A COUNTRY DOCTOR

by Sarah Orne Jewett

Published 1884

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CONTENTS

 I. THE LAST MILE

 II. THE FARM-HOUSE KITCHEN

 III. AT JAKE AND MARTIN'S

 IV. LIFE AND DEATH

 V. A SUNDAY VISIT

 VI. IN SUMMER WEATHER

 VII. FOR THE YEARS TO COME

 VIII. A GREAT CHANGE

 IX. AT DR. LESLIE'S

 X. ACROSS THE STREET

 XI. NEW OUTLOOKS

 XII. AGAINST THE WIND

 XIII. A STRAIGHT COURSE

 XIV. MISS PRINCE OF DUNPORT

 XV. HOSTESS AND GUEST

 XVI. A JUNE SUNDAY

 XVII. BY THE RIVER

XVIII. A SERIOUS TEA-DRINKING

 XIX. FRIEND AND LOVER

 XX. ASHORE AND AFLOAT

 XXI. AT HOME AGAIN

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I

THE LAST MILE

It had been one of the warm and almost sultry days which sometimescome in November; a maligned month, which is really an epitome of theother eleven, or a sort of index to the whole year's changes of stormand sunshine. The afternoon was like spring, the air was soft anddamp, and the buds of the willows had been beguiled into swelling alittle, so that there was a bloom over them, and the grass looked asif it had been growing green of late instead of fading steadily. Itseemed like a reprieve from the doom of winter, or from even Novemberitself. 

The dense and early darkness which usually follows such unseasonablemildness had already begun to cut short the pleasures of thisspring-like day, when a young woman, who carried a child in her arms, turned from a main road of Oldfields into a foot-path which ledsouthward across the fields and pastures. She seemed sure of her way, and kept the path without difficulty, though a stranger might easilyhave lost it here and there, where it led among the patches ofsweet-fern or bayberry bushes, or through shadowy tracts of smallwhite-pines. She stopped sometimes to rest, and walked more and morewearily, with increasing effort; but she kept on her way desperately, as if it would not do to arrive much later at the place which she wasseeking. The child seemed to be asleep; it looked too heavy for soslight a woman to carry. 

The path led after a while to a more open country, there was a lowhill to be climbed, and at its top the slender figure stopped andseemed to be panting for breath. A follower might have noticed that itbent its head over the child's for a moment as it stood, dark againstthe darkening sky. There had formerly been a defense against theIndians on this hill, which in the daytime commanded a fine view ofthe surrounding country, and the low earthworks or foundations of thegarrison were still plainly to be seen. The woman seated herself onthe sunken wall in spite of the dampness and increasing chill, stillholding the child, and rocking to and fro like one in despair. Thechild waked and began to whine and cry a little in that strange, lonely place, and after a few minutes, perhaps to quiet it, they wenton their way. Near the foot of the hill was a brook, swollen by theautumn rains; it made a loud noise in the quiet pasture, as if it werecrying out against a wrong or some sad memory. The woman went towardit at first, following a slight ridge which was all that remained of acovered path which had led down from the garrison to the spring belowat the brookside. If she had meant to quench her thirst here, shechanged her mind, and suddenly turned to the right, following thebrook a short distance, and then going straight toward the riveritself and the high uplands, which by daylight were smooth pastureswith here and there a tangled apple-tree or the grassy cellar of along vanished farm-house. 

It was night now; it was too late in the year for the chirp of anyinsects; the moving air, which could hardly be called wind, swept overin slow waves, and a few dry leaves rustled on an old hawthorn treewhich grew beside the hollow where a house had been, and a low soundcame from the river. The whole country side seemed asleep in thedarkness, but the lonely woman felt no lack of companionship; it waswell suited to her own mood that the world slept and said nothing toher, --it seemed as if she were the only creature alive. 

A little this side of the river shore there was an old burial place, aprimitive spot enough, where the graves were only marked by roughstones, and the short, sheep-cropped grass was spread over departedgenerations of the farmers and their wives and children. By day it wasin sight of the pine woods and the moving water, and nothing hid itfrom the great sky overhead, but now it was like a prison walled aboutby the barriers of night. However eagerly the woman had hurried tothis place, and with what purpose she may have sought the river bank, when she recognized her surroundings she stopped for a moment, swayingand irresolute. "No, no!" sighed the child plaintively, and sheshuddered, and started forward; then, as her feet stumbled among thegraves, she turned and fled. It no longer seemed solitary, but as if alegion of ghosts which had been wandering under cover of the dark haddiscovered this intruder, and were chasing her and flocking around herand oppressing her from every side. And as she caught sight of a lightin a far-away farmhouse window, a light which had been shining afterher all the way down to the river, she tried to hurry toward it. Theunnatural strength of terror urged her on; she retraced her steps likesome pursued animal; she remembered, one after another, the fearfulstories she had known of that ancient neighborhood; the child cried, but she could not answer it. She fell again and again, and at last allher strength seemed to fail her, her feet refused to carry her fartherand she crept painfully, a few yards at a time, slowly along theground. The fear of her superhuman enemies had forsaken her, and heronly desire was to reach the light that shone from the looming shadowof the house. 

At last she was close to it; at last she gave one great sigh, and thechild fell from her grasp; at last she clutched the edge of the worndoorstep with both hands, and lay still. 

II

THE FARM-HOUSE KITCHEN

Indoors there was a cheerful company; the mildness of the evening hadenticed two neighbors of Mrs. Thacher, the mistress of the house, intotaking their walks abroad, and so, with their heads well protected bylarge gingham handkerchiefs, they had stepped along the road and upthe lane to spend a social hour or two. John Thacher, their oldneighbor's son, was known to be away serving on a jury in the countytown, and they thought it likely that his mother would enjoy company. Their own houses stood side by side. Mrs. Jacob Dyer and Mrs. MartinDyer were their names, and excellent women they were. Their husbandswere twin-brothers, curiously alike and amazingly fond of each other, though either would have scorned to make any special outwarddemonstration of it. They were spending the evening together inbrother Martin's house, and were talking over the purchase of a bitof woodland, and the profit of clearing it, when their wives had leftthem without any apology to visit Mrs. Thacher, as we have alreadyseen. 

This was the nearest house and only a quarter of a mile away, and whenthey opened the door they had found Mrs. Thacher spinning. 

"I must own up, I am glad to see you more'n common, " she said. "Idon't feel scary at being left sole alone; it ain't that, but I havebeen getting through with a lonesome spell of another kind. John, hedoes as well as a man can, but here I be, --here I be, "--and the goodwoman could say no more, while her guests understood readily enoughthe sorrow that had found no words. 

"I suppose you haven't got no news from Ad'line?" asked Mrs. Martinbluntly. "We was speaking of her as we come along, and saying itseemed to be a pity she should'nt feel it was best to come back thiswinter and help you through; only one daughter, and left alone as yoube, with the bad spells you are liable to in winter time--but there, it ain't her way--her ambitions ain't what they should be, that's allI can say. "

"If she'd got a gift for anything special, now, " continued Mrs. Jake, "we should feel it was different and want her to have a chance, butshe's just like other folks for all she felt so much above farming. Idon't see as she can do better than come back to the old place, orleastways to the village, and fetch up the little gal to be some use. She might dressmake or do millinery work; she always had a prettytaste, and 't would be better than roving. I 'spose 't would hurt herpride, "--but Mrs. Thacher flushed at this, and Mrs. Martin came to therescue. 

"You'll think we're reg'lar Job's comforters, " cried the good soulhastily, "but there, Mis' Thacher, you know we feel as if she was ourown. There ain't nothing I wouldn't do for Ad'line, sick or well, andI declare I believe she'll pull through yet and make a piece of luckthat'll set us all to work praising of her. She's like to marry againfor all I can see, with her good looks. Folks always has their joysand calamities as they go through the world. "

Mrs. Thacher shook her head two or three times with a dismalexpression, and made no answer. She had pushed back the droningwool-wheel which she had been using, and had taken her knitting fromthe shelf by the clock and seated herself contentedly, while Mrs. Jakeand Mrs. Martin had each produced a blue yarn stocking from acapacious pocket, and the shining steel needles were presently allclicking together. One knitter after another would sheathe the spareneedle under her apron strings, while they asked each other's advicefrom time to time about the propriety of "narrerin'" or whether itwere not best to "widden" according to the progress their respectivestockings had made. Mrs. Thacher had lighted an extra candle, andreplenished the fire, for the air was chillier since the sun wentdown. They were all sure of a coming change of weather, and countedvarious signs, Mrs. Thacher's lowness of spirits among the number, while all three described various minor maladies from which they hadsuffered during the day, and of which the unseasonable weather wasguilty. 

"I can't get over the feeling that we are watchin' with somebody, "said Mrs. Martin after a while, moved by some strange impulse andlooking over her shoulder, at which remark Mrs. Thacher glanced upanxiously. "Something has been hanging over me all day, " said shesimply, and at this the needles clicked faster than ever. 

"We've been taking rather a low range, " suggested Mrs. Jake. "Weshall get to telling over ghost stories if we don't look out, and Ifor one shall be sca't to go home. By the way, I suppose you haveheard about old Billy Dow's experience night afore last, Mis'Thacher?"

"John being away, I ain't had nobody to fetch me the news these fewdays past, " said the hostess. "Why what's happened to Billy now?"

The two women looked at each other: "He was getting himself home asbest he could, --he owned up to having made a lively evenin' ofit, --and I expect he was wandering all over the road and didn't knownothin' except that he was p'inted towards home, an' he stepped offfrom the high bank this side o' Dunnell's, and rolled down, over andover; and when he come to there was a great white creatur' a-standin'over him, and he thought 't was a ghost. 'T was higher up on the bankthan him, and it kind of moved along down's if 't was coming right onto him, and he got on to his knees and begun to say his TenCommandments fast's he could rattle 'em out. He got 'em mixed up, andwhen the boys heard his teeth a-chattering, they began to laugh and heup an' cleared. Dunnell's boys had been down the road a piece and wasjust coming home, an' 't was their old white hoss that had got out ofthe barn, it bein' such a mild night, an' was wandering off. They saidto Billy that't wa'n't everybody could lay a ghost so quick as hecould, and they didn't 'spose he had the means so handy. "

The three friends laughed, but Mrs. Thacher's face quickly lost itssmile and took back its worried look. She evidently was in no mood forjoking. "Poor Billy!" said she, "he was called the smartest boy inschool; I rec'lect that one of the teachers urged his folks to let himgo to college; but 't wa'n't no use; they hadn't the money andcouldn't get it, and 't wa'n't in him to work his way as some do. He'sgot a master head for figur's. Folks used to get him to post booksyou know, --but he's past that now. Good-natured creatur' as everstept; but he always was afeard of the dark, --'seems 's if I could seehim there a-repentin' and the old white hoss shakin' his head, "--andshe laughed again, but quickly stopped herself and looked over hershoulder at the window. 

