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MI: M(T>KK.:- IT I- BO LOKG BHT01 Wl TALKED 
 
THE STORY OF 
 WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 BY 
 
 KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 H. M. BRETT 
 
 TORONTO 
 WILLIAM BRIGGS 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON M1KFL1N COMPANY 
 1913 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY KATE DOUGLAS R1GGS 
 ALL RIGHTS RKSBRVED 
 
 Published October IQJ 
 
 
TO MY HUSBAND 
 
 \< 
 / .^ v >* 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 SPRING 
 
 I. SACO WATER 
 II. THE SISTERS 10 
 
 III. DEACON BAXTER S WIVES . .19 
 
 IV. SOMETHING OF A HERO . 27 
 V. PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE . .41 
 
 VI. A Kiss ... 53 
 
 VII. WHAT DREAMS MAY COME . .64 
 
 SUMMER 
 
 VIII. THE JOINER S SHOP ... 73 
 
 IX. Ci:i HAS SPEAKS 
 
 X. ON TORT HILL . 91 
 
 XI. A JUNE SUNDAY ... .105 
 
 XII. THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER . 117 
 
 XIII. HAYING-TIME . .128 
 
 XIV. UNCLE BART DISCOURSES . . . 137 
 XV. IVORY S MOTHER ... .145 
 
 XVI. LOCKED OUT .... 155 
 
 vii 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 XVII. A BRACE OF LOVERS . . . .171 
 
 XVIII. A STATE o MAINE PROPHET . . 185 
 
 XIX. AT THE BRICK STORE . . . .197 
 
 XX. THE ROD THAT BLOSSOMED . . 211 
 
 XXI. LOIS BURIES HER DEAD .... 223 
 
 XXII. HARVEST-TIME 229 
 
 XXIII. AUNT ABBY S WINDOW .... S37 
 
 XXIV. PHCEBE TRIUMPHS .... 245 
 XXV. LOVE S YOUNG DREAM . . . .251 
 
 WINTER 
 
 XXVI. A WEDDING-RING .... 269 
 
 XXVII. THE CONFESSIONAL . . . .278 
 
 XXVIII. PATTY is SHOWN THE DOOR . . 287 
 
 XXIX. WAITSTILL SPEAKS HER MIND . . 296 
 
 XXX. A CLASH OF WILLS .... 303 
 
 XXXI. SENTRY DUTY 311 
 
 XXXII. THE HOUSE OF AARON ... 821 
 
 XXXIII. AARON S ROD 332 
 
 XXXIV. THE DEACON S WATERLOO ... 345 
 XXXV. Two HEAVENS . . 360 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 ME MORE; IT is so LONG SINCE WE TALKED 
 TOGETHER" (p. 97) Frontispiece 
 
 "WELL, THERE AIN T COIN* TO BE NO MORE ARGY- 
 
 FYIN !" 44 
 
 "TELL ME IF IT WILL HELP YOU; I WILL TRY TO UN 
 DERSTAND" 134 
 
 "PUT DOWN THAT WHIP, FATHER, OR I LL TAKE IT 
 
 . 290 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 SPRING 
 
THE STORY OF 
 WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 i 
 
 SACO WATER 
 
 FAR, far up, in the bosom of New Hampshire s 
 granite hills, the Saco has its birth. As the moun 
 tain rill gathers strength it takes 
 
 " Through Bartlett s vales its tuneful way, 
 Or hides in Conway s fragrant brakes 
 Retreating from the glare of day." 
 
 Now it leaves the mountains and flows through 
 "green Fryeburg s woods and farms." In the 
 course of its frequent turns and twists and bends, 
 it meets with many another stream, and sends it , 
 fuller and stronger, along its rejoicing way. When 
 it has journeyed more than a hundred miles and 
 is nearing the ocean, it greets the Great Ossi- 
 pee River and accepts its crystal tribute. Then, 
 in its turn, the Little Ossipee joins forces, and 
 the river, now a splendid stream, flows onward 
 to Bonny Eagle, to Moderation and to Salmon 
 Falls, where it dashes over the dam like a young 
 
 3 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Niagara and hurtles* in a foamy torrent, through 
 the ragged defile cut between lofty banks of solid 
 rock. 
 
 Widening out placidly for a moment s rest in 
 the sunny reaches near Pleasant Point, it gathers 
 itself for a new plunge at Union Falls, after which 
 it speedily merges itself in the bay and is fresh 
 water no more. 
 
 At one of the falls on the Saco, the two little 
 hamlets of Edgewood and Riverboro nestle to 
 gether at the bridge and make one village. The 
 stream is a wonder of beauty just here; a mirror 
 of placid loveliness above the dam, a tawny, roar 
 ing wonder at the fall, and a mad, white-flecked 
 torrent as it dashes on its way to the ocean. 
 
 The river has seen strange sights in its time, 
 though the history of these two tiny villages is 
 quite unknown to the great world outside. They 
 have been born, waxed strong, and fallen almost 
 to decay while Saco Water has tumbled over 
 the rocks and spent itself in its impetuous jour 
 ney to the sea. 
 
 It remembers the yellow-moccasined Sokokis 
 as they issued from the Indian Cellar and carried 
 their birchen canoes along the wooded shore. It 
 was in those years that the silver-skinned salmon 
 leaped in its crystal depths; the otlrr and the 
 beaver crept with sleek wet skins upon its shore; 
 
 4 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and the brown deer came down to quench his 
 thirst at its brink; while at twilight the stealthy 
 forms of bear and panther and wolf were mirrored 
 in its glassy surface. 
 
 Time sped; men chained the river s turbulent 
 forces and ordered it to grind at the mill. Then 
 houses and barns appeared along its banks, 
 bridges were built, orchards planted, forests 
 changed into farms, white-painted meeting 
 houses gleamed through the trees and distant 
 bells rang from their steeples on quiet Sunday 
 mornings. 
 
 All at once myriads of great hewn logs vexed its 
 downward course, slender logs linked together in 
 long rafts, and huge logs drifting down singly or 
 in pairs. Men appeared, running hither and 
 thither like ants, and going through mysterious 
 operations the reason for which the river could 
 never guess; but the mill-wheels turned, the great 
 saws buzzed, the smoke from tavern chimneys 
 rose in the air, and the rattle and clatter of stage 
 coaches resounded along the road. 
 
 Now children paddled with bare feet in the 
 river s sandy coves and shallows, and lovers sat 
 on its alder-shaded banks and exchanged their 
 vows just where the shuffling bear was wont to 
 come down and drink. 
 
 The Saco could remember the "cold year," 
 
 5 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 when there was a black frost every month of the 
 twelve, and though almost all the corn along its 
 shores shrivelled on the stalk, there were two 
 farms where the vapor from the river saved the 
 crops, and all the seed for the next season came 
 from the favored spot, to be known as "Egypt" 
 from that day henceforward. 
 
 Strange, complex things now began to happen, 
 and the river played its own part in some of these, 
 for there were disastrous freshets, the sudden 
 breaking-up of great jams of logs, and the drown 
 ing of men who were engulfed in the dark whirl 
 pool below the rapids. 
 
 Caravans, with menageries of wild beasts, 
 crossed the bridge now every year. An infuriated 
 elephant lifted the side of the old Edgewood 
 Tavern barn, and the wild laughter of the rois 
 tering rum-drinkers who were tantalizing the 
 animals floated down to the river s edge. The 
 roar of a lion, tearing and chewing the arm of one 
 of the bystanders, and the cheers of the throng 
 w r hen a plucky captain of the local militia thrust 
 a stake down the beast s throat, these sounds 
 displaced the former war-whoop of the Indians 
 and the ring of the axe in the virgin forests along 
 the shores. 
 
 There were days, and moonlight nights, too, 
 when strange sights and sounds of quite another 
 
 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 nature could have been noted by the river as it 
 flowed under the bridge that united the two little 
 villages. 
 
 Issuing from the door of the Riverboro Town 
 House, and winding down the hill, through the 
 long row of teams and carriages that lined the 
 roadside, came a procession of singing men and 
 singing women. Convinced of sin, but entranced 
 with promised pardon; spiritually intoxicated by 
 the glowing eloquence of the latter-day prophet 
 they were worshipping, the band of "Cochran- 
 ites " marched down the dusty road and across the 
 bridge, dancing, swaying, waving handkerchiefs, 
 and shouting hosannas. 
 
 God watched, and listened, knowing that there 
 would be other prophets, true and false, in the 
 days to come, and other processions following 
 them; and the river watched and listened too, as 
 it hurried on towards the sea with its story of the 
 present, that was sometime to be the history of 
 the past. 
 
 When Jacob Cochrane was leading his over 
 wrought, ecstatic band across the river, Waits! ill 
 Baxter, then a child, was watching the stran 
 noisy company from the window of a little 
 brick dwelling on the top of the Town-House 
 Hill. 
 
 Her stepmother stood beside her with a young 
 
 7 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 baby in her arms, but when she saw what held 
 the gaze of the child she drew her away, saying: 
 "We must n t look, Waitstill; your father don t 
 like it!" 
 
 " Who was the big man at the head, mother?" 
 
 "His name is Jacob Cochrane, but you mustn t 
 think or talk about him; he is very wicked." 
 
 "He doesn t look any wickeder than the 
 others," said the child. "Who was the man that 
 fell down in the road, mother, and the woman 
 that knelt and prayed over him? Why did he fall, 
 and why did she pray, mother?" 
 
 "That was Master Aaron Boynton, the school 
 master, and his wife. He only made believe to 
 fall down, as the Cochranites do; the way they 
 carry on is a disgrace to the village, and that s 
 the reason your father won t let us look at 
 them." 
 
 "I played with a nice boy over to Boyn ton s," 
 mused the child. 
 
 "That was Ivory, their only child. He is a 
 good little fellow, but his mother and father will 
 spoil him with their crazy ways." 
 
 "I hope nothing will happen to him, for I love 
 him," said the child gravely. "He showed me a 
 humming-bird s nest, the first ever I saw, and the 
 littlest!" 
 
 "Don t talk about loving him," chided the 
 
 8 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 woman. "If your father should hear you, he d 
 send you to bed without your porridge." 
 
 "Father could n t hear me, for I never speak 
 when he s at home," said grave little Waitstill. 
 "And I m used to going to bed without my 
 porridge." 
 
II 
 
 THE SISTERS 
 
 THE river was still running under the bridge, but 
 the current of time had swept Jacob Cochrane 
 out of sight, though not out of mind, for he 
 had left here and there a disciple to preach his 
 strange and uncertain doctrine. Waitstill, the 
 child who never spoke in her father s presence, 
 was a young woman now, the mistress of the 
 house; the stepmother was dead, and the baby a 
 girl of seventeen. 
 
 The brick cottage on the hilltop had grown only 
 a little shabbier. Deacon Foxwell Baxter still 
 slammed its door behind him every morning at 
 seven o clock and, without any such cheerful 
 conventions as good-byes to his girls, walked 
 down to the bridge to open his store. 
 
 The day, properly speaking, had opened when 
 Waitstill and Patience had left their beds at 
 dawn, built the fire, fed the hens and turkeys, and 
 prepared the breakfast, while the Deacon was 
 graining the horse and milking the cows. Such 
 minor "chores" as carrying water from the well, 
 splitting kindling, chopping pine, or bringing 
 
 10 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 wood into the kitchen, were left to Waitstill, who 
 had a strong back, or, if she had not, had never 
 been unwise enough to mention the fact in her 
 father s presence. The almanac day, however, 
 which opened with sunrise, had nothing to do 
 with the real human day, which always began 
 when Mr. Baxter slammed the door behind him, 
 and reached its high noon of delight when he dis 
 appeared from view. 
 
 "He s opening the store shutters!" chanted 
 Patience from the heights of a kitchen chair by the 
 \v i udow. "Now he s taken his cane and beaten off 
 the Boynton puppy that was sitting on the steps 
 as usual, I don t mean Ivory s dog" (here the 
 girl gave a quick glance at her sister), "but Rod 
 man s little yellow cur. Rodman must have come 
 down to the bridge on some errand for Ivory. 
 I -n t it odd, when that dog has all the other 
 store steps to sit upon, he should choose father s, 
 when every bone in his body must tell him how 
 father hates him and the whole Boynton family. " 
 
 "Father has no real cause that I ever heard of; 
 but some dogs never know when they ve had 
 enough beating, nor some people either," said 
 Waitstill, speaking from the pantry. 
 
 "Don t be gloomy when it s my birthday, Sis! 
 - Now he s opened 1 lie door and kicked the cat! 
 All is ready for business at the Baxter store." 
 
 11 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "I wish you were n t quite so free with your 
 tongue, Patty." 
 
 " Somebody must talk," retorted the girl, jump 
 ing down from the chair and shaking back her 
 mop of red-gold curls. "I ll put this hateful, 
 childish, round comb in and out just once more, 
 then it will disappear forever. This very after 
 noon up goes my hair!" 
 
 :< You know it will be of no use unless you braid 
 it very plainly and neatly. Father will take no 
 tice and make you smooth it down." 
 
 "Father has n t looked me square in the face 
 for years; besides, my hair won t braid, and 
 nothing can make it quite plain and neat, thank 
 goodness! Let us be thankful for small mercies, 
 as Jed Morrill said when the lightning struck his 
 mother-in-law and skipped his wife." 
 
 "Patty, I will not permit you to repeat those 
 tavern stories ; they are not seemly on the lips of a 
 girl ! " And Waitstill came out of the pantry with 
 a shadow of disapproval in her eyes and in her 
 voice. 
 
 Patty flung her arms round her sister tempes 
 tuously, and pulled out the waves of her hair so 
 that it softened her face. - "I ll be good," she 
 said, "and oh, Waity! let s invent some sort of 
 cheap happiness for to-day ! I shall never be sev 
 enteen again and we have so many troubles ! 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Let s put one of the cows in the horse s stall 
 and see what will happen ! Or let s spread up our 
 beds with the head at the foot and put the chest 
 of drawers on the other side of the room ; or let s 
 make candy! Do you think father would miss 
 the molasses if we only use a cupful? Could n t 
 we strain the milk, but leave the churning and 
 the dishes for an hour or two, just once? If you 
 say *y es> I can think of something wonderful to 
 do!" 
 
 "What is it?" asked Waitstill, relenting at the 
 sight of the girl s eager, roguish face. 
 
 "Pierce my ears! " cried Patty. " Say you will ! " 
 
 "Oh! Patty, Patty, I am afraid you are given 
 over to vanity ! I daren t let you wear eardrops 
 without father s permission." 
 
 "Why not? Lots of church members wear 
 them, so it can t be a mortal sin. Father is 
 against all adornments, but that s because he 
 does n t want to buy them. You ve always said 
 I should have your mother s coral pendants when 
 I was old enough. Here I am, seventeen to-day, 
 and Dr. Perry says I am already a well-favored 
 young woman. I can pull my hair over my ears 
 for a few days and when the holes are all made 
 and healed, even father cannot make me fill them 
 up u ir. i i n . Besides, I 11 never wear the earrings at 
 home!" 
 
 13 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Oh! my dear, my dear!" sighed Waitstill, 
 with a half -sob in her voice. "If only I was wise 
 enough to know how we could keep from these 
 little deceits, yet have any liberty or comfort in 
 life!" 
 
 "We can t! The Lord could n t expect us to 
 bear all that we bear," exclaimed Patty, " without 
 our trying once in a while to have a good time 
 in our own way. We never do a thing that we 
 are ashamed of, or that other girls don t do every 
 day in the week ; only our pleasures always have 
 to be taken behind father s back. It s only me 
 that s ever wrong, anyway, for you are always 
 an angel. It s a burning shame and you only 
 twenty-one yourself. I 11 pierce your ears if you 
 say so, and let you wear your own coral drops!" 
 
 "No, Patty; I ve outgrown those longings 
 years ago. When your mother died and left 
 father and you and the house to me, my girlhood 
 died, too, though I was only fourteen." 
 
 "It was only your inside girlhood that died," 
 insisted Patty stoutly. "The outside is as fresh 
 as the paint on Uncle Barty s new ell. You ve got 
 the loveliest eyes and hair in Riverboro, and you 
 know it; besides, Ivory Boynton would tell you 
 so if you did n t. Come and bore my ears, there s 
 a darling!" 
 
 "Ivory Boynton never speaks a word of my 
 14 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 looks, nor a word that father and all the world 
 might n t hear." And Waitstill flushed. 
 
 "Then it s because he s shy and silent and has 
 so many troubles of his own that he does n t dare 
 say anything. When my hair is once up and 
 the coral pendants are swinging in my ears, I 
 shall expect to hear something about my looks, I 
 can tell you. Waity, after all, though we never 
 have what we want to eat, and never a decent 
 dress to our backs, nor a young man to cross the 
 threshold, I would n t change places with Ivory 
 Boynton, would you?" Here Patty swept the 
 hearth vigorously with a turkey wing and added a 
 few corn-cobs to the fire. 
 
 AVaitstill paused a moment in her task of bread- 
 kneading. "Well," she answered critically, "at 
 least we know where our father is. " 
 
 "We do, indeed! W r e also know that he is 
 thoroughly alive!" 
 
 "And though people do talk about him, they 
 can t say the things they say of Master Apron 
 Boynton. I don t believe father would ever run 
 away and desert us. " 
 
 "I fear not," said Patty. "I wish the angels 
 would put the idea into his head, though, of 
 course, it wouldn t he the aii-vU; they d be 
 above it. It would have lo he 1 he Old Driver, as 
 Jed Morrill calls the Evil One; hut whoever did 
 
 15 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 it, the result would be the same: we should be 
 deserted, and live happily ever after. Oh! to be 
 deserted, and left with you alone on this hilltop, 
 what joy it would be! " 
 
 Waitstill frowned, but did not interfere further 
 with Patty s intemperate speech. She knew that 
 she was simply serving as an escape-valve, and 
 that after the steam was "let off" she would be 
 more rational. 
 
 "Of course, we are motherless," continued 
 Patty wistfully, "but poor Ivory is worse than 
 motherless. " 
 
 "No, not worse, Patty," said Waitstill, taking 
 the bread-board and moving towards the closet. 
 "Ivory loves his mother and she loves him, with 
 all the mind she has left ! She has the best blood of 
 New England flowing in her veins, and I suppose 
 it was a great come-down for her to marry Aaron 
 Boynton, clever and gifted though he was. Now 
 Ivory has to protect her, poor, daft, innocent 
 creature, and hide her away from the gossip of 
 the village. He is surely the best of sons, Ivory 
 Boynton!" 
 
 " She is a terrible care for him, and like to spoil 
 his life," said Patty. 
 
 "There are cares that swell the heart and make 
 it bigger and warmer, Patty, just as there are 
 cares that shrivel it and leave it tired and cold. 
 
 16 
 
THE STORY OF AY.UTSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Love lightens Ivory s afflictions but that is some 
 thing you and I have to do without, so it seems." 
 
 " I suppose little Rodman is some comfort to 
 the Boyntons, even if he is only ten," Patty sug 
 gested. 
 
 "No doubt. He s a good little fellow, and 
 though it s rather hard for Ivory to be burdened 
 for these last five years with the support of a child 
 who s no nearer kin than a cousin, still he s of 
 use, minding Mrs. Boynton and the house when 
 Ivory s away. The school-teacher says he is 
 wonderful at his books and likely to be a great 
 credit to the Boyntons some day or other." 
 
 " You ve forgot to name our one great blessing, 
 Waity, and I believe, anyway, you re talking to 
 keep my mind off the earrings!" 
 
 "You mean we ve each other? No, Patty, I 
 never forget that, day or night. T is that makes 
 me willing to bear any burden father chooses to 
 put upon us. Now the bread is set, but I don t 
 believe I have the courage to put a needle into 
 your tender flesh, Patty; I really don t." 
 
 "Nonsense! I ve got the waxed silk all ready 
 and chosen the right-sized needle and I 11 promise 
 not to jump or screech more than I can help. 
 We ll make a tiny lead-pencil dot right in the 
 middle of the l<>le, then you place the needle on 
 it, shut your eyes, and jab hard! I expect to 
 
 17 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 faint, but when I come to/ we can decide which 
 of us will pull the needle through to the other 
 side. Probably it will be you, I m such a coward. 
 If it hurts dreadfully, I 11 have only one pierced 
 to-day and take the other to-morrow; and if it 
 hurts very dreadfully, perhaps I ll go through 
 life with one ear-ring. Aunt Abby Cole will say 
 it s just odd enough to suit me!" 
 
 ;< You 11 never go through life with one tongue 
 at the rate you use it now," chided Waitstill, " for 
 it will never last you. Come, we 11 take the work- 
 basket and go out in the barn where no one will 
 see or hear us." 
 
 "Goody, goody! Come along!" and Patty 
 clapped her hands in triumph. "Have you got 
 the pencil and the needle and the waxed silk? 
 Then bring the camphor bottle to revive me, and 
 the coral pendants, too, just to give me courage. 
 Hurry up! It s ten o clock. I was born at sun 
 rise, so I m * going on eighteen and can t waste 
 any time!" 
 
Ill 
 
 DEACON BAXTER S WIVES 
 
 FOXWELL BAXTER was ordinarily called "Old 
 I < >xy " by the boys of the district, and also, it is 
 to be feared, by the men gathered for evening 
 conference at the various taverns, or at one of the 
 rival village stores. 
 
 He had a small farm of fifteen or twenty acres, 
 with a pasture, a wood-lot, and a hay-field, but 
 the principal source of his income came from 
 trading. His sign bore the usual legend: "WEST 
 INDIA GOODS AND GROCERIES," and prob 
 ably the most profitable articles in his stock 
 were rum, molasses, sugar, and tobacco; but 
 there were chests of rice, tea, coffee, and spices, 
 barrels of pork in brine, as well as piles of cotton 
 and woolen cloth on the shelves above the coun 
 ters. His shop window, seldom dusted or set 
 in order, held a few clay pipes, some glass jars 
 of peppermint or sassafras lo/eiiLivs, Mark licor 
 ice, stick-candy, and sugar gooseberries. These 
 dainties were seldom renewed, for it was only a 
 very l)old child, or one with an unirovernaMe 
 appetite for sweets, who would have spent his 
 penny at Foxy Baxter s store. 
 
 19 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 He was thought a sharp and shrewd trader, 
 but his honesty was never questioned; indeed, 
 the only trait in his character that ever came up 
 for general discussion w r as his extraordinary, 
 unbelievable, colossal meanness. This so eclipsed 
 every other passion in the man, and loomed so 
 bulkily and insistently in the foreground, that 
 had he cherished a second vice no one would have 
 observed it, and if he really did possess a casual 
 virtue, it could scarcely have reared its head in 
 such ugly company. 
 
 It might be said, to defend the fair name of the 
 Church, that Mr. Baxter s deaconhood did not 
 include very active service in the courts of the 
 Lord. He had "experienced religion" at fifteen 
 and made profession of his faith, but all well- 
 brought-up boys and girls did the same in those 
 days; their parents saw to that! If change of 
 conviction or backsliding occurred later on, that 
 was not their business ! At the ripe age of twenty- 
 five he was selected to fill a vacancy and became 
 a deacon, thinking it might be good for trade, 
 as it was, for some years. He was very active at the 
 time of the "Cochrane craze," since any defence 
 of the creed that included lively detective work 
 and incessant spying on his neighbors was par 
 ticularly in his line; but for many years now, 
 though he had been regular in attendance at 
 
 20 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 church, he had never officiated at communion, 
 and his diaconnl services had gradually lapsed into 
 the passing of the contribution-box, a task of 
 which he never wearied; it was such a keen pleas 
 ure to make other people yield their pennies for 
 a good cause, without adding any of his own ! 
 
 Deacon Baxter had now been a widower for 
 nine years and the community had almost relin 
 quished the idea of his seeking a fourth wife. This 
 was a matter of some regret, for there was a general 
 feeling that it would be a good thing for the Bax 
 ter girls to have some one to help with the house 
 work and act as a buffer between them and their 
 grim and irascible parent. As for the women of 
 the village, they were mortified that the Deacon 
 had been able to secure three wives, and refused 
 to believe that the universe held anywhere a 
 creature benighted enough to become his fourth. 
 
 The first, be it said, was a mere ignorant girl, 
 and he a beardless youth of twenty, who may 
 not have shown his true qualities so early in life. 
 She bore him two sons, and it was a matter of 
 comment at the time that she called them, 
 respectively , Job and Moses, hoping that the 
 endurance and meekness connected with these 
 names might somehow help them in their future 
 relations with their father. Pneumonia, coupled 
 with profound discouragement, carried her off in 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 a few years to make room for the second wife, 
 WaitstilPs mother, who was of different fibre and 
 greatly his superior. She was a fine, handsome 
 girl, the orphan daughter of up-country gentle 
 folks, who had died when she was eighteen, leav 
 ing her alone in the world and penniless. 
 
 Baxter, after a few days acquaintance, drove 
 into the dooryard of the house where she was a 
 visitor and, showing her his two curly-headed 
 boys, suddenly asked her to come and be their 
 stepmother. She assented, partly because she 
 had nothing else to do with her existence, so 
 far as she could see, and also because she fell in 
 love with the children at first sight and forgot, as 
 girls will, that it was their father whom she was 
 marrying. 
 
 She was as plucky and clever and spirited as 
 she was handsome, and she made a brave fight 
 of it with Foxy; long enough to bring a daughter 
 into the world, to name her Waitstill, and start 
 her a little way on her life journey, then she, 
 too, gave up the struggle and died. Typhoid 
 fever it was, combined with complete loss of 
 illusions, and a kind of despairing rage at having 
 made so complete a failure of her existence. 
 
 The next year, Mr. Baxter, being unusually 
 busy, offered a man a good young heifer if he 
 would jog about the country a little and pick 
 
 22 
 
Tm: STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 him up a hotuekeeper; a likely woman who 
 would, if she proved energetic, economical, and 
 amiable, be eventually raised to the proud peti 
 tion of his wife. If she was young, healthy, smart , 
 tidy, capable, and a good manager, able to milk 
 the cows, harness the horse, and make good 
 butter, he would give a dollar and a half a week. 
 The woman was found, and, incredible as it may 
 seem, she said "yes" when the Deacon (whose 
 ardor was kindled at having paid three months 
 wages) proposed a speedy marriage. The two 
 boys by this time had reached the age of discre 
 tion, and one of them evinced the fact by promptly 
 running away to parts unknown, never to be 
 heard from afterwards: while the other, a reckless 
 and unhappy lad, was drowned while running 
 on the logs in the river. Old Foxy showed little 
 outward sign of his loss, though he had brought 
 the boys into the world solely with the view of 
 having one of them work on the farm and the 
 other in the store. 
 
 His third wife, the one originally secured for a 
 housekeeper, bore him a girl, very much to his 
 di-L r u>L a irirl named Patience, and great was 
 \Yaitsl ill s delight at this addition to the dull 
 household. The mother \\as a timid, colorless, 
 docile erealure, but Patience nevert heles> was 
 a sparkling, bright-eyed baby, who speedily be- 
 
 ta 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 came the very centre of the universe to the older 
 child. So the months and years wore on, drear 
 ily enough, until, when Patience was eight, the 
 third Mrs. Baxter succumbed after the manner of 
 her predecessors, and slipped away from a life 
 that had grown intolerable. The trouble was 
 diagnosed as "liver complaint," but scarcity of 
 proper food, no new frocks or kind words, hard 
 work, and continual bullying may possibly have 
 been contributory causes. Dr. Perry thought so, 
 for he had witnessed three most contented deaths 
 in the Baxter house. The ladies were all members 
 of the church and had presumably made their 
 peace with God, but the good doctor fancied 
 that their pleasure in joining the angels was mild 
 compared with their relief at parting with the 
 Deacon. 
 
 "I know I had n t ought to put the care on 
 you, Waitstill, and you only fourteen," poor 
 Mrs. Baxter sighed, as the young girl was watch 
 ing with her one night when the end seemed 
 drawing near. "I ve made out to live till now 
 when Patience is old enough to dress herself and 
 help round, but I m all beat out and can t try 
 any more." 
 
 "Do you mean I m to take your place, be a 
 mother to Patience, and keep house, and every 
 thing?" asked Waitstill quaveringly. 
 
 24 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 "I don t see but you ll have to, unless your 
 father marries again. He ll never hire help, you 
 know that I" 
 
 "I won t have another mother in this house," 
 flashed the girl. There s been three here and 
 that s enough! If he brings anybody home, I ll 
 take Patience and run away, as Job did; or if he 
 leaves me alone, I 11 wash and iron and scrub and 
 cook till Patience grows up, and then we ll go 
 off together and hide somewhere. I m fourteen; 
 oh, mother, how soon could I be married and 
 take Patience to live with me? Do you think 
 anybody will ever want me?" 
 
 " Don t marry for a home, Waitstill ! Your own 
 mother did that, and so did I, and we were both 
 punished for it! You ve been a great help and 
 I ve had a sight of comfort out of the baby, but I 
 would n t go through it again, not even for her! 
 You re real smart and capable for your age and 
 you ve done your full share of the work every 
 day, even when you were at school. You can get 
 along all right." 
 
 "I don t know how I m going to do even-thing 
 alone/ >aid the girl, forcing hack her tears. 
 "You veal ways made the brown bread, and mine 
 will never suit father. I suppose I can wash, hut 
 I don t know how to iron Marched clothes, nor 
 make pickles, and oh! I can never kill a rooster, 
 
 25 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 mother, it s no use to ask me to! I m not big 
 enough to be the head of the family." 
 
 Mrs. Baxter turned her pale, tired face away 
 from Waitstill s appealing eyes. 
 
 "I know," she said faintly. "I hate to leave 
 you to bear the brunt alone, but I must! . . . 
 Take good care of Patience and don t let her get 
 into trouble. . . . You won t, will you?" 
 
 "I ll be careful," promised Waitstill, sobbing 
 quietly; "I ll do my best." 
 
 "You ve got more courage than ever I had; 
 don t you s pose you can stiffen up and defend 
 yourself a little mite? . . . Your father d ouuht 
 to be opposed, for his own good . . . but I ve 
 never seen anybody that dared do it." Then, 
 after a pause, she said with a flash of spirit, - 
 "Anyhow, Waitstill, he s your father after all. 
 He s no blood relation of mine, and I can t stand 
 him another day; that s the reason I m willing to 
 die." 
 
IV 
 
 SOMETHING OF A HERO 
 
 IVORY BOYNTON lifted the bars that divided his 
 land from the highroad and walked slowly 
 toward the house. It was April, but there were 
 still patches of snow here and there, fast melting 
 under a drizzling rain. It was a gray world, a 
 bleak, black-and-brown world, above and below. 
 The sky was leaden; the road and the footpath 
 were deep in a muddy ooze flecked with white. 
 The tree-trunks, black, with bare branches, were 
 outlined against the gray sky; nevertheless, spring 
 had been on the way for a week, and a few sunny 
 days would bring the yearly miracle for which all 
 hearts were longing. 
 
 Ivory was season-wise 1 and his quick eye had 
 caught many a sign as he walked through the 
 woods from his schoolhouse. A new and different 
 color haunted the tree-tops, and one had only to 
 look closely at the elm buds to see that they were 
 beginning to swell. Some fat robins had been 
 bouncing about in the school -yard at noon, and 
 the sparrows had been chirping and twittering 
 on the fenee-raiU. Yes. the winter was over, and 
 Ivory was glad, for it had meant no coasting and 
 
 27 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 skating and sleighing for him, but long walks in 
 deep snow or slush; long evenings, good for 
 study, but short days, and greater loneliness for 
 his mother. He could see her now as he neared 
 the house, standing in the open doorway, her 
 hand shading her eyes, watching, always watch 
 ing, for some one who never came. 
 
 "Spring is on the way, mother, but it isn t 
 here yet, so don t stand there in the rain/ he 
 called. "Look^,t the nosegay I gathered for you 
 as I came through the woods. Here are pussy 
 willows and red maple blossoms and Mayflowers, 
 would you believe it?" 
 
 Lois Boynton took the handful of budding 
 things and sniffed their fragrance. 
 
 " You re late to-night, Ivory," she said. "Rod 
 wanted his supper early so that he could go off 
 to singing-school, but I kept something warm for 
 you, and I 11 make you a fresh cup of tea." 
 
 Ivory went into the little shed room off the 
 kitchen, changed his muddy boots for slippers, 
 and made himself generally tidy; then he came 
 back to the living-room bringing a pine knot 
 which he flung on the fire, waking it to a brilliant 
 flame. 
 
 "We can be as lavish as we like with the 
 stumps now, mother, for spring is coming," he 
 said, as he sat down to his meal. 
 
 28 
 
THE STORY OF AY.MTSTII.L BAXTER 
 
 "I ve been looking out more than usual this 
 afternoon," she replied. "There s hardly any 
 snow left, and though the walking is so bad I ve 
 been rather expecting your father before night. 
 You remember he said, when he went away in 
 January, that he should be back before the May 
 flowers bloomed?" 
 
 It did not do any good to say: "Yes, mother, 
 but the Mayflowers have bloomed ten times since 
 father went away." He had tried that, gently 
 and persistently when first her mind began to 
 be confused, from long grief and hurt love, 
 stricken pride and sick suspense. 
 
 Instead of that, Ivory turned the subject 
 cheerily, saying, "Well, we re sure of a good 
 season, I think. There s been a grand snow-fall, 
 and that, they say, is the poor man s manure. 
 Rod and I will put in more corn and potatoes 
 tliis year. I shan t have to work single-handed 
 very long, for he is growing to be quite a farmer." 
 
 "Your father was very fond of green corn, but 
 he never cared for potatoes," Mrs. Boynton said, 
 vaguely, taking up her knitting. "I always had 
 great pride in my cooking, but I could never get 
 your father to relish my potatoes." 
 
 "Well, his son does, anyway," Ivory replied, 
 helping him>elf plentifully from a dish that held 
 one of his mother s best concoctions, potatoes 
 
 29 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 minced fine and put together into the spider with 
 thin bits of pork and all browned together. 
 
 "I saw the Baxter girls to-day, mother," he 
 continued, not because he hoped she would give 
 any heed to what he said, but from the sheer long 
 ing for companionship. "The Deacon drove off 
 with Lawyer Wilson, who wanted him to give 
 testimony in some case or other down in Mill- 
 town. The minute Patty saw him going up Saco 
 Hill, she harnessed the old starved Baxter mare 
 and the girls started over to the Lower Corner to 
 see some friends. It seems it s Patty s birthday 
 and they were celebrating. I met them just as 
 they were coming back and helped them lift the 
 rickety wagon out of the mud; they were stuck 
 in it up to the hubs of the wheels. I advised them 
 to walk up the Town-House Hill if they ever 
 expected to get the horse home/ 
 
 "Town-House Hill!" said Ivory s mother, 
 dropping her knitting. "That was where we had 
 such wonderful meetings! Truly the Lord was 
 present in our midst, and oh, Ivory! the visions 
 we saw in that place when Jacob Cochrane first 
 unfolded his gospel to us. Was ever such a man!" 
 
 "Probably not, mother," remarked Ivory dryly. 
 
 "You were speaking of the Baxters. I remem 
 ber their home, and the little girl who used to 
 stand in the gateway and watch when we came 
 
 30 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 out of meeting. There was a baby, too; is n t 
 there a Baxter baby, Ivory?" 
 
 "She did n t stay a baby; she is seventeen 
 years old to-day, mother." 
 
 You surprise me, but children do grow very 
 t a>t. She had a strange name, but I cannot 
 recall it." 
 
 "Her name is Patience, but nobody but her 
 father culls her anything but Patty, which suits 
 her much better." 
 
 "No, the name was n t Patience, not the one 
 I mean." 
 
 The older sister is Wuitstill, perhaps you 
 mean her?" -and Ivory sat down by the fire 
 with his book and his pipe. 
 
 "Waitstill! Waitstill! that is it! Such a 
 beautiful name!" 
 
 "She s a beautiful girl." 
 
 "Waitstill! They also serve who only stand 
 and wait. Wait, I say, on the Lord and He 
 will give thee the desires of thy heart. - Those 
 were wonderful days, when we were caught up 
 out of the body and mingled freely in the spirit 
 world." Mrs. Iloynton was now fully started on 
 I he topic that absorbed hrr mind and Ivory could 
 do nothing but let her tell the story that she had 
 told him a hundred limrs. 
 
 "I remember when first we heard Jacob 
 8] 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Cochrane speak. " (This was her usual way of 
 beginning.) Your father was a preacher, as 
 you know, Ivory, but you will never know what 
 a wonderful preacher he was. My grandfather, 
 being a fine gentleman, and a governor, would 
 not give his consent to my marriage, but I never 
 regretted it, never! Your father saw Elder 
 Cochrane at a revival meeting of the Free AVill 
 Baptists in Scarboro , and was much impressed 
 with him. A few days later we went to the funeral 
 of a child in the same neighborhood. No one who 
 was there could ever forget it. The minister had 
 made his long prayer when a man suddenly 
 entered the room, came towards the coffin, and 
 placed his hand on the child s forehead. The 
 room, in an instant, was as still as the death that 
 had called us together. The stranger was tall 
 and of commanding presence; his eyes pierced 
 our very hearts, and his marvellous voice pene 
 trated to depths in our souls that had never been 
 reached before." 
 
 "Was he a better speaker than my father?" 
 asked Ivory, who dreaded his mother s hours of 
 complete silence even more than her periods of 
 reminiscence. 
 
 "He spoke as if the Lord of Hosts had given 
 him inspiration; as if the angels were pouring 
 words into his mouth just for him to utter," 
 
 32 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTI u 
 
 replied Mrs. Boynton. "Your father was spell 
 bound, and I only less so. When he ceased speak 
 ing, the child s mother crossed the room, and 
 swaying to and fro, fell at his feet, sobbing and 
 wailing and imploring (iod to forgive her sins. 
 They carried her upstairs, and when we looked 
 about after the confusion and excitement the 
 stranger had vanished. But we found him again! 
 As Elder Cochrane said: The prophet of the 
 Lord can never be hid; no darkness is thick 
 enough to cover him! There was a six weeks 
 revival meeting in North Saco where three 
 hundred souls were converted, and your father 
 and I were among them. We had fancied our 
 selves true believers for years, but Jacob Coch 
 rane unstopped our ears so that we could hear 
 the truths revealed to him by the Almighty ! - 
 It was all so simple and easy at the beginning, 
 but it grew hard and grievous afterward; hard 
 to keep the path, I mean. I never quite knew 
 whether God was angry with me for backslid 
 ing at the end, but I could not always accept 
 the revelations that Elder Cochrane and your 
 father had!" 
 
 Lois Boyntini s hands were now quietly folded 
 over the knitting that lay forgotten in her lap, 
 but her low, thrilling voice had a note in it that 
 did not belong wholly to earth. 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 There was a long silence; one of many long 
 silences at the Boynton fireside, broken only by 
 the ticking of the clock, the purring of the cat, 
 and the clicking of Mrs. Boynton s needles, as, 
 her paroxysm of reminiscence over, she knitted 
 ceaselessly, with her eyes on the window or the 
 door. 
 
 "It s about time for Rod to be coming back, 
 is n t it?" asked Ivory. 
 
 "He ought to be here soon, but perhaps he is 
 gone for good; it may be that he thinks he has 
 made us a long enough visit. I don t know whe 
 ther your father will like the boy when he comes 
 home. He never did fancy company in the house." 
 
 Ivory looked up in astonishment from his 
 Greek grammar. This was an entirely new turn 
 of his mother s mind. Often when she was more 
 than usually confused he would try to clear the 
 cobwebs from her brain by gently questioning 
 her until she brought herself back to a clearer 
 understanding of her own thought. Thus far 
 her vagaries had never made her unjust to any 
 human creature; she was uniformly sweet and 
 gentle in speech and demeanor. 
 
 "Why do you talk of Rod s visiting us when 
 he is one of the family?" Ivory asked quietly. 
 
 "Is he one of the family? I did n t know it," 
 replied his mother absently. 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 "Look at me, mother, straight in the eye; 
 that s right: now listen, dear, to what I say." 
 
 M rs. Boynton s hair that had been in her youth 
 like an aureole of corn-silk was now a strange 
 yellow-white, and her blue eyes looked out from 
 her pale face with a helpless appeal. 
 
 "You and I were living alone here after father 
 went away," Ivory began. "I w r as a little boy, 
 you know. You and father had saved something, 
 there was the farm, you worked like a slave, I 
 helped, and we lived, somehow, do you re 
 member?" 
 
 "I do, indeed! It was cold and the neighbors 
 were cruel. Jacob Cochrane had gone away and 
 his disciples were not always true to him. When 
 the magnetism of his presence was withdrawn, 
 they could not follow all his revelations, and they 
 forgot how he had awakened their spiritual life 
 at the first of his preaching. Your father was 
 always a >tanch believer, but when he started 
 on his mission and went to Parsonsfield to help 
 Kl<ler Cochrane in his meetings, the neighbors 
 be.iran to erit iei/e him. They doubted him. You 
 were too young to realize it, but I did, and it 
 almost broke my heart." 
 
 "I was nearly twelve years old; do you think 
 I escaped all the gossip, mother?" 
 
 4 You never spoke of it to me. Ivory." 
 M 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "No, there is much that I never spoke of to 
 you, mother, but sometime when you grow 
 stronger and your memory is better we will 
 talk together. Do you remember the winter, 
 long after father went away, that Parson Lane 
 sent me to Fairfield Academy to get enough 
 Greek and Latin to make me a schoolmaster?" 
 
 ;< Yes," she answered uncertainly. 
 
 "Don t you remember I got a free ride down 
 river one Friday and came home for Sunday, just 
 to surprise you? And when I got here I found 
 you ill in bed, with Mrs. Mason and Dr. Perry 
 taking care of you. You could not speak, you 
 were so ill, but they told me you had been up in 
 New Hampshire to see your sister, that she had 
 died, and that you had brought back her boy, 
 who was only four years old. That was Rod. I 
 took him into bed with me that night, poor, 
 homesick little fellow, and, as you know, mother, 
 he s never left us since." 
 
 "I didn t remember I had a sister. Is she 
 dead, Ivory?" asked Mrs. Boynton vaguely. 
 
 "If she were not dead, do you suppose you 
 would have kept Rodman with us when we 
 had n t bread enough for our own two mouths, 
 mother?" questioned Ivory patiently. 
 
 "No, of course not. I can t think how I can 
 be so forgetful. It s worse sometimes than others. 
 
 36 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 It s worse to-day because I knew the May 
 flowers were blooming and that reminded me it 
 was time for your father to come home; you 
 must forgive me, dear, and will you excuse me if 
 I sit in the kitchen awhile? The window by the 
 side door looks out towards the road, and if I 
 put a candle on the sill it shines quite a distance. 
 The lane is such a long one, and your father was 
 always a sad stumbler in the dark! I shouldn t 
 like him to think I was n t looking for him when 
 he s been gone since January." 
 
 Ivory s pipe went out, and his book slipped 
 from his knee unnoticed. 
 
 His mother was more confused than usual, but 
 she always was when spring came to remind her 
 of her husband s promise. Somehow, well used 
 as he was to her mental wanderings, they made 
 him uneasy to- nidi I. His father had left home 
 on a fancied mission, a duty he believed to be 
 a revelation given by God through Jacob 
 Cochrane. The farm did not miss him much at 
 first, Ivory reflected bitterly, for since his fanali- 
 < 1 espousal of Cochranisni his father s interest 
 in such mundane matters as household expr! 
 had diminished month by month until they had 
 no meaning for him at all. Letters to wife and 
 hoy had come at first, hut after >i\ months 
 during whicfa he had written from many places, 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 continually deferring the date of his return 
 they had ceased altogether. The rest was silence. 
 Rumors of his presence here or there came from 
 time to time, but though Parson Lane and Dr. 
 Perry did their best, none of them were ever sub 
 stantiated. 
 
 \Vhere had those years of wandering been 
 passed, and had they all been given even to 
 an imaginary and fantastic service of God ? 
 Was his father dead? If he were alive, what 
 could keep him from writing? Nothing but a 
 very strong reason, or a very wrong one, so his 
 son thought, at times. 
 
 Since Ivory had grown to man s estate, he 
 understood that in the later days of Cochrane s 
 preaching, his "visions," "inspirations," and 
 "revelations" concerning the marriage bond 
 were a trifle startling from the old-fashioned, 
 orthodox point of view. His most advanced 
 disciples were to hold themselves in readiness to 
 renounce their former vows and seek "spiritual 
 consorts," sometimes according to his advice, 
 sometimes as their inclinations prompted. 
 
 Had Aaron Boynton forsaken, willingly, the 
 wife of his youth, the mother of his boy? If so, 
 he must have realized to what straits lie was sub 
 jecting them. Ivory had not forgotten those 
 first few years of grinding poverty, anxiety, and 
 
 38 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 suspense. His mother s mind had stood the 
 strain bravely, but it gave way at last; not, how 
 ever, until that fatal winter journey to New 
 Hampshire, when cold, exposure, and fatigue 
 did their worst for her weak body. Religious 
 enthusiast, exalted and impressionable, a natural 
 mystic, she had probably always been, far more 
 so in temperament, indeed, than her husband; 
 but although she left home on that journey a 
 frail and heartsick woman, she returned a differ 
 ent creature altogether, blurred and confused 
 in mind, with clouded memory and irrational 
 fancies. 
 
 She must have given up hope, just then, Ivory 
 thought, and her love was so deep that when 
 it was uprooted the soil came with it. Now 
 hope had returned because the cruel memory 
 had faded altogether. She sat by the kitchen 
 window in gentle expectation, watching, always 
 watching. 
 
 And this is the way many of Ivory Boynton s 
 evenings were spent, while the heart of him, the 
 five-and-t wen ty -year-old heart of him, was long 
 ing to feel the beat of another heart, a girl s 
 heart only a mile or more away. The ice in 
 Sam \Yater had broken up and the while Mocks 
 sailed ma jr>t ieally down towards the sea; sap 
 was mounting and the elm trees were budding; 
 
 99 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 the trailing arbutus was blossoming in the woods; 
 the robins had come; everything was announc 
 ing the spring, yet Ivory saw no changing sea 
 sons in his future; nothing but winter, eternal 
 winter there! 
 
V 
 
 PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE 
 
 PATTY had been searching for eggs in the barn 
 chamber, and coming down the ladder from the 
 haymow spied her father washing the wagon by 
 the well-side near the shed door. Cephas Cole 
 kept store for him at meal hours and whenever 
 trade was unusually brisk, and the Baxter yard 
 was so happily situated that Old Foxy could 
 watch both house and store. 
 
 There never was a good time to ask Deacon 
 Baxter a favor, therefore this moment would 
 serve as well as any other, so, approaching him 
 near enough to be heard through the rubbing 
 and splashing, but no nearer than was necessary, 
 Patty said : - 
 
 "Father, can I go up to Ellen Wilson s this 
 afternoon and stay to tea? I won t start till I ve 
 done a good day s work and I ll come home 
 early." 
 
 "What do you want to go gallivant in to the 
 neighbors for? I never saw anything like the girls 
 nowadays; highty-tighty, flaunt iif, traipsiif, 
 triiliif trollops, ev ry one of em, that s what they 
 are, and Ellen Wilson s one of the trifliifest. 
 
 41 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 You re old enough now to stay to home where 
 you belong and make an effort to earn your 
 board and clothes, which you can t, even if you 
 try." 
 
 Spunk, real, Simon-pure spunk, started some 
 where in Patty and coursed through her blood 
 like wine. 
 
 "If a girl s old enough to stay at home and 
 work, I should think she was old enough to go 
 out and play once in a while." Patty was still 
 too timid to make this remark more than a 
 courteous suggestion, so far as its tone was 
 concerned. 
 
 "Don t answer me back; you re full of new 
 tricks, and you ve got to stop em, right where 
 you are, or there ll be trouble. You were whist- 
 lin just now T up in the barn chamber; that s one 
 of the things I won t have round my premises, - 
 a whistlin girl." 
 
 " Twas a Sabbath-School hymn that I was 
 whistling!" This with a creditable imitation of 
 defiance. 
 
 "That don t make it any better. Sing your 
 hymns if you must make a noise while you re 
 workin ." 
 
 "It s the same mouth that makes the whistle 
 and sings the song, so I don t see why one s any 
 wickeder than the other." 
 
 48 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "You don t have to see," replied the Deacon 
 grimly ; * all you have to do is to mind when you re 
 spoken to. Now run long bout your work." 
 
 "Can t I go up to Ellen s, then?" 
 
 "What s goin on up there?" 
 
 "Just a frolic. There s always a good time at 
 Ellen s, and I would so like the sight of a big, rich 
 house now and then | M 
 
 " Just a frolic. Land o Goshen, hear the girl! 
 * Sight of a big, rich house, indeed! - - Will there 
 be any boys at the party?" 
 
 "I s pose so, or t would n t be a frolic," said 
 Patty with awful daring; "but there won t be 
 many; only a few of Mark s friends." 
 
 "Well, there ain t goin to be no more ariry- 
 fyin ! I won t have any girl o mine frolickin 
 with boys, so that s the end of it. You re kind 
 o crazy lately, riggin* yourself out with a ribbon 
 here and a flower there, and pullin your hair 
 <i< >\\ n over your ears. Why do you want to cover 
 your ean up? What are they for?" 
 
 :< To hear you with, father," Patty replied, 
 with honey-sweet voice and eyes that blazed. 
 
 "Well, I hope they ll never hear anything 
 wane" replied her father, flinging a bucket of 
 water over the last of the wagon wheels. 
 
 "They couldn t!" These words were never 
 spoken aloud, hut oh ! how Patty longed to shout 
 
 48 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 them with a clarion voice as she walked away in 
 perfect silence, her majestic gait showing, she 
 hoped, how she resented the outcome of the 
 interview. 
 
 "I ve stood up to father!" she exclaimed 
 triumphantly as she entered the kitchen and set 
 down her yellow bowl of eggs on the table. "I 
 stood up to him, and answered him back three 
 times!" 
 
 Waitstill was busy with her Saturday morning 
 cooking, but she turned in alarm. 
 
 "Patty, what have you said and done? Tell 
 me quickly!" 
 
 "I argyfied, but it did n t do any good; he 
 won t let me go to Ellen s party." 
 
 Waitstill wiped her floury hands and put them 
 on her sister s shoulders. 
 
 "Hear what I say, Patty: you must not argue 
 with father, whatever he says. We don t love 
 him and so there is n t the right respect in our 
 hearts, but at least there can be respect in our 
 manners." 
 
 "I don t believe I can go on for years, holding 
 in, Waitstill!" Patty whimpered. 
 
 "Yes, you can. I have!" 
 
 "You re different, Waitstill." 
 
 "I wasn t so different at sixteen, but that s 
 five years ago, and I ve got control of my tongue 
 
 44 
 
wri.i.. fHBRl MN 
 

 
THE STOHY OF WAIT-TILL BAXTER 
 
 and my temper since then. Sometime, perhaps, 
 when I have a grievance too great to be rightly 
 borne, sometime when you are away from here in 
 a home of your own, I shall speak out to father; 
 just empty my heart of all the disappointment 
 and bitterness and rebellion. Somebody ought 
 to tell him the truth, and perhaps it will be me!" 
 
 "I wish it could be me," exclaimed Patty vin 
 dictively, and with an equal disregard of gram 
 mar. 
 
 "You would speak in temper, I m afraid, 
 Putty, and that would spoil all. I m sorry- you 
 can t go up to Ellen s," she sighed, turning back 
 to her work; "you don t have pleasure enough 
 for one of your age; still, don t fret; something 
 muy happen to change things, and anyhow the 
 weather is growing warmer, and you and I have 
 so many more outings in summer-time. Smooth 
 down your hair, child; there are straws in it, and 
 it s all rough with the wind. I don t like flying 
 hair about a kitchen." 
 
 " I wish my hair was flying somewhere a thou- 
 suml miles from here; or at least I should wish 
 it if it did not mean leaving you; for oh! I m so 
 miserable ami disappointed and unhappy!" 
 
 Wait still bent over the i^irl as she filing herself 
 down beside the table and smoothed her shoulder 
 gently. 
 
 45 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "There, there, dear; it is n t like my gay little 
 sister to cry. What is the matter with you to-day, 
 Patty?" 
 
 " I suppose it s the spring," she said, wiping her 
 eyes with her apron and smiling through her 
 tears. "Perhaps I need a dose of sulphur and 
 molasses." 
 
 "Don t you feel well as common?" 
 
 " Well? I feel too well ! I feel as if I was a young 
 colt shut up in an attic. I want to kick up my 
 heels, batter the door down, and get out into the 
 pasture. It s no use talking, Waity; I can t 
 go on living without a bit of pleasure and I can t 
 go on being patient even for your sake. If it 
 were n t for you, I d run away as Job did; and I 
 never believed Moses slipped on the logs; I m 
 sure he threw himself into the river, and so 
 should I if I had the courage!" 
 
 "Stop, Patty, stop, dear! You shall have your 
 bit of pasture, at least. I ll do some of your 
 indoor tasks for you, and you shall put on your 
 sunbonnet and go out and dig the dandelion 
 greens for dinner. Take the broken knife and a 
 inilkpan and don t bring in so much earth with 
 them as you did last time. Dry your eyes and 
 look at the green things growing. Remember how 
 young you are and how many years are ahead of 
 you! Go along, dear!" 
 
 46 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Wai Mill went about her work with rather a 
 heavy heart. Was life going to be more rather 
 than less difficult, now that Patty was growing 
 up? Would she be able to do her duty both by 
 father and sister and keep peace in the house 
 hold, as she had vowed, in her secret heart, always 
 to do? She paused every now and then to look 
 out of the window and wave an encouraging 
 hand to Patty. The girl s bonnet was off, and 
 IHT uncovered head blazed like red gold in the 
 sunlight. The short young grass was dotted with 
 dandelion blooms, some of them already grown 
 to huge disks of yellow, and Patty moved hither 
 and thither, selecting the younger weeds, deftly 
 putting the broken knife under their roots and 
 popping them into the tin pan. Presently, for 
 Deacon Baxter had finished the wagon and gone 
 down the hill to relieve Cephas Cole at the coun 
 ter, Patty s shrill young whistle floated into the 
 kitchen, but with a mischievous glance at the open 
 window she l>n>ke off suddenly and began to sing 
 the words of the hymn with rather more emphasis 
 and gusto than strict piety warranted. 
 
