder
GLENWOOD. 265
if he was preparing a work for the press, which will be of
immense value."
" I hope he will publish it, then," said the deacon, " for,
if what you say is true, it must be a work of merit ; and
the more good books there are the better, for they do good
of themselves, and counteract the bad ones."
" If the doctor publishes a book, it will be worth having;
don't you think so, Hannah ? "
" Y-e-s," she replied.
"I will go out, deacon, and see if I can find him; for
it is not likely that he has gone far."
In a few minutes he returned and asked if they had not
seen him, and expressed great surprise that he should absent
himself so long. At length he began to grow impatient, and
went first to one window and then to another, his tongue,
all the while, running very fast; for, as the reader has learned,
Mr. Goose was a great talker, never at a loss for words ; but,
as is the case with all of his class, his sayings branched off
in so many directions, that it was necessary to lop off som,
or there was danger of your believing more than the truth.
" I don't see where the doctor can have gone," he con-
tinued. " It is strange ! very strange ! Certainly he will
not stay away much longer. I should n't be surprised if he
had gone into the woods in search of plants ; he is a botanist,
as well as geologist. It would be just like him if he came
liack with his hands full of plants."
He now went to the front door, and then to the back door,
scanning the country in every direction.
" Well, this beats me ! " he said. " I should think the
doctor was out of his senses, to take himself off in this way.
I will walk towards the woods, and see if I can find him."
23
266 GLENWOOD.
As soon as he was out of sight, the deacon removed his
wig ; and, though taking a circuitous route, he ran so fast
that he reached the woods before him. He had barely time
to sit down and rest a minute, when he was found by Mi-
Goose.
"Why, doctor," said the latter, " where in the world
have you been ? I am thankful that I have found you, at
last. Deacon Glubbings is at the house, and he has been
waiting half an hour or more to be introduced to you."
" Sorry you detained him on my account. I have been
taking a survey of the land. You know I told you not to
hurry ; and, not finding anything very interesting in the
paper, I thought I would look about the farm a little."
" Well, well, no matter ; but let us go back immediately,
for I fear the deacon will become impatient, if we keep him
waiting much longer."
They returned to the house, and entered the front room ;
but, finding no one there, Mr. Goose called to his wife to
know where the deacon was.
<c He went out after you," she said.
" Provoking, I declare ! " said Mr. Goose. <( I presume
that he has gone home, and I must after him ; though, to tell
the truth, without any circumlocution, I don't much fancy
these wild-goose chases."
" What was your idea? " said the deacon; " that a tame
goose was chasing after a wild one ? "
" Ah ! doctor, I see that you remember how to joke as
well as ever," laughing heartily at the clever hit. " Well,"
he continued, " I am bound to have the deacon here, any
how ; and I shall not keep you waiting long, either."
Mrs. Glubbings informed him that the last she saw of the
GLENWOOD. 267
deacon, he wa? going towards his house. Could he have
heard the hearty laugh which followed his retreating steps,
he might have become suspicious that a curious game was
being played at his expense ; but he did n r t hear it.
The false doctor watched Mr. Goose until he saw him enter
his dwelling, when he took the road, and walked very fast in
the direction of the village. Having gone as far as he thought
best, he put on his wig, and slowly retraced his steps. By
this time Mr. Goose was on his way home, and, espying the
deacon, went to meet him on the way.
" Why in the world did n't you stay where I left you,
deacon 1 I do believe that the doctor and you are deter-
mined to keep me on the chase ! "
" You were absent so long, in search of the doctor, that
you might have known that I should have come after you !
Have you found him? "
" I am happy to say that I have ; but we must not tarry
long, or, just as like as not, he will be off again. He never
did like to remain in one spot long enough to take breath.
I ; 11 warrant you he has pretty thoroughly examined my farm,
and made up his mind all about it ; the kind of produce it is
best adapted to ; and ready to tell me how I can raise the
best crops with the least amount of labor. A queer genius
as you ever saw ! "
Again in the room where Mr. Goose supposed he had left
Doctor Frances, they found it empty. Mr. Goose seemed
very much surprised.
"Your doctor," said the deacon, "is a queer genius,
certainly ; for he has the power of making himself invisible
it pleasure, and when you were enumerating his various
268 ULENWOOD.
clever faculties, I presume you forgot to mention the most
wonderful among them all."
" You talk as though I had been imposing upon you,
deacon, but you are mistaken. The doctor will be in soon,
I know ; for I told him that I was going after you, and would
soon return. I am surprised that he should have left the
room until we came back. But perhaps Hannah can tell
where he is."
The latter was now up stairs, pretending to be very busy j
but, when Mr. Goose called her, she came down.
"Where in the world," he said, somewhat impatiently,
" is Doctor Frances ? "
" I am sure that I don't know," she replied ; " was he not
here when you came in? "
" No, he was not. I left him with you, and I think you
ought to know where he is. I should have thought you
would have staid here and entertained him, instead of going
up stairs," he said, looking at his wife suspiciously, for the
first time in his life.
" I am sorry if I have done wrong," she replied.
" Well," he said, not knowing what to think, " I will go
out once more, and see if I can find him." When he re-
turned, he seemed more puzzled than ever.
" I told you that the doctor had the rare faculty of render-
ing himself invisible," said the deacon; " and I am afraid
that we shall have to wait a long time before he will mani-
fest himself again."
" I am not particular whether he does or not," said Mr.
Goose; " for I don't think he has done right. If he means
it for a joke, I think he is carrying it altogether too far."
OLENW001>.
" So I should think," said Mrs. Goose, who now began
to fear the consequences if the joke was continued longer.
"I don't believe there has been any Doctor Frances here,"
said the deacon.
" Why, Deacon Glubbings ! Do you suppose that I
would impose upon you in this way ? Mrs. Glubbings saw
him last night, and Hannah has seen him in this room two
or three different times to-day," said Mr. Goose.
The deacon now arose, and, taking off his wig, said,
"Shall I introduce you to Doctor Frances ! "
At this, Mr. Goose became very pale, and he asked,
" What does this mean ? "
"Didn't you know that I wore a wig?" inquired the
deacon.
" Then Doctor Frances has not been here at all ! I knew
nothing about your wig, I am sure ! And you were in the
plot, Hannah?"
" Yes, Nehemiah ; but we only wanted to have a little
fun with you." '
" I am astonished at you both ! A deacon and my own
wife playing off such an imposition, and carrying it so far ! "
"Now, don't be angry, husband, for we did not mean
any harm."
"I shall be very sorry," said the deacon, " if I have
offended you, very. We designed it merely as an innocent
joke, and it may be, as you say, that we have gone too far
with it."
" I should call it a practical joke in all its phases ; but I
shan't be so foolish as to be angry about it. I must say
that I was decidedly verdant, or you played your parts
admirably. I think you would both do well on the Btage,
23*
270 GLEN WOOD.
and you had better apply for an engagement the next
theatrical season, and this will do for the opening comedy."
"It's your turn now," said the deacon, " and we must
submit with a good grace to all you say. I don't blame
you for being somewhat vexed ; but, as you are willing to
overlook this little piece of fun, which may seem rather un-
dignified for a deacon, no harm will come of it."
"I think a deacon should have some sport as well as
other people ; and so should clergymen. In this affair, I
have been the victim ; but the thing was so capitally done,
I have not one word to say. And, as to being angry for a
joke, it would be most unwise ; for I presume that I should
readily have joined in with your wife to play off one upon
you. Some people are always willing to give a joke, but
never willing to take one. I don't like such folks. You
said that you intended to go to the village this forenoon,
and, as a deacon Avould not tell a falsehood, of course you
will go ; and I want you to get me the best roasting-piece
of beef you can find in the market, and you*and Mrs. Glub-
bings shall take dinner with us. While you are about it,
you may as well get me half a dozen pounds of box-raisins.
for wife knows how to make a capital plum-pudding. I ex-
pected to have had the real Doctor Frances to dine with me ;
but, as I cannot have him, I am determined to have the
counterfeit."
The deacon procured the beef and raisins, and he and
Mrs. Glubbings, with their children, spent the remainder of
the day at Mr. Goose's ; and when they separated at night
the parties were as good friends as ever.
CHAPTEK XXII
HAPPIER DAYS FOR WILLIE. A NEW SORROW. RETURN OF MR. YOLENa
THE DESIRED INFORMATION OBTAINED.
MR. and Mrs. Wyman were anxious to do as well by
Willie as by an own child. They realized that he had no
father or mother to care for him ; no brother to encourage, or
sister's love to cheer and bless. They were aware that his
experience at the poor-house was ill calculated to give him
confidence in his fellow-beings or in himself; and that the
insults and the wrongs which had been heaped upon him by
those who ought to have been in better business would have
a lasting influence for evil, unless they were counteracted by
love and kindness. With an earnest desire to do right, there
was no difficulty; and Willie soon learned to confide in these
kind friends, and to love them as though they were his own
parents.
For a time he was very distrustful of himself, but, as he
was taught self-respect by precept and example, his distrust
soon wore away, and all things began to assume a new aspect.
Frank, Jeannie, and Arthur, made him a companion and
equal, and others followed their example. He was no longer
an object for ridicule, but a being to be loved and respected.
The world had seemed dark to him, but now light and beau-
tiful ; there was a new glory in the sun, a clearer loveliness
272 GLENWOOD.
in the stars, a softer beauty in the bending sky, a more
wondrous majesty in the dusky clouds. The earth was
clothed in a fresher green ; the flowers were decked in more
brilliant hues; while the birds warbled songs of sweeter
melody, and all nature seemed to have been brought into
more perfect harmony. And so the chains Avhich had bound
him so fast, galling his very soul, were broken one by one,
until his spirit was free, free as the lark that sings in mid-
heaven, free as the wind that bloweth where it listeth,
free as the young soul can be when it trusts in God and
loves its fellow-souls.
Willie was not slow in perceiving that the Wymans were
anxious to do all in their power to make him a good and
happy boy ; and he was equally anxious to serve them faith-
fully, and conduct himself so well as never to cause them
one moment's unhappiness. or one regret because they had
so kindly interested themselves in his welfare. He labored
diligently and cheerfully, and Mr. Wyman was always
willing to give him ample time for amusement and re-
creation.
Willie's happiest moments were spent in the company of
Jeannie. In the evening, when other boys chose to assemble
for play, he preferred to remain in the house, dividing his
time between the study of his book and the bright eyes of
his teacher. The former was pleasant enough; but the
latter
The first of May, Jeannie went to a neighboring town to
teach, the term lasting four months ; and now Willie was
less studious, for the evenings were short, the weather warm,
and the days very long. When night came, he was ao weary
that he cared not for books, though I should scarcely dare
GLEN WOOD. 273
say that he would not, if his well-loved instructor had been
present.
Jeannie had partly agreed to teach the school in Glen-
wood the coming winter which she had taught the winter
previous ; but her mother's health was so delicate that she
wrote to Deacon Glubbings that home duties would oblige
her to give up the idea of teaching for the present. Mrs.
Wynian had seemed much better in the summer, and her
family fondly hoped that when autumn came she would be
quite well. Her cough, which had troubled her at intervals
for two years, seemed to have left her entirely. But, as
soon as the cold winds of October began to blow, her cough
commenced again, more distressing than ever, so that by
the time winter set in all her friends were greatly alarmed ;
but her mind was still peaceful and serene. True she was
fearful that consumption was eating away her life, but she
felt willing to die if her time had come. God was good,
he was her Father, and she would put her trust in him.
Very dearly she loved all the members of her family, and
when she thought of leaving them the pearly tears would
trickle down her pale cheeks. To be unreconciled would
be wrong, and avail nothing ; therefore she would patiently
submit to the will of Heaven.
Mrs. Wyman gradually failed during the winter; and
there was so much anxiety on her account, that the inmates
of the cottage were less joyous than they would otherwise
have been. But it was a beautiful home still, and they all
flattered themselves that when the cold winter had gone, and
the spring should come with its warm south winds, its
showers, birds, and blossoms, the distressing cough would
leave her, and she would be as well as the summer before.
274 GLEN WOOD.
Very faithful were they to the invalid, but none more so
than Willie. Mrs. Wyman, he felt, had been to him all
that a mother could be, caring for him in health, and watch-
ing over him in sickness. He could not have her die, she
was too good, too beautiful, and too much needed at her
home, and by the world, the suffering world, to be cut
down in the prime of life. Many hours did he sit by her
side, anticipating her every wish, and with his looks arid
words of gratitude seek to make her happy. When she
had a very distressing coughing spell, he would go to his
room, kneel down by his bed, bury his face in his hands,
and weep, and pour out his soul in prayer that she
might not die. Jeannie knew well how Willie suffered in
anticipation of the dread event; and she tried to comfort
him with the hope that her dear mother would yet regain
her health. But, while she thus encouraged others, her own
heart was nearly hopeless.
The words of Jeannie had a more soothing effect upon
Willie than those of any one else ; for she had been the first
to befriend him. Through her he had gained all.
But there was one thing that troubled him now. In the
autumn, after Jeannie came home, having finished the term
for which she was engaged, the teacher whom she visited at
the close of her school in Glenwood came to visit her, in
company with an older brother.
Emma Lund was a pretty, interesting girl, of Jeannie's
age, and her brother, Waldo, was four years her senior.
The latter was a tall, handsome young man, well educated,
and more than ordinarily intelligent. Jeannie had previously
met him at his home, and they were mutually pleased, and
there was evidently a growing attachment between them
QLENWOOD. 275
During this visit he was very attentive, and, previous to his
leaving, a friendly correspondence was agreed upon. Willie
was pained to see them so much together to witness the
pleasure with which Jeannie received his undisguised prefer-
ence and ardent devotion. And then he would think of his
poverty, that he had been a poor-house boy, that he
was wholly dependent upon Jeannie's father, that she was
three yeai*s older than he. that it was preposterous for him
to think of gaining her love. The more he thought, the
more wretched he became, and the more foolish did it seem
that Jeannie Wyman, such a dear, beautiful girl, worthy of
the best man in the world, should ever think of him as a
husband. He wondered not that she was pleased with Mr.
Lund. He was older than she, fine looking, with quite
wealthy and honorable friends. He felt sure that he would
win her heart, and leave him wretched. The letters that
came every few weeks served to keep the wound open, and
caused poor Willie foolish Willie, if. you choose many
sad hours. Jeannie saw that he was not so happy as he was
during the first months of his home with them, and she in-
genuously sought to learn the cause ; but Willie kept it close
in his heart. It might have been better for him had he told
her all; but he could not do that no, he would rather suffer
more intensely still than she should know it.
One evening, Willie being absent at the time, Mr. Wy-
man remarked to his wife that he had heard some news, that
day, in which he thought she would be interested.
" What is it ? " she inquired.
" Mr. Volens is in town."
"Mr. Volens? I am very glad to hear it! Have you
seen him? "
276 GLENWOOD.
"No; but I have seen some one who has."
"When did he arrive?"
"Last night."
" Now we shall learn about Delia's child."
"And then," said Mrs. Motley, "I doubt not you will
be satisfied that Willie Cunard is not the one."
" And I may be satisfied that he is the one," replied Mrs.
Wyman. ' ' He reminds me more and more of Delia, every
day. His expression is like hers, and he has just such
dimples ; and he manifests equal attachment and gratitude.
Of late he seems to have his moments of sadness, which
remind me of her bitter sorrows."
" You feel very certain about it, Carra," said Mr. Wy-
man, " and I have a presentiment that you are right."
" Do you know how long he remains in town ? " inquired
Mrs. Wyman.
" No," he replied ; " but probably a number of weeks."
' ' I am very anxious about this matter, John ; and, as Mr.
Volens may leave soon, I want you to go and see him early
to-morrow."
" Yes, dear, I will. I should have gone in search of him
to-night; but it was too late when I heard of it."
At this juncture, there was a rap at the door ; and when
Mr. Wyman opened it, the one who knocked said,
"Good-evening, Mr. Wyman."
"Why, good-evening, Mr. Volens!" said Mr. Wyman.
"I am very glad you have come ! We were just talking
about you. Walk in."
"Will you have your horse put up? " asked Mr. Wyman,
after there had been a shaking of hands all round and the
usual inquiries about each other's health.
GLENWOOD. 277
"I guess not," he replied. " I had made up my mind
to stop at the village to-night."
" If you will tarry with us, you shall be very welcome,"
said Mr. Wyman.
"I don't doubt that, at all," said Mr. Volens ; "but it
would interfere with arrangements previously made."
" Positive arrangements ? " inquired Mrs. Wyman.
" Why, no," he replied, " not exactly that ; for I did not
promise for a certainty."
" Then you shall stop where you are," said Mr. Wyman ;
" for it is so late they will not expect you now; and we
want to have a long conversation with you. So I will
put your horse in the stable, and you just make yourself
contented."
While Mr. Wyman was taking care of the horse, Mrs.
Motley, who was very thoughtful about such things, in-
quired of Mr. Volens if he had taken tea. He said that he
had not, but he disliked to trouble them.
" It will be but very little trouble," said Jeannie ; and by
the time her father came in the supper was on the table.
When Mr. Volens had done eating, Mr. Wyman said :
" I told you that we wanted to have a long conversation
with you ; and I presume that you thought we wished to ask
about your travels during your absence, and how you have
enjoyed yourself, and what success you have met with.
Now, all those things would be interesting, unless you have
already answered such or similar questions until you are
tired of them, for that is usually the way with travellers.
There is another subject, which interests us more than those
I have enumerated ; and, after we have settled that, we shall
be happy to learn of your travels the haps and mishaps,
24
278 GLENWOOD.
and everything of interest which you may care to commu-
nicate for our especial benefit."
" Possibly I may surmise the nature of the subject which
interests you so much," said Mr. Volens. " However, I will
not anticipate, but allow you to introduce it."
They now inquired the name of the people who adopted
Delia's child, where they lived, &c. &c.
His answers to these questions contained the information
which the reader has already received, except that Mr.
Volens visited the town in Illinois where Mr.. Cunard had
lived, and learned that he had returned to New England.
Mr. Wyman now remarked that a boy by the name of Willie
Cunard lived with him, and gave Mr. Volens his history so
far as he was acquainted with it. The latter thought it very
probable that he was Delia Gregg's child, for Mr. Cunard' s
name was William, and the name of the little child that
died Willie. The next day, Mr. Wyman and Mr. Volens
rode to Monson to pursue their inquiries further ; the result
was, confirmation of previous impressions, strong as Holy
Writ.
CHAPTER XXIII
WILLIE IS TOLD WHO WERE HIS PARENTS. VISITS HIS MOTHER'S
ORATE. BEAUTY OF TRUE PIETY. DEATH OP THE GOOD.
IT was a subject of doubt in the Wyman family whether
it was their duty to inform Willie of his true parentage.
Mr. Wyman said that, if it was his case, he should want to
know the truth ; and therefore he should do as he would be
done by. Willie was a sensible boy, and, though it might
cause him pain, yet he would be thankful for the informa-
tion.
In due time he was made acquainted with his real history.
He was astounded, and could scarcely believe it, and, at
first, was greatly mortified; but, as the Wymans showed
him as much respect as they ever had done, he came to re-
gard the subject in a different light. So beautifully did
Mrs. Wyman speak of his mother, that he was not sorry
he was her child, and there was a deeper gratitude in h:s
heart towards those who had been such faithful friends
to her, and equally faithful to him. It was his delight to
sit near Mrs. Wyman, and drink in with the greatest inter-
est the many things she had to tell him of his mother. He
was glad to learn that she was young and fair, that she had
dark hair and eyes, that her dimples were like his own,
ihat her form was handsome, her face beautiful, her expres-
280 GLBNWOOD.
sion all soul, and her manners winning. It made him happy
to know that her heart was so good, that she cherished the
deepest gratitude and love for her benefactors, that her soul
was full of poetry, that she was a worshipper at the shrine
of the beautiful. He wept when told how terribly she
suffered, how sensitive she was, and how anxious to die and
go to the dear one who had gone before her. He wanted to
return to Glenwood, and look at the lake and the white lilies
he had so often admired ; to have the spot pointed out where
his father lost his priceless life his grave, where there
was silence and dust. The cottage where he and his mother
resided had been torn down and removed ; but he would
go and gaze upon the dear spot where it stood. And his
mother's home he would visit that the garden she loved
so well ; and her old friends should tell him of her younger
days, when she was a beautiful little child.
In company with Frank and Jeannie, the two surviving
ones who first fed the famished stranger, and who invited
her to their home, he went to his mother's grave ; and he
bowed himself upon it, with his face in his hands, and wept.
They spoke to him words of comfort, and directed his atten-
tion to their sister's and brother's graves, who were sleeping
by her side ; and then they told him how dearly Flora loved
her, and how much his mother loved her in return; how
Flora wept when Delia died, so it was meet that their
bodies should lie there quietly in company, for, no doubt,
their spirits roamed the fields of heaven hand-in-hand, as
beautiful as the pure and lovely can be, in the presence of
the living God. And now Willie planted more flowers on
the grave of his mother, and came often and sat down by it,
and thought of her, with the deepest love in his heart,
GLENWOOD. 281
There was no mortification and regret now, as when first
told of his parents. It opened to him a new world for
thought, and suggested new incentives to ambition. He
wished that they might have been spared that he might
have looked in love upon his handsome mother ; but such
wishes he knew were vain. He was sorry that Mr. Gregg
was his grandfather.; and when Mrs. Wyman informed
him that he compelled his daughter, his dearest child, to
leave his house forever, those dark-blue eyes flashed like fire,
and his face became deathly pale. He thought of terrible
revenge, not only for his mother's injuries, but also for his
own. Mrs. Wyman read his thoughts at a glance, and she
told him that he must try to forgive the wrongs ; that the
noblest men and women do not wish to be revenged upon
those who injure them, but are content to leave them in the
hands of the great God. In her own beautiful way she
calmed his troubled spirit, and bade him seek for higher,
more ennobling things, which should bring peace to his
soul, and communicate joy to others. She asked him to study
the character of the man of Nazareth, and try to follow the
holy principles which he inculcated with heavenly eloquence
and God-given power.
Quickly did her words reach his heart, and he knelt at her
feet, kissed her hands, and said that he would be guided by
her, for she had the power to charm away the fell spirit of
evil. He would learn to forgive his bitterest enemy, repent
of his unholy thoughts, and strive earnestly to become a good
and noble man. In these resolutions Jeannie encouraged him ;
so did they all ; and the germ which was planted in love and
faith sprang up and grew rapidly in the sunshine of human
24*
282 QLENWOOD.
kindness, bringing forth much fruit, while the angels of
heaven looked on and rejoiced.
When the warm spring days came, Mr. Wyman was accus-
tomed to take his wife out on short rides, hoping that the
exercise, combined with the bland, fresh air, and the sweet
beauty of the season, might restore her failing health. She
was now very pale and thin, and those beautiful hands of hers,
so soothing to the weary and sick, were as white as the
driven snow. But the clear gray eyes never looked so beau-
tiful. Their expression had changed, it was true, but only
to make them the more lovely, the more like heaven. On
one of these excursions the following conversation passed
between them :
" 0, what a beautiful spring day ! " she exclaimed ; " and,
dearest, how much I enjoy these rides ! "
"I hope they will make you better," he said, anxiously,
"for sometimes I feel almost discouraged."
"You must not allow such feelings, whether I live or die.
Let us both believe" my dear one, that it is all for the best."
"But, Carra, love, how can I give you up? Think how
long we have been all in all to each other how happy we
have been how light and beautiful you have made our
home. 0, it seems not right that you should die and leave
me and the children ! "
" Don't be so sad, dearest, for we know that earth's joys
are transitory. Great has been my happiness with you, and
it seems to me that I shall be happier in heaven because of
the blessed days I have passed in your society on earth. I
would gladly continue with you, my faithful hilsband, until
old age should teach us that it was time our earthly bless-
ings should end, while we looked with strong faith for the
' ULENWOOD. 288
golden hills of eternity. But I bow to the will of Heaven.
If we must part now, in the glorious summer of our joys, I
am reconciled."
" And I will try to be, Carra, though it is hard, very hard.
You will be well again, I am sure you will. I fear you
think that your time has come. But don't cherish such
thoughts, my dear one. I know that you would be happy
in heaven ; but you are happy here. It would give you
much joy to clasp to your heart our lost ones, who will be
glad to see their dear mother again. But they need you not,
as your earthly children do. You must not give up all hope
of regaining your health. I shall be so lonely when you are
gone ! "
' ' Your words, my dear, make me happy, and they make
me sad. I have earnestly prayed that health might be
restored to me, for your sake, and for the sake of my chil-
dren ; but I have tried to feel that, if the cup may not pass
from me, I would drink it without a murmur ; and you must
feel the same. If I may not remain with you, it will not be
long before you will come to me. Then be reconciled, my
own, and we will both pray that I may live for many years."
" And may our prayers be answered ! But do not give
yourself pain in relation to me, dearest ; for I will bear up
bravely, however great my trials."
" I am thankful to hear you say so ; for God is ever good,
and we should not murmur, though his providence may seem
strange and mysterious to us. 0, this is a beautiful day !
When in the best of health, I never tasted of purer joy.
Look at yonder waves of hills how green they are, how
clear and bright ! How gracefully those tall trees bend their
stately heads, moved by the light fingers of the breeze ! I
284 GLENWOOD.
do love such a season as this ; I love those pretty flowers,
the blue-eyed violets, the lovely anemone, and all the beau-
tiful in nature."
" You are quite cheerful to-day, my love, and I am glad
that you are. You seem as you did when in health, and you
still retain your enthusiastic admiration of the beautiful."
" And that admiration will continue unto the end. I
loved the flowers when a little child, and I have not let the
weeds of care and trouble spring up to choke that love until
it died. And how much we gain in this ! At night the
heavens are glorious with celestial light, crowded are the
angelic arches with stars ; and, all day long, the floors of
earth are brilliant with the bright mosaics, the lovely, heaven-
gazing flowers. 0, we will never doubt but that God is
good ; and in life or in death we will trust in him."
They continued their ride, thus happily conversing, until
Mrs. Wyman was weary, when they returned home.
Although everything was done for the invalid that kind-
ness and true-hearted devotion could devise, she continually
grew weaker, and her cough more distressing. And now
they knew that she must die that they might not longer
hope. But among all those afflicted ones Willie was the
saddest. To be deprived so soon of this new-found mother,
how could he be reconciled ?
Mrs. Motley, who was now quite aged, was very sorrowful
at the thought of losing this dear child; she had fondly
hoped that she would live to close her own eyes, and follow
her to her last resting-place on earth. But Mrs. Motley was
a Christian, and a long experience had taught her that all
our hope should not be placed here, for our friends remain
GLENWOOD. 286
with us only a brief season, and we should he ready at all
times to resign them to heaven.
The faithful Jeannie now scarcely left her mother's side ;
and Mrs. Wyman said that as she had done to others was
now done to her. All her family were alike devoted. She
almost thought it a luxury to be sick, to have so many lov-
ing ones hovering around her.
It was the last morning of spring. The sun rose clear, and
flooded the world with light. The lark welcomed his rising
with a song, and all the feathered choir broke forth in sweet
gushes of melody. Gentle was the breeze, balmy and warm,
for it came from the south, kissing on its way a thousand
beds of flowers. It was on this delightful morning that the
family at the cottage were summoned to the bed of the dying
one. Briefly, but lovingly, she bade them all farewell, and
then she said :
" Lift me up, dears, that I may see the sun once more.