"Would ye like the curtain drawed?" asked Mrs. Jake. But Mrs. Thachershook her head silently, while the gray cat climbed up into her lapand laid down in a round ball to sleep. 

"She's a proper cosset, ain't she?" inquired Mrs. Martin approvingly, while Mrs. Jake asked about the candles, which gave a clear light. "Bethey the last you run?" she inquired, but was answered to thecontrary, and a brisk conversation followed upon the properproportions of tallow and bayberry wax, and the dangers of thenew-fangled oils which the village shop-keepers were attempting tointroduce. Sperm oil was growing more and more dear in price andworthless in quality, and the old-fashioned lamps were reported to bepast their usefulness. 

"I must own I set most by good candle light, " said Mrs. Martin. "'T isno expense to speak of where you raise the taller, and it's cheerfuland bright in winter time. In old times when the houses were draftierthey was troublesome about flickering, candles was; but land! thinkhow comfortable we live now to what we used to! Stoves is such aconvenience; the fire's so much handier. Housekeepin' don't begin tobe the trial it was once. "

"I must say I like old-fashioned cookin' better than oven cookin', "observed Mrs. Jake. "Seems to me's if the taste of things was alldrawed up chimbly. Be you going to do much for Thanksgivin', Mis'Thacher? I 'spose not;" and moved by a sudden kind impulse, she added, "Why can't you and John jine with our folks? 't wouldn't put us out, and 'twill be lonesome for ye. "

"'T won't be no lonesomer than last year was, nor the year before, "and Mrs. Thacher's face quivered a little as she rose and took one ofthe candles, and opened the trap door that covered the cellar stairs. "Now don't ye go to makin' yourself work, " cried the guests. "No, don't! we ain't needin' nothin'; we was late about supper. " But theirhostess stepped carefully down and disappeared for a few minutes, while the cat hovered anxiously at the edge of the black pit. 

"I forgot to ask ye if ye'd have some cider?" a sepulchral voice askedpresently; "but I don't know now's I can get at it. I told John Ishouldn't want any whilst he was away, and so he ain't got the spiggitin yet, " to which Mrs. Jake and Mrs. Martin both replied that theywere no hands for that drink, unless 't was a drop right from thepress, or a taste o' good hard cider towards the spring of the year;and Mrs. Thacher soon returned with some slices of cake in a plate andsome apples held in her apron. One of her neighbors took the candle asshe reached up to put it on the floor, and when the trap door wasclosed again all three drew up to the table and had a little feast. The cake was of a kind peculiar to its maker, who prided herself uponnever being without it; and there was some trick of her hand or asecret ingredient which was withheld when she responded with apparentcheerfulness to requests for its recipe. As for the apples, they weregrown upon an old tree, one of whose limbs had been grafted with someunknown variety of fruit so long ago that the history was forgotten;only that an English gardener, many years before, had brought somecuttings from the old country, and one of them had somehow come intothe possession of John Thacher's grandfather when grafted fruit was athing to be treasured and jealously guarded. It had been told thatwhen the elder Thacher had given away cuttings he had always stolen tothe orchards in the night afterward and ruined them. However, when thefamily had grown more generous in later years it had seemed to bewithout avail, for, on their neighbors' trees or their own, theEnglish apples had proved worthless. Whether it were some favoringquality in that spot of soil or in the sturdy old native tree itself, the rich golden apples had grown there, year after year, inperfection, but nowhere else. 

"There ain't no such apples as these, to my mind, " said Mrs. Martin, as she polished a large one with her apron and held it up to thelight, and Mrs. Jake murmured assent, having already taken asufficient first bite. 

"There's only one little bough that bears any great, " said Mrs. Thacher, "but it's come to that once before, and another branch hasshot up and been likely as if it was a young tree. "

The good souls sat comfortably in their splint-bottomed, straight-backed chairs, and enjoyed this mild attempt at a festival. Mrs. Thacher even grew cheerful and responsive, for her guests seemedso light-hearted and free from care that the sunshine of theirpresence warmed her own chilled and fearful heart. They embarked upona wide sea of neighborhood gossip and parish opinions, and at lastsome one happened to speak again of Thanksgiving, which at once turnedthe tide of conversation, and it seemed to ebb suddenly, while thegray, dreary look once more overspread Mrs. Thacher's face. 

"I don't see why you won't keep with our folks this year; you andJohn, " once more suggested Mrs. Martin. "'T ain't wuth while to bemaking yourselves dismal here to home; the day'll be lonesome for youat best, and you shall have whatever we've got and welcome. "

"'T won't be lonesomer this year than it was last, nor the yearbefore that, and we've stood it somehow or 'nother, " answered Mrs. Thacher for the second time, while she rose to put more wood in thestove. "Seems to me 't is growing cold; I felt a draught acrost myshoulders. These nights is dreadful chill; you feel the damp rightthrough your bones. I never saw it darker than 't was last evenin'. Ithought it seemed kind o' stived up here in the kitchen, and I openedthe door and looked out, and I declare I couldn't see my hand beforeme. "

"It always kind of scares me these black nights, " said Mrs. Jake Dyer. "I expect something to clutch at me every minute, and I feel as ifsome sort of a creatur' was travelin' right behind me when I am outdoor in the dark. It makes it bad havin' a wanin' moon just now whenthe fogs hangs so low. It al'ays seems to me as if 't was darker whenshe rises late towards mornin' than when she's gone altogether. I do'know why't is. "

"I rec'lect once, " Mrs. Thacher resumed, "when Ad'line was a baby andJohn was just turned four year old, their father had gone down riverin the packet, and I was expectin' on him home at supper time, but hedidn't come; 't was late in the fall, and a black night as I ever see. Ad'line was taken with something like croup, and I had an end o'candle in the candlestick that I lighted, and 't wa'n't long afore itwas burnt down, and I went down cellar to the box where I kep' 'em, and if you will believe it, the rats had got to it, and there wasn't aweek o' one left. I was near out anyway. We didn't have thiscook-stove then, and I cal'lated I could make up a good lively blaze, so I come up full o' scold as I could be, and then I found I'd burntup all my dry wood. You see, I thought certain he'd be home and I wastendin' to the child'n, but I started to go out o' the door and foundit had come on to rain hard, and I said to myself I wouldn't go out tothe woodpile and get my clothes all damp, 'count o' Ad'line, and thecandle end would last a spell longer, and he'd be home by that time. Ihadn't a least o' suspicion but what he was dallying round up to theCorners, 'long o' the rest o' the men, bein' 't was Saturday night, and I was some put out about it, for he knew the baby was sick, and Ihadn't nobody with me. I set down and waited, but he never come, andit rained hard as I ever see it, and I left his supper standin' rightin the floor, and then I begun to be distressed for fear somethin' hadhappened to Dan'l, and I set to work and cried, and the candle endgive a flare and went out, and by 'n' by the fire begun to get low andI took the child'n and went to bed to keep warm; 't was an awful coldnight, considerin' 't was such a heavy rain, and there I laid awakeand thought I heard things steppin' about the room, and it seemed tome as if 't was a week long before mornin' come, and as if I'd got tobe an old woman. I did go through with everything that night. 'T wasthat time Dan'l broke his leg, you know; they was takin' a deck loadof oak knees down by the packet, and one on 'em rolled down from thetop of the pile and struck him just below the knee. He was poling, forthere wan't a breath o' wind, and he always felt certain there wassomethin' mysterious about it. He'd had a good deal worse knocks thanthat seemed to be, as only left a black and blue spot, and he said henever see a deck load o' timber piled securer. He had some queernotions about the doin's o' sperits, Dan'l had; his old Aunt Parserwas to blame for it. She lived with his father's folks, and used tofill him and the rest o' the child'n with all sorts o' ghost storiesand stuff. I used to tell him she'd a' be'n hung for a witch if she'dlived in them old Salem days. He always used to be tellin' whateverything was the sign of, when we was first married, till I laughedhim out of it. It made me kind of notional. There's too much now wecan't make sense of without addin' to it out o' our own heads. "

Mrs. Jake and Mrs. Martin were quite familiar with the story of thenight when there were no candles and Mr. Thacher had broken his leg, having been present themselves early in the morning afterward, butthey had listened with none the less interest. These country neighborsknew their friends' affairs as well as they did their own, but such anaudience is never impatient. The repetitions of the best stories aresignal events, for ordinary circumstances do not inspire them. Affairsmust rise to a certain level before a narration of some great crisisis suggested, and exactly as a city audience is well contented withhearing the plays of Shakespeare over and over again, so each man andwoman of experience is permitted to deploy their well-known but alwaysinteresting stories upon the rustic stage. 

"I must say I can't a-bear to hear anything about ghosts aftersundown, " observed Mrs. Jake, who was at times somewhat troubled bywhat she and her friends designated as "narves. " "Day-times I don'tbelieve in 'em 'less it's something creepy more'n common, but afterdark it scares me to pieces. I do' know but I shall be afeared to gohome, " and she laughed uneasily. "There! when I get through with thisneedle I believe I won't knit no more. The back o' my neck is allnumb. "

"Don't talk o' goin' home yet awhile, " said the hostess, looking upquickly as if she hated the thought of being left alone again. "'T isjust on the edge of the evenin'; the nights is so long now we thinkit's bedtime half an hour after we've got lit up. 'T was a good lifthavin' you step over to-night. I was really a-dreadin' to set here bymyself, " and for some minutes nobody spoke and the needles clickedfaster than ever. Suddenly there was a strange sound outside the door, and they stared at each other in terror and held their breath, butnobody stirred. This was no familiar footstep; presently they heard astrange little cry, and still they feared to look, or to know what waswaiting outside. Then Mrs. Thacher took a candle in her hand, and, still hesitating, asked once, "Who is there?" and, hearing no answer, slowly opened the door. 

