Present* Date ret No. THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF The California State Library of all of the ssion. brary, -ore jjiunirmn, lor tnc benefit of the Library, three times the value thereof; and before the Controller shah issue his warrant in favor o 7 " any member or officer of the Legislature, or of this Shu r. fur his per diem, allowance, or salary, he shall be satisfied that such member or officer has returned all books taken out of the Library by him, ami bus si'tilrd all accounts for injuring such books or otherwise. SEC. 15. Books may be taken from the Library by the members of the Legislature and its officers during the session of the same, and at any time by the (ioveruor and the officers of the Executive Department of/ u- who are required to keep their offices at the scat of government, the Justices of the Supreme Court, the Attorney-General and the Trustees of the Library. NEIGHBOR JACKWOOD. BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE. A CERTAIN WOMAH WENT DOWN FROM JERl'S.YLEM TO JERICHO, AND FELL AMONG THIEVES." BOSTON: J. E. TILTON AND COMPANY. 1871. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by J. T. TROWBR1DGE, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts PS CONTENTS. I. HIE MOUTH OF WILD EIVBB, T II. THE STRANGER AND TUB STORM 19 III. TIIE FARM-HOUSE 23 IV. THE SABBATH MORNING 33 V. I1ECTOB, 42 VI. URANDMOTHER RIQQLESTY, 51 VII. THE DUNBURYS, . . . . I 72 VIII. DOWN THE MOUNTAIN, 86 IX. HECTOR AND CHARLOTTE, 96 IV CONTENTS. X. MBS. BIGGLESTY'8 ADVENTURE, DANOKBOUS SYMPTOMS, XII. TOE WEDDING, XIII. TOE VISIT AND T1IE EXCURSION, 111 XI. , .122 127 137 XIV. THE nUNTEBS, 146 XV. TOE LIFTING OF T1IE VEIL 153 XVI. FIGHTING FIRE, 158 XVII. THE MORNING AFTER, 1C3 XVIII. PARTINGS, 1G8 XIX. THE DOVE AND THE SERPENT, 174 XX. "TWO NEGATIVES DESTROY EACH OTHER," . .' 185 XXI. BIM'S DISCOVERIES, 193 XXII. TWO SKELETONS IN ONE IIOUSE, 201 CONTENTS. V XXIII. PROSPECTS 212 XXIV. THE JUDGMENT, 221 XXV. TOWARDS MIDNIGHT, 227 XXVI. MOTHER AND SON, 235 XXVII. THF FOREST ROAD, 239 XXVIII. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 245 XXIX. THE GREENWICH FAMILY, 251 XXX. THE UNWELCOME GUEST, 257 XXXI. BROTHER AND SISTER, 2G4 XXXII. FLIGHT 270 XXXIII. HOUSELESS, ' 279 XXXIV. 7HE NI6HT, 290 XXXV. IIECTOB'S JOURNEY, * 295 1* VI CONTENTS. XXXVI. IHK INUNDATION, 310 XXXVII. RUMORS 319 XXXVIII. MR. RUKELY'S GREAT SERMON 326 XXXIX. HOW DICKSON TOOK LEAVE, 337 XL. MB. CHUMLETT'S SPECULATIONS 343 XLI. CONFESSIONS 352 XLII. THE WILDERNESS, 377 XLIII. THE LAW TAKES ITS COURSE, 391 XLIV. RETRIBUTIOM '. 398 XLV. CLOSING SCENES, 40 NEIGHBOR JACKWOOD. I. THE MOUTH OF WILD RIVER. IN the kitchen door of an old, weather-worn farm-house stood Mr. Abimelech Jackwood, filling his pipe for an after-dinner smoke, and looking up at the sky with an air of contemplative wisdom. " Is it go'n' to rain, think ? " asked Abimelech the younger, commonly called Bim, holding out his hand to see if he could satch a sprinkle. " Say, father Confound your pictur' ! " The anathema was addressed, not to the parent Jackwood, by any means but to the dog Rover, who, seeing the boy's hand extended in a manner which appeared provocative of sport, leaped up from the door-stone, where he had been lying, with his chin on his paws, snapping at the flies, and pounced upon the shoulder of the younger Abimelech. Mr. Jackwood preserved a circumspect silence, while his saga- cious eye seemed to explore every square yard of sky visible between the two ranges of the Green Mountains that bounded the valley. " I never knowed the sign to fail," he observed, after mature deliberation, crowding the tobacco into his pipe-bowl with his thumb, " that when you see a light mist, like the smoke of a thimblv. movin' acrost the face of the Eagle Rocks, 'arly in 8 THE MOUTH OF WILD RIVER. mornin', like what there was this mornin', there '11 be rain within four-'n-twenty hours. Them 'ere clouds is jest what I expected ; but mebby they '11 hold off all the'arternoon. I don't see no crows on the dead ellum yit." " I wish you 'd go a-fishin'," said Abimelech. " It 's Sat'day, and we shan't do much work if we stay to hum." " I ben thinkin' a little about tryin' a hand at the fish, myself," responded Mr. Jackwood, lighting his pipe at the kitchen stove. " But I guess, Bim'lech," puff, puff, " we '11 finish hoein' that little patch o' 'taters fust," puff, puff, puff, " then see how the weather looks. How 're ye on 't for hooks an' lines ? " Abimelech made haste to find the fishing-tackle, and submit it to his father's inspection. " How spry you be, Bim ! " cried his sister Phoebe, a bright- eyed, rosy-cheeked girl of sixteen, over the dinner-dishes. " If you 'd been asked to bring a pail of water, 't would have taken you twice as long to start." " Tell her ypu don't go a-fishin' every day," said Mr. Jackwood, good-naturedly. " Where 's your sinkers, boy ? " Bim entered into a long and complicate history of the manner in which, by various mischances, the sinkers had become lost or destroyed. " I can tell a straighter story than that," laughed Phoebe", flirt- ing the table-cloth at the chickens. " He took the sinkers, and all the other lead he could find, to run a cannon to shoot Inde- pendence with. The top of the pewter tea-pot went the same way." Bim looked troubled under his father's reproof. " I don't care, for all that, though," he whispered, winking at his sister, " if he '11 only le' me go a-fishin' ! " " I don't know what we shall do for sinkers," and Mr. Jack- wood fumbled in the nail-box. " There an't a bit o' lead in the house, 't I know on." " There is that 'ere Ticonderoga bullet," suggested Abimelech, meekly. "Yes; and it's lucky you didn't git holt o' that, when you THE MOUTII OF WILD RIVER. run your pesky cannon ! But I kinder hate to use that. It 's a relic I Ve ben lottin' on handin' down to futur 1 generations." Notwithstanding the patriotic desire, Mr. Jackwood, retiring to the bed-room, opened the, till of his chest, and produced tho famous bullet. " I expect that 'ere ball killed a man, Bim'lech," he remarked, impressively, balancing the relic on the palm of his hand. " Your Uncle Dani'l picked it out of a skull, to Ticonderoga. The heft on 't can't be much short of a ounce ; an' what a story it could tell, childern, if it could only talk ! " Mrs. Jackwood earnestly counselled her husband against sacri- ficing so precious a memento of Revolutionary times. But, having duly weighed it in his hand, and found it lighter than the present necessity, he submitted it to the hammer, pounded it out flat on the door-stone, and proceeded to the manufacture of sinkers. Abimelech's industry that afternoon excited the surprise and admiration of all who witnessed it. He hoed potatoes to uso his father's expression " like a major." The anticipation of piscatory sport inspired him ; the stint was speedily accom- plished ; and just as the noisy old kitchen clock was striking three, father and son might have been seen passing through tho door-yard gate, with their fish-poles on their shoulders. Huntersford Creek, a broad, clear-running stream, swept through the valley within a stone's throw of Mr. Jackwood's house ; and far to the north the fringing willows on its banks, and graceful elm-trees stationed here and there, marked its winding course. One mile below, Wild lliver, dashing down from the mountains like a savage bridegroom, hastened to the embrace of the more gentle stream. But the coy creek eluded the approach of her impetuous wooer, in a hundred coquettish curves, now advanc- ing softly to meet him, or moving on serenely by his side, sooth- ing and taming him with song ; then, when almost within his reach, turning suddenly aside, and leading him a long and tortuous chase through the green meadows ; until, driven to the verge of the interval, beneath the brow of a mountain that stood like a solemn priest, blessing the union, the fair fugitive yielded, and they twain became one stream. 10 THE MOUTH OF WILD HIVER. Mr. Jackwood professed an acquaintance with the geography of this region, which he proposed to explore. Abimelech, elated with the idea, trotted along by his father's side, carrying his fish- pole jauntily, and chattering incessantly. " Here is a lesson for ye, Bim'lech," said his father, as they reached the vicinity of the river, pointing to an old-fashioned dilapidated house, in a wild-looking yard by the road-side. " This used to be the fust best farm on the interval ; an' the man 't lives here bid fair to be the richest man in the county. Fif- teen year' ago, where you see all them beds o' gravel an' rocks, there was about the han'somest field of corn 't I ever set eyes on. Wai, it got along to'ards the last of August, and the corn prom- ised to turn out nobly ; everybody was praisin' on 't, an' Mr. Hoodlett made his brags on 't, tellin' about the great crop he was goin' to have, till it seemed to me su'thin' must happen to that corn. So, one day, when I was passin' by, I spoke to Hoodlett. Says I, ' Hoodlett,' says I, ' what if your corn should turn out poor, arter all ? ' says I. ' 'T an't possible,' says he ; ' I know I shall have the biggest crop ever raised on the crick, jes 's well 's if I 'd seen it harvested.' ' Don't be too sure,' says I. ' Man ap'ints, and God disap'ints.' ' I tell ye what,' says he, 4 neigh- bor Jackwood,' says he, ' I would n't ask God Almighty to insure me seventy-five bushels to the acre, any way,' says he ; ' I shall have it, an' there 's no gittin' away from 't.' Wai, it was rainin' a little that day ; but it rained harder that night ; an' all the next day, an' the next night, it come down like forty-'leven Dutch pedlers ; an' the next mornin', when Hoodlett looked out o' the winder, there wan't a stalk o' corn, nor a square foot o' corn-field, to cure sore eyes with." " What had 'come on 't ? " " 'T wan't insured, an' 't was gone. Wild River 's a terrible fractious stream, time of freshets, but it never done noth'n' like that 'fore nor sencc. It come down through the Narrers with a roar 't could be heerd miles away. It overflowed the hull country 'bout here, an' brought down a grist o' trees an' rocks from the mountains, with more gravel 'n a man could cart away in ;i lill-tiiiu'. The corn-field took the wu.st on 't,-an' got sarved THE MOUTH OF WILD RIVER.' ll BO bad, 't a stranger would n't a b'lieved, the day arter, that there was ever so much as a road through the tanglements of trees, roots, an' tops, that lay half buried and piled on to each other, all up an' down the river. That was the ruination of Hoodlett. Tha best part of his land was sp'ilt ; an' it looked so much like a judg- ment from Heav'm, 't he got discouraged, an' has ben runniu' down hill ever sence." The adventurers had by this time reached the bank of the river, which foamed and flashed, and plunged and bubbled, and shot in Bwift, green currents amid the great round bowlders that lay scat- tered up and down its bed, while the music of its plashing filled the air. Here they turned aside from the road, passing through a waste and barren field ; climbed a high bank lifted upon a perpendicular wall of rock from the bed of the stream, and entered a thick grove of young trees. Mr. Jackwood went forward with the poles, fol- lowing a path that led along the brink of the precipice. Abime- lech kept behind, sometimes stopping to pick from the young spruces bits of gum, which stuck provokingly in his teeth ; or chewing leaves of the bitter hemlock ; or peeling thin ribbons of the silver birch. " Is hemlock p'ison ? " asked the boy, spitting out some leaves. " P'ison ? no. What makes you ask that ? " " 'Cause I jest happened to think my history-book says Socrates drinked hemlock to kill himself." " O, wal," replied Mr. Jackwood, " I 've no doubt 'twould kill a man, if he should take enough on 't ; so would a good many other things." " Socrates must a' took a perty good swig," suggested Bim. " Or perhaps 't was the ground hemlock ; that 's p'ison. But keep still now ; you '11 scare all the fish." - They reached a lodge which overhung a deep, narrow basin of rock. Beneath them lay the water, clear and calm. Stones, and pebbles, and fishes, could be seen in its transparent depths. Here they threw in their hooks, with tempting baits ; they tried alter initely worms and flies ; from the shallow falls, where the singing water came rushing down from above, to the stony shelves at the |2 1UE MOUTH OF WILD RIVER. mouth of the basin, where the crystal sheet burst once more into bubbles and sparkles of foam, they left no spot unvisited by their lines. But neither perch, nor pickerel, nor trout, could bo allured. ' What fools they be ! " cried the indignant Bim. " I put my hook right up to their mouths, and they don't know enough to swaller it. I don't believe but that we can ketch some of these big fellers with a snare." It seemed possible. Accordingly, a few minutes later, in place of hooks, wide round loops of copper wire went down into the still basin. But now the fi.sh grew suddenly very shy. Through the snares and around them they darted, in a most tantalizing man- ner ; sometimes remaining quiet and watchful until the wire ap- proached within too dangerous proximity of their noses, then shooting away in schools. Not one could be taken ; and after another half-hour's unsuccessful sport, Mr. Jackwood's patience failing him, he reluctantly wound up his lines. " I tell ye what, Bim'lech, there 's no use wastin' time in this 'ere wretched hole. We '11 be sure o' ketchin' suthin' at the mouth of the river." Below the bridge, they undertook to follow the bed of the httvam. For some distance they experienced no difficulty ; they enjoyed excellent advantages for fishing, as they proceeded, with the exception of the simple fact that no fish would bite ; but at length the narrow channel to which the stream had shrunk during the dry weather began to widen and shift its course, and it became necessary either to leave the river-bed altogether, or cross over to the white fields of dry stones that now made their appearance on the other side. First they tried the banks; but tin' tall grass and the strong willows were found serious obstacles in the way .of comfortable fishing. Then they attempted to cross the si ream on the stones, selecting a shallow place for the execu- tioirof the enterprise. But the round bowlders, covered with the scum of dried slime, proved treacherous footholds, rolling and turning on the slippery stones beneath them, and perilling the bal- IBM even of Ilic careful and sagacious Mr. Jackwoou. Abime- hvh followed his adventurous parent; when suddenly the fitter TIIE MOUTH OF WILD RIVER. 