It is so glorious, so beautiful, in its divine effulgence. Do
not weep, my own dear ones ; for I will not forget you, and I
will be with you in the hour of danger and sorrow. I am
faint now ; lay me gently down, for I would rest."
They laid the loved one down, and smoothed the pillow
where reposed that pale, angelic face ; and when they thought
that darkness had gathered around her, even then her star
was rising rising above the clouds, higher and more glo-
rious than the sun, until it rested in heaven, crowned with
a newer and more celestial beauty, which shall brighten
for ever and ever.
CHAPTER XXIV.
TISIT OF THE LUNDS. WILLIE'S THOUGHTS IN RELATION TO JBANNIE. -
BETROTHAL. MARRIAGE. THE GRIEF OF WILLIE. MYSTERIOUS
DISAPPEARANCE. JEANNIE's WEDDING. NEW SOURCES OF HAP-
PINESS.
IT was a sad household now, that at the cottage ; for the
loving wife, the devoted mother, was dead. Her presence
had made that home beautiful, and her absence caused those
who remained the deepest sorrow. They all mourned their
great loss ; but they did not despair, for they believed that
she was with the angels. She was not dead 0, no ! but,
having cast off the incumbrance of the flesh, her immortal
spirit, free from all sorrow, now trod the green valleys of
heaven. The duties of life were not neglected because of
their severe affliction ; but each one sought to do his or her
part cheerfully, seeking for the comfort and blessedness of
all. And so the sunlight of love continued to cheer their
home.
In two months after the death of Mrs. Wyman, Waldo
Lund and sister came again to visit Jeannie. They were
welcomed by her, but Willie was very unhappy. He had come
to regard the letters which were received from Mr. Lund,
as often as once a month, as friendly epistles merely, being
aware that Jeannie corresponded with a number of frienda
GLENWOOD. 287
of both sexes. But, seeing them together every day, the
pleasure they took in each other's society served to dispel the
illusion. That they were mutually in love, and would socn
be engaged, he did not doubt. He felt that it was the height
of absurdity to expect her to wait for him till he was old
enough to marry wait for a poor, dependent boy until he
should obtain the requisite means to furnish her a good home.
She regarded him in the light of a brother alone ; and she
would never dream that he would for a moment cherish the
wish that she should hold any other relation to him than that
of a sister. It might be very presumptive, very foolish, he
thought ; but, for all that, he loved her, and he wanted her
to be his wife ; he had loved her since his eyes first fell upon
her loved her when his garments were rags, and he was
the slighted, unhappy, poor-house boy. Since then his love
had continually increased in strength and intensity. But
he s could not tell her of it, and she must never know it.
If he were of her age, or a few years her senior, then he
might tell her all. But she was a beautiful young lady,
attracting all eyes and hearts, while he was but a mere boy.
How very presumptive in him !
Such were the thoughts that were continually passing
through his mind ; and, though he sought to expel them,
they lingered still. He might not win her love then, he well
knew ; but to see her the wife of another was what he could
not patiently submit to. If she would only remain unmar-
ried for a few years, why, he would be a man,, no longer
dependent on others, but bravely hewing out for himself a
fortune and a name ; and then he should have the courage to
offer her a heart which had long cherished the most devoted
love. Why should she not remain unmarried ? Her mother
,88 GLENWOOD.
flras in the grave, her grandmother was old, and her services
were required bj her father. Certainly it was her duty to
relinquish the idea of marriage for the present.
After the visitors returned home, letters came more fre-
quently than before ; not only from Waldo, but from Emma,
too. The latter, however, were not all directed to Jeannie,
but the most of them to Frank. In the autumn Waldo
came again, and this time alone. Willie no longer doubted
that Mr. Lund and Jeannie were affianced. He had won
her love, and all his own hopes were forever blasted.
Though very sad at heart, yet he continued to labor on
as diligently as ever, resolving to be always faithful to
those who had been so faithful to him. Employed every
day, engaged in the healthy and varied labor of cul-
tivating the land, with a strong desire to perform every
duty that was required of him, he kept his mind more
cheerful than it would otherwise have been. He tried to
drive away the thought that Jeannie belonged to him alone
that it was not right she should marry. He would re-
gard her as a sister, and pray for her happiness, even though
forever lost to him.
The reader will ask if Mr. Lund and Jeannie were really
affianced. They were, but the latter had given her lover
to understand that he must not expect her to marry then,
for she could not think of leaving her father in his loneli-
ness and sorrow. He had been to her a faithful parent,
and she Would not be so ungrateful as to forsake him when
she was so requisite to his comfort. Waldo was not pleased
with the idea of postponing their marriage to an indefinite
period ; he wanted her to be his now ; but he loved the brave
girl none the less because of her noble devotion to her father.
GLENWOOD. 289
The spring that Willie's engagement expired, Frank Wy-
man was married to Emma Lund ; and, as he did not like to
till the soil, he engaged in the mercantile business in the
town of Moulton, about forty miles from Yamford. Willie
made another engagement with Mr. Wyman, agreeing to
remain with him until he was eighteen, for one hundred dol-
lars, and three months schooling every year.
The next winter Mr. Wyman was married to a woman
fifteen years younger than himself; and Mrs. Motley went
to reside with her only daughter, where she remained until
she closed her earthly pilgrimage.
Mr. Wyman was well pleased with his new wife, but, as
is not unfrequently the case, the children could not feel as
much affection for her as they wished ; and, as Jeannie was
not truly happy at home, she was willing to name the day
when she would crown the wishes of her lover. Early
in the coming September she would be his wife, and in
that most beautiful month they would make their bridal
tour.
It was some time after this arrangement had been made
before it was communicated to Willie ; and then, although
he had long expected such a result, he was overwhelmed
with grief. He tried to labor as he had done before ; but he
could not, for there was no courage nor ambition in his
heart. Mr. Wyman thought that his health was failing,
and he favored him all that he desired. Frequently, while
his companions . were making hay. he would lie upon the
ground under a shady tree, his face in his hands, thinking
alone of Jeannie : of what she had been to him how she
had been instrumental in rescuing him from a bondage of
cruelty and suffering inviting him to her home, teaching
25
290 GLENWOOD.
him self-respect and how to command esteem from others
how she had taught him to love books, kindly imparting
instruction, until he had become a good English scholar.
And he felt that, if it had not been for her, he should still
be ignorant and despised, and perhaps a thief, a vile cast-
away. He remembered the burning touch of her hand
how it thrilled to his soul when he stood a poor culprit
before her, waiting for the punishment which he felt was
justly his due. All these things, and many more, passed
through his mind over and over again ; and the tears would
gush from his eyes, burning like his heart.
The nearer the dreaded day approached, the more intense
were his sufferings ; and Mr. and Mrs. Wyman were alarmed
for his health, for he became so poor and pale, rejecting
his food, and always so melancholy. Jeannie sometimes
wondered what could ail him ; but preparing for her bridal
BO much occupied her mind, she had few thoughts for any-
thing else.
The day chosen for Jeannie's wedding was one of the
most beautiful of tli.-.t month of clear skies and warm sun-
shine. Willie was an early riser, but on that morning
breakfast was waiting, and he had not made his appearance.
Arthur was requested to call him, but when he went to his
room he was not there ; and, as the things in the chamber
wore an unusual aspect, he opened the closet door, and found
that nearly all his clothes were gone.
When it was announced to the family that Willie had so
mysteriously left his home, they were much surprised, and
they feared that his continued illness had rendered him
partially insane, and so they hoped that he would soon re-
turn. They sought for him with care, but in vain.
GLENWOOD. 291
Jeannie had always felt the greatest interest in Willie
since she first saw him, and she loved him dearly. She
regretted that he should leave his friends so strangely that
this should happen upon her wedding-day. The thought of
him caused her to be very sad, and she wept. She queried
what it was that had made him so unhappy, and as she
thought of all the past, she was fearful that it might be love
for herself. But the hour was rapidly approaching when
she would promise to love and be faithful to her chosen
husband until death should part them, and so she dismissed
the thought.
In the afternoon a large company assembled to witness
the marriage, and congratulate the happy pair. It was an
occasion of joy and pleasure. A splendid entertainment had
been prepared ; and after the guests had partaken of the feast
they rambled through the gardens and fields, or sat in the
grape-vine arbor, making the place merry with laughter, and
musical with song. It was an occasion that one never for-
gets ; and all the guests enjoyed it richly. Jeannie looked
very beautiful in her bridal attire, but her face wore a half-
sad expression. Perhaps of all that brilliant company she was
the most unhappy ; she felt condemned that it was so, but
she could not help it. Her thoughts were with Willie, they
followed him in his wanderings and griefs, and she felt that
she would give half the world, if she had it, if he were only
there as joyous as the rest. She had been told how great
was the love between his mother and herself, and she fancied
that she could remember the time when she clung to her neck,
and laid her head upon her bosom, and looked so confidingly
into her beautiful face. And had she caused the child of
that sorrowing mother to leave his only home, and go
292 GLENWOOD.
wandering as friendless and unhappy as the one who bore
him ? She wished that he was there to give her the assur-
ance that it was not on her account that he was so wretched.
If she could have that assurance a burthen would be lifted
from her heart.
Does the reader query if this could be upon her wedding-
day ? He need not, for it is often so. Frequently are the
guests joyous, while the bride or bridegroom is wretched
indeed. Jeannie vainly sought to dispel these thoughts.
And might there not have been a spiritual affinity between
these two souls, and thus suffering was necessarily the result
of their separation ? But, alas ! the blow was given, sever-
ing the nerves of affection, which recoiled all bleeding,
causing pain at the heart.
The next day Mr. Lund and his bride started on their
wedding tour, journeying for many weeks. When they
returned they settled down in Stetson, living with his aged
parents.
Mr. Lund was educated a farmer, and, as he liked the
business of agriculture, he resolved to follow it through life.
His parents lived but a few years longer ; but, before they
died, they gave the homestead to him, dividing the other
property, which was considerable, equally between him and
Emma.
Mrs. Lund was unhappy upon her bridal-day. Was
she happy now ? Her journey with her husband was a most
delightful one, and she richly enjoyed it. He had proved
to be as worthy as she had believed him ; always gentle and
kind. Yet there was something lacking, and it grieved her
that there was. She felt that she alone was at fault. In
many things their tastes were the opposites, and her feelings
GLENWOOD. 293
were more ardent, her affections more intense, her nature
required more love, than his ; she did not know it before
marriage, and she was sorry to know it now. It was true
that she was not quite happy, but she concealed the truth
in her own heart.
When a little daughter was laid upon her bosom, the
shadows which had marred her joys all fled. She named
the little one Carra, after her sainted mother ; and thankful
were they for the child, for it brought only happiness.
Before Carra had seen her second birth-day a son was
born, and to him was given his father's name, Waldo.
25*
CHAPTER XXV.
WHY WILLIE LEFT SO MYSTERIOUSLY. HIS JOURNEY. FINDS A HOMB
WITH THE PENLY8.
THE night before Jeannie's wedding, "Willie felt so weary
and oppressed that he retired early, and tried to solace his
aching heart with sleep ; but no sleep came. He sought to
fix his mind upon subjects which should bring oblivion to
his senses, and draw his thoughts away from her who was
so dear, but forever lost to him. His efforts were all in
vain, for he could think of nothing but Jeannie. It did not
seem right that she should marry ; and he would give the
world, were it all his own, if she might be his. If she
would only have waited until he was a man, she would then
have known that he alone had a right to her heart and hand.
He believed this ; he had thought of it for hours together,
and he could not banish the thought from his mind. He
queried whether she would be quite happy ; he hoped she
would, for he loved her too dearly to wish, for a moment, to
see her wretched. And her husband he desired nothing
but blessings for him, but he should have sought elsewhere
for a bride.
No, sleep would not come while such harrowing thoughts
were passing through the mind, and Willie tossed and
tumbled through the dreary hours. There was one thing
GLENWOOD. 295
which he dreaded to think of, and yet he must look it steadily
in the face. To see her married ! How could he witness a
consummation which should forever blight all his dearest
hopes ? He would feign sickness, and so have an excuse for
absence. But that seemed not right ; and then he must lie
there, not only through this endless night of unrest, but
through all the dreary hours of the coming day, and realize
that the moment was approaching when she would be a
wedded wife. And it would mar the pleasures of the com-
pany if there was a sick one in the house; they would have
to be careful lest in their mirth and rejoicing they should
disturb him. He could suffer, but he must not do anything
which would interfere with the happiness of others.
He now thought of the future, how desolate would that
once delightful home be to him when she was gone ! Could
he be happy then ? Would he feel contented when the one
that made that home so beautiful was away ? He could not
live there, he was sure that he could not. He had agreed
to stay until he was eighteen ; but it would be useless to
remain, for he would be only a burthen. He would go away
that night, forsake this home so dear, and among strangers
bury his sorrows in his own heart. But to take his de-
parture and not let them know of it ! Would it be using
such kind friends aright? He was fearful that it was all
wrong, but go he must.
At twelve o'clock he arose, and, taking such articles of
clothing as he could conveniently carry, he stole noiselessly
down stairs, opened the front door, and went out. When he
had gone a few rods from the house, he turned, retraced hia
steps, and leaned his head against the door and wept. And
now the floods of memory came rushing through his mind.
296 GLENWOOD.
x
How dear had been the home he was forsaking, and all its in-
mates ! and yet he must give it up. How much had Jeannie
done for him ! but so he breathed a hasty prayer for those
he was leaving so strangely, and went on his way.
It was a pleasant time to walk ; for the heavens were clear,
the stars bright, and the air was neither too cold nor too
warm. But Willie was not strong, and so he made only
slow progress. His thoughts were still busy with the past ;
the story of his mother's wanderings, how vividly it came
back to his mind ! How much mo re. deplorable had been her
condition at that dark period than was his own ! And then
the thought came, and he shuddered for harboring it, that
he should be more reconciled if Jeannie were in heaven. If
she were dead he could bear to think of her ; but now he
wished that oblivion might shut her out of his soul forever.
By the time the sun rose he was twelve miles from
Yamford, and within eight miles of Mr. Penly's, where he
resolved to seek a home for the present Mr. Penly was
his relative ; and, if he were not, he knew that he would re-
ceive him kindly. The motherly Mrs. Penly, and the girls,
they would be glad to see him ; and very happj should he
be to see them, and especially the roguish, bright-eyed
Hattie.
He was now so weary that he was obliged to stop fre-
quently to rest. He had hoped that some one would over-
take him with a carriage, and help him on a few miles ; but,
as August had been very rainy, the farmers were busy
finishing haying, and no carriage passed him on the way.
In hi anxiety and wretchedness, he had not thought of
food before starting on his journey. This neglect he now
sorely regretted. When within two miles of Mi PepJy's.
GLEN WOOD 297
he was so faint and weary that he could proceed no further
without a longer rest than he had before allowed himself to
take. He sought for a pleasant shade, where he could be
concealed if people passed along the highway, and lay down
upon the soft grass, and soon fell asleep. On awaking, he
was surprised to see how low the sun was. As he was
thinking about continuing his journey, the town-clock of
Felt-on, where lived Mr. Penly, struck the hour of five ; and
then a pang shot through his heart as bitter as death, for he
knew that that was the appointed time for Jeannie's wedding.
Burying his face in his hands, he gave way for a few min-
utes to the agony that wrung his soul, but, realizing that it
was all in vain, he arose and went on.
When he arrived at Mr. Penly's, it was six o'clock, and
the family were at tea. Hattie answered his summons to
the door, but did not recognize him.
" How do you do? " said Willie, offering his hand, which
she took somewhat reluctantly. " Do you not know me,
Hattie?"
" No, sir ; will you walk in? " she said.
Mr. Penly immediately arose from the table.
" How do you do, Mr. Penly? " he said, shaking hands
with him.
" How d' do; but, sakes alive ! I don't know you ! Why,
who can you be? " said Mr. Penly.
"You recognize me, do you not, Mrs. Penly? "said
Willie.
" Well, really, now, I don't ! Can't you think who 'tis,
daddy?"
" I can't make him out; though, somehow, he seems sort
of nat'ral," said Mr. Penly.
298 'GLEN WOOD.
" I know," said Sarah ; " it is Willie Cunard ! "
" Sakes alive ! " said Mr. Penly, " so 'tis. Well, now
who 'd a thought it ? I shouldn't, should you, old woman ? "
" Why, no ; he'd passed clean out of my mind," she re-
plied. And now there was a renewal of shaking hands,
and the grasp and shake were as hearty as Willie could de-
sire, if not, indeed, a little too much so, as weak and weary
as he then was.
" Set right down to the table with us," said Mr. Penly,
"for we'd jest begun to wait for you as fast as we could.
How kind of pindlin' you look ! You have grown tall
enormously, but you an't fat a bit ; an' you are too pale by
half; I 'spect you must be one of Phar'o's lean kind. You
jest stay with me a few months, an' I'd put the flesh on to
your bones for ye ! "
" Don't you mind what daddy says, for he 's always run-
ning on in just that are way," said Mrs. Penly.
" Now, Nancy," said Mr. Penly, " that an't fair, for
you to put in your say-so, to spile my say-so ; but no
matter. Where on arth have you been all this time, Willie ?
I 'd 'bout made up my mind that you never was comin' to
see us agin."
"I have been living with Mr. Wyman," said Willie.
" Been there all the while? " said Mr. Penly.
" Yes, sir," he replied.
"Staid a long time, anyway; 'spect you liked pooty
well. How much did he give you a month? " inquired Mr.
Penly.
" I did not work by the month," said Willie ; " but staid
until I was fifteen, for board and clothes and schooling."
"How much schooling? " said Mrs. Penly.
GLENWOOD. 299
" Four months in a year," Willie replied.
" That 's doin' pooty well," said Mr. Penly, " if you take
to books an' larnin' ; and them are things I never cared
much about. But wages are monstrous high now. I gin a
feller of your age nine dollars a month, an' he wilted clean
down in hayin'-time ; gin up, an' went home. But where
have you been all the rest of the time ? ' '
" When I was fifteen, I made another arrangement with
Mr. Wyman," said Willie.
" Have you done there ? " inquired Hattie.
"I have," said Willie.
" It strikes me," said Mr. Penly, " that you are con-
siderable out of health, an' so I s'pose you can't arnmuch;
but like as not you an' I can make a bargain."
After Willie had retired that night, he thought again of
the clandestine manner in which he left Mr. Wyman's, and he
doubted if hiA course could be justified. But he felt sure
that he could not have remained there and live. It was two
o'clock before he fell asleep, and when he awoke the gplden
sunlight was streaming into his window. On going below, he
found the breakfast waiting for him. Mrs. Penly said she
should have called him, but she thought she 'd let him sleep
as long as he would, as he required rest more than anything
else.
After breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Penly told ^Villie that he
was welcome to remain with them as long as he was con-
tented. Their kind hospitality was gratefully accepted, and
each member of the family showed him so much considera-
tion, so earnestly striving to make him comfortable and to
feel at home, that he was more happy than a few days be-
fore he had ever hoped to be again. The company of the
300 GLEN WOOD.
bright-eyed Hattie was particularly pleasing to him. She
was so much more refined than her parents, so witty and
intelligent, that her presence and lively sallies charmed
away his sorrows, and lifted the heavy burthen from his
heart. He was some time in doubt whether it was best to
inform the Penlys of the relationship existing between them.
At length he determined to do so. One evening, after Mrs.
Penly had remarked to Willie that he did not seem like a
stranger, but like one of her own family, he said :
" I am very glad that I seem so, for I claim some relation-
ship."
" You do ! " said Mr. Penly ; "I thought we should have
to own ye, yet." 9
11 We might do worse than that, I am sure," said Hattie.
" No doubt you think so," returned Mr. Penly. " Wai,
Willie, on what score do you set up your claim to 'lation-
ship?"
" On the old score," he replied, " of course."
" An' that old score," said Mr. Penly, " begins 'bout the
time I overtook a ragged boy, one day, an' jest gin him a
small lift."
"Before that," said Willie.
"You don't say so ! " said Mr. Penly. "How do you
go for to make it out? "
" I can make it out without the least difficulty ; but, if
you should refuse to acknowledge me, after all, it would not
be so pleasant."
" So 'twould n't," said Mrs. Penly. "Lor, if I don't
begin to think the boy is half in arnest."
" He does squint a leetle that are way," said Mr. Penly.
" Wai, wal, boy, le's have it, whether in joke or arnest."
GLENWOOD. 301
Willie now gave them the desired information. - The story
caused Mr. and Mrs. Penly to say " sakes alive ! " a num-
ber of times. When he had finished, Mr. Penly said :
"Wai, that beats all! An' so you are a 'lation, sure
'nough ! "
" 0, I am so glad ! " said Hattie.
(< So am I ! " returned Willie.
"It is queer," said Mr. Penly v "that it should turn out
that you are one of the breed. Now, when I axed ye to
ride, that are day I overtook ye, I had n't the least idee you
was any nearer 'lationship than that of old Adam. What
a lookin' object of compassion you was ! I would n't have
owned ye then ; but I will now, an' be proud on ye. Why,
them are rags that you had on looked as though they was
tired a-holdin' together, an' wanted somebody to help 'em.
An' that are big hat, which come clean down over your eyes,
e'enamost, made you the funniest-looking critturout of jail.
But you was so pale an' pindlin', an' walked so tired like,
that I had n't the heart to pass right by you, when I had a
good horse, an' nothin' in my wagon ; so I axed you to git
in, an' took you home, an' now it all turns out that you are
the son of my brother's boy that was drownded. Now, in
takin' you in, you see, I was jest castin' my bread upon the
waters, an' at last it comes back in the shape of a 'lation.
I allus thought that little favors like them are, which cost
nobody nothin', was sure to pay well. An' so that old poor-
house keeper was your grandfather? "
"Yes, sir," said Willie.
" I shouldn't like to be in his shoes, 'busin' a grand-child
in that are way. I've got four grand-children, an' the
little toddlin' fellers come here an' stay a week or two to a
26
302 GLENWOOD,
time ; an' I don't see much difference 'tween them an' my
own children. You see, I take them right to my heart, an'
Nancy does too ; an' they are 'bout as fond of us as of
their parents."
" He did not know that I was his grandchild," said Wil-
lie.
" I s'pose not, hut that are is not the right ground to go
upon. He ought to treat* everybody well, an' then he'd be
sure not to 'buse his own. Now, if I hadn't had any feel-
ings, I shouldn't have let you rode, an' my old woman
would n't a took care of you while you was sick ; an' then, if
we 'd found out some time that you was 'lated to us, we
should have felt mighty mean. Mr. Gregg has got to
know about it; for, if nobody else won't tell him, I will go
there a purpose."
Willie now worked a little every day, gradually gaining
in strength ; and after two weeks he made an engagement
to remain with Mr. Penly until the next spring. In labor-
ing during the autumn, and attending school in winter in
company with the girls, time did not hang so heavily upon
his hands as he once feared that it might. During the long
winter evenings, the hours were passed in studying, playing
fox and geese and checkers with Hattie, and sometimes he
read a pleasant romance aloud, for Willie was an excellent
reader ; and, by the request of Mr. Penly, the weekly paper ;
for the latter said that his eyes were failing him, and then
Willie read so correctly that he could understand it a great
deal better than when he read it himself.
CHAPTER XXVI.
RECONCILIATION. WRITES TO THE WYMANS. IMPROVEMENTS ON TH1
FARM. NEW BUSINESS.
As Mr. Penly became greatly attached to Willie Cunard
during the winter, he offered him two hundred dollars to re-
main with him until he was twenty-one, which Willie gladly
accepted. He was a sad-hearted boy, but he labored hard,
and earnestly sought to perform every duty most religiously ;
and so he became more cheerful and reconciled than he
would otherwise have been. His life seemed strange and
mysterious to him ; but he Came to feel, deep down in his
soul, that, in the hands of a wise Providence, all things were
ordered for the best ; and, therefore, he would not repine,
but still look upward with trust, still keep his heart strong
and pure.
He had never felt justified in leaving the Wymans as he
did ; and, after long deliberation, he wrote, asking forgive-
ness, declaring that he had been treated while under their
roof like an own child, and it was no fault of theirs that
he left them in a manner which seemed so unaccounta-
ble. He intended no wrong, but he could not do otherwise ;
and he hoped they would never ask him the reason for his
strange conduct.
Mr. Wyman wrote, in reply, a kind, fatherly letter, in
304 GLENWOOD.
which he assured Willie of his full pardon, and closed by
inviting him to his house whenever he should feel inclined
to visit those who esteemed and loved him. He did not
urge him to come immediately ; for, understanding Willie so
well, he had but little doubt that it was love for Jeannie
which caused his otherwise inexplicable conduct.
This letter was very gratifying to Willie, causing him to
realize that he had faithful friends still ; that they would
overlook his faults, and freely pardon when ignorance or
sorrow made him to swerve from the straight path of right.
His course had occasioned them the most intense anxiety ;
and yet they loved him, and wished him only prosperity and
happiness.
When spring work commenced, Willie resolved to effect a
revolution in the implements of agriculture. Mr. Penly
was one of the old-fashioned farmers, who did everything by
the hardest and most unscientific way. All his implements
of husbandry were of the old, antiquated sort, and in real-
ity utterly valueless, excepting what they might bring for
old metal, or be worth for firewood. Willie had served an
apprenticeship with a man who had adopted all the modern
improvements for rendering labor upon a farm less burden-
some, and the land more productive. Nothing pleased Wil-
lie better than to till the soil, and do it in such a manner
as to derive from it the most bounteous crops, well repaying
the laborer for his toil. It was exceedingly irksome to use
Mr. Penly's heavy, awkward tools. His ploughs looked as
if they might have been invented before the flood, or soon
after, they were such comical, bungling things ; and they did
not go deep enough to stir those portions of the soil which
were required to aid the plants, or allow the roots to strike
GLENWOOD. 305
down to a sufficient depth. Willie proposed that two new
ploughs should be purchased. Mr. Penly demurred ; he
did not believe in the new-fangled notions about farming ;
the good old way was the best ; but he finally yielded, for
Willie agreed to deduct their cost from the sum he was to
receive when his time had expired, if Mr. Penly was not
perfectly satisfied ; and in this way nearly all the old tools
were given up, and new ones purchased.
Mr. Penly was astonished when he saw how easily the
cattle drew the new ploughs, when they cut down so deep,
and he felt exceedingly doubtful whether he should raise
anything with so much of the yellow earth mixed in with
the dark soil ; the latter, he thought, alone containing the
substances required for vegetation. They did not differ
much in planting, but when they came to " hoe " there was
conflict again. Mr. Penly had always made very I >rge,
high hills, with both corn and potatoes, the second time
hoeing ; while Willie contended that only a little uarth
thrown over the roots was necessary. This innovation Mr.
Penly stoutly opposed. However, being assured, over and
Dver again, that Mr. Wyman raised the best of crops, he re-
luctantly consented that half of each corn-field should be
hoed aa Willie thought was right, and the other half Mr.
Penly's old way. The latter declared that he could not hoe
corn by tearing the hills down, instead of building them up.