III

AT JAKE AND MARTIN'S

In the mean time, the evening had been much enjoyed by the brotherswho were spending it together in Martin Dyer's kitchen. The housesstood side by side, but Mr. Jacob Dyer's youngest daughter, the onlyone now left at home, was receiving a visit from her lover, or, as thefamily expressed it, the young man who was keeping company with her, and her father, mindful of his own youth, had kindly withdrawn. Martin's children were already established in homes of their own, withthe exception of one daughter who was at work in one of the cottonfactories at Lowell in company with several of her acquaintances. Ithas already been said that Jake and Martin liked nobody's company sowell as their own. Their wives had a time-honored joke about beingcomparatively unnecessary to their respective partners, and indeed thetwo men had a curiously dependent feeling toward each other. It wasthe close sympathy which twins sometimes have each to each, and hadbecome a byword among all their acquaintances. They were seldomindividualized in any way, and neither was able to distinguishhimself, apparently, for one always heard of the family as Jake andMartin's folks, and of their possessions, from least to greatest, asbelonging to both brothers. The only time they had ever been separatedwas once in their early youth, when Jake had been fired with a desireto go to sea; but he deserted the coastwise schooner in the first portand came home, because he could not bear it any longer without hisbrother. Martin had no turn for seafaring, so Jake remained ashore andpatiently made a farmer of himself for love's sake, and in spite of agreat thirst for adventure that had never ceased to fever his blood. It was astonishing how much they found to say to each other when oneconsiders that their experiences were almost constantly the same; butnothing contented them better than an uninterrupted evening spent ineach other's society, and as they hoed corn or dug potatoes, or mowed, or as they drove to the Corners, sitting stiffly upright in theold-fashioned thorough-braced wagon, they were always to be seentalking as if it were the first meeting after a long separation. But, having taken these quiet times for the discussion of all possible andimpossible problems, they were men of fixed opinions, and were readyat a moment's warning to render exact decisions. They were not fond ofsociety as a rule; they found little occasion for much talk with theirneighbors, but used as few words as possible. Nobody was morerespected than the brothers. It was often said of them that their wordwas their bond, and as they passed from youth to middle age, and inthese days were growing to look like elderly men, they were free fromshame or reproach, though not from much good-natured joking andfriendly fun. Their farm had been owned in the family since thesettlement of the country, and the house which Martin occupied wasvery old. Jake's had been built for him when he was married, fromtimber cut in their own woodlands, and after thirty years of wear itlooked scarcely newer than its companion. And when it is explainedthat they had married sisters, because, as people said, they even wentcourting together, it will be easy to see that they had found lifemore harmonious than most people do. Sometimes the wife of one brotherwould complain that her sister enjoyed undue advantages and profitsfrom the estate, but there was rarely any disagreement, and Mrs. Jakewas mistress of the turkeys and Mrs. Martin held sway over the hens, while they divided the spoils amiably at Thanksgiving time when thegeese were sold. If it were a bad year for turkeys, and the tenderyoung were chilled in the wet grass, while the hens flourishedsteadily the season through, Mrs. Jake's spirits drooped and shebecame envious of the good fortune which flaunted itself before hereyes, but on the whole, they suffered and enjoyed together, and foundno fault with their destinies. The two wives, though the affectionbetween them was of an ordinary sort, were apt to form a leagueagainst the brothers, and this prevented a more troublesome rivalrywhich might have existed between the households. 

Jake and Martin were particularly enjoying the evening. Some accidenthad befallen the cooking-stove, which the brothers had never more thanhalf approved, it being one of the early patterns, and a poor exchangefor the ancient methods of cookery in the wide fireplace. "The women"had had a natural desire to be equal with their neighbors, and knewbetter than their husbands did the difference this useful inventionhad made in their every-day work. However, this one night theconservative brothers could take a mild revenge; and when their wiveswere well on their way to Mrs. Thacher's they had assured each otherthat, if the plaguey thing were to be carried to the Corners in themorning to be exchanged or repaired, it would be as well to have it inreadiness, and had quickly taken down its pipes and lifted it as if itwere a feather to the neighboring woodshed. Then they hastily priedaway a fireboard which closed the great fireplace, and lookedsmilingly upon the crane and its pothooks and the familiar iron dogswhich had been imprisoned there in darkness for many months. Theybrought in the materials for an old-fashioned fire, backlog, forestick, and crowsticks, and presently seated themselves before acrackling blaze. Martin brought a tall, brown pitcher of cider fromthe cellar and set two mugs beside it on the small table, and for somelittle time they enjoyed themselves in silence, after which Jakeremarked that he didn't know but they'd got full enough of a fire forsuch a mild night, but he wished his own stove and the new one toocould be dropped into the river for good and all. 

They put the jug of cider between the andirons, and then, moved by acommon impulse, drew their chairs a little farther from the mountingflames, before they quenched their thirst from the mugs. 

"I call that pretty cider, " said Martin; "'tis young yet, but it hasgot some weight a'ready, and 'tis smooth. There's a sight o'difference between good upland fruit and the sposhy apples that growsin wet ground. An' I take it that the bar'l has an influence: somebar'ls kind of wilt cider and some smarten it up, and keep it hearty. Lord! what stuff some folks are willin' to set before ye! 'tain't wuththe name o' cider, nor no better than the rensin's of a vinegar cask. "

"And then there's weather too, " agreed Mr. Jacob Dyer, "had ought tobe took into consideration. Git your apples just in the righttime--not too early to taste o' the tree, nor too late to taste o' theground, and just in the snap o' time as to ripeness', on a good sharpday with the sun a-shining; have 'em into the press and what comes outis _cider_. I think if we've had any fault in years past, 't wasputtin' off makin' a little too late. But I don't see as this could bebeat. I don't know's you feel like a pipe, but I believe I'll lightup, " and thereupon a good portion of black-looking tobacco was cut andmade fine in each of the hard left hands, and presently the clay pipeswere touched off with a live coal, and great clouds of smoke mighthave been seen to disappear under the edge of the fire-place, drawnquickly up the chimney by the draft of the blazing fire. 

Jacob pushed back his chair another foot or two, and Martin soonfollowed, mentioning that it was getting hot, but it was well to keepout the damp. 

"What set the women out to go traipsin' up to Thacher's folks?"inquired Jacob, holding his cider mug with one hand and drumming itwith the finger ends of the other. 

"I had an idee that they wanted to find out if anything had been heardabout Ad'line's getting home for Thanksgiving, " answered Martin, turning to look shrewdly at his brother. "Women folks does suffer ifthere's anything goin' on they can't find out about. 'Liza said shewas going to invite Mis' Thacher and John to eat a piece o' our bigturkey, but she didn't s'pose they'd want to leave. Curi's aboutAd'line, ain't it? I expected when her husband died she'd be rightback here with what she'd got; at any rate, till she'd raised thechild to some size. There'd be no expense here to what she'd haveelsewhere, and here's her ma'am beginnin' to age. She can't do whatshe used to, John was tellin' of me; and I don't doubt 't 'as wornupon her more'n folks thinks. "

"I don't lay no great belief that John'll get home from court, " saidJacob Dyer. "They say that court's goin' to set till Christmas maybe;there's an awful string o' cases on the docket. Oh, 't was you toldme, wa'n't it? Most like they'll let up for a couple o' days forThanksgivin', but John mightn't think't was wuth his while to travelhere and back again 'less he had something to do before winter shetsdown. Perhaps they'll prevail upon the old lady, I wish they would, I'm sure; but an only daughter forsakin' her so, 'twas most too bad ofAd'line. She al'ays had dreadful high notions when she wa'n't nomore'n a baby; and, good conscience, how she liked to rig up when shefirst used to come back from Lowell! Better ha' put her money out tointerest. "

"I believe in young folks makin' all they can o' theirselves, "announced Martin, puffing hard at his pipe and drawing a littlefarther still from the fireplace, because the scorching red coals hadbegun to drop beneath the forestick. "I've give my child'n the bestpush forrard I could, an' you've done the same. Ad'line had a dreadfulcravin' to be somethin' more'n common; but it don't look as if she wasgoin' to make out any great. 'Twas unfortunate her losin' of herhusband, but I s'pose you've heard hints that they wa'n't none tooequal-minded. She'd a done better to have worked on a while to Lowelland got forehanded, and then married some likely young fellow andsettled down here, or to the Corners if she didn't want to farm it. There was Jim Hall used to be hanging round, and she'd been full aswell off to-day if she'd took him, too. 'T ain't no use for folks tomarry one that's of another kind and belongs different. It's like twofiddles that plays different tunes, --you can't make nothin' on't, nomatter if both on em's trying their best, 'less one on 'em beats theother down entirely and has all the say, and ginerally 't is the worstone does it. Ad'line's husband wa'n't nothin' to boast of from all wecan gather, but they didn't think alike about nothin'. She could 'a'done well with him if there'd been more of _her_. I don't marvel hisfolks felt bad: Ad'line didn't act right by 'em. "

"Nor they by her, " said the twin brother. "I tell ye Ad'line wouldhave done 'em credit if she'd been let. I seem to think how't was withher; when she was there to work in the shop she thought 't would besmart to marry him and then she'd be a lady for good and all. And allthere was of it, she found his folks felt put out and hurt, andinstead of pleasing 'em up and doing the best she could, she didn'tknow no better than to aggravate 'em. She was wrong there, but I holdto it that if they'd pleased her up a little and done well by her, she'd ha' bloomed out, and fell right in with their ways. She's gotoutward ambitions enough, but I view it she was all a part of hisfoolishness to them; I dare say they give her the blame o' the wholeon't. Ad'line ought to had the sense to see they had some right ontheir side. Folks say he was the smartest fellow in his class tocollege. "

"Good King Agrippy! how hot it does git, " said Jake risingindignantly, as if the fire alone were to blame. "I must shove backthe cider again or 't will bile over, spite of everything. But 't iscalled unwholesome to get a house full o' damp in the fall o' theyear; 't will freeze an' thaw in the walls all winter. I must git me anew pipe if we go to the Corners to-morrow. I s'pose I've told ye of apipe a man had aboard the schooner that time I went to sea?"

Martin gave a little grumble of assent. 

"'Twas made o' some sort o' whitish stuff like clay, but 'twa'n'tshaped like none else I ever see and it had a silver trimmin' roundit; 'twas very light to handle and it drawed most excellent. I al'ayskind o' expected he may have stole it; he was a hard lookin' customer, a Dutchman or from some o' them parts o' the earth. I wish while I wasabout it I'd gone one trip more. "

"Was it you was tellin' me that Ad'line was to work again in Lowell? Ishouldn't think her husband's folks would want the child to be fetchedup there in them boardin' houses"--

"Belike they don't, " responded Jacob, "but when they get Ad'line tocome round to their ways o' thinkin' now, after what's been and gone, they'll have cause to thank themselves. She's just like her gre'tgrandsir Thacher; you can see she's made out o' the same stuff. Youmight ha' burnt him to the stake, and he'd stick to it he liked itbetter'n hanging and al'ays meant to die that way. There's an awfulbad streak in them Thachers, an' you know it as well as I do. I expectthere'll be bad and good Thachers to the end o' time. I'm glad for theold lady's sake that John ain't one o' the drinkin' ones. Ad'line'llgive no favors to her husband's folks, nor take none. There's plentyo' wrongs to both sides, but as I view it, the longer he'd lived theworse 't would been for him. She was a well made, pretty lookin' girl, but I tell ye 't was like setting a laylock bush to grow beside anellum tree, and expecting of 'em to keep together. They wa'n't mates. He'd had a different fetchin' up, and he _was_ different, and I wa'n'tsurprised when I come to see how things had turned out, --I believe Ishall have to set the door open a half a minute, 't is gettin'dreadful"--but there was a sudden flurry outside, and the sound ofheavy footsteps, the bark of the startled cur, who was growing veryold and a little deaf, and Mrs. Martin burst into the room and sankinto the nearest chair, to gather a little breath before she couldtell her errand. "For God's sake what's happened?" cried the men. 