 "There ll he .vo///rthin^ in lie;iv-en for eliil-dren to do, 
 V lie ;ire idle in tliiit hless-ed l;md; 
 There ll be work for the heart, there 11 he work for the 
 
 mind, 
 And em/;A>//menl for nu-h little hand. 
 
 47 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "There ll be some-thing to do, 
 There ll be some-thing to do, 
 There ll be some-thing for chil-dren to do! 
 On that bright blessed shore where there s joy evermore, 
 There ll be some-thing for chil-dren to do." 
 
 Patty s young existence being full to the brim 
 of labor, this view of heaven never in the least 
 appealed to her and she rendered the hymn with 
 little sympathy. The main part of the verse was 
 strongly accented by jabs at the unoffending 
 dandelion roots, but when the chorus came she 
 brought out the emphatic syllables by a beat of 
 the broken knife on the milkpan. 
 
 This rendition of a Sabbath-School classic did 
 not meet Waitstill s ideas of perfect propriety, 
 but she smiled and let it pass, planning some sort 
 of recreation for a stolen half-hour of the after 
 noon. It would have to be a walk through the 
 pasture into the woods to see what had grown 
 since they went there a fortnight ago. Patty 
 loved people better than Nature, but failing the 
 one she could put up with the other, for she had a 
 sense of beauty and a pagan love of color. Then* 
 would be pale-hued innocence and blue and white 
 violets in the moist places, thought Waitstill, 
 and they would have them in a china cup on the 
 supper-table. No, that would never do, for last 
 time father had knocked them over when he was 
 
 48 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 reaching for the bread, and in a silent protest 
 against such foolishness got up from the table 
 and emptied them into the kitchen sink. 
 
 "There s a place for everything," he said 
 when he came back, "and the place for flowers 
 is outdoors." 
 
 Then in the pine woods there would be, she 
 was sure, Star of Bethlehem, Solomon s Seal, the 
 white spray of ground-nuts and bunchberries. 
 Perhaps they could make a bouquet and Patty 
 would take it across the fields to Mrs. Boynton s 
 door. She need not go in, and thus they would 
 not be disobeying their father s command not to 
 visit that "crazy Boynton woman." 
 
 Here Patty came in with a pan full of greens 
 and the sisters sat down in the sunny window 
 to get them ready for the pot. 
 
 " I m calmer," the little rebel allowed. "That s 
 generally the way it turns out with inc. I get 
 into a rage, but I can generally sing it off!" 
 
 "You certainly must have got rid of a good 
 deal of temper this morning, by the way your 
 voice sounded." 
 
 "Nobody can hear us in this out-of-the-way 
 place. It s easy enough to see that the women 
 were n t asked to say anything when the men set 
 tled where the houses should l>e built! The men 
 were n t content to st irk t hem on the top of a high 
 
 49 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 hill, or half a mile from the stores, but put them 
 back to the main road, taking due care to cut the 
 sink-window where their wives could n t see any 
 thing even when they were washing dishes." 
 
 "I don t know that I ever thought about it in 
 that way"; and Waitstill looked out of the win 
 dow in a brown study while her hands worked 
 with the dandelion greens. "I ve noticed it, but 
 I never supposed the men did it intentionally." 
 
 "No, you wouldn t," said Patty with the 
 pessimism of a woman of ninety, as she stole an 
 admiring glance at her sister. Patty s own face, 
 irregular, piquant, tantalizing, had its peculiar 
 charm, and her brilliant skin and hair so dazzled 
 the masculine beholder that he took note of no 
 small defects; but Waitstill was beautiful; beau 
 tiful even in her working dress of purple calico. 
 Her single braid of hair, the Foxwell hair, that 
 in her was bronze and in Patty pale auburn, was 
 wound once around her fine head and made to 
 stand a little as it went across the front. It was a 
 simple, easy, unconscious fashion of her own, ( \ 1 1 i I o 
 different from anything done by other women in 
 her time and place, and it just suited her dignity 
 and serenity. It looked like a coronet, but it was 
 the way she carried her head that gave you the 
 fancy, there was such spirit and pride in the poise 
 of it on the long graceful neck. Her eyes were as 
 
 50 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 clear as mountain pools shaded by rushes, and 
 the strength of the face was softened by the 
 s\\ ret ness of the mouth. 
 
 Patty never let the conversation die out for 
 many seconds at a time and now she began again. 
 "My sudden rages don t match my name very 
 well, but, of course, mother did n t know how I 
 was going to turn out when she called me Pa- 
 tience, for I was nothing but a squirming little 
 bald, red baby; but my name really is too ridicu 
 lous when you think about it." 
 
 Waitstill laughed as she said: "It did n t take 
 you long to change it! Perhaps Patience was a 
 hard word for a baby to say, but the moment 
 you could talk you said, * Patty wants this and 
 Patty wauls that." 
 
 "Did Patty ever get it? She never has since, 
 that s certain! And look at your name; it s 
 1 Waitstill, yet you never stop a moment. When 
 you re not in the shed or barn, or chicken-house, 
 or kitchen or attic, or garden-patch, you are 
 working in the Sunday School or the choir." 
 
 It seemed as if Waitstill did not intend to 
 answer I his arraignment of her activities. Sin 
 rose and crossed the room to put the pan of 
 greens in the sink, preparing to wash them. 
 Taking the long-handled <lipper from the nail. 
 she paused a moment before plunging it into the 
 
 51 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 water pail; paused, and leaning her elbow on a 
 corner of the shelf over the sink, looked stead 
 fastly out into the orchard. 
 
 Patty watched her curiously and was just going 
 to offer a penny for her thoughts when Waitstill 
 suddenly broke the brief silence by saying: "Yes, 
 I am always busy; it s better so, but all the same, 
 Patty, I m waiting, inside! I don t know for 
 what, but I always feel that I am waiting! " 
 
VI 
 
 A KISS 
 
 "SHALL we have our walk in the woods on the 
 Edgewood side of the river, just for a change, 
 Patty?" suggested her sister. "The water is so 
 high this year that the river will be splendid. We 
 can gather our flowers in the hill pasture and 
 then you ll be quite near Mrs. Boynton s and 
 can carry the nosegay there while I come homo 
 ahead of you and get supper. I ll take to-day s 
 eggs to father s store on the way and ask him if 
 he minds our having a little walk. I Ve an errand 
 at Aunt Abby s that would take me down to the 
 bridge anyway." 
 
 "Very well," said Patty, somewhat apatliHi- 
 cally. " I always like a walk with you, but I don t 
 care what becomes of me this afternoon if I can I 
 go to Ellen s party." 
 
 The excursion took place according to \\ail- 
 st ill s plan, and at four o clock she sped back 
 to her ni^ht work and preparations for supper, 
 leaving Patty with a great bunch of early wild- 
 flmvrrs for Ivory s mother. Patty had left them 
 at the Boyntons door with Rodman, who was 
 
 53 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 picking up chips and volunteered to take the 
 nosegay into the house at once. 
 
 "Won t you step inside? " the boy asked shyly, 
 wishing to be polite, but conscious that visitors 
 from the village very seldom crossed the threshold. 
 
 "I d like to, but I can t this afternoon, thank 
 you. I must run all the way down the hill now, or 
 I shan t be in time to supper." 
 
 "Do you eat meals together over to your 
 house?" asked the boy. 
 
 "We re all three at the table if that means 
 together." 
 
 "We never are. Ivory goes off early and takes 
 lunch in a pail. So do I when I go to school. Aunt 
 Boynton never sits down to eat; she just stands 
 at the window and takes a bite of something now 
 and then. You have n t got any mother, have 
 
 you?" 
 
 "No, Rodman." 
 
 " Neither have I, nor any father, nor any rela 
 tions but Aunt Boynton and Ivory. Ivory is very 
 good to me, and when he s at home I m never 
 lonesome." 
 
 "I wish you could come over and eat with 
 sister and me," said Patty gently. "Perhaps 
 sometime, when my father is away buying goods 
 and we are left alone, you could join us in the 
 woods, and we would have a picnic? \Ve would 
 
 54 
 
THE STORY OF \Y.\ITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 I) ring enough for you; all sorts of good thin 
 hard-boiled eggs, doughnuts, apple-turnovers, 
 and bread spread with jelly." 
 
 "I d like it fine!" exclaimed Rodman, his big 
 dark eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I don t 
 have many boys to play with, and I never went 
 to a picnic. Aunt Boynton watches for uncle 
 most all the time; she doesn t know he has been 
 away for years and years. When she does n t 
 watch, she prays. Sometimes she wants me to 
 pray with her, but pray ing don t come easy tome." 
 
 "Neither does it to me," said Patty. 
 
 "I m good at marbles and checkers and back 
 gammon and jack-straws, though." 
 
 "So am I," said Patty, laughing, "so we should 
 be good friends. I ll try to get a chance to see 
 you soon again, but perhaps I can t; I m a good 
 deal tied at home." 
 
 Your father doesn t like you to go any 
 wheres, I guess," interposed Rodman. "I ve 
 heard Ivory tell Aunt Boynton things, but I 
 \\ould n t repeat them. Ivory s trained me years 
 and yean not to tell anything, so I don t." 
 
 "Thai -i -.od boy!" approved Patty. Then 
 as she regarded him more closely, she continued, 
 44 I m sorry you re lonesome, Rodman, I d like 
 to see you look brighter." 
 
 "You think I ve been crying," the boy said 
 55 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 shrewdly. "So I have, but not because I ve 
 been punished. The reason my eyes are so 
 swollen up is because I killed our old toad by 
 mistake this morning. I was trying to see if I 
 could swing the scythe so s to help Ivory in 
 haying-time. I ve only raked after and I want 
 to begin on mowing soon s I can. Then somehow 
 or other the old toad came out from under the 
 steps; I did n t see him, and the scythe hit him 
 square. I cried for an hour, that s what I did, 
 and I don t care who knows it except I would n t 
 like the boys at school to hector me. I ve buried 
 the toad out behind the barn, and I hope Ivory 11 
 let me keep the news from Aunt Boy n ton. She 
 cries enough now without my telling her there s 
 been a death in the family. She set great store by 
 the old toad, and so did all of us." 
 
 "It s too bad; I m sorry, but after all you 
 could n t help it." 
 
 "No, but we should always look round every - 
 wheres when we re cutting; that s what Ivory 
 says. He says folks should n t use edged tools till 
 they re old enough not to fool with Yin." 
 
 And Rodman looked so wise and old-fashioned 
 for his years that Patty did not know whether 
 to kiss him or cry over him, as she said: "Ivory s 
 always right, and now good-bye; I must go this 
 very minute. Don t forget the picnic." 
 
 M 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL UAXTKR 
 
 "I won t!" cried the hoy, ga/ing after her, 
 
 wholly entranced with her bright beauty and 
 
 her kindness. "Say, I ll bring something, too, 
 
 - white-oak acorns, if you like em; I ve got a 
 
 big bagful up attic!" 
 
 Patty sped down the long lane, crept under 
 the bars, and flew like a lapwing over the high 
 road. 
 
 "If father was only like any one else, things 
 might he so different !" she sighed, her thoughts 
 running along with her feet. " Nobody to make a 
 home for that poor lonesome little boy and that 
 poor lonesome big Ivory. ... I am sure that he 
 is in love with Waitstill. He does n t know it ; she 
 does n t know it; nobody does but me, but I m 
 clever at guessing. I was the only one that sur- 
 1 1 1 ised Jed Morrill was going to marry again. . . . 
 I should almost like Ivory for myself, he is so tall 
 and handsome, but of course he can never marry 
 anybody; he is too poor and has his mother to 
 look after. I would n t want to take him from 
 \\aity, though, and then perhaps I couldn t get 
 him, anyway. ... If I could n t, he d be the only 
 one! I ve never tried yet, but I feel in my bom <, 
 somehow, that I could have any boy in Ed 
 wood or Hiverboro, by just crooking my forefin 
 ger and heekomng to him. ... I wMi -I wi-li 
 
 t hey were different ! They don t make me want 
 57 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 to beckon to them! My forefinger just stays 
 straight and does n t feel like crooking! . . . 
 There s Cephas Cole, but he s as stupid as an 
 owl. I don t want a husband that keeps his 
 mouth wide open whenever I m talking, no mat 
 ter whether it s sense or nonsense. There s Phil 
 Perry, but he likes Ellen, and besides he s too 
 serious for me; and there s Mark Wilson; he s 
 the best dressed, and the only one that s been to 
 college. He looks at me all the time in meeting, 
 and asked me if I would n t take a walk some 
 Sunday afternoon. I know he planned Ellen s 
 party hoping I d be there! Goodness gracious, 
 I do believe that is his horse coming behind me! 
 There s no other in the village that goes at such 
 a gait!" 
 
 It was, indeed, Mark Wilson, who always 
 drove, according to Aunt Abby Cole, "as if he 
 was goin for a doctor." He caught up with 
 Patty almost in the twinkling of an eye, but she 
 was ready for him. She had taken off her sun- 
 bonnet just to twirl it by the string, she was so 
 warm with walking, and in a jiffy she had lifted 
 the clustering curls from her ears, tucked them 
 back with a single expert movement, and dis 
 closed two coral pendants just the color of her 
 ear-tips and her glowing cheeks. 
 
 "Hello, Patty!" the young man called, in 
 58 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 brusque country fashion, as he reined up beside 
 her. "\\hat are you doing over here? Why 
 are n t you on your way to the party? I ve been 
 over to Limington and am breaking my neck to 
 get home in time myself." 
 
 "I am not going; there are no parties for me!" 
 said Patty plaintively. 
 
 "Not going! Oh! I say, what s the matter? 
 It won t be a bit of fun without you! Ellen and 
 I made it up expressly for you, thinking your 
 father could n t object to a candy-pull!" 
 
 "I can t help it; I did the best I could. Wait- 
 still always asks father for me, but I would n t 
 take any chances to-day, and I spoke to him my 
 self; indeed I almost coaxed him!" 
 
 "He s a regular old skinflint!" cried Mark, 
 getting out of the wagon and walking beside her. 
 * You must n t call him names," Patty inter 
 posed with some dignity. "I call him a good 
 many myself, but I m his daughter." 
 
 You don t look it," said Mark admiringly. 
 "Come and have a little ride, won t you?" 
 
 "Oh, I couldn t possibly, thank you. Some 
 one w r ould be sure to see us, and father s so 
 strict" 
 
 There U n t a building for half a mile! Just 
 jump in and have a spin till we come to the first 
 house; then I ll let you out and yon can walk the 
 
 59 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 rest of the way home. Come, do, and make up 
 to me a little for my disappointment. I ll skip 
 the candy-pull if you say the word." 
 
 It was an incredibly brief drive, at Mark s 
 rate of speed; and as exciting and blissful as it 
 was brief and dangerous, Patty thought. Did she 
 imagine it, or did Mark help her into the wagon 
 differently from old Dr. Perry, for instance? 
 
 The fresh breeze lifted the gold thread of her 
 curls and gave her cheeks a brighter color, while 
 her breath came fast through her parted lips 
 and her eyes sparkled at the unexpected, unac 
 customed pleasure. She felt so grown up, so 
 conscious of a new power as she sat enthroned on 
 the little wagon seat (Mark Wilson always liked 
 his buggies "courtin 5 size" so the neighbors 
 said), that she was almost courageous enough 
 to agree to make a royal progress through the 
 village; almost, but not quite. 
 
 "Come on, let s shake the old tabbies up and 
 start em talking, shall we?" Mark suggested. 
 "I ll give you the reins and let Nero have a flick 
 of the whip." 
 
 "No, I d rather not drive," she said. "I d 
 be afraid of this horse, and, anyway, I must get 
 out this very minute; yes, I really must. If you 
 hold Nero I can just slip down between the wheels; 
 you need n t help me." 
 
 60 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Mark alighted notwithstanding her objections, 
 saying gallantly, " I don t miss this pleasure, not 
 by a jugful! Come along! Jump!" 
 
 Patty stretched out her hands to be helped, 
 but Mark forestalled her by putting his arms 
 around her and lifting her down. A second of time 
 only was involved, but in that second he held 
 hr close and kissed her warm cheek, her cheek 
 that had never felt the touch of any lips but those 
 of Waitstill. She pulled her sunbonnet over her 
 flaming face, while Mark, with a gay smile of 
 farewell, sprang into the wagon and gave his 
 horse a free rein. 
 
 Patty never looked up from the road, but 
 walked faster and faster, her heart beating at 
 breakneck speed. It was a changed world that 
 spun past her; fright, triumph, shame, delight, 
 gratified vanity swam over her in turn. 
 
 A few minutes later she heard once more the 
 rumble of wheels on the road. It was Cephas 
 Cole driving towards her over the brow of Saco 
 Hill. "He ll have seen Mark/ she thought, 
 "but he can t know I ve talked and driven 
 with him. Ugh! how stupid and common he 
 
 looks!" 
 
 "I heard your father blowin the supper-horn 
 jest as I come over the bridge," remarked ( Yphas, 
 drawing up in the road. "He stood in the door- 
 
 61 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 yard blowin like Bedlam. I guess you re late to 
 supper." 
 
 "I ll be home in a few minutes," said Patty, 
 " I got delayed and am a little behindhand." 
 
 " I 11 turn right round if you 11 git in and lemme 
 take you back-along a piece; it ll save you a 
 good five minutes," begged Cephas, abjectly. 
 
 "All right; much obliged; but it s against the 
 rules and you must drop me at the foot of our 
 hill and let me walk up." 
 
 "Certain; I know the Deacon n I ain t 
 huntin for trouble any more n you be; though 
 I d take it quick enough if you jest give me leave ! 
 I ain t no coward an I could tackle the Deacon 
 to-morrow if so be I had anything to ask him." 
 
 This seemed to Patty a line of conversation 
 distinctly to be discouraged under all the cir 
 cumstances, and she tried to keep Cephas on 
 the subject of his daily tasks and his mother s 
 rheumatism until she could escape from his over- 
 appreciative society. 
 
 "How do you like my last job?" he inquired 
 as they passed his father s house. "Some think 
 I Ve got the ell a little dite too yaller. Folks that 
 ain t never handled a brush allers think they can 
 mix paint better n them that knows their trade." 
 
 "If your object was to have everybody see the 
 ell a mile away, you ve succeeded," said Patty 
 
 62 
 
THE STORY OF \\AITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 cruelly. She never flung the poor boy a civil word 
 for fear of getting something warmer than civility 
 in return. 
 
 "It ll tone down," Cephas responded, rather 
 crestfallen. " I wanted a good bright lastin sha< lr. 
 T won t look so yallrr when father lets me paint 
 the house to match, but that won t be till next 
 year. He makes fun of the yaller color same as 
 you; says a home s something you want to for 
 get when you re away from it. Mother says the 
 two rooms of the ell are big enough for somebody 
 to set up housekeepin in. What do you think?" 
 
 "I never think/ returned Patty with a tanta 
 lizing laugh. "Good-night, Cephas; thank you 
 for giving me a lift!" 
 
VII 
 
 " WHAT DREAMS MAY COME " 
 
 SUPPER was over and the work done at last; the 
 dishes washed, the beans put in soak, the hens 
 shut up for the night, the milk strained and car 
 ried down cellar. Patty went up to her little 
 room with the one window and the slanting walls 
 and Waitstill followed and said good-night. Her 
 father put out the lights, locked the doors, and 
 came up the creaking stairs. There was never 
 any talk between the sisters before going to bed, 
 save on nights when their father was late at the 
 store, usually on Saturdays only, for the good 
 talkers of the village, as well as the gossips and 
 loafers, preferred any other place to swap stories 
 than the bleak atmosphere provided by old Foxy 
 at his place of business. 
 
 Patty could think in the dark; her healthy 
 young body lying not uncomfortably on the bed 
 of corn husks, and the patchwork comforter 
 drawn up under her chin. She could think, but 
 for the first time she could not tell her thoughts 
 to Waitstill. She had a secret; a dazzling secret, 
 just like Ellen Wilson and some of the other girls 
 who were several years older. Her afternoon s 
 
 64 
 
THE STORY OF \V.\n STILL BAXTER 
 
 experience loomed as large in her innocent mind 
 as if it had been an elopement. 
 
 "I hope I m not engaged to be married to 
 him, cren if he did - The sentence was too tre 
 mendous to be finished, even in thought. " I don t 
 think I can be; men must surely say something, 
 and not take it for granted you are in love with 
 them and want to marry them. It is what they 
 say when they ask that I should like, much bet 
 ter than bring married, when 1 in only just past 
 seventeen. I wish Mark was a little different; 
 I don t like his careless ways! He admires me, 
 I can trll that by the way he looks, but he ad 
 mires himself just as much, and expects me to 
 do the same; still, I suppose none of them are 
 perfect, and girls have to forgive lots of little 
 things when they are engaged. Mother must 
 have forgiven a good many things when she took 
 father. Anyway, Mark is going away for a month 
 on business, so I shan t have to make up my 
 mind just yet!" Here sleep descended upon the 
 slightly puzzled, but on the whole delightfully 
 complacent, little creature, bringing her most 
 alluring and untrust worthy dreams. 
 
 The dear innocent had, indeed, no need of 
 h.-i-te! Young Mr . Marquis de Lafayette Wilson, 
 Mark for short , was not in the least a gay deceiver 
 or ruthless breaker of hearts, and, so far as known, 
 
 66 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 no scalps of village beauties were hung to his belt. 
 He was a likable, light-weight young chap, as 
 indolent and pleasure-loving as the strict cus 
 toms of the community would permit; and a kiss, 
 in his mind, most certainly never would lead to 
 the altar, else he had already been many times 
 a bridegroom. Miss Patience Baxter s maiden 
 meditations and uncertainties and perplexities, 
 therefore, were decidedly premature. She was a 
 natural-born, unconsciously artistic, highly ex 
 pert, and finished coquette. She was all this at 
 seventeen, and Mark at twenty -four was by no 
 means a match for her in this field of effort, yet! 
 - but sometimes, in getting her victim into the 
 net, the coquette loses her balance and falls in 
 herself. There was n t a bit of harm in Marquis de 
 Lafayette, but he was extremely agile in keeping 
 out of nets ! 
 
 Waitstill was restless, too, that night, although 
 she could not have told the reason. She opened 
 her window at the back of the house and leaned 
 out. The evening was mild with a soft wind 
 blowing. She could hear the full brook dashing 
 through the edge of the wood-lot, and even the 
 "ker-chug" of an occasional bull-frog. There 
 were great misty stars in the sky, but no moon. 
 There was no light in Aunt Abby Cole s 
 kitchen, but a faint glimmer shone through the 
 
 66 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 windows of I nele Bart s joiner s shop, showing 
 that the old man was cither having an hour of 
 peaceful contemplation with no companion but 
 his pipe, or that there might be a little group of 
 privileged visitors, headed by Jed Morrill, bus 
 ily discussing the affairs of the nation. 
 
 Waitstill felt troubled and anxious to-night; 
 bruised by the little daily torments that lessened 
 her courage but never wholly destroyed it. Any 
 one who believed implicitly in heredity might 
 have been puzzled, perhaps, to account for her. 
 He might fantastically picture her as making 
 herself out of her ancestors, using a free hand, 
 picking and choosing what she liked best, with 
 due care for the effect of combinations; selecting 
 here and there and modifying, if advisable, a 
 trait of Grandpa or (irandma Foxwell, of Great- 
 Uncle or Great -Aunt Baxter; borrowing <jiiali- 
 tics lavishly from her own gently horn and gently 
 bred mother, and carefully avoiding her respected 
 father s >|<>rk. except, perhaps, to take a dash of 
 his pluck and an ounce of his persistence. Jed 
 Morrill remarked of Deacon Baxter once: "\Vhen 
 Old Foxy vrantfl anything he ll wait till hell 
 fa*M OVtt afore he ll .u ive up." \Vaitstill had 
 her father s firm chin, but there the likeness 
 ended. The proud curve of her nostrils, the clear, 
 well-opened eye with its deep fringe of lashes, 
 
 67 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 the earnest mouth, all these came from the mother 
 who was little more than a dim memory. 
 
 Waitstill disdained any vague, dreary, color 
 less theory of life and its meaning. She had joined 
 the church at fifteen, more or less because other 
 girls did and the parson had persuaded her; but 
 out of her hard life she had somehow framed a 
 courageous philosophy that kept her erect and 
 uncrushed, no matter how great her difficulties. 
 She had no idea of bringing a poor, weak, draggled 
 soul to her Maker at the last day, saying: "Here 
 is all I have managed to save out of what you 
 gave me!" That would be something, she al 
 lowed, immeasurably something; but pitiful com 
 pared with what she might do if she could keep 
 a brave, vigorous spirit and march to the last 
 tribunal strengthened by battles, struggles, de 
 feats, victories; by the defence of weaker human 
 creatures, above all, warmed and vitalized by the 
 pouring out and gathering in of love. 
 
 Patty slept sweetly on the other side of the 
 partition, the contemplation of her twopenny 
 triumphs bringing a smile to her childish lips; but 
 even so a good heart was there (still perhaps in the 
 process of making), a quick wit, ready sympathy, 
 natural charm; plenty, indeed, for the stronger 
 sister to cherish, protect, and hold precious, as 
 she did, with all her mind and soul. 
 
 68 
 
THE STORY OF \\~AIT-TILL BAXTER 
 
 There had always been a passionate loyalty 
 in NYaitslill s all erlion, wherever it had been 
 bolowed. Uncle Bart delimited in telling an 
 instance of it that occurred when she was a child 
 of five. Maine had just separated amicably from 
 her mother, Massachusetts, and become an inde 
 pendent state. It was in the middle of March, 
 but there was no snow on the ground and the 
 village boys had built a bonfire on a plot of land 
 near Uncle Bart s joiner s shop. There was a large 
 gathering in celebration of the historic event and 
 \Vait>till crept down the hill with her home-made 
 rag doll in her arms. She stood on the outskirts 
 of the crowd, a silent, absorbed little figure dad 
 in a shabby woollen coat, with a bine knit hood 
 framing her rosy face. Deborah, her beloved, her 
 only doll, was tightly clasped in her arms, for 
 Debby, like her parent, had few pleasures and 
 must not be denied so great a one as this. Sud 
 denly, one of the thoughtless young scamps in 
 I he -roup, wishing to create a new sensation and 
 add to the general excitement, caught the doll 
 from the child s arms, and running forward with 
 a loud war-whoop, thing it into the flames. \Yait- 
 >lill did not lo-e an instant. She gave a scream 
 of anu r ui>h.:md without -i vim: any warning of her 
 intentions, probably without reali/in- them her 
 self, she dashed through the lit t le crowd into the 
 
 69 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 bonfire and snatched her cherished offspring from 
 the burning pile. The whole thing was over in the 
 twinkling of an eye, for Uncle Bart was as quick 
 as the child and dragged her out of the imminent 
 danger with no worse harm done than a good 
 scorching. 
 
 He led the little creature up the hill to explain 
 matters and protect her from a scolding. She still 
 held the doll against her heaving breast, saying, 
 between her sobs : " I could n t let my Debby burn 
 up! I couldn t, Uncle Bart; she s got nobody 
 but me! Is my dress scorched so much I can t 
 wear it? You 11 tell father how it was, Uncle Bart, 
 won t you?" 
 
 Debby bore the marks of her adventure longer 
 than her owner, for she had been longer in 
 the fire, but, stained and defaced as she was, she 
 was never replaced, and remained the only doll of 
 Waitstill s childhood. At this very moment she 
 lay softly and safely in a bureau drawer ready 
 to be lifted out, sometime, Waitstill fancied, ;m<l 
 shown tenderly to Patty s children. Of her own 
 possible children she never thought. There was 
 but one man in the world who could ever be the 
 father of them and she was separated from him 
 by every obstacle that could divide two human 
 beings. 
 
SUMMER 
 
VIII 
 
 THE JOINER S SHOP 
 
 VILLAGE "Aunts" and "Uncles" were elected 
 to that relationship by the common consent of 
 the community; their fitness being established 
 by great age, by decided individuality or eccen 
 tricity of character, by uncommon lovablene>-, 
 or by the possession of an abundant wit and 
 humor. There was no formality about the thing; 
 certain women were always called "Aunt Sukie," 
 or "Aunt Kitty," or what not, while certain men 
 were distinguished as "Uncle Rish," or "Uncle 
 Pel," without previous arrangement, or the con 
 sent of the high contracting parties. 
 
 Such a couple were Cephas Cole s father and 
 mother, Aunt Abby and Uncle Bart. Bartholo 
 mew Cole s trade was that of a joiner; as for 
 Aunt Abby s, it can only be said that she made 
 all trades her own by sovereign right of in 
 vestigation, and what she did not know about 
 her neighbor s occupations was unlikely to be 
 discovered on this side of Jordan. One of the vil 
 lagers declared that Aunt Abby and her neighbor, 
 Mrs. Abel Day, had argued for an hour before 
 they could make a bargain about the method of 
 
 78 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 disseminating a certain important piece of news, 
 theirs by exclusive right of discovery and prior 
 possession. Mrs. Day offered to give Mrs. Cole 
 the privilege of Saco Hill and Aunt Betty-Jack s, 
 she herself to take Guide-Board and Town-House 
 Hills. Aunt Abby quickly proved the injustice 
 of this decision, saying that there were twice as 
 many families living in Mrs. Day s chosen terri 
 tory as there were in that allotted to her, so the 
 river road to Milliken s Mills was grudgingly 
 awarded to Aunt Abby by way of compromise, 
 and the ladies started on what was a tour of 
 mercy in those days, the furnishing of a subject 
 of discussion for long, quiet evenings. 
 
 Uncle Bart s joiner s shop was at the foot of 
 Guide-Board Hill on the Riverboro side of the 
 bridge, and it was the pleasantest spot in the whole 
 village. The shop itself had a cheery look, with 
 its weather-stained shingles, its small square 
 windows, and its hospitable door, half as big as 
 the front side of the building. The step was an 
 old millstone too worn for active service, and the 
 piles of chips and shavings on each side of it had 
 been there for so many years that sweet-williams, 
 clove pinks, and purple phlox were growing in 
 among them in the most irresponsible fashion; 
 while a morning-glory vine had crept up and 
 curled around a long-handled rake that had been 
 
 74 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 standing against the front of the house since 
 early spring. There was an air of cosy and ami 
 able disorder about the place that would have 
 invited friendly confabulation even had not 
 Uncle Bart s white head, honest, ruddy face, and 
 smiling welcome coaxed you in before you were 
 a ware. A fine Nodhead apple tree shaded the 
 side windows, and underneath it reposed all 
 summer a bright blue sleigh, for Uncle Bart 
 always described himself as being "plagued for 
 shed room" and kept things as he liked at the 
 shop, having a " p ison neat wife who did exactly 
 the opposite at his house. 
 
 The seat of the sleigh was all white now with 
 scattered fruit blossoms, and one of WaitstilFs 
 earliest remembrances was of going downhill 
 with Patty toddling at her side; of Uncle Bart s 
 lifting them into the sleigh and permitting them 
 to sit there and eat the ripe red apples that had 
 fallen from the tree. Uncle Bart s son, Cephas 
 (Patty s secret adorer), was a painter by trade, 
 and kept his pots and cans and brushes in a little 
 outhouse at the back, while Uncle Bart him^li 
 stood every day behind his long joiner s bench 
 almost knee-deep in shavings. How the child 
 ren loved to play with the white, satiny t 
 making them into necklaces, hanging them to 
 their ears and weaving them into wreaths. 
 
 75 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Wonderful houses could always be built in the 
 corner of the shop, out of the little odds and ends 
 and "nubbins" of white pine, and Uncle Bart 
 was ever ready to cut or saw a special piece needed 
 for some great purpose. 
 
 The sound of the plane was sweet music in the 
 old joiner s ears. "I don t hardly know how I d 
 a made out if I d had to work in a mill," he 
 said confidentially to Cephas. The noise of 
 a saw goin all day, coupled with your mother s 
 tongue mornin s an evenin s, would a been too 
 much for my weak head. I m a quiet man, 
 Cephas, a man that needs a peaceful shop where 
 he can get away from the comforts of home now 
 and then, without shirkin his duty nor causin 
 gossip. If you should ever marry, Cephas, 
 which don t look to me likely without you pick 
 out a dif rent girl, --I d advise you not to keep 
 your stock o paints in the barn or the shed, for 
 it s altogether too handy to the house and the 
 women-folks. Take my advice and have a place to 
 yourself, even if it s a small one. A shop or a 
 barn has saved many a man s life and reason, 
 Cephas, for it s ag in a woman s nature to have 
 you underfoot in the house without hectorin 
 you. Choose a girl same s you would a horse that 
 you want to hitch up into a span; t ain t every 
 two that ll stan together without kickin . When 
 
 76 
 
Tin-: STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 you get the right girl, keep out of her way con- 
 sid able an there ll be less wear an tear." 
 
 It was June and the countryside was so beau 
 tiful it seemed as if no one could be unhappy, 
 however great the cause. That was what Wait- 
 still Baxter thought as she sat down on the mill 
 stone step for a word with the old joiner, her best 
 and most understanding friend in all the village. 
 
 "I ve come to do my mending here with you," 
 she said brightly, as she took out her w T ell-filled 
 basket and threaded her needle. " Is n t it a won 
 derful morning? Nobody could look the world 
 in the face and do a wrong thing on such a day, 
 could they, Uncle Bart?" 
 
 The meadows were a waving mass of golden 
 buttercups; the shallow water at the river s edge 
 just below the shop was blue with spikes of arrow- 
 weed; a bunch of fragrant water-lilies, gathered! 
 from the mill-pond s upper levels, lay beside* 
 Waitstill s mending-basket, and every foot of 
 roadside and field within sight was swaying with 
 long-stemmed white and gold daisies. The June 
 grass, the friendly, humble, companionable grass, 
 that no one ever praises as they do the flowers, 
 was a rich emerald green, a velvet carpet fit for 
 the feet of the angels themselves. And the elms 
 and maples! Was there ever such a year for 
 richness of foliage? And the sky, was it ever so 
 
 77 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 blue or so clear, so far away, or so completely 
 like heaven, as you looked at its reflection in the 
 glassy surface of the river? 
 
 "Yes, it s a pretty good day," allowed Uncle 
 Bart judicially as he took a squint at his T- 
 square. "I don know s I should want to start 
 out an try to beat it ! The Lord can make a good 
 many kinds o weather in the course of a year, 
 but when He puts his mind on to it, an kind o 
 gives Himself a free hand, He can turn out a June 
 mornin that must make the Devil sick to his 
 stomach with envy! All the same, Waity, my 
 cow ain t behavin herself any better n usual. 
 She s been rampagin since sun-up. I ve seen 
 mother chasin her out o Mis Day s garden- 
 patch twice a ready ! - - It seems real good an* 
 homey to see you settin there sewin while I m 
 workin at the bench. Cephas is down to the 
 store, so I s pose your father s off somewheres?" 
 
 Perhaps the June grass was a little greener, the 
 buttercups yellower, the foliage more lacey, the 
 sky bluer, because Deacon Baxter had taken his 
 luncheon in a pail under the wagon seat, and 
 departed on an unwilling journey to Moderation, 
 his object being to press the collection of some 
 accounts too long overdue. There w r as something 
 tragic in the fact, Waitstill thought, that when 
 ever her father left the village for a whole day, 
 
 78 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 lift at once grew brighter, easier, more hopeful. 
 One could breathe freely, speak one s heart out, 
 believe in the future, when father was away. 
 
 The girls had harbored many delightful plans at 
 early breakfast. As it was Saturday, Patty could 
 catch little Rod Boynton, if he came to the bridge 
 on errands as usual ; and if Ivory could spare him 
 for an hour at noon they would take their lunch 
 eon and eat it together on the river-bank as Patty 
 had promised him. At the last moment, however, 
 Deacon Baxter had turned around in the wagon 
 and said : " Patience, you go down to the store and 
 have a regular house-cleanin in the stock-room. 
 Git Cephas to lift what you can t lift yourself, 
 move everything in the place, sweep and dust it, 
 scrub the floor, wash the winder, and make room 
 for the new stuff that they ll bring up from M ill- 
 town bout noon. If you have any time left over, 
 put new papers on the shelves out front, and clean 
 up and fix the show winder. Don t stand round 
 gabbin with Cephas, and see t he don t waste 
 time that s paid for by me. Tell him he might 
 (lean up the terbaccer stains round the stove, 
 black it, and cover it up for the summer if he 
 ain t too busy servin customers." 
 
 The whole day spoiled!" wailed Patty, fling 
 ing herself down in the kitchen rocker. "Father s 
 powers of invention heat anything I ever saw 
 
 79 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 That stock-room could have been cleaned any 
 time this month and it s too heavy work for me 
 anyway; it spoils my hands, grubbing around 
 those nasty, sticky, splintery boxes and barrels. 
 Instead of being out of doors, I ve got to be shut 
 up in that smelly, rummy, tobacco-y, salt-fishy, 
 pepperminty place with Cephas Cole! He won t 
 have a pleasant morning, I can tell you! I shall 
 snap his head off every time he speaks to me." 
 
 " So I would ! " Waitstill answered composedly. 
 "Everything is so clearly his fault that I cer 
 tainly would work off my temper on Cephas! 
 Still, I can think of a way to make matters come 
 out right. I ve got a great basket of mending 
 that must be done, and you remember there s a 
 choir rehearsal for the new anthem this afternoon, 
 but anyway I can help a little on the cleaning. 
 Then you can make Rodman do a few of the odd 
 jobs, it will be a novelty to him; and Cephas will 
 work his fingers to the bone for you, as you well 
 know, if you treat him like a human being." 
 
 "All right!" cried Patty joyously, her mood 
 changing in an instant. "There s Rod coming 
 over the bridge now ! Toss me my gingham apron 
 and the scrubbing-brush, and the pail, and the tin 
 of soft soap, and the cleaning-cloths; let s see, the 
 broom s down there, so I ve got everything. If 
 I wave a towel from the store, pack up luncheon 
 
 80 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 for thnv. You come down and bring your mend 
 ing ; t hrn, \vluMi you see how I m getting on, we can 
 consult. I m going to take the ten cents I ve 
 saved and spend it in raisins. I can get a good 
 many if Cephas gives me wholesale price, with 
 family discount substracted from that. Cephas 
 would treat me to candy in a minute, but if I let 
 him we d have to ask him to the picnic! Good 
 bye!" And the volatile creature darted down the 
 hill singing, "There ll be something in heaven 
 for children to do," at the top of her healthy 
 young lungs. 
 
IX 
 
 CEPHAS SPEAKS 
 
 THE waving signal, a little later on, showed that 
 Rodman could go to the picnic, the fact being 
 that he was having a holiday from eleven o clock 
 until two, and Ivory was going to drive to the 
 bridge at noon, anyway, so his permission could 
 then be asked. 
 
 Patty s mind might have been thought entirely 
 on her ugly task as she swept and dusted and 
 scrubbed that morning, but the reverse was true. 
 Mark Wilson had gone away without saying 
 good-bye to her. This was not surprising, per 
 haps, as she was about as much sequestered in 
 her hilltop prison as a Turkish beauty in a harem; 
 neither was it astonishing that Mark did not 
 write to her. He never had written to her, and 
 as her father always brought home the very 
 infrequent letters that came to the family, Mark 
 knew that any sentimental correspondence would 
 be fraught with danger. No, everything was 
 probably just as it should be, and yet, well, 
 Patty had expected during the last three weeks 
 that something would happen to break up the 
 monotony of her fornler existence. She hardly 
 
 82 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 knew what it would be, but the kiss dropped so 
 lightly on her cheek by Mark Wilson still burned 
 in remembrance, and made her sure that it would 
 have a sequel, or an explanation. 
 
 Mark s sister Ellen and Phil Perry were in the 
 midst of some form of lover s quarrel, and during 
 its progress Phil was paying considerable atten 
 tion to Patty at Sabbath School and prayer- 
 meeting, occasions, it must be confessed, only 
 provocative of very indirect and long-distance 
 advances. Cephas Cole, to the amazement of 
 every one but his (constitutionally) exasperated 
 mother, was "toning down" the ell of the family 
 mansion, mitigating the lively yellow, and put 
 ting .mother fresh coat of paint on it, for no con 
 ceivable reason save that of pleasing the eye of 
 a certain capricious, ungrateful young hussy, 
 who would probably say, when her verdict was 
 a>ked, that she did n t see any particular differ 
 ence in it, one way or another. 
 
 Trade was not especially brisk at the Deacon s 
 emporium this sunny June Saturday morning. 
 Cephas may have possibly lost a customer or two 
 by leaving the store vacant while he toiled and 
 sweated for Miss Patience Baxter in the stock 
 room at the back, overhanging the river, but no 
 manaliveeould B66 his employer s lovely daughter 
 tugging at a keg of shingle nails without trying 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 to save her from a broken back, although Cephas 
 could have watched his mother move the house 
 and barn without feeling the slightest anxiety 
 in her behalf. If he could ever get the "heft" of 
 the "doggoned" cleaning out of the way so thai 
 Patty s mind could be free to entertain his pro 
 position ; could ever secure one precious moment 
 of silence when she was not slatting and bang 
 ing, pushing and pulling things about, her head 
 and ears out of sight under a shelf, and an irritat 
 ing air of absorption about her whole demeanor; 
 if that moment of silence could ever, under Pro 
 vidence, be simultaneous with the absence of 
 customers in the front shop, Cephas intended 
 to offer himself to Patience Baxter that very 
 morning. 
 
 Once, during a temporary lull in the rear, he 
 started to meet his fate when Rodman Boynton 
 followed him into the back room, and the boy 
 was at once set to work by Patty, who was the 
 most consummate slave-driver in the State of 
 Maine. After half an hour there was another 
 Heaven-sent chance, when Rodman went up to 
 Uncle Bart s shop with a message for \Vaitstill, 
 but, just then, in came Bill Morrill, a boy of 
 twelve, with a request for a gallon of molasses ; and 
 would Cephas lend him a stone jug over Sunday, 
 for his mother had hers soakin out in soap-suds 
 
 84 
 
THE STORY OF WAIT>TILL BAXTER 
 
 cause t wa n t smelliif jest right. Bill s me> 
 given, he hurried up the road on another errand, 
 promising to call for the molasses later. 
 
 Cephas put the gallon measure under the 
 spigot of the molasses hogshead and turned on 
 I lie tap. The task was going to be a long one and 
 he grew impatient, for the stream was only a 
 slender trickle, scarcely more than the slow 
 dripping of drops, so the molasses must be very 
 low, and with his mind full of weightier affairs 
 he must make a note to tell the Deacon to broach 
 a new hogshead. Cephas feared that he could 
 never make out a full gallon, in which case Mrs. 
 M orrill would be vexed, for she kept mill board 
 ers and baked quantities of brown bread and 
 gingerbread and molasses cookies for over 
 Sunday. He did \\i-h trade would languish alto 
 gether on this particular morning. The minutes 
 dragged by and again there was perfect quiet in 
 the stock-room. As the door opened, Cephas, 
 taking his last chance, went forward to meet 
 Patty, who was turning down the skirt of her 
 dress, taking the cloth off her head, smoothing 
 IK r hair, and tyiiiir on a clean white ruffled 
 apron, in which she looked as pretty as a pink. 
 
 "P*tty!" stammered Cephas, seizini: hisgolden 
 opportunity, "Patty, keep your mind on me for 
 a minute. I ve put a new coat o paint on the 
 
 85 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 ell just to please you; won t you get married and 
 settle down with me? I love you so I can t eat 
 nor drink nor tend store nor nothin !" 
 
 "Oh, I - - I could n t, Cephas, thank you; 
 I just could n t, don t ask me," cried Patty, 
 as nervous as Cephas himself now that her first 
 offer had really come; "I m only seventeen and 
 I don t feel like settling down, Cephas, and fa 
 ther would n t think of letting me get married." 
 
 "Don t play tricks on me, Patty, and keep 
 shovin me off so, an givin wrong reasons," 
 pleaded Cephas. "What s the trouble with me? 
 I know mother s temper s onsartain, but we 
 never need go into the main house daytimes and 
 father d allers stand up ag in her if she did n t 
 treat you right. I ve got a good trade and father 
 has a hundred dollars o my savin s that I can 
 draw out to-morrer if you ll have me." 
 
 "I can t, Cephas; don t move; stay where you 
 are; no, don t come any nearer; I m not fond of 
 you that way, and, besides, and, besides - 
 
 Her blush and her evident embarrassment gave 
 Cephas a new fear. 
 
 "You ain t promised a ready, be you?" he 
 asked anxiously; "when there ain t a feller any 
 wheres around that s ever stepped foot over 
 your father s doorsill but jest me?" 
 
 "I haven t promised anything or anybody," 
 86 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Patty answered sedately, gaining her self-control 
 oy degrees, " but I won t deny that I m consider 
 ing; that s true!" 
 
 " Considerin who?" asked Cephas, turning 
 pale. 
 
 44 Oh, several, if you must know the truth "; 
 and Patty s tone was cruel in its jauntiness. 
 
 "Several!" The word did not sound like ordi 
 nary work-a-day Riverboro English in Cephas s 
 ears. He knew that "several" meant more than 
 one, but he was too stunned to define the term 
 properly in its present strange connection. 
 
 "Whoever tis wouldn t do any better by 
 you n I would. I d take a lickin for you any 
 day," Cephas exclaimed abjectly, after a long 
 pause. 
 
 * That would n t make any difference, Cephas," 
 said Patty firmly, moving towards the front door 
 as if to end the interview. "If I don t love you 
 imlicked, I could n t love you any better licked, 
 now, could I? -- Goodness gracious, what am I 
 stepping in? Cephas, quick! Something has been 
 running all over the floor. My feet are sticking 
 to it." 
 
 "Good Gosh! It s Mis Merrill s molasses!" 
 cried Cephas, brought to his senses suddenly. 
 
 It was too true! Whatever had been the small 
 obstruction in the tap, it had disappeared. The 
 
 87 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 gallon measure had been filled to the brim ten 
 minutes before, and ever since, the treacly liquid 
 had been overflowing the top and spreading in a 
 brown flood, unnoticed, over the floor. Patty s 
 feet were glued to it, her buff calico skirts lifted 
 high to escape harm. 
 
 "I can t move," she cried. "Oh! You stupid, 
 stupid Cephas, how could you leave the molasses 
 spigot turned on? See what you ve done! 
 You ve wasted quarts and quarts! What will 
 father say, and how will you ever clean up such 
 a mess? You never can get the floor to look so 
 that he won t notice it, and he is sure to miss 
 the molasses. You ve ruined my shoes, and I 
 simply can t bear the sight of you! " 
 
 At this Cephas all but blubbered in the agony 
 of his soul. It was bad enough to be told by 
 Patty that she was "considering several," but 
 his first romance had ended in such complete 
 disaster that he saw in a vision his life blasted; 
 changed in one brief moment from that of a 
 prosperous young painter to that of a blighted 
 and despised bungler, whose week s wages were 
 likely to be expended in molasses to make good 
 the Deacon s loss. 
 
 "Find those cleaning-cloths I left in the back 
 room," ordered Patty with a flashing eye. "Get 
 some blocks, or bits of board, or stones, for me 
 
 88 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 to walk on, so that I can get out of your nasty 
 mess. Fill Bill Merrill s jug, quick, and set it out 
 on the steps for him to pick up. I don t know 
 what you d do without me to plan for you ! Lock 
 the front door and hang father s sign that he s 
 gone to dinner on the doorknob. Scoop up all 
 the molasses you can with one of those new 
 trowels on the counter. Scoop, and scrape, and 
 scoop, and scrape; then put a cloth on your 
 oldest broom, pour lots of water on, pail after 
 pail, and swab! When you ve swabbed till it 
 won t do any more good, then scrub! After that, 
 I should n t wonder if you had to fan the floor 
 with a newspaper or it ll never get dry before 
 father comes home. I ll sit on the flour barrel a 
 little while and advise, but I can t stay long 
 because I m going to a picnic. Hurry up and 
 don t look as if you were going to die any min 
 ute! It s no use crying over spilt molasses. You 
 don t suppose I m going to tell any tales after 
 you ve made me an offer of marriage, do you? 
 I m not so mean as all that, though I may have 
 my faults." 
 
 It was nearly two o clock before the card 
 announcing Deacon Baxter s absence at dinner 
 was removed from the front doorknob, and when 
 the store was finally reopened for business it was 
 a most dejected clerk who dealt out groceries to 
 
 89 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 the public. The worst feature of the affair was 
 that every one in the two villages suddenly 
 and contemporaneously wanted molasses, so that 
 Cephas spent the afternoon reviewing his misery 
 by continually turning the tap and drawing off 
 the fatal liquid. Then, too, every inquisitive 
 boy in the neighborhood came to the back of the 
 store to view the operation, exclaiming: "What 
 makes the floor so wet? Hain t been spillin 
 molasses, have yer? Bet yer have! Good joke 
 on Old Foxy!" 
 
ON TORY HILL 
 
 IT had been a heavenly picnic, the little trio all 
 air reed as to that; and when Ivory saw the Baxter 
 girls coming up the shady path that led along 
 the river from the Indian Cellar to the bridge, it 
 W9M a merry group and a transfigured Rodman 
 thai cau-hl his eye. The boy, trailing on behind 
 with the baskets and laden with tin dippers and 
 wildflowers, seemed another creature from the 
 big-eyed, quiet little lad he saw every day. He 
 had chattered like a magpie, eaten like a bear, 
 torn his jacket getting wild columbines for Patty, 
 been nicely darned by Waitstill, and was in a 
 state of hilarity that rendered him quite unrecog 
 nizable. 
 
 "We ve had a lovely picnic!" called Patty; 
 "I wish you had been with us!" 
 
 "You did n t a>k me!" smiled Ivory, picking 
 up \Yaitst ill s mending-basket from the nook in 
 tin* trees where she had hidden it for safe-keep 
 ing 
 
 "We ve played games, Ivory/ cried the boy. 
 "Patty made them up herself. First we had the 
 Landing of the Pilgrim-/ and \\ailstill made 
 
 91 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 believe be the figurehead of the Mayflower. She 
 stood on a great boulder and sang: - 
 
 The breaking waves dashed high 
 On a stern and rock-bound coast 
 
 and, oh! she was splendid! Then Patty was 
 Pocahontas and I was Cap n John Smith, and 
 look, we are all dressed up for the Indian 
 wedding!" 
 
 Waitstill had on a crown of white birch bark 
 and her braid of hair, twined with running ever 
 green, fell to her waist. Patty was wreathed with 
 columbines and decked with some turkey feathers 
 that she had put in her basket as too pretty to 
 throw away. Waitstill looked rather conscious 
 in her unusual finery, but Patty sported it with 
 the reckless ease and innocent vanity that char 
 acterized her. 
 
 "I shall have to run into father s store to 
 put myself tidy," Waitstill said, "so good-bye, 
 Rodman, we ll have another picnic some day. 
 Patty, you must do the chores this afternoon, 
 you know, so that I can go to choir rehearsal." 
 
 Rodman and Patty started up the hill gayly 
 with their burdens, and Ivory walked by Wait- 
 still s side as she pulled oft 7 her birch-bark crown 
 and twisted her braid around her head with a 
 heightened color at being watched. 
 
 "I ll say good-bye now, Ivory, but I ll see you 
 92 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 at the meeting-house," she said, as she neared 
 the store. "I ll go in here and brush the pine 
 needles off, wash my hands, and rest a little before 
 rehearsal. That s a puzzling anthem we have for 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "I have my horse here; let me drive you up to 
 the church." 
 
 " I can t, Ivory, thank you. Father s orders are 
 against my driving out with any one, you know." 
 
 "Very well, the road is free, at any rate. I ll 
 hitch my horse down here in the woods some 
 where and when you start to walk I shall follow 
 and catch up with you. There s luckily only one 
 way to reach the church from here, and your 
 father can t blame us if we both take it!" 
 
 And so it fell out that Ivory and Waitstill 
 walked together in the cool of the afternoon to 
 the meeting-house on Tory Hill. Waitstill kept 
 the beaten path on one side and Ivory that on 
 the other, so that the width of the country road, 
 deep in dust, was between them, yet their near 
 ness seemed so tangible a thing that each could 
 feel the heart beating in the other s side. 
 
 Their talk was only that of tried friends, a talk 
 interrupted by long beautiful silences; silences 
 that come only to a man and woman whose 
 understanding of each other is beyond question 
 and answer. Not a sound broke the stillness, 
 
 93 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 yet the very air, it seemed to them, was shedding 
 meanings : the flowers were exhaling a love secret 
 with their fragrances, the birds were singing it 
 boldly from the tree-tops, yet no word passed 
 the man s lips or the girl s. Patty would have 
 hung out all sorts of signals and lures to draw 
 the truth from Ivory and break through the 
 walls of his self-control, but Waitstill, never; 
 and Ivory Boynton was made of stuff so strong 
 that he would not speak a syllable of love to 
 a woman unless he could say all. He was only 
 five-and-twenty, but he had been reared in 
 a rigorous school, and had learned in its pov 
 erty, loneliness, and anxiety lessons of self-de 
 nial and self-control that bore daily fruit now. 
 He knew that Deacon Baxter would never allow 
 any engagement to exist between Waitstill and 
 himself; he also knew that Waitstill would never 
 defy and disobey her father if it meant leaving 
 her younger sister to fight alone a dreary battle 
 for which she was not fitted. If there was little 
 hope on her side there seemed even less on his. 
 His mother s mental illness made her peculiarly 
 dependent upon him, and at the same time held 
 him in such strict bondage that it was almost im 
 possible for him to get on in the world or even to 
 give her the comforts she needed. In villages like 
 Riverboro in those early days there was no pul- 
 
 94 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 {inu r away, even of men or women so demented 
 as to be something of a menace to the peace of the 
 household; but Lois Boynton was so gentle, so 
 fragile, so exquisite a spirit, that she seemed in her 
 sad aloofness simply a thing to be sheltered and 
 shielded somehow in her difficult life journey. 
 Ivory often thought how sorely she needed a 
 daughter in her affliction. If the baby sister had 
 only lived, the home miirht have been different; 
 but alas ! there was only a son, a son who tried 
 to be tender and sympathetic, but after all was 
 nothing but a big, clumsy, uncomprehending 
 man-creature, who ought to be felling trees, 
 ploughing, sowing, reaping, or at least studying 
 law, making his own fortune and that of some 
 future wife. Old Mrs. Mason, a garrulous, good- 
 hearted grandame, was their only near neighbor, 
 and her visits always left his mother worse rather 
 than better. How such a girl as Waitstill would 
 pour comfort and beauty and joy into a lonely 
 house like his, if only he were weak enough to 
 call upon her strength and put it to so cruel a 
 test. God help him, he would never do that, 
 especially as he could not earn enough to keep a 
 larger family, bound down as he was by inexor 
 able responsibilities. WailstilL thus far in life, 
 had suffered many sorrows and enjoyed few 
 pleasures; marriage ought to bring her freedom 
 
 95 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and plenty, not carking care and poverty. He 
 stole long looks at the girl across the separating 
 space that was so helpless to separate, feeding 
 his starved heart upon her womanly graces. Her 
 quick, springing step was in harmony with the 
 fire and courage of her mien. There was a line or 
 two in her face, small wonder; but an "uncon 
 querable soul" shone in her eyes; shone, too, in 
 no uncertain way, but brightly and steadily, 
 expressing an unshaken joy in living. Valiant, 
 splendid, indomitable Waitstill! He could never 
 tell her, alas ! but how he gloried in her ! 
 