En the fall he was candid enough to confess that the modern
way was the best. He came to regard Willie as one of the
wisest and most promising young men he had ever kno*m j
and so new improvements were continually made, old wc/rn-
out lands renovated, the marshes drained, and at last tfoa
iuildings were thoroughly repaired.
26*
306 GLENWOOD.
Hattie had never had such a flower-garden as she wanted,
but Willie was very glad to prepare one for her, and many
happy hours did they spend there together, making it indeed
beautiful ; and Mr. Penly called it the " Garden of Eden,"
which only stimulated them to render it still more attractive.
Willie set out grape-vines, for the purpose of having an ar-
bor like Mr. Wyman's ; and with much interest did he and
Hattie watch their growth from year to year, longing for the
time to come when they would completely cover the frame
prepared for them, making a cool and inviting retreat. They
did not wait in vain, for in due time the arbor became as
beautiful as one could wish. '* >
When they first talked of having an arbor in their garden,
Mr. Penly called it nonsense, and said that he never knew
a grape-vine to grow on his farm the soil was not adapted
to grapes. He was very obstinate about some things, and
so he pretended not to notice the vines which were growing^
so luxuriantly near his own door.
The fourth autumn after Willie's engagement, on a pleas-
ant evening, just after tea, Willie took hold of one arm and
Hattie the other, and led him out to see the arbor in the
" Garden of Eden."
"This is pooty wal," he said, "forcing a feller agin his
will. It 's no use to persist ; for I 'm in the hands of two
.Algeranes, an' go I s'pose I must."
Under the pleasant shade of the vines they seated Mr.
Penly, in a large arm-chair, made after the style of Mr.
Wyman's, while they took a seat on the sofa.
"I declare," said Mr. Penly, " this beats all natur. I
'gin to think that ye are a couple of wizards to make sich a
pooty place as this. This ere chair is nice, an' terrible easy
GLENWOOD. 307
to set in. Who 'd a thought it ? Wai, Willie Cunard,
you 're a genus ; and I expect that Hattie ah ! those wicked
eyes, jest as sharp as needles ! is a genus too. Now, this is
the pootiest place I ever seed, in all my born days."
" You like it, don't you, father ? " said Hattie.
" I don't see as I can very well help it. It 's no use to
stand out agin the truth ; so I '11 give right in, an' own up.
I do like it. I was opposed to the whole projec' at fust, but
I see your two young heads are wiser than this old cralium
of mine."
"Willie's time is almost out," said Hattie, "and I have
just been thinking that you will not owe him much."
" An' who telled you to think 'bout that are? I 'spect
you 'd think it was considerable if you had it to pay," said
Mr. Penly.
" But there is so much to take out ! " said Hattie.
"So much to take out?" said Mr. Penly. "I don't
know of any thing to take out. What shall I take it out for ? "
"I will tell you," said Hattie. "Two ploughs, three
hoes, two pitchforks, two barnyard shovels and fork, and
three rakes."
"You imperdent jade!" said Mr. Penly; "but you
, han't got 'em all yet."
" 0, yes, I have, father," said Hattie. " You shan't cheat
Willie, for he has been faithful. I heard you say so myself,"
pointing her finger at him.
" But I tell ye there is more to come yet," said Mr. Penly.
" What is it ? " said Hattie.
"A harrer," he replied.
"Why, father," said Hattie, "that is downright cheat-
ing!"
GLEN WO OD.
" No 't an't, neither ! " said Mr. Penly. " I will leave it
to Willie, if 't an't jest 'twas agreed."
"Your father is correct," said Willie to Hattie. " The
harrow was one of the implements whose cost was to be de-
ducted from my two hundred dollars."
" Now who 's right, miss, me or you? " said Mr. Penly.
" I didn't want a harrer, for I thought the old one good
'nough, an' so of all the rest ; but I have had to give in, an'
I 'm pleased with all you 've done, Willie, an', 'stead of takin'
out anything, I shall make you a handsome present. I
reckoned there could n't be anything equal to them old tools
of mine ; but the new ones are so light and pooty, that you
can work with 'em as easy agin. You are the best farmer,
Willie, that I ever seed."
"I thank you for the compliment," said Willie. "If I
have been the means of improving your land and the manner
of cultivating it, causing it to produce larger crops with less
labor, I am very thankful. I love to work on the land, and
I have no greater ambition than to be a good practical
farmer."
" Well said, my boy ! " remarked Mr. Penly; " I hope
you '11 allus be a tiller of the soil, for you can make yerself
happy and inderpendent."
"I do not doubt it," said Willie ; " but when my time ex-
pires with you, I mean to try a different business for a sea-
son, for I have a strong desire to see more of the world."
" I '11 warrant ye ! " said Mr. Penly. " I presume you '11
never be satisfied unless you know ''bout all there is to larn.
Now, I don't care nothin' 't all 'bout knowin' any more of
the country and cities. I 've never been to Bostin but
once, an' I never want to go agin. How folks can live there,
GLENWOOD. 309
in all that are confusion and noise, I can't make out ; an'
what they all find to live on is a puzzle to me. I staid there
two nights, and scarcely slept a wink, there was sich a con-
founded noise and clatter ; an' they were hollerin' fire 'bout
half the night. I 'd just as leave live in Bedlam ! "
" I should like to go there," said Hattie.
" I don't doubt it," said Mr. Penly, " for you allus want
to be goin' somewhere. But I tell ye what 't is, the city is
nothin' to the country. What is great brick buildin's, and
streets stuck full of cobble-stones, to nice, clean, green fields,
the grass an' flowers all a glis'nin' an' sparklin' in the
beams of the god of day ? What is all them are shops, a
flauntin' with silks an' finery, in comparison to the trees
with the pooty leaves all cut out an' shaped so handsome by
the Lord, an' hangin' so elegant from all them are little
twigs and boughs, an' coverin' 'em all over, an' lookin' so
nice all summer long ? There they stand, shoulder to shoul-
der, a good deal handsomer an' more majesty than a army
of sogers. I allus did like to look at the noddin' groves, and
compose myself under the green branches. The city what
is it? Nothin' 'tall to be compared with 'em. It is all
brick houses, rattle-te-bang, dirt, and confusion ! "
"You formed a very unfavorable opinion of the city,"
said Willie ; ' ' but you did not stay long, and so I suppose
you cannot judge so well or so correctly as you otherwise
might."
" I staid long ; nough, an' larnt all I wanted to. Such a
stived-up place would never do for me, nohow. I want room
to breathe and turn round in, an' you can't find it there."
" I 've heard that they have a beautiful Common in Bos-
ton," said Hattie.
310 GLENWOOD.
" I presume they have," replied Mr. Penly ; " but it can't
be much of a place, for they han't got no room for it, as I
could see ; but, sakes alive ! what 's a few acres, sot out with
trees, in comparison to the whole country ? Don't talk to
me 'bout Bostin ! for I was n't taken with it at all, an' I
never should be, if I lived there a thousand years."
The next spring Willie's time expired, and then he en-
gaged himself as a travelling book-agent. So great had been
the improvements on Mr. Penly's farm, through his instru-
mentality, that his employer added fifty dollars to the sum
agreed upon ; and very sad were they all when Willie bade
them good-by.
" Don't forget us," said Mrs. Penly, " for we shall never
forget you ; for you seem more like a son than anything
else."
" That you do," said Mr. Penly, "an' you 've acted more
like one ; so God bless you ! "
Willie shook their hands heartily, as the stage stopped be-
fore the door, kissed Sarah and Hattie, and, taking a seat
with the driver, was borne swiftly away.
CHAPTER XXVII.
MRS. LUND IN AFFLICTION MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS. THE TREAT-
MENT DUE TO ALL.
SOME five years have passed away since Jeannie Wy-
man's marriage ; and twice has the hand of affliction been laid
heavily upon her. Sickness came, and death soon followed ;
and the father of her children was borne to the silent
grave.
A few months after the death of Mr. Lund, little Carra
was laid by his side. She had never been a healthy child,
and so deep and absorbing was her love for her father, that
she seemed to waste away with grief at his loss. She
was only four years old when he died, and her mother fondly
hoped that she would forget her sorrow ; but her thoughts
could not be won from him, and so the strong cords of love
which were intertwined with his soul soon drew her up to
heaven.
This last bereavement laid Mrs. Lund upon a sick bed
for many weeks ; and, after she began to amend, her physi-
cian arid friends were doubtful of the result, she gained
strength so slowly. She was too heart-weary to rapidly
recover her health. Her spirit was bleeding for her lost
ones. Hour after hour would she sit and weep ; an3 it was
in vain she was told that she must restrain her tears,
t>12 GLENWOOD.
and be resigned to the allotments of Providence, or she too
would die. Her kind father came often, and endeavored
to revive her drooping spirits, and teach her reconciliation ;
urging her, as soon as she was strong enough to ride, to go
with him to the cottage, and henceforth make it her home.
He bade her remember little Waldo, and for his sake try to
be more cheerful, and seek to regain her lost health.
Mrs Lund felt that, if her own mother were alive, she
would quickly return home, nor wish to leave it again ; but
things seemed so different there now, that she could not be
happy ; and, then, her mother-in-law had two little children
of her own, and to have another child under the same roof
might cause trouble. She told her father that when she
was sufficiently well she would make them a long visit, but
she could not give up her home, or exchange it for another ;
she should be happier to remain where she was.
A very beautiful boy was Waldo. He was now nearly three
years old, and large and forward of his age. His hair was
light, forehead broad and high, his skin very white, and his
face beautifully formed, dimpled, and full of expression,
while his eyes were dark-gray, clear, and beaming. He was
an interesting, winning child, and wherever he went he
attracted much attention, and the ladies were not satisfied
without a kiss.
It was by no means surprising that Mrs. Lund's heart
was all bound up in this boy. In the midst of her great
afflictions, he seemed to her more than all the world besides.
When she was convalescent, he would come and sit in her
lap, and lay his head upon her bosom, and while she ca-
ressed him and pressed him to her heart, she would say,
" We are but two, Wallie! "
QLENWOOD. 313
One pleasant afternoon, as she was lying upon the sofa,
feeling unusually unhappy, her thoughts turned to Willie
Cunard, and she earnestly wished to see him once more.
She had loved him as dearly as she had ever loved a brother,
and it seemed very strange that he should leave her on her
marriage day, and never write to her or come to see her at
all. She felt that she should be happier could she see him
again. Her father had informed her that Willie had
written to him every year, and that he was living with Mr.
Penly in Felton; but he had never been to the cottage
since he so mysteriously left it. She thought that she
would write to him, and, for the sake of their old friendship,
he would certainly reply. While these thoughts were pass-
ing through her mind, there was a knock at the door, and
when Lucy Packard, the domestic, opened it, a young man
informed her that he was canvassing for an interesting book.
" Is the gentleman of the house within ? " he inquired.
" The gentleman is not living," said Lucy.
"I should like to see the lady, then," he said.
" She is very fond of books, and usually purchases when
those of an interesting character are brought along ; but she
is too unwell now, sir, to see you."
" She is too sick, then, to see company ? "
" She receives her friends, but not strangers, or people
on business."
"I regret it, for her sake and for my own. Excuse me
for the trouble I have caused you. Good-afternoon."
The door which led from the entry into Mrs. Lund'i
room stood open at the time, and she heard the converts-
tion. The tones of the stranger's voice struck a chord in
her heart which had not been touched for a long time be-
27
814 GLENWOOD.
fore. She arose and walked to the window, and gazed at
him as he went up the road. Just then he turned his head
and looked back, when she caught a glimpse of his face.
"It must be he," she said to herself; "and yet I may be
mistaken. The voice sounded like his, and the face had his
expression. He is so much larger ! But, then, five years
have passed away since I saw him, and he should be larger,
and his personal appearance much changed. ! should it
be he, and I not see him, when I so yearn for an old friend !
Lucy, run out and call the gentleman back, and tell him
that I should like to look at his books."
Lucy had to scream at the top of her voice before she
could make the book-agent hear her. He gladly retraced
his steps, for he was exceedingly weary, not having obtained
one subscriber all that day ; and he felt disheartened, as he
often did. Mrs. Lund sat down upon the sofa, her heart
beating audibly.
If it should be Willie, would he be glad to see her once
more ? Would he seem as he did when they both lived
under the same roof? But, if he should prove a stranger,
the disappointment would be very bitter. Her crushed,
bleeding heart, so lonely in its bereavement, felt that it
must be Willie, and that he would bring her consolation.
The domestic ushered in the stranger where sat Mrs.
Lund, with her eyes bent upon the floor, not daring for the
moment to lift them up. As soon as his eyes fell upon her,
he gave a sudden start, and there was a strange emotion at
his heart. But she had changed ; sickness and trouble had
dimmed her eyes, paled her cheeks, and made them very
sunken, and the joyous expression had departed ; and so he
did not know her. But when she lifted those eyes, and re-
GLENWOOD. 316
alized that she was not mistaken, the old light came hack,
and the flush sprang to her cheeks ; and then he realized that
he was in the presence of the one he had so dearly loved.
He knew not what to do, and queried if she recognized him
if she would be glad to renew their acquaintance, and
receive him as her friend. Mrs. Lund arose from the sofa,
and gazed earnestly into his face, while he looked as search-
ingly into hers. She was much agitated, and she said, in a
tone that spoke volumes, " Willie ! " The utterance of*
that simple word thrilled his whole soul, and in unison he
exclaimed, "Jeannie!" In another moment they were
locked in each other's arms.
The excitement of this meeting completely exhausted
Mrs. Lund, and so Willie lifted her as though she had been
a little child, and laid her gently down upon the sofa. In
a few moments she recovered and sat up ; Willie sat by her
side, with one of her poor, pale hands pressed closely in
his. How glad he was to hold that dear hand again, to feel
that burning touch thrill to his heart as of yore !
" You look very ill," said Willie, sorrowfully, " very,
indeed. Are you better than you were ?"
"Yes, Willie," she replied. "But I have been greatly
afflicted. Mr. Lund died some months ago, and my eldest,
my sweet little Carra, soon followed her father ; and then I
was almost heart-broken. 0, Willie ! I am so glad you
have come ! I was thinking of you when you rapped at
the door, and that I would write to you at Felton, hoping
that you had not quite forgotten me, and that you would
come and see me, or answer by letter."
" I am as rejoiced to see you, Mrs. Lund."
" ! don't call me Mrs. Lund ! it seems so cold from
316 GLENWOOD.
you ! I have called you Willie, as I used to. Must I say
Mr. Cunard?
"No, Jeannie, no. Call ine Willie always, and I will
gladly call you Jeannie; for then it will seem as it did
long, long ago ! Yes, I am as glad to see you again as you
can be to see me. Did you know me when I came to the
door?"
" Most likely I should if I had seen your face ; but I only
heard your voice, and, though it has changed somewhat, there
was something in the tone which awoke old memories. I was
lying here very sad indeed, and as you walked away I arose
and went to the window. When you turned your head and
looked this way, I thought it might be you, and I quickly
told Lucy to call you back. I am so glad now that I did,
for I am sure that you are glad to see me again ! "
" Yes, Jeannie, I am very glad; but I am sorry to find
you in such ill health. At first I was fearful that you were
in a consumption, and would pass away as your mother did.
What a blessed woman she was, making home like heaven !
and heaven has rightly claimed its own."
" Yes, Willie, my mother was an excellent woman, though
I do say it ; and she has only changed worlds, the dear one !
My husband and Carra are with her, and your mother, Wil-
lie, and our other friends. 0, they are happy there ! You
need not feel anxious about me, Willie, for I am much bet-
ter than I was."
" I am rejoiced to hear you say it. Have you a cough ? "
" I only cough now and then ; but it is much better, and
it will soon be entirely gone."
" I hope so, for it would be bitter indeed to lose you, now
that we have met again. I hope you will be more cheerful
GLENWOOD.
hereafter, and be reconciled to the wise allotments of Provi-
dence."
" I will try to be ; but I am still very weak. You came
here, Willie, on business, and found me by accident I think,
however, that I must persuade you to remain a while, and
then I shall not be so lonely, nor feel so disheartened. It
will not be necessary for you to leave immediately, will it?"
" No, Jeannie, my business is by no means urgent.
" Then I am sure you will be content to make me a long
visit. Pardon me if I seem over-anxious to have you remain.
I am a mere child, now, and I need a friend very much."
" If I can add to your happiness in the least, Jeannie, my
visit will give me much pleasure."
" You need not doubt that at all. My relatives come to
see me often ; but none of them can very well be spared from
home, to remain with me as constantly as I desire. I have
three in my family, besides myself and child, Lucy, my
domestic, and a man and boy to carry on the farm. They
are good people ; but their feelings and sympathies are not
in harmony with my own. I should be lonely with a thou-
sand such. Waldo is my greatest comfort ; but he reminds
me of his father and dear little Cai-ra."
" Then you have one child left you ? "
" Yes, and such a precious child he is, too ! I know you
will love him dearly, for he is so handsome and interesting."
" Is Arthur at home yet ? "
" No, he is married ; and father has bought him a farm a
few miles from the cottage. He was young to marry, so we
all thought, but older than I was when I married. You
are not married, are you, Willie ? "
27*
318 GLENWOOD.
" No, Jeannie, and I have not thought that I ever should
be."
" And so you are a book-agent ! How came you to choose
that occupation ? I thought you were at work on a farm in
Felton."
" I was, until last spring ; but I wanted to see more of the
world ; and so I chose this business, that I might travel over
the country and become better acquainted with human
nature."
" Have you had good success ? "
" Generally; but to-day I have done just nothing."
"You have found an old friend, though, and I am sure
that is something."
" Yes, Jeannie, it is. I do not regard the day as lost
now, for I am so happy to see you again."
" It is pleasant to hear you say that, my friend, very pleas-
ant. How do you like your present employment? "
" Not very well. You have to deal with all sorts of peo-
ple ; and some treat you with respect, while others are ex-
ceedingly boorish. You are aware that I am sensitive. I
have often had my feelings very much injured."
" I don't doubt it, and, knowing you so well, I was some-
what surprised that you should engage in such business.
Doubtless it is a good school for any one, if sufficient com-
mand is maintained over one's feelings. I am acquainted
with a man who was an agent for a number of years, on ac-
count of poor health, and it made him irritable. People
were frequently unkind, and said very saucy things, when he,
becoming excited, as invalids are very apt to do, was as
saucy to them as they were to him. He finally gave up the
business, lest it should entirely ruin his disposition."
GLBNWOOD. 319
" That such should be the effect, when a person is out of
health, is by no means surprising. I have found it a diffi-
cult thing, at times, to control my feelings, and it may be
that I have given utterance to words of severity, for I havfc
learned that I am capable of it. There are many things to
irritate one. People will sign for a book, and when you
carry it to them they will often deny that they did sign. I
have found very many such, and it has taught me wisdom.
I used to write down the names myself, but now I make
them do it, and in that way save much trouble. People are
exceedingly forgetful ; they will agree to take a book and
forget all about it in less than a month, but they have to give
up when they see their own signature."
"Do they ever refuse to take a book, after they have
signed for it? "
" Very often, and they have many excuses in extenuation
of breaking their agreement. They have been sick, or some
one has failed and they lost all he owed them, or the book is
different from what they thought it was, or something which
they did not expect has occurred, and they cannot possibly
obtain the money. With some, you are a few days or weeks
too late, and so they are under no obligations. They are ex-
ceedingly positive, and mention others who have said the
same, that you agreed to come on a certain day, or during a
certain week, or month, although you told them that you
could not set the time, for, if you did, circumstances beyond
your control might prevent your coming. The most of these
excuses are manufactured for the occasion."
" But some are honest, and speak the truth, who wish to
be excused?"
" Certainly ; but even they do not pursue the right course
320 GLENWOOD.
to procure a release. Instead of asking you to excuse them,
or proposing to give you the profit on the book, they very
coolly inform you that they have concluded not to take it,
as though there was no sort of obligation on their part. If
you remonstrate, why, they had no idea that they were bound
to fulfil such an agreement ; they thought you wanted as
many names as you could get, so that others might be influ-
enced to subscribe."
" Such things must be annoying; and, unless one is ex-
ceedingly watchful, prove very injurious."
"I don't doubt it, and I have resolved not to follow the
business much longer. I had rather labor on a farm for
wages, although it would be more agreeable to have a farm
of my own."
" I wish you had a farm of your own, Willie, and I doubt
not you will have one in due time. I have a most excellent
farm here, but I fear that some things are sadly neglected."
"Most likely, for agricultural business is seldom done as
it should be, unless the owner of the soil understands it, and
gives it his personal attention from day to day. The Penlys
give me the credit of being a superior agriculturist ; and,
though I don't claim so much, yet I am conscious of being
as good a farmer as they average. I am to make you a long
visit, you say ? Now, labor on a farm is what I like, and
you shall make me chief overseer while I remain."
" I will do so very gladly, and resign all my cares and
the whole management into your hands ; and then all I shall
have to do will be to make myself cheerful, and in due time
I may regain my health."
"I shall not allow you to remain sick long, if I stay.
I want to see you look as healthy and cheerful as you did
GLEN WOOD. 321
when I first knew you. The roses have fled from your
cheeks, but they must be summoned back again ; not tran-
sient ones, like those of just now, but those of old, which
bloomed perpetually ; and there must be a steadier light to
your eyes."
" Now that you are here to relieve me of care, I hope that
health may return to me ; though I fear that the roses will
never be very bright."
"As bright as desirable, perhaps. You never had very
red cheeks ; but they were as red as I like to see. My
business is such that I cannot remain any great length of
time with you now, even should you wish it. I have a few
hundred subscribers whom I must supply, according to
agreement ; but, when I have supplied them, I shall most
likely close up my book-agency forever, for I am tired of
it."
" I see that you are. But you must not think too meanly
of human nature because you have met with dishonesty and
unkindness. Publishers and agents have quite too often
imposed upon the public, giving promises which they never
fulfilled, charging double what their works were worth, and
by such means making people distrustful of all book-agents,
good and bad ; and so the innocent suffer as well as the
guilty."
" All that is very true ; but the best way is to treat every-
body well. It is some trouble to go to the door, but when
there it is as easy to speak kindly to the caller as it is to
insult him, and far more so in my estimation."
"Your remarks are just, and I wish that all could see
them in the same light that we do. Much is said about the
government of the tongue, and appropriately said ; but, lt a
322 GLENWOOD.
spirit of good will to all men be cultivated, and then the
spoken words will be fragrant with love. Some who are
engaged as agents and pedlers are so out of health that they
are unfitted for hard labor. Such have spent the night with
us, and there is one who is ever welcomed as a friend."
" I have no doubt that you treat people well, Jeannie. I
remember a certain poor-house boy 0! you have no idea
how blessed was your usage and influence for his good ; how
the clouds rolled away, letting down upon him the clear light
)f heaven."
"I understood you, Willie, as soon as I saw you; and I
resolved to make you happier, and give you a larger faith.
I succeeded, I doubt not, and it cost me but little effort.
That you loved me for it I never doubted but once "
" But once?"
" Perhaps I should say that I never doubted until a
certain day."
" The day that you were married ? "
"Yes, Willie."
" And did you really doubt me then? "
" I scarcely know; for I found it extremely difficult to
analyze my feelings. Your absence seemed unaccountable,
and made me very unhappy. A variety of thoughts passed
through my mind, and many strange conjectures. I felt
that, whatever might be the nature of the cause that led you
to take the step, still you were not to be justified."
" I have often thought so myself, Jeannie ; for, of all per-
sons in the wide world, I should not have made you unhappy
on your wedding day."
"But you did, Willie."
" I was but a foolish boy ; you have forgiven me ? "
QLENWOOD. 328
"Most freely; although your continued absence, with
never one letter to your friend Jeannie, has caused me
many, very many, sad hours."
"I do regret it; and I fear my course has been all
wrong."
" Your continued illness and low spirits gave me many
anxious moments, before you left us; and, after that, my
anxiety was at times painfully intense. But don't look so
ead about it, for we have met again, as happy to see each
other as ever ; and, if you did wrong, I very freely forgive.
But, Willie, will you tell me why you left us in such a
strange manner ? "
" I cannot tell you that ; don't ask me again, will you?"
"What, never?"
" Do not urge me to tell you now ! "
" Well, I will not; but, as it is a mystery to me, I hope
you may feel to clear it up some day. You may rest assured
that I am not governed by an idle curiosity."
" I do not doubt you, Jeannie; and, if the time ever comes
when I can enlighten you, I will."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
WALDO LUND. THE DROOPING SPIRITS OF THE INVALID REVIVE.
" 0, MAMMA ! " said Waldo Lund, springing into the
room, " see what a big dahlia I have got ! "
"It is large and very beautiful," replied his mother;
" where did you get it, dear ? '
"Lucy gave it to me. 0! isn't she good? Did you
ever see such a great red dahlia before, mother? "
"I never saw one more beautiful, Wallie. How very
perfect it is ! It would be impossible to imagine anything
more perfect ; and yet I love other flowers better."
"I know which, mamma; the white roses you put into
sister's hand, when she died, to carry to papa, away up in
heaven."
"Yes, dearest," wiping the tears from her eyes; "I do
love the roses best ; for they are not only beautiful to look
at, but their fragrance is beautiful."
" And do the roses bloom in the green fields of heaven ? "
climbing into his mother's lap, and looking earnestly into
her eyes.
"Yes, my love, all beautiful things bloom there; and
they do not fade and die, as they do here."
" 0, I should like to go there," clapping his hands, "for
there would not be any cold days and snow, and the fields
GLEN W OOP. 325
would be green all winter, and the flowers would look up so
sweetly into my face with their little blue and pink eyes ;
and I would walk out with papa and sister, and we would
bring you a bunch -of flowers every day, when you were
sick, would n't we, mamma? "
" I should not be sick there, Wallie."
"What! never sick at all? 0! I remember you told
me so before. I do want to go there, mamma; may I not
go?"
Closely Mrs. Lund pressed her treasure to her heart, and
imprinted kisses upon his lips. "I cannot spare you, dearest.
We are but two, Wallie ! "
At this moment Waldo turned his head, and for the first
time saw Willie Cunard. He was so intent upon showing
his mother his beautiful flower when he came in, that he did
not notice that any one was present. Jeannie was aware of
it, and was not sorry ; for she took pride in hearing him talk
when he was unembarrassed by the presence of strangers,
and she wanted Willie to know what an interesting ^hild he
was. She now said, "This is Mr. Cunard, Waldo, an old
friend of your mother's, and I hope you will love him very
much."
" Will you come and see me ? " said Willie.
' ' May I, mamma ? " he asked.
"Why, certainly," she replied.
"Well, then, I will ; but I haven't got akanted, yet."
"But we shall get acquainted," said Willie; " and we
shall love each other dearly."
" Shall we? I hope we shall ! I love to be loved.- -
don't I, mother?"
" Yes, dearest ; and I love to love you."
28
826 GLENWOOD.
" So papa did, and sis Carra; but they have gone up to
God's house. Have you got any papa and sister up there ?"
he said to Willie.
" I have no sister," he replied ; "but I have a father and
mother."
" You have ? Then I should think you 'd want to go too.
I want to go and see them very much. I should n't think
they 'd have gone and left us here ; they ought to have
stayed, and let us go with them." At this moment he
caught a glance of his mother's eyes, and it was so sorrow-
ful that he looked at her with an expression of beautiful
love, and said, " We are but two, mamma ! "
11 Your name is Waldo Lund, is it ? " said Willie.
" Yes, sir," he replied. " But I have got another name,
and it goes right in between t'other two."