They presented a picture of mingled comfort and misery at which Mrs. Martin would have first laughed and then scolded at any other time. The two honest red faces were well back toward the farther side of theroom from the fire, which still held its own; it was growing towardlow tide in the cider jug and its attendant mugs, and the pipes werelying idle. The mistress of the old farm-house did not fail to noticethat high treason had been committed during her short absence, but shemade no comment upon the fireplace nor on anything else, and gasped assoon as she could that one of the men must go right up to the Cornersfor the doctor and hurry back with him, for't was a case of life anddeath. 

"Mis' Thacher?" "Was it a shock?" asked the brothers in sorrowfulhaste, while Mrs. Martin told the sad little story of Adeline's havingcome from nobody knew where, wet and forlorn, carrying her child inher arms. She looked as if she were in the last stages of a decline. She had fallen just at the doorstep and they had brought her in, believing that she was dead. "But while there's life, there's hope, "said Mrs. Martin, "and I'll go back with you if you'll harness up. Jacob must stop to look after this gre't fire or 'twill burn thehouse down, " and this was the punishment which befell Jacob, sincenothing else would have kept him from also journeying toward theThacher house. 

A little later the bewildered horse had been fully wakened andharnessed; Jacob's daughter and her lover had come eagerly out to hearwhat had happened; Mrs. Martin had somehow found a chance amidst allthe confusion to ascend to her garret in quest of some useful remediesin the shape of herbs, and then she and her husband set forth on theirbenevolent errands. Martin was very apt to look on the dark side ofthings, and it was a curious fact that while the two sisters were likethe brothers, one being inclined to despondency and one to enthusiasm, the balance was well kept by each of the men having chosen hisopposite in temperament. Accordingly, while Martin heaved a great sighfrom time to time and groaned softly, "Pore gal--pore gal!" hispartner was brimful of zealous eagerness to return to the scene ofdistress and sorrow which she had lately left. Next to the doctorhimself, she was the authority on all medical subjects for thatneighborhood, and it was some time since her skill had been needed. 

"Does the young one seem likely?" asked Martin with solemn curiosity. 

"Fur's I could see, " answered his wife promptly, "but nobody took nogreat notice of it. Pore Ad'line catched hold of it with such a gripas she was comin' to that we couldn't git it away from her and had tofetch'em in both to once. Come urge the beast along, Martin, I'll giveye the partic'lars to-morrow, I do' know's Ad'line's livin' now. Wegot her right to bed's I told you, and I set right off considerin'that I could git over the ground fastest of any. Mis' Thacher ofcourse wouldn't leave and Jane's heavier than I be. " Martin's smilewas happily concealed by the darkness; his wife and her sister hadboth grown stout steadily as they grew older, but each insisted uponthe other's greater magnitude and consequent incapacity for quickmovement. A casual observer would not have been persuaded that therewas a pound's weight of difference between them. 

Martin Dyer meekly suggested that perhaps he'd better go in a minuteto see if there was anything Mis' Thacher needed, but Eliza, his wife, promptly said that she didn't want anything but the doctor as quick asshe could get him, and disappeared up the short lane while the wagonrattled away up the road. The white mist from the river clung close tothe earth, and it was impossible to see even the fences near at hand, though overhead there were a few dim stars. The air had grown somewhatsofter, yet there was a sharp chill in it, and the ground was wet andsticky under foot. There were lights in the bedroom and in the kitchenof the Thacher house, but suddenly the bedroom candle flickered awayand the window was darkened. Mrs. Martin's heart gave a quick throb, perhaps Adeline had already died. It might have been a short-sightedpiece of business that she had gone home for her husband. 

IV

LIFE AND DEATH

The sick woman had refused to stay in the bedroom after she had cometo her senses. She had insisted that she could not breathe, and thatshe was cold and must go back to the kitchen. Her mother and Mrs. Jakehad wrapped her in blankets and drawn the high-backed wooden rockingchair close to the stove, and here she was just established when Mrs. Martin opened the outer door. Any one of less reliable nerves wouldhave betrayed the shock which the sight of such desperate illness musthave given. The pallor, the suffering, the desperate agony of theeyes, were far worse than the calmness of death, but Mrs. Martin spokecheerfully, and even when her sister whispered that their patient hadbeen attacked by a hæmorrhage, she manifested no concern. 

"How long has this be'n a-goin' on, Ad'line? Why didn't you come homebefore and get doctored up? You're all run down. " Mrs. Thacher lookedfrightened when this questioning began, but turned her face toward herdaughter, eager to hear the answer. 

"I've been sick off and on all summer, " said the young woman, as if itwere almost impossible to make the effort of speaking. "See if thebaby's covered up warm, will you, Aunt 'Liza?"

"Yes, dear, " said the kind-hearted woman, the tears starting to hereyes at the sound of the familiar affectionate fashion of speech whichAdeline had used in her childhood. "Don't you worry one mite; we'regoing to take care of you and the little gal too;" and then nobodyspoke, while the only sound was the difficult breathing of the poorcreature by the fire. She seemed like one dying, there was so littlelife left in her after her piteous homeward journey. The motherwatched her eagerly with a mingled feeling of despair and comfort; itwas terrible to have a child return in such sad plight, but it was ablessing to have her safe at home, and to be able to minister to herwants while life lasted. 

They all listened eagerly for the sound of wheels, but it seemed along time before Martin Dyer returned with the doctor. He had beenmet just as he was coming in from the other direction, and the two menhad only paused while the tired horse was made comfortable, and asleepy boy dispatched with the medicine for which he had long beenwaiting. The doctor's housekeeper had besought him to wait long enoughto eat the supper which she had kept waiting, but he laughed at herand shook his head gravely, as if he already understood that thereshould be no delay. When he was fairly inside the Thacher kitchen, thebenefaction of his presence was felt by every one. It was mosttouching to see the patient's face lose its worried look, and growquiet and comfortable as if here were some one on whom she couldentirely depend. The doctor's greeting was an every-day cheerfulresponse to the women's welcome, and he stood for a minute warming hishands at the fire as if he had come upon a commonplace errand. Therewas something singularly self-reliant and composed about him; one feltthat he was the wielder of great powers over the enemies, disease andpain, and that his brave hazel eyes showed a rare thoughtfulness andforesight. The rough driving coat which he had thrown off revealed aslender figure with the bowed shoulders of an untiring scholar. Hishead was finely set and scholarly, and there was that about him whichgave certainty, not only of his sagacity and skill, but of his truemanhood, his mastery of himself. Not only in this farm-house kitchen, but wherever one might place him, he instinctively took command, whilefrom his great knowledge of human nature he could understand and helpmany of his patients whose ailments were not wholly physical. Heseemed to read at a glance the shame and sorrow of the young woman whohad fled to the home of her childhood, dying and worse than defeated, from the battle-field of life. And in this first moment he recognizedwith dismay the effects of that passion for strong drink which hadbeen the curse of more than one of her ancestors. Even the pallor andthe purifying influence of her mortal illness could not disguise theseunmistakable signs. 

"You can't do me any good, doctor, " she whispered. "I shouldn't havelet you come if it had been only that. I don't care how soon I am outof this world. But I want you should look after my little girl, " andthe poor soul watched the physician's face with keen anxiety as ifshe feared to see a shadow of unwillingness, but none came. 

"I will do the best I can, " and he still held her wrist, apparentlythinking more of the fluttering pulse than of what poor Adeline wassaying. 

"That was what made me willing to come back, " she continued, "youdon't know how close I came to not doing it either. John will be goodto her, but she will need somebody that knows the world better by andby. I wonder if you couldn't show me how to make out a paper givingyou the right over her till she is of age? She must stay here withmother, long as she wants her. 'Tis what I wish I had kept senseenough to do; life hasn't been all play to me;" and the tears began toroll quickly down the poor creature's thin cheeks. "The only thing Icare about is leaving the baby well placed, and I want her to have agood chance to grow up a useful woman. And most of all to keep her outof _their_ hands, I mean her father's folks. I hate 'em, and he caredmore for 'em than he did for me, long at the last of it. . . . I couldtell you stories!"--

"But not to-night, Addy, " said the doctor gravely, as if he werespeaking to a child. "We must put you to bed and to sleep, and you cantalk about all these troublesome things in the morning. You shall seeabout the papers too, if you think best. Be a good girl now, and letyour mother help you to bed. " For the resolute spirit had summoned thefew poor fragments of vitality that were left, and the sick woman wasgrowing more and more excited. "You may have all the pillows you wishfor, and sit up in bed if you like, but you mustn't stay here anylonger, " and he gathered her in his arms and quickly carried her tothe next room. She made no resistance, and took the medicine whichMrs. Martin brought, without a word. There was a blazing fire now inthe bedroom fire-place, and, as she lay still, her face took on asatisfied, rested look. Her mother sat beside her, tearful, and yetcontented and glad to have her near, and the others whispered togetherin the kitchen. It might have been the last night of a long illnessinstead of the sudden, startling entrance of sorrow in human shape. "No, " said the doctor, "she cannot last much longer with such a coughas that, Mrs. Dyer. She has almost reached the end of it. I only hopethat she will go quickly. "

And sure enough; whether the fatal illness had run its natural course, or whether the excitement and the forced strength of the eveningbefore had exhausted the small portion of strength that was left, whenthe late dawn lighted again those who watched, it found them sleeping, and one was never to wake again in the world she had found sodisappointing to her ambitions, and so untrue to its fancied promises. 

The doctor had promised to return early, but it was hardly daylightbefore there was another visitor in advance of him. Old Mrs. Meeker, aneighbor whom nobody liked, but whose favor everybody for some reasonor other was anxious to keep, came knocking at the door, and was letin somewhat reluctantly by Mrs. Jake, who was just preparing to gohome in order to send one or both the brothers to the village and toacquaint John Thacher with the sad news of his sister's death. He wasolder than Adeline, and a silent man, already growing to be elderly inhis appearance. The women had told themselves and each other that hewould take this sorrow very hard, and Mrs. Thacher had saidsorrowfully that she must hide her daughter's poor worn clothes, sinceit would break John's heart to know she had come home so beggarly. Theshock of so much trouble was stunning the mother; she did notunderstand yet, she kept telling the kind friends who sorrowed withher, as she busied herself with the preparations for the funeral. "Itdon't seem as if 'twas Addy, " she said over and over again, "but Ifeel safe about her now, to what I did, " and Mrs. Jake and Mrs. Martin, good helpful souls and brimful of compassion, went to and frowith their usual diligence almost as if this were nothing out of thecommon course of events. 