 It is needless to say that no woman could be 
 the possessor of such a love as Ivory Boynton s 
 and not know of its existence. Waitstill never 
 heard a breath of it from Ivory s lips; even his 
 eyes were under control and confessed nothing; 
 nor did his hand ever clasp hers, to show by a 
 tell-tale touch the truth he dared not utter; 
 nevertheless she felt that she was beloved. She 
 hid the knowledge deep in her heart and covered 
 it softly from every eye but her own; taking it 
 out in the safe darkness sometimes to wonder 
 over and adore in secret. Did her love for Ivory 
 rest partly on a sense of vocation? a profound, 
 inarticulate divining of his vast need of her? He 
 was so strong, yet so weak because of the yoke he 
 bore, so bitterly alone in his desperate struggle 
 
 96 
 
THE STORY OF W.MTSTILL BAXTER 
 
 with life, that her heart melted like wax whenever 
 she thought of him. When she contemplated the 
 hidden mutiny in her own heart, she was awe 
 struck sometimes at the almost divine patience 
 of Ivory s conduct as a son. 
 
 "How is your mother this summer, Ivory?" 
 she asked as they sat down on the meeting-house 
 steps waiting for Jed Morrill to open the door. 
 
 "There is little change in her from year to 
 year, Waitstill. -- By the way, why don t we 
 get out of this afternoon sun and sit in the old 
 graveyard under the trees? We are early and the 
 choir won t get here for half an hour. --Dr. 
 Perry says that he does not understand mother s 
 case in the least, and that no one but some great 
 Boston physician could give a proper opinion on 
 it; of course, that is impossible at present." 
 
 They sat down on the grass underneath one of 
 the elms and Waitstill took off her hat and leaned 
 back against the tree-trunk. 
 
 "Tell me more," she said; "it is so long since 
 we talked together quietly and we have never 
 really spoken of your mother." 
 
 "Of course," Ivory continued, "the people of 
 the village all think and speak of mother s illness 
 U K li-ious insanity, but to me it s ins nothing 
 of the sort. I was only a child when father first 
 fell in with Jacob Cochrane, hut I was twelve 
 
 97 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 when father went away from home on his mis 
 sion, and if there was any one suffering from 
 delusions in our family it was he, not mother. She 
 had altogether given up going to the Cochrane 
 meetings, and I well remember the scene when 
 my father told her of the revelation he had re 
 ceived about going through the state and into 
 New Hampshire in order to convert others and 
 extend the movement. She had no sympathy 
 with his self-imposed mission, you may be sure, 
 though now she goes back in her memory to the 
 earlier days of her married life, when she tried 
 hard, poor soul, to tread the same path that 
 father was treading, so as to be by his side at 
 every turn of the road. 
 
 "I am sure" (here Ivory s tone was somewhat 
 dry and satirical) "that father s road had many 
 turns, \Vaitstill! He was a schoolmaster in Saco, 
 you know, when I was born, but he soon turned 
 from teaching to preaching, and here my mother 
 followed with entire sympathy, for she was 
 intensely, devoutly religious. I said there was 
 little change in her, but there is one new symp 
 tom. She has ceased to refer to her conversion 
 to Cochranism as a blessed experience. Her 
 memory of those first days seems to have faded, 
 As to her sister s death and all the circumstances 
 of her bringing Rodman home, her mind is a 
 
 98 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 blank. Her expectation of father s return, on the 
 other hand, is much more intense than ever." 
 
 "She must have loved your father dearly, 
 Ivory, and to lose him in this terrible way is 
 much worse than death. Uncle Bart says he had 
 a ^reat gift of language!" 
 
 "Yes, and it was that, in my mind, that led 
 him astray. I fear that the Spirit of God was 
 never so strong in father as the desire to influence 
 people by his oratory. That was what drew him 
 to preaching in the first place, and when he found 
 in Jacob Cochrane a man who could move an 
 audience to frenzy, lift them out of the body, and 
 do with their spirits as he willed, he acknowledged 
 him as master. Whether his gospel was a pure 
 and undefiled religion I doubt, but he certainly 
 was a master of mesmeric control. My mother 
 was beguiled, entranced, even bewitched at first, 
 I doubt not, for she translated all that Cochrane 
 >aid into her own speech, and regarded him as 
 the prophet of a new era. But Cochrane s l,i>t 
 revelations differed from the first, and were of 
 the earth, earthy. My mother s pure soul must 
 have revolted, but she was not strong enoii-h to 
 drau father from his allegiance. Mother was of 
 better family than father, but they were both 
 well educated and had the best schooling to be 
 had in their day. So far as I can judge, mother 
 
 99 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 always had more * balance than father, and much 
 better judgment, yet look at her now!" 
 
 "Then you think it was your father s disap 
 pearance that really caused her mind to waver? " 
 asked Waitstill. 
 
 "I do, indeed. I don t know what happened 
 between them in the way of religious differences, 
 nor how much unhappiness these may have 
 caused. I remember she had an illness when we 
 first came here to live and I was a little chap of 
 three or four, but that was caused by the loss of a 
 child, a girl, who lived only a few weeks. She 
 recovered perfectly, and her head was as clear as 
 mine for a year or two after father went away. As 
 his letters grew less frequent, as news of him 
 gradually ceased to come, she became more and 
 more silent, and retired more completely into 
 herself. She never went anyw r here, nor enter 
 tained visitors, because she did not wish to hear 
 the gossip and speculation that were going on in 
 the village. Some of it was very hard for a wife 
 to bear, and she resented it indignantly; yet never 
 received a word from father with which to refute 
 it. At this time, as nearly as I can judge, she was 
 a recluse, and subject to periods of profound 
 melancholy, but nothing worse. Then she took 
 that winter journey to her sister s deathbed, 
 brought home the boy, and, hastened by exposure 
 
 100 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSYILL BAXTER 
 
 and chill and grief, I t>uppose, h< r mind gave 
 way, --that s all!" And Ivory sighed drearily 
 as he stretched himself on the greensward, and 
 looked off towards the snow-clad New Hampshire 
 hills. "I ve meant to write the story of the 
 Cochrane craze sometime, or such part of it as 
 has to do with my family history, and you shall 
 read it if you like. I should set down my child 
 hood and my boyhood memories, together with 
 such scraps of village hearsay as seems reliable. 
 You were not so much younger than I, but I was 
 in the thick of the excitement, and naturally I 
 heard more than you, having so bitter a reason 
 for being interested. Jacob Cochrane has alto 
 gether disappeared from public view, but there s 
 many a family in Maine and New Hampshire, 
 yes, and in the far West, that will feel his in 
 fluence for years to come." 
 
 "I should like very much to read your account. 
 Aunt Abby s version, for instance, is so different 
 from Uncle Bart s that one can scarcely find the 
 truth between the two; and father s bears no 
 relation to that of any of the others." 
 
 "Some of us see facts and others see visions," 
 replied Ivory, "and these differences of opinion 
 crop up in the village every day when anything 
 noteworthy is discussed. I came upon a quota 
 tion in my reading last evening that described it: 
 
 101 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 * One said it thundered . . . another that an angel 
 spake/ 
 
 "Do you feel as if your father was dead, 
 Ivory?" 
 
 "I can only hope so! That thought brings 
 sadness with it, as one remembers his disappoint 
 ment and failure, but if he is alive he is a traitor." 
 
 There was a long pause and they could see in 
 the distance Humphrey Barker with his clarionet 
 and Pliny Waterhouse with his bass viol driving 
 up to the churchyard fence to hitch their horses. 
 The sun was dipping low and red behind the 
 Town-House Hill on the other side of the river. 
 
 "What makes my father dislike the very men 
 tion of yours?" asked Waitstill. "I know what 
 they say : that it is because the two men had high 
 words once in a Cochrane meeting, when father 
 tried to interfere with some of the exercises and 
 was put out of doors. It does n t seem as if that 
 grievance, seventeen or eighteen years ago, would 
 influence his opinion of your mother, or of you. " 
 
 "It isn t likely that a man of your father s 
 sort would forget or forgive what he considered 
 an injury; and in refusing to have anything to 
 do with the son of a disgraced man and a de 
 ranged woman, he is well within his rights." 
 
 Ivory s cheeks burned red under the tan, and 
 his hand trembled a little as he plucked bibs of 
 
 102 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 clover from the grass and pulled them to pic<v- 
 absent-mindedly. "How are you getting on at 
 home these days, Waitstill? " he asked, as if to 
 turn his own mind and hers from a too painful 
 subject. 
 
 4 You have troubles enough of your own with 
 out hearing mine, Ivory, and anyway they are 
 not big afflictions, heavy sorrows, like those you 
 have to bear. Mine are just petty, nagging, sor 
 did, cheap little miseries, like gnat-bites; so 
 petty and so sordid that I can hardly talk to 
 God about them, much less to a human friend. 
 Patty is my only outlet and I need others, yet I 
 find it almost impossible to escape from the nar 
 rowness of my life and be of use to any one else." 
 The girl s voice quivered and a single tear-drop 
 on her cheek showed that she was speaking from 
 a full heart. "This afternoon s talk has determined 
 me in one thing," she went on. "I am going to see 
 your mother now and then. I shall have to do it 
 secretly, for your sake, for hers, and for my own, 
 but if I am found out, then I will go openly. There 
 must be times when one can break the lower law, 
 and yet keep the higher. Father s hiw, in this case, 
 is the lower, and I propose to break it ." 
 
 "I can t have you getting into trouble, \Vait- 
 still," Ivory objected. ;< You re the one woman 
 I can think of who might help my mother; all the 
 
 103 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 same, I would not make your life harder; not for 
 worlds!" 
 
 "It will not be harder, and even if it was I 
 should * count it all joy to help a woman bear 
 such sorrow as your mother endures patiently day 
 after day " ; and Waitstill rose to her feet and tied 
 on her hat as one who had made up her mind. 
 
 It was almost impossible for Ivory to hold his 
 peace then, so full of gratitude was his soul and 
 so great his longing to pour out the feeling that 
 flooded it. He pulled himself together and led 
 the way out of the churchyard. To look at Wait- 
 still again would be to lose his head, but to his 
 troubled heart there came a flood of light, a glory 
 from that lamp that a woman may hold up for 
 a man; a glory that none can take from him, 
 and none can darken; a light by which he may 
 walk and live and die. 
 
XI 
 
 A JUNE SUNDAY 
 
 IT was a Sunday in June, and almost the whole 
 population of Riverboro and Edgewood was 
 walking or driving in the direction of the meeting 
 house on Tory Hill. 
 
 Church toilettes, you may well believe, were 
 difficult of attainment by Deacon Baxter s 
 daughters, as they had been by his respective 
 helpmates in years gone by. When Waitstill s 
 mother first asked her husband to buy her a new 
 dress, and that was two years after marriage, 
 he simply said: "You look well enough; what 
 do you want to waste money on finery for, these 
 hard times? If other folks are extravagant, that 
 ain t any reason you should be. You ain t obliged 
 to take your neighbors for an example:- hike 
 em for a warnin !" 
 
 "But, Foxwcll, my Sunday dress is worn 
 completely to threads," urged the second Mrs. 
 Baxter. 
 
 "ThatV what women always say; they re all 
 alike; no more idea <> savin anything than a 
 skunk -blackbird! I can t spare any money for 
 grw-gaws, and you miirht as well understand it 
 
 in:. 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 first as last. Go up attic and open the hair trunk 
 by the winder; you ll find plenty there to last 
 you for years to come." 
 
 The second Mrs. Baxter visited the attic as 
 commanded, and in turning over the clothes in 
 the old trunk, knew by instinct that they had 
 belonged to her predecessor in office. Some of the 
 dresses were neat, though terribly worn and 
 faded, but all were fortunately far too short and 
 small for a person of her fine proportions. Be 
 sides, her very soul shrank from wearing them, 
 and her spirit revolted both from the insult to 
 herself and to the poor dead woman she had 
 succeeded, so she came downstairs to darn and 
 mend and patch again her shabby wardrobe. 
 
 Waitstill had gone through the same experience 
 as her mother before her, but in despair, when she 
 was seventeen, she began to cut over the old gar 
 ments for herself and Patty. Mercifully there 
 were very few of them, and they had long since 
 been discarded. At eighteen she had learned to 
 dye yarns with yellow oak or maple bark and to 
 make purples from elder and sumac berries; she 
 could spin and knit as well as any old " Aunt" of 
 the village, and cut and shape a garment as 
 deftly as the Edgewood tailoress, but the task 
 of making bricks without straw was a hard one, 
 indeed. 
 
 106 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 She wore a white cotton frock on this particu 
 lar Sunday. It was starched and ironed with a 
 beautiful gloss, while a touch of distinction was 
 given to her costume by a little black sleeveless 
 "roundabout " made out of the covering of an old 
 silk umbrella. Her flat hat had a single wreath 
 of coarse daisies around the crown, and her mitts 
 were darned in many places, nevertheless you 
 could not entirely spoil her; God had used a lib 
 eral hand in making her, and her father s parsi 
 mony was a sort of boomerang that flew back 
 chiefly upon himself. 
 
 As for Patty, her style of beauty, like Ce 
 phas Cole s ell, had to be toned down rather 
 than up, to be effective, but circumstances 
 had been cruelly unrelenting in this process of 
 late. Deacon Baxter had given the girls three or 
 four shopworn pieces of faded yellow calico that 
 1 i.id been repudiated by the village housewives 
 as not "fast" enough in color to bear the test of 
 proper washing. This had made frocks, aprons, 
 petticoat-, and even underelot lies, for two full 
 years, and Patty s weekly <>l>juri;al ions when she 
 removed her everlasting yellow dress from the 
 nail where it hung were not such as should have 
 fallen from the lips of a deacon s daughter. Wait- 
 still had taken a piece of the same yellow material, 
 starched and ironed it, cut a curving, circular 
 
 107 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 brim from it, sewed in a pleated crown, and lo! a 
 hat for Patty ! What inspired Patty to put on a 
 waist ribbon of deepest wine color, with a little 
 band of the same on the pale yellow hat, no one 
 could say. 
 
 "Do you think you shall like that dull red 
 right close to the yellow, Patty? " Waitstill asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 "It looks all right on the columbines in the 
 Indian Cellar," replied Patty, turning and twist 
 ing the hat on her head. "If we can t get a peek 
 at the Boston fashions, we must just find our 
 styles where we can!" 
 
 The various roads to Tory Hill were alive with 
 vehicles on this bright Sunday morning. Uncle 
 Bart and Abel Day, with their respective wives 
 on the back seat of the Cole s double wagon, were 
 passed by Deacon Baxter and his daughters, 
 Waitstill being due at meeting earlier than others 
 by reason of her singing in the choir. The Dea 
 con s one-horse, two-wheeled "shay" could hold 
 three persons with comfort on its broad seat, 
 and the twenty -year-old mare, although she was 
 always as hollow as a gourd, could generally do 
 the mile, uphill all the way, in half an hour, if 
 urged continually, and the Deacon, be it said, if 
 not good at feeding, was unsurpassed at urging. 
 
 Aunt Abby Cole could get only a passing 
 108 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 glimpse of Patty in the depths of the "shay," 
 hut a glimpse was always enough for her, as her 
 opinion of the irirl s charms was considerably af 
 fected by the forlorn condition of her son Cephas, 
 whom she suspected of being hopelessly in love 
 with the young person aforesaid, to whom she 
 commonly alluded as "that red-headed bag 
 gage." 
 
 " Patience Baxter s got the kind of looks that 
 might do well enough at a tavern dance, or a 
 husking, but they re entirely unsuited to the 
 Sabbath day or the meetin -house," so Aunt 
 Abby remarked to Mrs. Day in the way of back 
 seat confidence. "It s unfortunate that a dea 
 con s daughter should be afflicted with that hold 
 style of beauty! Her hair s all but red; in fact, 
 you might as well call it red, when the sun shines 
 on it: but if she d ever smack it down with bear s 
 grease she might darken it some; or anyhow she d 
 make it lay slicker; but it s the kind of hair that 
 just matches that kind of a girl, sort of up 
 an comin ! Then her skin s so white and her 
 cheeks so pink and her eyes so snappy that she d 
 attract attention without half try in : though I 
 guess she ain t above makin an effort." 
 
 "She s innnocent as a kit ten, "observed Mrs. 
 Day impartially. 
 
 "Oh, yes, she s innocent enough an I hope 
 109 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 she ll keep so! Waitstill s a sight han somer, if 
 the truth was told ; but she s the sort of girl that s 
 made for one man and the rest of em never look 
 at her. The other one s cut out for the crowd, the 
 more the merrier. She s a kind of man-trap, that 
 girl is! --Do urge the horse a little mite, Bar 
 tholomew ! It makes me kind o hot to be passed 
 by Deacon Baxter. It s Missionary Sunday, too, 
 when he gen ally has rheumatism too bad to come 
 out." 
 
 "I wonder if he ever puts anything into the 
 plate," said Mrs. Day. "No one ever saw him, 
 that I know of." 
 
 The Deacon keeps the Thou Shalt Not com 
 mandments pretty well," was Aunt Abby s terse 
 response. "I guess he don t put nothin into the 
 plate, but I s pose we d ought to be thankful he 
 don t take nothin out. The Baptists are gettin 
 ahead faster than they d ought to, up to the 
 Mills. Our minister ain t no kind of a proselyter. 
 Seems as if he did n t care how folks got to 
 heaven so long as they got there! The other 
 church is havin a service this afternoon side o 
 the river, an I d kind o like to go, except it 
 would please em too much to have a crowd there 
 to see the immersion. They tell me, but I don t 
 know how true, that that Tillson widder woman 
 that come here from somewheres in Vermont 
 
 110 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 wanted to be baptized to-day, but the other con 
 verts declared they would n t be, if she was!" 
 
 "Jed Morrill said they d have to hold her 
 under water quite a spell to do any good," 
 chuckled Uncle Bart from the front seat. 
 
 " Well, I would n t repeat it, Bartholomew, on 
 the Sabbath day; not if he did say it. Jed Mor 
 rill s responsible for more blasphemious jokes 
 than any man in Edgewood. I don t approve of 
 inakin light of anybody s religious observances 
 if they re ever so foolish," said Aunt Abby some 
 what enigmatically. "Our minister keeps re- 
 mindin us that the Baptists and Methodists 
 are our brethren, but I wish he d be a little more 
 anxious to have our S ciety keep ahead of the 
 others." 
 
 "Jed s bout right in sizin up the Widder Till- 
 son," was Mr. Day s timid contribution to the 
 argument. " I ain t a readin man, but from what 
 folks report I should think she was one o them 
 critters that set on rocks bewilderin an bedev- 
 ilin men-folks out o their senses syrcens, I 
 think they call em; a reg lar syrecn is what that 
 woman is, I guess!" 
 
 * There, there, Abel, you would n t know a 
 syreen if you found one in your baked beans, 
 so don t take away a woman s character on 
 hearsa/." And Mrs. Day, having shut up her 
 
 111 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 husband as was her bounden duty as a wife and 
 a Christian, tied her bonnet strings a little tighter 
 and looked distinctly pleased with herself. 
 
 "Abel ain t startin any new gossip," was 
 Aunt Abby s opinion, as she sprung to his 
 rescue. "One or two more holes in a colander 
 don t make much dif rence. -- Bartholomew, 
 we re certainly goin to be late this mornin ; 
 we re about the last team on the road"; and 
 Aunt Abby glanced nervously behind. "Elder 
 Boone ain t begun the openin prayer, though, or 
 we should know it. You can hear him pray a 
 mile away, when the wind s right. I do hate to be 
 late to meetin . The Elder allers takes notice; the 
 folks in the wing pews allers gapes an stares, 
 and the choir peeks through the curtain, takin 
 notes of everything you ve got on your back. I 
 hope to the land they 11 chord and keep together 
 a little mite better n they ve done lately, that s 
 all I can say! If the Lord is right in our midst as 
 the Bible says, He can t think much of our singers 
 this summer!" 
 
 They re improvin , now that Pliny Water- 
 house plays his fiddle," Mrs. Day remarked 
 pacifically. There was times in the anthem 
 when they kept together consid able well last 
 Sunday. They did n t always chord, but there, 
 they chorded some ! - - We re most there now, 
 
 112 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Abby, don t fret! Cephas won t ring the last 
 bell till he knows his own folks is crossin the 
 Common!" 
 
 Those were days of conscientious church-going 
 and every pew in the house was crowded. The 
 pulpit was built on pillars that raised it six feet 
 higher than the floor; the top was cushioned and 
 covered with red velvet surmounted by a huge 
 Kilt-edged Bible. There was a window in tlie 
 tower through which Cephas Cole could look 
 into the church, and while tolling the bell could 
 keep watch for the minister. Always exactly on 
 time, he would come in, walk slowly up the right- 
 liand aisle, mount the pulpit stairs, enter and 
 close the door after him. Then Cephas would 
 give one tremendous pull to warn loiterers on 
 the steps; a pull that meant, "Parson s in the 
 pulpit!" and was acted upon accordingly. Open 
 ing the big Bible, the minister raised his riirht 
 hand impressively, and saying, "Let us pray," 
 the whole congregation rose in their pews with a 
 great nisi ling and bowed their heads devoutly 
 for the invocation. 
 
 Next came the hymn, generally at that day one 
 of Isaac Watts s. The singers, fifteen or twenty 
 in number, sat in a raised gallery opposite the 
 pulpit, and there was a rod in front hung with 
 
 113 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 red curtains to hide them when sitting down. 
 Any one was free to join, which perhaps accounted 
 for Aunt Abby s strictures as to time and tune. 
 Jed Morrill, " blasphemious " as he was consid 
 ered by that acrimonious lady, was the leader, 
 and a good one, too. There would be a great 
 whispering and buzzing when Deacon Sumner 
 with his big fiddle and Pliny Waterhouse with his 
 smaller one would try to get in accord with 
 Humphrey Baker and his clarionet. All went well 
 when Humphrey was there to give the sure key 
 note, but in his absence Jed Morrill would use his 
 tuning-fork. When the key was finally secured 
 by all concerned, Jed would raise his stick, beat 
 one measure to set the time, and all joined in, or 
 fell in, according to their several abilities. It 
 was not always a perfect thing in the way of a 
 start, but they were well together at the end of 
 the first line, and w r hen, as now, the choir num 
 bered a goodly number of voices, and there were 
 three or four hundred in the pews, nothing more 
 inspiring in its peculiar way was ever heard, 
 than the congregational singing of such splendid 
 hymns as "Old Hundred," "Duke Street," or 
 "Coronation." 
 
 Waitstill led the trebles, and Ivory was at the 
 far end of the choir in the basses, but each was 
 conscious of the other s presence. This morning 
 
 114 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 he could hear her noble voice rising a little 
 above, or, perhaps from its quality, separating 
 itself somehow, ever so little, from the others. 
 How full of strength and hope it was, her voice! 
 How steadfast to the pitch; how golden its color; 
 how moving in its crescendos! How the words 
 flowed from her lips; not as if they had been writ 
 ten years ago, but as if they were the expression 
 of her own faith. There wore many in the con 
 gregation who were stirred, they knew not why, 
 when there chanced to be only a few " carrying the 
 air * and they could really hear Waitstill Baxter 
 singing some dear old hymn, full of sacred memo 
 ries, like: - 
 
 "While Thee I seek, protecting Power, 
 
 Be my vain wishrs stilled! 
 And may this consecrated hour 
 With better hopes be filled." 
 
 "There may be them in Boston that can sing 
 louder, and they may be able to run up a little 
 higher than Waits! ill, but the question is, could 
 any of Yin make Aunt Abby Cole shed iear>?" 
 This was Jed MorriU s tribute to his best soprano. 
 
 There were Sunday evening prayer-meetings, 
 too, held at "early candlelight," when Waits! ill 
 and Lucy Merrill would make a duel of "By cool 
 Siloam s Shady Rill," or Hie favorite "Naomi; 
 
 and the two fresh youn.ir voices, rising and falling 
 
 \\:> 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 in the tender thirds of the old tunes, melted all 
 hearts to new willingness of sacrifice. 
 
 "Father, whate er of earthly bliss 
 
 Thy sov reign will denies, 
 Accepted at Thy Throne of grace 
 Let this petition rise! 
 
 "Give me a calm, a thankful heart, 
 
 From every murmur free! 
 The blessing of Thy grace impart 
 And let me live to Thee!" 
 
 How Ivory loved to hear Waitstill sing these lines ! 
 How they eased his burden as they were easing 
 hers, falling on his impatient, longing heart like 
 evening dew on thirsty grass ! 
 
XII 
 
 THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER 
 
 M WHILE Thee I seek, protecting Power," was the 
 first hymn on this particular Sunday morning, 
 and it usually held Patty s rather vagrant atten 
 tion to the end, though it failed to do so to-day. 
 The Baxters occupied one of the wing pews, a 
 position always to be envied, as one could see the 
 singers without turning around, and also observe 
 everybody in the congregation, their entrance, 
 garments, behavior, and especially their bon 
 nets, without being in the least indiscreet, or 
 seeming to have a roving eye. 
 
 Lawyer Wilson s pew was the second in front of 
 the Baxters in the same wing, and Patty, seated 
 decorously but unwillingly beside her father, was 
 impatiently awaiting the entrance of the family, 
 knowing that Mark would be with them if he 
 had returned from Boston. Timothy Grant, the 
 parish clerk, had the pew in be I ween, and afforded 
 a most edifying spectacle to the community, as 
 there were seven young Grants of a ehnreh-going 
 age, and the ladies of the congregation were 
 alwayseoimtinglhem, reckoning how many more 
 were in their cradles at home and trying to guess 
 
 117 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 from Mrs. Grant s lively or chastened countenance 
 whether any new ones had been born since the 
 Sunday before. 
 
 Patty settled herself comfortably, and put her 
 foot on the wooden "cricket," raising her buff 
 calico a little on the congregation side, just 
 enough to show an inch or two of petticoat. The 
 petticoat was as modestly long as the frock itself, 
 and disclosing a bit of it was nothing more hei 
 nous than a casual exhibition of good needlework. 
 Deacon Baxter furnished only the unbleached 
 muslin for his daughters undergarments; but 
 twelve little tucks laboriously done by hand, 
 elaborate inch- wide edging, crocheted from 
 white spool cotton, and days of bleaching on the 
 grass in the sun, will make a petticoat that can be 
 shown in church with some justifiable pride. 
 
 The Wilsons came up the aisle a moment later 
 than was their usual habit, just after the parson 
 had ascended the pulpit. Mrs. Wilson always 
 entered the pew first and sat in the far end. Patty 
 had looked at her admiringly, and with a certain 
 feeling of proprietorship, for several Sundays. 
 There was obviously no such desirable mother-in- 
 law in the meeting-house. Her changeable silk 
 dress was the latest mode; her shawl of black 
 llama lace expressed wealth in every delicate 
 mesh, and her bonnet had a distinction that 
 
 118 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 could only have emanated from Portland or 
 Boston. Ellen Wilson usually came in next, with 
 as much of a smile to Patty in passing as she 
 dared venture in the Deacon s presence, and 
 after her sidled in her younger sister Selina, 
 commonly called "Silly," and with considerable 
 reason. 
 
 Mark had come home! Patty dared not look 
 up, but she felt his approach behind the others, 
 although her eyes sought the floor, and her cheeks 
 hung out signals of abashed but certain welcome. 
 She heard the family settle in their seats some 
 what hastily, the click of the pew door and the 
 sound of Lawyer Wilson s cane as he stood it in 
 the corner; then the parson rose to pray and Patty 
 closed her eyes with the rest of the congregation. 
 
 Opening them when Elder Boone rose to 
 announce the hymn, they fell amazed, resent 
 ful, uncomprehending on the spectacle of 
 Mark Wilson finding the place in the book for a 
 strange young woman who sat beside him. Mark 
 himself had on a new suit and wore a seal ring 
 that Patty had never observed before; while the 
 dress, pelisse, and hat of the unknown were of 
 a nature that no girl in Patty s position, and 
 particularly of Patty s disposition, could have 
 regarded without a desire to tear them from her 
 person and stamp them underfoot; or better 
 
 119 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 .still, flaunt them herself and show the world how 
 they should be worn ! 
 
 Mark found the place in the hymn-book for 
 the creature, shared it with her, and once, 
 when the Grant twins wriggled and Patty secured 
 a better view, once, Mark shifted his hand on the 
 page so that his thumb touched that of his pretty 
 neighbor, who did not remove hers as if she found 
 the proximity either unpleasant or improper. 
 Patty compared her own miserable attire with 
 that of the hated rival in front, and also con 
 trasted Lawyer Wilson s appearance with that of 
 her father; the former, well dressed in the style of 
 a gentleman of the time, in broadcloth, with fine 
 linen, and a tall silk hat carefully placed on the 
 floor of the pew; while Deacon Baxter wore 
 homespun made of wool from his own sheep, 
 spun and woven, dyed and finished, at the 
 fulling-mill in the village, and carried a battered 
 felt hat that had been a matter of ridicule these 
 dozen years. (The Deacon would be buried in 
 two coats, Jed Morrill always said, for he owned 
 just that number, and would be too mean to 
 leave either of em behind him !) 
 
 The sermon was fifty minutes long, time 
 enough for a deal of thinking. Many a housewife, 
 not wholly orthodox, cut and made over all her 
 children s clothes, in imagination; planned the 
 
 120 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 putting up of her fruit, the making of her 
 preserves and pickles, and arranged her meals for 
 the next week, during the progress of those ser 
 mons. Patty watched the parson turn leaf after 
 leaf until the final one was reached. Then came 
 the last hymn, when the people stretched their 
 aching limbs, and rising, turned their backs on 
 the minister and faced the choir. Patty looked at 
 Waitstill and wished that she could put her throb- 
 hi n IT head on her sisterly shoulder and cry, 
 mostly with rage. The benediction was said, and 
 with the final "Amen " the pews were opened and 
 the worshippers crowded into the narrow aisles 
 and moved towards the doors. 
 
 Patty s plans were all made. She was out of 
 her pew before the Wilsons could possibly leave 
 theirs, and in her progress down the aisle securely 
 annexed her great admirer, old Dr. Perry, as well 
 as his son Philip. Passing the singing-seats she 
 picked up the humble (Yphus and carried him 
 along in her wake, chatting and talking with her 
 lit lie party while her father was at the horse- 
 >heds, making ready to go home between ser 
 vices as was his habit, a cold bite being always 
 set out on the kitchen table according to his 
 orders. By means of these clever manoeuvres 
 Patty made herself the focus of attention when 
 the Wilson party came out on the steps, and 
 
 121 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 vouchsafed Mark only a nonchalant nod, airily 
 flinging a little greeting with the nod, just a 
 " How d ye do, Mark? Did you have a good time 
 in Boston?" 
 
 Patty and Waitstill, w r ith some of the girls 
 who had come long distances, ate their luncheon 
 in a shady place under the trees behind the meet 
 ing-house, for there was an afternoon service to 
 come, a service with another long sermon. They 
 separated after the modest meal to walk about 
 the Common or stray along the road to the Acad 
 emy, where there was a fine view. 
 
 Two or three times during the summer the 
 sisters always went quietly and alone to the 
 Baxter burying-lot, where three grassgrown 
 graves lay beside one another, unmarked save 
 by narrow wooden slabs so short that the initials 
 painted on them were almost hidden by the tufts 
 of clover. The girls had brought roots of pansies 
 and sweet alyssum, and with a knife made holes 
 in the earth and planted them here and there to 
 make the spot a trifle less forbidding. They did 
 not speak to each other during this sacred little 
 ceremony; their hearts were too full when they 
 remembered afresh the absence of headstones, 
 the lack of care, in the place where the three 
 women lay who had ministered to their father, 
 borne him children, and patiently endured his 
 
 122 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 arbitrary and loveless rule. Even Cleve Flan 
 ders grave, --the Edgewood shoemaker, who 
 lay next, even his resting-place was marked, 
 and, with a touch of some one s imagination, 
 marked by the old man s own lapstone, twenty- 
 five pounds in weight, a monument of his work- 
 a-day life. 
 
 Waitstill rose from her feet, brushing the earth 
 from her hands, and Patty did the same. The 
 churchyard w r as quiet, and they were alone with 
 the dead, mourned and unmourned, loved and 
 unloved. 
 
 "I planted one or two pansies on the first 
 one s grave," said Waitstill soberly. "I don t 
 know why we ve never done it before. There 
 are no children to take notice of and remember 
 her; it s the least we can do, and, after all, she 
 belongs to the family." 
 
 "There is no family, and there never was!" 
 suddenly cried Tatty. "Oh! Waity, Wait y, we are 
 so alone, you and I! We ve only each other in 
 all the world, and I m not the least bit of help to 
 you, as you are to me! I m a silly, vain, con 
 ceited, ill-behaved thing, but I will be better, I 
 will! You won t ever give me up, will you, Waity. 
 even if I m not like von? I have n t been good 
 lately!" 
 
 "Hush, Patty, hush!" And Waitstill eame 
 L2S 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 nearer to her sister with a motherly touch of her 
 hand. "I ll not have you say such things; you 
 that are the helpfullest and the lovingest girl 
 that ever was, and the cleverest, too, and the 
 liveliest, and the best company-keeper!" 
 
 "No one thinks so but you!" Patty responded 
 dolefully, although she wiped her eyes as if a bit 
 consoled. 
 
 It is safe to say that Patty would never have 
 given Mark Wilson a second thought had he not 
 taken her to drive on that afternoon in early May. 
 The drive, too, would have quickly fled from her 
 somewhat fickle memory had it not been for the 
 kiss. The kiss was, indeed, a decisive factor in 
 the situation, and had shed a rosy, if somewhat 
 fictitious light of romance over the past three 
 weeks. Perhaps even the kiss, had it never been 
 repeated, might have lapsed into its true per 
 spective, in due course of time, had it not been 
 for the sudden appearance of the stranger in the 
 Wilson pew. The moment that Patty s gaze fell 
 upon that fashionably dressed, instantaneously 
 disliked girl, Marquis Wilson s stock rose twenty 
 points in the market. She ceased, in a jiffy, to 
 weigh and consider and criticize the young man, 
 but regarded him with wholly new eyes. His 
 figure was better than she had realized, his smile 
 more interesting, his manners more attractive, 
 
 124 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 his eyelashes longer; in a word, he had suddenly 
 grown desirable. A month ago she could have 
 observed, with idle and alien curiosity, the spec 
 tacle of his thumb drawing nearer to another 
 (feminine) thumb, on the page of the Watts and 
 Select Hymn book; now, at the morning service, 
 she had wished nothing so much as to put Mark s 
 thumb back into his pocket where it belonged, 
 and slap the girl s thumb smartly and soundly as 
 it deserved. 
 
 The ignorant cause of Patty s distress was a 
 certain Annabel Franklin, the daughter of a 
 cousin of Mrs. \\ ilson s. Mark had stayed at the 
 Franklin house during his three weeks visit in 
 Ho>t on, where he had gone on business for his 
 father. The young people had naturally seen 
 much of each other and Mark s inflammable 
 fancy had been so kindled by Annabel s doll-like 
 charms that he had persuaded her to accompany 
 him to his home and -vf a taste of country life in 
 Maine. Such is man, such is human nature, and 
 such is life, that Mark had no sooner goi the 
 whilom object of h is u flections under his own roof 
 than she beiran to pull. 
 
 Annabel was I went y- three, and to tell the 
 truth she had palled before, more than onee. 
 She was so amiable, so well-finished, with her 
 smooth flaxen hair, her neat nose, her buttonhole 
 
 125 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 of a mouth, and her trig shape, -- that she 
 appealed to the opposite sex quite generally and 
 irresistibly as a worthy helpmate. The only 
 trouble was that she began to bore her suitors 
 somewhat too early in the game, and they never 
 got far enough to propose marriage. Flaws in 
 her apparent perfection appeared from day to 
 day and chilled the growth of the various young 
 loves that had budded so auspiciously. She al 
 ways agreed with everybody and everything in 
 sight, even to the point of changing her mind on 
 the instant, if circumstances seemed to make it 
 advisable. Her instinctive point of view, when 
 she went so far as to hold one, was somewhat cut 
 and dried; in a word, priggish. She kept a young 
 man strictly on his good behavior, that much 
 could be said in her favor; the only criticism that 
 could be made on this estimable trait was that 
 no bold youth was ever tempted to overstep the 
 bounds of discretion when in her presence. No 
 unruly words of love ever rose to his lips; his 
 hand never stole out involuntarily and impru 
 dently to meet her small chilly one; the sight of 
 her waist never even suggested an encircling arm ; 
 and as a fellow never desired to kiss her, she w r as 
 never obliged to warn or rebuke or strike him off 
 her visiting list. Her father had an ample fortune 
 and some one would inevitably turn up who 
 
 126 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 would regard Annabel as an altogether worthy 
 and desirable spouse. That was what she had 
 M emed to Mark Wilson for a full week before he 
 left the Franklin house in Boston, but there were 
 moments now when lie regretted, fugitively, that 
 lie had ever removed her from her proper sphere. 
 She did not seem to fit in to the conditions of life 
 in Edgewood, and it may even be that her most 
 glaring fault had been to describe Pally Baxter s 
 hair at this very Sunday dinner as " carroty, " her 
 dress altogether "dreadful," and her style of 
 beauty "unladylike." Ellen \Yilson s feelings 
 were somewhat injured by these criticisms of her 
 intimate friend, and in discussing the matter 
 privately with her brother he was inclined to 
 agree with her. 
 
 And thus, so little do we know of the prank 
 ish ness of the blind god, thus was Annabel Frank 
 lin working for her rival s best interests; and 
 instead of reviling her in secret, and treating her 
 \\ith dixlain in public, Patty should have wel 
 comed her cordially to all the delights of River- 
 boro society. 
 
XIII 
 
 HAYING -TIME 
 
 EVERYBODY in Riverboro, Edgewood, Milliken s 
 Mills, Spruce Swamp, Duck Pond, and Modera 
 tion was "haying." There was a perfect frenzy 
 of haying, for it was the Monday after the 
 "Fourth," the precise date in July when the 
 Maine farmer said good-bye to repose, and 
 "hayed" desperately and unceasingly, until 
 every spear of green in his section was mowed 
 down and safely under cover. If a man had grass 
 of his own, he cut it, and if he had none, he as 
 sisted in cutting that of some other man, for "to 
 hay," although an unconventional verb, was, and 
 still is, a very active one, and in common circu 
 lation, although not used by the grammarians. 
 
 Whatever your trade, and whatever your pro 
 fession, it counted as naught in good weather. 
 The fish-man stopped selling fish, the meat-man 
 ceased to bring meat; the cobbler, as well as the 
 judge, forsook the bench; and even the doctor 
 made fewer visits than usual. The wage for work 
 in the hay-fields was a high one, and every man, 
 boy, and horse in a village was pressed into 
 service. 
 
 128 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 \Vhcn Ivory Boynton had finished with his 
 own small crop, he commonly went at once to 
 Lawyer \Yilson, who had the largest acreage of 
 hay-land in the township. Ivory was always in 
 great demand, for he was a mighty worker in the 
 field, and a very giant at "pitching," being able 
 to pick up a fair-sized hay-cock at one stroke of 
 the fork and fling it on to the cart as if it were a 
 feather. Lawyer AVilson always took a hand 
 himself if signs of rain appeared, and Mark oc 
 casionally visited the scene of action when a 
 crowd in the field made a general jollification, 
 or when there was an impending thunderstorm. 
 In such cases even women and girls joined the 
 workers and all hands bent together to the task 
 of getting a load into the barn and covering the 
 rest. 
 
 Deacon Baxter was wont to call Mark AYilson 
 a "worthless, whey-faced, lily-handed whelp/ 
 but the description, though picturesque, was 
 decidedly exaggerated. Mark disliked manual 
 labor, but having imbibed enough knowledge of 
 law in his father s office to be an excellent clerk, 
 he much preferred travelling about, settling the 
 details of small cases, collecting rents and bad 
 bills, to any form of work on a farm. This sort of 
 life, on stage-coaches and railway trains, or on 
 long driving trips with his own fast "trotter," 
 
 129 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 suited his adventurous disposition and gave him 
 a sense of importance that was very necessary to 
 his peace of mind. He was not especially inti 
 mate with Ivory Boynton, who studied law with 
 his father during all vacations and in every avail 
 able hour of leisure during term time, as did 
 many another young New England schoolmaster. 
 Mark s father s praise of Ivory s legal ability was 
 a little too warm to please his son, as was the 
 commendation of one of the County Court judges 
 on Ivory s preparation of a brief in a certain case 
 in the Wilson office. Ivory had drawn it up at 
 Mr. Wilson s request, merely to show how far he 
 understood the books and cases he was studying, 
 and he had no idea that it differed in any way 
 from the work of any other student; all the same, 
 Mark s own efforts in a like direction had never 
 received any special mention. When he was in 
 the hay -field he also kept as far as possible from 
 Ivory, because there, too, he felt a superiority 
 that made him, for the moment, a trifle discon 
 tented. It was no particular pleasure for him to 
 see Ivory plunge his fork deep into the heart of a 
 hay-cock, take a firm grasp of the handle, thrust 
 forward his foot to steady himself, and then raise 
 the great fragrant heap slowly, and swing it up 
 to the waiting hay -cart amid the applause of the 
 crowd. Rodman would l>e there, too, helping the 
 
 130 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 man on top of the load and getting nearly buried 
 each time, as the mass descended upon him, but 
 doing his slender best to distribute and tread it 
 down properly, while his young heart glowed with 
 pride at Cousin Ivory s prowess. 
 
 Independence Day had passed, with its usual 
 gay e ties for the young people, in none of which 
 the Baxter family had joined, and now, at eleven 
 o clock on this burning July morning, Waitstill 
 was driving the old mare past the Wilson farm 
 on her way to the river field. Her father was 
 working there, together with the two hired men 
 whom he took on for a fortnight during the height 
 of the season. If mowing, raking, pitching, and 
 railing of the precious crop could only have 
 been done at odd times during the year, or at 
 night, he would not have embittered the month of 
 July by paying out money for labor; but Nature 
 was inexorable in the ripening of hay and Old 
 Foxy was obliged to succumb to the inevitable. 
 Waitstill had a basket packed with luncheon for 
 three and a great demijohn of cool ginger tea 
 under the wagon seat. Other farmers sometimes 
 MTved hard cider, or rum, but her father s prin 
 ciples were dead against this riotous extravn- 
 ice. Temperance, in any and all directions, 
 uas cheap, and the Deacon was a very tempi rate 
 man, save in language. 
 
 131 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 The fields on both sides of the road were full of 
 haymakers and everywhere there was bustle and 
 stir. There would be three or four men, one lead 
 ing, the others following, slowly swinging their way 
 through a noble piece of grass, and the smell of 
 the mown fields in the sunshine was sweeter than 
 honey in the comb. There were patches of black- 
 eyed Susans in the meadows here and there, 
 while pink and white hardhack grew by the road, 
 with day lilies and blossoming milkweed. The 
 bobolinks were fluting from every tree ; there were 
 thrushes in the alder bushes and orioles in the 
 tops of the elms, and Waitstill s heart overflowed 
 with joy at being in such a world of midsummer 
 beauty, though life, during the great heat and 
 incessant work of haying-time, was a little more 
 rigorous than usual. The extra food needed for 
 the hired men always kept her father in a state of 
 mind closely resembling insanity. Coming down 
 stairs to cook breakfast she would find the coffee 
 or tea measured out for the pot. The increased 
 consumption of milk angered him beyond words, 
 because it lessened the supply of butter for sale. 
 Everything that could be made with buttermilk 
 was ordered so to be done, and nothing but water 
 could be used in mixing the raised bread. The 
 corncake must never have an egg; the piecrust 
 must be shortened only with lard, or with a 
 
 132 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 mixture of beef-fat and dripping; and so on, and 
 so on, eternally. 
 
 When the girls were respectively seventeen and 
 thirteen, Waitstill had begged a small plot of 
 ground for them to use as they liked, and begin 
 ning at that time they had gradually made a 
 little garden, with a couple of fruit trees and a 
 thicket of red, white, and black currants, rasp 
 berry and blackberry bushes. For several sum 
 mers now they had sold enough of their own fruit 
 to buy a pair of shoes or gloves, a scarf or a hat, 
 but even this tiny income was beginning to be 
 menaced. The Deacon positively suffered as he 
 looked at that odd corner of earth, not any bigger 
 t han his barn floor, and saw what his girls had done 
 with no tools but a spade and a hoe and no help 
 but their own hands. He had no leisure (so he 
 growled) to cultivate and fertilize ground for 
 small fruits, and no money to pay a man to do it, 
 yet here was food grown under his very eye, and 
 it did not belong tohim! The girls worked in their 
 garden chiefly at sunrise in spring and early sum 
 mer, or after supper in the evening; all the same 
 \Yait Mill had been told by her father the day 
 before that she was not only using ground, but 
 time, that belonged to him, and that he should 
 expect her to provide "pie-filling" out of her 
 garden patch during haying, to help -atiM y the 
 
 193 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 ravenous appetites of that couple of "great, 
 gorming, greedy lubbers" that he was hiring this 
 year. He had stopped the peeling of potatoes 
 before boiling because he disapproved of the 
 thickness of the parings he found in the pig s 
 pail, and he stood over Patty at her work in the 
 kitchen until Waitstill was in daily fear of a 
 tempest of some sort. 
 
 Coming in from the shed one morning she 
 met her father just issuing from the kitchen where 
 Patty was standing like a young Fury in front of 
 the sink. "Father s been spying at the eggshells 
 I settled the coffee with, and said I d no business 
 to leave so much good in the shell when I broke 
 an egg. I will not bear it; he makes me feel fairly 
 murderous ! You d better not leave me alone with 
 him when I m like this. Oh ! I know that I m 
 wicked, but is n t he wicked too, and who was 
 wicked first?" 
 
 Patty s heart had been set on earning and 
 saving enough pennies for a white muslin dress 
 and every day rendered the prospect more un 
 certain; this was a sufficient grievance in itself to 
 keep her temper at the boiling point had there 
 not been various other contributory causes. Wait- 
 still s patience was flagging a trifle, too, under the 
 stress of the hot days and the still hotter, breath 
 less nights. The suspicion crossed her mind now 
 
 134 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and then that her lather s nii>erliness and fits of 
 (en i per niiirht l>e caused by a mental malady over 
 which lie now had little or no control, havi:i- 
 never mastered himself in all his life. Her po\. r 
 of endurance would be greater, she thought, if 
 only she could be certain that this theory was 
 true, though her shivery would be just as galling. 
 
 It would be so easy for her to go away and earn 
 a living; she \\lio had never had a day of illness 
 in her life; she who could sew, knit, spin, weave, 
 and cook. She could make enough money in 
 Hiddeford or Portsmouth to support herself, and 
 Patty, too, until the proper work was found for 
 both. But there would be a truly terrible conflict 
 of wills, and such fierce arraignment of her uniilial 
 conduct, such bitter and caustic argument from 
 her father, such disapproval from the parson and 
 the neighbors, that her very soul shrank from 
 the prospect. If she could go alone, and have no 
 responsibility over Patty s future, that would be 
 a little more possible, but she must think wisely 
 for two. 
 
 And how could she leave Ivory when there 
 mi-hl perhaps come a cri-U in his life where 
 she could be useful to him? How con Id she cut 
 herself off from those Sunday> in the choir, those 
 dear fugitive ^liinpses of him in the road or at 
 
 prayer-meeting? They were only sips of happi- 
 
 185 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 ness, where her thirsty heart yearned for long, 
 deep draughts, but they were immeasurably 
 better than nothing. Freedom from her father s 
 heavy yoke, freedom to work, and read, and sing, 
 and study, and grow, oh ! how she longed for 
 this, but at what a cost would she gain it if she 
 had to harbor the guilty conscience of an unduti- 
 ful and rebellious daughter, and at the same time 
 cut herself off from the sight of the one being she 
 loved best in all the world. 
 
 She felt drawn towards Ivory s mother to-day. 
 Three weeks had passed since her talk with 
 Ivory in the churchyard, but there had been no 
 possibility of an hour s escape from home. She 
 was at liberty this afternoon relatively at 
 liberty; for although her work, as usual, was laid 
 out for her, it could be made up somehow or other 
 before nightfall. She could drive over to the 
 Boynton s place, hitch her horse in the woods 
 near the house, make her visit, yet be in plenty 
 of time to go up to the river field and bring IHT 
 father home to supper. Patty was over at Mrs. 
 Abel Day s, learning a new crochet stitch and 
 helping her to start a log-cabin quilt. Ivory and 
 Rodman, she knew, were both away in the Wilson 
 hay-field; no time would ever be more favorable; 
 so instead of driving up Town-House Hill when she 
 returned to the village she kept on over the bridge. 
 
XIV 
 
 UNCLE BART DISCOURSES 
 
 UNCLE BART and Cephas were taking their noon 
 ing hour under the Nodhead apple tree as Wait- 
 still passed the joiner s shop and went over the 
 
 bridge. 
 
 "Uncle Bart might somehow guess where I am 
 going," she thought, "but even if he did he would 
 never tell any one." 
 
 " \Yhere s Waitstill bound this afternoon, I 
 wonder?" drawled Cephas, rising to his feet and 
 looking after the departing team. "That reminds 
 me, I d better run up to Baxter s and see if any- 
 Ihing s wanted before I open the store." 
 
 "If it makes any dif rence," said his father 
 dryly, as he filled his pipe, "Patty s over to 
 Mis Day s spendin the afternoon. Don t s pose 
 you want to call on the pig, do you? He s the 
 only one to home." 
 
 Cephas made no remark, but gave his trousers 
 a hitch, picked up a chip, opened his jack-knife, 
 and silting down <>n the greensward began idly 
 whittling the bit of wood into shape. 
 
 " I kind o wish you d let me make the new ell 
 
 137 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 two-story, father; t would n t be much work, 
 take it in slack time after hayin ." 
 
 "Land o Liberty! What do you want to do 
 that for, Cephas? You bout pestered the life 
 out o me gittin me to build the ell in the first 
 place, when we did n t need it no more n a toad 
 does a pocketbook. Then nothin would do but 
 you must paint it, though I shan t be able to have 
 the main house painted for another year, so the 
 old wine an the new bottle side by side looks like 
 the Old Driver, an makes us a laughin -stock to 
 the village ; and now you want to change the 
 thing into a two-story! Never heerd such a 
 crazy idee in my life." 
 
 "I want to settle down," insisted Cephas dog 
 gedly. 
 
 " Well, settle; I m willin ! I told you that, afore 
 you painted the ell. Ain t two rooms, fourteen 
 by fourteen, enough for you to settle down in? 
 If they ain t, I guess your mother d give you one 
 o the chambers in the main part." 
 
 " She would if I married Phoebe Day, but I don t 
 want to marry Phoebe, "argued Cephas. "And mo 
 ther s gone and made a summer kitchen for her 
 self out in the ell, a ready. I bet yer she ll never 
 move out if I should want to move in on a sudden." 
 
 "I told you you was takin that risk when you 
 cut a door through from the main part," said his 
 
 138 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 father genially. "If you had n t done that, your 
 mother would a had to gone round outside 
 to git int the ell, and mebbe she d a stayed 
 to home when it stormed, anyhow. Now your 
 wife 11 have her troopin in an out, in an out, 
 the whole durin time." 
 
 "I only cut the door through to please mot her, 
 so t she d favor my gittin married, but I guess t 
 won t do no good. You see, father, what I was 
 tliinkin of is, a girl would mebbe jump at a two- 
 story, four-roomed ell when she would n t look at 
 a smaller place." 
 
 "Pends upon whether the girl s the jumpin 
 kind or not! Had n t you better git everything 
 fixed up with the one you ve picked out, afore 
 you take your good savin s and go to buildin a 
 bigger place for her?" 
 
 44 I ve asked her once a ready," Cephas al 
 lowed, witli a burning face. "I don t s pose you 
 know the one I mean: " 
 
 "No kind of an idee," responded his father, 
 with a quizzical wink that was lost on the young 
 man, a> his eyes were fixed upon his whittling. 
 "Does she belong to the village?" 
 
 "I ain t goin to let folks know who I ve picked 
 out till I git a little mite forran!<T." responded 
 Cephas craftily. "Say, father, it p i all right to ask 
 a girl twice, ain t it?" 
 
 139 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Certain it is, my son. I never heerd there 
 was any special limit to the number o times you 
 could ask em, and their power o sayin No is 
 like the mercy of the Lord; it endureth forever. 
 - You would n t consider a widder, Cephas? A 
 widder d be a good comp ny-keeper for your 
 mother." 
 