" What is your other name ? "
"Wyman. And that's my grandpa's name. Do you
know my grandpa ? ! he 's ever so good ; and when he
comes to see mamma, he brings me strawberries, cherries,
plums, peaches, pears, apples, and sights of good things."
" Does he bring all those fruits at once? "
" no, I guess he don't. It would be funny to have
them all at once, 'cause they don't grow all at the same time.
He brought over a box of strawberries first, and the next
was the cherries. The strawberries and cherries were red as
my dahlia ; but the cherries were the brightest ; ! they
were so good ! Do you love cherries? "
" Yes, Wallie, very much."
"And strawberries, too?"
" Yes."
" So I do ; and if you will stay here until next spring
OLENWOOD. 327
vou shall have as many as you can eat. We have got a
great bed of them in our garden, and they grow in the
grass out there by the woods. I like to go into the woods,
don't you?"
"I do, Waldo, very much indeed."
" Then you shall go with me, sometimes, and we will sit
down and hear the trees talk to each other."
" Did you ever hear the trees talk ? "
"0, yes ! Papa, mamma, sis, and I, used to go into the
woods last spring, that was before papa and Carra went
up there," pointing to the sky, "and we sat down and
listened, and all we could hear was just a whispering up in
the tree-tops ; and I told papa that they would not talk out
loud, 'cause we were listening."
" Then you could not hear what they said? "
" Not very well ; for the trees are so tall that their heads
reach e'enamost up to the sky. Just see those out there ;
they almost touch it. When they were talking, I saw them
put out their arms towards each other, and I thought some
of them spatted their hands. I guess they were playing
bean-porridge-hot, as papa and I used to."
" You have queer thoughts, Waldo, and very interesting
ones ; and I think that you and I shall have many pleasant
walks in the woods and fields."
" Will you go with me? Mamma has been so sick that
she could n't go, and so I have not been for a long time.
"I shall be very glad to be your companion."
" I do like you ! And we '11 go into the woods and hear
the trees talk, and see them put their arms around each
other, just as mamma and I do. I guess they love one
another, don't you ? "
328 GLENWOor ,
"You seem to have a proof of it. I think I ought to
have one kiss.''
" I will give you twenty, if you want, 'cause I like you
real well ; " and he threw his arms around Willie's neck,
while the latter pressed the dear boy to his bosom.
During this conversation Mrs. Lund lay upon the sofa
and listened, very happy to rest after the excitement of
meeting Willie Cunard, and her long conversation with him.
It pleased her well that Willie should take so much notice
of her darling child, and that the latter should manifest so
much love for and confidence in him. Their talk, as sim-
ple and childish as it was, calmed and cheered her heart,
even though there seemed to be a shadow mingling with the
sunlight.
" Have you any other name besides Mr. Cunard ? " in-
/ /
quired Waldo.
" My name is Willie Cunard," he replied.
" Willie! 0, what a pretty name ! Why, it sounds some
like my name. Willie Wallie. I am sure I don't know
which is the prettiest, do you ? Well, I am glad that my
name is Wallie, and yours is Willie. I don't want to say
Mr. Cunard ; may I not call you Willie ? "
" Yes, dear."
" How good you are ! Everybody is good to me, and I
love everybody ; only sometimes I don't like Lucy very
well, 'cause she scolds at me."
" I fear you don't always obey her," said his mother.
" I should be glad to, if she did n't never get cross, and
scold so. I always want to mind her ; but when she 's cross
I can't, for I feel just as cross as she. Mamma never scolds
at anybody, do you, mamma?"
GLENWOOD. 829
" Not very often, dearest."
"I did n't know as you ever did. I never heard you, I
am sure."
"And so you are named after your grandpa?" said
Willie, who was so pleased with Waldo's remarks that he
wished to hear him talk more.
" One name is for grandpa, and for grandma, too. Did
you ever see grandma, who lives at grandpa's house ? "
" 0, yes; I lived there once."
"You did? I didn't know it! I don't mean that
grandma, but my own grandma, who went to God's house
before 1 was born. I wish she had not gone so soon, for I
wanted to see her very much ; and if she had only waited
two or three years, I might. I wonder where I was then?
I guess I must have hid where I could n'l find myself, away
up among the stars. I don't see how I gof down here,
though ! Perhaps I slid down on a rainbow, and my sled
went right out of sight, and left me sitting on a snow-bank !
Did you ever see my grandma, who went to God's house? "
" Yes, Waldo."
" I wish I had seen her, 'cause she would have loved me so
much. I mean to go and see her, some time. If she don't
know me, we'll get akanted quick enough, I guess. Carra
and papa want me to come up there and see grandma."
"Why do you think so?"
" I was playing by the brook, the other day, and I heard
them say, ' Come, Wallie, up here ! Wallie ! Wallie ! '
Mamma don't want me to go; but I must."
Willie now noticed that Mrs. Lund looked very sad, and
BO he thought it best to change the conversation.
28*
380 GLENWOOD.
" Why should your grandpa bring you strawberries, if
you have a large bed in the garden ? "
"0, 'cause his are better than ours. Ours are good enough,
though ; but his are great big ones big as your thumb,
and bigger, too ! We shall have some just like them ; for he
brought over some of the vines and set them out in our
garden, and he said they were mine."
" Then you will have two kinds in the garden, and
another kind out by the woods on the hill."
"So we shall. Those in the garden are tame ones ; and
those out there are wild, 'cause they live in the field by the
woods, and don't see anybody very often. The wild ones
are the littlest of all. I suppose they ran away from the
garden, some night, 'cause they wanted more liberty ; and, as
they don't h^ive nobody to take care of them, they can't
grow much. I have seen the wild hens out in the woods,
and they an't half so large as our tame ones."
"I am afraid you will weary Mr. Cunard," said Mrs.
Lund, "if you talk any longer now, Wallie; so you had
better go and see Lucy, and talk with her a while."
" And I shall weary you, too, 'cause you are sick. I
forgot you was sick, and could n't bear much."
Waldo now sprang out of Willie's lap, and went to his
mother, and put his arms around her neck and kissed her,
and then left the room.
" You have an interesting child," said Willie.
" I am glad you think so. He is a world of comfort to
me. But he sometimes says things which startle me very
much. His fancies and conceits are very odd indeed. At
times his remarks are very beautiful, seeming to manifest
thought which a man would not be ashamed of; and again
GLENWOOD. 331
he says things which are very ludicrous, quite often in rela-
tion to subjects the most sacred."
"It is frequently so with children. Their remarks,
which seem to indicate thought far beyond their years, pro-
ceed, I fancy, from a sort of childish instinct."
" I don't know about that ; but it may be that you are
correct."
"It is a mere matter of opinion, I suppose. But you
look weary ; so, with your permission, I will go and get
Waldo, and take a view of the farm."
" I feel happier, Willie, than I have for a long time be-
fore, and as though I could drop into a refreshing slumber.
If I can sleep an hour or so, it will make me much better.
It is half-past three, now, so I have but two hours before
tea. Remember that we have supper at half-past five, arid
I want you and Waldo to be here without fail."
Willie arose to go, but he wished that he might remain
near her until she fell asleep, being vain enough to fancy
that his presence would bring soothing and quieting reflec-
tions, and, as it were, win her to forgetfulness and repose.
He looked inquiringly into her eyes. She read his thoughts ;
her hand was extended, and he gladly took it again. It was
not long before her eyes closed, and she was at rest, her
slumber being as refreshing as that of a little child when
folded to the bosom of its mother. Willie still held her
hand, how could he relinquish it? An hour passed, and
he went in search of Waldo.
CHAPTER XXIX.
A WALK BY THE BROOK. A CHILD'S PRAYER. HAPPY THOUGHTS.
WALDO LUND was highly elated with the proposition to
walk with Willie Cunard ; for he already began to regard
him as a newly-found friend, who would be very dear to
him.
" Where shall we go?" inquired Willie.
" I like to walk by the brook," said Waldo. "You never
saw my brook ! It is very pretty. When I lie down close
to it, I can hear it sing and laugh. Sometimes I think it
wants to sing me to sleep."
" You love the brook very much, don't you ? "
" yes ! Do you know that it never gets dry, like
other brooks ? "
" No ; and does it keep running all the time ? "
"Yes, sir ; it never stops at all, and it don't get tired,
neither. Would you like to know why it never becomes
dry ? I will tell you. It bubbles right up from the
ground; and so it don't make any difference whether it
rains or not."
" The water conies from a spring, then ? "
"Yes, sir. Would you like to see it? Mamma went
there with me once. I would like to go and show it to
you."
GLENWOOD. 333
" I should be happy to be your companion, if it is not
too far for my little friend to walk."
" Do you mean me ? I can walk as far as that, and a
great deal further, I guess. It 's but just a little ways."
They had now arrived at the brook, and they kept near
it until they came to a cold, clear spring, at the base of a
hill, its source. Here they sat down to rest, Waldo's
tongue running as glibly as ever. Returning, they visited,
on their way, a large field of maize. When they reached
the house supper was already on the table, and Mrs. Lund
was waiting for them.
" You are a few minutes too late," she said.
" I was fearful that we might be," said Willie. " Was
your sleep refreshing, Jeannie ? "
" Exceedingly so ; I have only been awake a few minutes.
Don't Hook better?"
"Your countenance has a more cheerful expression. I
think you have been very low-spirited, and that has hindered
your recovery more than anything else."
" My troubles made me ill; but I shall not give way to
them hereafter, as I have done."
" Not if I stay, for I shall not allow it."
" I am so glad that you are here, Willie; for I shall be
happier than I could have been with anybody else. I
regard you both as brother and friend."
Lucy now brought in the tea, and the trio sat down to
supper. Willie thought how much the table resembled Mrs.
Wyman's, the first night he went to the cottage ; everything
distinguished by the same neatness and order. Very happy
were these three friends, as they surrounded the frugal board.
Mrs. Lund seemed more like herself than for many weeks
334 GLENWOOD.
before, while "Willie felt a greater degree of satisfaction than
he had since Waldo Lund first entered the cottage of the
Wymans. Jeannie was his dear friend again, and, for the
present, he asked no more. Little Waldo had seen so many
lonesome hours since his father and Carra died, that he was
glad to have a new acquaintance, one whom he could love
so well.
" Did you have a pleasant walk, Wallie? " asked Mrs.
Lund.
" 0, yes ; a very pleasant walk. Willie went to my
pretty brook with me ; and then we followed it, just as you
and I did, mamma, clear away to the cool spring, where
the water bubbles up so funny ! We put our mouths down
and drank. How cold and sweet it was ! We saw some
little fishes in the brook, little shiny ones, with golden spots
all over them. They were afraid of us ; but they no need
to have been, for we would n't hurt them for a great deal ;
and I told them so, but I suppose they did not believe me,
for they hid away as fast as ever they could."
" Waldo's brook rises in a beautiful spot," said Willie.
"Very beautiful," Mrs. Lund replied. "I have been
there often, and I always take a draught of the cold water.
I never saw sweeter water than that. How did you like
the looks of the farm? "
" Very much. What a fine field of corn you have ! Your
land has been well cultivated ; but I noticed that some
things have been neglected the past season."
" I presume so; but I fancy the proper remedies will be
speedily applied ; for you remember that I have confided
everything to your care."
" And I shall endeavor to be faithful, Jeannie, though I
QLENWOOD. 885
must claim the privilege of sometimes seeking your counsel
and advice."
"Which I will cheerfully give, only wait until I am
stronger."
In pleasant, familiar conversation, like the above, they
spent an hour at the table. In the evening Willie read
aloud from Willis' sacred poems; and so the hours, which
had previously hung so heavily with Mrs. Lund, fled speed-
ily and happily away. At half-past seven Waldo went tc
bed ; but before doing so he kneeled down by his mother,
and repeated the Lord's prayer, and closed by saying,
" God bless mamma, God bless Willie, God bless grand-
father, God bless grandma, papa, and Carra in heaven."
So long had the evenings seemed since Mrs. Lund waa
convalescent, that she could scarcely realize, when the clock
struck nine, that it could be so late.
When Willie had laid his head upon the pillow that
night, he found it extremely difficult to analyze his feelings.
He had found his dearest friend again, and she seemed
nearer to him now than ever. She was very glad that he
had come ; and she had expressed a wish that his visit might
be a long one, for he could make her more cheerful than
any one else. She was a widow ; would she marry again ?
Very uncertain, he thought. She evidently regarded him
as a brother ; he was thankful for that much. It was possi-
ble that his presence might give her more pleasure than a
brother's could. If not now, in the future. She might
never love him well enough to be his wife, but he had no
fears that she would ever become the wife of another. He
fancied that he should be content, if she would only remain
single. While these reflections were coursing through his
336 GLENWOOD.
mind, sleep was stealing upon him, and, though his thoughts
were but half formed, they were pleasant. Now he let go
a thread, and then caught it again ; but by and by he re-
linquished his hold entirely, and passed into dream-land.
There was another pillow which Avas peaceful that night,
one that had been very restless ; but the heart of the one
who pressed it was soothed and comforted. Mrs. Lund's
thoughts were wholly of Willie. What a 6ne man he had
become, so intelligent and interesting ! He loved her boy,
and the dear child had so instinctively taken to him. ' ' He
is my brother," she said to herself, "and while he remains
I shall be quite happy."
CHAPTER XXX.
THE POOR-HOUSE. HECTOR'S RELIGION. SICKNESS AND REBELLION
AMONG THE PAUPERS. REMORSE AND DEATH. POLLY HAGGETT IN
LUCK. SUE STARTS ON HER BRIDAL JOURNEY.
THE paupers in Glenwood were continually complaining
of the treatment they received from Mr. and Mrs. Gregg and
Mrs. Betsey's children ; but the majority of the people did
not heed them. They were old, or sick, or half-witted; and
such persons were noted for being unreasonable, irritable,
and fault-finding. They had bitterly censured the manage-
ment of Mr. Bumpus ; and, whoever might be the master,
they would still complain.
These considerations satisfied very many, especially those
who were blessed with easy consciences ; and far be it from
me to say that they were wholly groundless. It is a diffi-
cult thing to make this class of persons contented. But
their lot is deplorable at best, and we should strive to make
them as comfortable as may be.
There were many in Glenwood who doubted not the poor
had good reason for their complaints, and they were not
backward in expressing their opinions and giving their rea-
sons ; but they neglected to push the matter to an issue, and
cause an investigation
As we have seen, Mrs. Gregg managed to have every-
29
GLENWOOD.
thing done very much in accordance with her own wishes ;
and, while the paupers were meanly fed and worse clothed,
her own table was furnished in the most substantial manner.
She clothed and fed her children well, and kept the part
of the house devoted to the use of her own family very clean,
and all things in good order ; but that portion of the build-
ing where the paupers lived was shamefully neglected, es-
pecially the beds and bedding ; and this state of things was
continually growing worse.
Of all the paupers, Hector was the happiest ; and though
the boys and young men made sport of him continually, he
rather enjoyed it than otherwise. Mrs. Gregg would not
always let him have as much to eat as he wanted, but he
had a loaf of bread every night to fall back upon, and he
received sheets of gingerbread, crackers, etc., in compen-
sation for services which he was not always willing to
perform. For a time he did everything with alacrity that
was required of him, but by and by it was beat into his
dull brain that some things were not exactly safe or pleas-
ant, and so a stimulus was needed in the shape of food or
strong drink.
One morning Hector approached Mr. Bugbee's shop,
walking very slowly. When asked the reason, he said that
he was " gittin' old that he was 'bout six months older
than Mr. Gregg." This some one had told him. The an-
swer so pleased his employer, that he shook with a hearty
smile, and said :
"Well, you are old, sure enough! I have heard that
you have changed your religion lately ; how 's that ? "
"Yeth, Misser Bugbee," said Hector, "I has. I used
to be a Baptis', for I 'sidered 'mersion in 'cordance with
QLENWOOD. 839
Scriptur ; but I came to 'gard that are as a minority 'sider-
ation, and of no sort of quinsequence ; so I shan't comport
that are domination any more."
" What are you now, Hector? "
"I's got to be one of the 'spised sec' of Univarsal-
lers."
" How came that about, I should like to know? "
" I was brought over by Misser Gregg ; and I never can
be 'ficiently grateful to Misser Gregg for bringin' me to see
the full rad'ance of gracious 'varsalism."
" 0, Lord ! I can't help smiling. I understand that you
have a new minister at your parish? "
" Yeth, Misser Bugbee, and he's a smart one; the smart-
est minster in the whole town, he is. The way be puts it
down is a caution, yeth, a caution, Misser Bugbee."
Here the conversation ended, Mr. Bugbee smiling the
same as usual.
A few weeks after, in the evening, the clergyman of the
new parish was walking in company with a number of the
younger portion of his flock, and on their way they met
Hector, when one of the ladies, who was fond of a joke,
asked him how he liked their new minister.
"He is a pindlin'-lookin' man, an't he?" said Hector.
"He is not very fleshy," she replied; "but don't you
think he 's smart?"
" Wai, I guess he won't set the world a fire. He can
make a noise, and holler pretty loud, and that 's 'bout all it
'mounts to. If you is gon to build up yer 'ciety, ye must
have somebody that 's got bottom to him, and not one like
that are pindlin'-lookin' feller, all wind and gars."
340 GLEN WOOD.
" Are you a Universalist now, Hector? "
"No, marm. I 's gin that ere up it 'snot Scriptur,
and there 's no 'ligion 'bout it ; it 's nothin' but 'fidelity out
and out it is; it 's jist rank 'fidelity."
" What are you now, then ? "
" I 's got to be a Swiginborgier, and that's the Tightest
of 'em all ; 't is, and if yer want to be the rightest, ye must
gin up your 'varsalism, and become a Swiginborgier ! "
They now left him, the company laughing quite heartily,
the clergyman expressing his regret, with mock gravity, for
the loss his parish had sustained.
Mr. Gregg became daily more and more unhappy ; and
so unattractive was his home, that he was seldom there, ex-
cept at night. Mrs. Gregg was determined to be mistress
in the house, whether Mr. Gregg was pleased or not. She
had been very careful how she used her tongue in his pres-
ence ; but familiai-ity breeds contempt, and she gradually
loosened the rein that held it in check, until he came to
dread it as did his predecessor.
As he was so unhappy at home, and troubled somewhat
by the stings of conscience, he naturally sought for busi-
ness of an exciting character. He purchased two pieces of
land, and sold them soon after, making a thousand dollars.
This good fortune stimulated him to purchase more largely ;
and, as he had the utmost confidence in his business tact, he
journeyed to the West, making extensive purchases.
For a time he was very successful, and this encouraged
him to launch out still more boldly upon the perilous waters
of speculation. Early the ensuing spring there was a
pressure in the money market, and it continued to in-
crease for a number of months ; and Mr. Gregg made great
GLENWOOD. 341
efforts to meet his bills, but in vain, and by and by they
were protested to a large amount. An officer was immedi-
ately despatched to Glen wood, who attached all his property
there, personal and real estate.
During Mr. Gregg's absence the management at the
alms-house had been more execrable than when he was at
home.
As soon as the warm weather came, many of the paupers
were taken dangerously ill. Two of them died, and others
barely escaped. The disease spread into other families in
the neighborhood, some of whose members had watched
with those unfortunate ones ; several died, and in one family
two beautiful children all they had. And now Mr. Goose
and Deacon Glubbings entered a complaint against Mr.
and Mrs. Gregg for the manner in which the affairs of the
alms-house were conducted.
It was the third week in August when it was known in
Glenwood that Mr. Gregg had failed, and that his liabilities
were thousands of dollars greater than his property would
bring in the then depressed state of business. The day before
his goods were attached, the complaint for mismanagement
was entered. The paupers became aware of both the same
day. The news caused great excitement and rejoicing
among them. Such had been their usage for the last six
months, that they were all seeking for revenge. The num-
ber of paupers was now large, for two families were added
the fall before one Irish, consisting of six persons.
They remained peaceable that day until their dinner was
put on to the table, which consisted of a soup, made of
the odds and ends of almost everything cooked under that
roof, and especially those articles of food prepared for Mrs.
29*
GLENWOOD.
Gregg's own table. There were scraps of bacon, crusts of
rye and Indian bread, pork-rinds, bits of sausages, junks
of boiled salt beef, cold potatoes, baked and boiled, the
skins of the former, old beef-bones, doing service for the
fourth time ; turnips, cabbage, parsnips, onions, carrots,
barley, etc. ; all put in together, and made into one hodge-
podge mess, called a stew. It was a savory dish, for it was
well seasoned with pepper and salt.
This abominable stuff was the paupers' dinner three
times a week, nothing else being furnished excepting water.
It was very repugnant to the most of them, but they ate it,
because it was the only food provided. Hector usually ate
heartily, but there were others who could force down but
little.
When Mrs. Gregg told the paupers their dinner was
ready, not one of -them moved towards the table.
" Sit down to your dinners, this moment ! " she said, in a
loud voice.
And now there was a movement in good earnest, for three
of them caught hold of her, and forced her towards the
savory dish. She become furious, screaming at the top of
her voice, clawing at their eyes and hair, and making des-
perate efforts to break away. They held her fast, however,
and in rushed the children, causing a general melee ; and
during the squabble they all left Mrs. Gregg, but Marga-
ret, who proved equal to the occasion, for she shook her
until she was glad to yield. In a few minutes from the
time the combat commenced, the mother and seven children
were all seated around the table. And now what a blaze
there was to all those black eyes : and how red were the
ends of those turn-up noses ! Their plates were filled, but,
dLENWOOD.
as they would not eat, the paupers forced it into their
mouths, and made them swallow it; spilling it on their
faces and clothes, causing them to present a most ridicu-
lous appearance. A much more inviting repast was waiting
in Mrs. Gregg's apartment, to which the paupers proceeded
to help themselves with great eagerness. A part remained
on guard, while the others ate ; and in this way they all
partook of the greatest feast they had ever enjoyed in the
alms-house. They were hungry, and they devoured every-
thing they could find that was cooked.
It was their determination to keep Mrs. Gregg and the
Slushers sitting at the table until night, and then stow them
away in the filthiest beds the house contained ; but, as they
did not keep an eye upon Hector, he went out and reported
progress, when the people came and released the prisoners.
They found the paupers so enraged that they advised Mrs.
Gregg and the children to go to the hotel. The selectmen
held a meeting immediately, and deposed Mr. Gregg ; and
a successor was appointed, who made a complete renovation
of the premises before he would allow his family to enter
them. He and his wife proved faithful to their trust, and
the condition of the poor was made comparatively comfort-
able. They were now decently fed and clothed ; and yet
it was found, at the end of the year, that the expenses had
not increased.
When all the facts were made known to the public, so in-
dignant were the citizens, that Mrs. Betsey S. Gregg con-
cluded it best to leave -town. Before doing so, she wrote a
letter to her husband, that she had done with him forever.
This did not cause her a single pang, for she had never had
a particle of love for him.
344 GLENWOOD.
Mr. Gregg returned to Glenwood a poor, broken-down
man, his fortune a complete wreck. His son was not able
to give him a home, and Fanny did not care to, whether her
aged husband was willing or not. And now he thought of
poor Delia, and he felt that if she were living she would
forgive him, and willingly cast in her lot with his. How
earnestly he wished he could learn her fate ! and for this he
did not wait long. Mr. Wyman saw Deacon Glubbings,
and gave him her history after she was driven from her
father's house, coupled with that of her child ; the latter
did not feel it his duty to keep the matter a secret, and so
the story was soon known to everybody in town. When
Mr. Gregg had received some hints, he went to Deacon
Glubbings, who told him all.
At this intelligence his agony was intense indeed, and
he shrank with horror from the thought that Willie Cunard,
the basely-treated boy, was his own grandchild. This, with
his other troubles, soon brought him to a sick bed. As he
seemed so friendless, the good Mrs. Jones, Jeannie Wyman's
boarding-mistress, kindly consented to have him brought to
her house. He was so troubled in relation to Willie Cunard,
that the latter was sent for. . He came reluctantly, but
cheerfully forgave the wrongs he had received. Polly Hag-
gett, who was now over seventy years of age, but in vigorous
health, was secured as Mr. Gregg's nurse. In gratitude for
her faithfulness, he left her, by will, what property might
remain after his aifairs should be settled.
Shortly after his death business became better, and at the
end of three years Polly received the snug little sum of
twelve hundred dollars. She lived quite happily for some
years after this good fortune ; and her final departure was
GLEN WOOD. 345
cheered by a firm faith that there are marriages in heaven,
and that her clear Joseph (as she had continually called Mr.
Gregg since his death) was anxiously waiting for her. The
great idea of her life was to be married, and early one morn-
ing f,he went forth to meet the bridegroom !
CHAPTER XXXI.
PUTTING THINGS TO RIGHTS. A RIDE. OLD TIMES. A CHILD'S
THOUGHTS.
THE morning after Willie arrived at Mrs. Lund's, he was
up with the sun, and without delay began to examine the
premises. He went to the barn first, where he found a scene
of confusion and waste, baffling description. Unthreshed
grain, hay, and straw, were strewn indiscriminately all over
the floors, and trodden under foot by whoever entered the
building. The stalls for the horses and cattle were in a
most wretched plight, no care having been taken of them for
months, although visitors' horses had frequently been stabled
over night. Willie felt that such neglect and lack of neat-
ness were inexcusable.
As soon as the hired man and boy had finished milking,
he informed them that he required their aid. The man de-
murred, saying that he had his work planned for the day,
and when his plans were interfered with everything went
wrong. Willie told him that he had the superintendence of
the business now, and would answer for all failures ; and as
to plans, he did not think there had been any on that farm,
of late, the breaking up of which would be a loss to any-
body. With fork, rake, and shovel, the three went to work,
and by seven o'clock, the breakfast hour, the barn was in good
QLENWOOD. 347
order, the hay, grain, and straw, separated, each being put in
its appropriate place, and the stable thoroughly cleansed.
After breakfast, the man and boy went to the work which
had been planned the day before, while Willie reconnoitred
the fences, for he noticed, when he came by the field of maize,
the day previous, that the cattle had been in, eaten of the
grain, and broken it down, doing considerable damage. He
found large gaps in the walls, and the wood fences in many
places entirely inadequate for their purpose; and so the
afternoon and the whole of the next day were devoted to lay-
ing up the walls and repairing- the fences. The hired man
grumbled somewhat, but Willie told him that it must be done
then. The garden had been sadly neglected, and a day waa
devoted to that ; the door-yard was untidy, but the rubbish
which had been collecting for many months was removed,
and its disorderly aspect was changed to one of scrupulous
neatness.
In making these changes and improvements, Willie waa
puzzled to find the requisite tools to work with. Neither
the hired man or boy could tell where they were. After
hunting an hour or two, an axe, rusty and dull, -would be
produced, or a hoe equally rusty. Willie soon learned that
things were not kept in their plnces, but left where they were
last used, and so he began to look them up in good earnest.