Mrs. Meeker had heard the wagon go by and had caught the sound of thedoctor's voice, her house being close by the road, and she had alsowatched the unusual lights. It was annoying to the Dyers to have toanswer questions, and to be called upon to grieve outwardly just then, and it seemed disloyal to the dead woman in the next room to enterupon any discussion of her affairs. But presently the little child, whom nobody had thought of except to see that she still slept, wakedand got down from the old settle where she had spent the night, andwalked with unsteady short footsteps toward her grandmother, whocaught her quickly and held her fast in her arms. The little thinglooked puzzled, and frowned, and seemed for a moment unhappy, and thenthe sunshine of her good nature drove away the clouds and she clappedher hands and laughed aloud, while Mrs. Meeker began to cry again atthe sight of this unconscious orphan. 

"I'm sure I'm glad she can laugh, " said Mrs. Martin. "She'll findenough to cry about later on; I foresee she'll be a great deal o'company to you, Mis' Thacher. "

"Though 't ain't every one that has the strength to fetch up a childafter they reach your years, " said Mrs. Meeker, mournfully. "It'sanxious work, but I don't doubt strength will be given you. I s'poselikely her father's folks will do a good deal for her, "--and the threewomen looked at each other, but neither took it upon herself toanswer. 

All that day the neighbors and acquaintances came and went in the lanethat led to the farm-house. The brothers Jake and Martin made journeysto and from the village. At night John Thacher came home from courtwith as little to say as ever, but, as everybody observed, lookingyears older. Young Mrs. Prince's return and sudden death were the onlysubjects worth talking about in all the country side, and the doctorhad to run the usual gauntlet of questions from all his outlyingpatients and their families. Old Mrs. Thacher looked pale and excited, and insisted upon seeing every one who came to the house, with evidentintention to play her part in this strange drama with exactness andcourtesy. A funeral in the country is always an era in a family'slife; events date from it and centre in it. There are so fewcircumstances that have in the least a public nature that theseconspicuous days receive all the more attention. 

But while death seems far more astonishing and unnatural in a city, where the great tide of life rises and falls with little apparentregard to the sinking wrecks, in the country it is not so. Theneighbors themselves are those who dig the grave and carry the dead, whom they or their friends have made ready, to the last resting-place. With all nature looking on, --the leaves that must fall, and the grassof the field that must wither and be gone when the wind passesover, --living closer to life and in plainer sight of death, they havea different sense of the mysteries of existence. They pay homage toDeath rather than to the dead; they gather from the lonely farms byscores because there is a funeral, and not because their friend isdead; and the day of Adeline Prince's burial, the marvelouscircumstances, with which the whole town was already familiar, broughta great company together to follow her on her last journey. 

The day was warm and the sunshine fell caressingly over the pasturesas if it were trying to call back the flowers. By afternoon there wasa tinge of greenness on the slopes and under the gnarled apple-trees, that had been lost for days before, and the distant hills andmountains, which could be seen in a circle from the high land wherethe Thacher farmhouse stood, were dim and blue through the Indiansummer haze. The old men who came to the funeral wore their fadedwinter overcoats and clumsy caps all ready to be pulled down overtheir ears if the wind should change; and their wives were also warmlywrapped, with great shawls over their rounded, hard-worked shoulders;yet they took the best warmth and pleasantness into their hearts, andwatched the sad proceedings of the afternoon with deepest interest. The doctor came hurrying toward home just as the long procession wasgoing down the pasture, and he saw it crossing a low hill; a dark andslender column with here and there a child walking beside one of theelder mourners. The bearers went first with the bier; the track wasuneven, and the procession was lost to sight now and then behind theslopes. It was forever a mystery; these people might have been acompany of Druid worshipers, or of strange northern priests and theirpeople, and the doctor checked his impatient horse as he watched theretreating figures at their simple ceremony. He could not helpthinking what strange ways this child of the old farm had followed, and what a quiet ending it was to her wandering life. "And I havepromised to look after the little girl, " he said to himself as hedrove away up the road. 

It was a long walk for the elderly people from the house near the mainhighway to the little burying-ground. In the earliest days of the farmthe dwelling-place was nearer the river, which was then the chiefthoroughfare; and those of the family who had died then were buried onthe level bit of upland ground high above the river itself. There wasa wide outlook over the country, and the young pine trees that fringedthe shore sang in the south wind, while some great birds swung to andfro overhead, watching the water and the strange company of people whohad come so slowly over the land. A flock of sheep had ventured to thenearest hillock of the next pasture, and stood there fearfully, withupraised heads, as if they looked for danger. 

John Thacher had brought his sister's child all the way in his arms, and she had clapped her hands and laughed aloud and tried to talk agreat deal with the few words she had learned to say. She was very gayin her baby fashion; she was amused with the little crowd so long asit did not trouble her. She fretted only when the grave, kind man, forwhom she had instantly felt a great affection, stayed too long by thatdeep hole in the ground and wept as he saw a strange thing that thepeople had carried all the way, put down into it out of sight. When hewalked on again, she laughed and played; but after they had reachedthe empty gray house, which somehow looked that day as if it were amourner also, she shrank from all the strangers, and seemed dismayedand perplexed, and called her mother eagerly again and again. Thistouched many a heart. The dead woman had been more or less unfamiliarof late years to all of them; and there were few who had reallygrieved for her until her little child had reminded them of its ownloneliness and loss. 

That night, after the house was still, John Thacher wrote to acquaintMiss Prince, of Dunport, with his sister's death and to say that itwas her wish that the child should remain with them during itsminority. They should formally appoint the guardian whom she hadselected; they would do their best by the little girl. And when Mrs. Thacher asked if he had blamed Miss Prince, he replied that he hadleft that to her own conscience. 

In the answer which was quickly returned, there was a plea for thecustody of the child, her mother's and her own namesake, but this wasindignantly refused. There was no love lost between the town and thecountry household, and for many years all intercourse was at an end. Before twelve months were past, John Thacher himself was carried downto the pasture burying-ground, and his old mother and the little childwere left to comfort and take care of each other as best they could inthe lonely farm-house. 

V

A SUNDAY VISIT

In the gray house on the hill, one spring went by and another, and itseemed to the busy doctor only a few months from the night he firstsaw his ward before she was old enough to come soberly to church withher grandmother. He had always seen her from time to time, for he hadoften been called to the farm or to the Dyers and had watched her atplay. Once she had stopped him as he drove by to give him a littlehandful of blue violets, and this had gone straight to his heart, forhe had been made too great a bugbear to most children to look for anyfavor at their hands. He always liked to see her come into church onSundays, her steps growing quicker and surer as her good grandmother'sbecame more feeble. The doctor was a lonely man in spite of his manyfriends, and he found himself watching for the little brown face that, half-way across the old meeting-house, would turn round to look forhim more than once during the service. At first there was only the topof little Nan Prince's prim best bonnet or hood to be seen, unless itwas when she stood up in prayer-time, but soon the bright eyes roselike stars above the horizon of the pew railing, and next there wasthe whole well-poised little head, and the tall child was possessed bya sense of propriety, and only ventured one or two discreet glances ather old friend. 

The office of guardian was not one of great tasks or of many duties, though the child's aunt had insisted upon making an allowance for herof a hundred dollars a year, and this was duly acknowledged and placedto its owner's credit in the savings bank of the next town. Hergrandmother Thacher always refused to spend it, saying proudly thatshe had never been beholden to Miss Prince and she never meant to be, and while she lived the aunt and niece should be kept apart. She wouldnot say that her daughter had never been at fault, but it was throughthe Princes all the trouble of her life had come. 

Dr. Leslie was mindful of his responsibilities, and knew more of hisward than was ever suspected. He was eager that the best districtschool teacher who could be found should be procured for the Thacherand Dyer neighborhood, and in many ways he took pains that the littlegirl should have all good things that were possible. He only laughedwhen her grandmother complained that Nan would not be driven toschool, much less persuaded, and that she was playing in the brook, orscampering over the pastures when she should be doing other things. Mrs. Thacher, perhaps unconsciously, had looked for some trace of thefather's good breeding and gentlefolk fashions, but this was not achild who took kindly to needlework and pretty clothes. She wasfearlessly friendly with every one; she did not seem confused evenwhen the minister came to make his yearly parochial visitation, and asfor the doctor, he might have been her own age, for all humility shethought it necessary to show in the presence of this chief among herelders and betters. Old Mrs. Thacher gave little pulls at hergranddaughter's sleeves when she kept turning to see the doctor insermon-time, but she never knew how glad he was, or how willingly hesmiled when he felt the child's eyes watching him as a dog's mighthave done, forcing him to forget the preaching altogether and toattend to this dumb request for sympathy. One blessed day Dr. Lesliehad waited in the church porch and gravely taken the child's hand asshe came out; and said that he should like to take her home with him;he was going to the lower part of the town late in the afternoon andwould leave her then at the farm-house. 

"I was going to ask you for something for her shoulder, " saidGrandmother Thacher, much pleased, "she'll tell you about it, it was afall she had out of an apple-tree, "--and Nan looked up with not alittle apprehension, but presently tucked her small hand inside thedoctor's and was more than ready to go with him. "I thought she lookeda little pale, " the doctor said, to which Mrs. Thacher answered thatit was a merciful Providence who had kept the child from breaking herneck, and then, being at the foot of the church steps, they separated. It had been a great trial to the good woman to give up the afternoonservice, but she was growing old, as she told herself often in thosedays, and felt, as she certainly looked, greatly older than her years. 