13 heard a great splashing behind him, and looked around. ^The boy was floundering in the water, and endeavoring, in a great panic, to regain a footing on the stones. " Careless ! " exclaimed Mr. Jackwood. " There, there, stau' still ! The water won't drownd ye ; 't an't up to your knees Now, what need was there o' gittin' in all over ? " He was still speaking, when the bowlder on which he imagined himself firmly planted began to revolve. To preserve his balance, he stepped carefully forward ; but the boy had spattered all that side of the rock, and, Mr. Jackwood's foot resting on a spot as slippery as glass, he slid, with a great splash, into the water, bring- ing down the rattling fish-poles, in rather dangerous style, on the crown of Abimelech's head. " 0, 0, ! " screamed the boy, pitching about once more m the water. " Ketch holt o' my hand ! " cried the elder Jackwood. " This all comes o' your wantin' to go a-fishin' ! " 13im cried desolately ; and, having reached the dry stones, stood with distended hands and feet, dripping like a newly- washed sheep. " D' I hurt your head ? " asked his father, touched with remorse. " Ye-e-s ! You mos' broke it ! " snuffled Bim. " 0, you h-u-r-t ! " as Mr. Jackwood, with paternal solicitude, examined his crown. " It 's bad enough, I should think, to kill a feller, thout scoldin' him for 't afterwards." " Don't talk so ! " said his father, sternly. " Ye an't hurt much, I guess, arter all the fuss." " Yes I be, too ! " whined Abimelech, holding his head in his hands. " You 'd think so, if you 'd ben knocked over with a couple o' thunderin' great poles." " There, don't swear ! I guess now we '11 go hum ; we 've had about sport enough for one day." The injured Bim became suddenly pacified. " I don't want ter go hum," giving his crown a final nib, and putting on his straw hat. " 1 can get dry in a little while. My head feels better now." 2 14 THE MOUTH OF WILD RIVER. Mr. Jackwood sat down and emptied the water out of h\> boots. His hopeful heir followed his example ; and afterwards divested himself of his trousers, in order to wring them out and hang them on the bushes to dry. Then, in a light and picturesque costume, he went hopping about on the stones, with his fishing apparatus, and caught a fine brace of trout during the ensuing half-hour. " I declare," said his father, " if you don't beat the Dutch ! I han't had a nibble yit." " 0, my ! " cried the excited boy, leaping recklessly upon an unstable stone, " there is a smashin' big feller ! " Mr. Jackwood thought it must be indeed a " smashin' big fel- ler," from the great commotion of waters. He looked up, and saw an object flouncing in the river like a young whale. It was Abimelech, however, not the fish. " So you thought you 'd jump in arter him, did you ? You 're a smart boy ! " Abimelech 's second ducking had been more thorough and exten- sive than the first ; so that, by the time his trousers were dry enough to put on, his shirt was in a capital condition to go upon the bushes in their place. But the charm was now broken ; no more luck had he ; so he hastened to tie his freshly-washed gar- ment to his fish-pole, and, waving it in the air like a banner, fol- lowed his father down the river. In consequence of recent freshets, the river had changed its bed a dozen times ; the valley appeared ploughed up with ravines, which branched out in every direction. The dry fields of stones had disappeared ; the stream became sluggish and dark, creeping over the black ooze of the interval ; and the grass on the banks now grew so thick, aq^Ank, and high, that the boy became disheartened. * ^^^ " I can't go no fu'ther ! " he complained. " There 's brakes, an' nettles, an' everything^) bother a feller. I 'm afraid o' snakes." " Keep up good pluck ! " cried his father. " Here 's the crick, close by." What was taken for the creek proved to >e an old bed, with a black and .shining pool of dead water fast asleep in it, between THE MOUTH OF WILD RIVER. crumbling banks. To go around it was a labor replete wit a pain and difficulty. It led over flats full of dangerous sloughs ; then other such pools appeared, in the midst of which our adventurers became confused. Sometimes they mistook the river for the creek ; more than once they mistook the creek for the river ; and finally there appeared to be numberless rivers and creeks winding in every direction. " There ! " cried Mr. Jackwood, at length, " there 's the creek, this time, 't any rate. We '11 find it nuff easier goin' on t' other side to pay for crossin' over ; then we can go up to Dunbery's old bridge, an' so hum. It 's go'n' to rain ; an' I don't see any gre't chance for fishin' here, arter all." " But we can't cross here ! " whined the disappointed Abirae- lech ; " the water 's a mile deep." It was a broad channel, filled with clear, still water, in the depths of which could be seen great shining logs, lying tangled and crossed on the black mud of the interval. " What a boy you be to stretch a story ! " exclaimed Mr. Jack- wood. " Here is a good place to ford." He rolled up his trousers above his knees, and carried Abime- lech over on his back ; when, reaching the opposite bank, he sat down to pull on his boots, which the boy had brought over in his hands. " Where 's my stockin's ? " thrusting his hand down one of the legs. " I d'n' know ; I han't seen 'em," replied the boy. " You don' know ! Why don't you know ? I told you to take care on 'em." " I guess you laid 'em down on t'gHpr side." " An' I got to go back arter 'em^^p wisT$ you 'd larn to keep your wits about ye ! " Mr. Jackwood arose, and, rolling^) his trousers again, although the water-mark was some inches above their utmost elevation, re- turned to the opposite bank. But no socks were to be found. " You let 'em drop in the water, sartin as the world ! " he exclaimed, giving \fy the search. Abimelech protested against the injustice of this charge. " 0, you 're a terrible innocent 1G THE MOUTH OF WILD RIVER boy ! " sitting down and straining at the straps of tne of his boots " Now, what 's to pay, I wonder ? What ye ben puttin' in this boot?" Mr. Jackwood withdrew his foot, put in his hand, and extracted a stocking. " If it don't beat all ! I remember, now. I did tuck 'em in my boots ; an' they 're so wet they dropped clean down into the toes." " Blame me, will ye, next time ! " muttered Bim. " 0, 'f course I lost 'em in the river ! " "Is that the way to talk to your father?" asked Mr. Jack- wood, solemnly. " You better be careful ! " Abimelech continued to mutter; but, his father suggesting sig- nificantly that he'd do well to wait till he got his boots on, he hushed, and contented himself with looking sullen. Resuming their tramp, they had not proceeded far, when he began to grum- ble again, very faintly. " What 's that?" cried his father, sharply, looking around. " I could a' ketched 'nough fish, if you 'd le' me staid where 1 was. Might a' know'd we could n't do nothin' down here." " Where's the fi.sh you did ketch?" " I d'n' know ! I guess I I left 'em on the ground where you put your boots on ! " beginning to cry. "Wai, wal, never mind," said Mr. Jackwood; " 't won't take long to go back arter 'em. Cheer up, an' I '11 go on an' see what them bushes look like, ahead here." Ten minutes later, Mr. Jackwood shouted. " Hurrah, Bim'lech ! where be ye? " " I can't find my fi>h ! " cried the boy ; " somebody 's come an' stole 'em ! " At that moment there was a vivid flash of lightning, which lit up the entire canopy of the sky, and a heavy drop plashed upon Abimelech's hand. He had explored the bank in vain ; while all the tima the little willow bough, on which the fish were strung, peeped out of the trampled grass before his eyes. Agitated and blind with tears, he could not see it; and now, in a panic of fear abandoning the search, he attempted to return to his father. THE MOUTH OF WILD EIVEB. 17 " Here ! " shouted Mr. Jackwood, sending up his hat on tnt end of a pole as a signal, " do ye see this ? " Thrusting the pole into the ground, he was on the point of going in pursuit of the boy, when his attention was attracted by a cry in another direction. He paused and hallooed. The cry was repeated. It sounded like that of some person in distress. Leaving Abime lech, therefore, to make the best of his way out of the grass, Mr. Jackwood advanced upon the rotting timber of a bridge thrown across the creek. Beyond was an old barn, that stood half hidden by the willows and young elms, festooned with vines, that grew by the stream ; and as the voice sounded in that direction, he kept on, until there arose suddenly before him out of the grass what seemed the bent form of an old woman, leaning upon a staff. " It 's some plaguy old witch or 'nother ! " he muttered to him self. She attempted to approach him, whereupon he made a deferen tial step backwards towards the bridge. Mr. Jackwood had his own opinions about witches. " 0, sir, if you will be so kind as to help me ! " she faltered, sinking down again in the tangled grass. " Wai, I an't a man to pass by on t' other side when there 's suff 'rin' in the way," said Mr. Jackwood, approaching ; " though I 'm a little grain skittish about stragglers. What 'pears to be the matter, hey ? " " I have lost my way," answered the woman, faintly, resting her head upon her hand, " and I can go no further." " Tuckered out, hey ? Wai, that 's bad ! But you can man- age to git up to the road, can't ye ? " The woman replied that she was too much exhausted to walk. " Hoity-toity ! " cried Mr. Jackwood, cheerily. " This '11 never do. Where there 's life there 's hope. Only think you can, and you can, you know. B'sides, mebby I can help. You won't be sorry ; you'll find a warm supper an' a good comf 'table sheltei Bome'eres, I promise ye." He extended his hand : the woman clasped it convulsively. 2* 18 TUB MOUTH OF WILD RIVER. " You will be my friend ! " she articulated, with strange vehe mence something tells rue that I can trust you ! " " My name 's Jackwood ; I live on the crick, jest above here. Everybody knows Bim'lech Jackwood," replied the farmer. " You are my only hope," said the woman, " and I will have faith that you have been sent to me." " I like that ; that 'ere sounds han'some an' pious. But seems to me you don't "pear quite so old as I took you to be at fust." " I am not old. I have been obliged to appear so for safety. You will not betray me ! " "Don't be afeared," exclaimed Mr. Jackwood, with hearty sympathy. "Let me appear to you as I am, then." And the stranger removed a pair of spectacles that concealed her eyes ; took off the bonnet that almost covered her face ; put back from her forehead the old-woman's cap, with its wig of gray hair attached and dis- covered thick masses of dark hair loosened and falling down her neck. II. THE STRANGER AND THE STORM. MR. JACKWOOD stood astonished. Such eyes such wonder- fully soft and lustrous eyes he had never seen before. " Why, do tell, now ! I never had anything come over me so, in all my born days ! Then them 'ere marks on your face t' look like wrinkles an't nat'ral, hey ? " " I will go to the water and wash them off," replied the stranger. " But do not question me, nor ever speak of this." At that juncture Abimelech was heard screaming frantically. " I shall haf to go for that boy, sartin 's the world ! " exclaimed the farmer. " How do ye feel now ? Think you can walk a hunderd rods or so ? " " You have given me hope," said the wanderer ; " and hope gives life and strength ! " " That 's more like it ! that 's the way to talk ! I should n't wonder if we git home now 'fore it rains, to speak of. Only, when you 've washed, if you '11 make an effort and creep along slow, this 'ere 's the track, ye know ; keep where the grass is thin, it '11 give Bim'lech an' me a chance, an' we '11 overtake you 'fore you git fur." And so, with a parting word of cheer, Mr. Jackwood disap- peared behind the elms. Left alone, the girl made haste to wash her hands and face ; then, having thrown away her staff, and care- fully concealed the wig, cap, and spectacles, about her person, she resumed the old bonnet, which corresponded well with the rest of her attire, and set out to walk slowly along the track indicated by Mr. Jackwood. Abimelech 's voice meanwhile grew fainter and fainter; and, 20 THE STRANGER AND THE STORM. after a baffling search, his father found him sunk to his knees in the black mud of a slough. Taking him by the arm, he dragged him out, shouldered him, and carried him off bodily. " Hush up ! hush up ! You an't dead, arter all. You can't guess what I have found, out here. It 's suthin' better 'n two little mis'ble trout." " Is 't a otter ? " asked the boy, with a sudden lull in his lam- entations. " You '11 see, you '11 see. Don't say nothin', but laugh." Reaching the bridge, Mr. Jackwood set him on his feet, shoul- dered the fish-poles in his place, and, walking on, pointed out the stranger. " That 's the way you alluz fool me ! I thought you 'd got Buthin' ! Heugh ! a woman ! an' a beggar woman, too ! " " Stop that ! " cried Mr. Jackwood. " You talk like a young heathen. An't we commanded to help the needy ? What 's the use o' your goin' to Sunday-school, I 'd like to know ? " " Who is she, any way ? " " Hush ! " with a significant motion of the hand. " Hem ! " coughed the farmer, preparatory to addressing the stranger. " Keep a little back, Bim'lech ! Hem ! you 'pear to be doin' perty well ; feel better, don't ye ? If you should take my arm, now, I guess we '11 be able to git along finely." With a word of thanks, feebly spoken, the stranger accepted the offer, and need enough there seemed that he should assist her weary footsteps. She turned upon him, as she did so, the light of those wonderful eyes, and smiled a grateful smile, which seemed to struggle against embarrassment and fatigue. . " Did you come from the north ? " " Yes, sir," she faltered, "I mean no, sir. I came, I think, from that direction," pointing directly at the old Bear Back, the highest and most rugged of the western range of mountains, that bounded the valley. " I followed a road till I lost it in the woods, then I tried to cross the valley." "You follered that 'ere road? You was travellin' north, then?" " I am a little confused ; I hardly know what I tell you." THE STRANGER AND TIIE STORM. 2] " Turned 'round, be ye ? Wai, I don't wonder at that. So 1 shan't ax you no questions. I 'd like to inquire, though, if your parents live down north, here." "My parents?" said the girl, with an effort; " I I have lost them ! " " 0, they 're dead, then ! I an't none o' the pryin' sort, but I should like to know if their names was Carter. P'rhaps I know'd 'em. That wasn't the name, hey? Wai, I an't goin' to ax questions ; but seems to me I 've seen you som'eres. Ts your name Burbank ? " "No, sir; and I was never in this part of the country before." "You're a native o' York State, then, I conclude? No? Mebby, then, you 've ben to work in the factories, down to Lowell an' Lawrence. I 've got a darter 't 's talked some o' tryin' her hand at that business ; she would, in a minute, if I 'd let her. No? Wai, never mind, I an't one o' the pryin' sort. I forgit, though, what you said your name was." " Say, father," interrupted Abimelech, at this important crisis, " the rain 's comin' like great guns ! You can't see the old Bear Back ! " " I guess we '11 hurry on a leetle grain faster, if you an't too tired, Miss I don't remember your name," said Mr. Jack- wood. " I never heerd the mountain roar so in all my life ! " cried the excited Bim. " Do look, father ! how the trees thrash about ! See 'em ! see 'em ! all over the mountain ! How dark it grows ! " "We shall have it here in a minute." said Mr. Jackwood. "A leetle grain faster, if you can 's well 's not, Miss Did I understand you to say your name was " At that moment, a swift squad of the storm, charging down from the mountain with volleys of arrowy rain, swept over our little party. The elm-trees trembled, and reeled, and tossed their long green hair, while the tall grass of the interval rose and fell, and whirled in eddies, like a sea. " There goes my hat ! " screamed Abimelech. It lodged in the grass, and his father caught it with his fish- pole. THE STRANGER AND THE STORM. The boy sprang to seize it, and pulled it on his head with such desperation as to tear away the rim, and leave a liberal rent for his hair to flutter through ; and thus, with the appearance of hold- ing himself down by the ears, he scudded on before the gale. His companions followed more slowly ; the stranger, in fluttering attire, clinging to her friend, and Mr. Jackwood, looking solid and responsible under his burden, snuffing the squall complacently, and dragging the fish-poles after. III. THE FARM-HOUSE. THOROUGHLY drenched, the little party arrived at the farm- house. " Why ! my sakes ! " cried Mrs. Jackwood, as the kitchen door flew open, and they came in with the lashing rain, "I never see! Do shet the door quick, Bim'lech! Is this 'Tildy Fos- dick?" In the gloom, she mistook her husband's companion for one of the neighbors. Mr. Jackwood corrected the error. " La, wal ! I s'pose we can keep her one night, 't any rate," said his wife. " Soppin' wet, an't ye ? Be ye 'fraid o' ketchin' cold?" " No, I don't think of that," answered the girl, shiveringly. " Wal, come to the stove, an' warm ye ; " and Mrs. Jackwood drew up the high-backed rocking-chair. " Set here. Phrebe, put in some more wood. I s'pose I might let you have one o' my ol' gowns to put on: I guess I better. You don't look very tough. I '11 take your wet bunnit." Mrs. Jackwood hung the drenched article upon a .peg ; then, having lighted a candle with a coal she took from the fire, she turned once more to the stranger. " Dear me ! " betraying a lively emotion, " you an't stub- bid, be ye? You don't look fit to be travllin' in this way! Whereabouts is yer home ? " The girl appeared to make an effort to speak. " Don't be axin' questions, mother ! " spoke up Mr. Jackwood. "You see," he added, considerately, in an undertone, "it hurts hei teelin's. I shall have to git ye to speak yer name once more, if ye please." 24 THE FARM-IIOUSE. " Charlotte Woods," articulated the stranger. " Cha'lotte "Woods," repeated the farmer, with an air of thoughtful interest. "Go 'way, Phoebe," in a whisper; "don't stan' starin' at her ! There 's a Woods under the mountain ; is he any relation?" The girl shook her head. She was apparently seventeen or eighteen years of age; but her features, of delicate mould, and of a oft, brunette complexion, bordering upon the olive, showed traces of passion and suffering rarely seen in one so young. Her eyes were tremulously downcast, and her slender hands clasped across her lap in an attitude of intense emotion. The contrast of her humble drenched attire and the yellow lamp-light that fell upon it served to heighten the effect of the scene. It was at once picturesque and touching. Not even the uncultivated inmates of the Jackwood dwelling were insensible to it ; and a respectful hush followed the farmer's last question, all eyes ap- pearing to regard the unknown guest with mingled solicitude and deference. Mrs. Jackwood broke the silence. " Shall I give you that dry gown to put on ? " " Thank you," said the stranger, " I am quite comfortable." " Give her a drop o' that 'ere currant wine," whispered the farmer. "Where's all yer fish?" Mrs. Jackwood at last thought to inquire. " The cat '11 eat 'em up, if they 're under the stoop." ' I guess all we brought home won't hurt her, if she eats bones an' all," said Mr. Jackwood. " Why, did n't ye ketch none ? " " I ketched two trout, real nice ones, an' lost "em," snivelled I3im, in the corner. " What ye crvin' about ? " " I tore my knee all open ! I was runnin' on ahead, an' fell down, right on to a great rock." " Wai, wal, you '11 feel better arter supper," said his father. " You need n't help about the chores to-night. You 've had a pcrty hard time on 't, this arternoon, that 's a fact. You won't want to go a-fishin' agin very soon, will ye ? " THE FARM-HOUSE. 