In the corn-field he found a hoe, very rusty, and in the
potato-field another, one standing up and the other lying
in the dirt. In one field was a plough, in another a harrow;
and in the field where the haying was finished, stood a rake
with four teeth broken out. There were three axes lying
about in different places, all rusty and dull, and everything
just as it should not be. All the implements of husbandry
348 G L E N W D .
were gathered together, cleaned, and repaired, and put in
their places, and the order given that, when used, they must
be faithfully returned. It required some weeks to bring
matters into the condition that Willie desired ; for there was
other work on the farm which could not be neglected.
In the mean time, Mrs. Lund was rapidly recovering.
The roses came back to her cheeks, and the light and gladness
to her eyes. Waldo, the darling boy, was much of the time
with Willie, and the attachment between them became very
strong. As for the former, he scarcely knew which he loved
best, his mother or Willie. It might be that she had the largest
share of his love, but he felt that he could not spare either.
Mrs. Lund was soon able to ramble over the farm, usually
with Waldo for a companion ; and, seeing the improvements
Willie had made, she gave him the warmest praise. She
remarked that there was no need of the counsel from her
which he had desired, for it was evident that he knew better
than she what was required, and had the energy to see that
it was done. Mrs. Lund felt that she could not well dispense
with Willie's aid and companionship, and so she invited him
to make her house his home. The invitation was thankfully
accepted.
On pleasant days Willie harnessed the horse into the
chaise and carried Mrs. Lund to rides, which they both en-
joyed very much. They conversed of the past, the present,
and the future. The exercise and the fresh air did much
to restore her to health. During one of these excursions, on
a beautiful afternoon, Mrs. Lund said,
" I have just received a letter from father, Willie."
" Have you ? " he replied. " He is well, I trust ? "
" Yes, and so are all the family. You did not know that
GLENWOOD. 349
I wrote to him that you were here, but I did, some days ago.
When he was here last, he said that things were sadly
managed on the farm, and he should have to come and stay
a week, and see to them, or send some one."
" Why did he not do so ?"
" Business prevented ; but I informed him that I had given
up everything to your care, and that a change had been
wrought which would surprise him when he came again.
He wrote that he was very glad that you were here*; and he
wants me to come, as soon as I am strong enough, and make
a visit, adding that you must come with me, without fail.
What say, Willie shall we go?"
" Certainly, Jeannie ; I shall be very happy to visit the
cottage once more. I have wanted to see your father for a
long, long time, for he was ever kind and faithful to me. I pre-
sume he thought me guilty of ingratitude, but I never was.
When I left his friendly roof I never loved and reverenced
him more."
" It would not have been strange if he had doubted you,
Willie ; but he has assured me, time and again, that he has
always had the utmost faith in your integrity."
" I am glad that he has such a good opinion of me ; and I
hope that I shall be worthy of it in the future, if I have not
been in the past."
"When shall we go, Willie?"
" As soon as it is convenient for you."
" How long before your book-agency will demand your
attention?"
" By week after next."
"So soon?"
" Yes, and if it is not convenient for you to vfsit your
30
GLENWOOD.
father's before, we will postpone it until after my return.
Or, if you wish to make a longer visit, you can do so, for I
can go from Yamford to Boston."
" Next Monday will suit me as well as any other time ; and,
as I wish to come home on Saturday, my visit need not be
postponed. I shall be lonely during your absence."
" Shall you, Jeannie ? "
"Yes, my friend. You little know how much I am in-
debted to you for my restored health. I began to grow bet-
ter as soon as you came, and I have improved ever since."
" Your words are very flattering, Jeannie, and from my
heart I thank you ! "
" I had become very gloomy, and, if it had not been for
Waldo. I should have prayed that I might die. I had once
enjoyed nature, but then all looked dark and forbidding.
You came, Willie, and the burthen was at once lifted from
my soul. You say my words are flattering. Could you have
read my thoughts that afternoon and evening, the flattery
would have been greater than can possibly be given by words."
" Bless you, Jeannie ! bless you ! But I fear you give
me more credit than I deserve. If I have added to your
happiness, or aided in restoring you to health, I am thank-
ful. It is a pleasure always to do good ; but if the good
which we do requires no sacrifice from us, we merit but little
praise."
"Do you think so?"
' ' Certainly. If I pursue a course of conduct which gives
me pleasure, and good is wrought thereby, why should I
receive praise? Those alone deserve to be honored who
follow the straight line of duty when moral courage is re-
nuired or sacrifices involved. In so far as one suffers in a
GLENWOOD. 351
good cause, he is a martyr, and to be commended, if he has
been influenced by good motives. I have known people who
prided themselves so much in differing from others, that they
would join an unpopular movement for no other purpose
only to be at variance with their neighbors. From a con-
tentious spirit, they would become engaged in a good work,
which came in conflict with the prejudices of the majority,
and thereby caused them suffering. Now, if such were
brought to the stake, and received the baptism of fire, we
could only give them the praise which is due to fools. Act-
ing in accordance with our highest ideas of right, whether
it brings praise or censure, pain or pleasure, can alone mani-
fest true nobleness of soul."
" I agree with you, Willie ; but I fear that few, compara-
tively, are guided by so high a standard of excellence."
" Very true. But the world is steadily, though slowly,
I grant, moving forward, not backward, as many would have
us believe. The army of the truly brave is small, but their
number is continually increasing; and, in due time, all
shall stand upon the glorious mount of holiness."
" I believe you ; but many centuries must pass away ere
that happy time shall come. And so I must not praise you,
although you have been instrumental in bringing great good
to me."
" I do not feel that I am worthy of praise ; for here have
I passed some of the happiest hours of my life. I have
witnessed your improvement in health from day to day, and
much happiness have I derived thereby. But, Jeannie,
when you so generously aided the hapless child, yon merited
commendation, for you braved the prejudices of others, and
wrought a truly good work."
352 GLBNWOOD.
" I fear you give me more credit than is justly my due."
" No Jeannie, no ! It was your hand that lifted me
from the ' Slough of Despond,' and led me into pleasant
places ; you quickened my dead faith in humanity into life.
You knew me better than I knew myself, and through your
instrumentality I became a very different being. I have
never forgotten it, and I never can."
" And have your feelings in relation to what I then did
for you been as intense always as they now seem to be? "
" Yes, Jeannie ; and they seem not more intense than
they are. Your childhood life was so beautiful, that you
can scarcely realise how wretched, how utterly hopeless
was mine. You have assured me, and I believe you, that
my presence here has helped you regain, in a measure, your
health. You are not well yet, far from it, but much
better. And I am thankful that I have been of some ser-
vice to you, for there is no one in the wide world whose
welfare interests me so much. The good which you wrought
for me in my great hour of need is impressed upon my
heart, and there is no power that can erase it. I have
seemed forgetful, but I never have been."
" I do not doubt you in the least, Willie. The darkest
portions of our lives have their sunny places. It was
wearisome business teaching that large school of great boys
and girls, in Glenwood ; but how glad I am now that it fell
to my lot to do so ! We had some happy hours, Willie, eat-
ing dinner together in that old school-house, and walking
home in company."
" They were very happy hours to me. I have been puz-
zled to account for the abundance of food that you brought.
People do not usually put up such large dinners for a doli-
cate school-ma'am, like you."
GLENWOOD. 353
" I can solve the riddle for you. My landlady was very
generous the first day, and gave me double the amount I
actually required for myself. I carried nothing back ; and
so she added to the quantity, and I obtained the credit of
having an enormous appetite for dinner."
" Did she hint as much? " said Willie, laughing heartily,
in which he was joined by Jeannie.
" 0, yes ; she used to speak about it quite often."
"If I had known that, I think I should have ate more
sparingly."
" I am glad that you did not know it, then; for you was a
poor, half-starved creature. You remember how well you
learned that winter? Those dinners helped you. With the
wretched fare that you had at the poor-house, your strength
would scarcely have been sufficient for such hard study."
" But did not Mrs. Jones' remarks in relation to your
appetite mortify you?"
"Not in the least. I rather enjoyed the joke. She
seemed to think that I ought to grow very fat and plump
and was much puzzled that I did not."
"There are some ludicrous things in this world, and it
is well that there are."
V
" So I think. But how long shall you be absent on your
book business? "
" About a month."
" I fear the weeks will be all months."
" I hope not. But, if you think you shall be too lonely,
you had better remain at your father's, as you are still in
feeble health."
"No, I had rather return with you; for, now that the
harvest is being gathered in, it is necessary that I should be
30*
354 GLENWOOD.
at home. You know how things were neglected during my
sickness ; and so I must not trust to those who have proved
false, or have no faculty for good management. There is
one favor, Willie, which I shall require during your ab-
sence."
"What is it, my friend?"
" You must write to me."
" I thank you for asking it ; and I will do so as often as
you wish."
"The more frequently the better; for while reading
your letters I shall half fancy that you are present, and
talking to me."
" And will you write? "
' ' Yes, if I can send my letters where you can get
them."
" I can arrange that. Here comes Waldo. Our ride
has been longer than usual, and he has most likely grown
impatient."
" Has it seemed longer to you ? "
" No, Jeannie ; the moments have glided away very
quickly."
Some rods from the house Waldo met them, and he
seemed quite unhappy because they had been gone so long.
To please him, they took him in, and rode some distance the
other way.
" I thought," he said, " that you never would come back
again ! "
" Did the time seem very long ? " asked his mother.
" 0, yes. I was so tired that I lay down and went to
sleep : and when I awoke Lucy was so cross that I did n't
GLENWOOD. 355
know what to do. I came out doors, and sat down all alone,
waiting for you ; and I was so lonesome ! "
"If you were lonely, why did you not go to your brook
and talk with that? " said Willie.
" I did not feel like it," he replied. " Sometimes I like
to go very much. I went yesterday and sat down close to
it; and then the brook went running and jumping along, and
saying the queerest things ! The brook has a sweet voice, I
think."
" What did the brook say ? " asked Willie.
" I don't know; it seemed to say, ' Wallie, Wallie, lie down,
Wallie ! sing you to sleep, Wallie, Wallie ! ' I did lie
down once, for I thought it told me to ; and mamma found
me right close to the water, sound asleep, did n't you,
mamma?"
' ' Yes, dearest ; and you recollect I told you that you must
not lie down so near the brook again."
" Well, I never have since ; but I go near enough to hear
its silver voice. I wonder what it does say ! Mamma says
that I should drown under the water; the fishes don't,
though ! I should like to lie on my back right where 't is
the deepest, and look up to the sky, and then perhaps I could
see God; I want to see him. Is God up there?" he in-
quired, pointing upwards.
"Yes, dearest," replied his mother; "God is every-
where."
" I wish I could see him ; I know that I should love him.
Why can't he stick his head out? "
At this Willie burst into a loud laugh, in which he was
joined by Mrs. Lund.
" I guess you think that is funny, you laugh so," said
356 GLENWOOD.
Waldo; "but I don't see -what there is to laugh at, I 'm
sure. God is up there, for Lucy said he was, and so did
you, mamma. Perhaps he is behind that white cloud ;
that 's his curtain, I guess ; and if he would just take his
hand and push it aside, I might see his face."
" God is a spirit," said Mrs. Lund, "and he cannot be
seen by mortal eye."
"That is queer, if he is big enough to make everybody.
But he can speak and make us hear him, can't he ? "
"What makes you think so? " said Willie.
" 'Cause I have heard him myself! "
" You have heard him ? "
"" Yes, and he told me to come up to heaven, for he wanted
me."
" You imagined that, I think."
" 0, no, I did not ! I heard him away up in the blue
sky ; but, then, it might have been an angel. I don't know
but the angels will come after me when God can't do with-
out me any longer."
They had now arrived home, and so the conversation
ended.
In the evening Mrs. Lund requested Willie to give the
necessary directions to the hired man in relation to the
work during their absence, and lay out a general plan for
him to pursue while he should be away on his book-agency.
"I was overseer myself," she said, "until I was sick;
and the business was done very well. I intend to resume
the office, in a measure, while you are gone ; but I prefer
that you should plan, and I will see to the execution."
"I will do as you request," said Willie ; "for you are
not sufficiently strong, as yet, to be burthened with much
care."
CHAPTER XXXIl.
AT CHURCH. THE YOUNG CRITIC. AMONG OLD FRIENDS. SfPPMEt
HIS SUBSCRIBERS. WITH THE PENLYS AGAIN. RETURNS BOMB.
THE following Saturday was a busy day for Willie ; for it
was requisite that he should be very particular in his di-
rections, if he would have the harvesting done as he desired.
On Sunday he carried Mrs. Lund and Waldo to church.
She had not attended before since her illness. She was not,
however, pleased with the services. A newly-fledged divine
officiated both forenoon and afternoon, and his discourses
were altogether too highly seasoned to suit her taste. When
they had returned home, both Mrs. Lund and Willie ex-
pressed their disapprobation of much that the minister had
uttered. They thought that more of Calvary and less of
Sinai would better accomplish the work desired. Waldo
listened a while very attentively, and then said : *
" I knew that minister swared, I did. I heard him keep
saying those wicked words all the time he was preaching.
Should n't you think he 'd be ashamed, mamma, to be
swearing so, right in the meeting-house, on Sunday? "
"He was not swearing, my dear. When he spoke so
severely of the ungodly, he meant that they would be pun-
ished for their wickedness."
GLBNWOOD.
"Well, I thought he swared, for he said a great many
bad words ; but I suppose he did n't mean swearing."
" No, Wallie."
Monday morning, all hands were up with the sun, and,
taking an early breakfast, Willie, Mrs. Lund, and Waldo,
started for Yamford. By eleven o'clock she was so much
exhausted that they stopped at a hotel, where they took
dinner, remaining until three p. M. It was their intention
to have arrived at Mr. Wyman's by one o'clock ; but, being
detained so long, they reached there just in season for tea.
Very warm was the reception which they received. A more
heart-felt greeting they could not have desired. Willie was
made to feel that he was welcomed for his own sake, as well
as for those he brought with him. How glad he was to be
at the cottage again ! After tea he went with Mrs. Lund
and Waldo to the grape-vine arbor ; and then, as she was
weary, he rambled about alone, visiting old familiar places.
In the evening he held a long conversation with Mr. Wyman,
giving the latter an account of his life on Mr. Penly's farm,
and his experience in the book-trade.
During the week Frank and Arthur came home with their
wives and children, and all seemed to have a very happy
time. Mr. Wyman declared that he was glad to see his
three boys together once more. On Saturday the parties
all returned to their several places of abode ; and the Monday
following Willie went to Boston. He took the books which
were subscribed for, and visited the various towns where his
subscribers lived, hiring a horse where he could not con-
veniently reach them on foot. Saturday evening of the
second week, he arrived at Felton, where he had thirty
names. Very hard had he worked that day, and he waa
GLENWOOD. 859
glad when he reached the door of the house that had been
his home for so many years. He rapped very gently, but
Mr. Penly heard him, and answered the summons.
" Sakes alive ! " he exclaimed, as he opened the door "if
here an't Willie Cunard ! How are you, my boy, how
are ye?"
Before he had time to answer, Hattie, who was sitting in
the adjoining room, reading, came running, as soon as she
heard his name, and threw herself into his arms ; and, in the
transport of seeing him again, burst into tears.
"What are ye whimpering 'bout?" said Mr. Penly,
wiping his own eyes with his large bandanna. " I don't see
anything to cry for. Are ye pooty wal, Willie? "
" Very well indeed, I thank you," he said; " but where
are mother and Sarah ? "
" They 're out milkin', but they '11 be in soon. The old
woman will be monstrous glad to see you. You 've got
slicked up since ye went away. I hope you 've made lots
of money. It is terrible aggravatin' business, this goin' all
'round the country an' gettin' abscribers. That are day
that I went round with ye was 'nough to sicken me on 't."
" How glad I am that you have come again ! " said
Hattie.
"And I was glad to come, Hattie," said Willie. "1
labored hard to reach here to-day, so that I could stay over
Sunday."
" Over Sunday ! " said Mr. Penly. " I 'spect you will
stop over a number of Sundays. You 've lived here a long
time, you know; an', 'sides that, you are Nation to us. I
want you to make us a visit that '11 'mount to soinethin'."
" So do I," said Hattie.
360 GLENWOOD.
"I should be very glad to stay," said Willie, "but I
must supply my subscribers without delay, and after that I
have other engagements."
Mrs. Penly and Sarah now came in, and were both re-
joiced to see Willie. The former wept very freely, and told
hhn that he seemed like an own son.
{l Sich a cryin' for no thin'," said Mr. Penly, bringing his
bandanna into requisition again, "I never seed. I shouldn't
wonder, now, if the boy has n't had a mite of supper."
"Have you taken tea?" inquired Hattie.
"I have not," said Willie.
"I knew he hadn't," said Mr. Penly, "by his looks.
Now, you 'd never thought on 't. It takes the old folks to
'tend to sich things, arter all."
" La, daddy ! " said Mrs. Penly, " I suppose she was so
glad to see him that she couldn't think of nothing else."
Hattie immediately made up a fire and put on the tea-
kettle ; and then she made biscuit, for she thought Willie
ought to have some fresh and hot. In a brief period the
supper was smoking on the table.
"I declare!" said Mr. Penly, "how smart that are
gal is!"
"She does work quicker 'n ever 1 could," said Mrs.
Penly. "Now, 'twould took me a full hour to have
got that supper, and she han't been more 'n twenty min-
utes. You see, she likes books about as well as you do,
Willie, and I suspect she has learned to work quick so as
to have the more time to read."
"That is a good reason for learning to work quickly,
isn't it, Willie?" said Hattie.
. "] think it is," he replied, as he seated himself at the
GLENWOOD. 861
table. " Nothing is better for the mind and heart than
good books."
" I 'spected you 'd preach that are doctrine," said Mr.
Penly, " 'cause you are in the business, an' 't won't do for
you to talk nothin' else."
" I always did preach it," said Willie.
" So you did," said Mrs. Penly. " La, don't mind what
daddy says ! Somehow or other, Hattie was born spry.
Now, there is our Sarah, she is just like dacldy and me,
slow and sure. As for Hattie, she's a little flirt of a thing;
all she thinks of is books and beaux."
" Why, mother ! " said Hattie.
" It would not surprise me," said Willie, " to learn that
Cupid has you fairly entangled in his meshes, by this time,
Hattie."
" You must not believe any such thing, if you hear it,"
she replied.
"Yes, he must, too," said Mr. Penly. "None of your
white lies, Hattie ! they're jest as bad as any. I 'spect
every day when that are feller will ax me for my youngest
darter."
Hattie blushed the deepest scarlet at this, and Mr. Penly
and Willie laughed quite heartily.
"I'm afeard the cakes an't very good," said Mrs. Penly.
" They are," said Willie, " very nice indeed, and this
tea reminds me of old times."
"I am glad if you like the vittals. I used to do the
cooking myself, once ; but Hattie docs it pooty much all
now."
" There, Nancy," said Mr. Penly, " how nat'ral it doeg
seem to have Willie sittin' to that are table once more ! "
31
GLENWOOD.
" So it does, daddy. I don't know how it is, Willie, but
you seem about as near to me as my own children."
"Thank you, mother," said Willie ; "I shall never for-
get your kindness. The poor, sick, ragged boy found a
home and a mother here."
" 0, don't say anything about that, for that was nothing "
said Mrs. Penly.
"It was a great deal," said Willie. " You were all true
Christians in your conduct towards me."
" I never pertended to 'sperience no thin'," said Mr.
Penly, ' ' but to help a feller-crittur in his need is my
'ligion, an' I think it 's 'bout the best there is. Sich little
things don't cost nothin'. An't I jest as rich as though I
hadn't gin you that are ride? Certainly I am. An't
Nancy an' me jest as well off as though we 'd a sent you to
the poor-house? I reckon we are, and a great deal better."
"If your religion is less comprehensive than that of oth-
ers, it is the right sort as far as it goes," said Willie.
"I know 'tis," said Mr. Penly. "What is that are
'ligion good for whi<-h is nothin' but prayin' an' speech-a-
fyin' ? Not much. I reckon ! Now, a good many folks don't
have any other, an' they don't want any. They 'spect to
go to heaven on that, which is all they are lookin' out
arter. They don't think there's any 'ligion at all in help-
in' a feller-crittur. 'Ligion to sich folks an't doin' good,
but jest prayin' theirselves right up to heaven."
" Don't go too far, husband," said Mrs. Penly ; "for you
are apt to when you get in arnest. But I think pooty
much as you do. However, you know, the Bible says, ' Ye
must be born again.' ' :
" I know it does, an' that 's what they call 'speriencin'
OLENWOOD. 863
'ligion. Wai, arter all, I would n't give my 'ligion for that
of some who 'sperienced forty years ago."
After Willie had finished his supper, Mr. Penly began
to inquire about his business.
!; Have ye been gettin' abscribers all this time? "
"No, sir," replied Willie; "for the last six weeks I
have been at work on a farm."
" Guess you have ! Who for ? "
" For an old friend ; she that was Jeannie Wyman."
"What! that are gal that got married, and e'enamost
broke your heart?"
" Why, daddy ! " said Mrs. Penly.
" The very one," said Willie, smiling.
11 How are they gettin' along ? "
" She has seen a great deal of trouble, buried her hus-
band and oldest child."
" Poor gal ! that 's trouble 'nough. Does she take their
loss pooty hard? "
" It brought her to a sick bed, and almost cost her her
life. I found her by accident, and, though she was much
better than she had been, yet she was very weak and low-
spirited."
" An' so you stayed to cheer her up? Done jest right,
Willie."
" She has a large farm, and those she employed were
not faithful, and so the work was done in a slovenly man-
ner. She immediately confided everything to my care."
" Couldn't put 'em into better hands. I'll warrant ye
there was a change 'bout short metre."
" I tried to do my duty."
64 G L E N W I) .
"Sartin, and you knowed how. I tell ye what 'tis,
Willie, I 'spect you'll marry that are gal yet."
" Why, father ! " said Hattie. " How queer you talk ! "
" He always says just what he thinks," said Sarah.
" Are you goin' back there? " inquired Mr. Penly.
" I think of returning soon."
"Goin' to stay long?"
" Most likely the rest of the fall, and through the
winter."
" I see it 's all up with us. We can't have ye any longer,
an' it 's no use to 'spect it now. Wai, wal, it 's all right, I
s'pose."
11 The truth is, Mr. Penly, that she is in feeble health,
and she needs some one to take the charge of the farm
whom she can trust implicitly. Now, I am so vain that
I flatter myself I am just the one."
" That's true enough ; I did hope that I should get you
back again. You see, I hired a man last spring, and he
was the laziest feller I ever seed. He usually walked with
his hands behind him, at the rate "of a mile an hour, jest
about. I could n't get along with him nohow, an' I paid
him up an' sent him adrift ; then I hired a boy, an' he did
fust rate till he took to stealin' ; so I sent him adrift, too,
an' have had to depend on the neighbors ever since."
"You have not had very good luck," said Willie.
"No; but I shall look out sharp in the futur," said
Mr. Penly. "I've kept things along pretty well, some-
how, and kept up the 'provements. Sakes alive ! I do my
work jest 'bout as easy agin as I used to. Now, if I had n't
gin you a ride that are day that I overtook you, I should n't
had no new ploughs, no new harrer, no new hoes, an' no
GLENWOOD. 365
new nothin' ; an' I should have had to delve along jest as 1
used to. I jest cast my bread 'pon the waters, that are time,
an' it came back all made inter cream toast."
" I am very glad that you like the changes I persuaded
you to make."
" Persuaded ! you fairly driv me to it. I did n't b'lieve
in your new-fangled things, but I've had to give in at last.
I 've allus been terrible sot 'agin new inventions, jest got up
to get away folks' money. I liked the old tools best, 'cause
I didn't know nothin' 'bout the new. But I've lamed bet-
ter now, an' I mean to paternize all the 'provements here-
arter."
"There is no employment," said Willie, "more honora-
ble than that of agriculture. To till the soil in such a
manner as to raise large crops, is what a man may be justly
proud of. I am resolved to have a farm of my own, some
time or other ; and I mean to cultivate it in a scientific
manner, that I may be well repaid for my labor. And I
hope that I shall escape the mania for buying up, on credit
or for cash, all the land adjacent to my own. Better do
justice to a little, than half cultivate a number of acres.
Look at poor Harding ! The neighbors say that he has double
the land that he had ten years ago, while his crops have
fallen off one third. No class need to learn wisdom more
than farmers."
" I motion," said Mr. Penly, "that you go and marry
that are widder, if you can get her; an' then you '11 have a
good wife, an' a good farm, too."
" Perhaps she intends to remain a widow," said Hattie.
"I don't care what she 'tends," said Mr. Penly; "but
31*
GLENWOOD.
she '11 never do it, if she has sich a good chance as that are
to better herself."
" I guess she'd have you, fast enough," said Sarah to
Willie.
"She'd be a, foolish girl if she didn't, if you wanted
her," said Mrs. Penly. " 'T an't natur to live all alone;
and I think a widder has jest as much right to marry as
anybody else."
"Them's my sentiments, Nancy," said Mr. Penly.
"There's nothin' like a good husband an' wife in this
world. We 've tried it, an' we know."
" The conversation has taken a turn which I did not
anticipate," said Willie; "and you are laying your plans
quite freely for my friend and me. As to Mrs. Lund, I
don't think she has thought of marriage since Mr. Lund
died, although she has been very lonely. What the future
may have in store for us, we know not ; but we all hope that
our fondest wishes may be abundantly gratified."
Willie remained a few days in Felton, devoting a part of
the time to business, and the rest to pleasure. He and Hat-
tie spent many pleasant hours during this visit in reading
and conversation, in the arbor, under the vine which their
own hands had planted. On the following Thursday morn-
ing, he reluctantly took his leave of his faithful friends, and
commenced again supplying his subscribers. It took a week
longer to reach them all than he anticipated. When the
work was done, and he had settled with his employer, he glad-
ly hastened to the home of Jeannie Lund. The latter had
become somewhat impatient ; for nearly six weeks, instead
of four, had passed since he left her. His welcome, however,
was none the less warm because he had been absent longer
OLENWOOD. 867
than he expected ; for Mrs. Lund knew that circumstances
beyond his control detained him.
It was late in the evening when Willie arrived, and all
the inmates were in a deep sleep but Mrs. Lund. She had
not retired, for she felt sure that he would come that night.
Why she felt so she did not know, for Willie had written to
her that he could not set the time. After she began to feel
assured that he was on his journey home, she thought the
feeling might arise from her intense' desire to see him again.
But, as the hours fled away, she knew that he was coming,
that every moment shortened the distance between them;
and when the bell rung at a quarter before eleven, she
opened the door without hesitation, for she was very certain
that Willie was there. She was not disappointed ; and the
warm clasp of the hand, and the kiss, showed that the joy
of the reunion was mutual. And it was ; for their emotions
were such that neither spoke for several minutes. Willie
now looked inquiringly into Mrs. Lund's face, and said :
" Your health has improved, Jeannie, very much ; do you
not think so ? "
" Yes, Willie ; I begin to feel as I used to. For a num-
ber of days I have grown stronger ; my wonted vigor has in
a measure returned, and sometimes there seems to pour into my
whole being a new energy. At such moments it does not ap-
pear to be the old strength coming back, but something newer
and fresher. I still have my sad moments very sad ; but
there are also moments of blissful enjoyment. I often feel
as though it were wrong to be happy so soon after I have
lain my loved ones in the grave ; but that cannot be, for my
peace is so serene."