"I feel as if Anna was sure of one good friend, whether I stay withher or not, " said the grandmother sorrowfully, as she drove towardhome that Sunday noon with Jacob Dyer and his wife. "I never saw thedoctor so taken with a child before. 'Twas a pity he had to lose hisown, and his wife too; how many years ago was it? I should think he'dbe lonesome, though to be sure he isn't in the house much. MarillaThomas keeps his house as clean as a button and she has been a goodstand-by for him, but it always seemed sort o' homesick there eversince the day I was to his wife's funeral. She made an awful sight o'friends considering she was so little while in the place. Well I'mglad I let Nanny wear her best dress; I set out not to, it looked somuch like rain. "

Whatever Marilla Thomas's other failings might have been, shecertainly was kind that day to the doctor's little guest. It wouldhave been a hard-hearted person indeed who did not enter somewhat intothe spirit of the child's delight. In spite of its being the firsttime she had ever sat at any table but her grandmother's, she was notawkward or uncomfortable, and was so hungry that she gave pleasure toher entertainers in that way if no other. The doctor leaned back inhis chair and waited while the second portion of pudding slowlydisappeared, though Marilla could have told that he usually did notgive half time enough to his dinner and was off like an arrow thefirst possible minute. Before he took his often interrupted afternoonnap, he inquired for the damaged shoulder and requested a detailedaccount of the accident; and presently they were both laughingheartily at Nan's disaster, for she owned that she had chased andtreed a stray young squirrel, and that a mossy branch of one of theold apple-trees in the straggling orchard had failed to bear even solight a weight as hers. Nan had come to the ground because she wouldnot loose her hold of the squirrel, though he had slipped through herhands after all as she carried him towards home. The guest was proudto become a patient, especially as the only remedy that was offeredwas a very comfortable handful of sugar-plums. Nan had never owned somany at once, and in a transport of gratitude and affection she liftedher face to kiss so dear a benefactor. 

Her eyes looked up into his, and her simple nature was so unconsciousof the true dangers and perils of this world, that his very heart wastouched with compassion, and he leagued himself with the child's goodangel to defend her against her enemies. 

And Nan took fast hold of the doctor's hand as they went to the study. This was the only room in the house which she had seen before; and wasso much larger and pleasanter than any she knew elsewhere that shetook great delight in it. It was a rough place now, the doctorthought, but always very comfortable, and he laid himself down on thegreat sofa with a book in his hand, though after a few minutes he grewsleepy and only opened his eyes once to see that Nan was perched inthe largest chair with her small hands folded, and her feet very farfrom the floor. "You may run out to see Marilla, or go about the houseanywhere you like; or there are some picture-papers on the table, " thedoctor said drowsily, and the visitor slipped down from her throne andwent softly away. 

She had thought the study a very noble room until she had seen thedining-room, but now she wished for another look at the pictures thereand the queer clock, and the strange, grand things on the sideboard. The old-fashioned comfort of the house was perfect splendor to thechild, and she went about on tiptoe up stairs and down, looking in atthe open doors, while she lingered wistfully before the closed ones. She wondered at the great bedsteads with their high posts and dimityhangings, and at the carpets, and the worthy Marilla watched her for amoment as she stood on the threshold of the doctor's own room. Thechild's quick ear caught the rustle of the housekeeper's Sunday gown;she whispered with shining eyes that she thought the house wasbeautiful. Did Marilla live here all the time?

"Bless you, yes!" replied Marilla, not without pride, though she addedthat nobody knew what a sight of care it was. 

"I suppose y'r aunt in Dunport lives a good deal better than this;"but the child only looked puzzled and did not answer, while thehousekeeper hurried away to the afternoon meeting, for which the bellwas already tolling. 

The doctor slept on in the shaded study, and after Nan had grown tiredof walking softly about the house, she found her way into the garden. After all, there was nothing better than being out of doors, and theapple-trees seemed most familiar and friendly, though she pitied themfor being placed so near each other. She discovered a bench under atrellis where a grape-vine and a clematis were tangled together, andhere she sat down to spend a little time before the doctor should callher. She wished she could stay longer than that one short afternoon;perhaps some time or other the doctor would invite her again. But whatcould Marilla have meant about her aunt? She had no aunts except Mrs. Jake and Mrs. Martin; Marilla must well know that their houses werenot like Dr. Leslie's; and little Nan built herself a fine castle inSpain, of which this unknown aunt was queen. Certainly her grandmotherhad now and then let fall a word about "your father's folks"--by andby they might come to see her!

The grape leaves were waving about in the warm wind, and they made aflickering light and shade upon the ground. The clematis was in bloom, and its soft white plumes fringed the archway of the lattice work. Asthe child looked down the garden walk it seemed very long and verybeautiful to her. Her grandmother's flower-garden had been constantlyencroached upon by the turf which surrounded it, until the snowberrybush, the London pride, the tiger-lilies, and the crimson phlox werelike a besieged garrison. 

Nan had already found plenty of wild flowers in the world; there wereno entertainments provided for her except those the fields andpastures kindly spread before her admiring eyes. Old Mrs. Thacher hadbeen brought up to consider the hard work of this life, and though shehad taken her share of enjoyment as she went along, it was of asomewhat grim and sober sort. She believed that a certain amount offriskiness was as necessary to young human beings as it is to colts, but later both must be harnessed and made to work. As for pleasureitself she had little notion of that. She liked fair weather, andcertain flowers were to her the decorations of certain useful plants, but if she had known that her grand-daughter could lie down beside theanemones and watch them move in the wind and nod their heads, andafterward look up into the blue sky to watch the great gulls above theriver, or the sparrows flying low, or the crows who went higher, Mrs. Thacher would have understood almost nothing of such delights, andthought it a very idle way of spending one's time. 

But as Nan sat in the old summer-house in the doctor's garden, shethought of many things that she must remember to tell her grandmotherabout this delightful day. The bees were humming in the vines, and asshe looked down the wide garden-walk it seemed like the broad aisle inchurch, and the congregation of plants and bushes all looked at her asif she were in the pulpit. The church itself was not far away, and thewindows were open, and sometimes Nan could hear the preacher's voice, and by and by the people began to sing, and she rose solemnly, as ifit were her own parishioners in the garden who lifted up their voices. A cheerful robin began a loud solo in one of Dr. Leslie'scherry-trees, and the little girl laughed aloud in her make-believemeeting-house, and then the gate was opened and shut, and the doctorhimself appeared, strolling along, and smiling as he came. 

He was looking to the right and left at his flowers and trees, andonce he stopped and took out his pocket knife to trim a strayingbranch of honeysuckle, which had wilted and died. When he came to thesummer-house, he found his guest sitting there demurely with her handsfolded in her lap. She had gathered some little sprigs of box and afew blossoms of periwinkle and late lilies of the valley, and they layon the bench beside her. "So you did not go to church with Marilla?"the doctor said. "I dare say one sermon a day is enough for so small aperson as you. " For Nan's part, no sermon at all would have causedlittle sorrow, though she liked the excitement of the Sunday drive tothe village. She only smiled when the doctor spoke, and gave a littlesigh of satisfaction a minute afterward when he seated himself besideher. 

"We must be off presently, " he told her. "I have a long drive to takebefore night. I would let you go with me, but I am afraid I shouldkeep you too long past your bedtime. "

The little girl looked in his kind face appealingly; she could notbear to have the day come to an end. The doctor spoke to her as if shewere grown up and understood everything, and this pleased her. It isvery hard to be constantly reminded that one is a child, as if it werea crime against society. Dr. Leslie, unlike many others, did not likechildren because they were children; he now and then made friends withone, just as he added now and then to his narrow circle of grownfriends. He felt a certain responsibility for this little girl, andcongratulated himself upon feeling an instinctive fondness for her. The good old minister had said only that morning that love is thegreat motive power, that it is always easy to do things for those whomwe love and wish to please, and for this reason we are taught to prayfor love to God, and so conquer the difficulty of holiness. "But Imust do my duty by her at any rate, " the doctor told himself. "I amafraid I have forgotten the child somewhat in past years, and she is abright little creature. "

"Have you been taking good care of yourself?" he added aloud. "I wasvery tired, for I was out twice in the night taking care of sickpeople. But you must come to see me again some day. I dare say you andMarilla have made friends with each other. Now we must go, I suppose, "and Nan Prince, still silent, --for the pleasure of this time wasalmost too great, --took hold of the doctor's outstretched hand, andthey went slowly up the garden walk together. As they drove slowlydown the street they met the people who were coming from church, andthe child sat up very straight in the old gig, with her feet on thedoctor's medicine-box, and was sure that everybody must be envyingher. She thought it was more pleasant than ever that afternoon, asthey passed through the open country outside the village; the fieldsand the trees were marvelously green, and the distant river wasshining in the sun. Nan looked anxiously for the gray farmhouse fortwo or three minutes before they came in sight of it, but at last itshowed itself, standing firm on the hillside. It seemed a long timesince she had left home in the morning, but this beautiful day was tobe one of the landmarks of her memory. Life had suddenly grown muchlarger, and her familiar horizon had vanished and she discovered agreat distance stretching far beyond the old limits. She went gravelyinto the familiar kitchen, holding fast the bits of box and theperiwinkle flowers, quite ready to answer her grandmother's questions, though she was only too certain that it would be impossible to tellany one the whole dear story of that June Sunday. 

A little later, as Marilla came sedately home, she noticed in thedriveway some fresh hoofmarks which pointed toward the street, andquickly assured herself that they could not have been made very longbefore. "I wonder what the two of 'em have been doing all theafternoon?" she said to herself. "She's a little lady, that child is;and it's a burnin' shame she should be left to run wild. I never setso much by her mother's looks as some did, but growin' things hasblooms as much as they have roots and prickles--and even them Thacherswill flower out once in a while. "

VI

IN SUMMER WEATHER

One morning Dr. Leslie remembered an old patient whom he liked to goto see now and then, perhaps more from the courtesy and friendlinessof the thing than from any hope of giving professional assistance. Theold sailor, Captain Finch, had long before been condemned asunseaworthy, having suffered for many years from the effects of a badfall on shipboard. He was a cheerful and wise person, and the doctorwas much attached to him, besides knowing that he had borne hisimprisonment with great patience, for his life on one of the mostsecluded farms of the region, surrounded by his wife's kinsfolk, whowere all landsmen, could hardly be called anything else. The doctorhad once made a voyage to Fayal and from thence to England in asailing-vessel, having been somewhat delicate in health in his youngerdays, and this made him a more intelligent listener to the captain'sstories than was often available. 

Dr. Leslie had brought his case of medicines from mere force of habit, but by way of special prescription he had taken also a generoushandful of his best cigars, and wrapped them somewhat clumsily in oneof the large sheets of letter-paper which lay on his study table nearby. Also he had stopped before the old sideboard in the carefullydarkened dining-room, and taken a bottle of wine from one of itscupboards. "This will do him more good than anything, poor oldfellow, " he told himself, with a sudden warmth in his own heart and afeeling of grateful pleasure because he had thought of doing thekindness. 