25 " I don't want to go to Wild River ! " mumbled the aggrieved Bim. " They 're the meanest fish ! My fust two nibbles was bites, then all my other bites was nibbles." Meanwhile supper was waiting, only the tea ' "as to be drawn ; and Mr. Jackwood proposed that they should ' set right down." But the stranger felt too faint to think of food. " Wai," said Mr. Jackwood, after a moment's reflection, " I guess I '11 go an' milk, then, an' have the chores done up 'fore supper. If you git ready to se' down, don't wait for me." He took the rattling milk-pails from the pantry, and went out in the darkness and storm, to finish the labors of the day. He fed the squealing pigs, and stopped their noise ; gave the bleating calves their suppers j drove the sheep out of the door-yard ; and returned, at length, to the kitchen, bearing two brimming pails of milk and rain-water. He found his guest still sitting by the stove, reposing languidly in the high-backed chair ; having, in the mean time, however, put on dry apparel, for which she was indebted to Mrs. Jackwood's kindness. " Wai, how d' ye find yourself arter your shower-bath ? " he inquired, cheerily. "Think ye can eat a little supper, now? Can, hey ? That 's right ; turn right 'round here. Come, Phoabe, Bim'lech, what ye waitin' fur ? Where '11 she set, mother ? " " She can set in Bim'lech's place ; he 's had his supper. He was so hungry, he could n't wait ; so he took a bowl o' bread-an'- milk in his hand." " I did n't eat enough ! That was nothin' but a luncheon." " What ! that great bowl o' bread-an'-milk ? I wonder what your stomach is made of! " " Never mind ; let him come to the table, if he wants to," said Mr. Jackwood, whose heart grew big and warm in the glow of the homely old kitchen. " There 's plenty o' room. Fix him a place, Phoebe. I don't see the need of anybody 's starvin' in my house." Mrs. Jackwood, getting a plate : " It 's all foolishness eat'n' two suppers, one jest 'fore goin' to bed, too ; that 's all I care about it." 3 26 THE FARM-HOUSE. "Bim thinks he deserves two suppers, for bringing home sc many fish ! " said Phoebe. Abimelech, ex asperated : " Make her stop, father I should think she 'd said enough about that ! " " There, there, there, children, don't quarrel ! What makes ye want to pester him so, Phoebe ? You should n't mind it, rny son ; you should be above sich things. There 's a plate for ye ; bring yer chair along. Hush, now." The farmer said grace in the stereotype phrase of years ; but an allusion to the wanderer beneath his roof, and the wind and the rain without, awkwardly interpolated, it is true, yet spoken with simple earnestness, rendered the prayer vital and touch- ing. " Bim kept making faces at me all the time you was asking the blessing ! " said Phoebe. " Bira'lech, did you do that 'ere ? " asked Mr. Jackwood, solemnly. Abimelech, with an air of innocence : " No, I did n't ! There was a 'skeeter buzzin' 'round my face, an' I squinted to scare him away, that 's all. If she had n't ben lookin' she would n't 'a seen me." Phcebe : " What a story ! There an't a mosquito in the house ! " " That '11 do ! Don't le' me hear no more complaints. We 've got plain fare," the farmer turned to his guest, " but it 's hulsome. Here 's good ho'-made bread, an' sweet butter, an' fresh milk ; some dried beef, too, if ye like ; an' mother '11 give ye a good stiff cup o' tea, to raise yer sperrits. Then there 's a pie I '11 ventur' to recommend, bime-by." " Mother ! I want a piece of pie ! " " You need n't whine so like a great baby, if you do ! You may give him a piece, Phcebe." " Phoeb' need n't be so p'tic'lar to pick out the smallest piece ! I '11 have two pieces, now, see if I don't ! May n't t, father?" " Eat that fust, then we '11 see." ' I want some cheese with it ! Come, you need r j * help me. THE FARM-HOUSE. 27 Phoeb' ! Jest pass the plate, an' le' me help myself. How darnod generous you be ! " " Bim'lech ! " " What ! " Mr. Jackwood, severely : " Le' me hear any more sich talk an' you '11 go right away from the table, mind now ! " The boy muttered something in self-defence, with his n.outh full ; but his father's attention was at that moment drawn to his guest. For some time she had been vainly endeavoring to eat. The bounty spread before her, the kindness of her new friends, and the thought of rest and shelter while the storm raged without, filled her heart to suffocating fulness ; and, too weak to control her emotions, but instinctively seeking to conceal them, she attempted to rise from the table. The pallor and distress of her features, and the strangeness of her movements, alarmed the farmer ; but, before he could speak, a sudden dizziness seized her, and she sank insensible upon the floor. " Marcy ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jackwood, starting from the table. " I believe she 's fainted ! Hold her, father, while I bring the camfire ! " In her agitation, mistaking the loaf of bread for the lamp, she rushed with it into the pantry, and began to search in the dark for the camphor, knocking over two or three bottles in the operation, and laying her hand on the right one at the precise moment when it was no longer needed. At the same time, Pbxcbe hastened to pour some hot water out of the tea-kettle, with what object in view, she was never very well able to explain. She poured it into the cullender, which happened to be the first utensil in her reach ; and the cullender, acting like a sieve, sprinkled it in a plentiful shower upon her foot. In consequence of this catastrophe, she was nervously occu- pied in ascertaining the extent of her bu-ns, while Mr. Jackwood was thus left alone to support the form of v. 'e fainting girl. " A cup o' water ! " he cried, lifting her to the chair. " Don't be scart, boy. She '11 come to, arter a little sprinklin'. Be quick ! " Abimelech heard only " cup, sprinkle, quick," and, actuated by 28 THE FARM-HOUSE. the same benevolence of impulse which had set his mother rattling the bottles, and his sister pouring hot water, he seized the milk cup from the tea-tray, and spilled its contents partly in the strang- er's hair, partly in her left ear. " Not that ! " ejaculated his father. " Don't you know noth- in'? Water!" Thereupon the boy caught up one of the empty miik-pails, and, hastening to the sink-room, commenced pumping violently. By this time the swooning girl began to revive. Indeed, her consciousness had at no time been entirely lost. Her soul had seemed sinking, sinking, like a candle let down into the dark of a deep well ; and in a still place, gleaming with a faint ray, just above the waters of oblivion, it had waited, as it were, to be drawn up. Mr. Jackwood's care was now to wipe away the milk which streaked her hair, and cheek, and neck. Accidentally disarrang- ing her dress in the operation, he started back with an involuntary exclamation of pain and pity. Her full throat was exposed, and just below it, in startling contrast with her soft and gentle beauty, appeared a sharp cut, as of a pointed blade. The wound was evidently not so new but it might have been partially healed ; some recent hurt, however, perhaps the fall from the chair, had opened it afresh, and now a fine crimson stream was traced upon her breast. With a quick, instinctive movement, she covered the wound from sight. " It 's nothing ; a little hurt," clasping her hand over her breast. Mr. Jackwood was speechless with embarrassment ; but the cry which had escaped his lips, alarming the family, brought them simultaneously to his relief. Mrs. Jackwood appeared with her camphor-bottle, shaking it up, with her hand over the nose ; Phoebe ran up, with a shoe in one hand and the cullender in the other ; while Abimelech stagf j-ed in from the sink-room, swinging a full pail of milky water. " There, there, mother ! " cried Mr. Jackwood, as his wife began to bathe the patient's forehead ; " that '11 do ; it '11 only be unpleas- ant to her." THE FARM-HOUSE. 29 " 'T won't do no harm," replied the good woman, applying the camphor to the sufferer's nose. " How do you feel now ? " " Better, quite well," gasped the pool girl, pushing the bottle feebly away. " Lo"k at Bim ! " exclaimed the excited Phoebe " What arc you going to do with that water ? " " Father told me to ! " cried Bim. " What you goin' to do with the cullender ? You need n't say nothin' ! " " Open yer eyes, if it 's as convenient as not," suggested Mr. Jackwood ; "I want tc- see how you look." The stranger's eyes partly opened, but closed again heavily. " My eyelids are stiff," she said, with an expression of pain. " Put some butter on to 'em that '11 limber 'em," whispered the boy, hoarsely, in his father's ear. " Say, shall I ? " " Grit away with yer nonsense ! " said Mr. Jackwood, with a threatening gesture. Abimelech recoiled, and sat down, with a startling splash, in the pail of water he had left standing on the floor. " Now what ? " said Mrs. Jackwood, sharply. " Good enough for him ! " exclaimed Phoebe. " He need n't have left the water standing right there in the way. Now bellow, great baby ! " Mr. Jackwood commanded silence. " She 's got a dre'ful bad hurt on her breast ! " he whispered to his wife ; " an' I think ; he 'd better have suthin' done for 't." " It 's not much," said the guest. " If I can be a little while alone " " Take her into your room, mother." Still holding her hand upon her breast, the sufferer arose, and, with Mrs. Jackwood's assistance, reached the adjoining room. Becoming faint again, she sat down, and, after some hesitation, suffered the good woman to look at her wound. " Marcy me, if 't an't a cut ! It bleeds a stream ! Poor thing ! how did you git hurt so ? " " I I it was an accident." " It looks as though you had been stabbed with a knife ! Phoebe, bring me a basin o' water, an' be quick ! " 3* 30 THE FARM-HOUSE. " Cold water ? " cried Phoebe. ' Pour in out o' the tea-kittle jest enough to take off the chill," said her mother. " Don't be all night about it ! " Mrs. Jackwood hastened to a tall bureau in the corner, and took from it some linen for the wound. " What did ye ever have done for 't ? " she asked, getting down again beside the guest. " I can't tell, not much." " Did n't you never have no healin' plaster on 't, nor nothin ? " She moved her head feebly, with a negative sign. " I want to know ! Why did n't ye ? Poor child ! you must a' suffered from it. How long sence 't was hurt ? " 41 dear ! " exclaimed Phoebe, in dolorous accents, approaching behind her mother. " What is it ? Don't it most kill you ? " The basin began to tip in her hands. " It makes me dizzy to look at it ! " " What are ye doin' ? " cried her mother, looking suddenly around, in her kneeling posture. " I never ! if you an't spillin ^at water all down my back ! " " I could n't help it. I come perty near faintin' ! " " Se' down the basin, and go out and shet the door. Do ye hear?" Phoebe placed the basin upon a chair, and reluctantly with- drew Jj'aving dressed the wound according to her own ideas of such things, Mrs. Jackwood returned to the kitchen. " How is she ? " asked Phoebe. " She 's jest lopped down on my bed for a little while. Finish yer suppers, childern ; I '11 'tend to her. I 'm goin' to have her drink a strong cup o' tea, as soon as she gits over her faint spell. Poor girl ! she 's ever so much to be pitied ! " " She 's a downright perty-spoken girl ! " said Mr. Jackwood. 1 1 don' know where I 've seen sich han'some manners, anywheres. You better tell her, mother, 't seein' to-morrer 's Sunday, she might aa well make up her mind to stop over with us till Monday, if not longer." The door was closed, but not latched. Charlotte Woods, as she THE FARM-HOUSE. 31 lay upon the bed, in the darkened room, could hear all that was said ; and a ray of almost heavenly rapture stole, thrilling and soothing, into the troubled depths of her soul. All this time the elements raged without, the rain lashed the panes, the wind whistled, the lightning winked its fiery eye ever and anon, glaring into the chamber, and the contrast of the storm with the peace and comfort she had found with her new friends served to intensify all the pure and sweet emotions that arose in her grateful heart. When Mrs. Jackwood returned to her she found her weeping ; but her face was illumined, and her eyes glistened with a tender light, Mr. Jackwood and the children had, in the mean ti-ne, retui-ned to the table ; and Phoebe amused herself by laughing at Abime- lech's pail of water. At first the boy retorted ; then he became unaccountably silent, pouting over his pie ; and finally, yielding to an irresistible fit of drowsiness, he began to nod" assent to all that was said. The unfinished pie-crust had fallen from his hand, and his lips were still distended with the last mouthful, when his deep breathing, growing deeper still, verged upon a snore. " What ye doin', Phoebe ? " demanded Mr. Jackwood. " Only tickling his nose a little," laughed Phoebe, mischiev- ously. At that moment Abimelech sneezed, blowing a full charge of pie-crumbs into his bosom. Partially awakened, he half opened his eyes, but, closing them again immediately, with a deep sigh, he rolled over, comfortably, into his father's lap. "Why couldn't ye let the boy alone ?" said Mr. Jackwood. " Yon 're always up to some nonsense ! " " It does me good to plague him. That sneeze came perty nigh taking his head off! I don't suppose he 'd have woke up if it had." " I guess he 'd better be put to bed." " I beg of ye, father," exclaimed Mrs. Jackwood, " don't carry that gre't sleepy-head up-stairs in your arms ! He should be made to walk." " What 's the use o' wakin' him when he's fast asleep ? " said the farmer. 12 THE FARM-HOUSE. " I '11 carry the lamp," said Mrs. Jackwood, " if you will be 80 foolish ! I 've got to go up and fix a bed for that girl." Half an hour later, having drank the tea prepared for her, and eaten a few morsels of food, Charlotte Woods took leave of the parents, who bade her a kind and cheerful "good-night," and retired, with Phoebe, to her chamber. The young girl was in a sociable mood, and wished to talk , but the wanderer was too weary to take part in the conversation. Her head had scarce touched the pillow, before she was asleep. But she started strangely, and moaned, and sometimes cried aloud, in the trouble of her dreams. Phoebe was frightened, and awoke her. " Where am I ? " The storm was raging again ; the wind blew, the rain pattered on the roof, the thunder rolled in the sky. " You are with me, don't you know ? " " 0, yes ! " said the wanderer, fervently. " I was scart, and woke you up," rejoined Phoebe. " You was talking in your sleep." " Was I ? Did you hear ? " cried the other, quickly. " What did I say?