" You must never harbor the thought, Jeannie, that it
368 GLEN WOOD.
can be wrong to be happy. Reconciliation to God's provi-
dences always brings peace."
" I do not doubt it. You look weary, Willie, but I trust
that you are well."
" I am very well indeed, and have been ever since I left
you. Has the harvesting been done according to my
orders?"
" Very nearly so. On the whole, I am well satisfied.
You have not been to supper. In the pleasure of seeing
you, I had forgotten it. But I knew you would be here,
and so I have it nearly ready."
" Then you expected me ? "
" 0, yes; I had a presentiment that you would come to-
night. If you had not,* I should have been seriously dis-
appointed."
" Have you expected me before ? "
" I have desired it, but have not truly thought you would
come."
"How is Waldo?"
" He is well, and anxious to see you. He has spoken of
you often. You must see him before you retire."
" I should be happy to, the dear boy ! "
"He is in a sweet sleep now, and I shall not care to
awake him ; for the excitement of seeing you would make
him restless the remainder of the night. I like to look at
children when sleeping such sweet, beautiful children!
do you not, Willie?"
"I do, very much ; for the repose is so calm. Where ia
Lucy?" he continued, taking his seat at the table.
" She is married."
" Married ! "
QLENWOOD. 369
11 She has had alarming symptoms for some time ; but the
disease took her off very suddenly at last."
" You are not alone, Jeannie? "
" Yes, I am, Willie."
" This is not right. You are not strong enough to do the
work and have so much care. I must look up a domestic
for you to-morrow."
" She has only been gone two days, and I have done very
well, so far. However, I fear the work will be too much
for me ; therefore I shall not object, if you can succeed in
getting me a good girl."
Mrs. Lund now sat opposite of Willie and poured the
tea, as she did the first night he came to her father's. They
both thought of it, and of the events that had transpired
since then ; their long separation, and their coming together
again to live under the same roof, happier in each other's
society than they had ever been before. Mrs. Lund remem-
bered that she had compassion for the poor boy ; but now
such feelings were no longer called for, and they had been
succeeded by those of respect and gratitude.
As for Willie, he did not attempt to analyze his thoughts.
He was aware that he had never conquered his early love
for Jeannie ; but he had learned reconciliation.
*
CHAPTER XXXIII.
AN IRISH COOK. AN OLD FRIEND. A CHILD'S FRANKNESS. WALDO'S
THOUGHTS AND WISHES, AND HIS MOTHER'S FEARS.
VERY glad was Waldo when his mother informed him, in
the morning, that Willie had returned. So impatient was
he to see him, that he went to his chamber, and, as Willie
was not awake, he put his arms around his neck and kissed
him, when the slumberer awoke from a confused yet blissful
dream, in which things past and to come were strangely
blended Jeannie Wyman, when he first knew her, chang-
ing, somehow, to Hattie Penly ; and then to a sad-hearted
widow of somebody, and as suddenly she was his own dear
wife, reposing in his arms.
" Breakfast is almost ready," said Waldo to Willie, after
they had conversed some minutes, " and you must dresa
you and go down and eat with mamma and me."
It was Willie's intention during the day to go in search
of a domestic ; but while they were at breakfast a rap was
heard at the door, and when Mrs. Lund opened it there
stood a young woman whose appearance indicated that she
had lately come from the Emerald Isle.
" Howd' ye do, mum? " she said. " May be ye 'd like
to get one to do the work for ye ? "
GLENWOOD. 371
" I want a girl very much," said Mrs. Lund. " Can you
do house- work?"
" Och ! to be sure I jist can. What '11 I want to do but
that ? "
" How long have you been in America? "
"Is it that ye want to know now ? Och, sure that 's no
matther at all ! Me mem'ry is not good for the telling of
sich; but I've been here this two, three, thirteen year,
mum."
" Have you ever done house- work? "
" Och ! to be sure I have, and here 's the paper that '11
tell ye. An' sure an' did n't my mistress give it to me when
I left her?"
" What is your name ? "
" Me name? If ye had looked in the paper I gave ye,
ye 'd a found it widout the throuble of axing me. Well,
thin, me name is Bridget McLooney."
"Walk in, Bridget, and after breakfast I will talk with
you further."
" Sure you will, an' won't I be glad to sit down afther
walking this two, three hour?"
" Have you taken breakfast?" said Mrs. Lund to Bridget,
as she was about to clear off the table.
" No mum," she replied, " for I started before the praties
had been put on, or the tay-kettle ather. I 've been walking
so long that I am very faint, mum."
" Sit up to the table," said Mrs. Lund.
" That 's what I will, an' the Lord bless ye for the re-
memberence of it ! "
Mrs. Lund now examined the certificate, which stated that
Bridget McLooney had been employed as a cook in a
372 GLENWOOD.
boarding-house for six months. After Bridget had devoured
all there was upon the table, she moved to her former seat.
" The certificate says that you have been employed as a
cook," Mrs. Lund remarked to her.
"Yis, mum, that's thrue."
" How much do you ask a week ? "
" How much do I ax a wake ? " with a somewhat dubious
look. "Is it the pay ye were spaking of ? "
" Certainly."
" Well, thin, may be I'd ax ye two dollar."
" I do not like to give so much as that ; however, I will
take you on trial for a few days."
Bridget now went to work under Mrs. Lund's directions ;
but the latter had sufficient reason, before night, to doubt the
truth of the statement in the certificate that she had had six
months' experience as a cook. She washed and wiped the
dishes very well ; but, in getting dinner, Mrs. Lund had to
do it nearly all. When it was time for supper she prepared
some buckwheat, and asked Bridget if she knew how to cook
fritters.
" An' certinly I do," she said. But when she placed
upon the table the evidence of her skill, she was greeted with
such a laugh from Willie and Mrs. Lund, that she was com-
pletely astounded. As for the latter, she laughed till the
tears ran down her cheeks. Bridget had turned the whole
batch into the fry-pan and cooked it all together, producing
a loaf of soggy buckwheat bread. Mrs. Lund remarked that
she was sorry to lose the fritters, but the laugh was worth
more than all the buckwheats ever cooked.
She was told to make coffee the next morning, and use
fish-skin to settle it with. Instead of following her instruc-
QLENWOOD. 873
tions, she put in the tail of a large codfish. The result was,
the coffee was muddy, and so salt that it could not be drank ;
and Mrs. Lund immediately made tea, which was substituted
for the salted coffee. As Bridget had such poor success with
the fish-skin, it was thought best to have her use eggs ; but
every morning the coffee was just so muddy. It was a mys-
tery to Mrs. Lund why it was so. Having occasion, one day,
to go to the cupboard, she saw an egg, which looked so yel-
low, dirty, and unwholesome, that she opened the window and
threw it as far as she could.
" Och ! mum," said Bridget, " ye 've thrown away the
egg what I settled the coffee wid."
" The egg you settled the coffee with ? " said Mrs. Lund,
interrogatively.
" Yis, mum," she replied. " Sure I put it into the coffee-
pot, and stirred it up every morning with the big spoon."
At this explanation Mrs. Lund laughed as heartily as she
did when Bridget made the loaf of buckwheat bread ; in which
she was joined by Willie, who sat reading in an adjoining
room, and had listened to the conversation.
Similar laughable blunders occurred every day, but they
became so frequent as to be very annoying ; so, after a fort-
night's trial, she was dismissed. As she had very few clothes,
on the morning she left Mrs. Lund gave her two second-
hand calico dresses. Bridget examined them carefully, and
then said,
" They are poor things, but the Lord bless yo
accarding ! "
A few days after this, an old acquaintance of Mrs. Lund,
by the name of Sarah Whiting, came to make her a visit
She was a maiden lady, thirty years old, and had formerly
32
374 GLENWOOD.
been Mrs. Lund's teacher. She was a person of a large
frame and rather coarse features, but there were times when
the expression of her face was very beautiful. She had re-
sided with her fathe** but he was now dead ; and so she was
desirous of finding a home for the winter with one whose
spirit was kindred with hei own. She could do house-work
well, and liked it ; but her nature rebelled against holding
the position of a domestic merely. She could work, but she
must be one of the family, and receive equal attention and
respect. She could not hold a position which would cause
her to be regarded as an inferior.
Very happy was Mrs. Lund to welcome her old acquaint-
ance to her home. She wanted some one to aid her in her
work, and she was glad to have that one a companion, an
equal, and a friend.
Miss Whiting was a great lover of children, and she took
a strong liking to Waldo the moment her eyes fell upon him ;
but, as she was somewhat coarse-looking, and her face plain,
he did not, at first, seem pleased with her. As the afternoon
wore away, however, he became less shy, and no longer
refused her caresses.
While Mrs. Lund was preparing supper, Miss Whiting
took Waldo into her lap and talked with him on various
subjects, being both surprised and delighted at the strange
and curious thoughts which he gave utterance to. After
conversing for some time, he laid his head upon her shoulder,
and gazed into her face with a very curious expression.
She wondered what were his thoughts, and wished that he
might utter them. He did not keep her long in suspense,
for he said,
GLENWOOD. 875
" How homely you are ! I scarcely never saw any one so
homely before."
" Then you think me very homely, do you, dear ?" she said.
" You are more homely than mamma, or Willie, or any-
body that I ever saw, excepting Bridget."
"I am sorry that my face does not please you better,
Wallie, for I want you to love me very much."
" Do you love me ? "
" Yes, I love you dearly."
"You do? Everybody loves me. Well, I guess I'll
love you, if you are homely."
" I hope so, for I am to remain here through the winter,
and after you become more accustomed to my plain features
I trust you will like them better."
" 0, 1 shall, I know, 'cause they look so good ! They look
a great deal better than they did when I first saw you."
Mrs. Lund was in the adjoining room setting the table,
and heard this conversation, and she felt much mortified.
As soon as Waldo came out, she took him into the kitchen,
and expressed so much disapprobation at what he had said
to Miss Whiting, that he commenced crying bitterly. She
told him not to cry, but to go and tell the lady he was sorry.
Waldo now went reluctantly into the presence of Miss
Whiting, for he supposed that he had been guilty of a great
offence.
" What is it, Wallie ? " she inquired.
He looked up into her face with tears in his eyes, and
said,
" I 'm sorry you 're so homely ! "
A hearty laugh from Miss Whiting was the response,
which was answered by Mrs. Lund from the next room.
876 GLENWOOD.
" You have mended the matter, now ! " said his mother.
" The boy has told the truth," said Miss Whiting, " and
that is a thousand times better than a falsehood, though the
latter might have been a little more complimentary. He
thinks that I have a remarkably plain face, and he is
really sorry for it. But I should not have known of his
sorrow, I presume, if it had not been for his mother. I like
the boy's frankness, and I doubt not that in less than a
week's time he will very materially change his opinion."
" I know he will," said Mrs. Lund, " for your face doea
not look plain to me. I care not so much about the regular-
ity of the features as I do for the expression. A doll haa
regular features the expression reveals the depth of the
soul. A doll-like face will do to look at now and then, but
its lackadaisical appearance soon palls upon the sight."
" That will do, Jeannie. If you say any more, I shall
believe you less sincere than Waldo."
" I hope not, for I mean just what I say. There are
other faces which are dazzling at the first glance, but when
studied you learn that their owners have hollow hearts.
The dahlia is splendid, but the fragrant rose is the better
flower."
" Mamma says there are flowers in God's gardens and
fields," said Waldo. "There 's where my papa is. Don't
you want to go there and see them ? " to Miss Whiting.
" I believe there are flowers in heaven," she said, " and
they are more beautiful than those of earth."
" I do want to go there," returned Waldo ; " God has told
me to come. I wish Carra would drop me down a bunch of
flowers. If she would, I'd keep them in water a long
while."
GLENWOOD. 377
" How queerly you talk, Wallie ! " said his mother, sadly.
" Children have strange thoughts," said Miss Whiting,
" and frequently give utterance to words which surprise us."
" Do I talk queerly ? " said Waldo. " I did n't know it.
If Carra don't send me down the flowers, I shall go up there
and get some. I should like to come back and see mamma
and Willie, but I don't suppose I can. I guess Carra is
lonesome, 'cause I am not there to play with her."
"0, Waldo," said his mother, " you make me very sad ! "
" Do I? " he said, climbing into her lap. and looking lov-
ingly into her face. " I don't want to make you sad, mamma.
Would you be sorry to have me go up to God's house, and
see papa and Carra?"
"I cannot spare you, my dear boy ! " And, while she
folded him to her heart, and kissed him again and again,
she said, " We are but two, Wallie ! "
" Do you wish to die and go to heaven, and leave your
dear mother alone?" asked Miss Whiting.
" 0, I shouldn't leave her alone ; for dear Willie is going
to stay with her. Willie likes mamma, and you like Willie,
don't you, mamma ? "
" We are friends," said his mother, blushing.
"I knew you were; and he will stay here always. I
don't want to leave mamma," he said, seriously; "but
Carra wants me, and my papa, too."
" You must not think about leaving me," said his mother,
with tears in her eyes ; "for how could I live without you?
I love you with all my soul, Wallie ; and I want you, drar-
est, ever near me, to be my comfort and support in life, and
to console in death."
32*
878 GLENWOOD.
" Well, then," he said, "I'll stay with you, if God will
let me ; but he tells me to come to him."
"I have been so engaged in the conversation," said Mrs.
Lund, " that I forgot all about my supper. I presume my
biscuits are half spoiled. Waldo has one of his serious
talking spells; so I will leave him to entertain you, Sarah."
' ' Did you know that your remarks made your mother
very unhappy ? " said Miss Whiting.
" I am sorry," said Waldo ; " I did not mean to make her
cry. I do love my mamma. She is very good. Every-
body loves her; don't you love her?"
" Yes, my child, very much ; and she is worthy of love.
I have known her ever since she was a little girl, and I have
always loved her."
" 'Cause she was always so good, I suppose. I mean to be
good, and then you will love me. And so you will live with
us all winter ! It will be cold in winter, and the flowers all
dead. I should think we might have summer all the time,
and we shall in heaven. I should like to live in such a
world. Mother says that she can't let me go there, but I
must go."
" When you talk so, you make your mother very sad."
" Do I ? I don't want to make her sad, I 'm sure. She
is always good to me ; and when I go to God I want her to
go with me, and lead me up the golden stairs."
" She may go long before you do. You have but just
begun life. I expect you will live a great many years after
your mother has gone to heaven."
" It would be queer if I should live to be an old man '
But I shall not; I shall go and see my papa and Carra."
QLENWOOD. 379
" You can see them when you die, if you live to be a
man."
" I know it ; but I can't wait so long ! I can't stay here
when the angels tell me to come ! I hear them every day !
They have golden harps up there, and they sing beautifully !
Don't you ever hear the angels sing? Hark ! I hear them
now, and I see them ! How white their clothes are ; but
grandma's are the whitest of them all ! "
To this Miss Whiting made no reply, for Waldo was gaz-
ing upward, and the expression of his face was most heavenly.
It seemed as though a holy spell was upon him ; and she
believed, for the time, that he did see the angels. At this
moment his mother came in ; and when she saw the upturned
gaze of her child, and the look of rapture which clothed his
face, as though illuminated with a celestial radiance, she
stopped and stood perfectly still, regarding him with wonder
and fear. Miss Whiting was equally absorbed, and tears
unconsciously rolled down the cheeks of both. The spell
was broken by the entrance of Willie. Mrs. Lund now
dropped into a chair and covered her face with her hands,
when Waldo went to her and sprang into her lap. Con-
vulsively did she press him to her heart, while he looked
into her face with an expression of warmest love, and said,
" We are but two, mamma! "
As soon as Mrs. Lund could allay her emotions, she in-
formed them that supper was ready ; when they gladly re-
paired to the table, only too happy to have something tc
change the current of their thoughts.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A VISIT FROM MR. PENLY. MARRIAGE OF HATTIE. A HAPPY HOME.
SPLENDID SPECTACLE.
SOME two months after Miss Whiting came to live with
Mrs. Lund, on a very cold day, Mr. Penly drove up to the
door, when Willie Cunard went out quickly to welcome
him.
"How are ye, my boy?" said Mr. Penly, cordially
grasping Willie's proffered hand, and shaking it heartily.
" I am well," was the reply, " and I hope you are as well
as you look."
" Never better in all my life. I 'm old, Willie, but tough,
tough 's a pine-knot."
" It 's a very cold day to take such a long ride ; but walk
in, and I will introduce you to the folks, and then I will put
your horse in the barn."
" Sakes alive ! boy, do you s'pose I can't stan' a leetle
cold? I an't none of yer shiverin' kind. I shall help take
out Dolly myself, an' see her well cared for, afore I go into
the house one step."
" I have taken care of her a great many times, Mr.
Penly ; and you know that I can do it just as well as you.' ;
" So you can ; but, somehow, when I 'm 'way from home,
3LENWOOD. 381
I don't feel easy an' comfortable like, 'less I see to her my-
self."
" Are Mrs. Penly and the girls well? "
"Yes; though not 'zactly. The old woman is ailin' a
leetle, but the gals is fust rate. I snum, this is a pooty
barn ! How scrumptious 't is ! Looks jest like ye. I should
know you had the care on 't."
Mr. Penly now went into the house, and was made ac-
quainted with its mistress and Miss Whiting.
" I 'm glad to see you," said Mr. Penly to Mrs. Lund,
" very glad. Now, I 've hearn this ere boy," referring to
Willie Cunard, " tell on ye a great many times, 'an I allua
thought I should like to see you with my own eyes."
"I have heard him speak of you very often," said Mrs.
Lund, "of your kindness, and that of your wife and
daughters. You are very welcome here ; for I am happy to
have Willie's faithful friend for a guest."
"Much obleeged to ye, Mrs. Lund. I don't wonder the
boy likes ye. An' so he telled ye all about the old feller?
Wai, wal, he 's a good boy, though I do say it."
"You praise me to my face," said Willie, "as though
you thought there was no danger of my being spoiled."
"I '11 risk you," said Mr. Penly, "for I have tried ye
out an' out. My old woman thinks jest as much on ye as
she ever did, an' so do the gals, 'ceptin' Hattie."
" Excepting Hattie? Why except her, when we are such
excellent friends?"
" 'Cause she 's got somebody else to think on. I 've some
news to tell ye, Willie ; Hattie is to be married next week,
an' I came over to invite you and Mrs. Lund to the weddin' ;
GLBNWOOD.
an' I should like to have ye fetch Miss Whitin' 'long with
ye."
"And so the dear girl is to be married! It will seem
lonesome at your house without Hattie. I have spent many
happy hours with her ; and if she was my sister, I could not
love her more."
" I don't like to spare her, one bit ; but we can't 'spect to.
allus keep our children under our noses, as I tell Nancy
when she gets to snifflin' 'bout it. Wai, what say, will ye
come?"
They all expressed a desire to be present on the joyful
occasion, when Mr. Penly said,
"That 's the talk ! We '11 have a good time, an' no mistake.
An' fetch this pooty boy 'long with ye," referring to Waldo.
"What say, my boy, would you like to come to the
weddin'?"
' ' I should like to come very much with mamma ; and I
will, if she will let me," he replied.
" She '11 be glad 'nough to fetch ye. Come an' see me.
You are a fine boy, but rather pindlin'. I had a leetle boy
once, jest like you ; but he was allus poorly, an' we could n't
raise him. It was a terrible blow to our hopes, an' Nancy
never 's got over it to this day."
" Did your little boy die ? "
" Yes, but he was bigger than you."
" Han't you got no other boys? "
" No, my son. I 've got darters, but no boys."
" I suppose he has gone to live with God. in his beautiful
home ; and you will go and see him some time. My papa is
there and Carra, and they have white robes. Did you know*
GLENWOOD. 882
it ? I have seen them, and they were more beautiful than
the roses. I am going there."
" There, there, child, don't talk in that are wa^ ! It was
jest so with my boy, allus a talkin' of God an' the angels.
His mother thinks he 'sperienced afore he was five years
old ; " and Mr. Penly pulled out his large bandanna, and
applied it to his eyes.
It being the middle of the afternoon when Mr. Penly came,
he was persuaded to remain until the next morning, when he
returned home, well pleased with his visit.
The next week, Mrs. Lund, Miss Whiting, Willie, and
Waldo, went to the wedding of Hattie Penly. There was a
large company present, and everybody was charmed with the
loveliness of the bride, while they no less admired the fine,
manly appearance of the groom. The happy pair were
united by the village parson, who kissed the bride as soon
as the nuptial knot was tied, and introduced her to the
company as Mrs. Hattie Wattles. All the gentlemen fol-
lowed the example of the clergyman ; and the ladies, not to
be outdone by the other sex on such an occasion, kissed
the bridegroom. Feasting and merry-making ensued, which
was kept up until nearly morning. Mr. Penly brought out
the large brass kettle, in which, to please him, Sarah danced ;
and the old gentleman shook his sides with laughter, the
guests uniting in the merriment.
Mr. Charles Wattles was a farmer, and a citizen of Felton ;
and so Hattie found a new home in her own town, but a few
miles from her father's.
The day after the wedding, our Stetson friends returned
home. When the weather permitted, Willie was engaged
with the hired man in cutting and drawing up wood. On
384 GLENWOOD.
stormy days he read to Mrs. Lund and Miss Whiting, or
played and chatted with Waldo. In the evening they con-
versed upon interesting or amusing subjects, read aloud
alternately, for they were all good readers, and now
and then attended a party, concert, or lecture.
Waldo was generally a source of happiness to them ; hut
he sometimes made them sad, and especially his mother.
He seemed never so happy as when conversing of the un-
seen things of eternity, excepting when he saw that his
words brought sorrow to his mother's heart. Towards the
close of winter, he became paler, and there was a brighter,
clearer look to his eyes. Their expression was very beau-
tiful, partaking more of heaven than earth.
In the month of March there came a warm rain-storm,
which melted nearly all the snow. It was at night when
the rain ceased falling and the clouds were dispersed. The
next morning, when the sun rose, it lit up a scene which
rivalled the splendors of the East. The frost-spirits had been
at work covering all the trees and shrubs with icy crystals,
and the spectacle was indeed wondrously beautiful and gor-
geous. The rain had carried off the snow, but the ground
was white with frost ; and the air, though sharp and chilly,
yet had a touch like the breath of spring. The first
feathered songsters of the season were heard in Stetson on
this morning.
" The robin, bard of birds, whose ardent hymn
Swells out upon his radiant breast of flame,"
was singing as though he had caught inspiration from the
strange beauty which filled the world. Mingling with his
notes was the song of the blue-bird, each tone clear and
GLENWOOD. 88i>
sweet. The earth seemed as beautiful as paradise, and the
woods were great crystal palaces, crowded with the brightest
gems and a thousand forms of beauty.
Willie Cunard arose early, and, catching from his win-
dow a glimpse of the glorious scenery, he awoke Waldo, and
invited him to a walk.
" ! " exclaimed the latter, as soon as he had stepped
from the door.
" Is not this beautiful ? " said Willie.
" I don't know as I am awake," said Waldo. " I never
saw such a scene as this when I was awake. I guess I must
be dreaming dreaming that I am in heaven, and Will' 3
is with me."
" This is no dream, Wallie, but reality. You know the
buildings, if other things look unnatural."
" Yes, Willie ; that is our house, but I never saw trees
look so before. I should think the fairies or Santa Glaus
had come in the night and hung the boughs with all the
prettiest things in the world. Hark ! the robin is singing.
How came he here ? I have not heard any robins since last
year."
" He has come to tell us that spring is approaching.
The rain has melted the snow, and this morning the sun is
warm, and so the birds have come witli their songs."
"How queer it is! I have dreamed of trees which were
covered with jewels and crystals, where the birds sang in
the laughing mornings; but it was not here, but far, far
away. It was a beautiful land. I was so happy to be
there, Willie ! and now, when I am so tired, I wish I could
go there. But I suppose mamma can't spare me."
" No, darling ; for you are dearer to her than her own
33
386 GLENWOOD.
life. And so the beautiful scenes there were more lovely
than this ? "
u ! a great deal more. But this seems like them.
Just look at the woods, Willie ; how they do glisten, they
look just like the woods in heaven ! "
" I fancy the trees there are green."
"I dreamed they were, sometimes, and sometimes like
these. I would like to go into the woods."
" And so would I, Waldo ; but our walk must not be long,
for breakfast will soon be ready ; and, besides, you soon be-
come weary."
" I know I do, dear Willie. I don't know what makes
me get so tired : I did not use to, last summer. I am so
glad that I have you to carry me sometimes, when my legs
ache so ! Mamma likes to carry me, but she is not so
strong as you are."
" No, dear; but here we are in the woods. Are they not
beautiful ? This must be the crystal palace of the giants.
Just see how many kinds of gems there are, and how many
strange forms of beauty ! "
" All beautiful ; but how came the trees to be so, Willie ?
They were not so last night."
" It was quite warm yesterday. In the night the weath-
er changed, and it became colder ; but the rain continued to
fall some time after the wind had changed from the south to
the west, and so the drops were frozen as they fell ; the re-
sult is the glorious scene which we have all around us."
" And so this is nothing but frozen rain, and the sun
will soon melt it, and then the beauty will all be gone !
Hark ! the icicles are falling now. ! what a crash thai
was! That one like to have struck you, and me, too."
QLBNWOOD. 387
" The sun is so warm, that it will soon bring them all
down, and it will be rather dangerous remaining here, so we
will return home ; besides, it is breakfast-time, and we ought
not to keep them waiting."
"We'll have to run, I guess. That one hit me ! Do
you know I think the fairies are up in the trees, throwing
their diamonds at us, to drive us out of their castle ! "
" You have strange fancies, Wallie ; but that is a pleasant
one, if it don't get spoiled."
" How can it get spoiled ? "
"If we should stay here long enough, some of those
large diamonds, which hang so high, might strike you hard
enough to knock all the poetry out of your head, changing
the pleasant fiction to unpleasant fact, and the roving fan-
cies to sober realities. Our giant palaces arid fairy castles
filled with gems, which were tossed down by beautiful invis-
ible creatures, would suddenly become tall trees covered
with icicles, which the warm sun loosened, so that they
tumbled down upon us, almost breaking our pates."
" I am glad we have got out of the castle, for that
would spoil it all ; one piece did hurt my arm. Now they
go crash, crash, all of the time. The birds won't dare go
in there, now."
At this moment they heard the ring of the breakfast-bell,
which hastened their steps, Waldo's tongue moving all the
while as nimbly as his feet. They soon reached the house.
With cheerful hearts they sat down to a repast, which waa
eaten with the greater relish because of their early morn-
ing walk.
CHAPTER XXXV.
MISS WHITING'S STORY. THE EARLY MARRIAGE OF HER MOTHER.
LOSS OF HER HUSBAND. MARRIES AGAIN. CAPT. CLINTON SHIP-
WRECKED. IS MADE A SLAVE. AFTER EIGHT YEARS* CAPTIVITY,
IS RANSOMED. RETURNS HOME. A THRILLING SCENE. RE-UNION.
ONE rainy day, soon after this, Mrs. Lund expressed a
wish that Miss Whiting would relate the history of her
parents, for there had always been a mystery in relation to
the matter, which she could not fathom.
" I know not," said Miss Whiting, " as the tale will be at
all interesting ; but, if you both wish me to tell it, I will do
so, though many things in it are very painful to me.