 "I hain t put my good savin s into an ell jest to 
 marry a comp ny-keeper for mother," responded 
 Cephas huffily. "I want to be number one with 
 my girl and start right in on trainin her up to 
 suit me." 
 
 "Well, if trainin s your object you d better 
 take my advice an keep it dark before marriage, 
 Cephas. It s astonishin how the female sect 
 despises bein trained; it don t hardly seem to be 
 in their nature to make any changes in emselves 
 after they once gits started." 
 
 "How are you goin to live with em, then?" 
 Cephas inquired, looking up with interest coupled 
 with some incredulity. 
 
 "Let them do the trainin ," responded his 
 father, peacefully puffing out the words with his 
 pipe between his lips. "Some of em s mild and 
 gentle in discipline, like Parson Boone s wife or 
 Mis Timothy Grant, and others is strict and 
 firm like your mother and Mis Abel Day. If 
 you happen to git the first kind, why, do as they 
 
 140 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 tell you, ami thank the Lord t ain t any worse. 
 If you git the second kind, jest let em put the 
 blinders on you and trot as straight as you 
 know how, wilhout shyin , nor kickin over the 
 traces, nor boltin , cause they ve got control 
 o the bit and t ain t no use fightin ag in 
 their superior strength. So fur as you can 
 judge, in the early stages o the game, my son, 
 - which ain t very fur, which kind have you 
 picked out?" 
 
 Cephas whittled on for some moments with 
 out a word, but finally, with a sigh drawn from 
 the very toes of his boots, he responded gloom- 
 ily,- 
 
 "She s awful spunky, the girl is, anybody can 
 see that; but she s a young thing, and I thought 
 bein married would kind o tame her down!" 
 
 "You can see how much marriage has tamed 
 your mother down," observed Uncle Bart dispas 
 sionately; "howsomever, though your mother 
 can t be called tame, she s got her good p ints, for 
 she s always to be counted on. The great thing in 
 life, as I take it, Cephas, is to know exactly what 
 to expect. Your mother s geifally credited with 
 anonsartin temper, but folks does her great in- 
 just ice in so thinkiif , for in a long experience I Ye 
 seldom come across a temper less onsartin than 
 your mother s. You know exactly where to find 
 
 141 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 her every mornin at sun-up and every night at 
 sundown. There ain t nothin you can do to put 
 her out o temper, cause she s all out aforehand. 
 You can jest go about your reg lar business thout 
 any fear of disturbin her any further than she s 
 disturbed a ready, which is consid rable. I don t 
 mind it a mite nowadays, though, after forty 
 years of it. It would kind o gall me to keep a 
 stiddy watch of a female s disposition day by day, 
 wonderin when she was goin to have a tantrum. 
 A tantrum once a year s an awful upsettin kind 
 of a thing in a family, my son, but a tantrum 
 every twenty-four hours is jest part o the day s 
 work." There was a moment s silence during 
 which Uncle Bart puffed his pipe and Cephas 
 whittled, after which the old man continued: 
 "Then, if you happen to marry a temper like 
 your mother s, Cephas, look what a pow ful 
 worker you gen ally get! Look at the way they 
 sweep an dust an scrub an clean! Watch em 
 when they go at the dish-washin , an how they 
 whack the rollin -pin, an maul the eggs, an 
 heave the wood int the stove, an slat the flies 
 out o the house! The mild and gen tie ones, likely 
 enough, will be settin in the kitchen rocker read- 
 in the almanac when there ain t no wood in the 
 kitchen box, no doughnuts in the crock, no pies 
 on the swing shelf in the cellar, an the young 
 
 142 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 ones goin round without a second shift to their 
 Lacks!" 
 
 Cephas s mind was far away during this phil 
 osophical dissertation on the ways of women. He 
 could see only a sunny head fairly rioting with 
 curls; a pair of eyes that held his like magnets, 
 although they never gave him a glance of love; a 
 smile that lighted the world far better than the 
 sun; a dimple into which his heart fell headlong 
 whenever he looked at it ! 
 
 You re right, father; tain t no use kick in 
 ag in em," he said as he rose to his feet prepara 
 tory to opening the Baxter store. "When I said 
 that bout trainiif up a girl to suit me, I kind o 
 forgot the one I ve picked out. I m considerin 
 >everal, but the one I favor most- well, I be 
 lieve she d fire up at the first sight o trainin , 
 and that s the gospel truth." 
 
 "Considerin several, be you, Cephas?" 
 laughed Uncle Bart. "\Vell, all I hope is, that 
 the one you favor most -- the girl you ve asked 
 once a ready -- is considerin you!" 
 
 Cephas went to the pump, and wetting a lar-e 
 handkerchief put it in the crown of his >( raw hat 
 and sauntered out into the burning heat of the 
 open road between hi^ t ather > shop and Deacon 
 Baxter s store. 
 
 "I shan t a>k her the next time till this hot 
 149 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 spell s over," he thought, "and I won t do it in 
 that dodgasted old store ag in, neither; I ain t so 
 tongue-tied outdoors an I kind o think I d l>e 
 more in the sperit of it after sundown, some night 
 after supper!" 
 
XV 
 
 IVORY S MOTHER 
 
 WAITSTILL found a cool and shady place in which 
 to hitch the old mare, loosening her check-rein 
 and putting a sprig of alder in her headstall to 
 assist her in brush ing off the flies. 
 
 One could reach the Boynton house only by 
 going up a long grass-grown lane that led from 
 the high-road. It was a lonely place, and Aaron 
 Boynton had bought it when he moved from 
 Saco, simply because he secured it at a remarkable 
 bargain, the owner having lost his wife and gone 
 to live in Massachusetts. Ivory would have sold 
 it long ago had circumstances been different, for 
 it was at too great a distance from the schoolhouse 
 and from Lawyer Wilson s office to be at all con 
 venient, but he dreaded to remove his mother 
 from the environment to which she was accus 
 tomed, and doubted very much whether she would 
 be able to care for a house to which she had not 
 l>een wonted before her mind became affected. 
 Here in this safe, secluded corner, amid familiar 
 and thoroughly known conditions, she moved 
 placidly about her daily tasks, performing them 
 with the same care and precision that she had 
 
 145 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 used from the beginning of her married life. All 
 the heavy work was done for her by Ivory and 
 Rodman ; the boy in particular being the fleetest- 
 footed, the most willing, and the neatest of help 
 ers; washing dishes, sweeping and dusting, laying 
 the table, as deftly and quietly as a girl. Mrs. 
 Boynton made her own simple dresses of gray 
 calico in summer, or dark linsey-woolsey in winter 
 by the same pattern that she had used when she 
 first came to Edgewood ; in fact there were posi- 
 lively no external changes anywhere to be seen, 
 tragic and terrible as had been those that had 
 wrought havoc in her mind. 
 
 Waitstill s heart beat faster as she neared the 
 Boynton house. She had never so much as seen 
 Ivory s mother for years. How would she be met? 
 Who would begin the conversation, and what 
 direction \vould it take? What if Mrs. Boynton 
 should refuse to talk to her at all? She walked 
 slowly along the lane until she saw a slender, 
 gray-clad figure stooping over a flower-bed in 
 front of the cottage. The woman raised her head 
 with a fawn-like gesture that had something in it 
 of timidity rather than fear, picked some loose 
 bits of green from the ground, and, quietly turn 
 ing her back upon the on-coming stranger, disap 
 peared through the open front door. 
 
 There could be no retreat on her own part now, 
 146 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 thought Wait si ill. She wished for a moment that 
 she had made this first visit under Ivory s pro 
 tection, but her idea had been to gain Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton s confidence and have a quiet friendly talk, 
 such a one as would be impossible in the presence 
 of a third person. Approaching the steps, she 
 called through the doorway in her clear voice: 
 "Ivory asked me to come and see you one day, 
 Mrs. Boynton. I am Waitstill Baxter, the little 
 girl on Town House Hill that you used to know." 
 
 Mrs. Boynton came from an inner room and 
 stood on the threshold. The name "Waitstill" 
 had always had a charm for her ears, from the 
 time she first heard it years ago, until it fell 
 from Ivory s lips this summer; and again it 
 caught her fancy. 
 
 " Waitstill!"* she repeated softly; " Wait- 
 still! 9 Does Ivory know you?" 
 
 "We ve known each other for ever so loin:; 
 ever since we went to the brick school together 
 when we were girl and boy. And when I was a 
 child my stepmother brought me over here once 
 on an errand and Ivory showed me a humming- 
 bird s nest in that lilac bush by the 4 door." 
 
 Mrs. Boynton smiled. "Come and look!" she 
 whimpered. "There is always a humming-bird fl 
 nest in our lilac. How did you remember?" 
 
 The two women approa< -hed the bush and Mrs. 
 147 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Boynton carefully parted the leaves to show the 
 dainty morsel of a home thatched with soft gray- 
 green and lined with down. "The birds have 
 flown now," she said. "They were like little 
 jewels when they darted off in the sunshine." 
 
 Her voice was faint and sweet, as if it came from 
 far away, and her eyes looked, not as if they were 
 seeing you, but seeing something through you. 
 Her pale hair was turned back from her paler 
 face, where the veins showed like blue rivers, and 
 her smile was like the flitting of a moonbeam. 
 She was standing very close to Waitstill, closer 
 than she had been to any woman for many years, 
 and she studied her a little, wistfully, yet courte 
 ously, as if her attention was attracted by some 
 thing fresh and winning. She looked at the color, 
 ebbing and flowing in the girl s cheeks; at her 
 brows and lashes; at her neck, as w r hite as swan s- 
 down; and finally put out her hand with a sudden 
 impulse and touched the knot of wavy bronze 
 hair under the brimmed hat. 
 
 "I had a daughter once," she said. "My second 
 baby was a girl, but she lived only a few weeks. 
 I need her very much, for I am a great care to 
 Ivory. He is son and daughter both, now that 
 Mr. Boynton is away from home. - - You did not 
 see any one in the road as you turned in from the 
 bars, I suppose?" 
 
 148 
 
Tin; STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "No," answered \Vaitslill, surprised and con 
 fused, "but I did n t really notice; I was think 
 ing of a cool place for my horse to stand/ 
 
 M I sit out here in t hese warm afternoons," Mrs. 
 Boynton continued, shading her eyes and looking 
 across the fields, "because I can see so far down 
 1 he lane. I have the supper-table set for my hus- 
 band already, and there is a surprise for him, a 
 saucer of wild strawberries I picked for him this 
 morning. If he does not come, I always take 
 away the plate and cup before Ivory gets here; 
 it seems to make him unhappy." 
 
 "He does n t like it when you are disappointed, 
 I suppose/ Waitstill ventured. "I have brought 
 my knittiiiLT, Mrs. Boynton, so that I needn t 
 keep you idle if you wish to work. May I sit 
 down a few minutes? And here is a cottage cheese 
 for Ivory and Rodman, and a jar of plums for 
 you, preserved from my own garden/ 
 
 Mrs. Boynton s eyes searched the face of this 
 visitor from a world she had almost forgotten 
 and finding nothing but tenderness there, said 
 \viih ju>t a brace of bewilderment: "Thank you, 
 
 yes, do sit down; my workbaskel is just, in>ide 
 1 he door. Take that rocking-chair; I don t have 
 another one out here because I have never been 
 in the habit of seeing visitor-." 
 
 "I hope I am not intruding," stammered 
 149 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Waitstill, seating herself and beginning her knit 
 ting, to see if it would lessen the sense of strain 
 between them. 
 
 "Not at all. I always loved young and beauti 
 ful people, and so did my husband. If he comes 
 while you are here, do not go away, but sit with 
 him while I get his supper. If Elder Cochrane 
 should be with him, you would see two w r onder- 
 ful men. They went away together to do some 
 missionary work in Maine and New Hampshire 
 and perhaps they will come back together. I do not 
 welcome callers because they always ask so many 
 difficult questions, but you are different and have 
 asked me none at all." 
 
 "I should not think of asking questions, Mrs. 
 Boynton." 
 
 "Not that I should mind answering them," 
 continued Ivory s mother, "except that it tires 
 my head very much to think. You must not 
 imagine I am ill; it is only that I have a very bad 
 memory, and when people ask me to remember 
 something, or to give an answer quickly, it con 
 fuses me the more. Even now I have forgotten 
 why you came, and where you live; but I have not 
 forgotten your beautiful name." 
 
 "Ivory thought you might be lonely, and I 
 wanted so much to know you that I could not 
 keep away any longer, for I am lonely and un- 
 
 150 
 
THE STORY OF V\ MT>TILL BAXTER 
 
 liappy too. I am always watching and hoping for 
 what lias never come yet. I have no mother, you 
 have lost your daughter; I thought I thought 
 perhaps we could be a comfort to each other!" 
 And Waitstill rose from her chair and put out 
 her hand to help Mrs. Boynton down the steps, 
 she looked so frail, so transparent, so prematurely 
 aged. "I could not come very often -- but if I 
 could only smooth your hair sometimes when your 
 head aches, or do some cooking for you, or read 
 to you, or any little thing like that* as I would 
 for my own mother if I could, I should be so 
 glad!" 
 
 \\"a it still stood a head higher than Ivory s 
 mother and the glowiijg health of her, the steadi 
 ness of her voice, the warmth of her hand-clasp 
 must have made her seem like a strong refuge to 
 this storm-tossed derelict. The deep furrow be 
 tween Lois Boynton s eyes relaxed a trifle, the 
 blood in her veins ran a little more swiftly under 
 the touch of the young hand that held hers so 
 closely. Suddenly a light came into her face and 
 her lip quivered. 
 
 " IVrhaps I have been remembering wrong all 
 these years," she said. "It is my great trmiUe, 
 remembering wrong. Perhaps my baby did not 
 die as I thought; perhaps she lived and grew 
 up; perhaps" (her pale cheek burned and her 
 
 151 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 eyes shone like stars) "perhaps she has come 
 back!" 
 
 Waitstill could not speak; she put her arm 
 round the trembling figure, holding her as she 
 was wont to hold Patty, and with the same pro 
 tective instinct. The embrace was electric in its 
 effect and set altogether new currents of emotion 
 in circulation. Something in Lois Boynton s 
 perturbed mind seemed to beat its wings against 
 the barriers that had heretofore opposed it, and, 
 freeing itself, mounted into clearer air and went 
 singing to the sky. She rested her cheek on the 
 girl s breast with a little sob. "Oh! let me go on 
 remembering wrong," she sighed, from that safe 
 shelter. " Let me go on remembering wrong! It 
 makes me so happy!" 
 
 Waitstill gently led her to the rocking-chair 
 and sat down beside her on the lowest step, 
 stroking her thin hand. Mrs. Boynton s eyes were 
 closed, her breath came and went quickly, but 
 presently she began to speak hurriedly, as if she 
 were relieving a surcharged heart. 
 
 "There is something troubling me," she began, 
 "and it would ease my mind if I could tell it to 
 some one who could help. Your hand is so warm 
 and so firm! Oh, hold mine closely and let me 
 draw in strength as long as you can spare it; it 
 is flowing, flowing from your hand into mine, 
 
 152 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 flowing like wine. . . . My thoughts at night are 
 not like my thoughts by day, these last weeks. . . . 
 I wake suddenly and feel that my husband has 
 been away a long time and will never come back. 
 . . . Often, at night, too, I am in sore trouble 
 about something else, something I have never 
 told Ivory, the first thing I have ever hidden from 
 my dear son, but I think I could tell you, if only 
 I could be sure about it." 
 
 "Tell me if it will help you; I will try to under 
 stand," said A\ 7 aitstill brokenly. 
 
 "Ivory says Rodman is the child of my dead 
 sister. Some one must have told him so; could it 
 have been I? It haunts me day and night, for 
 unless I am mnrml)<Tiiig wrong again, I never 
 had a sister. I can call to mind neither sister nor 
 brother." 
 
 "You went to New Hampshire one winter," 
 Wai 1st ill reminded her gently, as if she were talk 
 ing to a child. "It was bitter cold for you to 
 take such a hard journey. Your sister died, and 
 you brought her little boy, Rodman, back, but 
 you were so ill that a stranger had to take care 
 of you on the staire-eoaeh and drive you to Kd-<>- 
 wood next day in his own slei.di. It is no wonder 
 you have forgotten somethingof whal happened, 
 f;>r Dr. Perry hardly brought you through the 
 rain fever that followed that journey." 
 
 [58 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "I seem to think, now, that it is not so! "said 
 Mrs. Boynton, opening her eyes and looking at 
 Waitstill despairingly. "I must grope and grope 
 in the dark until I find out what is true, and then 
 tell Ivory. God will punish false speaking! His 
 heart is closed against lies and evil-doing!" 
 
 "He will never punish you if your tired mind 
 remembers wrong," said Waitstill. "He knows, 
 none better, how you have tried to find Him and 
 hold Him, through many a tangled path. I will 
 come as often as I can and we will try to frighten 
 away these worrying thoughts." 
 
 "If you will only come now and then and hold 
 my hand," said Ivory s mother, "hold my 
 hand so that your strength will flow into my weak 
 ness, perhaps I si. Jl puzzle it all out, and God will 
 help me to remember right before I die." 
 
 "Everything that I have power to give away 
 shall be given to you," promised Waitstill. " Now 
 that I know you, and you trust me, you shall 
 never be left so alone again, not for long, at 
 any rate. When I stay away you will remember 
 that I cannot help it, won t you?" 
 
 :< Yes, I shall think of you till I see you again. 
 I shall watch the long lane more than ever now. 
 Ivory sometimes takes the path across the fields, 
 but my dear husband will come by the old road, 
 and now there will be you to look for!" 
 
111.1. MK IF IT WILL MKI.I YOU j I WILL TRY TO 
 
 UNDERSTAND" 
 
XVI 
 
 LOCKED OUT 
 
 AT the Baxters the late supper was over and the 
 girls had not sat at the table with their father, 
 having eaten earlier, by themselves. The hired 
 men had gone home to sleep. Patty had retired 
 to the solitude of her bedroom almost at dusk, 
 quite worn out with the heat, and Waitstill sat 
 under the peach tree in the corner of her own 
 little garden, tatting, and thinking of her inter 
 view with Ivory s mother. She sat there until 
 u early eight o clock, trying vainly to put together 
 the puzzling details of Lois Boynton s conver- 
 sation, wondering whether the perplexities that 
 vexed her mind were real or fancied, but warmed 
 to the heart by the affection that the older woman 
 seemed instinctively to feel for her. " She did not 
 know me, yet she cared for me at once," thought 
 Waitstill tenderly and proudly; "and I for her, 
 too, at the first glance." 
 
 She heard her father lock the barn and shed 
 and knew that he would be going upstairs imme 
 diately, .so she quickly went through the side yard 
 and lifted the latch of the kitchen door. It was 
 fastened. She went to the front door and that, 
 
 155 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 too, was bolted, although it had been standing 
 open all the evening, so that if a breeze should 
 spring up, it might blow through the house. Her 
 father supposed, of course, that she was in bed, 
 and she dreaded to bring him downstairs for fear 
 of his anger; still there was no help for it and she 
 rapped smartly at the side door. There was no 
 answer and she rapped again, vexed with her own 
 carelessness. Patty s face appeared promptly 
 behind her screen of mosquito netting in the 
 second story, but before she could exchange a 
 word with her sister, Deacon Baxter opened the 
 blinds of his bedroom window and put his head 
 out. 
 
 "You can try sleepin outdoors, or in the barn 
 to-night," he called. "I did n t say anything to 
 you at supper-time because I wanted to see where 
 you was intendin to prowl this evenin ." 
 
 "I haven t been * prowling any where, father," 
 answered Waitstill; "I ve been out in the garden 
 cooling off; it s only eight o clock." 
 
 " Well, you can cool off some more," he shouted, 
 his temper now fully aroused; "or go back where 
 you was this afternoon and see if they ll take 
 you in there! I know all about your deceitful 
 tricks! I come home to grind the scythes and 
 found the house and barn empty. Cephas said 
 you d driven up Saco Hill and I took his horse 
 
 156 
 
THE STORY OF W.MTSTILL HAXTLK 
 
 and followed you ami sa\v where you went. 
 Long s you could n t have a feller callin on you 
 here to home, you thought you d call on him, 
 did yer, you bold-faced hu8Sy?" 
 
 "I am nothing of the sort/ the girl answered 
 him quietly; "Ivory Boynton was not at hi 
 house, he was in the hay-field. You know it, ami 
 you know that I knew it. I went to see a sick, 
 unhappy woman who has no neighbors. I ought to 
 have gone long before. J am not ashamed of it, 
 and I don t regret it. If you ask unreasonable 
 things of me, you must expect to be disobeyed 
 once in a while." 
 
 "Must expect to be disobeyed, must I?" the 
 old man cried, his face positively terrifying in its 
 ugliness. "We ll see about that! If you wa n t 
 eallin on a young man, you were callin on a 
 crazy woman, and I won t have it, I tell you, do 
 you hear? I won t have a daughter o mine con- 
 sortin with any o that Boynton crew. Perhaps 
 a night outdoors will teach you who s master 
 in this house, you imperdent, shameless girl! 
 \\V11 try it, anyway !" And with that he handed 
 down the window and disappeared, gibberm.^ 
 ami jabbering impotent words that she could 
 hear hut not understand. 
 
 \Vaitstill was ahmi >l mined by the sudden 
 ness of this catastrophe. She stood with her feet 
 
 157 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 rooted to the earth for several minutes and then 
 walked slowly away out of sight of the house. 
 There was a chair beside the grindstone under 
 the Porter apple tree and she sank into it, crossed 
 her arms on the back, and bowing her head on 
 them, burst into a fit of weeping as tempestuous 
 and passionate as it was silent, for although her 
 body fairly shook with sobs no sound escaped. 
 
 The minutes passed, perhaps an hour; she did 
 not take account of time. The moon went behind 
 clouds, the night grew misty and the stars faded 
 one by one. There would be rain to-morrow and 
 there was a great deal of hay cut, so she thought 
 in a vagrant sort of way. 
 
 Meanwhile Patty upstairs was in a state of 
 suppressed excitement and terror. It w r as a 
 quarter of an hour before her father settled him 
 self in bed; then an age, it seemed to her, before 
 she heard his heavy breathing. When she thought 
 it quite safe, she slipped on a print wrapper, took 
 her shoes in her hand, and crept noiselessly 
 downstairs, out through the kitchen and into the 
 shed. Lifting the heavy bar that held the big 
 doors in place she closed them softly behind her, 
 stepped out, and looked about her in the dark 
 ness. Her quick eye espied in the distance, near 
 the barn, the bowed figure in the chair, and she 
 flew through the wet grass without a thought of 
 
 158 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 her bare feet till she reached her sister s side and 
 held her in a close embrace. 
 
 "My darling, my own, own, poor darling!" 
 she cried softly, the tears running down her 
 cheeks. "How wicked, how unjust to serve my 
 dearest sister so! Don t cry, my blessing, don t 
 cry; you frighten me! I 11 take care of you, dear! 
 Next time I ll interfere; I ll scratch and bite; 
 yes, I ll strangle anybody that dares to shame 
 you and lock you out of the house! You, the 
 dearest, the patientest, the best!" 
 
 \\aitstill wiped her eyes. "Let us go farther 
 away where we can talk," she whispered. 
 
 "Where had we better sleep?" Patty asked. 
 "On the hay, 1 think, though we shall stifle 
 with the heat"; and Patty moved towards the 
 barn. 
 
 "No, you must go back to the house at once, 
 Patty dear; father might wake and call you, and 
 that would make matters worse. It s beginning 
 to dri//le, or I should stay out in the air. Oh! I 
 wonder if father s mind is L^H IILT, and if this is the 
 beginning of the end! If he is in his sober senses, 
 he could not be so strange, so suspicious, so 
 unjtut." 
 
 "He could be anything, say anything, do any 
 thing," exclaimed Patty. "Perhaps he is not 
 responsible and perhaps he is; it doesn t make 
 
 159 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 much difference to us. Come along, blessed dar 
 ling! I 11 tuck you in, and then I 11 creep back to 
 the house, if you say I must. I 11 go down and 
 make the kitchen fire in the morning; you stay 
 out here and see what happens. A good deal will 
 happen, I m thinking, if father speaks to me of 
 you ! I should n t be surprised to see the fur 
 flying in all directions; I 11 seize the first moment 
 to bring you out a cup of coffee and we 11 consult 
 about what to do. I may tell you now, I m all for 
 running away!" 
 
 Waitstill s first burst of wretchedness had sub 
 sided and she had recovered her balance. "I m 
 afraid we must wait a little longer, Patty," she 
 advised. " Don t mention my name to father, but 
 see how he acts in the morning. He was so wild, 
 so unlike himself, that I almost hope he may for 
 get what he said and sleep it off. Yes, we must 
 just wait." 
 
 "No doubt he ll be far calmer in the morning 
 if he remembers that, if he turns you out, he faces 
 the prospect of three meals a day cooked by me," 
 said Patty. "That s what he thinks he would 
 face, but as a matter of fact I shall tell him that 
 where you sleep I sleep, and where you eat I eat, 
 and when you stop cooking I stop! He won t 
 part with two unpaid servants in a hurry, not at 
 the beginning of haying." And Patty, giving 
 
 160 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Waitstill a la>t hug and a dozen tearful kisses, 
 !e reluctantly hack to the house by the same 
 route through which he had left it. 
 
 Patty \\as right. She found the fire lighted 
 when she went down into the kitchen next morn 
 ing, and without a word she hurried breakfa-t 
 on to the table as fast as she could cook and 
 ><Tve it. Waitstill was safe in the barn chamber, 
 she knew, and would be there quietly while her 
 father was feeding the horse and milking the 
 cows; or perhaps she might go up in the woods 
 and wait until she saw him driving away. 
 
 The Deacon ate his break f:ist in silence, looking 
 and acting very much as usual, for he was generally 
 dumb at meals. When he left the house, how 
 ever, and climbed into the wa 1:011, he turned 
 around and said in his ordinary gruff manner: 
 "Bring the lunch up to the field yourself to-day, 
 Patience. Tell your sister I hope she s come to her 
 x uses in the course of the night. You ve got to 
 learn, both of you, that my say-so must be law 
 in this hon>e. You can fuss and you can fume, it 
 it amuses you any, but t won t do no good. Don t 
 encourage Waitstill in any whinin nor blubber- 
 iif . Jest tell her to come in and go to work and 
 I ll overlook what she done this time. And 
 don t you give me any more <-f your eye-Miappin 
 and lip-pout in and head-in-t he-air imperdence! 
 
 161 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 You re under age, and if you don t look out, 
 you ll get something that s good for what ails 
 you ! You two girls jest aid an abet one another, 
 that s what you do, aid an abet one another, an 
 if you carry it any further I 11 find some way 
 o separatin you, do you hear?" 
 
 Patty spoke never a word, nor fluttered an 
 eyelash. She had a proper spirit, but now her 
 heart was cold with a new fear, and she felt, with 
 Waits till, that her father must be obeyed and his 
 temper kept within bounds, until God provided 
 them a way of escape. 
 
 She ran out to the barn chamber, and, not 
 finding Waitstill, looked across the field and saw 
 her coming through the path from the woods. 
 Patty waved her hand, and ran to meet her sis 
 ter, joy at the mere fact of her existence, of being 
 able to see her again, and of hearing her dear 
 voice, almost choking her in its intensity. When 
 they reached the house she helped her upstairs 
 as if she were a child, brought her cool water to 
 wash away the dust of the haymow, laid out 
 some clean clothes for her, and finally put her on 
 the lounge in the darkened sitting-room. 
 
 "I won t let anybody come near the house," 
 she said, "and you must have a cup of tea and 
 a good sleep before I tell you all that father said. 
 Just comfort yourself with the thought that he is 
 
 162 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 going to overlook it this time! After I carry up 
 his luncheon, I shall stop at the store and ask 
 Cephas to come out on the river bank for a few 
 minutes. Then I shall proceed to say what I 
 think of him for telling father where you went 
 yesterday afternoon." 
 
 "Don t blame Cephas!" Waitstill remonstra 
 ted. "Can t you see just how it happened? He 
 and Uncle Bart were sitting in front of the 
 shop when I drove by. When father came home 
 and found the house empty and the horse not in 
 the stall, of course he asked where I was, and 
 Cephas probably said he had seen me drive up 
 Saco Hill. He had no reason to think that there 
 was any harm in that." 
 
 "If he had any sense he might know that he 
 should n t tell anything to father except what 
 happens in the store," Patty insisted. "Were you 
 frightened out in the barn alone last night, poor 
 dear:- 
 
 "I was too unhappy to think of fear and I was 
 chiefly IHTVOUS about you, all alone in the house 
 with father." 
 
 "I didn t like it very much, myself! I but 
 toned my bedroom door aJid sat by the window 
 all night, shivering and bri>tlimr a I the least 
 sound. Everybody calls me a coward, but I m 
 not ! Courage is n t not beini: fn-htenrd ; it s not 
 
 in:; 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 screeching when you are frightened. Now, what 
 happened at the Boyntons ?" 
 
 "Patty, Ivory s mother is the most pathetic 
 creature I ever saw ! " And Waits till sat up on the 
 sofa, her long braids of hair hanging over her 
 shoulders, her pale face showing the traces of her 
 heavy weeping. "I never pitied any one so much 
 in my whole life ! To go up that long, long lane; to 
 come upon that dreary house hidden away in the 
 trees; to feel the loneliness and the silence; and 
 then to know that she is living there like a hermit- 
 thrush in a forest, without a woman to care for 
 her, it is heart-breaking!" 
 
 "How does the house look, dreadful?" 
 
 "No: everything is as neat as wax. She is n t 
 crazy, Patty, as we understand the word. Her 
 mind is beclouded somehow and it almost seems 
 as if the cloud might lift at any moment. She 
 goes about like somebody in a dream, sewing or 
 knitting or cooking. It is only when she talks, 
 and you notice that her eyes really see nothing, 
 but are looking beyond you, that you know there 
 is anything wrong." 
 
 "If she appears so like other people, why don t 
 the neighbors go to see her once in a while?" 
 
 "Callers make her unhappy, she says, and 
 Ivory told me that he dared not encourage any 
 company in the house for fear of exciting her, 
 
 164 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and making her an object of gossip, besides. He 
 knows her ways perfectly and that she is safe 
 and content with her fancies when she is alone, 
 which is seldom, after all." 
 
 "What does she talk about?" asked Patty. 
 
 "Her husband mostly. She is expecting him 
 to come back daily. AVe knew that before, of 
 course, but no one can realize it till they see her 
 setting the table for him and putting a saucer 
 of wild strawberries by his plate; going about the 
 kitchen softly, like a gentle ghost." 
 
 "It gives me the shudders!" said Patty. "I 
 couldn t bear it! If she never sees strangers, 
 what in the world did she make of you? How did 
 you begin?" 
 
 "I told her I had known Ivory ever since we 
 were school children. She was rather strange and 
 indifferent at first, and then she seemed to take a 
 fancy to me." 
 
 That s queer! "said Patty, smiling fondly and 
 giving \YaiM ill s hair the hasty brush of a kiss. 
 
 "She told me she had had a girl baby, horn 
 two or three years after Ivory, and that she had 
 always thought it died when it was a few we< 
 old. Then suddenly she came closer to me - 
 
 "Oh! Waity, weren t you terrified?" 
 
 "No, not in the least. Neither would you have 
 been if yon had been there. She put her 
 
 165 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 round me and all at once I understood that the 
 poor thing mistook me just for a moment for her 
 own daughter come back to life. It was a sudden 
 fancy and I don t think it lasted, but I did n t 
 know how to deal with it, or contradict it, so I 
 simply tried to soothe her and let her ease her 
 heart by talking to me. She said when I left her: 
 * Where is your house? I hope it is near! Do come 
 again and sit with me. Strength flows into my 
 weakness when you hold my hand ! I somehow 
 feel, Patty, that she needs a woman friend even 
 more than a doctor. And now, what am I to do? 
 How can I forsake her; and yet here is this new 
 difficulty with father?" 
 
 "I should n t forsake her; go there when you 
 can, but be more careful about it. You told 
 father that you did n t regret what you had done, 
 and that when he ordered you to do unreason 
 able things, you should disobey him. After all, 
 you are not a black slave. Father will never 
 think of that particular thing again, perhaps, 
 any more than he ever alluded to my driving to 
 Saco with Mrs. Day after you had told him it 
 was necessary for one of us to go there occasion 
 ally. He knows that if he is too hard on us, Dr. 
 Perry or Uncle Bart would take him in hand. 
 They would have done it long ago if we had ever 
 given any one even a hint of what we have to 
 
 166 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 endure. You will be all right, because you only 
 want to do kind, neighborly things. I am the 
 one that will always have to suffer, because I 
 can t prove that it s a Christian duty to deceive 
 father and steal off to a dance or a frolic. Yet I 
 might as well be a nun in a convent for all the 
 fun I get! I want a white book-muslin dress; I 
 want a pair of thin shoes with buckles; I want a 
 white hat with a wreath of yellow roses; I want 
 a volume of Byron s poems; and oh! nobody 
 knows nobody but the Lord could understand 
 - how I want a string of gold beads. 
 
 " Patty, Patty! To hear you chatter anybody 
 would imagine you thought of nothing but fri 
 volities. I wish you would n t do yourself such 
 injustice; even when nobody hears you but me, 
 it is wrong." 
 
 "Sometimes when you think I m talking non 
 sense it s really the gospel truth," said Patty. 
 "Tin not a grand, splendid character, Waitslill, 
 and it s no use your deceiving yourself about me; 
 if you do, you ll be disappointed." 
 
 "Go and parboil the beans and get them into 
 the pot, Patty. Pick up some of t lie windfalls and 
 make a green-apple pie, and I ll be with you in 
 the kitchen myself before long. I never expect to 
 be disappointed in you, Patty, only continually 
 surprise* 1 and pleased." 
 
 167 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKII 
 
 "I thought I d begin making some soft soap 
 to-day," said Patty mischievously, as she left the 
 room. "We have enough grease saved up. We 
 don t really need it yet, but it makes such a dis 
 gusting smell that I d rather like father to have 
 it with his dinner. It s not much of a punishment 
 for our sleepless night." 
 
AUTUMN 
 
XVII 
 
 A BRACE OF LOVERS 
 
 HAYING was over, and the close, sticky dog-days, 
 too, and August was slipping into September. 
 There had been plenty of rain all the season and 
 the countryside was looking as fresh and green as 
 an emerald. The hillsides were already clothed 
 with a verdant growth of new grass and 
 
 "The red pennons of the cardinal flowers 
 Hung motionless upon their upright staves." 
 
 How they gleamed in the meadow grasses and 
 alnnii 1 the brooksides like brilliant flecks of flame, 
 giving a new beauty to the nosegays that 
 Waitstill carried or sent to Mrs. Boynton every 
 week. 
 
 To the eye of the casual observer, life in the 
 two little villages by the river s brink went on as 
 p-acefully as ever, but then- were subtle changes 
 Inking place nevertheless. Cephas Cole had 
 "a.xkrd" the second time and Again had l.een 
 refused by Patty, so that evm a very idiot for 
 hopefulness could not urge his father to put 
 another story on the ell. 
 
 "If il turns out to be Phoebe Day/ thought 
 171 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Cephas dolefully, "two rooms is plenty good 
 enough, an I shan t block up the door that leads 
 from the main part, neither, as I thought likely 
 I should. If so be it s got to be Phoebe, not Patty, 
 I shan t care whether mother troops out n in or 
 not." And Cephas dealt out rice and tea and 
 coffee with so languid an air, and made such fre 
 quent mistakes in weighing the sugar, that he 
 drew upon himself many a sharp rebuke from the 
 Deacon. 
 
 " Of course I d club him over the head with a salt 
 fish twice a day under ord nary circumstances," 
 Cephas confided to his father with a valiant air 
 that he never wore in Deacon Baxter s presence; 
 " but I ve got a reason, known to nobody but my 
 self, for wan tin to stan well with the old man for 
 a spell longer. If ever I quit wantin to stan well 
 with him, he ll get his comeuppance, short an 
 sudden!" 
 
 "Spcakin o standin well with folks, Phil 
 Perry s kind o makin up to Patience Baxter, 
 ain t he, Cephas?" asked Uncle Bart guardedly. 
 "Mebbe you would n t notice it, hevin no p.-ir- 
 tic lar int rest, but your mother s kind o got the 
 idee into her head lately, an she s tumble far- 
 sighted." 
 
 "I guess it s so!" Cephas responded gloomily. 
 "It s nip an tuck tween him an Mark Wilson. 
 
 172 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 That girl draws Viu as molasses does flies! She 
 does it thout liftin a finger, too, no more n the 
 molasses does. She just sets still an / .v / An all 
 the time she s nothin but a flighty little red 
 headed spitfire that don t know a good husband 
 when she sees one. The feller that gits her will 
 live to regret it, that s my opinion ! " And Cephas 
 thought to himself: "Good Lord, don t I wish I 
 was regrettin it this very minute!" 
 
 " I s pose a girl like PI i< el >e Day d be consid able 
 less trouble to live with?" ventured Uncle Bart. 
 
 "I never could take any fancy to that tow hair 
 o hern! I like the color well enough when I m 
 peeling it off a corn cob, but I don t like it on 
 a girl s head," objected Cephas hypercritical ly. 
 "An her eyes hain t got enough blue in em to be 
 blue: they re jest like skim-milk. An she keeps 
 her mouth open a little mite all the time, jest as 
 if there wa n t no good draught through, an she 
 was a-tryin to git air. An t was me that begun 
 callin her * Feeble Phoebe in school, an the 
 scholars ll never forgit it; they d throw it up to 
 me the whole Murin time if I should go to work 
 an keep company with her!" 
 
 " Mebbe they ve forgot by this time," Uncle 
 Bart responded hopefully; "though t is an awful 
 resk when you think <> ( ompanion Tike! Samuel 
 he \\ as baptized and Samuel he continued to be, 
 
 173 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 till he married the Widder Bixby from Water- 
 boro. Bein as how there wa n t nothin partic ly 
 attractive bout him, though he was as nice a 
 feller as ever lived, somebody asked her why 
 she married him, an she said her cat hed jest died 
 an she wanted a companion. The boys never let 
 go o that story! Samuel Pike he ceased to be 
 thirty year ago, an Companion Pike he s re 
 mained up to this instant minute!" 
 
 "He ain t lived up to his name much," re 
 marked Cephas. "He s to home for his meals, but 
 I guess his wife never sees him between times." 
 
 "If the cat hed lived mebbe she d a been 
 better comp ny on the whole," chuckled Uncle 
 Bart. "Companion was allers kind o dreamy 
 an absent-minded from a boy. I remember 
 askin him what his wife s Christian name was 
 (she bein a stranger to Riverboro) an he said he 
 did n t know! Said he called her Mis Bixby 
 afore he married her an Mis Pike afterwards!" 
 
 "Well, there s something tumble queer bout 
 this marryin business,"and Cephas drew a sigh 
 from the heels of his boots. "It seems s if a man 
 hed n t no natcheral drawin towards a girl with a 
 good farm n stock that was willin to have him ! 
 Seems jest as if it set him ag in her somehow! 
 And yet, if you ve got to sing out o the same 
 book with a girl your whole lifetime, it does 
 
 174 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 seem s if you d ought to have a kind of a fancy 
 for her at the start, anyhow!" 
 
 "You may feel dif rent as time goes on, Cephas, 
 an come to see Feeble -- I would say Phoebe - 
 as your mother does. The best fire don t flare up 
 the soonest, you know." But old Uncle Bart saw 
 that his son s heart was heavy and forbore to 
 press the subject. 
 
 Annabel Franklin had returned to Boston 
 after a month s visit and to her surprise had 
 returned as disengaged as she came. Mark 
 Wilson, thoroughly bored by her vacuities of 
 mind, longed now for more intercourse with 
 Patty Baxter, Patty, so gay and unexpected; so 
 lively to talk with, so piquing to the fancy, so 
 skittish and difficult to manage, so temptingly 
 pretty, with a beauty all her own, and never two 
 days alike. 
 
 There were many lions in the way and these 
 only added to the zest of pursuit. With all the 
 other girls of the village opportunities multiplied, 
 but he could scarcely get ten minutes alone with 
 Patty. The Deacon s orders were absolute in 
 regard to young men. His daughters were never 
 to drive or walk alone with thorn, never go to 
 dances or "routs" of any sort, and never reeeive 
 thorn at the house; this last mandate bein^ <juite 
 unnecessary, as no youth in his right mind would 
 
 175 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 have gone a-courtin under the Deacon s forbid 
 ding gaze. And still there were sudden, delicious 
 chances to be seized now and then if one had his 
 eyes open and his wits about him. There was the 
 walk to or from the singing-school, when a senti 
 mental couple could drop a few feet, at least, 
 behind the rest and exchange a word or two in 
 comparative privacy; there were the church 
 "circles" and prayer-meetings, and the intervals 
 between Sunday services when Mark could de 
 tach Patty a moment from the group on the 
 meeting-house steps. More valuable than all 
 these, a complete schedule of Patty s various 
 movements here and there, together w r ith a pro 
 found study of Deacon Baxter s habits, which 
 were ordinarily as punctual as they were dis 
 agreeable, permitted Mark many stolen inter 
 views, as sweet as they were brief. There was 
 never a second kiss, however, in these casual 
 meetings and partings. The first, in springtime, 
 had found Patty a child, surprised, unprepared. 
 She was a woman now; for it does not take 
 years to achieve that miracle; months will do it, 
 or days, or even hours. Her summer s experience 
 with Cephas Cole had wonderfully broadened her 
 powers, giving her an assurance sadly lacking 
 before, as well as a knowledge of detail, a certain 
 finished skill in the management of a lover, which 
 
 176 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 she could ably use on any one who happened to 
 come along. And, at the moment, any one who 
 happened to come along served the purpose 
 admirably, Philip Perry as well as Marquis 
 Wilson; 
 
 Young Perry s interest in Patty, as we have 
 seen, began with his alienation from Ellen Wilson, 
 t lie first object of his affections, and it was not at 
 the outset at all of a sentimental nature. Philip 
 was a pillar of the church, and Ellen had proved 
 so entirely lacking in the religious sense, so self- 
 sat isfied as to her standing with the heavenly 
 powers, that Philip dared not expose himself 
 longer to her society, lest he find himself "un 
 equally yoked together with an unbeliever," thus 
 defying the scriptural admonition as to mar 
 riage. 
 
 Patty, though somewhat lacking in the qualities 
 that go to the making of trustworthy saints, 
 was not, like Ellen, wholly given over to the 
 fleshpots and would prove a valuable convert, 
 Philip thought; one who would reflect great 
 credit upon him it he succeeded in inducing her 
 to subscribe to the .stern cn-cd of the day. 
 
 Philip was a very >lrenuous and slightly 
 gloomy believer, duelling considerably on the 
 wrath of (iod and the doctrine of eternal pun 
 ishment. Then 4 was an old "pennyroyal" hymn 
 
 177 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 much in use which describes the general tenor of 
 his meditation : - 
 
 "My thoughts on awful subjects roll, 
 
 Damnation and the dead. 
 What horrors seize the guilty soul 
 Upon a dying bed." 
 
 (No wonder that Jacob Cochrane s lively songs, 
 cheerful, hopeful, militant, and bracing, fell with 
 a pleasing sound upon the ear of the believer 
 of that epoch.) The love of God had, indeed, 
 entered Philip s soul, but in some mysterious way 
 had been ossified after it got there. He had 
 intensely black hair, dark skin, and a liver that 
 disposed him constitutionally to an ardent belief 
 in the necessity of hell for most of his neighbors, 
 and the hope of spending his own glorious immor 
 tality in a small, properly restricted, and pru 
 dently managed heaven. He was eloquent at 
 prayer-meeting and Patty s only objection to 
 him there was in his disposition to allude to him 
 self as a "rebel worm," with frequent references 
 to his "vile body." Otherwise, and when not 
 engaged in theological discussion, Patty liked 
 Philip very much. His own father, although an 
 orthodox member of the fold in good and regular 
 standing, had "doctored" Phil conscientiously 
 for his liver from his youth up, hoping in time to 
 incite in him a sunnier view of life, for the doctor 
 
 178 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 was somewhat skilled in adapting his remedies to 
 spiritual maladies. Jed Merrill had always said 
 that when old Mrs. Buxton, the champion con 
 vert of Jacob Cochrane, was at her worst, 
 keeping her whole family awake nights by her 
 hysterical fears for their future, Dr. Perry 
 had given her a twelfth of a grain of tartar emetic, 
 five times a day until she had entire mental re 
 lief, and her anxiety concerning the salvation of 
 her husband and children was set completely 
 at rest. 
 
 The good doctor noted with secret pleasure his 
 son s growing fondness for the society of his 
 prime favorite, Miss Patience Baxter. "He ll 
 begin by trying to save her soul," he thought; 
 "Phil always begins that way, but when Patty 
 gets him in hand he 11 remember the existence of 
 his heart, an organ he has never taken into con 
 sideration. A love affair with a pretty girl, good 
 but not too pious, will help Phil considerable, 
 however it turns out." 
 
 There is no doubt but that Phil was taking his 
 chances and that under Patty s tutelage he urafl 
 wing mellower. As for Patty, she was only 
 amusing herself, and frisking, like a young laml>, 
 in pastures where >he had never >t rayed before. 
 Her fancy flew from Mark to Phil and from Phil 
 back to Mark again, for at the moment she \\.t- 
 
 179 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 just a vessel of emotion, ready to empty herself 
 on she knew not what. Temperamentally, she 
 would take advantage of currents rather than 
 steer at any time, and it would be the strongest 
 current that would finally bear her away. Her 
 idea had always been that she could play with 
 fire without burning her own fingers, and that the 
 flames she kindled were so innocent and mild 
 that no one could be harmed by them. She had 
 fancied, up to now, that she could control, urge 
 on, or cool down a man s feeling forever and a 
 day, if she chose, and remain mistress of the 
 situation. Now, after some weeks of weighing 
 and balancing her two swains, she found herself 
 confronting a choice, once and for all. Each of 
 them seemed to be approaching the state of mind 
 where he was likely to say, somewhat violently : 
 :< Take me or leave me, one or the other!" But 
 she did not wish to take them, and still less did 
 she wish to leave them, with no other lover in 
 sight but Cephas Cole, who was almost, though 
 not quite, worse than none. 
 
 If matters, by lack of masculine patience and 
 self-control, did come to a crisis, what should she 
 say definitely to either of her suitors? Her father 
 despised Mark Wilson a trifle more than any 
 young man on the river, and while he could have 
 no objection to Phil Perry s character or position 
 
 180 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL HAXTI 
 
 in the world, his haired f old Dr. Perry amounted 
 to a disease. When the doctor had closed the 
 ey< B oi the third Mrs. Baxter, he had made sonic 
 p ain and unwelcome statements that would 
 rankle in the Deacon s breast as long as he lived. 
 Tally knew, therefore, that the chance of her 
 father s blessing falling upon her union with either 
 of her present lovers was more than uncertain, 
 and of what use was an engagement, if there 
 could not be a mam ; 
 
 If Patty s mind inclined to a somewhat speedy 
 departure from her father s household, she can 
 hardly be blamed, but she felt that she could not 
 carry any of her indecisions and fears to her sister 
 for settlement. Who could look in Wait. still s 
 clear, steadfast eyes and say: <k I can t make up 
 my mind which to marry"? Not Patty. She 
 felt, instinctively, that Waitst ill s heart, if it 
 moved at all, would rush out like a great river 
 to lose itself in the ocean, and losing itself forget 
 the narrow hanks through which it had flowed 
 before. Patty knew that her own love was at t he 
 moment nothing more than the note of a ehild > 
 penny flute, and that Waitstill was perhaps vi 
 brating secretly wilh a deeper, richer mu>ic than 
 could ever come to her. Slill, mu>ic oi BOme sort 
 she meant to feel. "Even if they make me decide 
 one way or another before I *m ready," she said 
 
 181 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 to herself, "I ll never say yes 9 till I m more in 
 love than I am now!" 
 
 There were other reasons why she did not want 
 to ask Waitstill s advice. Not only did she 
 shrink from the loving scrutiny of her sister s 
 eyes, and the gentle probing of her questions, 
 which would fix her own motives on a pin-point 
 and hold them up unbecomingly to the light; but 
 she had a foolish, generous loyalty that urged 
 her to keep Waitstill quite aloof from her own 
 little private perplexities. 
 
 "She will only worry herself sick," thought 
 Patty. "She won t let me marry without asking 
 father s permission, and she d think she ought 
 not to aid me in deceiving him, and the tempest 
 would be twice as dreadful if it fell upon us both! 
 Now, if anything happens, I can tell father that 
 I did it all myself and that Waitstill knew nothing 
 about it whatever. Then, oh, joy! if father is too 
 terrible, I shall be a married woman and I can 
 always say: I will not permit such cruelty! 
 Waitstill is dependent upon you no longer; she 
 shall come at once to my husband and me ! 
 
 This latter phrase almost intoxicated Patty, so 
 that there were moments when she could have 
 run up to Milliken s Mills and purchased herself 
 a husband at any cost, had her slender savings 
 permitted the best in the market; and the more 
 
 182 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 impersonal the husband the more delightedly 
 Patty rolled the phrase under her tongue. 
 
 "I can never be * published in church," she 
 thought, " and perhaps nobody will ever care 
 enough about me to brave father s displeasure 
 and insist on running away with me. I do \vi-h 
 somebody would care frightfully about me, 
 enough for that; enough to help me make up my 
 mind; so that I could just drive up to father s 
 store some day and say: Good afternoon, father! 
 I knew you d never let me marry - (there 
 was always a dash here, in Patty s imaginary 
 discourses, a dash that could be filled in with any 
 Christian name according to her mood of the 
 moment) " so I just married him anyway; and 
 you need n t be angry wi I h my sister, for she knew 
 nothing about it. My husband and I are sorry if 
 you are displeased, but there s no help for it; and 
 my husband s home will always be open to Wait- 
 still, whatever happens." 
 
 Patty, with all her la lent love of finery and 
 ease, did not weigh the worldly circumstances of 
 the two men, though the reflection that she would 
 
 have more amusement with Mark than with 
 Philip may have erossed her mind. She trust e ! 
 Philip, and respeeled ln\ .steady-going, -eri ms 
 view of life; it pleased her vanity, too, t f 1 
 how her nonsense and fun lightened his tempera- 
 
 183 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 mental gravity, playing in and out and over it 
 like a butterfly in a smoke bush. She would be 
 safe with Philip always, but safety had no special 
 charm for one of her age, who had never been in 
 peril. Mark s superior knowledge of the world, 
 moreover, his careless, buoyant manner of carry 
 ing himself, his gay, boyish audacity, all had a 
 very distinct charm for her; and yet - 
 
 But there would be no "and yet" a little later. 
 Patty s heart would blaze quickly enough when 
 sufficient heat was applied to it, and Mark was 
 falling more and more deeply in love every day. 
 As Patty vacillated, his purpose strengthened; 
 the more she weighed, the more he ceased to 
 weigh, the difficulties of the situation; the more 
 she unfolded herself to him, the more he loved 
 and the more he respected her. She began by 
 delighting his senses; she ended by winning all 
 that there was in him, and creating continually 
 the qualities he lacked, after the manner of 
 true women even when they are very young and 
 foolish. 
 
XVIII 
 
 A STATE O MAINE PROPHET 
 
 SUMMER was dying hard, for although it In;- 1 
 passed, by the calendar, Mother Nature was still 
 keeping up her customary attitude. 
 
 There had been a soft rain in the night ai <1 
 every spear of grass was brilliantly green and 
 tipped with crystal. The smoke bushes in the 
 garden plot, and the asparagus bed beyond them, 
 looked misty as the sun rose higher, drying the 
 soaked earth and dripping branches. Spiders 
 webs, marvels of lace, dotted the short grass 
 under the apple trees. Every flower that had a 
 fragrance was pouring it gratefully into the air; 
 every bird with a joyous note in its voice gave it 
 more joyously from a bursting throat; and the 
 river laughed and rippled in the distance at the 
 foot of Town House Hill. Then <ia\vn grew into 
 full morning and streams of blue smoke rose here 
 and there from the Kd ire wood chimneys. The 
 world was alive, and so beautiful that \Vaitstill 
 felt like going down on her knee> in gratitude f< r 
 having been born into it and given a chance of 
 >erving it in any humble \\ ay \\hatx.ever. 
 
 185 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Wherever there was a barn, in Riverboro or 
 Edgewood, one could have heard the three-legged 
 stools being lifted from the pegs, and then would 
 begin the music of the milk-pails; first the reso 
 nant sound of the stream on the bottom of the 
 tin pail, then the soft delicious purring of the 
 cascade into the full bucket, while the cows 
 serenely chewed their cuds and whisked away 
 the flies with swinging tails. 
 
 Deacon Baxter was taking his cows to a pas 
 ture far over the hill, the feed having grown too 
 short in his own fields. Patty was washing dishes 
 in the kitchen and Waitstill was in the dairy- 
 house at the butter-making, one of her chief 
 delights. She worked with speed and with beauti 
 ful sureness, patting, squeezing, rolling the golden 
 mass, like the true artist she was, then turning 
 the sweet-scented waxen balls out of the mould 
 on to the big stone-china platter that stood 
 waiting. She had been up early and for the last 
 hour she had toiled with devouring eagerness 
 that she might have a little time to herself. It 
 was hers now, for Patty would be busy with 
 the beds after she finished the dishes, so she 
 drew a folded paper from her pocket, the first 
 communication she had ever received in Ivory s 
 handwriting, and sat down to read it. 
 