*' At that moment a vivid flash, illumining the chamber, showed her starting up with pallid looks, one arm sunk in the pillow, and the other flung across the covering of the bed. " I could n't make out much," replied Phoebe. " I heard you say, ' Don't ! it will kill me ! ' and that 's all I can remember." " Are you sure ? Tell me all I said ! " Phoobe could recall nothing more ; and the stranger guest, recovering from her alarm, sank again upon the pillow, and listened to the rain on the roof until she was once more asleep. IV. THE SABBATH MORNING. IT was day when the wanderer awoke. Through the window- curtain, which looked like a white cotton apron tied by its strings across the sash, the light of a new morning streamed into the room. How calm and cool it seemed ! At first she felt that she could always lie there, in such sweet peace and languor, and gaze upon that light. But the past rushed with great waves upon her heart, and, becoming restless with anxious thoughts, she arose silently from the bed. She resumed the faded calico gown Mrs. Jackwood's kindness had furnished ; it was an awkward fit, but it could not altogether conceal the symmetry of her form. Then, standing before a little looking-glass, she combed out her thick, black hair, and, curling it on her fingers, looped it up in luxuriant masses, over her temples. This done, she bathed her face in a tin basin, with water from a broken-nosed pitcher, and, slipping the cotton curtain aside upon its string, sat down by the window. The storm was over ; the clouds had cleared away ; it was a beautiful Sabbath morning. The low valley, through which wound the stream, lay white-robed in silvery mists ; but all the westera range of mountains was flooded with the sunrise. When Phoebe awoke, and saw her companion sitting there with troubled looks, she felt that she ought to console her. " I don't believe you like it here very well ; 1 guess you 're homesick." " 0, I do like it ! It is so quiet, so peaceful, here ! " li I think it is a real mean old house," responded Phoebe. " If 34 THE SABBATH MORNING. father 'd build a new one, and fit it up in style, I don't know, but, as it is, I 'in unhappy as I can be ! " ' O>" said her companion, " if you could only know what it is to be without a home " " Father tells me I don't know how to appreciate a home. But I can't help it; I can't be contented here." " I suppose, then," said Charlotte, with a tender smile, " yKNIN<. " Let me button them, if you please," said Charlotte. " Them don't look like farmers' wives' hands," observed Mr. Jnckwood, submitting the wristbands ; " they 're nimble enough, though ; I guess they might be made useful, don't you ? " " I should be glad to make them so, indeed ! " " Would ye, though ? There 's chances enough for that, 1 should think. You 'd want some lady-like occupation, though, I g*pose." " I would not care much what it was," said the girl, " if I could see, now and then, a kind face ! " " Wai, wal ! " cheeringly, " suthin' '11 turn up if you put your trust in Providence, that's sartin. At all events, we'll agree to keep ye till there does." " Now, father ! " remonstrated Mrs. Jackwood, entering at that moment, " don't make no rash promises, I beseech ! " " 0," said their guest, quickly, " I could not accept your kind- ness, if I would ! I ought," a heavy shade of trouble darkened her face, "I know I ought to go perhaps to-day ! " " Tut, tut ! that 's nonsense ! " returned the hospitable fanner " We can keep ye for a few days, jes' 's well 's not." " Why do you, father ? " said Mrs. Jackwood, aside. " I 've nothin' agin the girl ; an' I mus' confess she 's about the handiest person, for one t han't ben thoroughly drilled in housework, 't ever I sec. But we don' know nothin' who she is, nor where she come from, nor nothin' 'tall about her; so it stan's us in hand to be careful." Mr. Jackwood was struck with the force of the observation. But, turning to Charlotte, and looking into those deep, earnest eyes, his wife's argument melted before them like frost in the sun " Wal, we '11 talk it over to-morrow. But, take my word for't," with a cheering glance at his guest, " 't '11 all turn out right in the end." In a little while Mr. Jackwood and the children went off to meeting in the one-horse wagon, driving the old white mare an establishment of which Phoebe, to use her own expression, was " ashamed as she could be." Charlotte watched until; they were out of sight, and still sat gazing anxiously from the window, while Mrs. Jackwood finished the Sunday mornin" "chores." THE SABBATH MORNING. 41 " I 'm tired," at length said the farmer's wife, " an' 1 'm goin' to lop down a few minutes on the bed. You can come in an' set by me, if ye like." The truth is, Mrs. Jackwood wished to keep an eye on Char lotte. "Appearances are desaitful," she reasoned, "an' there's no knowin' what may happen!" With this view, she took a newspaper, to keep herself awake when conversation failed. " I declare ! " she exclaimed, suddenly, as she read, " what a strange thing that was happened the other day ! Have you heard about it ? " She read a few paragraphs, while the other listened oreath- " There 's more about it, in fine print ; but that 'pears to be the substance. Had n't you heard nothin' of it ? " "I I believe I heard some men talking about it, yesterday," faltered Charlotte ; " but I did n't know where it happened. How far is the place from here ? " " I don't know ; it 's out in York State somewheres." Charlotte breathed again, passing her hand across her pallid face. At the same time Mrs. Jackwood, although fully deter- mined not to fall asleep, closed her eyes, letting the newspaper sink gradually upon the bed. Having favored the first advances of an insidious temptation, and turned her face towards the sweet garden of sleep, she ended, as mortals are prone to do, by yield- ing a second step, and then a third, until, with the very best resolu- tions in the world, she passed the gate of slumber, and sank down upon a deep poppy-bed, where a troop of mischievous sprites, called dreams, seized her, and transported her into the inmost recesses of the enchanted garden. Then Charlotte, with stealthy hand, took up the paper, and glanced hurriedly over the columns. Finding the place where Mrs. Jackwood had been reading, she went over, with burning interest, the portions that had been omitted ; then laying down the paper, without awakening the good woman, she glided noiselessly from the room. V. HECTOR. THE evening was soft and warm. The sky spread calm and starry above the sultry city. The houses were thrown open to catch the breath of a light south wind that blew gently up the bay. Many of the inhabitants were in the streets, sitting before their doors, or strolling up and down ; while upon the river the negro bargemen sang their wild and plaintive melodies, in the moonlight that shone over the water. At ten o'clock, two young men landed from a pleasure-boat, and walked arm-in-arm into the town. " Here we are again," said one, pointing with his cane. " It is on this corner we met. Well, we have had a pleasant sail, and I have you to thank for it." " I stifle," returned the other, " in these close streets. When I look up at the stars, I would fly ! How cool, how far-off, how pure, they are ! " " You are homesick, Hector." " No, Joseph, but a little heart-sick ! Life seems so rotten here, my hands feel slimy with it, and I reach up instinctively, as if to wash them in the light of the stars. What is the great end of existence, Joseph ? " " Upon my word," cried Joseph, " I don't know ! " " You have lived too long in this contagious atmosphere of vice ! " rejoined Hector. " There is danger here of forgetting what the word existence means. Do you not often start, and cry out, Is this humanity ? am I a part of it ? who are we ? what are we ? why do we exist ? ' " " When I dwell upon such things," answered Joseph, " I hava the blue devils horridly ! " HECTOR. 43 " The thought haunts me continually. It tyrannizes over me like conscience. Night and day, wherever I go, whatever I see or do, the inexorable voice whispers, ' To what end is it all ? ' " " Will you tell me what you live for ? " " I live for LOVE ! " exclaimed Hector. " You ! " laughed his companion. " Do you know that, with all the ladies of my acquaintance, you have the reputation of being the coldest and most indifferent mortal in the world ? " " With the ladies of your acquaintance ! " repeated the other, significantly. " I like the compliment ! But, let me tell you, there is an ocean of love palpitating and throbbing in that heart they find so cold. It waits for a possessor." " Which you will never find ! " " In truth, I do not expect it. I take leave of southern society in a few days ; I go home to my native Vermont, to spend a soli- tary summer among the mountains. There is nothing for me there but thought and study. And as for Mobile, I have had strange experiences here ; I have learned something of woman's heart, in spite of my coldness ; but it is all in the past, thank heaven ! and nothing will ever allure me here again." " You are right ! " said Joseph, thoughtfully. " I wish I was going with you. Rob Greenwich is up that way somewhere, is he not ? " " Where Rob Greenwich is, it 's not easy to say. He goes where passion leads him, not like you and me, dear Joseph ! " said Hector, ironically. " But, if you ask where his home is, I can tell you. It 's in the village of Huntersford, about a mile and a half from my father's house. I will show it you when you come to visit me this summer." " I ? That 's out of the question, unless I marry a rich wife, and go north for a wedding tour." " Well, do that, and you shall have a double welcome." " If I had your opportunities," said Joseph, " perhaps I might. My friendship will never forgive you for not marrying Helen. She is rnh, beautiful, and charming; more than all, she loves you " 44 HECTOR. " A woman," cried Hector, " who holds human property ; who must have her slaves to wait upon her ; who would not give them up even for me ! Judge how well she loves me ! But we will not discuss that question. Take her, if you can get her, black servants and all. And now good-night. You have an engage- ment, and are anxious to get rid of me." " True," said Joseph, " I have a call to make ; but " " No compliments. We part here. Joseph, be worthy of the Leaving his friend to proceed alone, Hector turned a corner, and walked, with folded arms, along a street brilliant with lighted saloons. The doors of these places were thrown open, pouring floods of yellow light upon the street, and exposing all the allure- ments of dissipation within, from the well-furnished bar to the gay and voluptuous pictures that adorned the walls. Into one of these, led by the same habit of observing human nature which had prompted his visit to the south, Hector Dun- bury strolled abstractedly. It was a celebrated saloon, called the " Revolver," either in honor of the weapon so named, or in conse- quence of a certain rotary motion with which the brains of its patrons were apt to become familiar. The sign above the door favored both these ideas, showing on one side the device of a huge six-shooting pistol, and on the other that of a jolly gentle- man reeling under the weight of one glass of liquor in his hand, and several more in his head. Within, conversation, music, and dancing, together with the fine arts, or rather the coarse arts, added their charms to the attrac- tion of the bar. The music was by an itinerant performer, who exercised a feeble violin, with an accompaniment of bells which he jingled with one foot, a triangle which he sounded from time to time with the other, and a pair of cymbals played between his knees. The dancing was by two artists, a male and a female. The one, a cotton-dealer, of " respectable " standing in southern society, carried away by the enthusiasm of over-strong potations, had volunteered a double pigeon-wing, in a style that would have somewhat astonished his mercantile connections in New York and Boston. The female was no other than a learned duck, had ir HECTOR. 45 charge by a ragged urchin, the fiddler's companion, who excited her to a noble emulation of the cotton-dealer's extraordinary performance. At the bar, Hector called for a glass of lemonade. " No fire in it for me ! " he exclaimed, as the bar-tender was about to dash some brandy into the tumbler. " Lemonade ? " echoed a dark, bearded individual, on his left, inclining over the bar. " The same for me with a good deal of the extra. In short, make it a punch. And you, Dickson ? " "Yes, doctor, if you please," said a third customer, thickly. " If I please ? " cried the doctor. " What 's the matter ? " " Nothing," replied Dickson, " only I 'm conside'bly 'fected by the music." " Do ye call that music ? " cried his companion. " I '11 make better with a saw-file and a pair of tongs ! " " Recollect," said the bar-tender, " that, six weeks ago, that man had never seen a fiddle." " He plays well, for six weeks ! " observed Dickson, with drunk- en gravity. " You swallow such a story as that in your liquor ! " retorted the doctor. " I 'm ashamed of you ! " And he playfully thrust his friend's hat over his features, like an extinguisher. " I said," gasped Dickson, struggling out of his hat, and looking up with a ludicrous expression of bewilderment, " I said where is what I said ? I dropped it as a candid re- mark," and he looked about him as if expecting to find it on the counter, or on the floor. " Who knocked my hat over my eyes ? " " 'T was the lemonade gentleman, I reckon," replied the doctor. " He appears anxious to apologize. As for your marvellous fid- dler," and he turned his back, while Dickson staggered fiercely upon Hector. " 0, as for him," said the bar-tender, " I can prove that he had never seen a fiddle six weeks ago. Perhaps you 'd like to tako a bet." 46 HECTOR. " Well, I reckon ! " cried the doctor. " I '11 go the drinks foi the company." " All right ! " returned the other. " The man is blind ! " " Sold, by Jove ! " shouted the doctor, flinging his hat acros& the room. At that moment a thickly-articulated cry for help was heard ; the doctor recognized his own name, and the voice of a friend. It was Dickson, whose drunken attack upon Hector had proved some- thing of a failure, and who now, in consequence, lay in a disagree- able heap under the table, where he was trying to open the wall, mistaking it for the door. Meanwhile, Hector had taken his seat in the corner, with his lemonade before him. Declining the doctor's invitation to the bar, he sat looking on, with a listless expression, while the rest of the company celebrated the bet. The blind man was led up by the ragged urchin, who grinned over his gin-and-sugar with the men at the bar, and smacked his lips afterwards, as if he loved it. The company then, becoming hilarious, formed a ring to observe the duck dance. Among other amusing feats the wonderful biped performed, was that of recognizing the medical faculty, and salut- ing them in the crowd. Her sagacity in that respect was fairly tested, the betting doctor being the subject. Stopping before him, in her waddling rounds, she uttered the characteristic cry, " Quack ! quack ! " A shout of exultation from the spectators. The doctor, excited, offered to wager that the experiment would npt succeed a second time. The bet taken, he changed his position ; and once more the duck, waddling about the floor to the blind fiddler's music, stopped suddenly, and, bobbing her head up and down, politely saluted the doctor. " Quack ! quack ! quack ! " The applause was tremendous. Some drunken fellows foil down upon the floor, and rolled and roared. The doctor's eyes dashed. " Who says that 's true ? " HECTOR. 47 Dickson, who had by this time crept from under the table, mut- tering revenge, indicated Hector with his tipsy fist. The doctoi marched up to the young man, in a blustering way, and demanded an apology. Hector sipped his lemonade coolly, but made no reply. " Do you know who I am ? " hissed the doctor. " No," replied Hector, " unless I am to take the duck's word." " You are a liar ! " articulated the doctor, with choking passion. . The next instant, the contents of Hector's glass were streaming from his brows, and eyes, and beard ; and Hector stood upon his feet, pale, but firm, grasping the empty tumbler in his hand. As the doctor staggered back from the shock, his hand instinct- ively found its way to his bosom, where it came in contact with the handle of a pistol. He drew it, and levelled it at Hector. But quick as thought it flew to the ceiling, struck up by a swift blow from his adversary's hand. At this juncture, the courageous Dickson made a sally in favor of his ally, with a chair upon his head. Hector leaped aside, and the blow intended for him fell upon the crown of the dancing cotton-dealer. At the same time, the doctor rushed forward with a brandished knife. " Take care ! " cried Hector, stepping back. There was something in his tone and look which betokened a roused and dangerous spirit. The doctor might have been warned ; but his passion blinded him, and, with an oath, showing his firm- set, glittering teeth, under his curled moustache, he aimed a blow at the young man's breast. On the instant, the empty glass, which was Hector's only weapon, was shivered in the face of his antagonist ; who, stunned and gashed, dropped upon one knee, letting fall his weapon, and supporting himself with his hand upon the floor. Hector was unhurt ; and, the moment he saw his adversary down, he sprang to raise him up, and helped him to a chair. " Dickson ! " cried out the doctor, in accents of pain and rage, endeavoring to wipe the blood from his eyes ; "by ! Dick- 18 HECTOR. A violent tumult had arisen in the saloon. Dickson was in the midst of it, and unable to render his friend any assistance. " 0, furies ! " articulated the doctor. " Lives shall pay for this ! " " We will talk of that," said Hector. " But first let me look to your wound. I sought no quarrel ; but it is my way to defend myself." The doctor was not dangerously hurt. His brow was cut, and the blinding blood that streamed down into his eyes rendered him incapable of offering any opposition. Hector removed the frag- ments of glass from the wound, and tied his own handkerchief about it, to staunch the blood. By this time, the police having been alarmed, five or six drunken officials, with badges upon their hats and bricks in them, reeled into the saloon, swaggering and swearing. The ragged urchin, the duck, and the blind fiddler, were the first offenders seized. This was natural, they being not only quite innocent, but incapable of resistance. The police next laid hands upon the cotton-dealer, who, discomfited, sat in Turkish fashion upon his 'supple legs, in a corner, looking hazily about him, as if vainly endeavoring to comprehend what was going on. After him, the pugnacious Dickson, laid away once more under his favorite table, and fighting heavily with his enemies, dis- guised as table-legs, was dragged out by the heels, and placed under arrest. The police, however, took good care to avoid meddling with such persons as swore terribly and flourished weapons. With them discretion was not only the better part of valor, but tho ffhole of justice. Hector, therefore, who exercised neither pistols nor profanity, bid fair to become the next victim. He stood, with calm dignity, confronting the officers, when a demonstra- tion on the part of the doctor caused a diversion in another direction. The latter had been some moments on his feet, looking about him savagely from beneath his bandaged brows, for his bowie- knife, which Hector had kicked under the chair ; and, now per- jeiving it, he clutched it fiercely, and rushed upon his late antng- HECTOR. 