" My mother's maiden name was Mary Dana. She was
married in early life to Capt. James Clinton, a seafaring
man, whom she loved very dearly. A few months after
their marriage he sailed on a foreign voyage, and during a
violent storm his vessel was wrecked, and the account of the
wreck stated that all on board perished.
" Capt. Clinton was a noble-looking man, the very soul of
honor, and as tenderly attached to my mother as she was to
him. He was young, and he left her but little property.
So prostrated was she by this terrible affliction, blighting, as
she then supposed, all her youthful hopes forever, that she
lost all ambition, and she was only aroused from her lethargy
GLENWOOD. 389
by realizing that she had spent the last dollar she had in the
world. She had no relatives to whom she was willing to
apply for aid ; for, had they been able to help her, her pride
would have rebelled at the thought of living upon their
bounty. As she had good household furniture, she resolved
to maintain herself by keeping a boarding-house. After she
had matured her plan, she immediately carried it into execu-
tion; and, being an excellent manager, a good cook, and
scrupulously neat, she soon had as many boarders as she
desired.
" At this period, my father, who resided in the city, went
into the country for his health. He was then quite wealthy.
Being pleased with the neat little village where my mother
resided, he decided to remain there through the summer, if
he could obtain a suitable boarding-place. He found the
desired accommodations at her house. He was a bachelor,
and he soon became interested in the young widow, which
finally resulted in an offer of marriage. In taking this step,
he was actuated by the noblest motives. His interest was
first awakened by learning of her deep grief, and how
severely she was compelled to tax her energies to maintain
herself respectably.
" When he had sufficiently gained her confidence, he heard
from her own lips the loss she had sustained, and how much
she had suffered, and how intense were her heart-sorrows
still. She received from him more sympathy than from any
one else, and she was not ungrateful. They frequently
walked and rode together, and in the company of my father
she was in a measure restored to happiness. He did much
to relieve her from care, perplexity, and trouble, and when
she became more cheerful he felt that he loved her.
33*
390 GLENWOOD.
" The offer of marriage was not altogether unexpected to
my mother ; for his devoted attentions manifested a regard
warmer than that of a brother ; but it nevertheless placed
her in a painful position. She had received his first atten-
tions when she could not have anticipated such a result.
She had unreservedly unburthened her heart to him, and he
knew how fondly attached she had been to her husband, and
how heart-broken she was at his loss. Being so lonely, so
wretched, why should she not receive the sympathy which
was so kindly, so unselfishly, tendered to her? "
"From my own experience," said Jeannie, glancing at
Willie, " I can well conceive how much she needed a friend."
" By and by," Miss Whiting continued, " his attentions
were of a more marked character, and yet she knew not
how to decline them.
" As I have already informed you, the tender of his heart
and hand did not at all surprise her, and yet she knew not
what answer to give. He had been so very kind to her,
that she shrank from the thought of causing him pain. But,
should she marry him ? That was a question she knew not
how to answer. She had a strong desire to do that which
was perfectly right and just. She knew well enough that,
if she gave her hand, her heart would not go with it. But
she highly respected my father, and many said that was
enough ; she admired his noble qualities, his clear, vigor-
ous mind, and his whole-hearted goodness ; and yet, strange
as it may seem, she could not love him."
" As he possessed the very qualities which she so much
admired," said Willie, " one would naturally suppose that
in time she might have become very devotedly attached to
Mm."
&LENWOOD. 391
" Attached as a friend," said Miss Whiting, " but nothing
more. I have always believed that true matches are made
in heaven ; and, if so, the existence on earth of those who
rightly belong to us is sufficient to prevent the forming of
other ties which result in true marriage. We may be un-
able to conceive of such an influence. The two may be
separated by thousands of miles, and one may believe the
other dead. With the majority, under such circumstances,
it would be decided at once that one or both might love as
freely as they ever had done. But I disagree with them.
I believe that a subtile matter, or something, I know not
how to express it, is continually e"manating from one to the
other, producing an effect which they themselves are un-
aware of."
"I have long believed the same thing," said Jeannie ;
" and I see no reason as yet for changing my faith."
"My mother," Miss Whiting continued, "did not feel it
so great a sin to give the hand without the heart went with
it, as I do. She was not fully persuaded that such marriages
were quite right, but she knew that Mr. Whiting would be
very kind to her, and give her a good home ; and, after due
deliberation, she gave him the answer that he desired. The
following winter they were married, and my mother's hum-
ble country home was exchanged for an elegant residence in
the city.
" I was born about a year after their marriage. My child-
hood days were beautiful. I had an elegant home, the most
doting parents, and everything that a child could reasonably
desire. But there were times when I was not quite happy;
for my mother was so often melancholy, and when she was
sc it produced a depression upon the spirits of my father.
392 QLENWOOD.
I often found her in tears ; and when I wished to know why
she wept, she said she could not tell me, and I must not
ask. Here was a mystery which I continually pondered in
my mind. Why should both of my parents be so unhappy,
and especially my dear mother? This made me a very
thoughtful child. At school, I learned with little effort,
invariably taking the head of my class. At the period when
the great crisis came to my young life, I think that I may say,
without incurring the charge of egotism, that, though but a
child in years, I had, in many respects, the understanding
of a young woman.
" Capt. Clinton sailed from New York for Macao, in
China, and his vessel was wrecked at the island of Pinang.
He was the only survivor, having the good fortune to be
thrown senseless upon the shore. In a brief time after he
had been restored to consciousness, he was taken prisoner by
the Malays, who made him a slave, heaping every indignity
upon him which is incident to such a degraded, unnatural
state. He was traded from one to another a number of
times ; and, so barbarously was he treated by some of hia
masters, that he was frequently tempted to bring his suffer-
ings to an end by taking his own life.
" In this condition he remained eight years. Midst all
his trials he did not forget his young wife he had left at
home. He hoped that he might have the good fortune to
return to America, and press his bosom companion once
more to his heart. But, as years passed away, he trembled
lest in his long absence she should marry another. This
thought troubled him continually, and he at last became
firmly persuaded that she was again a wedded wife.
GLENWOOD. 893
" After remaining in captivity eight years, he was sold to
a man who lived in Malacca, where he was ransomed by one
of his own countrymen, with whom he returned to America.
As soon as he arrived, he set off, without delay, for the town
where he had left my mother. He there learned that she
had been married for many years, and resided in Boston
He was so disguised by a heavy beard that no one recognized
him, and so he kept his own counsel. To Boston he went,
without delay, and, having obtained board at a hotel, he
resolved to make himself known to his wife. He felt that
she rightly belonged to him ; but still, if she chose to remain
with the man to whom she had been united in good faith, he
would wish her naught but happiness, bid her farewell, and
leave his country forever.
" Capt. Clinton had been so long a slave, and being
now almost heart-broken by this new misfortune, a number
of weeks passed away ere he could summon sufficient cour-
age to visit my mother. I was seven years old on the day
he came. I remember that my mother had been weeping
more violently than I had ever witnessed in her before.
" When the bell rang, I went to the door. A fine-look-
ing man, with a sad cast of countenance, stood before me.
He inquired if Mr. Whiting resided there. I answered
that he did.
" ' Is Mrs. Whiting within? ' he asked.
" ' She is,' I replied.
" ' I would like to see her,' ho said.
" I invited him in. My mother was near enough to hear
the sound of his voice, and she exclaimed, ' My God ! '
Springing up and running into the hall, she cried, ' James !
James ! ' and threw herself into his arms and fainted
394 GLEN WOOD.
Capt. Clinton laid her down upon a sofa, and, calling for
water, he sprinkled her face, and then chafed her forehead
and her hands, frequently calling her by name. ' Mary,
dear Mary ! ' he would say ; and when she was returning to
consciousness, he kneeled by her side, and pressed his lips to
hers.
" I need not tell you that this conduct excited in my
mind the greatest surprise and indignation, and I felt like
springing upon him and dragging him from the presence of
my mother, and throwing him headlong into the street. If
I had possessed the requisite strength, I should have done it.
" My surprise was still more heightened when I saw my
mother return his caresses, wind her arms around his neck,
and weep upon his bosom. What could it all mean ? What
would my father say if he knew all this ? Who was this
man ? I wanted this dark mystery solved. . I felt that 'a
great calamity had befallen me. and I went away by my-
Belf, and wept as bitterly as I had ever seen my mother.
" My father soon returned, and the moment I heard his
footsteps, I hastened to meet him. He saw that I had been
weeping, and he said :
" 'What! your eyes full of tears, Sarah? What great
sorrow has come upon my little girl, that she should weep ? '
" I did not reply for I could not; but I took his hand, and
almost dragged him into the presence of my mother and the
stranger. She arose when he entered, trembling in every
limb.
" ' This is ' she said ; but she could go no further,
and she sank weeping upon the sofa.
" ' What does all this mean ?' said my father, much agi-
tated.
OLE N WOOD.
" The stranger now arose and said,
"'Is this Mr. Whiting?'
" ' It is, sir,' replied my father. ' And by what name
shall I call you ? ' after a painful pause.
" ' I I am Capt. Clinton,' said the stranger.
"'Good God!' exclaimed my father, sinking into a
chair, his face as white as a sheet.
" The suspense was now painful, indeed, for no one in
the room felt like uttering a word. My father was the
first to speak.
" ' Capt. Clinton,' he said, painfully, ' I presume that I
understand it all now ; you claim the lady who sits by your
side as your wife.'
" ' Mr. Whiting,' said Capt. Clinton, ' many years ago
I sought and won her love. We were married, and a few
months afterwards I sailed for China. I was shipwrecked,
thrown upon an island, and made a slave. My wife thought
me dead, and she married you. Alone, heart-broken, with-
out property, I cannot find it in my heart to blame her,
though God knows I would have found her as I left her.
She tells me that you were very kind to her, and she
thought it best to become your wife. I went away a strong
man, full of bright hope for the future ; I have returned
in weakness and poverty. Mary has an elegant home now,
better, perhaps, than I could ever have given her. And
there is a tie that binds you together that does not exist be-
tween us. You have a child ; this girl, Mary has informed
me, is your daughter.' Here Capt. Clinton ceased speak-
ing, for strong emotions choked his utterance.
" 'I surmise the nature of what you were about to say,'
remarked my father. ' I know that there is a tie between
GLENWOOD.
us that does not exist between you ; a tie which would ren-
der a separation painful ; but there may be a stronger tic
between you. I have loved Mary dearly, but I doubt
whether she has ever truly loved me ; her first love has
continued with all its original strength, and so she has
never been happy here. Capt. Clinton, she is rightly yours ;
and if she feels that she can be happier with you, I will not
place one obstacle in the way of her wishes.'
" ' 0, thou good, good man ! ' said my mother, going to
my father ; and, kneeling at his feet, she covered his hand
with kisses. He gently raised her up, and seated her again
upon the sofa.
" < Mr. Whiting,' said Capt. Clinton, { it is true that I
have a prior claim, but I will not urge that. I love Mary
as I never can love another ; but, if she can be happier with
you than to share my humble lot, no word of remonstrance
or censure shall pass my lips. I can offer nothing but pov-
erty now, and here she has a luxurious home. Moreover,
if you are separated, your child must suffer, and one of
you, perchance, never see her face again. If Mary chooses
to remain, I will take my departure immediately, to return
no more forever.'
"'Which shall it be, Mary?' said my father, with a
forced calmness of manner. ' Will you remain with me, or
go with Capt. Clinton ? '
" 'I must not, cannot remain,' she replied; 'I must go
with James, for I love him alone. He is more than all the
world to me. And, then, how he has suffered since we were
separated ! Think of those long years of cruel captivity !
But, Mr. Whiting, will you let me have our child ? '
" ' Mrs. Clinton,' said my father, ' is it not cruel in you
OLENWOOD. 397
to ask me to give her up also ? You go with the husband of
your love ; and if you should take Sarah, I should be left
alone ! '
" ' I know it I know it ; but I do love her so ! '
" ' Not more dearly than her father. But, as it was left
for you to choose, so shall it be left for her.'
" ' Sarah,' said my mother, ' will you go with me ? '
" While this strange scene was passing, I had sat like one
stupefied ; and yet I had not lost a single word, and I under-
stood the import of them all.
" ' Your mother is to leave me,' said my father, as I rose
to my feet, ' and I cannot blame her. All my affections
are now centred in you ; but, if you choose to go with her,
your father will give you his blessing, and will love you still.'
" My mother held out her hand, and I took it ; she stooped
to kiss me, and I wound my arms around her neck in a lov-
ing embrace. I then tore myself from her, and sprang into
my father's arms, clinging convulsively to his bosom. He
pressed me closely to his heart, and said, ' My own dear
child, you are more to me than all the world beside. I shall
not be utterly desolate, for you will cheer your father's
aching breast.'
" ' Mary,' he said, with much emotion, ' farewell, and may
God's blessing go with you ! '
"'Farewell!' she said, wringing his hand; 'you have
been very faithful to me, and I pray you think kindly of me
when I am gone ! '
"My father now went to his chamber, and my mother
soon left. Ere many weeks Captain Clinton sailed, taking
my mother with him; and I have never seen her since."
" Are they still living? " inquired Willie.
34
898 GLENWOOD.
" I have no reason to doubt it. I have corresponded with
my mother, but we have not written often. She has assured
me that she is very happy, and that prosperity has attended
the efforts of her husband. They have three children."
" Where do they live now? " inquired Jeannie.
" In Wisconsin. Captain Clinton became weary of a life
on the ocean, so much of the time separated from his
family, and so he purchased a farm in that vigorous young
state."
" Your father," said Jeannie, " must have been a great
sufferer."
" It was a cruel blow, and he never recovered from its
effects. I suffered bitterly, for I loved my mother dearly,
and I knew that she loved me ; but my father was completely
broken down. At much sacrifice he settled up his affairs, and
relinquished business entirely. For some years after, we
travelled much of the time during the pleasant part of the
season. I did all that I could to cheer him, and make him
forget his great misfortune. I believe that I succeeded in a
measure, but he never seemed as he did before. As his
property was not large, we expended the interest and more
or less of the principal every year, until we became so re-
duced in circumstances that strict economy was requisite to
keep the wolf from the door. My education had not been
neglected ; and when I was seventeen, desiring to do some-
thing to earn my own livelihood, I went to Yamford to teach,
where I was so happy, Jeannie, as to have you for a pupil.
When my father died, only a few hundred dollars of his once
handsome property remained, and his child, whom he loved
so well, was so very fortunate as to find a home with you "
" And I am equally fortunate in having you in my
family," said Mrs. Lund.
GLENWOOD. 399
"Your story," said Willie, " is very affecting and inter-
esting. I have heard of such things before, and one case
where the wife chose to remain with the last husband."
" Which proves," said Mrs. Lund, " that she never truly
loved the first."
" So I should say," said Miss Whiting.
" Have you written to your mother of your father's
death ? " inquired Jeannie.
" Some time since, but have received no answer yet."
" Would you not like to see your mother ? " said Willie.
" I should very much, though I can scarcely expect to
recognize her, or that she will recognize me. But I remem-
ber how well I loved her, and how kind and indulgent she
always was. Yes, I would see her again."
" Captain Clinton, I think," said Willie, " acted very
nobly."
" He did, and I shall also be glad to see him, though he
robbed me. by taking his own, of a mother's care, at a time
of life when I very much needed it."
"The child," said Mrs. Lund, "though long separated,
still yearns for the mother who pillowed the infant head
upon her own bosom. May you be so happy as to meet
yours again ! "
" Thank you, my friend, for such has long been my own
prayer."
" Did your mother go away from you when you was a
little girl?" inquired Waldo.
" Yes, dear."
"Too bad! I should cry my eyes out, if mine should
leave me." And then he looked fondly into his mother's
face, and said, " We are but two, mamma ! "
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE PROPOSAL. REASON FOR HOPE.
WE have said that Willie was happy and contented ; but,
as weeks and months fled away, he began to learn that this
platonic love was insufficient for a nature like his. The
question frequently presented itself to his mind, whether
Mrs. Lund loved him, or regarded him only as a friend. He
knew his affection for her was deep and lasting, having stood
the test of years, years in which there was no hope. And
now, living under the same roof, beholding the beauty of her
daily life, his love increased in intensity, until he felt that
he could not live thus she must be his, faithful devotion
at last find its reward.
But the avowal of his passion might be attended with re-
sults by no means desirable. If she could not return his
affection, he must leave her forever. Better hazard all, he
thought, than remain always in painful suspense. He re-
solved that henceforth he would not put a restraint upon the
emotions of his heart, but let them be freely manifested ; so
he became more attentive, and showed more palpably than
ever before what his true feelings were.
Mrs. Lund was not blind, and she soon perceived that his
regard was more than that of a brother. To know this, gave
her pleasure, and yet it gave her pain. The thought of
QLENWOOD. 403
marrying again had scarcely ever entered her mind ; she
wanted Willie for a friend, not a lover ; and yet, with admi-
rable consistency, she could not have borne the thought that
he should marry another.
On a balmy moonlight evening in May, Willie expressed
a wish for her company; for he had important things to say,
which must not be heard by any ear but hers. She could
not say nay to this request, and tremblingly seated herself
by his side. They were in the drawing-room, which was
lighted now by the lamps of heaven alone. He took her
hand, that hand which sent a thrill to his heart the first
time he ever felt its touch, and said :
" Jeannie, I have serious words which I would say to you;
and, though I would not, yet I may give offence."
" No, Willie, you cannot give offence. I am not afraid
of that, whatever you may utter. I can conceive of your
giving me pain, but you never will offend me."
" I hope not. And I would not cause you pain, and yet
I may. Shall I speak freely, Jeannie?"
" Yes, if you feel it for the best."
"I do; and I have long felt it, or I would not utter a
word. There are thoughts which may be kept for a season
shut into the heart, as it were, but in time they become a
source of pain, anxious and wakeful hours ; and then they
had better be spoken, even though they cause for a season,
a sharper grief."
" I do not doubt it, and I would have you freely unburthen
your mind, hoping that it may not be the cause of sorrow or
disappointment to either of us."
" I would fain hope so too, and yet I fear. My hope is
not large, and never has been. I am so accustomed to dis-
34*
402 GLENWOOD.
appointments, that I can bear them, even though they crush
the heart."
After a pause. " Jeannie, you remember well the first
time you ever saw the poor-house boy ? "
" I do, Willie ; and his sad, dejected look went to rny heart.
I have never seen any other child who had such an expres-
sion upon his countenance as you had then. Do you know
that I sometimes fancy that I see something of that look in
your face even now ? "
' ' If my face spoke plainly the feelings of my heart, its
expression must have been woful indeed. I was not aware
that any of those feelings or looks remained ; but it would
not be strange, as I have never been very happy. I often
think that my life has not been as joyful as it should have
been ; and it is not now, there is something lacking.
When you first knew me, I felt, even then, that I deserved
a better fate. I doubt not your impressions in relation to
me are all fresh in your memory, but I question if they
are so indelibly fixed as mine are of you. Most fearfully
had I lost faith in humanity. The first glance which I had
of you, Jeannie, seemed to shiver to atoms the dark mass of
hatred and bitterness which I had built up between myself
and the ' sweet heavens.' I read in your face what I had
never read in any other ; and how those words thrilled to my
soul which you then spoke to me !
"You recollect the day you desired me to tarry after
school ? You did not command, but, in a gentle manner,
requested it. I was so accustomed to chastisement, that I
expected it, Jeannie, even from you : and yet I could not
bear the thought that you should strike me.
" When you put out your hand to take mine, I instinct-
QLENWOOD. 403
ively drew it back ; but the moment it was a prisoner, it was
a willing one, there was no wish to escape. When I tell
you what my feelings and thoughts were then, the one
great passion which took possession of my soul, you will
have a key which will unlock subsequent mysteries. I shall
speak freely, for I trust you. I was then a mere boy, a
poor, degraded, forsaken, wretched one ! You were some
three years older, a young woman, and far, far above me !
! how intensely I felt it, none but God and my own
heart can ever know ! And yet, from that moment, I I
have loved you ! "
" Why, Willie ! " exclaimed Mrs. Lund, the tears stream-
ing down her face.
" I knew that you did not realize it; who could have
realized what seemed so ridiculous? Yes, from that mo-
ment I loved, and I have loved every moment since. When
you were married, I tried to conquer my passion, but could
not ; there it was in my heart, and nothing could tear it out.
The night before your wedding-day I fled. I could not bear
to see you given to another ; and, in what seemed a very un-
grateful, unjustifiable manner, I left the dearest home I had
ever known. I went forth alone, feeling perfectly desolate
and heart-broken. I was welcomed at Mr. Penly's, where
I became, in a measure, content. You remember how and
when we met again. I still loved you, and living with you
has only increased its power and intensity. You now know
all. I am not happy, and never can be unless you give me
your heart and hand."
" Willie, my friend, your story has surprised me, and yet
I had surmised it in part. Such long, such whole-souled
affection is worthy of a return. And, ! let it not make
404 OLENWOOD.
you sad, if I cannot give you the affection you desire. It
was but a year ago that my husband died ; and my oldest
child followed soon after, leaving me desolate indeed. When
you came, my hope and strength revived ; but, though I so
much wanted you near me, yet I thought not of marriage."
" I feared as much, Jeannie, and it has made me very
unhappy. However, I cannot blame you ; but I would it
were otherwise."
' ' I doubt not, Willie, that you love me most dearly, and
that you are worthy of the purest, most devoted affection,
love purer and fresher than mine can ever be again. I know
you would not accept my hand unless I first gave you my
heart, my whole heart ! "
" No, Jeannie ; but may I not hope to win your heart? "
"What shall I say? I want you to be happy, very
happy ; and yet I would not hold out false hopes. Can you
not find some one in the world besides me whom you can
love?"
" No, Jeannie. I have tried that for years, years when
I had no hope ; although this thought has ever been with
me, and my faith does not waver, even now, that we were
made for each other."
" It may be so. I am never so happy as when I am with
you ; and, though I do not give you the assurance which
you require, yet I would not have you leave me. You may
think it strange, but it is true, nevertheless, that I should
be very miserable without you."
"I am happy to hear you say that much."
"I am not ashamed to confess it. But I have thought
of you heretofore rather as a brother than a husband. I have
been very selfish, I fear ; for I have wished, since the first
L E N W D . 405
day you came here, that you might remain unmarried.
My last year's experience was bitter, indeed, and my spirit
is very sad now, for shadows come even while the sun
shines, and they fill my soul with dread ; and, ! if they
must gather around me in all their blackness and terror, I
would have you here to strengthen me."
" I will not fail you, my friend, for I too share in your
fears."
"I have have had so much anxiety of late, that my
health is failing again. There are afflictions, Willie, which
almost crush the life out of the heart ! "
" I would willingly share your griefs, Jeannie ; and in
your darkest hours come to me, and I will try to comfort
you."
" And will you never grow weary ? "
"Never!"
" I believe you ; and as long as you are near me, I will
not be entirely desolate."
" We should never wholly despair, for in all life's changes
there is still hope for us. Our dear ones change worlds,
but they are not lost they are ours still. The clouds
gather above us, but the sun still shines ; night comes with
darkness, but how beautiful are the golden stars! Even
the sun has its dark spots, but they do not destroy its glory
or power. Not wholly clear is our way, but we should
never despair."
CHAPTER XXXVII.
ILLNESS OF WALDO. " WE ARE BUT TWO, MAMMA i "
A FEW days after the conversation related in the last
chapter, Waldo went to walk with Willie Cunard. He was
very cheerful, and talked much of the beautiful things of
earth, and of the more beautiful ones in heaven. But his
strength was soon exhausted, and Willie took him in his
arms and carried him home. Mrs. Lund met them at the
door, and received the dear child to her bosom. Tears
sprang to her eyes when she saw how weary and pale he
was. She sat down and soothed him to sleep. Long did
she gaze upon that pale face, and over and over again im-
printed kisses upon his'lips and high white brow.
Willie remained near, gazing upon mother and child with
a world of love and sympathy in his heart.
When Miss Whiting came in, she placed a pillow upon
the sofa, and took Waldo and laid him upon it.
"Is he more unwell than usual, to-day? " she inquired.
"I fear that he is," said Mrs. Lund. "I would not be
over- anxious, neither would I cherish false hopes. Waldo's
head has always been too large for his body, his brain very
active, and I fear prematurely developed. I know that
mothers are partial, but I am very certain that I have never
seen a child like him of his age. He began to talk before
GLBNWOOD. 407
he was a year old ; and he spoke nearly every word cor-
rectly. He early startled me with his remarks on various
subjects, and his memory, until within a few weeks, has re-
tained everything."
"I thought him a very precocious child, the first time I
ever saw him," said Miss Whiting. "Do you think hia
symptoms are really alarming?"
"I do. When he is in bed he almost invariably lies
upon his back, and every few minutes he rubs the back part
of his head upon the pillow. Look ! he has so worn off the
hair that he is almost bald. The physician gave me very
little encouragement, and I don't think he knows what ails
him. The dear, dear one, how can I give him up ! He
was less strong than usual to-day?" interrogatively to
Willie.
"I never saw him more pleased with the proposition to
walk," said Willie ; " and he was full of life and animation
when we started ; but he soon became weary. Ere long, I
saw that he was too weak to walk further, and I took him
into my arms and brought him home."
" He is a dear child," said Miss Whiting, " and I hope
that he will soon be well and strong again."
" God grant that he may ! " replied Mrs. Lund, " for he is
all the world to me."
" And while we so earnestly desire his restoration to
health," said Willie, "may we be blest with childlike trust
and reconciliation."
Miss Whiting and Willie Cunard now went out, and the
mother was left alone with her child. She sat near him
and watched him while he slept. He seemed very restless,
and often moved his head from one side to the other, rubbing
it hard, as though there were much pain and irritation. By
408 GLENWOOD.
and by he awoke with a wild, bright look, his eyes gazing
upward with an expression of rapture.
" Waldo ! " said his mother.
"Is it you, mamma? Why ! here I am on the sofa in
our own room ' I thought I was in the green fields with
papa and Carra. Not the green fields here, but the green
fields there ! " pointing upwards.
"You have been dreaming, dearest."
" Have I ? It did not seem like a dream. Hand in hand
I walked with those beautiful beings they were all beauti-
ful. I did not see you nor dear Willie there ; but they said
that you would come ! "
" Do you feel any better, Waldo ? "
" 0, I don't know ! I have grown weary here. It was
so beautiful, and I was so well and happy, that I did not
want to come back again. Why should I have come back,
mother ? "
"You are thinking of your dream." She now took him
into her arms.
"I am tired, mother," he said, as he nestled down upon
her bosom, "very tired. I like to walk with dear Willie,
and with you, mamma ; but I fear I never shall any more,
here. I shall walk' in the fields of heaven with you both ;
but never here again."
" ! I hope you will, Waldo, many, many times. You
are not very sick, and you may be better soon."
"You don't want your little boy to die, do you,
mamma?"
" No, no, dear child ! "
" Will you be lonesome when I am gone? "
" I should be very lonely, very sad, if you should die ! "
GLBNWOOD. 409
" I will come, if God will let me, and make you happy.
Mamma, I shall die I shall never be well again ! Don't
weep, dear mamma ! I can't help it ; God wants me in hia
house, and I must go. I never shall be weary there ! "
" Waldo, I must weep; but, dear one, I will try to be
reconciled to the will of Heaven. I wish you would not
think so much about dying ; you are so young, and 'so dear
to this desolate heart ! We are but two, Wallie ! "
" Where is my Willie ?"