 186 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 MY DEAR WAITSTILL: 
 
 Rodman will take this packet and leave it with you 
 when he finds opportunity. It is not in any real sense a 
 letter, so I am in no danger of incurring your father s dis 
 pleasure. You will probably have heard new rumors con 
 cerning my father during the past few days, for Peter 
 Morrill has been to Enfield, New Hampshire, where he says 
 letters have been received stating that my father died in 
 Cortland, Ohio, more than five years ago. I shall do what I 
 can to substantiate this fresh report as I have always done 
 with all the previous ones, but I have little hope of securing 
 reliable information at this distance, and after this length 
 of time. I do not know \\ lien I can ever start on a personal 
 quest myself, for even had I the money I could not leave 
 home until Rodman is much older, and fitted for greater 
 responsibility. Oh! Waitstill, how you have helped my 
 poor, dear mother! Would that I w r ere free to tell you how 
 I value your friendship! It is something more than mere 
 friendship! What you are doing is like throwing a life-line 
 to a sinking human being. Two or three times, of late. 
 mother has forgotten to set out the supper things for my 
 father. Her ten years incessant waiting for him seems to 
 have subsided a little, and in its place she watches for you. 
 [Ivory had written "watches for her daughter" but care 
 fully erased the last two words.] You come but seldom, 
 but her heart feeds on the sight of you. What she needed, 
 it .semis, was the magical touch of youth and health and 
 strength and sympathy, the qualities you possess in su< h 
 great measure. 
 
 If I had proof of my father s death I think now, perhaps, 
 
 187 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 that I might try to break it gently to my mother, as if it 
 were fresh news, and see if possibly I might thus remove 
 her principal hallucination. You see now, do you not, how 
 sane she is in many, indeed in most ways, how sweet 
 and lovable, even how sensible? 
 
 To help you better to understand the influence that has 
 robbed me of both father and mother and made me and 
 mine the subject of town and tavern gossip for years past, 
 I hare written for you just a sketch of the "Cochrane 
 craze"; the romantic story of a man who swayed the wills 
 of his fellow-creatures in a truly marvellous manner. Some 
 local historian of his time will doubtless give him more 
 space; my wish is to have you know something more of the 
 circumstances that have made me a prisoner in life instead 
 of a free man; but prisoner as I am at the moment, I am 
 sustained just now by a new courage. I read in my copy of 
 Ovid last night: "The best of weapons is the undaunted 
 heart." This will help you, too, in your hard life, for yours 
 is the most undaunted heart in all the world. 
 
 IVORY BOYNTON. 
 
 The chronicle of Jacob Cochrane s career in 
 the little villages near the Saco River has no such 
 interest for the general reader as it had for Wait- 
 still Baxter. She hung upon every word that 
 Ivory had written and realized more clearly than 
 ever before the shadow that had followed him 
 since early boyhood; the same shadow that had 
 fallen across his mother s mind and left. continual 
 twilight there. 
 
 188 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTII.L BAXTER 
 
 No one really knew, it seemed, why or from 
 whence Jacob Cochrane had come to Edgewood. 
 He simply appeared at the old tavern, a stranger, 
 with satchel in hand, to seek entertainment. 
 Uncle Bart had often described this scene to 
 \\aitstill, for he was one of those sitting about 
 the great open fire at the time. The man easily 
 slipped into the group and soon took the lead in 
 conversation, delighting all with his agreeable 
 personality, his nimble tongue and graceful 
 >P "ech. At supper-time the hostess and the rest 
 of the family took their places at the long table, 
 as was the custom, and he astonished them by 
 hi> knowledge not only of town history, but of vil 
 lage matters they had supposed unknown to any 
 one. 
 
 When the stranger had finished his supper and 
 returned to the bar-room, he had to pass through 
 a long entry, and the landlady, whispering to her 
 daughter, said: - 
 
 "Betsy, you go up to the chamber closet and 
 get the silver and bring it down. This man is 
 going to sleep there and 1 am afraid of him. He 
 must be a fortune-teller, and the Lord only knov, s 
 what else!" 
 
 In going to the chamber the daughter had to 
 pasfl through the bar-room. As she was moving 
 quietly through, hoping to escape the notice of 
 
 189 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 the newcomer, he turned in his chair, and looking 
 her full in the face, suddenly said: - 
 
 "Madam, you needn t touch your silver. I 
 don t want it. I am a gentleman." 
 
 AVhereupon the bewildered Betsy scuttled back 
 to her mother and told her the strange guest was 
 indeed a fortune-teller. 
 
 Of Cochrane s initial appearance a.i a preacher 
 Ivory had told Waitstill in their talk in the 
 churchyard early in the summer. It was at a 
 child s funeral that the new prophet created 
 his first sensation and there, too, that Aaron and 
 Lois Boynton first came under his spell. The 
 whole countryside had been just then wrought 
 up to a state of religious excitement by revival 
 meetings and Cochrane gained the benefit of this 
 definite preparation for his work. He claimed 
 that all his sayings were from divine inspiration 
 and that those who embraced his doctrine re 
 ceived direct communication from the Almighty. 
 Pie disdained formal creeds and all manner of 
 church organizations, declaring sectarian names 
 to be marks of the beast and all church members 
 to be in Babylon. He introduced re-baptism as a 
 symbolic cleansing from sectarian stains, and 
 after some months advanced a proposition that 
 his flock hold all things in common. He put a 
 sudden end to the solemn "deaconing-out" and 
 
 190 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 droning of psalm tunes and grafted on to his form 
 of worship lively sinking and marching accom 
 panied by clapping of hands and whirling in cir 
 cles; during the progress of which the most hys 
 terical converts, or the most fully "Cochranized," 
 would swoon upon the floor; or, in obeying their 
 loader s instructions to "become as little chil 
 dren," would sometimes go through the most ex 
 traordinary and unmeaning antics. 
 
 It was not until he had converted hundreds to 
 the new faith that he added more startling revela 
 tions to his gospel. He was in turn bold, mysti 
 cal, eloquent, audacious, persuasive, autocratic; 
 and even when his self-styled "communications 
 from the Almighty 9 controverted all that his 
 hearers had formerly held to be right, he still 
 magnet i/ed or hypnoti/ed them into an unwilling 
 assent to hi> beliefs. There was finally a proclama- 
 lion to the etl rel that marriage vows were to be 
 annulled when advisable and that complete spirit 
 ual liberty was to follow; a liberty in which a new 
 aliinity might be sought, ami a spiritual union 
 begun upon earth, a union as nearly approximate 
 to God s standards as faulty human beings could 
 manau r to attain. 
 
 Some of the faithful fell away at this time, 
 being unable to aeeept the full doctrine, but 
 retained their faith in Cochrane s original power 
 
 191 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTEI: 
 
 to convert sinners and save them from the wrath 
 of God. Storm-clouds began to gather in the sky, 
 however, as the delusion spread, month by month, 
 and local ministers everywhere sought to mini 
 mize the influence of the dangerous orator, who 
 rose superior to every attack and carried himself 
 like some magnificent martyr-at-will among the 
 crowds that now criticized him here or there in 
 private and in public. 
 
 "What a picture of splendid audacity he must 
 have been," wrote Ivory, "when he entered the 
 orthodox meeting-house at a huge gathering 
 where he knew that the speakers were to de 
 nounce his teachings. Old Parson Buzzell gave 
 out his text from the high pulpit: Mark xm, 37, 
 4 A nd what I say unto you I say unto all, watch ! 
 Just here Cochrane stepped in at the open door 
 of the church and heard the warning, meant, he 
 knew, for himself, and seizing the moment of 
 silence following the reading of the text, he cried 
 in his splendid sonorous voice, without so much 
 as stirring from his place within the door-frame: 
 " Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any 
 man hear my voice I will come in to him and will 
 sup with him, I come to preach the everlasting 
 gospel to every one that heareth, and all that I 
 want here is my bigness on the floor/ 
 
 "I cannot find," continued Ivory on another 
 192 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 . " th;i( my father or mother ever engaged in 
 any of the foolish and childish practices which 
 disgraced the meetings of some of Cochrane s 
 most fanatical followers and converts. By my 
 mother s conversations (some of which I have 
 repeated to you, hut which may he full of errors, 
 because of her confusion of mind), I believe she 
 must have had a difference of opinion with my 
 father on some of these views, but I have no 
 means of knowing this to a certainty; nor do I 
 know that the question of * choosing spiritual con 
 sorts ever came between or divided them. This 
 part of the delusion always fills me with such 
 unspeakable disgu-f that I have never liked to 
 seek additional light from any of the older men 
 and women v. ho might revel in giving it. That 
 my mother did not sympathize with my father s 
 going out to preach ( oehrane s gospel through 
 the country, this I know, and she was so truly 
 religious, so burning with xeal, that had she fully 
 believed in my father s mission she 4 would have 
 spurred him on, instead of endeavoring to detain 
 him." 
 
 You know the retribution that overtook 
 Cochrane at last," wrote Ivory again, when he 
 had shown the man s early victories and his 
 enormous influence. "There began to be indig 
 nant protests against his doctrines by lawvers 
 
 193 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and doctors, as well as by ministers; not from all 
 sides, however; for remember, in extenuation of 
 my father s and my mother s espousal of this 
 strange belief, that many of the strongest and 
 wisest men, as well as the purest and finest 
 women in York County came under this man s 
 spell for a time and believed in him implicitly, 
 some of them even unto the end. 
 
 " Finally there was Cochrane s arrest and 
 examination, the order for him to appear at the 
 Supreme Court, his failure to do so, his recap 
 ture and trial, and his sentence of four years 
 imprisonment on several counts, in all of which 
 he was proved guilty. Cochrane had all along 
 said that the Anointed of the Lord would never 
 be allowed to remain in jail, but he was mistaken, 
 for he stayed in the State s Prison at Charles- 
 town, Massachusetts, for the full duration of his 
 sentence. Here (I am again trying to plead the 
 cause of my father and mother) , here he received 
 much sympathy and some few visitors, one of 
 whom walked all the way from Edge wood to 
 Boston, a hundred and fifteen miles, with a peti 
 tion for pardon, a petition which was delivered, 
 and refused, at the Boston State House. Coch 
 rane issued from prison a broken and humiliated 
 man, but if report says true, is still living, far out of 
 sight and knowledge, somewhere in New Hamp- 
 
 194 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 shire. He once sent my father an epitaph of his 
 own selection, asking him to have it carved upon 
 his gravestone should he die suddenly when away 
 from his friends. My mother often repeats it, not 
 realizing how far from the point it sounds to us 
 who never knew him in his glory, but only in his 
 downfall. 
 
 " He spread his arms full wide abroad, 
 His works are ever before his God, 
 His name on earth shall long remain, 
 Though envious sinners fret in vain. 
 
 "We are certain," concluded Ivory, "that my 
 father preached with Cochrane in Limington, 
 Limerick, and Parsonsfield; he also wrote from 
 Knfield and Effingham in New Hampshire; after 
 that, all is silence. Various reports place him in 
 Boston, in New York, even as far west as Ohio, 
 whether as Cochranite evangelist or what not, 
 ala>! we can never know. I despair of ever trac 
 ing his steps. I only hope that he died before he 
 wandered too widely, either from his belief in 
 (i<>d or his fidelity to my mother s long-suffering 
 love." 
 
 Waitstill read tin* letter twice through and 
 
 replaced it in her dress to rend au r ain at night. It 
 
 incd the only taiiLriMe evidence of Ivory s love 
 
 that >he had ever received and she warmed her 
 
 195 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 heart with what she felt that he had put between 
 the lines. 
 
 " Would that I were free to tell you how I value 
 your friendship!" "My mother s heart feeds on 
 the sight of you!" "I want you to know some 
 thing of the circumstances that have made me a 
 prisoner in life, instead of a free man." "Yours 
 is the most undaunted heart in all the world!" 
 These sentences Waitstill rehearsed again and 
 again and they rang in her ears like music, con 
 verting all the tasks of her long day into a deep 
 and silent joy. 
 
XIX 
 
 AT THE BRICK STORE 
 
 THERE were two grand places for gossip in the 
 community; the old tavern on the Edgewood side 
 of the bridge and the brick store in Riverboro. 
 The company at the Kdgewood Tavern would be 
 a trifle different in character, more picturesque, 
 imposing, and eclectic because of the transient 
 guests that gave it change and variety. Hen* 
 might be found a judge or a lawyer on his wry to 
 court; a sheriff with a handcuffed prisoner; a 
 farmer or two, stopping on the road to market 
 with a cartful of produce; and an occasional 
 teamster, peddler, and stage-driver. On winter 
 nights champion story-tellers like Jed Morrill 
 and Hi>h Hixby would drop in there and hang 
 their woollen neck-comforters on the pegs along 
 the wall-side, where there were already hats, top- 
 coats, and fur muiller-. aa well U Btackfl "f \\ hip-, 
 canes, and ox-goads standing in the corners. They 
 would then enter the room, rubbing their hands 
 nally, and, nodding to Companion Pike, (Yphas 
 Cole, Phil Terry and other-, <-n>conce themselves 
 Muigly in the group by the great open fireplace. 
 The landlord was alway- -lad to see them enter, 
 
 197 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 for their stories, though old to him, were new to 
 many of the assembled company and had a 
 remarkable effect on the consumption of liquid 
 refreshment. 
 
 On summer evenings gossip was languid in the 
 village, and if any occurred at all it would be on 
 the loafer s bench at one or the other side of the 
 bridge. When cooler weather came the group of 
 local wits gathered in Riverboro, either at Uncle 
 Bart s joiner s shop or at the brick store, accord 
 ing to fancy. The latter place was perhaps the 
 favorite for Riverboro talkers. It was a large, 
 two-story, square, brick building with a big- 
 mouthed chimney and an open fire. When every 
 house in the two villages had six feet of snow 
 around it, roads would always be broken to 
 the brick store, and a crowd of ten or fifteen 
 men would be gathered there talking, listening, 
 betting, smoking, chewing, bragging, playing 
 checkers, singing, and "swapping stories." 
 
 Some of the men had been through the War of 
 1812 and could display wounds received on the 
 field of valor ; others were still prouder of scars won 
 in encounters with the Indians, and I IKMV was one 
 old codger, a Revolutionary veteran, Bill Dunham 
 by name, who would add bloody tales of his 
 encounters with the "Husshons." His courage 
 had been so extraordinary and his slaughter so 
 
 198 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 colossal that his hearers marvelled that there was 
 a Hessian left to tell his side of the story, and Bill 
 himself doubted if such were the case. 
 
 " T is an awful sin to have on your soul," Bill 
 would say from his place in a dark corner, where 
 he would sit with his hat pulled down over his 
 eyes till the psychological moment came for the 
 "Husshons" to be trotted out. " T is an awful 
 sin to have on your soul, the extummination of 
 a race o men; even if they wa n t nothin more n 
 so many ignorant cockroaches. Them was the 
 great days for fightin ! The Husshons was the 
 biggest men I ever seen on the field, most of em 
 standin six feet eight in their stockin s, - - but 
 Lord! how we walloped em! Once we had a 
 cannon mounted an loaded for em that was so 
 large we had to draw the ball into it with a yoke 
 of oxen!" 
 
 Bill paused from force of habit, just as he had 
 paused for the last twenty years. There had 
 been times when roars of incredulous laughter 
 had Creeled t his boast, but most of this particular 
 group had heard the yarn more than once and 
 let it pass with a smile and a wink, remembering 
 I he night that Abel Day had asked old Bill how 
 they got the oxen out of the cannon on that most 
 memorable occasion. 
 
 "Oh!" said Bill, "that was easy enough; wo 
 199 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 jest unyoked em an turned em out o the prim- 
 in -hole!" 
 
 It was only early October, but there had been 
 a killing frost, and Ezra Simms, who kept the 
 brick store, flung some shavings and small wood 
 on the hearth and lighted a blaze, just to induce 
 a little trade and start conversation on what 
 threatened to be a dull evening. Peter Morrill, 
 Jed s eldest brother, had lately returned from a 
 long trip through the state and into New Hamp 
 shire, and his adventures by field and flood were 
 always worth listening to. He went about the 
 country mending clocks, and many an old time 
 piece still bears his name, with the date of re 
 pairing, written in pencil on the inside of its door. 
 
 There was never any lack of subjects at the 
 brick store, the idiosyncracies of the neighbors 
 being the most prolific source of anecdote and 
 comment. Of scandal about women there was 
 little, though there would be occasional harmless 
 pleasantries concerning village love affairs; 
 prophecies of what couple would be next "pub 
 lished" in the black-walnut frame up at the 
 meeting-house; a genial comment on the number 
 and chances of Patience Baxter s various beaux; 
 and whenever all else failed, the latest story of 
 Deacon Baxter s parsimony, in which the village 
 traced the influence of heredity. 
 
 200 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 44 He can t hardly help it, inheritirT it on both 
 sides," was Abel Day s opinion. "The Baxters 
 was allers snug, from time memorial, and Foxy s 
 the snuggest of em. When I look at his ugly mug 
 an* hear his snarlin voice, I thinks to myself, 
 he s goin the same way his father did. When old 
 Levi Baxter was left a widder-man in that house 
 o his n up river, he grew wuss an wuss, if you 
 remember, till he wa n t hardly human at the 
 last ; and I don t believe Foxy even went up to 
 his own father s funeral." 
 
 44 T would V served old Levi right if nobody 
 else had gone," said Rish Bixby. " W hen his wife 
 died he refused to come into the house till the last 
 minute. He stayed to work in the barn until all 
 the folks had assembled, and even the men were 
 all settin down on benches in the kitchen. The 
 parson sent me out for him, and I m blest if the 
 old skunk did n t come in through the crowd with 
 his sleeves rolled up, --went to the sink and 
 washed, and then set down in the room where the 
 coffin was, as cool as a cowcumber. " 
 
 "I remember that funeral well," corroborated 
 Abel Day. 44 An Mis Day heerd Levi say to his 
 daughter, as soon as they d put poor old Mrs. 
 Baxter int I he irrave: Come on, Marthy; there s 
 no use cryin over spilt milk; we d better go 
 home an husk out the rest o that corn. Old 
 
 201 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Foxy could have inherited plenty o meanness 
 from his father, that s certain, an he s added to 
 his inheritance right along, like the thrifty man 
 he is. I hate to think o them two fine girls wear- 
 in their fingers to the bone for his benefit." 
 
 "Oh, well! t won t last forever," said Rish 
 Bixby. :< They re the han somest couple o girls 
 on the river an they 11 get husbands afore many 
 years. Patience 11 have one pretty soon, by the 
 looks. She never budges an inch but Mark Wil 
 son or Phil Perry are follerin behind,with Cephas 
 Cole watchin his chance right along, too. Wait- 
 still don t seem to have no beaux; what with 
 flyin around to keep up with the Deacon, an* 
 bein a mother to Patience, her hands is full, I 
 guess." 
 
 "If things was a little mite dif rent all round, 
 I could prognosticate who Waitstill could keep 
 house for," was Peter Merrill s opinion. 
 
 "You mean Ivory Boynton? Well, if the Dea 
 con was asked he d never give his consent, that s 
 certain; an Ivory ain t in no position to keep 
 a wife anyways. What was it you heerd bout 
 Aaron Boynton up to New Hampshire, Peter?" 
 asked Abel Day. 
 
 "Consid able, one way an another; an none 
 of it would a been any comfort to Ivory. I guess 
 Aaron n Jake Cochrane was both of em more 
 
 202 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 interested in savin* the sisters souls than the 
 brothers ! Aaron was a fine-appear in man, and 
 so was Jake for that matter, n they both had 
 the gift o gab. There s nothin like a limber 
 tongue if you want to please the women-folks! 
 If report says true, Aaron died of a fever out in 
 Ohio somewheres; Cortland s the place, I b lieve. 
 Seems s if he hid his trail all the way from New 
 Hampshire somehow, for as a usual thing, a man 
 o book-larnin like him would be remembered 
 wherever he went. Wouldn t you call Aaron 
 Boynton a tumble larned man, Timothy?" 
 
 Timothy Grant, (lie parish clerk, had just 
 entered the store on an errand, but being direetly 
 addressed, and judging that the subject under 
 discussion was a discreet one, and that it was too 
 early in the evening for drinking to begin, he 
 joined the group by the fireside. He had preached 
 in Vermont for several years as an itinerant 
 Methodist minister before settling down to farm 
 ing in Edge wood, only giving up hi^ profession 
 because his quiver was so full of little (irants that 
 a wandering life was difficult and undesirable. 
 When Uncle Hart Cole had remarked that M > 
 Grant had a little of everything in the way of 
 baby-stock now, black, red. an yaller-haire l. 
 dark and light complected, fat an lean, tall 
 an short, twins an Mii- lr-. J-v! Morri!! l:al 
 
 203 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 observed dryly : " Yes, Mis Grant kind o reminds 
 me of charity." 
 
 "How s that?" inquired Uncle Bart. 
 
 "She beareth all things," chuckled Jed. 
 
 "Aaron Boynton was, indeed, a man of most 
 adhesive larnin ," agreed Timothy, who had the 
 reputation of the largest and most unusual vo 
 cabulary in Edgewood. "Next to Jacob Cochrane 
 I should say Aaron had more grandeloquence as 
 an orator than any man we Ve ever had in these 
 parts. It don t seem s if Ivory was goin to take 
 after his father that way. The little feller, now, is 
 smart s a whip, an could talk the tail off a brass 
 monkey." 
 
 ;< Yes, but Rodman ain t no kin to the Boyn- 
 tons," Abel reminded him. "He inhails from the 
 other side o the house." 
 
 That s so; well Ivory does, for certain, an 
 takes after his mother, right enough, for she 
 hain t spoken a dozen words in as many years, I 
 guess. Ivory s got a sight o book-knowledge, 
 though, an they do say he could talk Greek an 
 Latin both, if we had any of em in the com 
 munity to converse with. I ve never paid no 
 intention to the dead languages, bein so ocker- 
 pied with other studies." 
 
 " Why do they call em the dead languages, 
 Tim?" asked Rish Bixby. 
 
 204 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 " Because all them that ever spoke em has 
 perished off the face o the land," Timothy 
 answered oracularly. "Dead an gone they be, 
 lock, stock, an barrel ; yet there was a time when 
 Latins an Cru>taeeans an Hebrews an Proosh- 
 iaus an Australians an Simesians was chatterin 
 away in their own tongues, an so pow ful that 
 they was wallopin the whole earth, you might 
 say." 
 
 "I bet yer they never tried to wallop these 
 here United States," interpolated Bill Dunham 
 from the dark corner by the molasses hogs 
 head. 
 
 "Is Ivory in here?" The door opened and 
 Rodman Boynton appeared on the threshold. 
 
 "No, sonny, Ivory ain t been in this evenin ," 
 replied Ezra Simms. "I hope there ain t nothin 
 the matter over to your house?" 
 
 "No, nothing particular," the boy answered 
 hesitatingly; "only Aunt Boynton don t seem 
 so well as common and I can t find Ivory any- 
 when -." 
 
 "Come along with me; I ll help you look for 
 him an then I ll go as fur as the lane with \<T 
 if we don t find him." And kindly Push Hixby 
 took the boy s hand and left the store. 
 
 "Mis Boynton s had a spell, I guess!" sug 
 gested the storekeeper, peering through the door 
 
 205 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 into the darkness. " T ain t like Ivory to be out 
 nights and leave her to Rod." 
 
 "She don t have no spells," said Abel Day. 
 "Uncle Bart sees consid able of Ivory an he says 
 his mother is as quiet as a lamb. Could n t 
 you git no kind of a certif cate of Aaron s death 
 out o that Enfield feller, Peter? Seems s if that 
 poor woman d oughter be stopped watchin for a 
 dead man; tuckerin herself all out, an keepin 
 Ivory an the boy all nerved up." 
 
 "I ve told Ivory everything I could gether up 
 in the way of information, and give him the names 
 of the folks in Ohio that had writ back to New 
 Hampshire. I did n t dialate on Aaron s goin s- 
 on in Effingham an Portsmouth, cause I dassay 
 t was nothin but scandal. Them as hates the 
 Cochranites 11 never allow there s any good in 
 em, whereas I ve met some as is servin the Lord 
 good an constant, an indulgin in no kind of fool 
 ishness an deviltry whatsoever." 
 
 "Speakin o Husshons," said Bill Dunham 
 from his corner, "I remember - 
 
 "We wa n t alludin to no Husshons," retorted 
 Timothy Grant. "We was dealin with the mis 
 fortunes of Aaron Boynton, who never fit valor- 
 iously on the field o battle, but perished out in 
 Ohio of scarlit fever, if what they say in Enfield 
 is true." 
 
 206 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 "Tis an easy death," remarked Bill argu- 
 mentatively. "Scarlit fever don t seem like 
 nothin to me! Many s the time IVe been close 
 enough to fire at the eyeball of a Husshon, an 
 run the resk o bein blown to smithereens! - 
 calm and cool I allers was, too! Scarlit fever is 
 an easy death from a warrior s p int o view ! " 
 
 "Speakin of easy death," continued Timothy, 
 "you know I m a great one for words, bein some 
 thing of a scholard in my small way. Mebbe 
 you noticed that Elder Boone used a strange 
 word in his sermon last Sunday? Now an then, 
 when there s too many yawnin to once in the 
 congregation, Parson 11 out with a reg lar jaw 
 breaker to wake em up. The word as near as I 
 could ketch it was youthinasia/ I kep holt of 
 it till noontime an then I run home an looked 
 1 1m muli all them s in the dictionary without findin 
 it. Mebbe it s Hebrew, I thinks, for Hebrew s 
 like his mother s tongue to Parson, so I went rigli t 
 up to him at afternoon meelin an says to him: 
 * What s the exact meanin of "youthinasia "t 
 Then ain t noseeli word in the// s in my Webster/ 
 says I. * Look in them s, Timothy; "euthanasia," 
 says he, means easy death ; aif now, don t it 
 beat all that Bill Dunham should have brought 
 that expression of * easy death into this evenin s 
 talk?" 
 
 207 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "I know youth an I know Ashy/ said Abel 
 Day, "but blessed if I know why they should 
 mean easy death when they yoke em together." 
 
 :< That s because you ain t never paid no 
 tention to entomology," said Timothy. "Aaron 
 Boynton was master o more ologies than you 
 could shake a stick at, but he used to say I beat 
 him on entomology. Words air cur ous things 
 sometimes, as I know, hevin had consid able 
 leisure time to read when I was joggin bout the 
 country an bein brought into con tack with men 
 o learnin . The way I worked it out, not wishin 
 to ask Parson any more questions, bein some 
 thing of a scholard myself, is this: The youth in 
 Ashy is a peculiar kind o youth, n their religion 
 disposes em to lay no kind o stress on huming 
 life. When anything goes wrong with em an 
 they get a set-back in war, or business, or affairs 
 with women-folks, they want to die right off; so 
 they take a sword an stan it straight up 
 wherever they happen to be, in the shed or the 
 barn, or the henhouse, an they p int the slurp 
 end right to their waist-line, where the bowels an* 
 other vital organisms is lowcated; an then they 
 fall on to it. It runs em right through to the back 
 an kills em like a shot, and that s the way I 
 cal late the youth in Ashy dies, if my entomology 
 is correct, as it gen ally is." 
 
 208 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKI: 
 
 "Don t seem an easy death to me," argued 
 Ezra, "but I ain t no scholard. What college did 
 you attend to, Tim? M 
 
 "I don t hold no diaploma," responded Tim- 
 otliy, "though I attended to Wareham Academy 
 quite a spell, the same time as your sister was 
 goin to Wareham Seminary where eddication is 
 still bein disseminated though of an awful poor 
 kind, compared to the old times." 
 
 "It s live an larn," said the storekeeper re 
 spectfully. " I never thought of a Seminary bein 
 a place of dissemination before, but you can see 
 the two words is near kin." 
 
 ; *You can t allers tell by the sound," said 
 Timothy instructively. " Sometimes two words 11 
 start from the same root, an branch out diff rent, 
 like critter an hypocritter. A hypocritter 
 must natcherally start by bein a critter , but a 
 critter ain t obliged to be a 4 hypocritter thout 
 he wants to." 
 
 "I should hope not," interpolated Abel Day. 
 piously. "Entomology must be an awful intnv>l- 
 in >tudy, though I never thought of obxTvin 
 words myself, cept to avoid vulgar language an 
 profanity." 
 
 "Husshon fl a nir ous word fora man." inter 
 jected Bill Dunham with a last, despairing ( 4 ll ort. 
 "I remember seem a Hnlion once that - 
 
 409 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Perhaps you ain t one to observe closely, 
 Abel," said Timothy, not taking note of any 
 interruption, simply using the time to direct a 
 stream of tobacco juice to an incredible distance, 
 but landing it neatly in the exact spot he had 
 intended. "It s a trade by itself, you might say, 
 observin is, an there s another sing lar corrap- 
 tion! The Whigs in foreign parts, so they say, 
 build stone towers to observe the evil machina 
 tions of the Tories, an so the word observatory* 
 come into general use! All entomology; nothin 
 but entomology." 
 
 "I don t see where in thunder you picked up 
 so much larnin , Timothy!" It was Abel Day s 
 exclamation, but every one agreed with him. 
 
XX 
 
 THE ROD THAT BLOSSOMED 
 
 IVORY BOYNTON had taken the horse and gone 
 to the village on an errand, a rare thing for him 
 to do after dark, so Rod was thinking, as he sat 
 in the living-room learning his Sunday-School 
 lesson on the same evening that the men were 
 gossiping at the brick store. His aunt had re 
 quired him, from the t ime when he was proficient 
 enough to do so, to read at least a part of a chap 
 ter in the Bible every night. Beginning with 
 Genesis he had reached Leviticus and had made 
 up his mind that the Bible wns a much more 
 difficult book than "Scottish Chiefs," notwith 
 standing the fact that Ivory helped him over 
 most of the hard places. At the present juncture 
 he was vastly interested in the subject of "rods" 
 as unfolded in the book of Kxodus, which wafl 
 bciiiij studied by his Sunday-School cla--. \\ hat 
 added to the excitement was the fact that his 
 uncle s Christian name, Aaron, kept appearing 
 in the chronicle, as frequently as that of the 
 -real lawgiver MOM S himself; and there were 
 many verses about the wonder-working rods <>! 
 Moses and Aaron that had a .strange effect upon 
 
 211 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 the boy s ear, when he read them aloud, as he 
 loved to do whenever he was left alone for a 
 time. When his aunt was in the room his instinct 
 kept him from doing this, for the mere mention of 
 the name of Aaron, he feared, might sadden his 
 aunt and provoke in her that dangerous vein of 
 reminiscence that made Ivory so anxious. 
 
 "It kind o makes me nervous to be named 
 1 Rod/ Aunt Boynton," said the boy, looking up 
 from the Bible. "All the rods in these Exodus 
 chapters do such dreadful things ! They become 
 serpents, and one of them swallows up all the 
 others; and Moses smites the waters with a rod 
 and they become blood, and the people can t 
 drink the water and the fish die! Then they 
 stretch a rod across the streams and ponds and 
 bring a plague of frogs over the land, with swarms 
 of flies and horrible insects." 
 
 "That was to show God s power to Pharaoh, 
 and melt his hard heart to obedience and rever 
 ence," explained Mrs. Boynton, who had known 
 the Bible from cover to cover in her youth and 
 could still give chapter and verse for hundreds of 
 her favorite passages. 
 
 "It took an awful lot of melting, Pharaoh s 
 heart ! " exclaimed the boy. "Pharaoh must have 
 been worse than Deacon Baxter! I wonder if 
 they ever tried to make him good by being kind 
 
 212 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 to him! I Ve read and read, but I can t find they 
 used anything on him but plagues and famines 
 and boils and pestilences and thunder and hail 
 and fire! Have I got a middle name, Aunt 
 Boynton, for I don t like Rod very much?" 
 
 "I never heard that you had a middle name; 
 you must ask Ivory," said his aunt abstractedly. 
 
 "Did my father name me Rod, or my mother? 
 
 "I don t really know; perhaps it was your 
 mother, but don t ask questions, please." 
 
 "I forgot, Aunt Boynton! Yes, I think per 
 haps my mother named me. Mothers most 
 always name their babies, don t they? My 
 mother was n t like you; she looked just like the 
 picture of Pocahontas in my History. She never 
 knew about these Bible rods, I guess." 
 
 "When you go a little further you will find 
 pleasanter things about rods," said his aunt, 
 knitting, knit ting, intensely, as washer habit, and 
 talking as if her mind \vereathousand miles away. 
 You know they were just little branches of 
 trees, and it was only God s power that made 
 them wonderful in any way." 
 
 "Oh! I thought they were like the singing- 
 leaeher s stick he keeps time with." 
 
 "No; if you look at your Concordance you ll 
 find it gives you a chapter in Numbers where 
 there s something beautiful about rods. I have 
 
 213 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 forgotten the place; it has been many years since 
 I looked at it. Find it and read it aloud to me." 
 The boy searched his Concordance and readily 
 found the reference in the seventeenth chapter of 
 Numbers. 
 
 "Stand near me and read," said Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton. "I like to hear the Bible read aloud!" 
 
 Rodman took his Bible and read, slowly and 
 haltingly, but with clearness and understanding: 
 
 1. And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, 
 
 2. Speak unto the children of Israel, and take of 
 every one of them a rod according to the house of 
 their fathers, of all their princes according to the 
 house of their fathers twelve rods: write thou every 
 mans name upon his rod. 
 
 Through the boy s mind there darted the 
 flash of a thought, a sad thought. He himself 
 was a Rod on whom no man s name seemed to 
 be written, orphan that he was, with no know 
 ledge of his parents ! 
 
 Suddenly he hesitated, for he had caught sight 
 of the name of Aaron in the verse that he was 
 about to read, and did not wish to pronounce it 
 in his aunt s hearing. 
 
 "This chapter is most too hard for me to read 
 out loud, Aunt Boynton," he stammered. "Can 
 I study it by myself and read it to Ivory first?" 
 
 "Go on, go on, you read very sweetly; I can- 
 214 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 not remember what comes and I wish to hear 
 it." 
 
 The boy continued, but without raising his 
 eyes from the Bible. 
 
 3. And t/iou shall write Aaron s name upon the 
 rod of Levi: for one rod shall be for the head of the 
 house of their fathers. 
 
 4. And thou shall lay them up in the tabernacle 
 of the congregation before the testimony, where I will 
 meet with yon. 
 
 5. And it shall come to pass that the man s rod, 
 whom I shall choose, shall blossom: and I will make 
 to cease from me the murmurings of the children of 
 Israel, whereby they murmur against you. 
 
 Rodman had read on, absorbed in the story 
 and the picture it presented to his imagination. 
 He liked the idea of all the princes having a rod 
 according to the house of their fathers; he liked 
 to think of the little branches being laid on the 
 altar in the tabernacle, and above all he thought 
 of the longing of each of the princes to have his 
 own rod chosen for the blossoming. 
 
 6. And Moses spoke unto the children of Israel, 
 and every one oftfieir prince* (jure him a rod upi> 
 for each prince one, according to their father s 
 houses, even twelve rods; and the rod of Aaron was 
 among their rods. 
 
 Oh! how the boy hoped that Aaron s branch 
 215 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 would be the one chosen to blossom ! He felt that 
 his aunt would be pleased, too; but he read 
 on steadily, with eyes that glowed and breath 
 that came and went in a very palpitation of 
 interest. 
 
 7. And Moses laid up the rods before the Lord 
 in the tabernacle of witness. 
 
 8. And it came to pass, that on the morrow Moses 
 went into the tabernacle of ivitness; and, behold, the 
 rod of Aaron was budded and brought forth buds, 
 and bloomed blossoms, and yielded almonds. 
 
 It was Aaron s rod, then, and was an almond 
 branch! How beautiful, for the blossoms would 
 have been pink; and how the people must have 
 marvelled to see the lovely blooming thing on the 
 dark altar; first budding, then blossoming, then 
 bearing nuts! And what was the rod chosen for? 
 He hurried on to the next verse. 
 
 9. And Moses brought out all the rods from before 
 the Lord unto all the children of Israel: and they 
 looked, and took every man his rod. 
 
 10. And the Lord said unto Moses, Bring 
 Aaron s rod again before the testimony to be kept 
 for a token against the rebels; and thou shalt quite 
 take away their murmurings from me, that they die 
 not. 
 
 "Oh! Aunt Boynton!" cried the boy, "I love 
 my name after I Ve heard about the almond rod ! 
 
 216 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Aren t you proud that it s Uncle s name that 
 was written on the one that blossomed?" 
 
 He turned swiftly to find that his aunt s knit 
 ting had slipped on the floor; her nerveless hands 
 drooped by her side as if there were no life in 
 them, and her head had fallen against the back 
 of her chair. The boy was paralyzed with fear 
 at the sight of her closed eyes and the deathly 
 pallor of her face. He had never seen her like 
 this before, and Ivory was away. He flew for a 
 bottle of spirit, always kept in the kitchen cup 
 board for emergencies, and throwing wood on the 
 fire in passing, he swung the crane so that the 
 tea-kettle was over the flame. He knew only t lie 
 humble remedies that he had seen used here or 
 there in illness, and tried them timidly, praying 
 every moment that he might hear Ivory s step. 
 He warmed a soapstone in the embers, and taking 
 off Mrs. Boynton s shoes, put it under her cold 
 feet. He chafed her hands and gently poured a 
 spoonful of brandy between her pale lips. Then 
 sprinkling camphor on a handkerchief he held 
 it to her nostrils and to his joy she stirred in her 
 chair; l>efore many minutes her lids fluttered, her 
 lips moved, and she put her hand to her heart. 
 
 "Are you better, Aunt dear?" Rod asked in a 
 very wavering and tearful voice. 
 
 She did not answer; she only opened her eyea 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and looked at him. At length she whispered 
 faintly, "I want Ivory; I want my son." 
 
 "He s out, Aunt dear. Shall I help you to bed 
 the way Ivory does? If you ll let me, then I ll 
 run to the bridge cross lots, like lightning, and 
 bring him back." 
 
 She assented, and leaning heavily on his slender 
 shoulder, walked feebly into her bedroom off the 
 living-room. Rod was as gentle as a mother and 
 he was familiar with all the little offices that 
 could be of any comfort; the soapstone warmed 
 again for her feet, the bringing of her nightgown 
 from the closet, and when she was in bed, an 
 other spoonful of brandy in hot milk; then the 
 camphor by her side, an extra homespun blanket 
 over her, and the door left open so that she could 
 see the open fire that he made into a cheerful 
 huddle, contrived so that it would not snap and 
 throw out dangerous sparks in his absence. 
 
 All the while he was doing this Mrs. Boynton 
 lay quietly in the bed talking to herself fitfully, 
 in the faint murmuring tone that was habitual 
 to her. He could distinguish scarcely anything, 
 only enough to guess that her mind was still on 
 the Bible story that he was reading to her when 
 she fainted. " The rod of Aaron was among the 
 other rods" he heard her say; and, a moment later, 
 "Bring Aaron s rod again before the testimony." 
 
 218 
 
THE STORY OF W.\n STILL BAXTER 
 
 Was it his uncle s name that had so affected 
 her, wondered the boy, almost sick with remorse, 
 although he had tried his best to evade her com 
 mand to read the chapter aloud? What would 
 Ivory, his hero, his pattern and example, say? 
 It had always been Rod s pride to carry his little 
 share of every burden that fell to Ivory, to be 
 faithful and helpful in every task given to him. 
 He could walk through fire without flinching, he 
 thought, if Ivory told him to, and he only prayed 
 1 ha I he might not be held responsible for this new 
 calamity. 
 
 "I want Ivory!" came in a feeble voice from 
 the bedroom. 
 
 "Does your side ache worse?" Rod asked, tip 
 toeing to the door. 
 
 "No, I am quite free from pain." 
 
 "Would you be afraid to stay alone just for a 
 while if I lock both doors and run to find Ivory 
 and bring him hark?" 
 
 "No, I will sleep," she whispered, closing her 
 eyes. "Bring him quickly before I forget what I 
 want to say to him." 
 
 Hod sped down the lane and over the fields to 
 the brick store where Ivory usually bought In 
 ternet* His cousin was not there, l>ut one of 
 the men came out and oll ered to take his hoi - 
 and drive over the bridge to see if he were at one 
 
 219 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 of the neighbors on that side of the river. Not a 
 word did Rod breathe of his aunt s illness; he 
 simply said that she was lonesome for Ivory, and 
 so he came to find him. In five minutes they saw 
 the Boynton horse hitched to a tree by the road 
 side, and in a trice Rod called him and, thanking 
 Mr. Bixby, got into Ivory s wagon to wait for 
 him. He tried his best to explain the situation 
 as they drove along, but finally concluded by 
 saying: "Aunt really made me read the chap 
 ter to her, Ivory. I tried not to when I saw 
 Uncle s name in most every verse, but I could n t 
 help it." 
 
 "Of course you could n t! Now you jump out 
 and hitch the horse while I run in and see that 
 nothing has happened while she s been left alone. 
 Perhaps you ll have to go for Dr. Perry." 
 
 Ivory went in with fear and trembling, for 
 there was no sound save the ticking of the tall 
 clock. The fire burned low upon the hearth, and 
 the door was open into his mother s room. He 
 lifted a candle that Rod had left ready on the 
 table and stole softly to her bedside. She was 
 sleeping like a child, but exhaustion showed itself 
 in every line of her face. He felt her hands and 
 feet and found the soapstone in the bed; saw the 
 brandy bottle and the remains of a cup of milk 
 on the light-stand; noted the handkerchief, still 
 
 220 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 strong of camphor on the counterpane, and the 
 blanket spread carefully over her knees, and then 
 turned approvingly to meet Rod stealing into 
 the room on tiptoe, his eyes big with fear. 
 
 "We won t wake her, Rod. I 11 watch a while, 
 then sleep on the sitting-room lounge." 
 
 "Let me watch, Ivory! I d feel better if 
 you d let me, honest I would!" 
 
 The boy s face was drawn with anxiety. Ivory s 
 attention was attracted by the wistful eyes and 
 the beauty of the forehead under the dark hair. 
 He seemed something more than the child of 
 yesterday a care and responsibility and expense, 
 for all his loving obedience; he seemed all at once 
 different to-night; older, more dependable, more 
 trustworthy; in fact, a positive comfort and help 
 in time of trouble. 
 
 "I did the best I knew how; was anything 
 wrong? " asked the boy, as Ivory stood regarding 
 him with a friendly smile. 
 
 " Nothing wrong, Rod ! Dr. Perry could n t ha vr 
 done any better with what you had on hand. I 
 don t know how I should get along without 
 you, boy!" Here Ivory patted Rod s shoulder. 
 14 You re not a child any longer, Rod; you re a 
 man and a brother, that s what you arc; and to 
 prove it I 11 take the first watch and call you up 
 at one o clock to take the second, so that I can 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 be ready for my school work to-morrow! How 
 does that suit you?" 
 
 "Tip-top!" said the boy, flushing with pride. 
 "I ll lie down with my clothes on; it s only nine 
 o clock and I ll get four hours sleep; that s a lot 
 more than Napoleon used to have!" 
 
 He carried the Bible upstairs and just before he 
 blew out his candle he looked again at the chapter 
 in Numbers, thinking he would show it to Ivory 
 privately next day. Again the story enchanted 
 him, and again, like a child, he put his own name 
 and his living self among the rods in the taber 
 nacle. 
 
 "Ivory would be the prince of our house," he 
 thought. "Oh! how I d like to be Ivory s rod 
 and have it be the one that was chosen to blos 
 som and keep the rebels from murmuring!" 
 
XXI 
 
 LOIS BURIES HER DEAD 
 
 THE replies that Ivory had received from his let 
 ters of inquiry concerning his father s movements 
 >ince leaving Maine, and his possible death in the 
 West, left no reasonable room for doubt. Traces 
 of Aaron Boynton in New Hampshire, in Massa 
 chusetts, in New York, and finally in Ohio, all 
 pointed in one direction, and although there were 
 .traps and discrepancies in the account of his do 
 ings, | he fact of his death seemed to be established 
 by two apparently reliable witnesses. 
 
 That he was not unaccompanied in his earliest 
 migrations seemed clear, but the woman men- 
 t ioned as his wife disappeared suddenly from the 
 rep< >rt s, and the story of his last days was the story 
 of a broken-down, melancholy, unfriended man, 
 dependent for the last offices on strangers. He 
 left no message^ and no paper-, said Ivory s cor- 
 n^pondent, and never made mention of any 
 family connections whatsoever. He had no prop 
 erty and no means of defraying the expenses of 
 his illness after he was stricken with the fever. 
 No letters were found among his poor effects and 
 no article that could prove his identity, unle>s it 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 were a small gold locket, which bore no initials or 
 marks of any kind, but which contained two locks 
 of fair and brown hair, intertwined. The tiny 
 trinket was enclosed in the letter, as of no value, 
 unless some one recognized it as a keepsake. 
 
 Ivory read the correspondence with a heavy 
 heart, inasmuch as it corroborated all his worst 
 fears. He had sometimes secretly hoped that 
 his father might return and explain the reason of 
 his silence; or in lieu of that, that there might 
 come to light the story of a pilgrimage, fanatical, 
 perhaps, but innocent of evil intention, one that 
 could be related to his wife and his former friends, 
 and then buried forever with the death that had 
 ended it. 
 
 Neither of these hopes could now ever be real 
 ized, nor his father s memory made other than a 
 cause for endless regret, sorrow, and shame. His 
 father, who had begun life so handsomely, with 
 rare gifts of mind and personality, a wife of 
 unusual beauty and intelligence, and while still 
 young in years, a considerable success in his 
 chosen profession. His poor father! What could 
 have been the reasons for so complete a down 
 fall? 
 
 Ivory asked Dr. Perry s advice about showing 
 one or two of the briefer letters and the locket 
 to his mother. After her fainting fit and the 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 exhaustion that followed it, Ivory begged her to 
 see the old doctor, but without avail. Finally, 
 after days of pleading he took her hands in his and 
 said : " I do everything a mortal man can do to be 
 a good son to you, mother; won t you do this to 
 please me, and trust that I know what is best?" 
 \Yhereupon she gave a trembling assent, as if she 
 were agreeing to something indescribably pain 
 ful, and indeed this sight of a former friend 
 seemed to frighten her strangely. 
 
 After Dr. Perry had talked with her for a half- 
 hour and examined her sufficiently to make at 
 least a reasonable guess as to her mental and 
 physical condition, he advised Ivory to break the 
 news of her husband s death to her. 
 
 "If you can get her to comprehend it," he said, 
 "it is bound to be a relief from this terrible sus 
 pense." 
 
 "Will there be any danger of making her 
 worse? Might n t the shock cause too violent 
 emotion?" a>ked Ivory anxiously. 
 
 "I don t think she is any longer capable of 
 violent emotion/ (he doctor answered. "Her 
 mind is certainly clearer than it was three yean 
 ago, but her body is nearly burned away by the 
 mental conflict. There is scarcely any part of her 
 but is weary; weary unto death, poor soul! One 
 cannot look at her patient, lovely face without 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 longing to lift some part of her burden. Make a 
 trial, Ivory; it s a justifiable experiment and I 
 think it will succeed. I must not come any 
 oftener myself than is absolutely necessary; she 
 seemed afraid of me." 
 
 The experiment did succeed. Lois Boynton 
 listened breathlessly, with parted lips, and with 
 apparent comprehension, to the story Ivory told 
 her. Over and over again he told her gently the 
 story of her husband s death, trying to make it 
 sink into her mind clearly, so that there should 
 be no consequent bewilderment. She was calm 
 and silent, though her face showed that she was 
 deeply moved. She broke down only when Ivory 
 showed her the locket. 
 
 "I gave it to my husband when you were born, 
 my son ! " she sobbed. " After all, it seems no sur 
 prise to me that your father is dead. He said he 
 would come back when the Mayflowers bloomed, 
 and when I saw the autumn leaves I knew that 
 six months must have gone and he would never 
 stay away from us for six months without writing. 
 That is the reason I have seldom watched for 
 him these last weeks. I must have known that 
 it was no use!" 
 
 She rose from her rocking-chair and moved 
 feebly towards her bedroom. "Can you spare 
 me the rest of the day, Ivory?" she faltered, as 
 
 * 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 she leaned on her son and made her slow progress 
 from the kitchen. "I must bury the body of my 
 <jrief and I want to be alone at first. ... If only 
 I could see Waitstill ! We have both thought this 
 was coming: she has a woman s instinct . . . she 
 i< younger and stronger than I am, and she said 
 it was braver not to watch and pine and fret as I 
 have done . . . but to have faith in God that He 
 would send me a sign when He was ready. . . . 
 She said if I could manage to be braver you would 
 he happier too. . . ." Here she sank on to her 
 hed exhausted, but still kept up her murmur 
 ing faintly and feebly, between long intervals of 
 silence. 
 
 "Do you think Waitstill could come to-mor 
 row?" she asked. "I am so much braver when 
 she is here with me. . . . After supper I will put 
 away your father s cup and plate once and for all. 
 Ivory, and your eyes need never fill with tears 
 again, as they have, sometimes, when yon have 
 seen me watching. . . . You need n t worry about 
 me; I am remembering better these days, and the 
 bells that ring in my ears are not so loud. If only 
 the pain in my side were less and I were not I 
 pressed forhreath, I should he cpn le strong and 
 
 could see everything <-leaHy at hist. . . . Then- i\ 
 
 Something dae that remains to he remembered. I 
 have almost caught it once and it must come to 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 me again before long. . . . Put the locket under 
 my pillow, Ivory ; close the door, please, and leave 
 me to myself. ... I can t make it quite clear, 
 my feeling about it, but it seems just as if I 
 were going to bury your father and I want to be 
 alone." 
 
XXII 
 
 HARVEST-TIME 
 
 NEW ENGLAND S annual pageant of autumn was 
 being unfolded day by day in all its accustomed 
 splendor, and the feast and riot of color, the almost 
 unimaginable glory, was the common property 
 of the whole countryside, rich and poor, to be 
 shared alike if perchance all eyes were equally 
 alive to the wonder and the beauty. 
 
 Scarlet days and days of gold followed fast one 
 upon the other; Saco Water now flowing between 
 quiet woodlands that were turning red and rus 
 set and brown, and now plunging through rocky 
 banks all blazing with crimson. 
 
 Waitstill Baxter went as often as she could to 
 the Boy n ton farm, though never when Ivory 
 was at home, and the affection between tin- 
 younger and the older woman irrew closer and 
 closer, so that it almost broke Waitstill s heart 
 to leave the fragile creature, when her presence 
 >eemed to bring such complete peace and joy. 
 
 "No one ever clung to me so before," she of I en 
 thought as >he was hurrying across the fields 
 after one of her half-hour visit* "But the end 
 must come before long. Ivory does not K ali/e 
 
 229 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 it yet, nor Rodman, but it seems as if she could 
 never survive the long winter. Thanksgiving 
 Day is drawing nearer and nearer, and how little 
 I am able to do for a single creature, to prove to 
 God that I am grateful for my existence ! I could, 
 if only I were free, make such a merry day for 
 Patty and Mark and their young friends. Oh! 
 what joy if father were a man who would let me 
 set a bountiful table in our great kitchen; would 
 sit at the head and say grace, and we could bow 
 our heads over the cloth, a united family! Or, if 
 I had done my duty in my home and could go to 
 that other where I am so needed go with my 
 father s blessing! If only I could live in that sad 
 little house and brighten it! I would trim the 
 rooms with evergreen and creeping- Jenny; I 
 would put scarlet alder berries and white ever 
 lastings and blue fringed gentians in the vases! 
 I would put the last bright autumn leaves near 
 Mrs. Boynton s bed and set out a tray with a 
 damask napkin and the best of my cooking; then 
 I would go out to the back door where the wood 
 bine hangs like a red waterfall and blow the 
 dinner-horn for my men down in the harvest- 
 field! All the woman in me is wasting, wasting! 
 Oh ! my dear, dear man, how I long for him ! Oh ! 
 my own dear man, my helpmate, shall I ever live 
 by his side? I love him, I want him, I need him! 
 
 230 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 And my dear little unmothered, unfathered boy, 
 how happy I could make him! How I should 
 love to cook and sew for them all and wrap them 
 in comfort! How I should love to smooth my dear 
 mother s last days, -- for she is my mother, in 
 spirit, in affection, in desire, and in being Ivory s ! " 
 
 \VaitstilFs longing, her discouragement, her 
 helplessness, overcame her wholly, and she flung 
 herself down under a tree in the pasture in a very 
 passion of sobbing, a luxury in which she could 
 seldom afford to indulge herself. The luxury was 
 short-lived, for in five minutes she heard Rod 
 man s voice, and heard him running to meet her 
 as he often did when she came to their house or 
 went away from it, dogging her footsteps or 
 Patty s whenever or wherever he could waylay 
 them. 
 
 "Why, my dear, dear \Vaity, did you tumble 
 and hurt yourself?" the boy cried. 
 
 "Yes, dreadfully, but I m better now, so walk 
 along with me and tell me the news, Rod." 
 
 "There is n t much news. Ivory told you I d 
 left school and am studying at home? He helps 
 me evening! and I m way ahead of the class." 
 
 "No, Ivory did n t tell me. I have n t seen 
 him lately." 
 
 M I >aid if the big brother kept school, the little 
 brother ought to keep hou>e," laughed the boy. 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "He says I can hire out as a cook pretty soon! 
 Aunt Boynton s most always up to get dinner 
 and supper, but I can make lots of things now, - 
 things that Aunt Boynton can eat, too." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot bear to have you and Ivory cook 
 ing for yourselves! " exclaimed Waitstill, the tears 
 starting again from her eyes. "I must come 
 over the next time when you are at home, Rod, 
 and I can help you make something nice for 
 supper." 
 
 "We get along pretty well," said Rodman 
 contentedly. "I love book-learning like Ivory 
 and I m going to be a schoolmaster or a preacher 
 when Ivory s a lawyer. Do you think Patty d 
 like a schoolmaster or a preacher best, and do you 
 think I d be too young to marry her by and by, 
 if she would wait for me?" 
 
 "I did n t think you had any idea of marrying 
 Patty," laughed Waitstill through her tears. "Is 
 this something new?" 
 
 "It s not exactly new," said Rod, jumping 
 along like a squirrel in the path. "Nobody could 
 look at Patty and not think about marrying her. 
 I d love to marry you, too, but you re too big 
 and grand for a boy. Of course, I m not going to 
 ask Patty yet. Ivory said once you should never 
 ask a girl until you can keep her like a queen; 
 then after a minute he said: Well, maybe not 
 
 232 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 quite like a queen, Rod, for that would mean 
 longer than a man could wait. Shall we say 
 until he could keep her like the dearest lady in 
 the land? That s the way he said it. You do 
 cry dreadfully easy to-day, Waity; I m sure you 
 harked your leg or skinned your knee when you 
 fell down. -- Don t you think the * dearest lady 
 in the land is a nice-sounding sentence?" 
 