49 onist. Hector's back was towards him ; and the armed hand waa already raised to smite him, when a policeman, seizing the oppor- tunity, stepped behind the assailant, and felled him to the floor. Hector was untouched ; and while the officers rushed upon the doctor to secure his weapons and bind his hands, the young man, taking quite an unceremonious leave of the company, walked quietly and quickly out at the door. " 0, corruption ! 0, death ! " he exclaimed, in accents of loathing, as he fled from the spot. He shook the dust from his feet ; and, perceiving a fountain running in the street, stooped instinctively to wash his hands. When he would have wiped them, he remembered that he had bound his handkerchief upon his adversary's head. " It is well ! " said he. " I have left my garment with them ! " The tumult in the saloon partially subsiding, the bar-tender managed, by shouting, to make himself heard. The officers showed a liberal disposition to listen to the man, whose liquor they drank much oftener than they paid for it ; and on his rep- resentations, the cotton-dealer a valuable customer was set at liberty before he had become fully conscious of his arrest. Dickson and the other prisoners were released at the same time ; excepting the doctor alone, reserved as a sacrifice to public justice. " Do what ye please with me," muttered the latter, as one of the officers put on his hat for him over his bandaged brows. " I 've only one suggestion to make. Le 's liquor ! " The police sympathizing with this generous sentiment, their feelings were so much softened, that they at once proceeded to undo his hands, to afford him the gratification of paying for the treat out of his own pocket. This done, he swallowed a potent comforter for his griefs, in the form of a glass of fiery spirits, and set out to accompany an officer to the watch-house. Stopping occasionally to refresh themselves by the way, always at the doctor's expense, officer and prisoner alike forgot their relative positions and their original destination. The docx>r 50 HECTOR. talked desperately of revenge ; and so far enlisted the sympa- thies of his guide, that the latter not only promised to nssi.st him in ascertaining Hector's name and address, but, arrived at a street-corner, he restored his weapons, and shook hands with him, swearing an eternal friendship, and bidding him an affecting good-night. Then, while the faithful guardian of the town moved off unstead- ily, bent on still further exploits in behalf of the public peace, the doctor, examining his pistol and muttering by the way, sought the calm precincts of domestic peace, where his affectionate wife awaited his return. VI. GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. A RHEUMATIC old lady, in a brown bonnet and a faded bomba- zine dress, with a fussy shawl about her neck, arrived at the Excelsior House in the afternoon stage. Alighting with difficulty, with her arms full of bundles, she gathered herself up on the step, sneezed twice, and scrutinized the crowd of loungers with an inquisitive scowl. " Is anybody here knows Bim'lech Jackwood ? " she inquired, wrapping the fussy shawl more closely about her neck. " An' has anybody seen him, this arternoon ? " Everybody appeared to know Mr. Abimelech Jackwood, but nobody appeared to have seen him that afternoon. " It 's the strangest thing ! Here I wrote to Bim'lech's folks more 'n a week ago There, Mister you driver ! I knowed that ban'box would git jammed, an' I tolled ye so. It's so strange, folks can't be a little mite keerful ! Don't tear that trunk all to, pieces now, gitt'n on 't down ! I wish you 'd hand me that pa'cel I dropped 'fore it gits trod on. That 's the wust stage ! I shan't git over it in my j'ints I do'no' when ! " " Supper, ma'am ? " " No, I guess not ; I 've got some lunch in my bag. I s'pose," the old lady smiled persuasively, " if Bim'lech's folks don't come perty soon, you can jestgi' me a cup o' tea in my hand, can't ye, without much charge ? I don't keer for milk an' sugar." She sat down on her baggage, while, at her request, the land- lord sent across the way, and ascertained that a letter, post- marked Sawney Hook, and addressed to Abimelech Jackwood, had ain in the post-office several days. 52 GRANDMOTHER RIQQLESTY. " And it 's there yit ! " exclaimed the old lady. " Did ever anything in this world happen jest like that ! Send a letter to say you 're comin' pay the postage on 't, too I 'm provoked ! You don' know nobody 't 's goin' right by Bim'lech's, do ye, 't I oao ride with 's well 's not ? I don't re'ly feel 's tho' 't I could afford to hire a wagon a-puppus." It chanced that one of Mr. Jackwood's neighbors was about starling for home, and could carry her directly to his house. But, on being introduced, the neighbor said, evasively, that he had come to the village on a " buck-board," and could not, conveni- ently, carry so much baggage. " I '11 leave the bulk on 't for Bim'lech, then, an' take jest these 'ere bundles in rny lap. I wonder who it was invented buck- boards, spring-boards, they call 'em to Sawney Hook. I never could like 'em. Jest a long teeterin' board, from the fore ex to the hind ex, with nothin' but a seat in the middle, not a bit of a box, nor no nothin' but the fills an' wheels ! " Unsocial neighbor : " You 're not obliged to ride on one." " 0, I don't find no fault, no way ! I look upon 't as a lucky chance!" in a conciliatory tone. "Bim'lech Jackwood is a son-in-law of mine. His wife, Betsy Rigglesty that was, is my darter. Don't ye think I can take this ban'box along, an' hold it 'tween our feet? I 'm 'most afraid to leave it. O, wait a minute, sir ! my umbrel' ! I shall want it to keep the wind off 'm my neck, ridin'. Landlord," whispering mysteriously, " see here a minute ! Is that 'ere a drinkin' man ? He 's very red-faced, an' I am sartin I smelt his breath." " He 's an Englishman," said the landlord, " but a perfect gentleman, you '11 find him." " It can't be Mr. Dunbury, can it ? Laws sakes ! I should n't 'a knowed him, tho', to tell the truth, I never see him more 'n two times 't I know on. I wish you 'd jest tuck my shawl up around my bunnit a little, so the wind shan't strike to my back. Now, if you '11 hand me this 'ere bag arter I git into that hateful spring-board " A minute later, with her bundles in her lap, and her faded blue cotton umbrella, of huge dimensions, spread over her left shoulder, GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTT. 53 the old lady might have been seen riding along the village road with the unsocial neighbor. "This is Mr. Duubury, I believe?" talking loud, to make herself heard under the umbrella. The unsocial neighbor heartily wished, just then, that it was n't Mr. Dunbury. Although a man of fallen fortunes, much of the naughty Englishman's pride now grown sensitive and sore adhered to him in his depressed condition ; and he experienced a sort of inward fury at the 'thought that he, a Dunbury, should ever be placed in so ridiculous a position. He acknowledged his identity, however, in a forbidding growl. " Mebby ye don't remember me ? " shouted the old lady undei her fortification. " I ben up here to visit my relations three times in my life ; an' I recollect the Dunburys. How 's Mis' Dunbury ? Does she have the spine now ? or was it Mis' Wing had a spine in her back ? I 'most forgit. There ! I declare for 't ! " The old lady, struggling to arrange her umbrella, so as to defend herself at all points from the fresh air, sadly to the annoyance of the irritable Englishman, whose face and eyes were endangered, had brought affairs to a pleasant crisis, by quietly knocking off his hat. " Le' me git off 'n git it," she proposed. " Shan't I ? If you '11 jest hold my umbrel' an' bundles " " Sit still ! " muttered her companion, jumping to the ground. There were plenty of spectators to witness his discomfiture ; and, to make matters as bad as possible, the old lady raised her voice to a shrill pitch, as he went back to recover his property. "You see, if 't had been anything but a spring-board, if there 'd been any sort or kind of a box to the wagon, your hat would 'a fell into it, an' you would n't had to git out." The neighbor made no reply, but, taking his property out of the dirt, with flushed dignity, put it upon his head, stalked back to the vehicle, and drove on in silent rage. As he did not speak again, until, arrived at Mr. Jackwood's house, he made haste to set her down at the gate, she considered herself shamefully treated. " I much obi eeged for your very kind politeness! " she remarked, 54 GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. with grisly sarcasm. " Had 't I better pay ye suthin' for yer trouble ? " The Englishman's sense of the humorous getting the better of hia mortification, he told her gravely that he would consider fourpence a fair compensation. " I declare," she stammered, looking blank and perplexed, " I hardly expected ye 'd make a charge on 't but I 'm sure," she fumbled in her purse, " if three cents would be an object. Git out ! you nasty thing ! " to Rover, who ran out, barking, and leaped upon her dress. "Strange to me people will keep a yelpin' cur ! " Mr. Dunbury drove away whilst she was still fumbling for the change. " Good riddance ! " she muttered ; " I should have begrudged him the fust cent ; for he 's a drinkin' man, and I 'd know 't would go straight for liquor. Is this Phoebe ? " " You 're my gran 'mother Rigglesty, an't you ? " cried the delighted Phoebe, springing to kiss her venerable relation. " My sakes ! how you have growed, child ! " A smile thawed the old lady's hard visage a little on the surface, like spring sun- shine on frozen ground. " How 'a mother an' Bim'lech? Git out, you sir ! " to Rover, with a kick, " tearin' that 'ere ban'box to pieces ! There ! " " Ki-yi ! ki-yi ! " yelped the dog. " Pups is the hatefulest critturs ! an' I detest a yaller pup above all ! Take in that 'ere ban'box, dear. That grouty Eng- lishman had to throw it right down by the gate, as if 't wan't nothin' more 'n a chunk. He 's the sourest, disagreeable-est man ! Phaugh ! " with a gesture of disgust, "how his breath smelt ! " " Why did n't ye write to let us know you was comin' ? " cried Mrs. Jackwood. " You thought you 'd take us by surprise, hey ? " " Why did n't I write ? " echoed the old lady. " Don't none o' your folks ever go to the post-office, I wonder ? Bim'lech waa allus jes so slack, and allus will be, to the day of his death, fu 's I know ! I wrote you a week ago yis'day, an' the letter 's in the office up here now." GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. 55 " Mother, let Bim go right down and get it," cried the moi tified Phoebe. " It '11 do a sight o' good to send for 't now ! Bim'lech may tackle up an' go for my things, though, as soon as ye please. Do shet the door arter ye ! " to Phoebe, who ran out to call her father. " I 'm in a perty state to set in a draft of air ! You '11 have to larn to shet doors arter ye, if I stay here." Seated in the rocking-chair, in the kitchen, the old lady took an unfinished stocking from her bag, and began to knit industriously. Presently she paused, ceased rocking, closed her eyes and opened her mouth, scowling and drawing in her breath, as if to provoke a sneeze. Having succeeded in getting off a powerful double stern- utation, she hastened to huddle herself into the corner, looking peevishly about the room. " I 'm ketchin' cold, sure as this world ! I ben feelin' a draft on my neck ever sence I sot down ; but I could n't tell, for the life o' me, where 't come from. I allus tolled Bim'lech this was the wust, wind-leakiest house 't could possibly be contrived ; but there 's never ben the fust thought o' repairs done on 't, I warrant, senee I was here : Bim'lech 's so shif'liss ! " Mrs. Jackwood : " 0, wal, mother, we have to git along the best we can, ye know. We can't afford extravagance." Old lady : " But you might be decent and comftable, 't all events. Bim'lech was allus fussin' 'bout suthin' 't wan't o' no arthly kind o' use, while things 't ought to be 'tended to all went to loose ends. If you was right smart, and had your say 'bout things as you 'd ought to have, things 'u'd look a little different round here, I tell ye ! " These remarks were interrupted by Phoebe and Bim, who camo running a race to the house, followed, more soberly, by their father. " Dear me ! how rude ye be, childern ! " cried the old lady, with a painful contortion efface. " You 're enough to take one's head off!" " Pheeb tickled my back, through the hole in' my shirt, with a darned old pigweed ! " cried Bim ; " and I 'm goin' to pay her ! " " ! what a voice ! " ejaculated the old lady, with a tortured expression. " It goes through me jest like a knife ! " 66 GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. " Bim'lech, this is your gran'mother," said Mrs. Jackwood " I know it," replied Bim, showing his teeth with a good- natured grin. ' Why don't you speak to her, an' not be so boisterous ? " " I d'n' know what to say," said the boy, lowering his voice, and looking sheepish. " Can't ye gi' me a sweet kiss, now ? " asked the old lady, lay- ing her knitting on her lap ; " Phrebe did." Abimelech, giggling : " I do' wanter! " Old lady: "You d'n' know what I got for ye in my.chist. Mebby it 's a jack-knife, now, who knows ? " The boy was almost persuaded ; but, somehow, he could not discover anywhere on the old lady's face a spot smooth enough to kiss, except the tip of her nose ; so he concluded not to indulge. He afterwards had no occasion to regret his self-denial, the re- puted jack-knife in the old lady's chest turning out to be a complete hoax. Old lady, resentfully : " Wai, you 're a notty boy, an' notty boys don't git no presents. How do you do, Bun'lech ? " reach- ing out her hand to Mr. Jackwood. Mr. Jackwood greeted her heartily; and how was she herself? "0, I an't a bit well," releasing his hand immediately, and resuming her knitting. " An' more 'n all that I never expect to be. My constitution 's all broke to pieces. I 've a dre'ful rheumatiz. An' what 's wus 'n all, there 's nobody in this world 't has the least mite o' charity for me, or pity on my suf- ferin's." Taking from her bag a cotton handkerchief, embellished with a print of the Good Samaritan, she wiped her eyes on it, and put it back again. Then, observing that everybody was very much dis- tressed, she assumed an air of grim satisfaction over her knit- ting. "Wai, wal, gran'mother," said Mr. Jackwood, sympathetically, " you '11 have your reward ; if not here, herearter." "I've giv' up expectin' anything in this life," she whimpered, pulling out the Good Samaritan again. " Here I 've slaved an' slaved, all my days, an' brought up a large family of childern, an' GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. 57 edicated 'em well as cliildern ever need to be edicated, an' gin 'em all a good settin' out when they got married an' that 's all the thanks I git for 't ! " " 0, no, no, mother ! " cried Mr. Jackwood, cneerily. The old lady pursued her knitting, while the tears ran ostenta tiously down her cheeks. " I han't a child in the world, but that wishes me out o' the way, for I an't nothin' but a burden now to nobody ! " Mrs. Jackwood : " Don't, mother, talk so, an' give way to your feelin's ! " Old lady : " 0. wal, if I distress people, I s'pose I mus' n't. It 's the duty of ol' people to give up, when they 've wore them- selves out in doin' for their childern ; it 's a sin to speak on 't, or complain. 