Marilla called eagerly from the kitchen window to ask where he wasgoing, putting her hand out hastily to part the morning-glory vines, which had climbed their strings and twisted their stems together untilthey shut out the world from their planter's sight. But the doctoronly answered that he should be back at dinner time, and settledhimself comfortably in his carriage, smiling as he thought ofMarilla's displeasure. She seldom allowed a secret to escape her, ifshe were once fairly on the scent of it, though she grumbled now, andtold herself that she only cared to know for the sake of the peoplewho might come, or to provide against the accident of his being amongthe missing in case of sudden need. She found life more interestingwhen there was even a small mystery to be puzzled over. It wasimpossible for Dr. Leslie to resist teasing his faithful hand-maidenonce in a while, but he did it with proper gravity and respect, andtheir friendship was cemented by these sober jokes rather than tornapart. 

The horse knew as well as his master that nothing of particularimportance was in hand, and however well he always caught the spiritof the occasion when there was need for hurry, he now jogged along theroad, going slowly where the trees cast a pleasant shade, and payingmore attention to the flies than to anything else. The doctor seemedto be in deep thought, and old Major understood that no notice was tobe taken of constant slight touches of the whip which his master heldcarelessly. It had been hot, dusty weather until the day and nightbefore, when heavy showers had fallen; the country was looking fresh, and the fields and trees were washed clean at last from the white dustthat had powdered them and given the farms a barren and discouragedlook. 

They had come in sight of Mrs. Thacher's house on its high hillside, and were just passing the abode of Mrs. Meeker, which was close by theroadside in the low land. This was a small, weather-beaten dwelling, and the pink and red hollyhocks showed themselves in fine arrayagainst its gray walls. Its mistress's prosaic nature had one mostredeeming quality in her love for flowers and her gift in making themgrow, and the doctor forgave her many things for the sake of thebright little garden in the midst of the sandy lands which surroundedher garden with their unshaded barrenness. The road that crossed thesewas hot in summer and swept by bitter winds in winter. It was like abit of desert dropped by mistake among the green farms and spring-fedforests that covered the rest of the river uplands. 

No sentinel was ever more steadfast to his duty in time of war anddisorder than Mrs. Meeker, as she sat by the front window, from whichshe could see some distance either way along the crooked road. She wasoften absent from her own house to render assistance of one sort oranother among her neighbors, but if she were at home it was impossiblefor man, woman, or child to go by without her challenge or carefulinspection. She made couriers of her neighbors, and sent these errandmen and women along the country roads or to the village almost daily. She was well posted in the news from both the village and the countryside, and however much her acquaintances scolded about her, they foundit impossible to resist the fascination of her conversation, and fewdeclined to share in the banquet of gossip which she was always readyto spread. She was quick witted, and possessed of many resources andmuch cleverness of a certain sort; but it must be confessed that shehad done mischief in her day, having been the murderer of more thanone neighbor's peace of mind and the assailant of many a reputation. But if she were a dangerous inmate of one's household, few were soattractive or entertaining for the space of an afternoon visit, and itwas usually said, when she was seen approaching, that she would besure to have something to tell. Out in the country, where so manypeople can see nothing new from one week's end to the other, it is, after all, a great pleasure to have the latest particulars brought toone's door, as a townsman's newspaper is. 

Mrs. Meeker knew better than to stop Dr. Leslie if he were goinganywhere in a hurry; she had been taught this lesson years ago; butwhen she saw him journeying in such a leisurely way some instinctassured her of safety, and she came out of her door like aJack-in-the-box, while old Major, only too ready for a halt, stoodstill in spite of a desperate twitch of the reins, which had as mucheffect as pulling at a fish-hook which has made fast to an anchor. Mrs. Meeker feigned a great excitement. 

"I won't keep you but a moment, " she said, "but I want to hear whatyou think about Mis' Thacher's chances. "

"Mrs. Thacher's?" repeated the doctor, wonderingly. 

"She's doing well, isn't she? I don't suppose that she will ever be ayoung woman again. "

"I don't know why, but I took it for granted that you was goin'there, " explained Mrs. Meeker, humbly. "She has seemed to me as if shewas failing all summer. I was up there last night, and I never said soto her, but she had aged dreadfully. I wonder if it's likely she's hada light shock? Sometimes the fust one's kind o' hidden; comes by nightor somethin', and folks don't know till they begins to feel the damageof it. "

"She hasn't looked very well of late, " said the doctor. For once inhis life he was willing to have a friendly talk, Mrs. Meeker thought, and she proceeded to make the most of her opportunity. 

"I think the care of that girl of Ad'line's has been too much for herall along, " she announced, "she's wild as a hawk, and a perfecttorment. One day she'll come strollin' in and beseechin' me for abunch o' flowers, and the next she'll be here after dark scarin' meout o' my seven senses. She rigged a tick-tack here the other nightagainst the window, and my heart was in my mouth. I thought 'twas awarnin' much as ever I thought anything in my life; the night beforemy mother died 'twas in that same room and against that same winderthere came two or three raps, and my sister Drew and me we looked ateach other, and turned cold all over, and mother set right up in bedthe next night and looked at that winder and then laid back dead. Iwas all sole alone the other evenin', --Wednesday it was, --and when Iheard them raps I mustered up, and went and put my head out o' thedoor, and I couldn't see nothing, and when I went back, knock--knock, it begun again, and I went to the door and harked. I hoped I shouldhear somebody or 'nother comin' along the road, and then I heardsomethin' a rus'lin' amongst the sunflowers and hollyhocks, and thenthere was a titterin', and come to find out 'twas that young one. Ichased her up the road till my wind give out, and I had to go and seton the stone wall, and come to. She won't go to bed till she's a mindto. One night I was up there this spring, and she never come in untilafter nine o'clock, a dark night, too; and the pore old lady was indistress, and thought she'd got into the river. I says to myself therewa'n't no such good news. She told how she'd be'n up into Jake an'Martin's oaks, trying to catch a little screech owl. She belongs withwild creatur's, I do believe, --just the same natur'. She'd better bekept to school, 'stead o' growin' up this way; but she keeps the resto' the young ones all in a brile, and this last teacher wouldn't haveher there at all. She'd toll off half the school into the pasture atrecess time, and none of 'em would get back for half an hour. "

"What's a tick-tack? I don't remember, " asked the doctor, who had beensmiling now and then at this complaint. 

"They tie a nail to the end of a string, and run it over a bent pinstuck in the sash, and then they get out o' sight and pull, and itclacks against the winder, don't ye see? Ain't it surprisin' how themdevil's tricks gets handed down from gineration to gineration, whileso much that's good is forgot, " lamented Mrs. Meeker, but the doctorlooked much amused. 

"She's a bright child, " he said, "and not over strong. I don't believein keeping young folks shut up in the schoolhouses all summer long. "

Mrs. Meeker sniffed disapprovingly. "She's tougher than ellum roots. Ibelieve you can't kill them peakèd-looking young ones. She'll run likea fox all day long and live to see us all buried. I can put up withher pranks; 't is of pore old Mis' Thacher I'm thinkin'. She's hadtrouble enough without adding on this young 'scape-gallows. You hadbetter fetch her up to be a doctor, " Mrs. Meeker smilingly continued, "I was up there yisterday, and one of the young turkeys had comehoppin' and quawkin' round the doorsteps with its leg broke, and she'dcaught it and fixed it off with a splint before you could say JackRobi'son. She told how it was the way you'd done to Jim Finch thatfell from the hay-rigging and broke his arm over to Jake an' Martin's, haying time. "

"I remember she was standing close by, watching everything I did, "said the doctor, his face shining with interest and pleasure. "Ishall have to carry her about for clerk. Her father studied medicineyou know. It is the most amazing thing how people inherit"--but he didnot finish his sentence and pulled the reins so quickly that the wisehorse knew there was no excuse for not moving forward. 

Mrs. Meeker had hoped for a longer interview. "Stop as you come back, won't you?" she asked. "I'm goin' to pick you some of the handsomestpoppies I ever raised. I got the seed from my sister-in-law's cousin, she that was 'Miry Gregg, and they do beat everything. They wilt sothat it ain't no use to pick 'em now, unless you was calc'latin' tocome home by the other road. There's nobody sick about here, isthere?" to which the doctor returned a shake of the head and theinformation that he should be returning that way about noon. As hedrove up the hill he assured himself with great satisfaction that hebelieved he hadn't told anything that morning which would be repeatedall over town before night, while his hostess returned to her housequite dissatisfied with the interview, though she hoped for betterfortune on Dr. Leslie's return. 

For his part, he drove on slowly past the Thacher farmhouse, lookingcarefully about him, and sending a special glance up the lane insearch of the invalid turkey. "I should like to see how she managedit, " he told himself half aloud. "If she shows a gift for such thingsI'll take pains to teach her a lesson or two by and by when she isolder. . . . Come Major, don't go to sleep on the road!" and in a fewminutes the wagon was out of sight, if the reader had stood in theThacher lane, instead of following the good man farther on his errandof mercy and good fellowship. 

At that time in the morning most housekeepers were busy in theirkitchens, but Mrs. Thacher came to stand in her doorway, and shadedher forehead and eyes with her hand from the bright sunlight, as shelooked intently across the pastures toward the river. She seemedanxious and glanced to and fro across the fields, and presently sheturned quickly at the sound of a footstep, and saw her younggrand-daughter coming from the other direction round the corner of thehouse. The child was wet and a little pale, though she evidently hadbeen running. 

"What have you been doin' now?" asked the old lady fretfully. "I won'thave you gettin' up in the mornin' before I am awake and stealin' outof the house. I think you are drowned in the river or have broken yourneck fallin' out of a tree. Here it is after ten o'clock. I've a mindto send you to bed, Nanny; who got you out of the water, for in ityou've been sure enough?"

"I got out myself, " said the little girl. "It was deep, though, " andshe began to cry, and when she tried to cover her eyes with heralready well-soaked little apron, she felt quite broken-hearted andunnerved, and sat down dismally on the doorstep. 