 "I do, indeed!" cried Waitstill to herself as 
 she turned the words over and over trying to feed 
 her hungry heart with them. 
 
 "I love to hear Ivory talk; it s like the stories 
 in the books. We have our best times in the barn, 
 for I m helping with the milking, now. Our yel 
 low cow s name is Molly and the red eow used to 
 be Dolly, but we changed her to Golly, cause 
 she s so troublesome. Molly s an easy cow to 
 milk and I can get almost all there is, though 
 Ivory comes after me and takes the strippings. 
 Golly swishes her tail and kicks the minute she 
 hear- us coming; then she stands st ifl -lei^ed and 
 grits her teeth and holds on to her milk JnircL and 
 Ivory has to pat and smooth and coax her every 
 Mii^le time. Ivory says she s -ot a kind of an at 
 tachment inside of her that >he .shuts down when 
 he begins to milk." 
 
 k \Ve had a cross old cow like that, once," 
 said Waitstill absently, loving to hear the boy s 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 chatter and the eternal quotations from his be 
 loved hero. 
 
 "We have great fun cooking, too," continued 
 Rod. "When Aunt Boynton was first sick she 
 stayed in bed more, and Ivory and I had n t got 
 used to things. One morning we bound up each 
 other s burns. Ivory had three fingers and I two, 
 done up in buttery rags to take the fire out. 
 Ivory called us Soldiers dressing their Wounds 
 after the Battle. Sausages spatter dreadfully, 
 don t they? And when you turn a pancake it 
 flops on top of the stove. Can you flop one 
 straight, Waity?" 
 
 ;< Yes, I can, straight as a die; that s what girls 
 are made for. Now run along home to your big 
 brother, and do put on some warmer clothes under 
 your coat; the weather s getting colder." 
 
 "Aunt Boynton has n t patched our thick ones 
 yet, but she will soon, and if she does n t, Ivory 11 
 take this Saturday evening and do them himself; 
 he said so." 
 
 "He shall not!" cried Waitstill passionately. 
 " It is not seemly for Ivory to sew and mend, and 
 I will not allow it. You shall bring me those things 
 that need patching without telling any one, do 
 you hear, and I will meet you on the edge of 
 the pasture Saturday afternoon and give them 
 back to you. You are not to speak of it to any 
 
 234 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 one, you understand, or perhaps I shall pound you 
 to a jelly. You d make a sweet rosy jelly to eat 
 with turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, you dear, 
 comforting little boy!" 
 
 Rodman ran towards home and Waits! ill 
 hurried along, scarcely noticing the beauties of the 
 woods and fields and waysides, all glowing masses 
 of goldenrod and purple frost flowers. The stone 
 walls were covered with wild-grape and feathery 
 clematis vines. Everywhere in sight the corn 
 fields lay yellow in the afternoon sun and ox 
 carts heavily loaded with full golden ears were 
 going home to the barns to be ready for husking. 
 
 A sudden breeze among the orchard boughs as 
 she neared the house was followed by a shower 
 of russets, and everywhere the red Baldwins 
 gleamed on the apple-tree boughs, while the wind- 
 falls were being gathered and taken to the cider 
 mills. There was a grove of maples on the top 
 of Town-House Hill and the Baxters dooryard 
 was a l>la/eof brilliant color. To see Patty stand 
 ing under a little rock maple, her brown linsey- 
 woolsey in tone with the lamlseape. and the hood 
 of her hrOWH Cape pulled OY<T her bright head, waN 
 a welcome for anybody. She looked flushed and 
 excited as she ran up to her sister and said, 
 " \\aity, darling, you ve been crying! Has father 
 been scolding you?" 
 
 235 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "No, dear, but my heart is aching to-day so 
 that I can scarcely bear it. A wave of discourage 
 ment came over me as I was walking through the 
 woods, and I gave up to it a bit. I remembered 
 how soon it will be Thanksgiving Day, and I d 
 so like to make it happier for you and a few others 
 that I love." 
 
 Patty could have given a shrewd guess as to 
 the chief cause of the heartache, but she forebore 
 to ask any questions. "Cheer up, Waity," she 
 cried. " You never can tell ; we may have a thank 
 ful Thanksgiving, after all! Who knows what 
 may happen? I m strung up this afternoon and 
 in a fighting mood. I ve felt like a new piece of 
 snappy white elastic all day; it s the air, just 
 like wine, so cool and stinging and full of cour 
 age! Oh, yes, we won t give up hope yet awhile, 
 Waity, not until we re snowed in!" 
 
 "Put your arms round me and give me a good 
 hug, Patty ! Love me hard, hard, for, oh ! I need it 
 badly just now!" 
 
 And the two girls clung together for a moment 
 and then went into the house with hands close- 
 locked and a kind of sad, desperate courage in 
 their young hearts. What would either of them 
 have done, each of them thought, had she been 
 forced to endure alone the life that went on day 
 after day in Deacon Baxter s dreary house? 
 
XXIII 
 
 AUNT ABBY S WINDOW 
 
 MRS. ABEL DAY had come to spend the afternoon 
 with Aunt Abby Cole and they were seated at the 
 two sitting-room windows, sweeping the land 
 scape with eagle eyes in the intervals of making 
 patchwork. 
 
 "The foliage has been a little mite too rich this 
 season/ remarked Aunt Abby. "I b lieve I m 
 glad to see it thinnin out some, so t we can 
 have some kind of an idee of what s goin on in 
 the village." 
 
 "There s plenty goin on," Mrs. Day answered 
 unctuously; "some of it aboveboard an sonic 
 underneath it." 
 
 "An* that s jest where it s aggravatin to have 
 the leaves so thick and the trees so high between 
 you and other folks houses. Tivrx ,-nv good for 
 shade, it s true, but there s a limit to all things. 
 There was a lime when I could >ee hout every 
 thing that went on up to Baxters , and down to 
 Hart s shop, and, by goin up attic, consid able 
 many things that happened on ihr hrid^e. Hart 
 vow> Iir never planted I hat plum tree at the back 
 door of his shop; uya the ehildren must have 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 hove out plum stones when they was settin on 
 the steps and the tree come up of its own accord. 
 He says he did n t take any notice of it till it got 
 quite a start and then t was such a healthy young 
 bush he could n t bear to root it out. I tell him 
 it s kind o queer it should happen to come up 
 jest where it spoils my view of his premises. Mm 
 folks are so exasperatin that sometimes I wish 
 there was somebody different for us to marry, 
 but there ain t, so there we be!" 
 
 "They are an awful trial," admitted Mrs. 
 Day. " Abel never sympathizes with my head 
 aches. I told him a-Sunday I did n t believe he d 
 mind if I died the next day, an* all he said was : 
 Why don t you try it an see, Lyddy? He 
 thinks that s humorous." 
 
 " I know; that s the way Bartholomew tnlks: 
 I guess they all do. You can see the bridge bet 
 ter n I can, Lyddy; has Mark Wilson drove 
 over sence you ve been settin there? He s like 
 one o them ostriches that hides their heads in 
 the sand when the bird-catchers are comin along, 
 thinkin cause they can t see anything they ll 
 never be seen! He knows folks would never 
 tell tales to Deacon Baxter, whatever the girls 
 done; they hate him too bad. Lawyer Wilson 
 lives so far away, he can t keep any watch o 
 Mark, an Mis Wilson s so cityfied an purse- 
 
 238 
 
THE STORY OF AY \n STILL BAXTER 
 
 proud nobody ever goes to her with any news, 
 bad or good ; so them that s the most concerned 
 is as blind as bats. Mark s consid able stid- 
 dier n he used to be, but you need n t tell me 
 he has any notion of bringin one o that Baxter 
 tribe into his family. He s only amusin him 
 self." 
 
 "Patty 11 be Mrs. Wilson or nothin ," was 
 Mrs. Day s response. "Both o them girls is silk 
 purses an you can t make sows ears of em. We 
 ain t neither of us hardly fair to Patty, an I 
 s pose it s because she did n t set any proper value 
 on Cephas." 
 
 "Oh, she s good enough for Mark, I guess, 
 though I ain t so sure of his intentions as you be. 
 She s nobody s fool, Patty ain t, I allow that, 
 though she did treat Cephas like the dirt in the 
 road. I m thankful he s come to his senses 
 an found out the diff rence between dross an 
 gold." 
 
 "It s very good of you to put it that way, 
 Abby," Mrs. Day responded gratefully, for it \\a> 
 Phoebe, her own offspring, who was alluded to as 
 the most precious of metals. "I suppose we d 
 better have the publishing notice put up in the 
 frame before Sunday? There ll be a great crowd 
 out that day and at Thanksgiving service the 
 next Thursday too!" 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Cephas says he don t care how soon folks hears 
 the news, now all s settled," said his mother. " I 
 guess he s kind of anxious that the village should 
 know jest how little truth there is in the gossip 
 bout him bein* all upset over Patience Baxter. 
 He said they took consid able notice of him an 
 Phoebe settin together at the Harvest Festival 
 last evenin . He thought the Baxter girls would 
 be there for certain, but I s pose Old Foxy 
 would n t let em go up to the Mills in the evenin , 
 nor spend a quarter on their tickets." 
 
 "Mark could have invited Patty an paid for 
 her ticket, I should think; or passed her in free, 
 for that matter, when the Wilsons got up the en 
 tertainment; but, of course, the Deacon never 
 allows his girls to go anywheres with men- 
 folks." 
 
 "Not in public; so they meet em side o the 
 river or round the corner of Bart s shop, or any 
 where they can, when the Deacon s back s turned. 
 If you tied a handkerchief over Waitstill s eyes 
 she could find her way blindfold to Ivory Boyn- 
 ton s house, but she s good as gold, Waitstill 
 is; she ll stay where her duty calls her, every 
 time ! If any misfortune or scandal should come 
 near them two girls, the Deacon will have no 
 body but himself to thank for it, that s one sure 
 thing!" 
 
 240 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Young folks can t be young but once," sighed 
 Mrs. Day. " I thought we had as handsome a turn 
 out at the entertainment last evenin as any vil 
 lage on the Saco River could a furnished; an 
 my Phoebe an your Cephas, if I do say so as 
 should n t, was about the best-dressed an best- 
 appearin couple there was present. Also, I guess 
 likely, they re startin out with as good prospects 
 as any bride an groom that s walked up the 
 middle aisle o the meetin -house for many a year. 
 . . . How d you like (hat Boston singer that the 
 W ilsons brought here, Abby? Wait a minute, is 
 Cephas, or the Deacon, tendin store this after 
 noon?" 
 
 "The Deacon; Cephas is paint in up to the 
 Mills." 
 
 "Well, Mark Wilson s horse an buggy is 
 meanderin slowly down Aunt Betty-Jack s hill, 
 an Mark is studyin the road as if he was lookin 
 for a four-leafed clover." 
 
 "He ll hitch at the tavern, or the Edgewood 
 store, an wait his chance to get a word with 
 Patience," said Aunt Abby. "He knows when 
 she takes milk to the Mori-ills , or butter to the 
 parsonage; also when she eats an drinks an 
 winks her eye an ketches her breath an lifts her 
 foot. Now he s disappeared ;m we ll wait. . . . 
 Why, as to that Boston >in^er, an by the wav, 
 
 241 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 they say Ellen Wilson s goin to take lessons of 
 her this winter, she kind o bewildered me, 
 Lyddy ! Of course, I ain t never been to any cities, 
 so I don t feel altogether free to criticise; but what 
 did you think of her, when she run up so high 
 there, one time? I don t know how high she went, 
 but I guess there wa n t no higher to go!" 
 
 "It made me kind o nervous," allowed Mrs. 
 Day. 
 
 "Nervous! Bart an I broke out in a cold 
 sweat! He said she could n t hold a candle to 
 Waitstill Baxter. But it s that little fly-away 
 Wilson girl that ll get the lessons, an Waitstill 
 will have to use her voice callin the Deacon home 
 to dinner. Things ain t divided any too well in 
 this world, Lyddy." 
 
 "Waitstill s got the voice, but she lacks the 
 trainin . The Boston singer knows her business, 
 I ll say that for her," said Mrs. Day. 
 
 "She s got good stayin power," agreed Aunt 
 Abby. "Did you notice how she held on to that 
 high note when she d clumb where she wanted to 
 git? She s got breath enough to run a gristmill, 
 that girl has! And how d she come down, when 
 she got good and ready to start? WTiy, she zig 
 zagged an saw-toothed the whole way! It kind 
 o made my flesh creep!" 
 
 "I guess part o the trouble s with us country 
 242 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 folks," Mrs. Day responded, "for folks said she 
 sung runs and trills better n any woman up to 
 Boston." 
 
 "Runs an* trills," ejaculated Abby scornfully. 
 "I was talkin bout singin , not runnin . My 
 niece Ella up to Parsonfield has taken three terms 
 on the pianner an* I Ve heerd her practise. Scales 
 has got to be done, no doubt, but they d ought 
 to be done to home, where they belong; a concert 
 ain t no place for em. . . . There, what did I tell 
 yer? Patience Baxter s crossin the bridge with 
 a pail in her hand. She s got that everlastin 
 veller-brown, linsey-woolsey on, an a white 
 cloud wrapped around her head, with con sid- 
 able red hair showin as usual. You can always 
 see her fur s you can a sunrise! And there goes 
 Rod Boy n ton, chasin behind as usual. Those 
 Baxter irirU make a perfect fool o that boy, but 
 I don t s pose Lois Boynton s got wit enough to 
 make much fuss over the poor little creeter!" 
 
 Mark Wilson could certainly see Patty Baxter 
 as far as lie could a sunrise, although he was not 
 intimately acquainted with that natural phe 
 nomenon. He took a circuitous route from his 
 watch-tower, and, knowing well the point from 
 which there could be no espionage from Deacon 
 Baxter s store windows, joined Patty in the road, 
 took the pail from her hand, and walked up the 
 
 243 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 hill beside her. Of course, the village could see 
 them, but, as Aunt Abby had intimated, there 
 was n t a man, woman, or child on either side of 
 the river who would n t have taken the part of 
 the Baxter girls against their father. 
 
XXIV 
 
 PHGEBE TRIUMPHS 
 
 MEANTIME Feeble Phoebe Day was driving her 
 father s horse up to the Mills to bring Cephas 
 Cole home. It was a thrilling moment, a sort of 
 outward and visible sign of an inward and spirit 
 ual tie, for their banns were to be published the 
 next day, so what did it matter if the commu 
 nity, nay, if the whole universe, speculated as to 
 why she was drawing her beloved back from his 
 daily toil? 
 
 It had been an eventful autumn for Cephas. 
 After a third request for the hand of Miss Pa 
 tience Baxter, and a ivt nsal of even more than 
 common decision and energy, Cephas turned 
 about face and employed the entire month of 
 September in a determined assault upon the 
 affections of Miss Lucy Morrill, but with no 
 better avail. His heart was not ardently involved 
 in this second wooing, but winter was approach- 
 in--, he had moved his mother out of her sum 
 mer quarters hack to the main hoiisr, and he 
 doggedly began papering the ell and furnishing 
 the kitchen without disclosing to his respected 
 
 ^245 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 parents the identity of the lady for whose com 
 fort he was so hospitably preparing. 
 
 Cephas s belief in the holy state of matrimony 
 as being the only one proper for a man, really 
 ought to have commended him to the opposite 
 (and ungrateful) sex more than it did, and Lucy 
 Morrill held as respectful an opinion of the insti 
 tution and its manifold advantages as Cephas 
 himself, but she was in a very unsettled frame of 
 mind and not at all susceptible to wooing. She 
 had a strong preference for Philip Perry, and held 
 an opinion, not altogether unfounded in human 
 experience, that in course of time, when quite 
 deserted by Patty Baxter, his heart might possibly 
 be caught on the rebound. It was only a chance, 
 but Lucy would almost have preferred remaining 
 unmarried, even to the withering age of twenty- 
 five, rather than not be at liberty to accept Philip 
 Perry in case she should be asked. 
 
 Cephas therefore, by the middle of October, 
 could be picturesquely and alliteratively de 
 scribed as being raw from repealed rejections. His 
 bruised heart and his despised ell literally cried 
 out for the appreciation so lon<r and Mindly with 
 held. Now all at once Phoebe disclosed a second 
 virtue; her first and only one, hit hcrlo, in the eyes 
 of Cephas, having been an ability to get on with 
 his mother, a feat in which many had made an 
 
 246 
 
THE STORY OF AY.MTSTIU, BAXTER 
 
 effort and few indeed had succeeded. Phoebe, 
 it seems, had always secretly admired, respected, 
 and loved Cephas Cole ! Never since her pale and 
 somewhat glassy blue eye had opened on life had 
 she beheld a being she could so adore if encour 
 aged in the attitude. 
 
 The moment this unusual and unexpected 
 poultice was really applied to Cephas s wounds, 
 they began to heal. In the course of a month the 
 most ordinary observer could have perceived a 
 physical change in him. He cringed no more, but 
 held his head higher; his back straightened; his 
 voice developed a gruff, assertive note, like that 
 of a stern Roman father; he let his moustache 
 grow, and sometimes, in his most reckless mo 
 ments, twiddled the end of it. Finally he swag 
 gered; but that was only after Plm -he had ac 
 cepted him and told him that if a girl traversed 
 the entire length of the Saco River (which she 
 presumed to be the longest in the world, the Am 
 azon not being familiar to her), she could not 
 hope to find his ecjual as a husband. 
 
 And then congratulations began to pour in! 
 Was ever marriage so fortuitous! The Cole> 
 farm joined that of the Days and the union be 
 tween the two only children would cement the 
 friendship between the families. The fact that 
 Uncle Bart was a joiner, Cephas a painter, and 
 
 M7 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Abel Day a mason and bricklayer made the alli 
 ance almost providential in its business oppor 
 tunities. Phoebe s Massachusetts aunt sent a 
 complete outfit of gilt-edged china, a clock, and a 
 mahogany chamber set. Aunt Abby relinquished 
 to the young couple a bedroom and a spare cham 
 ber in the "main part," while the Days supplied 
 live-geese feathers and table and bed-linen with 
 positive prodigality. Aunt Abby trod the air like 
 one inspired. " Balmy " is the only adjective that 
 could describe her. 
 
 "If only I could a looked ahead," smiled 
 Uncle Bart quizzically to himself, "I d a had 
 thirteen sons and daughters an married off one 
 of em every year. That would a made Abby s 
 good temper kind o permanent." 
 
 Cephas was content, too. There was a good 
 deal in being settled and having " the whole dog- 
 goned business " off your hands. Phoebe looked a 
 very different creature to him in these latter 
 days. Her eyes were just as pale, of course, but 
 they were brighter, and they radiated love for 
 him, an expression in the female eye that he had 
 thus far been singularly unfortunate in securing. 
 She still held her mouth slightly open, but Cephas 
 thought that it might be permissible, perhaps 
 after three months of wedded bliss, to request her 
 to be more careful in closing it. He believed, 
 
 248 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 too, that she would make an effort to do so ju>l 
 to please him; whereas a man s life or property 
 would not be safe for a single instant if he asked 
 Miss Patience Baxter to close her mouth, not if 
 he had been married to her for thirty times three 
 months! 
 
 Cephas did not think of Patty any longer with 
 bitterness, in these days, being of the opinion 
 that she was punished enough in observing his 
 own growing popularity and prosperity. 
 
 "If she should see that mahogany chamber set 
 going into the ell, I guess she d be glad enough to 
 change her tune!" thought Cephas, exultingly; 
 and then there suddenly shot through his mind 
 the passing fancy- "I wonder if she would!" 
 He promptly banished the infamous suggestion 
 however, reinforcing his virtue with the reflection 
 that the oh amber set was Phoebe s, anyway, and 
 the marriage day appointed, and the invitations 
 given out, and the wedding-cake being baked, a 
 loaf at a time, by his mother and Mrs. Day. 
 
 As a matter of fact Patty would have had no 
 eyes for Pli<rl>e\ magnificent maim-any, even 
 had the cart that earried it passed her on t lie hill 
 where she and Mark Wilson were walking. Her 
 promise to marry him was a few weeks old now, 
 and his arm eneireled her .slender \\aist under the 
 brown homespun cape. That in itself was a new 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 sensation and gave her the delicious sense of be 
 longing to somebody who valued her highly, and 
 assured her of his sentiments clearly and fre 
 quently, both by word and deed. Life, dull gray 
 life, was going to change its hue for her presently, 
 and not long after, she hoped, for Waitstill, too! 
 It needed only a brighter, a more dauntless cour 
 age ; a little faith that nettles, when firmly grasped, 
 hurt the hand less, and a fairer future would dawn 
 for both of them. The Deacon was a sharper net 
 tle than she had ever meddled with before, but in 
 these days, when the actual contact had not yet 
 occurred, she felt sure of herself and longed for the 
 moment when her pluck should be tested and 
 proved. 
 
 The "publishing" of Cephas and his third 
 choice, their dull walk up the aisle of the meeting 
 house before an admiring throng, on the Sun 
 day when Phoebe would "appear bride," all this 
 seemed very tame as compared with the dreams 
 of this ardent and adventurous pair of lovers who 
 had gone about for days harboring secrets greater 
 and more daring, they thought, than had ever 
 been breathed before within the hearing of Saco 
 Water. 
 
XXV 
 
 LOVE S YOUNG DREAM 
 
 IT was not an afternoon for day-dreams, for there 
 was a chill in the air and a gray sky. ( )nly a week 
 before the hills along the river might have been 
 the walls of the New Jerusalem, shining like red 
 gold; now the glory had departed and it was a 
 naked world, with empty nests hanging to boughs 
 that not long ago had been green with summer. 
 The old elm by the tavern, that had been wrapped 
 in a bright t rail of scarlet woodbine, was stripped 
 almost bare of its autumn beauty. Here and there 
 a maple showed a remnant of crimson, and a stal 
 wart oak had some rags of russet still clinging to 
 its gaunt boughs. The hickory trees flung out a 
 few yellow flags from the ends of their t\\ i-<. but 
 the forests wore a tattered and dishevelled look, 
 and the withered leaves that lay in dried heaps 
 upon the frozen ground, driven hither and thither 
 by every gust of the north wind, gave the un 
 thinking heart a throb of foreboding. Yet the 
 glad summer labor of those same leaves was fin- 
 i-hed according to the law that governed them, 
 and the fruit was I hrirsand the seed for thcroining 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 year. No breeze had been strong enough to shake 
 them from the tree till they were ready to forsake 
 it. Now the} T had severed the bond that had held 
 them so tightly and fluttered down to give the 
 earth all their season s earnings. On every hillside, 
 in every valley and glen, the leaves that had made 
 the summer landscape beautiful, lay contentedly: 
 
 "Where the rain might rain upon them, 
 Where the sun might shine upon them, 
 Where the wind might sigh upon them, 
 And the snow might die upon them. * 
 
 Brown, withered, dead, buried in snow they 
 might be, yet they were ministering to all the 
 leaves of the next spring-time, bequeathing to 
 them in turn the beauty that had been theirs; 
 the leafy canopies for countless song birds, the 
 grateful shade for man and beast. 
 
 Young love thought little of Nature s miracles, 
 and hearts that beat high and fast were warm 
 enough to forget the bleak wind and gathering 
 clouds. If there were naked trees, were there not 
 full barrels of apples in every cellar? If there was 
 nothing but stubble in the frozen fields, why, 
 there was plenty of wheat and corn at the mill 
 all ready for grinding. The cold air made one 
 long for a cheery home and fireside, the crackle 
 of a hearth-log, the bubbling of a steaming kettle; 
 and Patty and Mark clung together as they 
 
 252 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 walked along, making bright images of a life 
 together, snug, warm, and happy. 
 
 Patty was a capricious creature, but all her 
 changes were sudden and endearing ones, capti 
 vating those who loved her more than a mono 
 tonous and unchanging virtue. Any little shower, 
 with Patty, always ended with a rainbow that 
 made the landscape more enchanting than before. 
 Of late her little coquetries and petulances had 
 disappeared as if by magic. She had been melted 
 somehow from irresponsible girlhood into woman 
 hood, and that, too, by the ardent affection of a 
 very ordinary young man who had no great gift 
 save that of loving Patty greatly. The love had 
 s< Tved its purpose, in another way, too, for under 
 its influence Mark s own manhood had broadened 
 and deepened. He longed to bind Patty to him 
 for good and all, to capture the bright bird whose 
 fluttering wings and burnished plumage so cap 
 tured his Bensefl and stirred his heart, but his 
 longings had changed with the quality of his 
 love and he glowed at the thought of delivering 
 the girl from her dreary surroundings and -ivim: 
 her the tendeni"-s. ilir COM and comfort, the 
 innocent gayety, that her nature craved. 
 
 "You won t fail me, Patty darlin-?" lie was 
 saying at this moment. "Now that our plans 
 are finally made, with never a weak point auy- 
 
 258 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 where as far as I can see, my heart is so set upon 
 carrying them out that every hour of waiting 
 seems an age!" 
 
 "No, I won t fail, Mark; but I never know 
 the day that father will go to town until the 
 night before. I can always hear him making his 
 preparations in the barn and the shed, and or 
 dering Waitstill here and there. He is as excited 
 as if he was going to Boston instead of Mill- 
 town." 
 
 : The night before will do. I will watch the 
 house every evening till you hang a white signal 
 from your window." 
 
 "It w r on t be white," said Patty, who would be 
 mischievous on her deathbed; "my Sunday-go- 
 to-meetin petticoat is too grand, and everything 
 else that we have is yellow." 
 
 "I shall see it, whatever color it is, you can be 
 sure of that!" said Mark gallantly. "Then it s 
 decided that next morning I 11 wait at the tav 
 ern from sunrise, and whenever your father and 
 Waitstill have driven up Saco Hill, I 11 come and 
 pick you up and we ll be off like a streak of light 
 ning across the hills to New Hampshire. How 
 lucky that Riverboro is only thirty miles from 
 the state line ! It looks like snow, and how I wish 
 it would be something more than a flurry; a regu 
 lar whizzing, whirring storm that would pack the 
 
 254 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 roads and let us slip over them with our sleigh- 
 hells ringing!" 
 
 "I should like that, for they would be our only 
 wedding-bells. Oh! Mark! What if Waitstill 
 should n t go, after all: though I heard father 
 tell her that he needed her to buy things for the 
 store, and that they would n t be back till after 
 nightfall. Just to think of being married without 
 Waitstill!" 
 
 "You can do without Waitstill on this one oc 
 casion, better than you can without me," laughed 
 Mark, pinching Patty s cheek. "I ve given the 
 town clerk due notice and I have a friend to meet 
 me at his office. He is going to lend me his horse 
 for the drive home, and we shall change back the 
 next week. That will give us a fresh horse each 
 way, and we ll fly like the wind, snow or no snow. 
 When we come down Guide Board Hill that night, 
 Patty, we shall be man and wife; is n t that won 
 derful?" 
 
 "We shall be man and wife in Xew Hampshire, 
 but not in Maine, you say," Patty reminded him 
 dolefully. "It does seem dreadful that we can t 
 be married in our own state, and have to go dau- 
 irlinu aixnil with this secret on our minds, day 
 and nielli; but it can t be helped! You ll try 
 not to even think of me as your wife till we go to 
 Portsmouth to live, won t you?" 
 
 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 :< You re asking too much when you say I m 
 not to think of you as my wife, for I shall think of 
 nothing else, but I ve given you my solemn prom 
 ise," said Mark stoutly, "and I ll keep it as sure 
 as I live. We 11 be legally married by the laws of 
 New Hampshire, but we won t think of it as a 
 marriage till I tell your father and mine, and we 
 drive away once more together. That time it will 
 be in the sight of everybody, with our heads in 
 the air. I ve got the little house in Portsmouth 
 all ready, Patty: it s small, but it s in a nice part 
 of the town. Portsmouth is a pretty place, but 
 it ll be a great deal prettier when it has Mrs. 
 Mark Wilson living in it. We can be married over 
 again in Maine, afterwards, if your heart is set 
 upon it. I m willing to marry you in every state 
 of the Union, so far as I am concerned." 
 
 "I think you ve been so kind and good and 
 thoughtful, Mark dear," said Patty, more fondly 
 and meltingly than she had ever spoken to him 
 before, "and so clever, too! I do respect you for 
 getting that good position in Portsmouth and 
 being able to set up for yourself at your age. 
 I should n t wonder a bit if you were a judge 
 some day, and then what a proud girl I shall be!" 
 
 Patty s praise was bestowed none too fre 
 quently, and it sounded very sweet in the young 
 man s ears. 
 
 256 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "I do believe I can get on, with you to help 
 me, Patty," he said, pressing her arm more closely 
 to his side, and looking down ardently into her 
 radiant face. "You re a great deal cleverer than 
 I am, but I have a faculty for the business of the 
 la\v, so my father says, and a faculty for money- 
 making, too. And even if we have to begin in a 
 small way, my salary will be a certainty, and we ll 
 work up together. I can see you in a yellow satin 
 dn-ss, si ill enough to stand alone!" 
 
 "It must be white satin, if you please, not 
 yellow! After having used a hundred and ten 
 yards of shop-worn yellow calico on myself within 
 two years, I never want to wear that color again! 
 If only I could come to you better provided," she 
 >ii:lied, with the suggestion of tears in her voice. 
 "If I d been a common sen ant I could have saved 
 something from my wages to be married on. I 
 have n t even got anything to be married in I" 
 
 "I 11 get you anything you want in Portland 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Certainly not; I d rather be married in rags 
 than have you spend your money upon me be 
 forehand!" 
 
 " Remember to have a box of your belongings 
 packed and slipped under the shed someuhere. 
 You can t be certain what \ < >ur fa I her will say or 
 do when the time comes for telling him, and 1 
 
 857 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 want you to be ready to leave on a moment s 
 notice." 
 
 "I will; I ll do everything you say, Mark, but 
 are you sure that we have thought of every other 
 way? I do so hate being underhanded." 
 
 " Every other way! I am more than willing to 
 ask your father, but we know he would treat me 
 with contempt, for he can t bear the sight of me ! 
 He would probably lock you up and feed you on 
 bread and water. That being the state of things, 
 how can I tell our plans to my own father? He 
 never would look with favor on my running away 
 with you ; and mother is, by nature, set upon doing 
 things handsomely and in proper order. Father 
 would say our elopement would be putting us both 
 wrong before the community, and he d advise me 
 to wait. You are both young I can hear him 
 announcing his convictions now, as clearly as if 
 he was standing here in the road You are 
 both young and you can well afford to wait until 
 something turns up. As if we had n t waited 
 and waited from all eternity!" 
 
 " Yes, we have been engaged to be married for 
 at least five weeks," said Patty, with an upward 
 glance peculiar to her own sparkling face, one 
 that always intoxicated Mark. " I am seventeen 
 and a half; your father could n t expect a con 
 firmed old maid like me to waste any more time. 
 
 258 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 But I never would do this this sudden, unre- 
 spc ( -table thing, if there was any other way. 
 Everything depends on my keeping it secret from 
 Waitstill, but she does n t suspect anything yet. 
 She thinks of me as nothing but a child still. Do 
 you suppose Ellen would go with us, just to give 
 me a little comfort?" 
 
 "She might," said Mark, after reflecting a 
 moment. "She is very devoted to you, and per 
 haps she could keep a secret; she never has, but 
 there s always a first time. You can t go on add 
 ing to the party, though, as if it was a candy-pull ! 
 \\ V cannot take Lucy Morrill and Phoebe Day 
 and Cephas Cole, because it would be too hard on 
 the horse; and besides, I might #et embarrassed at 
 the town clerk s office and marry the wrong girl; 
 or you might swop me off for Cephas! But I ll 
 tell Ellen if you say so; she s got plenty of grit." 
 
 "Don t joke about it, Mark, don t. I should n t 
 miss Wait still so much if I had Ellen, and how 
 happy I shall be if she approves of me for a sister 
 ami thinks your mother and lather will like me 
 in time." 
 
 "There never was a creature born into the 
 world that \\ould n t love you, Patty !" 
 
 "I don t know; look at Aunt Abby Cole!" 
 >aid Patty pensively. "Well, it does not seem 
 as if a marriage that is n t good in Iliverboro was 
 
 258 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 really decent! How tiresome of Maine to want 
 all those days of public notice; people must so 
 often want to get married in a minute. If I think 
 about anything too long I always get out of the 
 notion." 
 
 "I know you do; that s what I m afraid of!" 
 and Mark s voice showed decided nervousness. 
 "You won t get out of the notion of marrying me, 
 will you, Patty dear?" 
 
 "Marrying you is more than a notion, Mark," 
 said Patty soberly. " I m only a little past seven 
 teen, but I m far older because of the difficulties 
 I ve had. I don t wonder you speak of my no 
 tions. I was as light as a feather in all my deal 
 ings with you at first." 
 
 "So was I with you! I hadn t grown up, 
 Patty." 
 
 "Then I came to know you better and see how 
 you sympathized with Waitstill s troubles and 
 mine. I could n t love anybody, I could n t marry 
 anybody, who did n t feel that things at our house 
 can t go on as they are ! Father has had a good long 
 trial ! Three wives and two daughters have done 
 their best to live with him, and failed. I am not 
 willing to die for him, as my mother did, nor have 
 Waitstill killed if I can help it. Sometimes he is 
 like a man who has lost his senses and sometimes 
 he is only grim and quiet and cruel. If he takes 
 
 260 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 our marriage without a terrible scene, Mark, per 
 haps it will encourage Waitstill to break her 
 chains as I have mine." 
 
 "There s sure to be an awful row," Mark said, 
 as one who had forecasted all the probabilities. 
 "It \vould n t make any difference if you married 
 the Prince of Wales; nothing would suit your 
 father but selecting the man and making all the 
 arrangements; and then he would never choose 
 any one who would n t tend the store and work 
 on the farm for him without wages." 
 
 "Waitstill will never run aw r ay; she is n t like 
 me. She will sit and sit there, slaving and suffer 
 ing, till doomsday; for the one that loves her is n t 
 free like you!" 
 
 :< You mean Ivory Boynton? I believe he wor 
 ships the ground she walks on. I like him better 
 than I used, and I understand him better. Oh! 
 but I in a lucky young dog to have a kind, liberal 
 father and a bit of money put by to do with as I 
 choose. If I had n t, I d be eating my heart out 
 like Ivory!" 
 
 "No, you would n t eat your heart out; you d 
 always get what you wanted somehow, and you 
 wouldn t wait for it cither; ami I in just the same. 
 I m not built for giving up, and enduring, and 
 sacriiiein.ir. I m naturally just a tuft of thistle 
 down, Mark; but living beside Waitsiill all these 
 
 261 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 years I Ve grown ashamed to be so light, blowing 
 about hither and thither. I kept looking at her 
 and borrowing some of her strength, just enough 
 to make me worthy to be her sister. Waitstill is 
 like a bit of Plymouth Rock, only it s a lovely 
 bit on the land side, with earth in the crevices, 
 and flowers blooming all over it and hiding the 
 granite. Oh! if only she will forgive us, Mark, 
 I won t mind what father says or does." 
 
 "She will forgive us, Patty darling; don t fret, 
 and cry, and make your pretty eyes all red. I 11 
 do nothing in all this to make either of you girls 
 ashamed of me, and I 11 keep your father and 
 mine ever before my mind to prevent my being 
 foolish or reckless; for, you know, Patty, I m 
 heels over head in love with you, and it s only for 
 your sake I m taking all these pains and agreeing 
 to do without my own wedded wife for weeks to 
 come!" 
 
 "Does the town clerk, or does the justice of the 
 peace give a wedding-ring, just like the minister? " 
 Patty asked. "I should n t feel married without 
 a ring." 
 
 "The ring is all ready, and has M. W. to P. B. 
 engraved in it, with the place for the date wait inu; 
 and here is the engagement ring if you ll wear it 
 when you re alone, Patty. My mother gave it to 
 me when she thought there would be something 
 
 262 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 between Annabel Franklin and me. The moment 
 I looked at it you see it s a topaz stone and 
 noticed the yellow fire in it, I said to myself : It 
 is like no one but Patty Baxter, and if she won t 
 wear it, no other girl shall! It s the color of the 
 tip ends of your curls and it s just like the light 
 in your eyes when you re making fun!" 
 
 "It s heavenly!" cried Patty. "It looks as if 
 it had been made of the yellow autumn leaves, 
 and oh! how I love the sparkle of it! But never 
 will I take your mother s ring or wear it, Mark, 
 till I ve proved myself her loving, dutiful daugh 
 ter. I ll do the one wrong thing of running away 
 with you and concealing our marriage, but not 
 another if I can help it." 
 
 "Very well," sighed Mark, replacing the ring 
 in his pocket with rather a crestfallen air. "But 
 the first thing you know you ll be too good for 
 me, Patty! You used to be a regular will-o -the- 
 wisp, all nonsense and fun, forever laughing and 
 teasing, so that a fellow could never be sure of 
 you for two minutes together." 
 
 "It s all there underneath," said Patty, put 
 ting her hand on his arm and turning her wistful 
 face up to his. "It will come again; the girl in me 
 is n t dead; she is n t even asleep; but she s all 
 sobered down. She can t laugh just now, she can 
 only smile; and the tears are waiting underneath, 
 
 63 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 ready to spring out if any one says the wrong 
 word. This Patty is frightened and anxious and 
 her heart beats too fast from morning till night. 
 She has n t any mother, and she cannot say a 
 word to her dear sister, and she s going away 
 to be married to you, that s almost a stranger, 
 and she is n t eighteen, and does n t know what s 
 coming to her, nor what it means to be married. 
 She dreads her father s anger, and she cannot 
 rest till she knows whether your family willlove 
 her and take her in; and, oh! she s a miserable, 
 worried girl, not a bit like the old Patty." 
 
 Mark held her close and smoothed the curls 
 under the loose brown hood. "Don t you fret, 
 Patty darling! I m not the boy I was last week. 
 Every word you say makes me more of a man. At 
 first I would have run away just for the joke; 
 anything to get you away from the other fellows 
 and prove I was the best man, but now I m so 
 bered down, too. I ll do nothing rash; I ll be as 
 staid as the judge you want me to be twenty years 
 later. You ve made me over, Patty, and if my 
 love for you was n t the right sort at first, it is 
 now. I wish the road to New Hampshire was full 
 of lions and I could fight my way through them 
 just to show you how strong I feel!" 
 
 "There ll be lions enough," smiled Patty 
 through her tears, " though they won t have manes 
 
 264 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 and tails; but I can imagine how father will roar, 
 and how my courage will ooze out of the heels of 
 my boots!" 
 
 " Just let me catch the Deacon roaring at my 
 wife!" exclaimed Mark with a swelling chest. 
 "Now, run along home, Patty dear, for I don t 
 want you scolded on my account. There s sure 
 to be only a day or two of waiting now, and I 
 shall soon see the signal waving from your win 
 dow. I ll sound Ellen and see if she s brave 
 enough to be one of the eloping party. Good 
 night! Good-night! Oh! how I hope our going 
 away will be to-morrow, my dearest, dearest 
 Patty!" 
 
WINTER 
 
XXVI 
 
 A WEDDING-RING 
 
 THE snow had come. It had begun to fall softly 
 and steadily at the beginning of the week, and 
 now for days it had covered the ground deeper 
 and deeper, drifting about the little red brick 
 house on the hilltop, banking up against the barn, 
 and shrouding the sheds and the smaller buildings. 
 There had been two cold, still nights; the win 
 dows were covered with silvery landscapes whose 
 delicate foliage made every pane of glass a leafy 
 bower, while a dazzling crust bediamonded the 
 hillsides, so that no eye could rest on them long 
 without becoming snow-blinded. 
 
 Town-House Hill was not as well travelled as 
 many others, and Deacon Baxter had often to 
 break his own road down to the store, without 
 waiting for the help of the village snow-plough 
 to make things easier for him. Many a path had 
 Waitstill broken in her time, and it was by no 
 means one of her most distasteful tasks that 
 of shovelling into the drifts of hmprd-up white 
 ness, tossing them to one side or the other, ami 
 cutting a narrow, clean-edged track that would 
 pack down into the hardness of marble. 
 
 268 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 There were many "chores" to be done these 
 cold mornings before any household could draw 
 a breath of comfort. The Baxters kept but one 
 cow in winter, killed the pig, not to eat, but 
 to sell, and reduced the flock of hens and tur 
 keys; but Waitstill was always as busy in the barn 
 as in her own proper domain. Her heart yearned 
 for all the dumb creatures about the place, inter 
 vening between them and her father s scanty 
 care; and when the thermometer descended far 
 below zero she would be found stuffing hay into 
 the holes and cracks of the barn and hen-house, 
 giving the horse and cow fresh beddings of straw 
 and a mouthful of extra food between the slender 
 meals provided by the Deacon. 
 
 It was three o clock in the afternoon and a fire 
 in the Baxters kitchen since six in the morning 
 had produced a fairly temperate climate in that 
 one room, though the entries and chambers might 
 have been used for refrigerators, as the Deacon 
 was as parsimonious in the use of fuel as in all 
 other things, and if his daughters had not been 
 hardy young creatures, trained from their very 
 birth to discomforts and exposures of every sort, 
 they would have died long ago. 
 
 The Baxter kitchen shone and glittered in 
 all its accustomed cleanliness and order. Scrub 
 bing and polishing were cheap amusements, and 
 
 270 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 nobody grudged them to Waitstill. No tables in 
 Hiverboro were whiter, no tins more lustrous, no 
 pewter brighter, no brick hearths ruddier than 
 hers. The beans and brown bread and Indian 
 pudding were basking in the warmth of the old 
 brick oven, and what with the crackle and sparkle 
 of the fire, the gleam of the blue willow-ware on 
 the cupboard shelves, and the scarlet geraniums 
 blooming on the sunny shelf above the sink, 
 there were few pleasanter places to be found in 
 the village than that same Baxter kitchen. Yet 
 Waitstill was ill at ease this afternoon; she hardly 
 knew why. Her father had just put the horse into 
 the pung and driven up to Milliken s Mills for 
 some grain, and Patty was down at the store 
 instructing Bill Morrill (Cephas Cole s successor) 
 in his novel task of waiting on customers and 
 learning the whereabouts of things; no easy task 
 in the bewildering variety of stock in a country 
 store; where pins, treacle, gingham, Epsom salts, 
 Indian meal, shoestrings, shovels, brooms, sul 
 phur, tobacco, suspenders, rum, and indigo may 
 be demanded in rapid succession. 
 
 Patty was quiet and docile these days, though 
 her color was more brilliant than usual and her 
 eyes had all their accustomed sparkle. She went 
 about her work steadily, neither ranting nor rail 
 ing at fate, nor bewailing her lot, but even in this, 
 
 871 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Waitstill felt a sense of change and difference too 
 subtle to be put in words. She had noted Patty s 
 summer flirtations, but regarded them indul 
 gently, very much as if they had been the irre 
 sponsible friskings of a lamb in a meadow. AVa i t - 
 still had more than the usual reserve in these 
 matters, for in New England at that time, though 
 the soul was a subject of daily conversation, the 
 heart was felt to be rather an indelicate topic, to 
 be alluded to as seldom as possible. Waitstill 
 certainly would never have examined Patty 
 closely as to the state of her affections, intimutr 
 as she was with her sister s thoughts and opinions 
 about life; she simply bided her time until Patty 
 should confide in her. She had wished now and 
 then that Patty s capricious fancy might settle 
 on Philip Perry, although, indeed, when she con 
 sidered it seriously, it seemed like an alliance be 
 tween a butterfly and an owl. Cephas Cole she 
 regarded as quite beneath Patty s rightful ambi 
 tions, and as for Mark Wilson, she had grown up 
 in the belief, held in the village generally, that he 
 would marry money and position, and drift out 
 of Riverboro into a gayer, larger world. Her 
 devotion to her sister was so ardent, and her 
 admiration so sincere, that she could not think it 
 possible that Patty would love anywhere in vain; 
 nevertheless, she had an instinct that her affec- 
 
 272 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 lions were crystallizing somewhere or other, and 
 when that happened, the uncertain and eccentric 
 temper of her father would raise a thousand 
 obstacles. 
 
 While these thoughts coursed more or less va- 
 grantly through WaitstilFs mind, she suddenly 
 determined to get her cloak and hood and run 
 over to see Mrs. Boynton. Ivory had been away 
 a good deal in the w r oods since early Novem 
 ber, chopping trees and helping to make new 
 roads. He could not go long distances, like the 
 other men, as he felt constrained to come home 
 every day or two to look after his mother and 
 Rodman, but the work was too lucrative to 
 be altogether refused. With Wait still s help, he 
 had at last overcome his mother s aversion to 
 old Mrs. Mason, their nearest neighbor ; and 
 she, bring now a widow with very slender re 
 sources, went to the Boyntons several times 
 each week to put the forlorn household a little 
 on its feet. 
 
 It was all uphill and down to Ivory s farm, 
 Waitstill reflected, and she could take h r sled 
 and slide half the way, going and coming. <>r she 
 could cut across the frozen fields on the cru>t. 
 Shr caught up her shawl from a hook on the 
 kitchen door , and, throwing it over her head and 
 shoulders to shield herself from the chill blasts 
 
 273 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 on the stairway, ran up to her bedroom to make 
 herself ready for the walk. 
 
 She slipped on a quilted petticoat and warmer 
 dress, braided her hair freshly, while her breath 
 went out in a white cloud to meet the freezing 
 air; snatched her wraps from her closet, and was 
 just going down the stairs when she remembered 
 that an hour before, having to bind up a cut 
 finger for her father, she had searched Patty s 
 bureau drawer for an old handkerchief, and had 
 left things in disorder while she ran to answer 
 the Deacon s impatient call and stamp upon 
 the kitchen floor. 
 
 "Hurry up and don t make me stan here all 
 winter!" he had shouted. "If you ever kept 
 things in proper order, you would n t have to 
 hunt all over the house for a piece of rag when 
 you need it!" 
 
 Patty was very dainty about her few patched 
 and darned belongings; also very exact in the 
 adjustment of her bits of ribbon, her collars of 
 crocheted thread, her adored coral pendants, and 
 her pile of neat cotton handkerchiefs, hem 
 stitched by her own hands. Waitstill, accord 
 ingly, with an exclamation at her own unwonted 
 carelessness, darted into her sister s room to re 
 place in perfect order the articles she had disar 
 ranged in her haste. She knew them all, these 
 
 274 
 
THE STORY OP WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 poor little trinkets, humble, pathetic evidences 
 of Patty s feminine vanity and desire to make her 
 bright beauty a trifle brighter. 
 
 Suddenly her hand and her eye fell at the same 
 moment on something hidden in a far corner un 
 der a white " fascinator, "one of those head-cover 
 ings of filmy wool, dotted with beads, worn by the 
 girls of the period. She drew the glittering, un 
 familiar object forward, and then lifted it won- 
 deringly in her hand. It was a string of burnished 
 gold beads, the avowed desire of Patty s heart; a 
 string of beads with a brilliant little stone in the 
 fastening. And, as if that were not mystery 
 enough, there was something slipped over the 
 (Lisped necklace and hanging from it, as Wait- 
 still held it up to the light a circlet of plain 
 gold, a wedding-ring! 
 
 Waitstill stood motionless in the cold with such 
 a throng of bewildering thoughts, misgivings, 
 imaginings, rushing through her head [that they 
 were like a flock of birds beating their wings 
 against her ears. The imaginings were not those 
 of absolute dread or terror, for she knew her 
 Patty. If she had seen the necklace alone she 
 would have been anxious, indeed, for it would 
 have meant that the girl, urged on by ungovern 
 able desire for the ornament, had accepted a 
 present from one who should not have given it to 
 
 275 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 her secretly; but the wedding-ring meant some 
 thing different for Patty, - something more, 
 something certain, something unescapable, for 
 good or ill. A wedding-ring could stand for 
 nothing but marriage. Could Patty be married? 
 How, when, and where could so great a thing 
 happen without her knowledge? It seemed im 
 possible. How had such a child surmounted the 
 difficulties in the path? Had she been led away 
 by the attractions of some stranger? No, there 
 had been none in the village. There was only one 
 man who had the worldly wisdom or the means 
 to carry Patty off under the very eye of her 
 watchful sister; only one with the reckless cour 
 age to defy her father; and that was Mark Wil 
 son. His name did not bring absolute confidence 
 to Waitstill s mind. He was gay and young and 
 thoughtless; how had he managed to do this wild 
 thing? and had he done all decently and 
 wisely, with consideration for the girl s good 
 name? The thought of all the risks lying in the 
 train of Patty s youth and inexperience brought 
 a wail of anguish from Waitstill s lips, and, 
 dropping the beads and closing the drawer, she 
 stumbled blindly down the stairway to the 
 kitchen, intent upon one thought only --to find 
 her sister, to look in her eyes, feel the touch of 
 her hand, and assure herself of her safety. 
 
 rra 
 
THE STORT OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 She gave a dazed look at the tall clock, and 
 was boirinniiig to put on her cloak when the door 
 opened and Patty entered the kitchen by way of 
 the shed; the usual Patty, rosy, buoyant, alert, 
 with a kind of childlike innocence that could 
 hardly be associated with the possession of wed 
 ding-rings. 
 
 "Are you going out, Waity? Wrap up well, for 
 it s freezing cold. Waity, Waity, dear! What s 
 the matter?" she cried, coming closer to her 
 sister in alarm. 
 
 WaitstilFs face had lost its clear color, and her 
 eyes had the look of some dumb animal that has 
 been struck and wounded. She sank into the 
 1 lag-bottomed rocker by the window, and leaning 
 back her head, uttered no word, but closed her 
 eyes and gave one long, shivering sigh and a dry 
 sob that seemed drawn from the very bottom of 
 heart. 
 
XXVII 
 
 THE CONFESSIONAL 
 
 <k WAITY, I know what it is; you have found out 
 about me! Who has been wicked enough to tell 
 you before I could do so tell me, who?" 
 
 "Oh, Patty, Patty!" cried Waitstill, who 
 could no longer hold back her tears. " How could 
 you deceive me so? How could you shut me out 
 of your heart and keep a secret like this from me, 
 who have tried to be mother and sister in one to 
 you ever since the day you were born? God has 
 sent me much to bear, but nothing so bitter as 
 this to have my sister take the greatest step of 
 her life without my knowledge or counsel!" 
 "Stop, dear, stop, and let me tell you!" 
 "All is told, and not by you as it should have 
 been. We ve never had anything separate from 
 each other in all our lives, and when I looked in 
 your bureau drawer for a bit of soft cotton it 
 was nothing more than I have done a hundred 
 times you can guess now what I stumbled 
 upon; a wedding-ring for a hand I have held 
 ever since it was a baby s. My sister has a hus 
 band, and I am not even sure of his name!" 
 
 278 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Waity, Waity, don t take it so to heart!" 
 and Patty flung herself on her knees beside 
 Waitstill s chair. "Not till you hear everything! 
 When I tell you all, you will dry your eyes and 
 smile and be happy about me, and you will 
 know that in the whole world there is no one else 
 in my love or my life but you and my my 
 husband." 
 
 "Who is the husband?" asked Waitstill dryly, 
 as she wiped her eyes and leaned her elbow on the 
 table. 
 
 "Who could it be but Mark? Has there ever 
 been any one but Mark? " 
 
 "I should have said that there were several, 
 in these past few months." 
 
 Waitstill s tone showed clearly that she was 
 still grieved and hurt beyond her power to 
 conceal. 
 
 "I have never thought of marrying any one 
 but Mark, and not even of marrying him till a 
 little while ago," said Patty. "Now do not draw 
 away from me and look out of the window a- if 
 we were not sisters, or you will break my heart. 
 Turn your eyes to mine and lirhVve in me, \Yaily, 
 while I tell you everything, as I have so In; 
 to do all tliex- nights and days. Mark and I have 
 Invedeaeh other for a long, long time. It was only 
 play at first, but we were young and foolish and 
 
 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 did not understand what was really happening 
 between us." 
 
 * You are both of you only a few months older 
 than when you were young and foolish/" ob 
 jected Waitstill. 
 
 :< Yes, we are years and years! Five weeks 
 ago I promised Mark that I would marry him ; but 
 how was I ever to keep my word publicly? You 
 have noticed how insultingly father treats him of 
 late, passing him by without a word when he 
 meets him in the street? You remember, too, 
 that he has never gone to Lawyer Wilson for 
 advice, or put any business in his hands since 
 spring?" 
 
 :< The Wilsons are among father s aversions, 
 that is all you can say; it is no use to try and 
 explain them or rebel against them," Waitstill 
 answered wearily. 
 
 "That is all very well, and might be borne like 
 many another cross; but I wanted to marry this 
 particular aversion, " argued Patty. "Would 
 you have helped me to marry Mark secretly if I 
 had confided in you?" 
 
 * * Never in the world never ! " 
 
 "I knew it," exclaimed Patty triumphantly. 
 "We both said so! And what was Mark to do? 
 He was more than willing to come up here and 
 ask for me like a man, but he knew that he would 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 be ordered off the premises as if he were a thief. 
 That would have angered Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, 
 and made matters worse. We talked and talked 
 until we were hoarse; we thought and thought 
 until we nearly had brain fever from thinking, 
 but there seemed to be no way but to take the 
 bull by the horns." 
 
 "You are both so young, you could well have 
 bided awhile." 
 
 "We could have bided until we were gray, 
 nothing would have changed father ; and just 
 lately I could n t make Mark bide," confessed 
 Patty ingenuously. "He has been in a rage 
 about father s treatment of you and me. He 
 knows we have n t the right food to eat, nothing 
 fit to wear, and not an hour of peace or freedom, 
 lie ha> even heard the men at the store say that 
 our very lives might be in danger if we crossed 
 father s will, or angered him beyond a certain 
 point. You can t blame a man who loves a girl, if 
 he wants to take her away from such a wretched 
 life. His love would be good for nothing if he did 
 not long to rescue her!" 
 