0, wal," drying her eyes on the Good Samaritan, " I '11 be more keerful in futur'." Finding the scene too painful, Mr. Jackwood went out to har- ness the horse, in order to go for the old lady's baggage. " I 'm real sorry she 's come here to stop," said Bim. " We can't have no fun while she 's around." Mr. Jackwood : " Hush up ! You mus' n't talk so. It 's your duty to love her, an' make things pleasant for her." Abimelech : " How can a feller ? Say, Pheeb ! " to his sister, who ran out to speak for some " best green tea " from the grocery, for the old lady's use " how do you like her? " Phoebe, in a disappointed tone : " I was in hopes she 'd be real good and cosey ! I could done anything for her, if she was like Bertha Wing's gran'mother but I don't like her a bit; so, there ! " " Tut, tut ! " said Mr. Jackwood. The old lady had by this time discovered a strange face through the half-open door of the adjoining room. " Who is that crittur ? " she demanded. " What 's her name ? What 's she here for ? " " Her name is Charlotte Woods," whispered Mrs. Jackwoodj closing the door. " She was travelling an' lost her way, somehow M"hen father found her and brought her home." " Fiddle-stick's oend ! That 's jest like you V Bim'lech, now 58 GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. to take in every straggler comes along ! Do you know anything about her ? " Mrs. Jackwood only knew that Charlotte had proved herself honest, and " willin' to do." Besides, she appeared to have under- gone so many trials and hardships, that they the Jackwoods, not the trials and hardships were " re'ly gittin' quite attached to her." " Hum-drum ! " ejaculated grandmother Rigglesty. " Them 'g your notions ! Bring the crittur' out here, and le' me look at her ! " Charlotte had been found to possess a skill in ornamental nee- dle-work ; and she was now busily engaged on some nice sewing for Phoebe, which, in her ardor to do something to gratify her friends, she was unwilling to leave until finished ; but, on being informed of the old lady's desire for an introduction, she put her work aside, and arose to accompany Mrs. Jackwood. " You must be prepared to put up with her odd notions. You '11 do that for my sake." " What would I not do for your sake?" said Charlotte. " You have been so kind to me ! " " 0, wal, I mean to do as I 'd be done by," replied Mrs. Jack- wood, with suffused features. " The best miss it sometimes ; I know I do ; an' we must have charity one for another. I hope you '11 have charity for her ; she 's got well along in years, an' there 's no denyin' but she 'a had a many things to try her. Le' me take your work along : that '11 please her." Charlotte herself, one would have thought, must please the most fastidious of grandmothers. Mrs. Rigglesty, however, re- garded her only with a scrutinizing scowl. The girl's counte- nance fell : a phenomenon the old lady construed at once into a demonstration of guilt. Then she asked a number of sharp, hard questions, which Charlotte could not answer witnout embarrass- ment: another indication that she was a deceitful character. Phoebe thought to give matters a pleasant turn, by calling atten- tion to the needle-work. " Heugh ! " grunted the old lady ; " that 's a fine way to waste one's time! Time's money; did ye know it, child? Say! did ye ki ow it ? " with a disagreeable look at Charlotte. GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. 59 " It is sometimes better than money, I think," replied Char- lotte. " Better 'n money ? " echoed grandmother Rigglesty. You would have thought her some amazed and indignant female in- quisitor, examining a fair heretic. " Better 'n money ? What on 'arth d' ye mean by that ? " The timid girl shrank from making any reply ; but, being pressed, she drew herself up, with a grace and dignity which de- lighted Phoebe, and answered, modestly, that, while she thought time should not be wasted, she deemed it too precious to be coined up, every hour and minute, into gold. " And what would ye do with 't? Le' me look ! " The old lady snatched the collar from Phoebe's hand. " 0, I see ! " sar- castically. " This is very fancical 1 But what does the Scriptur's say 'bout vanities ? You 'd better 'nough on 't be to work on suthin' useful." Charlotte had no word to offer; but, with a swelling heart and quivering lip, she took her work, and quietly withdrew. " You may depend on 't," exclaimed the old lady, " she 's a dangerous person to have round. 4! should a' had my suspicions on her, see her where I would. That guilty look that guilty look ! " with a grimace. " Don't tell me 'bout that gal's hon- esty ! " " I think she 's a perfect beauty ! " cried Phoebe. " Beauty, skin deep ! " sneered grandmother Iligglesty. " Gals of her character gene'lly have 'nough o' that. But, if your mother knows what is good for you, miss, she '11 send the crittur' away from here, mighty quick ! " " Mother won't send her away I don't believe ! " said Phoebe, in an under-tone. "What's that?" demanded the old lady. "Don't handle them dishes so keerliss ; you '11 break 'cm, next you know ! What 's that you 're muttcrin'? " "I'll handle the dishes just as carelessly as I please !" de- clared Phoebe, in the same indistinct utterance. " You want me to train ye a little while, miss ! I 'd larn ye to mutter when you 're spoke to ! " 60 GRANDMOTHER BIUOLESTY. Mrs. Jackwood : " Phoebe ! " Phoebe, pouting : " I don't care ! I 'd take Charlotte's part, if all the world was ag'inst her ! " Old lady, whimpering : " Wai, wal ! I expect sich treatment, an' I mast put up with 't ! I see I an't wanted here ! " more tears, and the Good Samaritan again ; " my own darter's dar- ter sasses me to my face ! Wal, wal ! I 'in an ol' woman, an' 't an't no matter ! " Mrs. Jackwood reproved Phoebe severely; and the girl herself, touched with compunctions, declared that she did not intend to hurt anybody's feeling?, and asked to be forgiven. This was a triumph, upon the strength of which the old lady and the Good Samaritan enjoyed a most confidential and tearful season, until Mr. Jackwood and Bim entered with the baggage, and the family sat down to supper. At the table, Mrs. Rigglesty manifested a healthful resentment of insults, by refusing to accept any food at tire hands of the unforgiven Phoebe, and waiting, with an injured expression, to be served by either Mr. Jackwood or Betsy. To add still further to the general comfort, she significantly hitched her chair away from Charlotte's, and gathered up the skirts of her bombazine with vir- tuous care, as if to avoid all contact or compromise with so ques- tionable a pei-fton. It was the first time Charlotte had been present at an unsocial meal in Mr. Jackwood's house. Her heart was full ; she could not eat for already she saw that her Bvil genius if such things are had reappeared, after a brief respite, in the form of a grim old grandmother, who would not rest until she was once more driven forth into the shelterless and stormy wastes of life. " What a -queer dream I had ! " said Phoebe, as she awoke, on the following morning. " I thought gran'mothcr was an ele- phunt, with^a long stocking over her nose for a trunk, and Bun ro'le into meeting on her back ! Was n't it funny 1 " Charlotte smiled wearily. "Why, what's the matter? ITow pale you look! Are you sick ? " GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. 61 "No," replied Charlotte; "but I have not slept well." " It 's all owing to granny I dou't care if I do call her granny ! " exclaimed Phoebe. " But you need n't let her worry you a bit. What if she did say she was going to stay here all summer ? I '11 fix it so 'st she won't want to stop a week. I '11 do everything I can to plague her ! " " No, no, Phoebe," answered Charlotte. " Be kind to her, and I will endeavor to be patient, and perhaps all will be well." Even while she spoke, that vague presentiment of coming trouble, which had gathered like a cloud over her heart, dark- ened more and more, and she could see no light beyond. They had grandmother Rigglesty again for breakfast. " dear ! " sighed the old lady, declining into the rocking- chair, "I don't think I shall burden anybody much longer! Them that 's so anxious to git red o' me '11 have their wish soon enough, at this rate. Jest look at my tongue, Betsy ; did ye ever see sich a tongue, in all your life? I had a dreadful nightmare, last night. Did n't anybody hear me groan? Wai, it 's a blessin' to sleep sound, 'specially when an oF person like me, that an't o' no arthly 'count to nobody, is in distress. 'T would n't be wuth while to disturb young folks, though it might save my life jest to pull my little finger, when I have them horrid nightmares, Wai, it is to be expected 't every smooth-spoken crittur 't comes along," turning her back to Charlotte, " will have attention paid 'em, while a poor ol' body, that 's slaved the life out of her for her childern, wal, no matter ! " Observing that her complaints had produced their legitimate effect, in making all around her unhappy, Mrs. Rigglesty found it necessary to send to the spare bed-room for the Good Samaritan, whom she had left rolled up under her pillow. That ancient comforter being brought, she communed with him over her plate, until everybody's appetite appeared reduced to the same low con- dition with her own. Rallying a little at this, she made a feeble attempt upon the breakfast, but declared that even the tea had "a disagreeable taste. " 0, wal, I may as well give up eatin' entirely. Folks don't 62 GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. have sich hulsome victuals, now-dajs, as they use' to. Every thing turns my stomach." As she sat back in her chair, sighing, and stirring her tea with a desolate expression, Phoebe left the table, and stood pouting at the kitchen door. " I can't have that air blowin' on to me ! " cried Mrs. R'g- glesty. " My shawl is off my shoulders, too ! I 'in all over aches, a' ready, from the sole o' my head to the crown o' my foot ! Sich a pain all through the back o' my neck as I woke up with this niornin' ! nobody can never know nothin' 't all 'bout it ! I can twist iny head so," she turned it towards her right shoulder, " but," turning it in the same way towards her left, "I can't twist it so, for the life o' me. An' every time I move it I have to scream right out, as if you 'd cut me with a knife ! Ou ! " Thereupon Bim laughed till he choked, and rushed headlong from the table, with the milk he had been drinking running out of his nose. Thus a change comes over Mr. Jackwood's house. Charlotte is not the only sufferer, though the greatest. From the elder Jackwood down to the hopeful Bim, all are subject to the sway of the despotic grandmother. With the Good Samari- tan for her prime minister, she reigns supreme, her knitting- work her sceptre, the rocking-chair her throne. Phoebe dares but whisper sedition, while not even Bim has courage openly to rebel. Grandmother Rigglesty has early declared her intention to revolutionize things a little. The first article in her code is work. She cannot endure aught that savors of idleness. Even the senior Jackwood she spurs to a more rigid economy of time. The long noonings he so much enjoys fill her with amazement and distress. So much precious time wasted ! such careless- ness of worldly gain ! 't would be enough, she says, to try the patience of Job. She cannot, it is true, order Mr. Jackwood to go about his business in so many words; but she can whip the father over the cpnvenient shoulders of the son. So, after dinner Bim to use his own expression " has to take it." GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. 63 " Sonny," calls grandmother Rigglesty from her throne. " What ? " snarls Bim, who hates to be called sonny. " W-h-a-t? Is that the way to answer? You han't hj.d me to larn ye manners, or ye would n't speak so ! WHAT ! Come here, an' you '11 know what ! " Bim, who is engaged in putting together the frame of a small wagon, under the stoop, kicks off one of the wheels vindic- tively, and comes forward, with fiery looks, to learn his sentence. Old lady, coaxingly : " Don't ye want to hold this yarn for me to wind ? that 's a good boy ! " Abimelech, scowling fiercely : " I knowed there 'd be suthiu' for me to do ! " " Wai, you be an abused child, I must say for 't ! You wan't born to work, was ye?" " No, by darn, I wan't ! And I an't goin' to work every minute o' the time, if I haf to run away ! " " Does your father hear that ? " Mr. Jackwood, tipped back in his chair by the door, enjoying a comfortable smoke, perceives that he is expected to interfere. " Bim'lech ! " in a warning tone, " don't le 1 me hear no more o' that ! " Old lady : " It does a great deal o' good to correct a child that if ay ! A child o' mine would n't a' got off so easy ! " Mr. Jackwood, with a transparent frown : " Be a good boy, now, or I shall take ye in hand." The old lady, sneezing, adjusts the yarn to the boy's hand. Abimelech, submitting with a bad grace : "Wind fast, any way ! " Old lady : " You need n't be so uppish 'bout it ! 'T won't hurt ye to hold yarn a little while." " Father takes a noonin', and why can't I ? " " If he does, / don't ! I never think of sich a thing. I never Drought up my childern to sich lazy habits, nuther." Mr. Jack- wood winces. " Han't your father nothin' in the world for you to do?" " I should think so ! There an't a boy nowheres round here has to tug it so hard as I do. I'm gittin' round-shouldered a'ready." 64 GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. " What '11 ye be when you 've done as much work as 1 have 7 There ! you've held the yarn, an' it han't quite killed yt arter all the fuss! Don't go to putterin' with that waggin now! You 'd better go V finish the fence you was to work on this fore- noon." Abimelech, drawing Rover's tail through the centre of a wagon-wheel : " I can't do nothin' to the ferine without father." Old lady, losing patience : " Do see that boy ! I wish the dog 'u'd bite him ! I should think your father How I do detest shif 'lissness ! Go 'n' split some wood ! " Abimelech, grumbling : " The axe 's out in the lot, an' I an't goin' to split wood for a nooniu' for nobody ! " Old lady, exasperated : " 0, dear ! was ever so ugly a young- one ! " Mr. Jackwood, sitting uneasily in his chair: "Bim'leeh! what ye 'bout?" Abimelech, sharply : " Nothin' ! " Pho3be : " He 's trying to make an axletree of Rover's tail ; that 's all. Tie a knot in it, Bim, then the wheel won't come off." Old lady : " Do hold yer tongue, an' tend to them dishes ' Sich childern ! If I was in yer mother's place, I 'd cuff yw cars, both on ye ! Now, what 's the matter with you, I 'd like to know ! " to Charlotte. " If yer mind was in yer work, as it ought to be, you would n't set there drawin' long breaths ! I wish I could have my way in this family ! Things 'u'd go a little different, I guess ! " Mr. Jackwood, knocking the ashes out of his pipe : " Come, Bim'leeh, are ye ready ? " Bim, furiously : " What ? " Mr. Jackwood : " It 's time to go to work. I gues ve '11 take some fire out in the lot, an' see if that 'eru stump '11 burn this arternoon." Abimelech : " That 's jest the way ! Con demn it all ! " ish- ing the wagon against the cheese-press. " There ! I 've brol it! and I 'm glad on 't. I can 't have a minute to myself! " Such scenes are of daily occurrence. The old lady GRANDMOTHER RIQGLESTY. 05 rare ingenuity in discovering occasions for the exercise of her reformatory spirit. The sink-puinp is so noisy that it " jumps right through her bones," when any one goes to it for water. The pig-pen is too far from the house, the stables too near. The stove-oven is the " wust thing " to bake short-cake in ever invented. Then, there are those " plaguy turkeys and chickens," dodging into the kitchen a hundred times a day ! A still greater annoyance is the dog Rover. Him she neglects no opportunity to cuff or kick. When he is lying quietly under the stove, she puncheth him with the broom-handle, she pincheth him with the tongs. And when all these subjects of complaint are exhausted for the day, she falls back upon her lame shoulder, pities herself to tears, and has recourse to the Good Samaritan. By some subtle logic of her own, not demonstrable to common minds, the old lady connects all these afflicting circumstances with Charlotte, as their centre and source. " Things would go very different, if 't want for that upstart ! " says grandmother lligglesty. Whatever the evil complained of, the poultry, the pump, the dog, or the laziness of Bun and the elder Jackwood, her suspicious glances single out Charlotte as somehow guilty and responsible. Even her rheumatism, of twenty years' standing, seems mysteriously related to the same sinister cause. This treatment is insufferable. It leaves Charlotte no moment of peace. She feels impelled to leave her kind friends, to whom she perceives that her presence brings only discomfort and dis- tress. But Phoebe clings to her with all the vehemence of a girlish attachment ; and Mr. and Mrs. Jackwood, out of the sympathy of their hearts, afford her what consolation and encour- agement they can. Thus a week goes by ; when one day there comes a crisis. Under pretence of making a critical investigation of Betsy's cheeses, the old lady muffles herself in her shawl, ascends the chamber stairs with painful steps, and, having taken care to divert sus- picion from her real purpose by sneezing loudly five or six times, and rattling the empty boards on the shelves, in the cheese-room, glides softly and stealthily into the girls' bed-chamber. Grandmother Rigglesty is possessed of ac inquiring turn of 6* 66 GRANDMOTIIEK RIQGLESTY. mind. She taketh delight in all those little discoveries and sur- prises incidental to rummaging other people's boxes and drawers and it is this praiseworthy interest in her neighbors' affairs that attracts her eager fingers to Phrebe's letter-box, then to the bureau and closet. With what vivid enjoyment she scrutinizes every garment, trinket, and silly school-girl note ! But, like all earthly pleasures, this of ransacking is transient and unsatisfac- tory. Arrived at the furthest obscure corner of the clothes-mom, she is ready to weep like Alexander when he had no more worlds to conquer. She turns, and in the dark 'hits her bead against the low roof. Incensed, she peers around, as if to see what audacious rafter inflicted the knock. Ha! what'stbis? Something carefully folded and put away over the beam. Sho drags it out ; she holds it up to the light ; she turns it over, ud around, and inside out. " Sakes alive ! " grumbles grandmother Rigglesty, " what 's here ? An ol' merino, sure 's I live ! Betsy never had sich a gown ! " Turning it again. " It can't be Phoebe's." Still another turn. "It" the old lady's features contract "it's that crittur's ! " With renewed curiosity, sharpened by malice, she searches for pockets ; and, finding one, explores it eagerly. " What on 'arth ! " drawing forth her hand. A small package is brought to the light, and she makes haste to undo it. " An ol' woman's cap ! " splutters grandmother Rigglesty'; " gray hair ! " still greater astonishment, " and spectacles ! Marcy on me ! It all comes to me as clear as day ! cap, specta- cles, an' all ! " Without pausing to reflect that she is about to expose her own dishonest intermeddling, down stairs she hurries, and, bursting into the kitchen, displays her trophies. Mrs. Jackwood, taking a custard-pie from the oven, drops it upon the nearest chair, and regards her mother with amazement. The latter, in her excitement, has placed the spectacles on her own nose, where they tremble with the agitation which shakes her unstrung nerves. " W-w-w-where is that hussy ? " brandishing the cap and GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. 