" He is at work in the field, hoeing corn."
" How long is it since he went to a walk with me? "
" Why, don't you remember? It was only this morning,
some two hours since."
"I thought it was longer. I must see him; won't you
call him in ? "
" Yes, dear. If you will lie upon the sofa again, I will
send for him."
When Willie came, he knelt by his side, and Waldo put
his arms around his neck, and kissed him.
"Dear Willie," he said, "did you know that I was
going?"
"Going! where?"
"Up where papa and Carra live. I don't want to leave
you, Willie, but mamma can't spare us both. I want to sit
in your lap ; I am not strong enough to get into it now ; I
never shall be again. You are crying. You will hold me,
won't you, Willie?"
" Yes, my darling ! There, does that suit you ? "
"0, it is so nice ! and now I can lay and look right into
your face. You are my own Willie; and you,' to his
mother, "are my own mamma."
35
410 GLEN WOOD.
" Yes, dear," she replied.
" Come here, mamma," he said.
She came and kne.lt down, leaning upon Willie for sup-
port. He was glad to have her there ; and he prayed in hia
heart that she might, in all her days of weakness, feel to lean
upon him; for he would so rejoice to be her stay and
comfort.
"My own mamma," said Waldo; "my own Willie," and
he placed her hand in his. " I am so happy, for Willie will
always love you, mamma ! "
Mrs. Lund was weeping now very bitterly, for her heart
felt that it would break ; and the manly tears fell fast from
Willie's eyes. His right arm stole lovingly around her, as
though it -would say, " I will be your protector." ,
" How can I give you up? " she exclaimed, passionately.
" You are my all ! 0, my Father ! let him yet be spared
to me ! "
" Do not feel so badly, mother ; Willie is here. I do love
you both ; I don't know which I love best. You are so
good that I want to stay with you always. But I must not.
Willie will stay, mamma."
He now seemed drowsy, and Mrs. Lund went away by
herself, and prayed for faith and resignation. When she
came back Waldo had fallen asleep in Willie's arms. When
he awoke, he wished to be laid in his own bed. He was
soon after delirious ; but there were frequent intervals when
reason returned, and then he would talk as beautifully as
ever. The physician came often, and left his prescriptions,
but spoke no word of hope. Day after day, and night after
night, did faithful, loving ones watch by the pillow of the
sick child ; but love and care could not save him. It was on
GLENWOOD. 411
the afternoon of the tenth day of his sickness, when a long
delirium passed away, and, though he was very weak, his
mind was clear.
" How do you feel now? " asked his mother.
" I am better, dear mamma ! I am glad that I see you
once more. Dear, dear mother, I have been so sick, so
weary ! but I shall not be sick there, nor tired any more,
shall I?"
"No, my dear."
"Where is my Willie?"
"Here he is, and he has scarcely left you since you were
taken sick."
"0, he is so good ! I love Willie, don't you ? Dear
Willie, I must go ; but you will love mamma, 'cause she will
be so lonely when I am gone."
Miss Whiting now came in and spoke to him ; he kissed
her, his mother, and Willie. After this he was so exhausted
that he closed his eyes and slept. He soon awoke, exclaim-
ing: "I see them! There! there! They are beautiful!
I knew you would come ! dear papa! " His eyes closed
again, but in a moment opened with a look of love upon his
mother and Willie. They took his hands in theirs, when he
said, " We are but two, mamma ! " and the sweet child was
at rest. The waiting angels bore his spirit to the better
land, where the dear lost ones of earth welcomed him with
gladness and holy joy.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE BEREAVED MOTHER. TRUE-HEARTED DEVOTION. THE REWARD OI
FAITHFUL LOVE.
MRS. LUND held out bravely until her darling boy was
dead ; but she could bear up no longer against this terrible
flood of grief, and so the cold waves swept over her, and
would have borne her far from the shore, and hid her for-
ever in their dark bosom, if a loving hand had not held her
back.
She had never entirely recovered from the shock of her
husband and Carra's death ; this last blow seemed heavier
than the others, and she bent to the dust beneath it. The
excitement kept her upon her feet until after the funeral ;
but as soon as the house was quiet again, she laid her weary
head upon her pillow, not to raise it again for many weeks.
When the physician came, he said that medicine would do
but little good; for, though nature was exhausted with
watching, the disease was more of the mind than the body.
Her case was somewhat doubtful, and only the greatest care
could save her. A domestic was now procured, that Misa
Whiting might devote herself to the sick one, and she proved
very faithful to her stricken friend ; but Willie Cunard was,
if possible, more faithful still. He scarcely left the bedside
of the sufferer. Night and day found him near her pillow.
OLENWOOD. 413
Miss Whiting became really alarmed, lest he, too, should be
sick. He was deaf, however, to all remonstrances, and
seemed to feel that the life of his friend was held by a single
thread, and he alone could keep it from breaking. When
her father and mother came, he still kept his place, leaving
it only for refreshment and a few minutes' repose. He
doubted not that Mrs. Lund wanted him ever near her ; for
if she awoke and found him absent, she was extremely rest-
less until he returned. Much of the time he held her hand,
chafed her fair white brow, and soothed her to rest.
What a burthen was removed when the crisis was past,
and there was reason for hope ! In the silence of his own
chamber he wept for very joy, and poured out his soul in
thanks to God. He did not abate his vigilance in the least,
now that she was considered out of immediate danger ; his
was a work of love, and to give his whole soul to it would
alone satisfy him. He knew how frail she was, and feared a
relapse, in which case all hope would be gone. He felt that
he could die for her, but, if she should die, life indeed were
worthless.
This continued watching, with but little rest, was not
without its effect. Willie's appetite, not good since Mrs.
Lund was token sick, now almost entirely left him. His
cheeks became pale and sunken, and his eyes were either
very heavy or unnaturally clear and bright.
One day, when Mrs. Lund awoke from a refreshing sleep,
the first glance that she met, as usual, was Willie Cunard'a.
" You are always here, dear Willie ! " she said.
" And I love to be here better than anywhere else," he
replied. "My place is near you, as long as my presence
can give you the least comfort."
35*
414 GLENWOOD.
She smiled sweetly upon him, and said, " You are very
faithful, Willie. What should I have done without you?
But I fear you will forget yourself. I don't know how it
is, but it seems to me that you have scarcely left me at all.
Don't forget that your health is as precious as mine. I am
much better now, and you must take more rest."
" Yes, dear, since you wish it. I am so rejoiced to wit-
/ ess such a marked improvement ! You look more cheerful,
more resigned, and now I shall feel to rest."
" The dark sea of grief would have overwhelmed me, if
your love had not come to the rescue ; and I shall never
forget it."
" Bless you, for such words give me life ! But you
must not talk more now ; you are already exhausted by the
effort you have made."
"I will obey you, but the day will come, Willie ! "
"Yes, dear heart ! "
Some days after this, Mrs. Lund fell asleep while Willie
held her hand, a pleasure which he never seemed to weary
of. When she awoke, she saw that he was fast asleep in his
chair. Miss Whiting came in, and, without disturbing him,
placed an additional pillow under her head. She lay so that
she could look directly into his face, and she noticed for the
first time how pale and poor he was. Arid then she thought
how great had been his devotion to her during her sickness,
and how many years he had loved her with no return of
affection nothing for hope to feed upon. She thought of
his kindness to her dear, lost Waldo, and how ardently the
child loved him ; and now the tears came welling up, and
coursed rapidly down her cheeks. She was weak and child-
ish, at least, the reader may think that the latter was no
QLBNWOOD. 415
less true than the former, and so she could not control her
emotions, and sobbed aloud.
This awoke Willie from a pleasant dream, and very much
surprised was he to find Mrs. Lund in tears.
" What is the matter? " he said, quickly.
" Pardon me," she said; "for, while you slept, my thoughts
have been busy. Do you know that I think you ought not
to have so neglected yourself? Here you have been sitting
over me, day after day, and night after night, until you
look, I fancy, as sick as I do. Dear Willie, I thank you,
from my heart, for such disinterested devotion ; but I shall
insist that, hereafter, you take the rest and recreation which
you require. I love to have you near me ; but it pains me
to see you looking so ill, and all for me."
"I fear you give me more credit than I rightly deserve.
But I am not strong or well now, and I am no longer afraid
to trust you with others. I shall take more rest hereafter,
and during the day ride and see to the business on the farm.
I have sadly neglected things of late."
" No matter if you have, for a holier work has been yours.
You are my only stay and comfort now ; so get well and be
happy."
" I shall improve rapidly, I doubt not. It is worth trying
for, since you wish it."
" And it would be, Willie, if I did not. See, how pleasant
it looks ! You must take a horseback ride, this afternoon,
for it will do you a great deal of good."
From this time Willie began to amend rapidly; ere many
days he was well again. Mrs. Lund was soon able to walk
across the floor, leaning upon Willie's arm ; then he carried
her short distances in the chaise, increasing the length of the
416 GLENWOOD.
rides as her strength would permit. In due time she
walked with him in the fields, and finally they visited
her father's the dear old cottage in Yarnford.
Mrs. Lund unreservedly resigned herself to Willie's care
and protection. A few months before she did not know that
she loved him, but she knew it now. When Waldo died,
she had nothing to live for, she thought ; now she would live
for Willie alone. He was not slow to read her heart, and it
brought the long-desired peace to his own. He waited until
her health and strength were restored, and then again prof-
fered his love.
" I am yours," she said, " and I now freely give you my
whole heart. Take it, dearest, and may God grant that its
possession may bring you that happiness which you so richly
deserve ! "
" My own dear Jeannie," he replied, " long have I waited
for this blissful moment ! It has come, at last, bringing with
it a world of joy."
" And I, too, notwithstanding my deep sorrow, am very
happy ; for I shall find rest in your faithful love."
" Yes, my dear, dear one ! " drawing her to his heart,
and now the embrace the emotions which arise from mutual
love. Reader, the scene was sacred to them ; so let the veil
of silence, shut it from the gaze of profane eyes.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE CROWNING EVENT. SALE OF THE FARM IN STETSON. PVRCHA8I
OF THE GREGG FARM. AT THEIR NEW HOME. MR. BUGBEK IN A
PASSION EXPRESSES HIS OPINION. MARRIAGE OF MISS WHITING.
MOTHER AND CHILD MEET AGAIN. CAPTAIN CLINTON REMOVES TO
GLENWOOD. HOME AND HAPPINESS
WILLIE CUNARD and Mrs. Lund were married on Thanks-
giving day. A few friends were witnesses of the happy
event. Under other circumstances, a greater number would
have been invited ; but Jeannie, so recently bereaved, felt
that in a large company there would be more levity than she
would care to witness. Her parents, brothers, and sisters,
the Penlys, Miss Whiting, and a few others, composed the
company. Everything passed off as she desired. All looked
interested and happy, and, though there was less merry-
making than might otherwise have been, yet there was a
subdued joy in every heart.
Soon after this joyful day, Jeannie expressed a wish to
Willie that their farm might be sold, and one purchased in
another town. The reason she gave for this was, because
she had seen so much sickness and trouble in Stetson, she
felt that she could be happier elsewhere.
" How should you like to live in Glenmood?" inquired
Willie.
" Very much," replied Mrs. Cunard.
418 GLENWOOD.
" I saw a notice, a few days since, that the farm formerly
owned by Mr. Gregg (my grandfather) was to be sold at
auction, and I should like that. The location is very pleas-
ant, the buildings are good, and the land, originally of the
very best quality, has never been exhausted by the wretched
course pursued by many farmers. Mr. Gregg, say what we
will of him in other respects, understood the business of
agriculture well; and, had he devoted his energies to that
alone, he would not have died a poor man. He was am-
bitious to do too much to be known as a business man of-
rare tact and talent. Moreover, his unattractive home drove
him, at last, into the wildest speculations ; the result was,
the complete wreck of his fortune. How does the idea strike
you, Jeannie?"
" It is the place I should choose above all others in Glen-
wood. The pretty lake and the high hill are in near prox-
imity, which, with all the other attractions, will make it a
most desirable residence. I used to enjoy a boat-ride on
the lake, and I should enjoy it more than ever now. How
delightful to have a beautiful boat of our own, and sail in
the early morning, or at the close of day, just as the sun is
setting ! I like the house, it is so large and convenient.
Is the land easily cultivated? "
" Very. There were but few rocks, originally ; and those
have been almost entirely removed. The quality of the
soil is not only good, but nearly the whole farm lies facing
the south, and so the crops invariably escape an early frost.
The fields are well fenced, and free from obnoxious shrubs
and bushes." _
"If we can sell our farm, Willie, and our means are
sufficient, we will Durchase the Gregg farm. I fancy that
GLENWOOD. 419
we should both be better suited than we are now. I am
proud to have a farmer for a husband, but I do not want
him a slave, laboring twelve or fifteen hours every day
for a decent livelihood."
" The unscientific manner in which much of the agricul-
tural business is done in New England makes the labor of
very many farmers altogether too hard for the best good of
the body and the mind. Those who till the soil should have
time for recreation, and for the culture of the intellect and
heart. Some think that continued labor is the surest way
to keep men from evil. This is a mistake. We have a
three-fold nature a trinity in unity makes up the man.
The soul should not be sacrificed to the body, nor the body
to the soul. Let justice be done to the whole man, and then
there is continued growth and happiness."
" So I think. If we are so fortunate as to secure the
Gregg farm, I shall expect to live very happily there. Not
that our happiness depends on that alone, for, wherever our
lot may be cast, sweet peace shall be with us."
u Yes, Jeannie. To be with you, knowing that you love
me, is my greatest source of happiness."
"Thank you, my dear one; and rest assured that your
love is reciprocated to its fullest extent. Our joy will
always be complete, perfectly harmonious, for our love is
mutual."
" And may it ever continue so, dearest ! "
The farm in Stetson was soon disposed of; and when the
Gregg farm was sold, to the great surprise of the people of
Glenwood, the purchaser was Willie Canard. Another
thing was equally surprising, that Jeannie Wyman, the sue
420 GLENWOOD.
cessful and beloved school-teacher, was Willie Cunard'a
wife.
Early the ensuing spring, Mr. and Mrs. Cunard moved to
their new home, which they found all they had anticipated.
It was pleasant for Willie to live there, for that roof had
once sheltered his beautiful mother, and all the interesting
places in the vicinity had been pressed by her feet. In the
garden was a\ large bed of flowers which her fair hands had
planted. It had of late been much neglected ; but Willie
and Jeannie, in honor of her memory, soon restored it to its
former loveliness. Later, they enlarged it, and added all
the beautiful spring, summer, and autumn flowers. It was a
monument an angel might well be proud of. Deacon and Mrs.
Glubbings, Mr. and Mrs. Goose, Zebulon Bugbee (the latter
just recovering from a long illness), and other people in town,
called to offer their congratulations, and welcome them to
Glenwood. Soon after, Margaret Bumford heard of Willie's
good fortune, and she came to see him, accompanied by Hec-
tor Stifels. Margaret and Hector were feasted on wedding-
cake to their entire satisfaction. The quantity which they con-
sumed utterly surprised Mrs. Cunard. She was not aware
before that human beings could eat so much.
Those persons in Glenwood who had formerly abused Wil-
lie now hung their heads when they met him, and none
looked more sheepish than Elam Sacket. Mr. Cunard soon
convinced him that he bore no malice towards him, and then
he regained his wonted confidence. Willie did not neglect,
however, the opportunity to impress upon the mind of Sacket
the meanness of his conduct. He told him unreservedly how
much suffering his thoughtless persecution had caused him,
and advised him to be careful of the feelings of others, espe-
GLENWOOD. 421
cially of the poor and defenceless. It was a lesson which
Sacket needed, and he never forgot it. He did not, it is
true, entirely reform his conduct in this respect, but the
change was very desirable. Not unfrequently would he
aim his arrows at the weak ; but, when he saw that only
suffering was the result, he would think of Willie Cunard,
and stop at once. And, if his thoughtless course encour-
aged others to make the victim a butt for ridicule, he
bravely took his part, and warded off the shafts which would
not have been sent but for him.
As Mrs. Cunard was now quite cheerful, reposing so con-
fidingly in the affection of her husband, happiness came to
her heart again, and with it health and her wonted vigor.
She had always had a desire to be of some service to the suf-
fering, and now she improved every opportunity, and many
a heavy heart was made light thereby. To the poor of Glen-
wood our hero and heroine were truly benefactors. They
visited the alms-house frequently, and through their instru-
mentality many additional comforts were provided. Since
then the aged paupers have been furnished with coffee and
tea, not by individuals of large hearts, like Zebulon Bugbee,
but by the town. Mr. and Mrs. Cunard have succeeded in
impressing upon the minds of the people that the poor are
really human beings, and should be cared for with true Chris-
tian kindness ; instead of being treated as outcasts, their
wants should be abundantly supplied, looking more to comfort
than to expense.
As Mr. Zebulon Bugbee was slowly regaining his health,
he often visited the " old new comers," as he facetiously
called them. As he was so good at heart, so jovial and comi-
cal, he was always welcomed. There were times when he
36
422 GLENWOOD.
talked quite seriously ; but he made such ludicrous mistakes,
that Jeannie would laugh until the tears stood in her eyes
This did not disconcert him in the least ; for he said that her
laugh had such a clear, musical ring to it, that he " could n't
help smiling;" and smile he did, though not quite so hard as
when in better health.
" I declare," he remarked, on one occasion, " it is all iron-
ical synonymous, but who 'd a thought this ere would ever
have been ? Lord ! if anybody had told me that that are
ragged poor-house boy would ever have owned Mr. Gregg's
farm, I should e'enamost died a laughing ! Why, what an
insignificant creetur you was ! You ha^ a little, dirty,
picked face as ever I see. How you kept them rags a
hanging on to ye I can't imagine. You was a comical
figure, sure enough. Your toes peeped out of your old
shoes, to see what was going on, I suppose. Your legs looked
out of the knees of your troupers, and your arms at your
elbows ; while your scraggly locks lifted up your hat-crown,
and kept it on the flap. It makes no pacific odds, but I
can't help smiling. Wai, wal, it's a strange world ! We
are horned and marry, sicken and die. Whether our naturs
are as bad as Mr. Shackles says, until we are born the
second time, I can't tell ; but some things come out as
rough as some of my mop-handles and wash-boards."
" I am inclined to think," said Willie, "that you have
drawn me in rather strong colors ; however, I will not
quarrel with you, as you seem to enjoy it so well. When
I call to remembrance what I was then, and realize what I
am now, it seems almost like a dream. There are very few
whose lot was more deplorable ; and yet here I am, in the
same town, most richly blessed ! What more can I desire ':'
OLENWOOD. 428
As to the nature that God has given us, it is well enough,
if we act according to the light we have, and it is weli
adapted to the circumstances with which we are surrounded."
" And shows the benevolence of the Deity," said Jeannie.
" But the thing on it is," said Mr. Bugbee, " we don't
rightly govern our naturs, and so our wegetable appetites
and passions get the better on us."
Mr. and Mrs. Cunard and Miss Whiting happened just
then to be in a laughing mood, and Mr. Bugbee's mistake
furnished the requisite food for merriment.
" What are ye all laughing at? " he inquired.
" I had always supposed," said Miss Whiting, " that we
had animal natures, but you have made us into a lot of
' wege tables.' '
" Like the noses of the seven abridged editions of Slusher,"
said Willie.
" Lord ! " said Mr. Zebulon Bugbee, " it is all ironi-
cal synonymous, but I can't help smiling."
Soon after this, Willie went into one of the stores, on a
very rainy day, and Mr. Bugbee was lying at full length
upon an old settle, listening to a discussion on Mesmerism
and Phrenology, carried on by a number of the young men
of the village, who were at leisure because of the rain.
Suddenly Zebulon popped up his head, seemingly very much
excited.
"Young men," he said, " where 'd you get your pho-
nology ? When the immaculate Son of God was upon earth,
he said these things was hid from the wise and prudent, and
revulged unto babes ! "
The laugh that followed this speech was sufficient to com-
pletely break up the discussion. That season. Mr. Bugbee
424 GLENWOOD.
purchased a piece of meadow-grass, in company with Mr,
Blossom. He did not know what a tricky partner he had,
and he gave him permission to mow over one half of the
ground, which he requested he might be allowed to do, as ho
had already harvested the hay that grew upon his own land.
Mr. Blossom, as Mr. Bugbee was sick, instead of dividing
the piece fairly, selected the part on which grew the best and
heaviest grass. When the latter went to see to the harvest-
ing of the remainder, he was surprised and indignant.
" There ! " he said, in a passion, pointing significantly with
his finger. " It is all ironical synonymous, but he has mown
down all the glory, and left me nothing but the d d
hemisphere ! "
"It makes no pacific odds," said Willie Cunard, who
was in company with Mr. Bugbee. The latter recognized
the phrase Willie had used as his own, and he smiled so
heartily that he shook the frown from his face which had
gathered there when he first saw the rascality which Mr.
Blossom had practised upon him. It did not return again.
" Mr. Blossom has played you a very mean trick," said
Willie; "but it is better to suffer wrong than to do wrong."
' ' Exactly ! Lord ! I shall have hay enough, never fear !
But I tell ye what 'tis, ye won't catch me to trust a Blos-
som again, nohow ! "
" Not unless it is a more generous one, I hope. By the
.way, the Blossom has taken the flower of the field." A
very powerful smile followed this last hit.
Mr. and Mrs. Cunard visited quite often Jeannie's old
boarding-mistress, and many a hearty laugh they had in re-
lation to Mrs. Jones' former fears lest Jeannie should injure
her health by eating so much at dinner-time. She returned
GLENWOOD. 425
their visits, and was ever welcome. As Mrs. Jones was not
in very good circumstances, being still obliged to keep
boarders, Willie occasionally sent her a nice piece of veal or
beef, a chicken or a turkey, and in this way amply repaid
the debt which he had incurred without her knowledge.
O
During the first year of the residence of Mr. and Mrs.
Cunard in Glenwood, a beautiful spot was chosen for a cem-
etery, and the remains of Willie's father and mother, Mr.
Lund and children, were removed there, and a chaste mon-
ument erected to their memory.
Miss Whiting came to Glenwood with Willie and Jeannie,
and finally concluded to make it her home. She taught
school one season, boarding with them ; but, becoming
seriously entangled in the meshes of Cupid, from which thral-
dom she could only look for complete enfranchisement by
marriage, she accepted the alternative, and in due time re-
moved to a happy home of her own. She wrote, soon after,
to her mother that she was now blessed with a good husband
and a pleasant home, urging her and Captain Clinton to
journey to the east and make them a visit. The invitation
was accepted, and in due time Mrs. Wason, formerly Sarah
Whiting, greeted her mother at her own home. The meet-
ing between mother and daughter can better be imagined
than described.
Captain Clinton and his wife were now quite aged, and
they seemed to think that they could spend the remainder
of their days more happily in New England than at the West.
" We were born and educated here," they said, "and it
seems more like home."
Captain Clinton returned to Wisconsin ; and, having a
favorable opportunity to dispose of his property, he improved
36*
426 GLENWOOD.
it, and came back, bringing his children with him. After
looking about for a time, he concluded to settle down in
Glenwood.
The lake near the mountain is as beautiful as of yore.
Willie has procured a new and splendid boat, and in it he
and his beloved companion take many a pleasant sail. Now
and then they spend an hour or two in angling, or they
gather the snow-white lilies. To the green slope where
Willie's father and mother first met they frequently repair,
and there, reposing in the shade of the mountain trees, the
time passes happily away.
To agriculture Mr. Cunard is warmly devoted ; and he has
wisely summoned all the modern improvements in farming
to his aid, and has thus made his farm a model. He has not
stinted the soil, and it has given him a generous return,
so wealth is fast flowing in upon those who know how to use
it well. Reader, you will rejoice that such is his fortune
after so many trials ; and you will not regret, as the hearts
which were made for each other are now united, that Jeannie
is also happy happier than she ever was before. Should
you ever visit their home in Glenwood, you will find all that
I have told you strictly true ; and more than that, for new
emotions stir Willie's soul while he gazes upon a fond
mother as she presses her cherub babe to her heart.
SUPPLEMENTAL.
IT is very possible, and by no means improbable, that
many persons who read this book will be disposed to doubt
whether a parish-boy, in New England, is ever wronged as
the author has represented Willie Cunard. In order to
silence such doubts, the liberty is here taken to quote from
a letter received from an excellent young lady, a school-
teacher, not a thousand miles from Boston. By perusing
these extracts, it will be seen that her experience was almost
identical with that of Jcannie Wyman with Willie Cunard.
"The poor-master is one of the school committee, and,
before I commenced with the school, told me that I should
undoubtedly experience some difficulty in managing a cer-
tain , an inmate of the poor-house, as it is here called.
He said that no one had succeeded in keeping his rebellious
spirit under proper subjection, though they had threatened,
punished, and flattered him.
' ' His behavior, the first two weeks, was such as to dis-
courage me, and send me home with a brain that fairly
ached in trying to devise some means to gain his respect and
love. I learned that he stole . every thing that he could lay
his hands upon ; and, indeed, two or three instances of his
thieving propensity came under my observation. He would
steal the scholars' dinners ; but for that I could not blame him,
his own consisting entirely of some pieces of brown bread.
QLEN WOOD.
" He was absent often, and I would learn that he was
confined for some misdemeanor.
" One morning, by questioning him, I learned that he
had been beaten severely with a strap. The poor-master
was accustomed to tie him up in a cold room, in the coldest
weather, and keep him without food. One mode of punish-
ment was to plunge and hold him in cold water.
" I thought that I would try the power of moral suasion.
I found that there was a decided improvement ; and that, if
he did wrong, and I detained him after school, and talked
kindly to him, instead of making him an example to all the
scholars, he seemed a great deal more penitent. Every
morning he would come in with a handful of flowers for the
' mistress.' After school, he would linger to ask me if he
had been a good boy. I also noticed an improvement in
his person. He seemed ashamed of his poor clothes. Oc-
casionally there would come an outburst of passion, but it
was easily quelled."
The above extracts are sufficient to show where the trouble
lay. The whole difficulty was to be charged to the abuse
the child received. Not only was he most cruelly abused,
but fed and clothed meanly. The teacher tried the effect of
kindness, and he Was speedily subdued. As soon as he
was treated like a human being, he had a desire to act like
one. Let those who have the care of poor orphan children
learn a lesson.
But some are disposed to query thus : "Are there any
towns in Massachusetts, or in New England, so mean as to
refuse to furnish tea for aged paupers? " There are. It is
true of one of the most respectable towns of the state named ;
and, a few years since, a complaint was entered against the
GLENWOOD. 429
poor-master and the overseers of the poor of that town,
because of the filthy condition of the alms-house. It was
said that the actual condition of things " was unfit for publi-
cation."
These facts are deemed sufficient to silence all cavillers.
It is certain that the reputation of the innocent will not be
jeopardized by anything which has fallen from the author's
pen; while the guilty, instead of indulging in uncalled-for
censure, should rather bring forth works meet for repent-
ance.
The author of Glenwood must here part with his readers.
He would fain hope that they have been interested hi his
book, and that the perusal has afforded them many mo-
ments of wholesome excitement and pleasure.
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