 "I would never have left you behind to bear 
 your slavery alone, while I slipped away to happi 
 ness and comfort not for any man alive would 
 I have done it!" This speech, so unlike Wait- 
 still in its ungenerous reproach, was repented of 
 
 281 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 as soon as it left her tongue. "Oh, I did not 
 mean that, my darling !" she cried. "I would 
 have welcomed any change for you, and thanked 
 God for it, if only it could have come honorably 
 and aboveboard." 
 
 "But, don t you see, Waity, how my marriage 
 helps every tiling? That is what makes me 
 happiest; that now I shall have a home and it 
 can be yours. Father has plenty of money and 
 can get a housekeeper. He is only sixty-five, and 
 as hale and hearty as a man can be. You have 
 served your time, and surely you need not be 
 his drudge for the rest of your life. Mark and I 
 thought you would spend half the year with us." 
 
 Waitstill waived this point as too impossible 
 for discussion. "When and where were you 
 married, Patty?" she asked. 
 
 "In Allentown, New Hampshire, last Monday, 
 the day you and father went to Saco. Ellen went 
 with us. You need n t suppose it was much fun 
 for me! Girls that think running away to be 
 married is nothing but a lark, do not have to 
 deceive a sister like you, nor have a father such 
 as mine to reckon with afterwards." 
 
 "You thought of all that before, did n t you, 
 child?" 
 
 "Nobody that has n t already run away to be 
 married once or twice could tell how it was going 
 
 282 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 to feel! Never did I pass so unhappy a day! If 
 Mark was not everything that is kind and gentle, 
 he would have tipped me out of the sleigh into a 
 snowbank and left me by the roadside to freeze. 
 I might have been murdered instead of only 
 married, by the way I behaved; but Mark and 
 Ellen understood. Then, the very next day, 
 Mark s father sent him up to Bridgton on busi 
 ness, and he had to go to Allentown first to 
 return a friend s horse, so he could n t break the 
 news to father at once, as he intended." 
 
 "Does a New Hampshire marriage hold good 
 in Maine?" asked \Vaitstill, still intent on the 
 bare facts at the bottom of the romance. 
 
 "Well, of course," stammered Patty, some 
 what confused, " Maine has her own way of doing 
 things, and would n t be likely to fancy New 
 Hampshire s. But nothing can make it wicked or 
 anything but according to law. Besides, Mark 
 considered all the difficulties. He is wonderfully 
 clever, and he has a clerkship in a Portsmouth 
 law office waiting for him; and that s where we 
 are going to live, in New Hampshire, where we 
 were married, and my darling sister will come soon 
 and stay months and months with us." 
 
 "\\hen is Mark coming back to arrange all 
 this?" 
 
 "Late to-night or early to-morrow morning." 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Where did you go after you were married?" 
 
 "Where did I go?" echoed Patty, in a child 
 ish burst of tears. "Where could I go? It took 
 all day to be married all day long, working and 
 driving hard from sunrise to seven o clock in the 
 evening. Then when we reached the bridge, 
 Mark dropped me, and I walked up home in the 
 dark, and went to bed without any supper, for 
 fear that you and father would come back and 
 catch me at it and ask why I was so late." 
 
 "My poor, foolish dear!" sighed Waitstill. 
 
 Patty s tears flowed faster at the first sound of 
 sympathy in WaitstilFs voice, for self-pity is very 
 enfeebling. She fairly sobbed as she continued : 
 
 "So my only wedding-journey was the freezing 
 drive back from Allentown, with Ellen crying all 
 the way and wishing that she hadn t gone with 
 us. Mark and I both say we 11 never be married 
 again so long as we live!" 
 
 "Where have you seen your husband from 
 that day to this?" 
 
 "I haven t laid eyes on him!" said Patty, 
 with a fresh burst of woe. "I have a certificate- 
 thing, and a wedding-ring and a beautiful frock 
 and hat that Mark bought in Boston, but no real 
 husband. I m no more married than ever I was! 
 Don t you remember I said that Mark was sent 
 away on Tuesday morning? And this is Thurs- 
 
 284 
 
THE STORY OF WAITS-TILL BAXTER 
 
 day. I ve had three letters from him; hut I don t 
 know, till we see how father takes it, when we can 
 tell the Wilsons and start for Portsmouth. We 
 shan t really call ourselves married till we get to 
 Portsmouth; we promised each other that from 
 the first. It is n t much like being a bride, never 
 to see your bridegroom; to have a father who will 
 fly into a passion when he hears that you are mar 
 ried; not to know whet her your new family will 
 like or despise you; and to have your only sister 
 angered with you for the first time in her life!" 
 
 WaitstflTs heart melted, and she lifted Patty s 
 tear-stained face to hers and kissed it. "Well, 
 dear, I would not have had you do this for the 
 world, but it is done, and Mark seems to have 
 been as wise as a man can be when he does an 
 unwise thing. You are married, and you love each 
 other. That s the comforting thing to me." 
 
 "We do," sobbed Patty. "No two people ever 
 loved each other better than we; but it s been all 
 spoiled for fear of father." 
 
 "I must say I dread to have him hear the 
 news"; and Waitstill knitted herhrowsanxiously. 
 "I hope it may he soon, and I think I ought to 
 be here when he is told. Mark will never under 
 stand or bear with him, and there may be trouble 
 that I could avert." 
 
 "I ll be here, too, and I m not afraid!" and 
 285 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Patty raised her head defiantly. "Father can t 
 unmarry us, that s why we acted in this miser 
 able, secret, underhanded way. Somehow, though 
 I have n t seen Mark since we went to Allentown, 
 I am braver than I was last week, for now I ve 
 got somebody to take my part. I Ve a good mind 
 to go upstairs and put on my gold beads and my 
 wedding-ring, just to get used to them and to feel 
 a little more married. -- No: I can t, after all, for 
 there is father driving up the hill now, and he 
 may come into the house. What brings him home 
 at this hour?" 
 
 "I was expecting him every moment"; and 
 Waitstill rose and stirred the fire. "He took the 
 pung and went to the Mills for grain." 
 
 " He has n t anything in the back of the pung 
 and, oh, Waity ! he is standing up now and whip 
 ping the horse with all his might. I never saw him 
 drive like that before: what can be the matter? 
 He can t have seen my wedding-ring, and only 
 three people in all the world know about my being 
 married." 
 
 Waitstill turned from the window, her heart 
 beating a little faster. " What three people know, 
 three hundred are likely to know sooner or later. 
 It may be a false alarm, but father is in a fury 
 about something. He must not be told the news 
 until he is in a better humor!" 
 
XXVIII 
 
 PATTY IS SHOWN THE DOOR 
 
 DEACON BAXTER drove into the barn, and fli Hir 
 ing a blanket over the wheezing horse, closed the 
 door behind him and hurried into the house with 
 out even thinking to lay down his whip. 
 
 Opening the kitchen door and stopping out 
 side long enough to kick the snow from his heavy 
 boots, he strode into the kitchen and confronted 
 the two girls. He looked at them sharply before 
 he spoke, scanning their flushed faces and tear- 
 stained eyes; then he broke out savagely: 
 
 "Oh! you re both here; that s lucky. Now 
 stan* up and answer to me. What s this I hear 
 at the Mills about Patience, common talk 
 outside the store?" 
 
 The time had come, then, and by some strange 
 fatality, when Mark was too far away to be of 
 service. 
 
 "Tell me what you heard, father, and I can 
 u ive yon a bet ter answer," Patty replied, hedging 
 to gain time, and shaking inwardly. 
 
 "Bill Morrill says his brother that works in 
 New Hampshire reports you as ridin through the 
 
 887 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 streets of Allentown last Monday with a young 
 
 man. 1 
 
 There seemed but one reply to this, so Patty 
 answered tremblingly: "He says what s true; I 
 was there." 
 
 " What ! " And it was plain from the Deacon s 
 voice that he had really disbelieved the rumor. 
 A whirlwind of rage swept through him and shook 
 him from head to foot. 
 
 "Do you mean to stan there an own up to 
 me that you was thirty miles away from home 
 with a young man?" he shouted. 
 
 "If you ask me a plain question, I ve got to 
 tell you the truth, father: I was." 
 
 " How dare you carry on like that and drag my 
 name into scandal, you worthless trollop, you? 
 Who went along with you? I ll skin the hide off 
 him, whoever t was!" 
 
 Patty remained mute at this threat, but Wait- 
 still caught her hand and whispered: "Tell him 
 all, dear; it s got to come out. Be brave, and I 11 
 stand by you." 
 
 "Why are you interferin and puttin in your 
 meddlesome oar?" the Deacon said, turning to 
 Waitstill. "The girl would never a been there 
 if you d attended to your business. She s nothin 
 but a fool of a young filly, an you re an old cart 
 horse. It was your job to look out for her as your 
 
 288 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKU 
 
 mother told you to. Anybody might a guessed 
 she needed watchin !" 
 
 "You shall not call my sister an old cart-horse! 
 I ll not permit it!" cried Patty, plucking up 
 courage in her sister s defence, and as usual com 
 porting herself a trifle more like a spitfire than a 
 true heroine of tragedy. 
 
 "Hush, Patty! Let him call me anything that 
 he likes; it makes no difference at such a time." 
 
 M Waitstill knew nothing of my going away till 
 this afternoon, "continued Patty. "I keptitsecret 
 from her on purpose, because I was afraid she 
 would not approve. I went with Murk Wilson, 
 and and -- I married him in New Hampshire 
 because we could n t do it at home without every 
 body s knowledge. Now you know all." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me you ve gone an 
 married that reckless, \\uthless, horse-trottin , 
 card-playin sneak of a Wilson boy that s courted 
 every girl in town? Married the son of a man 
 that has quarrelled with me and insulted me in 
 public? By the Lord Harry, I ll crack this whip 
 over your shoulders once before I m done with 
 you! If I d used it years ago you ini.uht have 
 been an honest woman to-day, in-tead of a - 
 
 Foxwell Baxter had wholly lost control of him 
 self, and the temper, that had never I >een governed 
 or held in check, lashed itself into a fury that 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 made him for the moment unaccountable for his 
 words or actions. 
 
 Waitstill took a step forward in front of Patty. 
 "Put down that whip, father, or I ll take it 
 from you and break it across my knee ! " Her eyes 
 blazed and she held her head high. "You ve 
 made me do the work of a man, and, thank God, 
 I ve got the muscle of one. Don t lift a finger to 
 Patty, or I 11 defend her, I promise you ! The din 
 ner-horn is in the side entry and two blasts will 
 bring Uncle Bart up the hill, but I d rather not 
 call him unless you force me to." 
 
 The Deacon s grasp on the whip relaxed, and he 
 fell back a little in sheer astonishment at the 
 bravado of the girl, ordinarily so quiet and self- 
 contained. He was speechless for a second, and 
 then recovered breath enough to shout to the 
 terrified Patty: "I won t use the whip till I hear 
 whether you ve got any excuse for your scandal 
 ous behavior. Hear me tell you one thing: this 
 little pleasure-trip o yourn won t do you no good, 
 for I 11 break the marriage! I won t have aWilson 
 in my family if I have to empty a shot-gun into 
 him; but your lies and your low conduct are so be 
 yond reason I can t believe my ears. What s your 
 excuse, I say?" 
 
 "Stop a minute, Patty, before you answer, and 
 let me say a few things that ought to have been 
 
 290 
 
ITT D\VN i HA i \viiir. i \irni:. <>u i i.i. T\KK IT 
 
 I K.M YOU" 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 said before now," interposed Waitstill. "If Patty 
 h:is done wrong, father, you ve no one but your 
 self to thank for it, and it s only by God s grace 
 that nothing worse has happened to her. What 
 could you expect from a young thing like that, 
 with her merry heart turned into a lump in her 
 breast every day by your cruelty? Did she de 
 ceive you? Well, you ve made her afraid of you 
 ever since she was a baby in the cradle, drawing 
 the covers over her little head when she heard 
 your step. Whatever crop you sow is bound to 
 come up, father; that s Nature s law, and God s, 
 as well." 
 
 "You hold your tongue, you, readin the 
 law to your elders an betters," said the old man, 
 choking with wrath. "My business is with this 
 wuthless >ist er o yourn, not with you! - - You vc 
 got your coat and hood on, miss, so you jest clear 
 out o the house; an if you re too slow about 
 it, I ll help you along. I ve no kind of an id* a 
 you re rightly married, for that young Wilson 
 sneak would n t pay so high for you as all that ; 
 but if it amuses you to call him your husband, 
 L:O aif find him uif stay with him. This is an 
 honrst house, an no place for sneh as yon!" 
 
 Tatty had a good shaiv of the Baxter temper, 
 not under such control u Wait still s, and the 
 blood mounted into her face. 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 You shall not speak to me so!" she said in 
 trepidly, while keeping a discreet eye on the whip. 
 "I m not a a caterpillar to be stepped on, 
 I m a married woman, as right as a New Hamp 
 shire justice can make me, with a wedding-ring 
 and a certificate to show, if need be. And you 
 shall not call my husband names! Time will I- 11 
 what he is going to be, and that s a son-in-law 
 any true father would be proud to own!" 
 
 "Why are you set against this match, father? " 
 argued Waitstill, striving to make him hear rea 
 son. "Patty has married into one of the best 
 families in the village. Mark is gay and thought 
 less, but never has he been seen the worse for 
 liquor, and never has he done a thing for which 
 a wife need hang her head. It is something for a 
 young fellow of four-and-twenty to be able to 
 provide for a wife and keep her in comfort; and 
 when all is said and done, it is a true love-match." 
 
 Patty seized this inopportune moment to forget 
 her father s presence, and the tragic nature of the 
 occasion, and, in her usual impetuous fashion, 
 flung her arms around Waitstill fl neck and gave 
 her the hug of a young bear. 
 
 " My own dear sister," she said. " I don t mind 
 anything, so long as you stand up for us." 
 
 "Don t make her go to-night, father," pleaded 
 Waitstill. "Don t send your own child out into 
 
 292 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 the cold. Remember her husband is away from 
 home." 
 
 "She can find another up at the Mills as good 
 as he is, or better. Off with you, I say, you trum 
 pery little baggage, you!" 
 
 "Go, then, dear, it is better so; Uncle Bart 
 will keep you overnight; run up and get your 
 things"; and Waitstill sank into a chair, realizing 
 the hopelessness of the situation. 
 
 "She ll not take anything from my house. It s 
 her husband s business to find her in clothes." 
 
 "They ll be better ones than ever you found 
 me," was Patty s response. 
 
 No heroics for her; no fainting fits at being 
 disowned; no hysterics at being turned out of 
 house and home ; no prayers for mercy, but a quick 
 retort for every gibe from her father; and her 
 defiant attitude enraged the Deacon the more. 
 
 "I won t speak again," he said, in a tone that 
 could not l>c mistaken. "Into the street yon go, 
 with the clothes you stand up in, or I ll do what 
 I said I d do." 
 
 "Go, Patty, it s the only thing to be done*. 
 Don t tremble, for nobody shall touch a hair of 
 your head. I can trust yon to find shelter to 
 night, and Mark will take eareof von to-morrow." 
 
 Patty buttoned ber shabby coat and tied on her 
 hood as she walked from the kitchen through the 
 
 293 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 sitting-room towards the side door, her heart 
 heaving with shame and anger, and above all with 
 a child s sense of helplessness at being parted 
 from her sister. 
 
 "Don t tell the neighbors any more lies than 
 you can help," called her father after her retreat 
 ing form; "an if any of em dare to come up here 
 an give me any of their imperdence, they ll be 
 treated same as you. Come back here, Waitstill, 
 and don t go to slobberin any good-byes over 
 her. She ain t likely to get out o the village for 
 some time if she s expectin Mark Wilson to take 
 her away." 
 
 "I shall certainly go to the door with my sister," 
 said Waitstill coldly, suiting the action to the 
 word, and following Patty out on the steps. 
 "Shall you tell Uncle Bart everything, dear, and 
 ask him to let you sleep at his house?" 
 
 Both girls were trembling with excitement; 
 W T aitstill pale as a ghost, Patty flushed and tear 
 ful, with defiant eyes and lips that quivered 
 rebelliously. 
 
 "I s pose so," she answered dolefully; "though 
 Aunt Abby hates me, on account of Cephas. I d 
 rather go to Dr. Perry s, but I don t like to meet 
 Phil. There does n t seem to be any good place 
 for me, but it s only for a night. And you ll not 
 let father prevent your seeing Mark and me to- 
 
 294 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKK 
 
 morrow, will you? Are you afraid to stay alone? 
 I 11 sit on the steps all night if you say the word." 
 
 44 No, no, run along. Father has vented his 
 rage upon you, and I shall not have any more 
 trouble. God bless and keep you, darling. Run 
 along!" 
 
 "And you re not angry with me now, Waity? 
 You still love me? And you ll forgive Mark and 
 come to stay with us soon, soon, soon?" 
 
 "We ll see, dear, when all this unhappy busi 
 ness is settled, and you are safe and happy in 
 your own home. I shall have much to tell you 
 when we meet to-morrow." 
 
XXIX 
 
 WAITSTILL SPEAKS HER MIND 
 
 PATTY had the most ardent love for her elder sis 
 ter, and something that resembled reverence for 
 her unselfishness, her loyalty, and her strength of 
 character; but if the truth were told she had no 
 great opinion of Wait still s ability to feel righteous 
 wrath, nor of her power to avenge herself in the 
 face of rank injustice. It was the conviction of 
 her own superior finesse and audacity that had 
 sustained Patty all through her late escapade. 
 She felt herself a lucky girl, indeed, to achieve 
 liberty and happiness for herself, but doubly 
 lucky if she had chanced to open a way of escape 
 for her more docile and dutiful sister. 
 
 She would have been a trifle astonished had 
 she surmised the existence of certain mysterious 
 waves that had been sweeping along the coasts 
 of Waitstill s mind that afternoon, breaking down 
 all sorts of defences and carrying her will along 
 with them by sheer force: but it is a truism that 
 1 \\ o human beings can live beside each other for 
 half a century and yet continue strangers. 
 
 Patty s elopement with the yout li of her choice, 
 taking into account all its attendant risks, was 
 
 296 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 indeed an exhibition of courage and initiative 
 not common to girls of seventeen; but Waitstill 
 was meditating a mutiny more daring yet a 
 mutiny, too, involving a course of conduct most 
 unusual in maidens of Puritan descent. 
 
 She walked back into the kitchen to find her 
 fa I IKT sitting placidly in the rocking-chair by the 
 window. He had lighted his corn-cob pipe, in 
 which he always smoked a mixture of dried sweet- 
 fern as being cheaper than tobacco, and his face 
 wore something resembling a smile - a foxy 
 smile as he watched his youngest-born plough 
 ing down the hill through the deep snow, while 
 the more obedient Waitstill moved about the 
 room, setting supper on the table. 
 
 Conversation was not the Deacon s forte, but 
 it seemed proper for some one to break the ice 
 that seemed suddenly to be very thick in the im 
 mediate vicinity. 
 
 "That little Jill-go-over-the-ground will give 
 the neighbors a pleasant eveniif, tellin em 
 bout me," he chuckled. * Aunt Abby Cole will 
 run the streets o the three villages by -un-np to- 
 nionvr: but nobody pays any lent ion to a woman 
 whose tonmic is hnnu: in I lie middle ami wags at 
 both ends. I wa n t intending lo n<e the whip on 
 your sister, Waitstill," continued the Deacon, 
 with a crafty look at his silent daughter, "though 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 a trouncin would a done her a sight o good; but 
 I was only tryin to frighten her a little mite an 
 pay her up for bringin disgrace on us the way 
 she s done, makin us the talk o the town. Well, 
 she s gone, an good riddance to bad rubbish, say 
 I! One less mouth to feed, an one less body te 
 clothe. You 11 miss her jest at first, on account 
 o there bein no other women-folks on the hill, 
 but t won t last long. I 11 have Bill Morrill do 
 some o your outside chores, so t you can take 
 on your sister s work, if she ever done any." 
 
 This was a most astoundingly generous propo 
 sition on the Deacon s part, and to tell the truth 
 he did not himself fully understand his mental 
 processes when he made it; but it seemed to be 
 drawn from him by a kind of instinct that he was 
 not standing well in his elder daughter s books. 
 Though the two girls had never made any demon 
 stration of their affection in his presence, he had 
 a fair idea of their mutual dependence upon each 
 other. Not that he placed the slightest value on 
 Waitstill s opinion of him, or cared in the smallest 
 degree what she, or any one else in the universe, 
 thought of his conduct; but she certainly did ap 
 pear to advantage when contrasted with the pert 
 little hussy who had just left the premises. Also, 
 Waitstill loomed large in his household comforts 
 and economies, having a clear head, a sure hand, 
 
 298 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and being one of the steady-going, reliable sort 
 that can be counted on in emergencies, not, like 
 Patty, going off at half-cock at the smallest 
 provocation. Yes, Waitstill, as a product of his 
 masterly training for the last seven years, had 
 settled down, not without some trouble and fric 
 tion, into a tolerably dependable pack-horse, and 
 he intended in the future to use some care in 
 making permanent so valuable an aid and ally. 
 She did not pursue nor attract the opposite sex, 
 as his younger daughter apparently did; so by 
 continuing his policy of keeping all young men 
 rigidly at a distance he could count confidently 
 on having Waitstill serve his purposes for the next 
 fifteen or twenty years, or as long as he, himself, 
 should continue to ornament and enrich the earth. 
 He would go to Suco the very next day, and 
 cut Patty out of his will, arranging his property 
 so that Waitstill should be the chief legatee as 
 long as she continued to live obediently under 
 li is roof. Hr intended to make the last point clear 
 if he had to consult every lawyer in York County; 
 for he would n t take risks on any woman alive. 
 If he must leave his money anywhere and it 
 was wit li ft bitter pang that he faced the inexorable 
 conviction that he c<>ul<i neither live forever, nor 
 take his savings with him to the realms of bliss 
 prepared for members of the Orthodox Church 
 
 299 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 in good and regular standing if he must leave 
 his money behind him, he would dig a hole in the 
 ground and bury it, rather than let it go to any 
 one who had angered him in his lifetime. 
 
 These were the thoughts that caused him to 
 relax his iron grip and smile as he sat by the 
 window, smoking his corn-cob pipe and taking 
 one of his very rare periods of rest. 
 
 Presently he glanced at the clock. "It s only 
 quarter-past four," he said. "I thought twas 
 later, but the snow makes it so light you can t 
 jedge the time. The moon fulls to-night, don t 
 it? Yes; come to think of it, I know it does. Ain t 
 you settin out supper a little mite early, Wait- 
 still?" 
 
 This was a longer and more amiable speech 
 than he had made in years, but Waitstill never 
 glanced at him as she said: "It is a little early, 
 but I want to get it ready before I leave." 
 
 "Be you goin out? Mind, I won t have you 
 follerin Patience round; you ll only upset what 
 I ve done, an anyhow I want you to keep away 
 from the neighbors for a few days, till all this 
 blows over." 
 
 He spoke firmly, though for him mildly, for he 
 still had the uneasy feeling that he stood on the 
 brink of a volcano; and, as a matter of fact, he 
 tumbled into it the very next moment. 
 
 300 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTJ 
 
 The meagre supper was spread; a plate of cold 
 soda biscuits, a dried-apple pie, and the usual 
 brown teapot were 4 in evidence; and as her father 
 sed speaking Waitstill opened the door of the 
 brick oven where the bean-pot reposed, set a chair 
 by the table, and turning, took up her coat (her 
 mother s old riding-cloak, it was), and calmly put 
 it on, reaching then for her hood and her squirrel 
 tippet. 
 
 " You are goin out, then, spite o what I said? " 
 the Deacon inquired sternly. 
 
 "Did you really think, father, that I would 
 sleep under your roof after you had turned my 
 sister out into the snow to lodge with whoever 
 might take her in my seventeen year-old-sister 
 that your wife left to my care; my little sister, the 
 very light of my life?" 
 
 Waitstill s voice trembled a trifle, but other 
 wise slie was quite calm and free from heroics of 
 any sort. 
 
 The Deacon looked up in surprise. I ^uess 
 
 you re kind o hystericky," he said. "Set down 
 
 - set down aif talk tilings over. I ain t got 
 
 nothin ag in yon, an I mean to treat yon right. 
 
 Set down!" 
 
 The old man was decidedly nervous, and in 
 tended to keep his temper until there was a safer 
 chance to let it fly. 
 
 301 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Waitstill sat down. " There s nothing to talk 
 over," she said. "I have done all that I promised 
 my stepmother the night she died, and now I am 
 going. If there s a duty owed between daughter 
 and father, it ought to work both ways. I con 
 sider that I have done my share, and now I in 
 tend to seek happiness for myself. I have never 
 had any, and I am starving for it." 
 
 "An you d leave me to git on the best I can, 
 after what I ve done for you?" burst out the 
 Deacon, still trying to hold down his growing 
 passion. 
 
 ;t You gave me my life, and I m thankful to you 
 for that, but you ve given me little since, father." 
 
 "Hain t I fed an clothed you?" 
 
 "No more than I have fed and clothed you. 
 You ve provided the raw food, and I ve cooked 
 and served it. You ve bought cloth, and I have 
 made shirts and overalls and coats for you, and 
 knitted your socks and comforters and mittens. 
 Not only have I toiled and saved and scrimped 
 away my girlhood as you bade me, but I ve 
 earned for you. Who made the butter, and took 
 care of the hens, and dried the apples, and * drew 
 in the rugs? Who raised and ground the peppers 
 for sale, and tended the geese that you might sell 
 the feathers? No, father, I don t consider that 
 I m in your debt!" 
 
XXX 
 
 A CLASH OF WILLS 
 
 DEACON FOXWELL BAXTER was completely non 
 plussed for the first time in his life. He had never 
 allowed "argyfyin" in his household, and there 
 had never been a clash of wills before this when 
 he had not come off swiftly and brutally tri 
 umphant. This situation was complicated by the 
 fact that he did not dare to apply the brakes as 
 usual, since there were more issues involved than 
 ever before. He felt too stunned to deal properly 
 with this daughter, having emptied all the vials 
 of his wrath upon the other one, and being, in con 
 sequence, somewhat enfeebled. It was always easy 
 enough to cope with Patty, for her impertinence 
 evoked such rage that the argument took care of 
 itself; but this g rave young woman was a differ 
 ent mat I IT. There she sat composedly on the e<lire 
 of her wooden chair, her head lifted high, her 
 color coming and going, her eyes shining steadily, 
 like fixed stars; there she sat, calmly announcing 
 her intention of leaving her father to shift for 
 himself; yet the skies seemed to have no thought 
 of falling! He felt that he must make another 
 effort to assert his authority. 
 
 * 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Now, you take off your coat," he said, the 
 pipe in his hand trembling as he stirred nervously 
 in his chair. "You take your coat right off an 
 set down to the supper-table, same as usual, do 
 you hear? Eat your victuals an then go to your 
 bed an git over this crazy fit that Patience has 
 started workin in you. No more nonsense, now; 
 do as I tell you!" 
 
 "I have made up my mind, father, and it s no 
 use arguing. All who try to live with you fail, 
 sooner or later. You have had four children, fa 
 ther. One boy ran away; the other did not mind 
 being drowned, I fear, since life was so hard at 
 home. You have just turned the third child out 
 for a sin of deceit and disobedience she would 
 never have committed for her nature is as clear 
 as crystal -- if you had ever loved her or con 
 sidered her happiness. So I have done with you, 
 unless in your old age God should bring you to 
 such a pass that no one else will come to your 
 assistance; then I d see somehow that you were 
 cared for and nursed and made comfortable. You 
 are not an old man; you are strong and healthy, 
 and you have plenty of money to get a good house 
 keeper. I should decide differently, perhaps, if all 
 this were not true." 
 
 "You lie! I haven t got plenty of money!" 
 And the Deacon struck the table a sudden blow 
 
 304 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 that made the china in the cupboard rattle. 
 " You ve no notion what this house costs me, an* 
 the feed for the stock, an* you two girls, an labor 
 at the store, an the hay -field, an the taxes an 
 insurance! I ve slaved from sunrise to sunset, 
 but I ain t hardly been able to lay up a cent. I 
 s pose the neighbors have been fillin you full o 
 tales about my mis able little savin s an makin 
 em into a fortune. Well, you won t git any of 
 em, I promise you that!" 
 
 " You have plenty laid away; everybody knows, 
 so what s the use of denying it? Anyway, I don t 
 want a penny of your money, father, so good 
 bye. There s enough cooked to keep you for a 
 couple of days"; and Waitstill rose from her chair 
 and drew on her mittens. 
 
 Father and daughter confronted each other, 
 t he secret fury of the man met by the steady deter 
 mination of the girl. The Deacon was baffled, 
 almost awed, by Waitstill s quiet self-control; but 
 at the very moment that lie WM halt -nneompre- 
 hendingly .daring at her, it dawned upon him that 
 he was beaten, and that she was mistress of the 
 situation. 
 
 Where would she go? What \vrre IHT plan- 
 for definite plans she had, or she could not m< t 
 liU eye with so resolute a gaze. If she did leave 
 him. how could he contrive to get her back again, 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and so escape the scorn of the village, the averted 
 look, the lessened trade? 
 
 "Where are you goin now?" he asked, and 
 though he tried his best he could not for the life 
 of him keep back one final taunt. "I s pose, like 
 your sister, you ve got a man in your eye?" He 
 chose this, to him, impossible suggestion as being 
 the most insulting one that he could invent at the 
 moment. 
 
 "I have," replied Waitstill, "a man in my eye 
 and in my heart. We should have been husband 
 and wife before this had we not been kept apart 
 by obstacles too stubborn for us to overcome. 
 My way has chanced to open first, though it was 
 none of my contriving." 
 
 Had the roof fallen in upon him, the Deacon 
 could not have been more dumbfounded. His 
 tongue literally clove to the roof of his mouth; 
 his face fell, and his mean, piercing eyes blinked 
 under his shaggy brows as if seeking light. 
 
 Waitstill stirred the fire, closed the brick 
 oven and put the teapot on the back of the 
 stove, hung up the long-handled dipper on its 
 accustomed nail over the sink, and went to the 
 door. 
 
 Her father collected his scattered wits and 
 pulled himself to his feet by the arms of the high- 
 backed rocker. "You shan t step outside this 
 
 306 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 room till you tell me where you re goin ," he 
 said when he found his voice. 
 
 "I hare no wish to keep it secret: I am going to 
 see if Mrs. Mason will keep me to-night. To 
 morrow I shall walk down river and get work at 
 the mills, but on my way I shall stop at the 
 Boyntons to tell Ivory I am ready to marry him 
 as soon as he s ready to take me." 
 
 This was enough to stir the blood of the Dea 
 con into one last fury. 
 
 "I might have guessed it if I had n t been blind 
 as a bat an deaf as an adder!" And he gave the 
 table another ringing blow before he leaned on it 
 to gather strength. " Of course, it would be one 
 o that crazy Boynton crew you d take up with," 
 he roared. " Nothin would s^iit either o you girls 
 but choosin the biggest enemies I ve got in the 
 whole village!" 
 
 "You ve never taken pains to make anything 
 but enemies, so what could we do?" 
 
 14 You might as well .uo to live on the poor-farm! 
 Aaron Boynton was a disrep taMe hound; Lois 
 Boynton is as crazy as a loon; the boy is a no- 
 i>ody s child, an Ivory s no better than a com 
 mon pauper." 
 
 11 Ivory s a brave, strong, honorable man, and 
 a scholar, too. I can work for him and help him 
 earn and save, as I have yon." 
 
 :;o7 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "How long s this been goin on?" The Deacon 
 was choking, but he meant to get to the bottom 
 of things while he had the chance. 
 
 "It has n t gone on at all. He has never said 
 a word to me, and I have always obeyed your 
 will in these matters; but you can t hide love, any 
 more than you can hide hate. I know Ivory loves 
 me, so I m going to tell him that my duty is 
 done here and I am ready to help him." 
 
 " Coin to throw yourself at his head, be you? " 
 sneered the Deacon. "By the Lord, I don know 
 where you two girls got these loose ways o think- 
 in an actin . Mebbe he won t take you, an then 
 where 11 you be? You won t git under my roof 
 again when you ve once left it, you can make up 
 your mind to that!" 
 
 "If you have any doubts about Ivory s being 
 willing to take me, you d better drive along be 
 hind me and listen while I ask him." 
 
 Waitstill s tone had an exultant thrill of cer 
 tainty in it. She threw up her head, glorying in 
 what she was about to do. If she laid aside her 
 usual reserve and voiced her thoughts openly, 
 it was not in the hope of convincing her father, 
 but for the bliss of putting them into words and 
 intoxicating herself by the sound of them. 
 
 "Come after me if you will, father, and watch 
 the welcome I shall get. Oh! I have no fear of 
 
 308 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 being turned out by Ivory Hoynton. I can hardly 
 wait to give him the joy I shall be bringing! It s 
 selfish to rob him of the chance to speak first, but 
 I ll do it!" And before Deacon Baxter could 
 cross the room, AVaitstill was out of the kitchen 
 door into the shed, and flying down Town-House 
 Hill like an arrow shot free from the bow. 
 
 The Deacon followed close behind, hardly 
 knowing why, but he was no match for the girl, 
 and at last he stood helpless on the steps of the 
 shed, shaking his fist and hurling terrible words 
 after her, words that it was fortunate for hei 
 peace of mind she could not hear. 
 
 "A curse upon you both!" he cried savagely. 
 "Not satisfied with disobeyin an defyin me, 
 you ve put me to shame, an now you ll be sett in 
 the neighbors air in me an ruiniif my trade. 
 If you was free/in in I he snow I would if I heave 
 a blanket to you ! If you was star vi if I would n t 
 fling either of you a crust ! Never shall you darken 
 my doors au r ain, an never shall yon git a penny 
 o my money, not if I have to throw it into the 
 river to spite you!" 
 
 Here his breath failed, and he stumbled out 
 into the barn whimpering between his broken 
 Sentences like a whipped child. 
 
 " Here I am with nobody to milk, nor feed the 
 hens; nobody to churn to-morrow, nor do the 
 
 309 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 chores; a poor, mis able creeter, deserted by my 
 children, with nobody to do a hand s turn thout 
 bein paid for every step they take ! I 11 give em 
 what they deserve; I don know what, but I ll 
 be even with em yet." And the Deacon set his 
 Baxter jaw in a way that meant his determina 
 tion to stop at nothing. 
 
XXXI 
 
 SENTRY DUTY 
 
 IVORY BOYNTON drove home from the woods that 
 same afternoon by way of the bridge, in order to 
 buy some provisions at the brick store. When he 
 was still a long distance from the bars that di 
 vided the lane from the highroad, he espied a 
 dark-clad little speck he knew to be Rodman 
 leaning over the fence, waiting and longing afl 
 usual for his home-coming, and his heart warmed 
 at the thought of the boyish welcome that ^never 
 failed. 
 
 The sleigh slipped quickly over the hard- 
 packed, shining road, and the bells rang merrily 
 in the clear, cold air, giving out a joyous sound 
 that had no echo in Ivory s breast that day. lie 
 had just had a vision of happiness through an 
 other man s eyes. Was he always to stand out 
 side the banqueting-table, he wondered, and see 
 others feast inir while he hungered? 
 
 Now the little speck hounded from the fence, 
 flew down the road to meet the >l<-iu r h. and jumped 
 in by the driver s side. 
 
 "I knew you d come to-night," Rodman cried 
 eagerly. "I told Aunt Boynton you d come. * 
 
 311 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "How is she, well as common?" 
 
 "No, not a bit well since yesterday morning, 
 but Mrs. Mason says it s nothing worse than a 
 cold. Mrs. Mason has just gone home, and we ve 
 had a grand house-cleaning to-day. She s washed 
 and ironed and baked, and we ve put Aunt Boyn- 
 ton in clean sheets and pillow-cases, and her 
 room s nice and warm, and I carried the cat in 
 and put it on her bed to keep her company while 
 I came to watch for you. Aunt Boynton let Mrs. 
 Mason braid her hair, and seemed to like her 
 brushing it. It s been dreadful lonesome, and oh! 
 I am glad you came back, Ivory. Did you find 
 any more spruce gum where you went this time? " 
 
 " Pounds and pounds, Rod; enough to bring me 
 in nearly a hundred dollars. I chanced on the 
 greatest place I ve found yet. I followed the 
 wake of an old whirlwind that had left long fur 
 rows in the forest, -- I ve told you how the thing 
 works, and I tracked its course by the gum 
 that had formed wherever the trees were 
 wounded. It s hard, lonely work, Rod, but it 
 pays well." 
 
 "If I could have been there, maybe we could 
 have got more. I m good at shinning up trees." 
 
 " Yes, sometime we 11 go gum-picking together. 
 We ll climb the trees like a couple of cats, and 
 take our knives and scrape off the precious lumps 
 
 312 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 that arc worth so much money to the druggists. 
 You ve let down the bars, I see." 
 
 "Cause I knew you d come to-night," said 
 Rodman. "I felt it in my bones. We re going 
 to have a splendid supper." 
 
 "Arc we? That s good news." Ivory tried to 
 make his tone bright and interested, though his 
 heart was like a lump of lead in his breast. "It s 
 the least I can do for the poor little chap," he 
 thought, "when he stays as caretaker in this 
 lonely spot. - - I wonder if I had n t better drive 
 into the barn, Rod, and leave the harness on Nick 
 till I go in and see mother? Guess I will." 
 
 "She s hot, Aunt Boynton is, hot and restless, 
 but Mrs. Mason thinks that s all." 
 
 Ivory found his mother feverish, and her eyes 
 were unnaturally bright; but she was clear in 
 mind and cheerful, too, sitting up in bed to 
 breathe the better, while the Maltese cat 
 sn iii^lcd under her arm and purred peacefully. 
 
 "The eat is Rod s idea," she said smilingly, 
 but in a very weak voice. "He is a great nurse. 
 I should never have thought of the cat myself, 
 but she i^ives me more comfort than all the 
 medicine/ 
 
 Ivory and Rodman drew up to the snpper- 
 table, already set in the kitchen, but before 
 Ivory took his seat he softly closed the door that 
 
 818 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 led into the living-room. They ate their beans 
 and brown bread and the mince pie that had been 
 the "splendid" feature of the meal, as reported 
 by the boy; and when they had finished, and 
 Rodman was ? earing the table, Ivory walked to 
 the window, lighting his pipe the while, and stood 
 soberly looking out on the snowy landscape. One 
 could scarcely tell it was twilight, with such 
 sweeps of whiteness to catch every gleam of the 
 dying day. 
 
 " Drop work a minute and come here, Rod/ he 
 said at length. "Can you keep a secret? " 
 
 " Course I can! I m chock full of em now, 
 and nobody could dig one of em out o me with a 
 pickaxe!" 
 
 "Oh, well! If you re full you naturally 
 could n t hold another!" 
 
 "I could try to squeeze it in, if it s a nice one," 
 coaxed the boy. 
 
 "I don t know whether you ll think it s a nice 
 one, Rod, for it breaks up one of your plans. I m 
 not sure myself how nice it is, but it s a very l>i<j, 
 unexpected, startling one. What do you think? 
 Your favorite Patty has gone and got married." 
 
 "Patty! Married!" cried Rod, then hastily 
 putting his hand over his mouth to hush his too- 
 loud speaking. 
 
 "Yes, she and Mark Wilson ran away last 
 314 
 
THE STORY OP WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Monday, drove over to Allentown, New Hamp 
 shire, and were married without telling a soul. 
 Deacon Baxter discovered everything this after 
 noon, like the old fox that he is, and turned Patty 
 out of the house." 
 
 "Mean old skinflint! exclaimed Rod excit 
 edly, all the incipient manhood rising in his ten- 
 year-old breast. "Is she gone to live with the 
 Wilsons?" 
 
 "The Wilsons don t know yet that Mark is 
 married to her, but I met him driving like Jehu, 
 just after I had left Patty, and told him every 
 thing that had happened, and did my best to cool 
 him down and keep him from murdering his new 
 father-in-law by showing him it would serve no 
 real purpose now." 
 
 "Did he look married, and all different?" 
 asked Rod curiously. 
 
 "Yes, he did, and more like a man than ever 
 he looked before in his life. We talked e very- 
 thing over together, and he went home at once 
 to break the news to his family, without even 
 lining to take a peep at Patty. I could n t bear 
 to have them meet till he had somet \\miz cheerful 
 to say to the poor little soul. When I met her 
 by Uncle Bart s shop, she was trudging along 
 in the snow like a draggled butterfly, and crying 
 like a baby." 
 
 315 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Sympathetic tears dimmed Rodman s eyes. 
 "I can t bear to see girls cry, Ivory. I just can t 
 bear it, especially Patty." 
 
 "Neither can I, Rod. I came pretty near wip 
 ing her eyes, but pulled up, remembering she 
 was n t a child but a married lady. Well, now 
 we come to the point." 
 
 "Is n t Patty s being married the point?" 
 
 "No, only part of it. Patty s being sent away 
 fronf home leaves Waitstill alone with the Dea 
 con, do you see? And if Patty is your favorite, 
 Waitstill is mine I might as well own up to 
 that." 
 
 "She s mine, too," cried Rod. "They re both 
 my favorites, but I always thought Patty was 
 the suitablest for me to marry if she d wait for 
 me. W r aitstill is too grand for a boy!" 
 
 "She s too grand for anybody, Rod. There 
 is n t a man alive that s worthy to strap on her 
 skates." 
 
 " Well, she s too grand for anybody except - 
 and here Rod s shy, wistful voice trailed off into 
 discreet silence. 
 
 "Now I had some talk with Patty, and she 
 thinks Waitstill will have no trouble with her 
 father just at present. She says he lavished so 
 much rage upon her that there 11 be none left for 
 anybody else for a day or two. And, moreover, 
 
 316 
 
THE STORY OF AY AH STILL BAXTER 
 
 that IK* will never dare to go too far with Wait- 
 still, because she s so useful to him. I m not 
 afraid of his beating or injuring her so long as he 
 keeps his sober senses, if he s ever rightly had 
 any; but I don t like to think of his upbraiding 
 her and breaking her heart with his cruel talk 
 just after she s lost the sister that s been her only 
 companion." And Ivory s hand trembled as he 
 filled his pipe. He had no confidant but this 
 quaint, tender-hearted, old-fashioned little lad, 
 to whom he had grown to speak his mind as if 
 he were a man of his own age; and Rod, in the 
 same way, had gradually learned to understand 
 and sympathize. 
 
 "It s dreadful lonesome on Town-House Hill," 1 
 said the boy in a hushed tone. 
 
 "Dreadful lonesome," echoed Ivory with a 
 sigh; "and I don t dare leave mother until her 
 fever dies down a bit and she sleeps. Now do 
 you remember the night that she was taken ill, 
 and we shared the watch?" 
 
 Rodman held his breath. "Do you mean 
 you re ir<>inu r to lei me help just as if I was bi^r " 
 he asked, speaking through a great lump in his 
 throat. 
 
 4 There are only two of us, Rod. You re 
 rather young for this piece of work, but you re 
 trusty you re trusty!" 
 
 817 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Am I to keep watch on the Deacon?" 
 * That s it, and this is my plan: Nick will have 
 had his feed ; you re to drive to the bridge when 
 it gets a little darker and hitch in Uncle Bart s 
 horse-shed, covering Nick well. You re to go 
 into the brick store, and while you re getting 
 some groceries wrapped up, listen to anything 
 the men say, to see if they know what s hap 
 pened. When you ve hung about as long as you 
 dare, leave your bundle and say you ll call in 
 again for it. Then see if Baxter s store is open. I 
 don t believe it will be, and if it is n t, look for a 
 light in his kitchen window, and prowl about till 
 you know that Waitstill and the Deacon have 
 gone up to their bedrooms. Then go to Uncle 
 Bart s and find out if Patty is there." 
 
 Rod s eyes grew bigger and bigger: "Shall I 
 talk to her?" he asked; "and what 11 I say?" 
 
 "No, just ask if she s there. If she s gone, 
 Mark has made it right with his family and taken 
 her home. If she has n t, why, God knows how 
 that matter will be straightened out. Anyhow, 
 she has a husband now, and he seems to value 
 her; and Waitstill is alone on the top of that 
 wind-swept hill!" 
 
 "I ll go. I ll remember everything," cried 
 Rodman, in the seventh heaven of delight at the 
 responsibilities Ivory was heaping upon him. 
 
 318 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Don t stay beyond eight o clock; but come 
 back and tell me everything you ve learned. 
 Then, if mother grows no worse, I ll walk back 
 to Uncle Bart s shop and spend the night there, 
 just just to be near, that s all." 
 
 You couldn t hear Waitstill, even if she 
 called," Rod said. 
 
 "Couldn t I? A man s ears are very sharp 
 under certain circumstances. I believe if Wait- 
 still needed help I could hear her breathe! 
 Besides, I shall be up and down the hill till I 
 know all s well; and at sunrise I ll go up and 
 hide behind some of Baxter s buildings till I see 
 him get his breakfast and go to the store. Now 
 wash your dishes"; and Ivory caught up his cap 
 from a hook behind the door. 
 
 "Are you going to the barn?" asked Rodman* 
 
 "No, only down to the gate for a minute. 
 Mark said that if he had a good chance he d send 
 a boy with a note, and get him to put it under 
 the stone gate-post. It s too soon to expect it, 
 perhaps, but I can t seem to keep still." 
 
 Rodman tied a uin^hum apron round his 
 waist, carried the tea-kettle to the sink, and 
 poured the dishpan full of boiling water; then 
 dipped the cups and plates in and out, wiped 
 them and replaced them on the table; gave the 
 bean-platter a special polish, and set the half 
 
 319 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 mince pie and the butter-dish in the cellar- 
 way. 
 
 "A boy has to do most everything in this 
 family!" he sighed to himself. "I don t mind 
 washing dishes, except the nasty frying-pan and 
 the sticky bean-pot; but what I m going to do 
 to-night is different." Here he glowed and 
 tingled with anticipation. "I know what they 
 call it in the story-books it s sentry duty; 
 and that s braver work for a boy than dish 
 washing!" 
 
 Which, however, depends a good deal upon 
 circumstances, and somewhat on the point of 
 view. 
 
XXXII 
 
 THE HOUSE OF AARON 
 
 A FEELING that the day was to bring great 
 things had dawned upon Waitstill when she 
 woke that morning, and now it was coming true. 
 
 Climbing Saco Hill was like climbing the hill 
 of her dreams; life and love beckoned to her 
 across the snowy slopes. 
 
 At rest about Patty s future, though troubled 
 as to her sorry plight at the moment, she was 
 conscious chiefly of her new- born freedom. She 
 revelled in the keen air that tingled against her 
 cheek, and drew in fresh hope with every breath. 
 As she trod the shining pathway she was full of 
 expectancy, her eyes dancing, her heart as buoy 
 ant as her step. Not a vestige of confusion or 
 uncertainty vexed her mind. She knew Ivory 
 for her true mate, and if the way to him took 
 her through dark places it was lighted by a 
 steadfast beacon of love. 
 
 At the top of the hill she turned the corner 
 breathlessly, and faced the length of road that 
 led to the Hoynton farm. Mrs. Mason s house 
 was beyond, and oh, how she hoped that Ivory 
 would be at home, and that >he need not wait 
 
 321 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 another day to tell him all, and claim the gift 
 she knew was hers before she asked it. She might 
 not have the same exaltation to-morrow, for now 
 there were no levels in her heart and soul. She 
 had a sense of mounting from height to height 
 and lighting fires on every peak of her being. She 
 took no heed of the road she was travelling; 
 she was conscious only of a wonderful inward 
 glow. 
 
 The house was now in sight, and a tall figure 
 was issuing from the side door, putting on a fur 
 cap as it came out on the steps and down the 
 lane. Ivory was at home, then, and, best of all, 
 he was unconsciously coming to meet her - 
 although their hearts had been coming to meet 
 each other, she thought, ever since they first 
 began to beat. 
 
 As she neared the bars she called Ivory s name. 
 His hands were in the pockets of his great-coat, 
 and his eyes were fixed on the ground. Sombre 
 he was, distinctly sombre, in mien and gait; could 
 she make him smile and flush and glow, as she 
 was smiling and flushing and glowing? As he 
 heard her voice he raised his head quickly and 
 uncomprehendingly. 
 
 "Don t come any nearer," she said, "until I 
 have told you something!" 
 
 His mind had been so full of her that the sight 
 322 
 
THE STORY or WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 of her in the flesh, standing twenty feet away, 
 bewildered him. 
 
 She took a few steps nearer the gate, near 
 enough now for him to see her rosy face framed 
 in a blue hood, and to catch the brightness of her 
 eyes under their lovely lashes. Ordinarily they 
 were cool and limpid and grave, Waitstill s eyes; 
 now a sunbeam danced in each of them. And 
 her lips, almost always tightly closed, as if she 
 were holding back her natural speech, her lips 
 were red and parted, and the soul of her, free at 
 last, shone through her face, making it luminous 
 with a new beauty. 
 
 "I have left home for good and all," she said. 
 "I ll tell you more of this later on, but I have 
 left my father s house with nothing to my name 
 but the clothes I stand in. I am going to look for 
 work in the mills to-morrow, but I stopped here to 
 say that I m ready to marry you whenever you 
 want me if you do want me." 
 
 Ivory was bewildered, indeed, but not so 
 much so that he failed to apprehend, and in 
 stantly, too, the real significance of this speeeli. 
 He took a couple of lonu st rides, and before \Yait- 
 still had any idea of his intentions he vaulted 
 over the bars and gathered her in his arms. 
 
 "Never shall you go to the mills, never shall 
 you leave my sight for a single hour again, my 
 
 323 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 one-woman-in-all-the-world ! Come to me, to be 
 loved and treasured all your life long! I ve 
 worshipped you ever since I was a boy; I ve kept 
 my heart swept and garnished for you and no 
 other, hoping I might win you at last." 
 
 How glorious to hear all this delicious poetry 
 of love, and to feel Ivory s arms about her, mak 
 ing the dream seem surer! 
 
 "Oh, how like you to shorten the time of my 
 waiting: he went on, his words fairly chasing 
 one another in their eagerness to be spoken. 
 "How like you to count on me, to guess my hun 
 ger for your love, to realize the chains that held 
 me back, and break them yourself with your 
 own dear, womanly hands! How like you, oh, 
 wonderful Waitstill!" 
 
 Ivory went on murmuring phrases that had 
 been lying in his heart unsaid for years, scarcely 
 conscious of what he was saying, realizing only 
 that the miracle of miracles had happened. 
 
 Waitstill, for her part, was almost dumb with 
 joy to be lying so close to his heart that she could 
 hear it beating; to feel the passionate tenderness 
 of his embrace and his kiss falling upon her hair. 
 
 " I did not know a girl could be so happy ! " she 
 whispered. "I ve dreamed of it, but it was 
 nothing like this. I am all a-tremble with it." 
 
 Ivory held her off at arm s length for a 
 324 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 moment, reluctantly, grudgingly. "You took me 
 fairly off my foot, dearest," he said, "and I 
 forgot everything but the one supreme fact you 
 \\vre telling me. Had I been on guard I should 
 have told you that I am no worthy husband for 
 you, Waitstill. I have n t enough to offer such a 
 <jirl as you." 
 
 " You re too late, Ivory ! You showed me your 
 heart first, and now you are searching your mind 
 for bugbears to frighten me." 
 
 "I am a poor man." 
 
 "No girl could be poorer than I am." 
 
 After what you ve endured, you ought to 
 have rest and comfort." 
 
 "I shall have both in you!" Tin s with eyes, 
 all wet, lifted to Ivory s. 
 
 "My mother is a great burden a very dear 
 and precious, but a grievous one." 
 
 "She needs a daughter. It is in such things 
 that I shall l>e your helpmate." 
 
 "Will not the hoy trouble you and add to your 
 
 . . . 
 car 
 
 "Rod? I love him; he shall be my little 
 brother." 
 
 "What tf my father Were not really dead -I 
 think of this sometimes in the mVht! - What if 
 he should wander back, broken in spirit, feeble 
 in body, empty in piir>er" 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "I do not come to you free of burdens. If my 
 father is deserted by all, I must see that he is 
 made comfortable. He never treated me like a 
 daughter, but I acknowledge his claim." 
 
 "Mine is such a gloomy house!" 
 
 "Will it be gloomy when I am in it? "and 
 Waitstill, usually so grave, laughed at last like a 
 care-free child. 
 
 Ivory felt himself hidden in the beautiful shel 
 ter of the girl s love. It was dark now, or as dark 
 as the night ever is that has moonlight and snow. 
 He took Waitstill in his arms again reverently, 
 and laid his cheek against her hair. "I worship 
 God as well as I know how," he whispered; 
 "worship him as the maker of this big heaven 
 and earth that surrounds us. But I worship you 
 as the maker of my little heaven and earth, and 
 my heart is saying its prayers to you at this very 
 moment!" 
 
 " Hush, my dear ! hush ! and don t value me too 
 much, or I shall lose my head - - 1 that have 
 never known a sweet word in all my life save 
 those that my sister has given me. I must tell 
 you all about Patty now." 
 
 "I happen to know more than you, dear. I 
 met her at the bridge when I was coming home 
 from the woods, and I saw her safely to Uncle 
 Bart s door. -- 1 don t know why we speak of it 
 
 326 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 as Uncle Bart s when it is really Aunt Abby s! I 
 nrxt met Mark, who had fairly flown from Bridg- 
 ton on the wings of love, arriving hours ahead of 
 time. I managed to keep him from avenging the 
 insults heaped upon his bride, and he has driven 
 to the Mills to confide in his father and mother. 
 By this time Patty is probably the centre of 
 the family group, charming them all as is her 
 custom." 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad Mark is at home! Now I 
 can be at rest about Patty. And I must not lin 
 ger another moment, for I am going to ask Mrs. 
 Mason to keep me overnight," cried Waitstill, 
 bethinking herself suddenly of time and place. 
 
 "I will take you there myself and explain 
 everything. And the moment I Ve lighted a fire 
 in Mrs. Mason s best bedroom and settled you 
 there, what do you think I am going to do? I 
 shall drive to the town clerk s house, and if he is 
 in bed, rout him out and have the notice of our 
 intended marriage posted in a public place ac 
 cording to law. Perhaps I shall save a day out of 
 the fourteen I Ve got to wait for my wife. Mills, 
 indeed! I wonder at you, Waitstill! As if Mr-. 
 Mason s house was not far enough away, without 
 your spoakin^ of mills." 
 