67 wig. " Now, Betsy, I guess you '11 believe what I say ! Did n't I t-t-t-tell ye ! " " What 's the matter ? " cries Mrs. Jackwood. Charlotte sits dreamily plying her needle by the window, when, aroused by the sudden burst of the storm, she looks up, and per- ceives at a glance what has occurred. The color leaves her cheek, but, without a word, she bows her head over her work, and waits patiently for the commotion to pass. " Matter ! " echoes grandmother Rigglesty. " Look at this 'ere gown ! " " I 've seen it before," observed Mrs. Jackwood, " han't I ? Why, it 's Charlotte's." " I seen it 'fore you ever did ! " cries grandmother Rigglesty. " A stragglin' woman stopped to Jacob's, down to Sawney Hook ; an' she wore this very same gown, an' spectacles, an' false hair, I can take my oath ! I was sick a-bed, or she would n't a' got off as she did. I knowed she was an impostor, the minute I set eyes on her ; but Jacob would n't hear to 't ; an' now it all turns out jest as I said. 'T was this crittur ! Look up, here ; how green ye look!" as if the phenomenon were Charlotte's fault, and not that of the colored glasses. " What ye got to say for yerself, hey ? " Slowly Charlotte raises her head, and puts back her dark hair from her face. All pale, and cold, and self-subdued, with a thrill- ing beauty in her aspect, she fixes her eyes upon the angry dame. " I can make no explanations," she speaks gently, but there is a quick quiver of passion in her lip, " only to those who have trusted me," tears rush to her e} r es as she turns to Phoebe and her mother, " I would say this, from a true and grateful heart that I have not willingly deceived ; but it is my misfor- tunes that have brought me here, and made me what I am." Phoebe, vehemently : " I believe you ; I believe every word you say ! " throwing her arms about Charlotte's neck. " And I wish folks would let you alone, and mind their own business ! " Mrs. Jackwood, agitated : " Phoebe ! Phoebe ! " Grandmother Rigglesty : " You you you sassy thing ! " Phoebe : " I don't care ! I '11 stand up for Charlotte with my 88 GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. last breath. I only wish some folks who treat her so, and pre.iend to be Christians, were half as good as she is ! " The old lady infuriate ; Mrs. Jackwood, fluttering, tries to make peace ; while Charlotte, touched by Phoebe's devotion, clasps her in her arms, and weeps upon her shoulder. The arrival of Mr. Jackwood, with Bim and the dog, is oppor- tune. He is just in time to support the old lady, who totters backward in a fit, the moment she perceives somebody near to catch her. The fit is generally supposed to be feigned. At all events, either from habit or otherwise, that remarkable woman finds it in her way to bestow a kick upon Rover, who, forgetting his usual precaution, in the general excitement, approaches his enemy just as the elder Abimelech eases her down upon a chair. Younger Abimeleoh, through his teeth : " Bite her, Hove ! " Rover, holding up one foot : " Ki-yi ! ki-yi ! " Mrs. Jackwood, running for the camphor, and stumbling over the dog : " Git out ! *I never ! " Grandmother Rigglesty, starting up wildly : " What am I set- tin' on ? Marcy sakes ! if 't an't that bilin' custard ! " Mr. Jackwood, astounded : " If that don't beat all ! " Mrs. Jackwood : " Strange you could n't see that pie, father ! " The old lady totters towards the bed-room, dripping custard by the way. Mrs. Jackwood : " Don't se' down, mother ! I '11 bring a towel." Bim, doubling up with mirth : " Goodie, goodie ! " possibly alluding to the pie. Mr. Jackwood folds his hands behind him, and regards the con- sequences of the disaster with a look of consternation. Rover licks the spatters of custard from the floor and chair, and, timidly approaching the mass which was a pie, now a crushed and smok- ing ruin, snuffs and dodges as it burns his nose. Bim sprawls upon the floor, screaming 'with excessive laughter. Phoebe, excited : " I 'm glad of it ! She might let Charlotte alone ! " Mr. Jackwood : " Don't speak so ! " Phoebe : " I don't care, she 's no business to ! If she had n't been meddling with what did n't belong to her, she would n't have GRANDMOTHER RI(5LESTY. 69 found Charlotte's dress. What right has she got in our cioset, 1 'd like to know ? " " Never mind," says Mr. Jackwood, approaching Charlotte ; " I '11 make it all right ; I '11 stand by ye ! " " Good Mr. Jackwood ! But I have brought you troublo enough already. Let me go now ; I cannot stay here any longer." Mr. Jackwood, remonstrating, is interrupted by a knock at the front door. Rover growls. Bim runs to admit the visitor. Phoebe bustles about to destroy all traces of the custard catastrophe. Charlotte dries her eyes. Enter Mr. Dunbury. Mr. Jackwood, cordially : " Good-arternoon, neighbor. Take a cheer. Git out, dog ! " Rover, leaping good-naturedly upon the proud Englishman's trousers, prints them with custard. Phoebe, flurried : " Put him out doors, Bim ! " meaning Hover, not Mr. Dunbury. " He 's had his feet in the pie." Mr. Dunbury, very red : " Don't mind ; no damage done." His eyes rest upon Charlotte, bending over her work. Phoebe, who likes to introduce people, introduces her friend. The Eng- lishman regards the fair stranger with surprise. Something in her face or manner commands his respect. He rises politely, yet not without some embarrassment at meeting one of her appearance so unexpectedly, and, resuming his seat, instinctively places his hat over a hole in his left knee. At this juncture, grandmother Rigglesty, curious to learn who has come, enters and stands with her back towards the stove. Re- cognizing an old acquaintance, she says " How de do ? " with an air of resentment, designed to impress him with the fact that she possesses a memory of wrongs. Mrs. Jackwood, anxious to divert attention from the old lady : "How is Mrs. Dunbury to-day?" Mr. Dunbury : " She 's very low, again. She will be better soon, however, I hope, for we expect Hector " Phoebe, with a start and a blush : " Hector ! Is he coming home ? " Mr. Dunbury : " He has written that he will be hero to-uight 70 GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. I called in," turning to Mr. Jackwood, "to see if I could borrow your wagon to bring him down from the village." Mr. Jackwood : " Sartin, neighbor Dunbury ; anything I 've got, you 're welcome to." Charlotte, suffering greatly, and feeling ill at ease in tho Eng- lishman's presence, escapes to her chamber, followed by Phoebe. " Only think, Charlotte ! " cries the young girl, animated, " Hector Dunbury is coming to-night ! He will go right by here. We '11 be on the look-out, and see him." Charlotte, tenderly : " I would like to see your hero ; yet," with a sad intonation, "he is nothing to me. Nobody is anything to me now, but you, Phoebe. And you, dear Phoebe ! I must leave you soon ! " Phoebe, with a frightened air : " What do you mean ? You an't going ! " " Yes, dear child, I shall go ! You must not oppose me, now ! " Phoebe, frantically, at the head of the stairs : " Mother ! mother! You shan't, you shan't stir out of this house to-night ! We won't let you ! " " Phoebe, dear Phoebe ! " Mrs. Jackwood, appearing presently, finds the two locked in a close embrace. " Mother, she says she is going ! Shall she ? Tell father ! He won't let her, I know." Mrs. Jackwood offers sober counsel to dissuade Charlotte from her purpose. Meanwhile, the excited Phoebe runs out, alarms the elder Abimelcch, and brings him to the chamber. For once in his life, Mr. Jackwood's quiet spirit is roused. He declares that, before he will see Charlotte leave his roof, he will give the old lady her " walking-ticket," and ship her off to Sawney Hook by the morning stage, without any remorse whatever. " We 've had enough of her pesky notions ! " cries Mr. Abime- lech Jackwood ; and puts his foot down. Charlotte is more and more distressed. No, no ! he must no* do that, she insists ; and, to pacify her friends, she promises U reconsider her resolution, and remain with them until morning. GRANDMOTHER RIGGLESTY. 7l But reflection only confirms her in the thought that it is her duty to go. Let what will betide, she cannot, she, who has no claim upon her too kind friends, she cannot be the cause of sending away from her own daughter's house even so unworthy and unwelcome a guest as grandmother Rigglesty. No, she herself must go, and quietly, too, to make the pain of parting all her own. Accordingly, after passing a sleepless night, she rises in the still of the morning, dresses herself by the moonlight that lies so calmly in the chamber, imprints a kiss on Phoebe's lips, and drops a tear upon her cheek, without awaking her, and goes forth noiselessly from the house. She wears the garments given her by her friends, carrying her own in a small bundle ; and, thus equipped to battle with the world, she sets out upon her journey amid a silence so solemn that there is some- thing strange and awful in the sound of her own light tread upon the soft dust of the road. VII. THE DUNBURYS. A FAINT whisper, and the feeble fluttering of a white hand on the pillow, called Bertha Wing to the bedside of her friend. " I thought I heard a wagon, there, is not that my son's voice ? " Miss Wing had heard nothing ; and the invalid sunk at once into despondency. At her request, and mayhap to relieve her own anxious feelings, Bertha resorted to the porch, and listened under the vines. Hearing no sound of wheels, she walked out beneath the trees, and looked up the road. Still no Hector. It was now dusk. The evening was calm and clear. Over the western range of mountains the star of Love burned with a pale flame in the silvery sky, while in the east the yellow moon, half- risen, shone like a wide, luminous tent pitched behind the hills. Bertha saw the star, and the moon, and the shadows in the valley all around, and the fair vault of over-arching blue ; and she gazed on all this beauty, until, no longer able to control her woman's heart, which had been disciplined to suffer and be still through long years, she leaned her forehead against one of the maples by the fence, and wept. But she hastened to check her tears. She looked up and smiled, and said, " I will be strong ! " At that instant, beneath the heaped- up foliage that tow.ered above her, a bat flitted in zig-zag course athwart the gjoom. It startled her, for she was looking for some fair omen whence to gather hope ; and her eyes followed it with a sort of fascination, when, as it disappeared in the dusk, she beheld, in the direction of its angular flight, the figure of a TIIE DUNBURYS. 16 Her first impulse was to escape ; but, on reaching the porch sha turned again, and met the visitor at the gate. It was Mr. Rukely, the minister. He greeted her with marked tenderness of manner, and inquired for Mrs. Dunbury. " Nothing but the hope of seeing Hector seems to sustain her," answered Bertha, with a slight tremor in her tone. " Is Hector coining ? " asked the visitor, surprised. " Yes ; he wrote that he would be here to-night," Miss Wing dropped her eyes. " I think it will be well for his mother ; she >pines for him, as if he were her life." Mr. llukely looked troubled ; but she invited him to go in, and, passing under the porch, with her hand in his, the cloud cleared from his brow ; yet could he not perceive that she shrank from him instinctively ; that while her understanding and her will were the two open arms that welcomed him, there was something deeper and stronger in her nature, that repelled him ? Bertha took shame to herself that it was so. She sat by and heard him talk to her invalid friend, and each noble word that fell from his lips dropped like fire upon her rebellious heart. When he went away, she accompanied him to the porch, and pressed his hand with strange earnestness at parting. " Forgive me ! forgive me ! " she said, in deep humility. " Forgive ? " repeated Mr. Rukely, with a benevolent smile " For what ? " Bertha : " Why is it that I could never appreciate you ? Surely, surely, if I loved only the good and the true, my natural heart would never have rebelled, when reason said, 'Love!'" Mr. Rukely, with hopeful interest : " Does it rebel now ? " Bertha, very faintly : " No, not now." But Bertha could not look up, to return his cordial " good- night ; " and when she raised her eyes, he had passed the gate. Then again, as before, the ominous bat flitted atliwart the gloom, and disappeared, flapping around the minister's blaok hat. Bertha returned to the bedside of her friend, afld buried her face in the pillows. " What is it, my poor girl ? " asked Mrs. Dunbury. " Let ma know all your grief." 7 74 TIIE DUNBUKYS. Bertha sobbed. " Has God forsaken me? Can He withhold His light and strength from one whose only prayer is to serve Him aright? I sometimes think so; else why, in all my strug- gles" She checked herself. She had spoken wildly ; she was afraid she had blasphemed. Unwilling to impose her burdens on her IHend, she arose, and endeavored to forget her sorrows in offices of charity. Mrs. Dunbury had been sustained by an interest in the girl's sufferings ; but now, when the conversation turned upon her own condition, she sank at once. Hector would not come ; all hope of recovering was past ; and she assured Miss Wing, with pathetic earnestness, that she had but a few minutes to live. Bertha was not much alarmed ; yet, pencil in hand, she sat down, with a serious face, to receive the mother's dying words to her son. Mrs. Dunbury was an English woman, of strong natural intelli- gence and fine sensibilities, ripened by culture in early life ; and misfortune and ill-health had not so far impaired her intellect, but her dying message evinced all the richness and grace of expression of her happiest days. Unfortunately, it was never completed. Not that her spirit departed, but that Hector arrived. Bertha Wing dropped her pencil, and stood up, pale, and trem- bling in every nerve, as if she had seen an apparition ; while Mrs. Dunbury, who had just composed herself to die comfortably, started up in bed, and cried out with joy. How different that cry from the late dying whisper ! " Well, mother, you are glad to see the prodigal ! " said Hec- tor, in a voice full of tenderness and cheer, when she had clung spasmodically to his neck for some seconds. " Ah, Bertha ! is that you ? " Bertha's conscious face became suddenly very red, and there was a slight trill of agitation in her voice, as she returned the greeting. " If mother would let go my hand, I would kiss you, Bertha ! But, upon my word, I can't get away ! How strong you are, mother! Sick? 1 don't believe it ! Your pulse as good a THE DUNBURYS. It pulse as anybody's ! Your eye I wish mine was half as bright All you need is a little stimulus." Mrs. Dunbury, shaking her head : " 0, but I have tried tonics faithfully ! " Hector snapped his fingers : " So much for your tonics ! Thia is what I mean," pressing her hand to his heart, " sympathy, sympathy ! Confess to me that this is what you have wanted." " I know it is I know it ! You make me a different being ! Dear boy ! how rny heart has jearned for you ! You are my only hope and stay ! Your father your father ! " the inva- lid's voice faltered, "he needs you, too, my son. Promise m< now this night that you will not leave us again." At mention of his father, Hector's head sank upon his breast ; but, recovering himself, he looked up, pressing the invalid's hand. " 0, I shall not leave you in a hurry, mother ! I am glad to feel once more the peaceful influences of my old home. The woods, and streams, and mountains, and all the haunts of this most beautiful and tranquil of green valleys, will inspire me; and it seems as though I could spend years of happy quiet beneath this dear old roof: but the good Divinity that shapes our ends leads me by such unexpected paths, and flings open before me so many golden gates of surprise, that I dare make no definite plans for the future. I can promise nothing." Hector turned his fine eyes up with a look of aspiration, which thrilled his mother. At that moment, the shrill old clock rang in the adjoining room. Hector started. " The same venerable time-piece, my boy ! How many hours I have counted by that clock, in your absence, when every stroke has rolled an almost insupportable burden on my soul ! But I must not forget my drops. Bertha ran into the other room : will you speak to her?" " Perhaps I" can administer to you myself. Where are your drops?" Hector turned to the vials and cups on the table. " Merciful mother ! what 's all this ? " " Those are my medicines. I have been obliged to resort to quite a- variety." Hector looked horrified : " Medicines ! variety ! death and de struction ' " 76 THE DUNBURYS. " You frighten me, Hector. Don't, my son ! Why do you look so strangely ? " " Because I am exceeding wroth ! 0, what a native power you must have, to admit so many deadly enemies into the citadel of your constitution, and hold out against them all ! Look you, dear mother, I aspire to be your medical adviser for a few days. Will you accept me? " Such was Mrs. Dunbury's confidence in Hector, that she ac- ceded at once to his proposal. " And you engage to follow my directions?" " Willingly, for I am sure my wise and generous son can do QO wrong." At that moment, there was a crash. Hector, with a queer expression : " Cannot, eh ? Look there ! " " Why, what have you done?" " Nothing, only upset the table a little." "And the vials?" " Are smashed, mother ' I '11 tell you how it happened. I thought I would give you a tune in place of a powder ; and, see- ing the flute on the book-case, I reached up the table was in he way I placed my knee gently and adroitly on the leaf, and the result ! " Hector's good-nature was irresistible. " He was careful to put the lamp on the mantel-piece ! " said his mother to the dismayed Bertha. " So, we won't weep over the catastrophe. Call Bridget ; she will clear away the ruins." Bridget, getting on her knees : " It 's ahl on the ile-cloth, Mrs. Dunbury. It did n't go a speck on the carpet." Hector, going : " I see the table is waiting, out there ; and I have the appetite of a lion ! The stage broke down under the mountain, we were delayed three hours in a supperless wilder- ness, and I 've been the ill-tempered man you see me ever since. Nothing but toast and tea will cure me. Come, Bertha." After supper, Mrs. Dunbury called Miss Wing to her side, and Astonished her. " I believe," said she, " I will sit up a little while, and have my bed made." THE DUNBURY3. 77 Bertha, doubting her senses : " Sit up ! " Hector, advancing : " Why not ? " Bertha : " She has not sat in a chair for five days ! " Hector, dogmatically : " Can't help it ! Let her sit up half an hour." And she, who was so lately engaged in dictating dying mes- sages, was straightway assisted to a chair. Meantime Hector, retiring to the sitting-room, and seating him- self at his mother's seraphine, near the open door, played " Sweet Home " with exquisite tenderness of expression. Bertha ran to him in haste : " She is crying ! I am afraid " in a hurried whisper " the music will weaken and depress her." Hector, striking up a plaintive Scotch air : " Have you no con- fidence in the new physician ? Look you, Bertha ! if our patient asks for medicine, tell her Dr. Hector has not prescribed any. And if you know of any drugs, fluid, herb, or powder, allo- pathic, homoeopathic, botanic, harbored or concealed in this house, gather them up with affectionate care, and place them on the table convenient for being tipped over. Some accidents can happen as well as others ! " With Hector's eyes upon her, with his lips so near her face, a strange trouble held poor Bertha as by a spell. " I am afraid," she answered, mechanically, " that your treat- ment will kill her." " Then let us take care that she dies a happy death ! " Hector struck into an inspiring melody, full of laughter and tears, which ran somehow into the grand movement of a spirited march. He had not ended when, at a cry of alarm from Bertha, he looked up, and saw his mother, dressed all in white, approach- ing, with uplifted hand, like a somnarnbule. Nothing discon- certed, he fixed his eyes upon her bright, dilating orbs, and poured all the fire and energy of his soul into the concluding strains. The invalid's hand sank slowly, a smile flitted over her pale face, and she tottered forward. Hector caught her in his arms. A few minutes later, Bertha Wing, in the bed-chamber, heard a, well-known touch : it was not Hector's : yet she could scare* 78 THE DTJNBURYS. credit her senses, until she looked, and, behold ! the invalid play- ing with all the grace and softness of her better days ! " Here, Bertha ! " cried the joyous Hector, when his mother had finished ; " you may take our patient now, and put her to bed.' Late that night, when all was still in the house, Hector left his chamber, and went forth into the open air. The full moon was shining through the door-yard trees. In her calm light the dusky mountain slept, like a monster, with vast head and lofty shoulder traced upon the back-ground of the sky. The valley was still and cool. Willow clumps and shaggy elm-trees, dimly seen, marked the winding course of the creek. Towards this he wandered away in the silent night. But the old path, by which he used to stray, was overgrown. And the sloping turf beneath the butternut-tree, whereon he used to lie in the hot midsummer noons, and listen to the purling water and the humming bees, the dear old turf was gone ; the freshet floods had lapped it away ; and in its place appeared an abrupt bank, covered with high grass. The water that night sang the same old tune, but with a sadder, deeper meaning than of yore. Hector wept as he listened ; for in that plaintive ripple what voices spoke to him out of the past ! Rousing himself from these dreams, he was returning to his chamber, when, as he approached the porch, he heard a fluttering among the leaves, and saw a figure start up from the bench. " Don't be afraid, Bertha ; it is I." " How you frightened me ! I thought you asleep and dream- ing, by this time." " I have been dreaming, but not asleep, Bertha. 0, dreams dreams ! what would life be without them ? " " It would be better and happier," said Miss Wing. "That was spoken with a sigh, Bertha. Your dreams have been false, then, and you regret them ? " " I do not regret them, for they have taught me useful lessons. But I am awake now, and shall dream no more." " Shake off this illusion of existence, then, for all who live aro dreamers. Come, Bertha, sit down, and tell me your heart's hia THE DUNBURYS. 79 tory. Ah, how your hand trembles ! Are you afraid of me?" Bertha, confusedly : " Yes, I am." " Once there was a flower, and it was afraid of the rain. Do you dislike me? I think you did not in old times, did you?" " 0, no ! But you have been so long away " " I have become as a stranger ! But it should hot be so. I have always cherished a tender remembrance of you. When I was a boy, you recollect, I fancied myself in love with little Ber- tha Wing. People laughed at me, because you were older than I! Well, that is all past; and I have outgrown I don't know how many loves since ! I 'm a fickle wretch, Bertha ! How you shiver ! Are you cold ? " Bertha, in a strange tone : " The air is chill. Let me go in." Hector, kindly : " Go in, good Bertha. But give me that kiss you owe me. My mother held me, you know, and I could not claim the right of an old friend. What ! so shy ? " Bertha, escaping : " Another time. Not now, don't, Hector ! " He loosed his hold, and the next moment stood alone under the porch. " I declare," thought he, as he bit his lip, perhaps it itched a little, "that girl is in love! Some rogue has been trifling with her. Poor Bertha ! " Hector sighed : retired to his room ; went to bed ; remained as broad awake as an owl for three mortal hours ; then, lapsing lightly into oblivion, slept till the crowing of the cock. Unable to clo.se his eyes again, he turned his face to the window, and lay watching the brightening of the east through a notch in the moun- tains. First a few gray streaks; then a ruddy glow; and at last up came the sun, like a great fiery spider, on his web of beams. Up got Hector, also, pulled on his clothe?, and, stepping out upon the balcony over the porch, inflated his lungs in the fresh morning. air. Then he went down stairs, and, learning from Ber- tha that his mother was awake, hastened to her chamber. He found her shedding tears. " What now? " he cried. " I just met Bertha, with a pair of "cd eyes, in the hall." 80 THE DUNBURYS. " She thinks her services are no longer required here, and &hc is going away. I am better, she says, and you are here now to comfort me " " But this is absurd ! Ho, Bertha Wing ! Come here, you trembling culprit ! Do you think you are going to leave us so ? Bertha: "I should be glad to* stay, but it will be bet- ter " She hesitated, blushed, and dropped her eyes before Hector's piercing look. Yet she was firm. Neither his persuasive elo- quence nor Mrs. Dunbury's tears could move her. It was a sudden and unaccountable resolution on her part. Ah, nobody knew what pain, what prayers and tears, it had cost her ! Had Hector guessed her secret, would he have opposed her ? After breakfast, Bertha, looking unusually pale, but with a small hectic spot on either cheek, quietly withdrew, put her things carefully together, and took leave of her friends. " Who would have thought so quiet a body as you could have such an iron will ? " cried Hector. " When my duty is clear," said Bertha, " but even then I am too easily influenced." " By those who can command you, not by me, at all ! Well, good-by, mother ! Expect me back in an hour or two, and Ber- tha with me. I shall learn if she is wanted at home ; and, if it 's as I suppose, we '11 only take a pleasant ride up the hill, and r<^urn to dinner." Bertha's home was high up on the mountain side. It was a beautiful drive up there, that bright summer morning. A little beyond Wild River, the mountain road branched out from the highway, crossed the valley, and wound its snake-like course up the steep terraces and slopes of the western hills. The day was warm ; the sunshine painted road and field ; and often, toiling up the difficult ascent, the young man stopped his panting horse in some quiet dell, to let him breathe under the cool shade of road- side trees. The glory of the morning, and the beauty of the scenery, in spired Hector ; a full joy flowed out of his soul, rippling and sparkling in words, and bathing his fine face. THE DUNBURY3. 81 Bertha all the while held strongly upon the reins of her will ; she made herself outwardly cold and stony ; but, in spite of all, a sweet intoxication stole over her. She was glad when the pain of separation came, and Hector helped her down at her father's house. It was a small wooden house, with a garden on the lower side, an orchard in the rear, with fields beyond, and the thick billowy foliage of green woods further up the mountain. A little gate opened upon a little path which led through a neat little yard to the door. Bertha and her friend were half-way in the enclosure, when an old lady came out to greet them. " Why, Bertha, is that you ? " she cried, shading her eyes with her fore-arm. " And if there an't Hector Dunbury ! "Who ever expected to see you ! Did you jest rain down ? " " I just reined up," replied Hector, shaking hands with the delighted old lady. Bertha led the way to her grandmother's room, a small, com fortable apartment, plainly furnished, with a bed on one side. Perceiving some one on the bed, she looked inquiringly at the old lady. " Don't speak loud," said the latter ; " 't would be a pity to wake her, she seemed so tired and troubled, when she laid down ! " " Who is it ? " " A poor gal, that 'pears to be travellin' a-foot an' alone, poor thing ! She was goin' over the mountain, an' stopped for a drink o' water ; but she looked so pitiful, 't I went right to work an' made her a cup o' tea, an' some toast, an' gin her my bed to lay down on an' rest her, arter she 'd e't a mouthful. Poor thing ! She dropped asleep, jest like a child. She must a' had a hard ja'nt this mornin' ! " Hector sat down in the door, and broached the subject of Ber- tha's return ; Bertha, meanwhile, laying off her bonnet and shawl with an air of gentle firmness, which sufficiently expressed her intention to remain where she was. " I tell ye what," said the old lady, " I 'm dre'ful lonesome, days, when she 's away, Susan an't so good as a pair o' tongs for comp'ny, an' I guess you can git one o' Sam Fosdick's dar- 82 THE DUNBURYS. tors ; there 's three on 'em to hum now, doin' nothin'. 'T any rate, you drive up on the hill ; an' if they an't willin' to go, n'ary one on 'ein, pr'aps Bertha will. We '11 talk it over an' see, time you come along back." This was certainly a fair proposition ; and Hector, jumping into the buggy, drove up to the dilapidated old house where Sam Fos dick's daughters lived. He found them all at home, three tall, strong girls, yawning away the morning over a little work. They were slovenly dressed, not expecting company ; and his sudden appearance created a decided sensation. Without much ceremony he made known his errand. " I don' know," whined Mrs. Fosdick, a shrivelled, sour- faced, discontented woman, who sat picking over a dish of wormy peas, in the corner. " We an't so poor 't our gals are obleeged to go out to work ; but it 's jest as they can agree. What do you say, 'Livia ? " Olivia, with a toss of her frizzled head : " I don't think I should be able to go. 'Patra can, if she 's a mind to." Cleopatra, hiding her naked feet under her chair : " I 've no disposition, thank you, Miss Olivia ! 'Tildy may, if she likes." Matilda, simpering : " I have n't 'tended two terms at Kiltney jest to learn that housework is my sphere ! " Hector, retreating : " Certainly not ! You will pardon my presumption. Bridget does the housework, and the most mother wants is a companion " Olivia, condescending : " 0, if that is the case " Cleopatra, interrupting her : " You an't going to change your mind, I hope, jest as I Ve concluded to go." Matilda : " You both refused once ; and now, if anybody goes, I think it ought to be me, had n't it, ma ? " Mrs. Fosdick : " 'Tildy is very accomplished, and if it 's a com- panion your mother wants " Matilda, unpinning her curl-papers : " 'T won't take me ten minutes to git ready ! Why can't you help me, 'Patra ?" Cleopatra, independently, with several toes peeping from under her dress : " I 'm nobody's waiter, I 'd have you know, miss ' " Matilda : " I don't care, 'Livia. will ! " THE DUNBURYS. 88 Olivia, mockingly : " 1 don't care, 'Livia won't ! " Hector, with exemplary self-denial : " Excuse me, Miss Mati\da, but I am really afraid you are making too great a sacrifice of feeling, and I am unwilling to remove you out of your sphere." He took leave politely. 'Tilda looked blank, 'Patra chuckled, 'Livia tossed her frizzled head again ; and during the remainder of the forenoon, the three poor-and-proud sisters quarrelled sharply about the nice little apple of discord which had been dropped among them, and snatched away again before either could seize it. Diverted by the adventure, Hector returned to the other house He was met by old Mrs. Wing at the gate. " I did n't much think you 'd git one on 'em," said she, " for they are pesky proud critturs, always for everlastiu' settiu' up for ladies ! " " Whose horse is that under the shed ? " asked Hector. " It 's Mr. Rukely's ; he called at your father's, jest arter you left, and follered right along up the hill." " Mr. Rukely," Hector scratched his ear, " Mr. Rukely, Mr. Rukely ! Are he and Bertha pretty good friends ? " " Dear me ! " whispered the old lady, all smiles ; " did n't you know it? They 're engaged. They 're in the parlor now." " Phew-ew ! " whistled Hector. "But who is that in your room ? " " It 's the gal 't you seen lyin' on the bed. An' I was goin' to tell ye, if your mother wants a nice, perty body to wait on her, she can't do better, I think, than to take her. She turns out to be a gal that 's ben livin' to Mr. Jackwood's." u I wonder if she 's the person father saw there last evening ! " exclaimed Hector. He paused at the door, struck with sudden surprise. Notwith- standing his father's favorable report of Charlotte, he was alto- gether unprepared to see so peculiar and striking a countenance. The subdued passion and spiritual beauty of her face told her heart's history. The intuitive Hector felt a strange influence steal over him ; and all hw sorrows, the depth, the sweetness of hor