 "I only suggested mills in case you did not 
 want to marry me," said Waitstill. 
 
 327 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Walk up to the door with me," begged Ivory. 
 The horse is all harnessed, and Rod will slip him 
 into the sleigh in a jiffy." 
 
 "Oh, Ivory! do you realize what this means?" 
 
 - and Waitstill clung to his arm as they went 
 
 up the lane together- "that whatever sorrow, 
 
 whatever hardship comes to us, neither of us will 
 
 ever have to bear it alone again?" 
 
 "I believe I do realize it as few men could, for 
 never in my five-and-twenty years have I had a 
 human creature to whom I could pour myself 
 out, in whom I could really confide, with whom I 
 could take counsel. You can guess what it will 
 be to have a comprehending woman at my side. 
 Shall we tell my mother? Do say *y es 5 I believe 
 she will understand. Rod, Rod! come and see 
 who s stepping in the door this very minute!" 
 
 Rodman was up in his bedroom, attiring him 
 self elaborately for sentry duty. His delight at 
 seeing Waitstill was perhaps slightly tempered 
 by the thought that flashed at once through his 
 mind, that if she was safe, he would not be 
 required to stand guard in the snow for hours 
 as he had hoped. But this grief passed when he 
 fully realized what WaitstilFs presence at the 
 farm at this unaccustomed hour really mcjinl. 
 After he had been told, he hung about her like 
 the child that he was, though he had a bit of 
 
 328 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 the hero in him, at bottom, too, embracing her 
 waist fondly, and bristling with wondering ques 
 tions. 
 
 44 Is she really going to stay \vith us for always, 
 Ivory?" he asked. 
 
 "Every day and all the days; every night and 
 all the nights. Praise God from whom all 
 blessings flow! " said Ivory, taking off his fur 
 cap and opening the door of the living-room. 
 "But we ve got to wait for her a whole fort 
 night, Rod. Is n t that a ridiculous snail of a 
 law?" 
 
 "Patty did n t wait a fortnight." 
 
 "Patty never waited for anything," Ivory 
 responded with a smile; "but she had a good 
 reason, and, alas! we have n t, or they ll say that 
 we haven t. And I am very grateful to the same 
 dear little Patty, for when she got herself a 
 husband she found me a wife!" 
 
 Hodman did not wholly understand this, but 
 felt that there were many mysteries attending 
 the love ail airs of grown-up people that were too 
 complicated for him to grasp; and it did not 
 seem to be just the ri^ht moment for quest ions. 
 
 Waitstill and Ivory went into Mrs. Hoynlon s 
 room quietly, hand in hand, and when she 
 \VaitstIll she rai-ed hers"lf from her pillow and 
 held out her arms with a soft cry of delight. 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "I have n t had you for so long, so long!" she 
 said, touching the girl s cheek with her frail 
 hand. 
 
 You are going to have me every day now, 
 dear," whispered Waitstill, with a sob in her 
 voice; for she saw a change in the face, a new 
 transparency, a still more ethereal look than had 
 been there before. 
 
 "Every day?" she repeated, longingly. 
 
 Waitstill took off her hood, and knelt on the 
 floor beside the bed, hiding her face in the coun 
 terpane to conceal the tears. 
 
 "She is coming to live with us, dear. Come 
 in, Rod, and hear me tell her. - - Waitstill is 
 coming to live with us: isn t that a beautiful 
 thing to happen to this dreary house?" asked 
 Ivory, bending to take his mother s hand. 
 
 "Don t you remember what you thought the 
 first time I ever came here, mother?" and Wait- 
 still lifted her head, and looked at Mrs. Boynton 
 with swimming eyes and lips that trembled. 
 "Ivory is making it all come true, and I shall be 
 your daughter!" 
 
 Mrs. Boynton sank farther back into her 
 pillows, and closing her eyes, gave a long sigh of 
 infinite content. Her voice was so faint that they 
 had to stoop to catch the words, and Ivory, 
 feeling the strange benediction that seemed to 
 
 330 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 be passing from his mother s spirit to theirs, took 
 Rod s hand and knelt beside Waitstill. 
 
 The verse of a favorite psalm was running 
 through Lois Boynton s mind, and in a moment 
 the words came clearly, as she opened her eyes, 
 lifted her hands, and touched the bowed heads. 
 "Let the house of Aaron now say that his mercy 
 endureth forever!" she said, slowly and rever 
 ently; and Ivory, with all his heart, responded, 
 "Amen!" 
 
XXXIII 
 
 AARON S ROD 
 
 "IVORY! IVORY!" 
 
 Ivory stirred in a sleep that had been troubled 
 by too great happiness. To travel a dreary path 
 alone, a path leading seemingly nowhere, and 
 then suddenly to have a companion by one s side, 
 the very sight of whom enchanted the eye, the 
 very touch of whom delighted the senses what 
 joy unspeakable! Who could sleep soundly when 
 wakefulness brought a train of such blissful 
 thoughts? 
 
 "Ivory! Ivory!" 
 
 He was fully awake now, for he knew his 
 mother s voice. In all the years, ever thoughtful 
 of his comfort and of the constant strain upon 
 his strength, Lois had never wakened her son 
 at night. 
 
 "Coming, mother, coming!" he said, when he 
 realized she was calling him; and hastily drawing 
 on some clothing, for the night was bitterly cold, 
 he came out of his room and saw his mother 
 standing at the foot of the stairw r ay, with a 
 lighted candle in her hand. 
 
 "Can you come down, Ivory? It is a strange 
 332 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 hour to call you but I have something to tell 
 you; something I have been piecing together 
 for weeks; something I have just clearly remem 
 bered." 
 
 44 If it s something that won t keep till morn 
 ing, mother, you creep back into bed and we ll 
 hear it comfortably," he said, coming downstairs 
 and leading her to her room. "I ll smooth the 
 covers, so; beat up the pillows, --there, and 
 throw another log on the sitting-room fire. Now, 
 what s the matter? Could n t you sleep?" 
 
 "All summer long I have been trying to re 
 member something; something untrue that you 
 have been believing, some falsehood for which I 
 was responsible. I have pursued and pursued it, 
 but it has always escaped me. Once it was clear 
 as daylight, for Rodman read me from the Bible 
 a plain answer to all the questions that tortured 
 
 me." 
 
 That must have been the night that she 
 fainted," thought Ivory. 
 
 "When I auoke next morning from my long 
 sleep, the old pn/zle had come back, a thousand 
 times worse than before, for then I knew that I 
 had held the clue in my own hand and had lost it. 
 Now, praise (iod ! I know the truth, and you, the 
 only one to whom I can tell it, are close at h.md." 
 
 Ivory looked at his mother and saw that I lie 
 333 
 
THE STORY OP WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 veil that had separated them mentally seemed to 
 have vanished in the night that had passed. 
 Often and often it had blown away, as it were, 
 for the fraction of a moment and then blown 
 back again. Now her eyes met his with an alto 
 gether new clearness that startled him, while her 
 breath came with ease and she seemed stronger 
 than for many days. 
 
 "You remember the winter I was here at the 
 farm alone, when you were at the Academy?" 
 
 ;< Yes; it was then that I came home and found 
 you so terribly ill. Do you think we need go back 
 to that old time now, mother dear?" 
 
 :< Yes, I must, I must! One morning I received 
 a strange letter, bearing no signature, in which 
 the writer said that if I wished to see my husband 
 I had only to go to a certain address in Brent- 
 ville, New Hampshire. The letter went on to 
 say that Mr. Aaron Boynton was ill and longed 
 for nothing so much as to speak with me; but 
 there were reasons why he did not wish to return 
 to Edgewood, would I come to him without 
 delay." 
 
 Ivory now sat straight in his chair and listened 
 keenly, feeling that this was to be no vague, un 
 certain, and misleading memory, but something 
 true and tangible. 
 
 "The letter excited me greatly after your 
 334 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 father s long absence and silence. I knew it could 
 mean nothing but sorrow, but although I was 
 half ill at the time, my plain duty was to go, so I 
 thought, and go without making any explanation 
 in the village." 
 
 All this was new to Ivory and he hung upon his 
 mother s words, dreading yet hoping for the light 
 that they might shed upon the past. 
 
 "I arrived at Brentville quite exhausted with 
 the journey and weighed down by anxiety and 
 dread. I found the house mentioned in the let 
 ter at seven o clock in the evening, and knocked 
 at the door. A common, hard-featured woman 
 answered the knock and, seeming to expect me, 
 ushered me in. I do not remember the room; I 
 remember only a child leaning patiently against 
 the window-sill looking out into the dark, and 
 that the place was bare and cheerless. 
 
 " I came to call upon Mr. Aaron Boynton, I 
 said, with my heart sinking lower and lower as I 
 spoke. The woman opened a door into the next 
 room and when I walked in, instead of seeing 
 your father, I confronted a haggard, death- 
 stricken young woman sitting up in bed, her 
 ureat eyes bright with pain, her lips as white as 
 her hollow cheeks, and her long, black hair 
 streaming over the pillow. The very sight of her 
 struck a knell to the little hope I had of soothing 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 your father s sick bed and forgiving him if he 
 had done me any wrong. 
 
 " Well, you came, as I thought you would, 
 said the girl, looking me over from head to foot 
 in a way that somehow made me burn with 
 shame. Now sit down in that chair and hear 
 w r hat I Ve got to say while I ve got the strength 
 to say it. I have n t the time nor the desire to 
 put a gloss on it. Aaron Boynton is n t here, as 
 you plainly see, but that s not my fault, for he 
 belongs here as much as anywhere, though he 
 would n t have much interest in a dying woman. 
 If you have suffered on account of him, so have I, 
 and you have n t had this pain boring into you 
 and eating your life away for months, as I have/ 
 
 " I pitied her, she seemed so distraught, but I 
 was in terror of her all the same, and urged her 
 to tell her story calmly and I would do my best 
 to hear it in the same way. 
 
 " Calm, she exclaimed, with this agony tear 
 ing me to pieces! Well, to make beginning and 
 end in one, Aaron Boynton was my husband for 
 three years. 
 
 " I caught hold of the chair to keep myself from 
 falling and cried: I do not believe it! Believe 
 it or not, she answered scornfully, it makes 
 no difference to me, but I can give you twenty 
 proofs in as many seconds. We met at a Coch- 
 
 336 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 rane meeting and he chose me from all the 
 others as his true wife. For two years we trav 
 elled together, but long before they came to an 
 end there was no happiness for either of us. He 
 hnd a conscience not much of a one, but just 
 enough to keep him miserable. At last I felt he 
 was not believing the doctrines he preached and 
 I caught him trying to get news of you and your 
 boy, just because you were out of reach, and neg 
 lecting my boy and me, who had given up every 
 thing to wander with him and live on whatever 
 the brethren and sisters chose to give us. 
 
 "So there was a child, a boy/ I gasped. Did 
 did he live? He s in the next room, she an 
 swered, and il s him I brought you here for. 
 Aaron Boynton has served us both the same. He 
 left you for me and me for Heaven knows who. 
 If I could live I would n t ask any favors, of you 
 least of all, but I have n t a penny in the w r orld, 
 though I shan t need one very long. My friend 
 that s nursing me has n t a roof to her head and 
 she would n t share it with the boy if she had 
 she s a bigoted Orthodox/ 
 
 Hut what do you expect me to do? I asked 
 angrily, for she was stubbing me with every word. 
 
 The boy is your husband s child and he 
 always represented yon as a saint upon earth. 1 
 expect you to take him home and provide for 
 
 337 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 him. He does n t mean very much to me --just 
 enough so that I don t relish his going to the 
 poorhouse, that s all. 
 
 " He ll go to something very like that if he 
 comes to mine, I said. 
 
 " Don t worry me with talk, for I can t stand 
 it, she wailed, clutching at her nightgown and 
 flinging back her hair. Either you take the child 
 or I send somebody to Edgewood with him, 
 somebody to tell the whole story. Some of the 
 Cochranites can support him if you won t; or, at 
 the worst, Aaron Boynton s town can take care 
 of his son. The doctor has given me two days to 
 live. If it s a minute longer I ve warned him and 
 I warn you, that I ll end it myself; and if you 
 don t take the boy I ll do the same for him. 
 He s a good sight better off dead than knocking 
 about the world alone ; he s innocent and there s 
 no sense in his being punished for the sins of 
 other folks. " 
 
 "I see it all ! Why did I never think of it before; 
 my poor, poor Rod!" said Ivory, clenching his 
 hands and burying his head in them. 
 
 "Don t grieve, Ivory; it has all turned out so 
 much better than we could have hoped; just 
 listen to the end. She was frightful to hear and 
 to look at, the girl was, though all the time I 
 could feel that she must have had a gipsy beauty 
 
 338 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and vigor that answered to something in your 
 father. 
 
 " Go along out now, she cried suddenly. I 
 can t stand anybody near. The doctor never 
 gives me half enough medicine and for the hour 
 before he comes I fairly die for lack of it 
 though little he cares! Go upstairs and have 
 your sleep and to-morrow you can make up your 
 mind/ 
 
 You don t leave me much freedom to do 
 that, I tried to answer; but she interrupted me, 
 rocking her body to and fro. * Neither of us will 
 ever see Aaron Boynton again; you no more than 
 I. He s in the West, and a man with two families 
 and no means of providing for them does n t 
 come back where he s known. Come and take 
 IK T away, Eliza! Take her away, quick! she 
 called. 
 
 "I stumbled out of the room and the woman 
 waved me upstairs. You mustn t mind Hetty, 
 she apologised; she never had a good disposition 
 at the best, but she s frantic with the pain now, 
 and good reason, too. It s about over and 1 11 be 
 thankful when it is. You d better swallow the 
 shame and take the child; I can t and won t have 
 him and it 11 be easy enough for you to s<iy he 
 belongs to some of your own folks. 
 
 By this time I was mentally bewildered 
 339 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 When the iron first entered my soul, when I first 
 heard the truth about your father, at that mo 
 ment my mind gave way -- 1 know it now." 
 
 "Poor, poor mother! My poor, gentle little 
 mother!" murmured Ivory brokenly, as he 
 stroked her hand. 
 
 "Don t cry, my son; it is all past; the sorrow 
 and the bitterness and the struggle. I will just 
 finish the story and then we 11 close the book for 
 ever. The woman gave me some bread and tea, 
 and I flung myself on the bed without undressing. 
 I don t know how long afterward it was, but the 
 door opened and a little boy stole in ; a sad, strange, 
 dark-eyed little boy who said : Can I sleep up here? 
 Mother s screaming and I m afraid. He climbed 
 on to the couch. I covered him with a blanket, 
 and I soon heard his deep breathing. But later in 
 the night, when I must have fallen asleep my 
 self, I suddenly awoke and felt him lying be 
 side me. He had dragged the blanket along and 
 crept up on the bed to get close to my side for the 
 warmth I could give, or the comfort of my near 
 ness. The touch of him almost broke my heart; 
 I could not push the little creature away when he 
 was lying there so near and warm and confiding 
 - he, all unconscious of the agony his mere 
 existence w r as to me. I must have slept again and 
 when the day broke I was alone. I thought the 
 
 340 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTKH 
 
 presence* of the child in the night was a dream and 
 I could not remember where I was, nor why I was 
 there." 
 
 "Mother, dear mother, don t tell me any more 
 to-night. I fear for your strength," urged Ivory, 
 his eyes full of tears at the remembrance of her 
 sufferings. 
 
 "There is only a little more and the weight will 
 be off my heart and on yours, my poor son. 
 Would that I need not tell you! The house was 
 still and I thought at first that no one was awake, 
 but when I opened the sitting-room door the 
 child ran towards me and took my hand as the 
 woman came in from the sick-room. Go into the 
 kitchen, Rodman, she said, and lace up your 
 boots; you re uoin^ right out with this lady. 
 Hetty died in the ni^ht, she continued impas 
 sively. The doctor was here about ten o clock 
 and I ve never seen her so bad. He gave her a big 
 dose of sleeping powder and put another in the 
 table drawer for me to mix for her towards morn 
 ing. She was helpless to move, we thought, but 
 all the same she must have got out of bed when 
 my back was turned and taken the powder dry on 
 her tongue, for it was gone when I looked for it. 
 
 It did n t batten things much and I don t Name 
 
 her. If ever there was a \\ild, reckless creature 
 it was Hetty Rodman, l>ul I, who am just the 
 
 341 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 opposite, would have done the same if I d been 
 her. 
 
 "She hurriedly gave me a cup of coffee, and, 
 putting a coat and a cap on the boy, literally 
 pushed me out of the house. I ve got to report 
 things to the doctor, she said, and you re better 
 out of the way. Go down that side street to the 
 station and mind you say the boy belonged to 
 your sister who died and left him to you. You re 
 a Cochranite, ain t you ? So was Hetty, and 
 they re all sisters, so you ll be telling no lies. 
 Good-bye, Rodman, be a good boy and don t be 
 any trouble to the lady. 
 
 "How I found the station I do not know, nor 
 how I made the journey, nor where I took the 
 stage-coach. The snow began to fall and by noon 
 there was a drifting storm. I could not remember 
 where I was going, nor who the boy was, for just 
 as the snow was whirling outside, so it was whirl 
 ing in my brain." 
 
 "Mother, I can hardly bear to hear any more; 
 it is too terrible!" cried Ivory, rising from his 
 chair and pacing the floor. 
 
 "I can recall nothing of any account till I 
 awoke in my own bed weeks afterwards. The 
 strange little boy was there, but Mrs. Day and 
 Dr. Perry told me what I must have told them 
 that he was the child of my dead sister. Those 
 
 342 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 were the last words uttered by the woman in 
 Brentville; I carried them straight through my 
 illness and brought them out on the other side 
 more firmly intrenched than ever." 
 
 "If only the truth had come back to you 
 sooner!" sighed Ivory, coming back to her bed 
 side. "I could have helped you to bear it all 
 these years. Sorrow is so much lighter when 
 you can share it with some one else. And the 
 girl who died was called Hetty Rodman, then, 
 and she simply gave the child her last name?" 
 
 Yes, poor suffering creature. I feel no anger 
 against her now; it has burned itself all away. 
 Nor do I feel any bitterness against your father. 
 I forgot all this miserable story for so long, loving 
 and watching for him all the time, that it is as if 
 it did not belong to my own life, but had to do 
 with sonic unhappy stranger. Can you forgive, 
 too, Ivory."" 
 
 "I can try," he answered. "God knows I 
 ought to be able to if you can!" 
 
 "And will it turn you away from Rod?" 
 
 "No, it draws me nearer to him than ever. He 
 .shall never know the truth- why should lie? 
 Just as he crept close to you that night, all uncon 
 scious of the reason you had for shrinking from 
 him, so he has crept close to me in these years of 
 trial, when your mind has been wandering." 
 
 M8 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 "Life is so strange. To think that this child, of 
 all others, should have been a comfort to you. 
 The Lord s hand is in it!" whispered Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton feebly. 
 
 "His boyish belief in me, his companionship, 
 have kept the breath of hope alive in me - 
 that s all I can say." 
 
 "The Bible story is happening over again in our 
 lives, then. Don t you remember that Aaron s 
 rod budded and blossomed and bore fruit, and 
 that the miracle kept the rebels from mur 
 muring?" 
 
 "This rebel never will murmur again, mother," 
 and Ivory rose to leave the room. "Now that 
 you have shed your burden you will grow 
 stronger and life will be all joy, for Waitstill will 
 come to us soon and we can shake off these 
 miseries and be a happy family once more." 
 
 "It is she who has helped me most to find the 
 thread ; pouring sympathy and strength into me, 
 nursing me, loving me, because she loved my 
 wonderful son. Oh! how blest among women I 
 am to have lived long enough to see you happy! " 
 
 And as Ivory kissed his mother and blew out 
 the candle, she whispered to herself: "Even so, 
 Lord Jesus, come quickly!" 
 
XXXIV 
 
 THE DEACON S WATERLOO 
 
 MRS. MASON S welcome to AYaitstill was unex 
 pectedly hearty much heartier than it would 
 have been six months before, when she regarded 
 Mrs. Boynton as little less than a harmless luna 
 tic, of no use as a neighbor; and when she knew 
 nothing more of Ivory than she could gather by 
 his occasional drive or walk past her door with a 
 civil greeting. Rodman had been until lately the 
 only member of the family for whom she had a 
 friendly feeling; but all that had changed in the 
 last few weeks, when she had been allowed to 
 take a hand in the Boyntons* affairs. As to this 
 newest development in the life of their household, 
 she had once been young herself, and the veriest 
 block of stone would have become human when 
 I he two lovers drove up to the door and told their 
 rxcil iiiij story. 
 
 Ivory made himself quickly at home, and 
 helped the old lady to get a room ready for 
 Wait still het ore he drove back for a look at his 
 mother and then on to carry out his impHnons 
 and romantic scheme of routing out. the town 
 clerk and announcing his intended marriage. 
 
 . 5 1.* 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Waitstill slept like the shepherd boy in "The Pil 
 grim s Progress," with the "herb called Heart s 
 Ease" in her bosom. She opened her eyes next 
 morning from the depths of Mrs. Mason s best 
 feather bed, and looked wonderingly about the 
 room, with all its unaccustomed surroundings. 
 She heard the rattle of fire-irons and the clatter 
 of dishes below; the first time in all her woman s 
 life that preparations for breakfast had ever 
 greeted her ears when she had not been an active 
 participator in them. 
 
 She lay quite still for a quarter of an hour, tired 
 in body and mind, but incredibly happy in spirit, 
 marvelling at the changes wrought in her during 
 the day preceding, the most eventful one in her 
 history. Only yesterday her love had been a 
 bud, so closely folded that she scarcely recog 
 nized its beauty or color or fragrance; only yes 
 terday, and now she held in her hand a perfect 
 flower. AYhen and how had it grown, and by 
 what magic process? 
 
 The image of Ivory had been all through the 
 night in the foreground of her dreams and in her 
 moments of wakefulness, both made blissful by 
 the heaven of anticipation that dawned upon her. 
 Was ever man so wise, so tender and gentle, so 
 strong, so comprehending? What mattered the 
 absence of worldly goods, the presence of care 
 
 346 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and anxiety, when a woman had a steady hand 
 to hold, a steadfast heart to trust, a man who 
 would love her and stand by her, whatever befell? 
 
 Then the face of Ivory s mother would swim 
 into the mental picture; the pale face, as white 
 as the pillow it lay upon; the face with its aureole 
 of ashen hair, and the wistful blue eyes that 
 begged of God and her children some peace before 
 they closed on life. 
 
 The vision of her sister was a joyful one, and 
 her heart was at peace about her, the plucky 
 little princess who had blazed the way out of the 
 ogre s castle. 
 
 She saw Patty clearly as a future fine lady, in 
 velvets and satins and furs, bewitch ing every 
 body by her gay spirits, her piquant vivacity, 
 and the loving heart that lay underneath all the 
 nonsense and gave it warmth and color. 
 
 The remembrance of her father alone on the 
 hilltop did indeed trouble Waitslill. Self-re- 
 proa eh, in the true sense of the word, she did not, 
 could not, feel. Never since the day she was 
 born had she been fathered, and daughterly love 
 \\,i> al>ent; but she suffered when she thou-ht 
 of the fierce, self-willed old man, cut I ing himself 
 off from all possible friendships, while his vigor 
 was being sapped daily and hourly by his terri 
 ble greed of money. 
 
 347 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 True housewife that Waitstill was, her mind 
 reverted to every separate crock and canister in 
 her cupboards, every article of her baking or 
 cooking that reposed on the swing-shelf in the 
 cellar, thinking how long her father could be 
 comfortable without her ministrations, and so, 
 how long he would delay before engaging the 
 inevitable housekeeper. She revolved the num 
 ber of possible persons to whom the position 
 would be offered, and wished that Mrs. Mason, 
 who so needed help, might be the chosen one : but 
 the fact of her having been friendly to the Boyn- 
 tons would strike her at once from the list. 
 
 When she was thankfully eating her breakfast 
 with Mrs. Mason a little later, and waiting for 
 Ivory to call for them both and take them to the 
 Boynton farm, she little knew what was going on 
 at her old home in these very hours, when to tell 
 the truth she would have liked to slip in, had it 
 been possible, wash the morning dishes, skim the 
 cream, do the week s churning, make her father s 
 bed, and slip out again into the dear shelter of 
 love that awaited her. 
 
 The Deacon had passed a good part of the 
 night in scheming and contriving, and when he 
 drank his self-made cup of muddy coffee at seven 
 o clock next morning he had formed several 
 plans that were to be immediately frustrated, had 
 
 348 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 he known it, by the exasperating and suspicious 
 nature of the ladies involved in them. 
 
 At eight he had left the house, started Bill 
 Morrill at the store, and was on the road in 
 search of vengeance and a housekeeper. Old 
 Mrs. Atkins of Deerwander sniffed at the wages 
 offered. Miss Peters, of Union Falls, an aged 
 spinster with weak lungs, had the impertinence 
 to tell him that she feared she could n t stand 
 the cold in his house; she had heard he was very 
 particular about the amount of wood that was 
 burned. A four-mile drive brought him to the 
 village poetically named the Brick Kiln, where 
 he offered to Mrs. Peter Upham an advance of 
 I unity-five cents a week over and above the sal 
 ary with which he had sought to tempt Mrs. 
 Atkins. Far from bein^ impressed, Mrs. Up 
 ham, being of a high temper and candid turn of 
 mind, told him she d prefer to starve at home. 
 There was not another free woman within eight 
 miles, and the Deacon was chafing under the 
 mortification of being continually obliged to 
 State I lie n -a sons of his needing a housekeeper. 
 The only hope, it seemed, lay in goin.u r to Saco 
 and hiring a stranger, a plan not at all to his 
 liking, as it was sure to involve him in extra 
 expense. 
 
 Muttering threats against the univ< r- ,- in 
 349 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 general, he drove home by way of Milliken s 
 Mills, thinking of the unfed hens, the unmilked 
 cow, the unwashed dishes, the unchurned cream, 
 and above all of his unchastened daughters; his 
 rage increasing with every step until it was 
 nearly at the white heat of the night before. 
 
 A long stretch of hill brought the tired old mare 
 to a slow walk, and enabled the Deacon to see 
 the Widow Tillman clipping the geraniums that 
 stood in tin cans on the shelf of her kitchen 
 window. 
 
 Now, Foxwell Baxter had never been a village 
 Lothario at any age, nor frequented the society 
 of such. Of late years, indeed, he had frequented 
 no society of any kind, so that he had missed, for 
 instance, Abel Day s description of the Widow 
 Tillman as a "reg lar syreen," though he vaguely 
 remembered that some of the Baptist sisters had 
 questioned the authenticity of her conversion by 
 their young and attractive minister. She made a 
 pleasant picture at the window; she was a free 
 woman (a little too free, the neighbors would 
 have said ; but the Deacon did n t know that) ; 
 she was a comparative newcomer to the village, 
 and her mind had not been poisoned with fem 
 inine gossip in a word, she was a distinctly 
 hopeful subject, and, acting on a blind and sud 
 den impulse, he turned into the yard, flung the 
 
 350 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 reins over the mare s neck, and knocked at the 
 back door. 
 
 "Her character s no worse than mine by now, 
 if Aunt Abby Cole s on the road," he thought 
 grimly, "an if the Wilsons see my sleigh inside of 
 a widder s fence, so much the better; it ll give 
 em a jog. Good mornin , Mis Tillman," he 
 said to the smiling lady. "I ll come to the p int 
 at once. My youngest daughter has married 
 Mark Wilson against my will, an gone away 
 from town, an the older one s chosen a husband 
 still less to my likin . Do you want to come and 
 housekeep for me?" 
 
 "I surmised something was going on," re 
 turned Mrs. Tillman. "I saw Patty and Mark 
 drive away early this morning, with Mr. and 
 Mrs. Wilson wrapping the girl up and putting 
 a hot soapstone in the sleigh, and consid able 
 ki>sinij and hugging thrown in." 
 
 This knowledge added fuel to the flame that 
 was burning fiercely in the Deacon s breast. 
 
 "Well, how about the housekeeping" he 
 asked, trying not to show his eagerness, and not 
 recomii/in^ himself at all in the enterprise in 
 which he round himself indulging. 
 
 "I m very comfortable here," the lady re 
 sponded artfully, "and I don t know s I care to 
 make any change, thank you. I did n t like the 
 
 961 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 village much at first, after living in larger places, 
 but now I m acquainted, it kind of gains on 
 
 me." 
 
 Her reply was carefully framed, for her mind 
 worked with great rapidity, and she was mistress 
 of the situation almost as soon as she saw the 
 Deacon alighting from his sleigh. He was not the 
 sort of man to be a casual caller, and his manner 
 bespoke an urgent errand. She had a pension of 
 six dollars a month, but over and above that sum 
 her living was precarious. She made coats, and 
 she had never known want, for she was a master 
 hand at dealing with the opposite sex. Deacon 
 Baxter, according to common report, had ten or 
 fifteen thousand dollars stowed away in the 
 banks, so the situation would be as simple as 
 possible under ordinary circumstances; it was 
 as easy to turn out one man s pockets as an 
 other s when he was a normal human being; but 
 Deacon Baxter was a different proposition. 
 
 "I wonder how long he s likely to live," she 
 thought, glancing at him covertly, out of the tail 
 of her eye. "His evil temper must have driven 
 more than one nail in his coffin. I wonder, if I 
 refuse to housekeep, whether I 11 get a better 
 offer. I wonder if I could manage him if I got 
 him! I d rather like to set in the Baxter pew at 
 the Orthodox meeting-house after the way some 
 
 352 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 of the Baptist sisters have snubbed me since I 
 come here." 
 
 Not a vestige of these incendiary thoughts 
 showed in her comely countenance, and her soul 
 might have been as white as the high-bibbed 
 apron that covered it, to judge by her genial 
 smile. 
 
 "I d make the wages fair," urged the Deacon, 
 looking round the clean kitchen, with the break - 
 fast-table sitting near the sunny window and the 
 odor of corned beef and cabbage issuing tempt 
 ingly from a boiling pot on the fire. "I hope she 
 ain t a great meat-eater," he thought, "but it s 
 too soon to cross that bridge yet a while." 
 
 "I ve no doubt of it," said the widow, won 
 dering if her voice rang true; "but I ve got a 
 pension, and why should I leave this cosy little 
 home? Would I better myself any, that s the 
 question? I m kind of lonesome here, that s the 
 only reason I d consider a move." 
 
 "No need o bein lonesome down to the Falls," 
 said the Deacon. "And I m in an out all day, 
 between the barn an the store." 
 
 This, indeed, was not a pleasant prospect, hut 
 Jane Tillman had faced worse ones in her time. 
 
 "I m no hand at any work outside the house," 
 she observed, as if reflecting. "I can truthfully 
 say I m a good cook, and have a great faculty for 
 
 353 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 making a little go a long ways." (She considered 
 this a master-stroke, and in fact it was; for the 
 Deacon s mouth absolutely watered at this 
 apparently unconscious comprehension of his 
 disposition.) "But I m no hand at any chores 
 in the barn or shed," she continued. "My 
 husband would never allow me to do that kind of 
 work." 
 
 "Perhaps I could git a boy to help out; I ve 
 been kind o thinkin o that lately. What wages 
 would you expect if I paid a boy for the rough 
 work?" asked the Deacon tremulously. 
 
 "Well, to tell the truth, I don t quite fancy the 
 idea of taking wages. Judge Dickinson wants me 
 to go to Alfred and housekeep for him, and 
 named twelve dollars a month. It s good pay, 
 and I have n t said * No ; but my rent is small 
 here, I m my own mistress, and I don t feel like 
 giving up my privileges." 
 
 :< Twelve dollars a month!" He had never 
 thought of approaching that sum; and he saw 
 the heap of unwashed dishes growing day by 
 day, and the cream souring on the milk-pans. 
 Suddenly an idea sprang full-born into the 
 Deacon s mind (Jed Merrill s "Old Driver" 
 must have been close at hand!). Would Jane 
 Tillman marry him? No woman in the three 
 villages would be more obnoxious to his daugh- 
 
 354 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 ters; that in itself was a distinct gain. She was a 
 fine, robust figure of a woman in her early forties, 
 and he thought, after all, that the hollow- 
 chested, spindle-shanked kind were more ex- 
 pnsi veto feed, on the whole, than their better- 
 padded sisters. He had never had any difficulty 
 in managing wives, and thought himself quite 
 equal to one more bout, even at sixty-five, though 
 he had just the faintest suspicion that the high 
 color on Airs. Tillman s prominent cheek-bones, 
 the vigor shown in the coarse black hair and 
 handsome eyebrows, might make this task a lit- 
 tle more difficult than his previous ones. But this 
 fear vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, 
 for he kept saying to himself: "A judge of the 
 County Court wants her at twelve dollars a 
 month; hadn t I better bid high an git settled?" 
 
 "If you d like to have a home o your own 
 thout payiif rent, you ve only got to say the 
 w<>rd an I ll make you Mis Baxter," said the 
 Deacon. There ll be nobody to interfere with 
 you, an a handsome legacy if I die first : for none 
 o my few savin s is goin to my daughters, I can 
 pn>miM> yon that !" 
 
 The Deacon threw out this tempting hail 
 advisedly, for at Ihis moment lie would have 
 poured his hoard into the lap of any woman who 
 would help him to avenge his fancied wrongs. 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 This was information, indeed! The "few sav 
 ings" alluded to amounted to some thousands, 
 Jane Tillman knew. Had she not better burn her 
 ships behind her, take the risks, and have faith 
 in her own powers? She was getting along in 
 years, and her charms of person were lessening 
 with every day that passed over her head. If the 
 Deacon s queer ways grew too queer, she thought 
 an appeal to the doctor and the minister might 
 provide a way of escape and a neat little income 
 to boot; so, on the whole, the marriage, though 
 much against her natural inclinations, seemed to 
 be providentially arranged. 
 
 The interview that succeeded, had it been 
 reported verbatim, deserved to be recorded in 
 local history. Deacon Baxter had met in Jane 
 Tillman a foeman more than worthy of his steel. 
 She was just as crafty as he, and in generalship 
 as much superior to him as Napoleon Bonaparte 
 to Cephas Cole. Her knowledge of and her ex 
 periences with men, all very humble, it is true, 
 but decidedly varied, enabled her to play on 
 every weakness of this particular one she had in 
 hand, and at the same time skilfully to avoid 
 alarming him. 
 
 Heretofore, the women with whom the Deacon 
 had come in contact had timidly steered away 
 from the rocks and reefs in his nature, and had 
 
 35(> 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 been too ignorant or too proud to look among 
 tin in for certain softer places that were likely to 
 be there since man is man, after all, even 
 when he is made on a very small pattern. 
 
 If Jane Tillman became Mrs. Baxter, she 
 intended to get the whip hand and keep it; but 
 nothing was further from her intention than to 
 make the Deacon miserable if she could help it. 
 That was not her disposition; and so, when the 
 deluded man left her house, he had made more 
 concessions in a single hour than in all the former 
 years of his life. 
 
 His future spouse was to write out a little 
 paper for his signature; just a friendly little 
 paper to be kept quite private and confidential 
 between themselves, stating that she was to do 
 no work outside of the house; that her pension 
 \.i> to he her own; that she was to have five dol 
 lars in cash on the first of every month in lieu of 
 wages; and that in case of his death occurring 
 firM she was to have a third of his estate, and t he 
 whole of it if at the time of his decease he was still 
 pleased with his bargain. The only points in this 
 contract that the Deacon really understood were 
 (hat he was paying only five dollars a month fora 
 housekeeper to whom a judge had offered twelve; 
 that, as he had expeeted to pay at least eight, he 
 could get a boy for the remaining three, and so be 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 none the worse in pocket; also, that if he could 
 keep his daughters from getting his money, he 
 did n t care a hang who had it, as he hated the 
 whole human race with entire impartiality. If 
 Jane Tillman did n t behave herself, he had 
 pleasing visions of converting most of his fortune 
 into cash and having it dropped off the bridge 
 some dark night, when the doctor had given him 
 up and proved to his satisfaction that death 
 would occur in the near future. 
 
 All this being harmoniously settled, the Dea 
 con drove away, and caused the announcement 
 of his immediate marriage to be posted directly 
 below that of Waitstill and Ivory Boynton. 
 
 "Might as well have all the fat in the fire to 
 once," he chuckled. :< There won t be any house 
 work done in this part of the county for a week to 
 come. If we should have more snow, nobody 11 
 have to do any shovellin , for the women-folks 11 
 keep all the paths in the village trod down from 
 door to door, travellin round with the news." 
 
 A "spite match," the community in general 
 called the Deacon s marriage; and many a man, 
 and many a woman, too, regarding the amazing 
 publishing notice in the frame up at the meeting 
 house, felt that in Jane Tillman Deacon Baxter 
 had met his Waterloo. 
 
 "She s plenty good enough for him," said 
 358 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Aunt Abby Cole, "though I know that s a 
 terrible poor compliment. If she thinks slidl 
 ever break into s ciety here at the Falls, she ll 
 find herself mistaken! It s a mystery to me why 
 the poor deluded man ever done it; but ain t 
 it wonderful the ingenuity the Lord shows in 
 punishin sinners? I could n t a thought out 
 such a good comeuppance myself for Deacon 
 Baxter, as luarrvin Jane Tillman! The thing 
 that troubles me most, is thinkin how tickled the 
 Baptists 11 be to git her out o their meetin an 
 in to ourn!" 
 
XXXV 
 
 TWO HEAVENS 
 
 AT the very moment that Deacon Baxter was 
 starting out on his quest for a housekeeper, Patty 
 and Mark drove into the Mason dooryard and 
 the sisters flew into each other s arms. The 
 dress that Mark had bought for Patty was the 
 usual charming and unsuitable offering of a 
 man s spontaneous affection, being of dark violet 
 cloth with a wadded cape lined with satin. A 
 little brimmed hat of violet velvet tied under her 
 chin with silk ribbons completed the costume, 
 and before the youthful bride and groom had 
 left the ancestral door Mrs. Wilson had hung 
 her own ermine victorine (the envy of all Edge- 
 wood) around Patty s neck and put her ermine 
 pillow muff into her new daughter s hands; thus 
 she was as dazzling a personage, and as im 
 properly dressed for the journey, as she could 
 well be. 
 
 Waitstill, in her plain linsey-woolsey, was 
 
 entranced with Patty s beauty and elegance, and 
 
 the two girls had a few minutes of sisterly talk, of 
 
 "interchange of radiant hopes and confidences 
 
 360 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 before- Mark tore them apart, their cheeks wet 
 with happy tears. 
 
 As the Mason house faded from view, Patty 
 having waved her muff until the last moment, 
 turned in her seat and said: 
 
 "Mark, dear, do you think your father would 
 care if I spent the twenty-dollar gold-piece he 
 gave me, for Waitstill? She will be married in a 
 fortnight, and if my father does not give her the 
 few things she owns she will go to her husband 
 more ill-provided even than I was. I have so 
 much, dear Mark, and she so little. * 
 
 "It s your own wedding-present to use as you 
 wish/ Mark answered, "and it s exactly like you 
 to give it away. (Io ahead and spend it if 
 you want to; I can always earn enough to keep 
 you, without anybody s help!" and Mark, after 
 cracking the whip vainglnriously, kissed his wife 
 just over the violet ribbons, and with sleigh-bells 
 jingling they sped over the snow towards what 
 seemed Paradise to them, the New Hampshire 
 village where they had been married and where 
 their new life would begin. 
 
 So, a few days later, Waitstill reeeived a great 
 parcel which relieved her of many feminine anx 
 ieties and she br^an to shape and cut and stitch 
 during all the Imurx >li<> had to herself. They 
 were not many, for every day she trudged to the 
 
 3G1 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 Boynton farm and began with youthful enthu 
 siasm the household tasks that were so soon to be 
 hers by right. 
 
 "Don t waste too much time and strength 
 here, my dearest," said Ivory. "Do you suppose 
 for a moment I shall keep you long on this lonely 
 farm? I am ready for admission to the Bar or I 
 am fitted to teach in the best school in New Eng 
 land. Nothing has held me here but my mother, 
 and in her present condition of mind we can safely 
 take her anywhere. We will never live where 
 there are so many memories and associations to 
 sadden and hamper us, but go where the best op 
 portunity offers, and as soon as may be. My wife 
 will be a pearl of great price," he added fondly, 
 "and I intend to provide a right setting for her!" 
 
 This was all said in a glow of love and joy, 
 pride and ambition, as Ivory paced up and down 
 before the living-room fireplace while Waitstill 
 was hanging the freshly laundered curtains. 
 
 Ivory was right; Waitstill Baxter was, indeed, 
 a jewel of a woman. She had little knowledge, 
 but much wisdom, and after all, knowledge 
 stands for the leaves on a tree and wisdom for 
 the fruit. There was infinite richness in the girl, 
 a richness that had been growing and ripening 
 through the years that she thought so gray and 
 wasted. The few books she owned and loved had 
 
 368 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 generally lain unopened, it is true, upon her bed 
 room table, and she held herself as having far 
 too little learning to be a worthy companion for 
 Ivory Boynton; but all the beauty and cheer and 
 comfort that could ever be pressed into the arid 
 life of the Baxter household had come from Wait- 
 still s heart, and that heart had grown in warmth 
 and plenty year by year. 
 
 Those lonely tasks, too hard for a girl s hands, 
 those unrewarded drudgeries, those days of 
 faithful labor in and out of doors, those evenings 
 of self-sacrifice over the mending-basket; the 
 quiet avoidance of all that might vex her father s 
 crusty temper, her patience with his miserly 
 exactions; the hourly holding back of the hasty 
 word, -- all these had played their part; all these 
 had been somehow welded into a strong, sunny, 
 steady, life-wisdom, there is no better name for 
 it; and so she had unconsciously the best of all 
 harvests to bring as dower to a husband who 
 was worthy of her. Ivory s strength called to 
 hers and answered it, just as his great need 
 awoke Mich a power of hclpfulnesN in her as -he 
 did not know >he possessed. She loved the m,-m, 
 but she loved the task that beckoned her, tcx). 
 The vision of il was like the breath of wind from 
 a hill-top, putting salt and savor into the new 
 life that opened before her. 
 
 sea 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 These were quietly happy days at the farm, for 
 Mrs. Boynton took a new, if transient, hold upon 
 life that deceived even the doctor. Rodman was 
 nearly as ardent a lover as Ivory, hovering about 
 Waitstill and exclaiming, "You never stay to 
 supper and it s so lonesome evenings without 
 you! Will it never be time for you to come and 
 live with us, Waity dear? The days crawl so 
 slowly!" At which Ivory would laugh, push him 
 away and draw Waitstill nearer to his own side, 
 saying: "If you are in a hurry, you young cor 
 morant, what do you think of me?" And Wait- 
 still would look from one to the other and blush 
 at the heaven of love that surrounded her on 
 every side. 
 
 "I believe you are longing to begin on my 
 cooking, you two big greedy boys!" she said 
 teasingly. "What shall we have for New Year s 
 dinner, Rod? Do you like a turkey, roasted 
 brown and crispy, with giblet gravy and cran 
 berry jelly? Do you fancy an apple dumpling 
 afterwards, an apple dumpling with potato 
 crust, or will you have a suet pudding with 
 foamy sauce?" 
 
 "Stop, Waitstill!" cried Ivory. "Don t put 
 hope into us until you are ready to satisfy it; we 
 can t bear it!" 
 
 "And I have a box of goodies from my own 
 304 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 garden safely stowed away in Uncle Bart s 
 shop," Waitstill went on mischievously. " They 
 were to be sold in Portland, but I think they ll 
 have to be my wedding-present to my husband, 
 though a very strange one, indeed! There are 
 peaches floating in sweet syrup; there are tum 
 blers of quince jelly; there are jars of tomato 
 and citron preserves, and for supper you shall 
 eat them with biscuits as light as feathers and 
 w r hite as snowdrifts." 
 
 "We can never wait two more days, Rod; let 
 us kidnap her! Let us take the old bob-sled and 
 run over to New Hampshire where one can be 
 married the minute one feels like it. We could do 
 it between sunrise and moonrise and be at home 
 for a late supper. Would she be too tired to bake 
 the biscuits for us, do you think? What do you 
 say, Rod, will you be best man?" And there 
 would be youthful, unaccustomed laughter float 
 ing out from the kitchen or living-room, bringing 
 a smile of content to Lois Boynton s face as 
 she lay propped up in bed with her open Bil.le 
 hoide her. M He hinds up the broken-hearted," 
 she whispered to herself. " He gives unto them 
 a garland for ashes; the oil of joy for mourn 
 ing; the garment of praise for the spirit of heavi 
 
 ness." 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 The quiet wedding was over. There had been 
 neither feasting, nor finery, nor presents, nor 
 bridal journey; only a home-coming that meant 
 as deep and sacred a joy, as fervent gratitude as 
 any four hearts ever contained in all the world. 
 But the laughter ceased, though the happiness 
 flowed silently underneath, almost forgotten in 
 the sudden sorrow that overcame them, for it 
 fell out that Lois Boynton had only waited, 
 as it were, for the marriage, and could stay no 
 longer. 
 
 "... There are two heavens . . . 
 Both made of love, one, inconceivable 
 Ev n by the other, so divine it is; 
 The other, far on this side of the stars, 
 By men called home.* 
 
 And these two heavens met, over at Boyntons , 
 during these cold, white, glistening December 
 days. 
 
 Lois Boynton found hers first. After a windy 
 moonlit night a morning dawned in which a hush 
 seemed to be on the earth. The cattle huddled 
 together in the farmyards and the fow r ls shrank 
 into their feathers. The sky was gray, and sud 
 denly the first white heralds came floating down 
 like scouts seeking for paths and camping-places. 
 
 Waitstill turned Mrs. Boynton s bed so that 
 she could look out of the window. Slope after 
 
 366 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 slope, dazzling in white crust, rose one upon 
 another and vanished as they slipped away into 
 the dark green of the pine forests. 
 Then, 
 
 "... there fell from out the skies 
 A feathery whiteness over all the land; 
 A strange, soft, spotless something, pure as light." 
 
 It could not be called a storm, for there had been 
 no wind since sunrise, no whirling fury, no drift 
 ing; only a still, steady, solemn fall of crystal 
 flakes, hour after hour, hour after hour. 
 
 Mrs. Boyn ton s Book of books was open on 
 the bed and her finger marked a passage in her 
 favorite Bible-poet. 
 
 "Hen- it is, daughter/ 9 she whispered. "Ihave 
 found it, in the same chapter where the morning 
 stars sing together and the sons of God shout for 
 joy. The Lord speaks to Job out of the whirl 
 wind and says: Hast thn entered into the treasurer 
 of the snow? or hast thon seen the treasures of the 
 hail? Sit near me, \Yaitstill, and look out on the 
 hills. //</>/ thnu entered into the treasures of the 
 snmo? No, not yet, Imt please (iod. I >hall, and 
 into many other trea>niv>. Boon"; and she elo>ed 
 her eyes. 
 
 All day lon^ the air-ways were filled with the 
 ^litterinir army of the BQOWflftkes; all day long 
 the snow grew deeper and deeper on the ground; 
 
 867 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 and on the breath of some white-winged wonder 
 that passed Lois Boynton s window her white 
 soul forsook its "earth-lot" and took flight at 
 last. 
 
 They watched beside her, but never knew the 
 moment of her going; it was just a silent flitting, 
 a ceasing to be, without a tremor, or a flutter that 
 could be seen by mortal eye. Her face was so like 
 an angel s in its shining serenity that the few who 
 loved her best could not look upon her with any 
 thing but reverent joy. On earth she had known 
 nothing but the "broken arcs," but in heaven she 
 would find the "perfect round"; there at last, 
 on the other side of the stars, she could remem 
 ber right, poor Lois Boynton ! 
 
 For weeks afterwards the village was shrouded 
 in snow as it had never been before within mem 
 ory, but in every happy household the home-life 
 deepened day by day. The books came out in the 
 long evenings; the grandsires told old tales under 
 the inspiration of the hearth-fire; the children 
 gathered on their wooden stools to roast apples 
 and pop corn; and hearts came closer together 
 than when summer called the housemates to 
 wander here and there in fields and woods and 
 beside the river. 
 
 Over at Boyntons , when the snow was whirl- 
 368 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 ing and the wind howling round the chimneys of 
 the high-gabled old farmhouse; when every win 
 dow had its frame of ermine and fringe of icicles, 
 and the sleet rattled furiously against the glass, 
 thru Ivory would throw a great back log on the 
 hank of coals between the fire-dogs, the kettle 
 \\onld begin to sing, and the cat come from some 
 snug corner to curl and purr on the braided 
 hearth-rug. 
 
 School was in session, and Ivory and Rod had 
 their textbooks of an evening, but oh! what a new 
 and strange joy to study when there was a sweet 
 woman sitting near with her workbasket; a 
 woman wearing a shining braid of hair as if it 
 were a coronet ; a woman of clear eyes and tender 
 lips, one who could feel as well as think, one who 
 could be a man s comrade as well as his dear love. 
 Truly the second heaven, the one on "this side of 
 the stars, by men called home," was very present 
 over at Boyntons . 
 
 Sometimes the broad-seated old haircloth sofa 
 would be drawn in front of the fire, and Ivory, 
 laying his pipe and hi> (ire-k irrammar on the 
 table, would take some lighter hook and open it 
 on his knee. Waitstill would lift her eyes from 
 her sewing to meet her husband s glance that 
 .spoke lomrin^ for her closer companionship, and 
 gladly leaving her work, and slipping into the 
 
 860 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 place by his side, she would put her elbow on 
 his shoulder and read with him. 
 
 Once, Rod, from his place at a table on the 
 other side of the room, looked and looked at 
 them w r ith a kind of instinct beyond his years, 
 and finally crept up to Waitstill, and putting an 
 arm through hers, nestled his curly head on her 
 shoulder with the quaint charm and grace that 
 belonged to him. 
 
 It was a young and beautiful shoulder, Wait- 
 stilPs, and there had always been, and would 
 always be, a gracious curve in it where a child s 
 head might lie in comfort. Presently with a shy 
 pressure, Rod whispered: "Shall I sit in the other 
 room, Waitstill and Ivory? Am I in the way? " 
 
 Ivory looked up from his book quietly shaking 
 his head, while Waitstill put her arm around the 
 boy and drew him closer. 
 
 "Our little brother is never in the way," she 
 said, as she bent and kissed him. 
 
 Men may come and men may go ; Saco Water 
 still tumbles tumultuously over the dam and 
 rushes under the Edgewood bridge on its way to 
 the sea; and still it listens to the story of to-day 
 that will sometime be the history of yesterday. 
 
 On midsummer evenings the windows of the 
 old farmhouse over at Boyntons* gleam with un- 
 
 370 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 accustomed lights ami voices break the stillness, 
 ning the gloom of the long grass-grown lane 
 of Lois Boynton s watching in days gone by. 
 On sunny mornings there is a merry babel of 
 children s chatter, mingled with gentle maternal 
 warnings, for this is a new brood of young things 
 and the river is calling them as it has called all 
 the others who ever came within the circle of its 
 magic. The fragile harebells hanging their blue 
 heads from the crevices of the rocks; I he brilliant 
 columbines swaying to and fro on their tall stalks; 
 the patches of gleaming sand in shallow places 
 beckoning lit tie bare feet to come and tread them; 
 the glint of silver minnows darting hither and 
 thither in some still pool; the tempestuous jour 
 ney of some weather-beaten log, fighting its way 
 downs! re;im; here is life in abundance, luring 
 the child to share its risks and its joys. 
 
 When Wait still s boys and Patty s girls come 
 back to the farm, they play by Saco Water as 
 their mothers and their fathers did before them. 
 The paths through the pine woods along the 
 river s brink are trodden smooth by their rest- 
 Ie88, wandering feel; their eager, curious eyes 
 .search the waysides for adventure, but their 
 babble and laii-ht er are < ! ( eiie>l heard from the 
 ruins of an old house hidd real trees. The 
 
 stones of the cellar, all OVergtOWO with hlack- 
 
 371 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 berry vines, are still there, and a fragment of the 
 brick chimney, where swallows build their nests 
 from year to year. A wilderness of weeds, tall 
 and luxuriant, springs up to hide the stone over 
 which Jacob Cochrane stepped daily when he 
 issued from his door ; and the polished stick with 
 which three-year-old Patty beats a tattoo may be 
 a round from the very chair in which he sat, ex 
 pounding the Bible according to his own vision. 
 The thickets of sweet clover and red-tipped 
 grasses, of waving ferns and young alder bushes 
 hide all of ugliness that belongs to the deserted 
 spot and serve as a miniature forest in whose 
 shade the younglings foreshadow the future at 
 their play of home-building and housekeeping. 
 In a far corner, altogether concealed from the 
 passer-by, there is a secret treasure, a wonderful 
 rosebush, its green leaves shining with health and 
 vigor. When the July sun is turning the 1 lay- 
 fields yellow, the children part the bushes in the 
 leafy corner and little Waitstill Boynton steps 
 cautiously in, to gather one splendid rose, "for 
 father and mother." 
 
 Jacob Cochrane s heart, with all its faults and 
 frailties has long been at peace. On a chill, dreary 
 night in November, all that was mortal of him 
 was raised from its unhonored resting-place not 
 far from the ruins of his old abode, and borne by 
 
 372 
 
THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER 
 
 three of his disciples far away to another state. 
 The gravestones were replaced, face downward, 
 deep, deep in the earth, and the sod laid back 
 upon them, so that no man thenceforward could 
 mark the place of the prophet s transient burial 
 amid the scenes of his first and only triumphant 
 ministry. 
 
 "It is a sad story, Jacob Cochrane s," Wait- 
 si ill said to her husband when she first discovered 
 that her children had chosen the deserted spot for 
 their play; "and yet, Ivory, the red rose blooms 
 and blooms in the ruins of the man s house, and 
 perhaps, somewhere in the world, he has left a 
 message that matches the rose." 
 
 THE END 
 
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 THe story of Waitstill 
 
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