"Come in, and put on a dry dress, " said her grandmother, not unkindly;"that is, if there's anything but your Sunday one fit to be seen. I'vetold you often enough not to go playin' in the river, and I've wantedyou more than common to go out to Jake and Martin's to borrow me alittle cinnamon. You're a real trial this summer. I believe the biggeryou are the worse you are. Now just say what you've been about. Ideclare I shall have to go and have a talk with the doctor, and he'llscold you well. I'm gettin' old and I can't keep after you; you oughtto consider me some. You'll think of it when you see me laying dead, what a misery you've be'n. No schoolin' worth namin';" grumbled Mrs. Thacher, as she stepped heavily to and fro in the kitchen, and thelittle girl disappeared within the bed-room. In a few minutes, however, her unusual depression was driven away by the comfort of drygarments, and she announced triumphantly that she had found a wholeflock of young wild ducks, and that she had made a raft and chasedthem about up and down the river, until the raft had provedunseaworthy, and she had fallen through into the water. Later in theday somebody came from the Jake and Martin homesteads to say thatthere must be no more pulling down of the ends of the pasture fences. The nails had easily let go their hold of the old boards, and a stonehad served our heroine for a useful shipwright's hammer, but theyoung cattle had strayed through these broken barriers and might havedone great damage if they had been discovered a little later, --havingquickly hied themselves to a piece of carefully cultivated land. TheJake and Martin families regarded Nan with a mixture of dread andaffection. She was bringing a new element into their prosaic lives, and her pranks afforded them a bit of news almost daily. Herimagination was apt to busy itself in inventing tales of her unknownaunt, with which she entertained a grandchild of Martin Dyer, a littlegirl of nearly her own age. It seemed possible to Nan that any day acarriage drawn by a pair of prancing black horses might be seenturning up the lane, and that a lovely lady might alight and claim heras her only niece. Why this event had not already taken place thechild never troubled herself to think, but ever since Marilla hadspoken of this aunt's existence, the dreams of her had been growinglonger and more charming, until she seemed fit for a queen, and herunseen house a palace. Nan's playmate took pleasure in repeating theseglowing accounts to her family, and many were the head-shakings andevil forebodings over the untruthfulness of the heroine of this story. Little Susan Dyer's only aunt, who was well known to her, lived asother people did in a comparatively plain and humble house, and it wasnot to be wondered at that she objected to hearing continually of anaunt of such splendid fashion. And yet Nan tried over and over againto be in some degree worthy of the relationship. She must not be toounfit to enter upon more brilliant surroundings whenever the timeshould come, --she took care that her pet chickens and her one dollshould have high-sounding names, such as would seem proper to theaunt, and, more than this, she took a careful survey of the housewhenever she was coming home from school or from play, lest she mightcome upon her distinguished relative unawares. She had asked hergrandmother more than once to tell her about this mysteriouskinswoman, but Mrs. Thacher proved strangely uncommunicative, fearingif she answered one easy question it might involve others that weremore difficult. 

The good woman grew more and more anxious to fulfil her duty to thistroublesome young housemate; the child was strangely dear andcompanionable in spite of her frequent naughtiness. It seemed, too, asif she could do whatever she undertook, and as if she had a powerwhich made her able to use and unite the best traits of her ancestors, the strong capabilities which had been illy balanced or allowed to runto waste in others. It might be said that the materials for a finespecimen of humanity accumulate through several generations, until achild appears who is the heir of all the family wit and attractivenessand common sense, just as one person may inherit the worldly wealth ofhis ancestry. 

VII

FOR THE YEARS TO COME

Late one summer afternoon Dr. Leslie was waked from an unusually longafter-dinner nap by Marilla's footsteps along the hall. She remainedstanding in the doorway, looking at him for a provoking length oftime, and finally sneezed in her most obtrusive and violent manner. Atthis he sat up quickly and demanded to be told what was the matter, adding that he had been out half the night before, which was no newsto the faithful housekeeper. 

"There, I'm sure I didn't mean to wake you up, " she said, with anapparent lack of self-reproach. "I never can tell whether you areasleep or only kind of drowsin'. There was a boy here just now fromold Mis' Cunningham's over on the b'ilin' spring road. They want youto come over quick as convenient. She don't know nothin', the boysaid. "

"Never did, " grumbled the doctor. "I'll go, toward night, but I can'tdo her any good. "

"An' Mis' Thacher is out here waitin' too, but she says if you're busyshe'll go along to the stores and stop as she comes back. She looks tome as if she was breakin' up, " confided Marilla in a lower tone. 

"Tell her I'm ready now, " answered the doctor in a more cordial tone, and though he said half to himself and half to Marilla that here wasanother person who expected him to cure old age, he spokecompassionately, and as if his heart were heavy with the thought ofhuman sorrow and suffering. But he greeted Mrs. Thacher mostcheerfully, and joked about Marilla's fear of a fly, as he threw openthe blinds of the study window which was best shaded from the sun. 

Mrs. Thacher did indeed look changed, and the physician's quick eyestook note of it, and, as he gathered up some letters and newspaperswhich had been strewn about just after dinner, he said kindly that hehoped she had no need of a doctor. It was plain that the occasionseemed an uncommon one to her. She wore her best clothes, which wouldnot have been necessary for one of her usual business trips to thevillage, and it seemed to be difficult for her to begin her story. Dr. Leslie, taking a purely professional view of the case, began toconsider what form of tonic would be most suitable, whether she hadcome to ask for one or not. 

"I want to have a good talk with you about the little gell; Nanny, youknow;" she said at last, and the doctor nodded, and, explaining thatthere seemed to be a good deal of draught through the room, crossedthe floor and gently shut the door which opened into the hall. Hesmiled a little as he did it, having heard the long breath outsidewhich was the not unfamiliar signal of Marilla's presence. If she werecurious, she was a discreet keeper of secrets, and the doctor had morethan once indulged her in her sinful listening by way of friendlinessand reward. But this subject promised to concern his own affairs tooclosely, and he became wary of the presence of another pair of ears. He was naturally a man of uncommon reserve, and most loyal in keepinghis patients' secrets. If clergymen knew their congregations as wellas physicians do, the sermons would be often more closely related tothe parish needs. It was difficult for the world to understand why, when Dr. Leslie was anything but prone to gossip, Marilla should havebeen possessed of such a wealth of knowledge of her neighbors'affairs. Strange to say this wealth was for her own miserly pleasureand not to be distributed, and while she often proclaimed withexasperating triumph that she had known for months some truth justdiscovered by others, she was regarded by her acquaintances as if shewere a dictionary written in some foreign language; immenselyvaluable, but of no practical use to themselves. It was sometimesdifficult not to make an attempt to borrow from her store of news, butnothing delighted her more than to be so approached, and to presentimpenetrable barriers of discretion to the enemy. 

"How is Nanny getting on?" the doctor asked. "She looks stronger thanshe did a year ago. "

"Dear me, she's wild as ever, " answered Mrs. Thacher, trying to smile;"but I've been distressed about her lately, night and day. I thoughtperhaps I might see you going by. She's gettin' to be a great girl, doctor, and I ain't fit to cope with her. I find my strength'sa-goin', and I'm old before my time; all my folks was rugged and soundlong past my age, but I've had my troubles--you don't need I shouldtell you that! Poor Ad'line always give me a feelin' as if I was a henthat has hatched ducks. I never knew exactly how to do for her, sheseemed to see everything so different, and Lord only knows how I worryabout her; and al'ays did, thinkin' if I'd seen clearer how to do myduty her life might have come out sort of better. And it's the samewith little Anna; not that she's so prone to evil as some; she's alovin'-hearted child if ever one was born, but she's a piece o'mischief; and it may come from her father's folks and their ways o'livin', but she's made o' different stuff, and I ain't fit to makeanswer for her, or for fetchin' of her up. I come to ask if you won'tkindly advise what's best for her. I do' know's anything's got to bedone for a good spell yet. I mind what you say about lettin' her runand git strong, and I don't check her. Only it seemed to me that youmight want to speak about her sometimes and not do it for fear o'wronging my judgment. I declare I haven't no judgment about what'sreasonable for her, and you're her guardeen, and there's the money herfather's sister has sent her; 't would burn my fingers to touch a centof it, but by and by if you think she ought to have schoolin' oranything else you must just say so. "

"I think nothing better could have been done for the child than youhave done, " said Dr. Leslie warmly. "Don't worry yourself, my goodfriend. As for books, she will take to them of her own accord quitesoon enough, and in such weather as this I think one day in the fieldsis worth five in the school-house. I'll do the best I can for her. "

Mrs. Thacher's errand had not yet been told, though she fumbled in herpocket and walked to the open window to look for the neighbor's wagonby which she was to find conveyance home, before she ventured to sayanything more. "I don't know's my time'll come for some years yet, "she said at length, falteringly, "but I have had it borne in upon mymind a good many ways this summer that I ain't going to stay here agre't while. I've been troubled considerable by the same complaintsthat carried my mother off, and I'm built just like her. I don't feelno concern for myself, but it's goin' to leave the child withoutanybody of her own to look to. There's plenty will befriend her justso long as she's got means, and the old farm will sell for somethingbesides what she's got already, but that ain't everything, and I can'tseem to make up my mind to havin' of her boarded about. If 't was soyour wife had lived I should know what I'd go down on my knees to herto do, but I can't ask it of you to be burdened with a young childa-growin' up. "

The doctor listened patiently, though just before this he had risenand begun to fill a small bottle at the closet shelves, which werestocked close to their perilous edges with various drugs. Withoutturning to look at his patient he said, "I wish you would take five orsix drops of this three times a day, and let me see you again within aweek or two. " And while the troubled woman turned to look at him withhalf-surprise, he added, "Don't give yourself another thought aboutlittle Nan. If anything should happen to you, I shall be glad to bringher here, and to take care of her as if she were my own. I always haveliked her, and it will be as good for me as for her. I would notpromise it for any other child, but if you had not spoken to-day, Ishould have found a way to arrange with you the first chance thatcame. But I'm getting to be an old fellow myself, " he laughed. "Isuppose if I get through first you will be friendly to Marilla?" andMrs. Thacher let a faint sunbeam of a smile shine out from the depthsof the handkerchief with which she was trying to stop a great showerof tears. Marilla was not without her little vanities, and beingthought youthful was one of the chief desires of her heart. 

So Mrs. Thacher went away lighter hearted than she came. She asked theprice of the vial of medicine, and was answered that they would talkabout that another time; then there was a little sober joking aboutcertain patients who never paid their doctor's bills at all because ofa superstition that they would immediately require his aid again. Dr. Leslie stood in his study doorway and watched her drive down thestreet with Martin Dyer. It seemed to him only a year or two sinceboth the man and woman had been strong and vigorous; now they bothlooked shrunken, and there was a wornness and feebleness about thebodies which had done such good service. "Come and go, " said thedoctor to himself, "one generation after another. Getting old! all thegood old-fashioned people on the farms: I never shall care so much tobe at the beck and call of their grandchildren, but I must mend upthese old folks and do the best I can for them as long as they stay;they're good friends to me. Dear me, how it used to fret me when I wasyounger to hear them always talking about old Doctor Wayland and whathe used to do; and here I am the old doctor myself!" And then he wentdown the gravel walk toward the stable with a quick, firm step, whichmany a younger man might have envied, to ask for a horse. "You maysaddle him, " he directed. "I am only going to old Mrs. Cunningham's, and it is a cool afternoon. "

Dr. Leslie had ridden less and less every year of his practice; but, for some reason best known to himself, he went down the village streetat a mad pace. Indeed, almost everybody who saw him felt that it wasimportant to go to the next house to ask if it were known for whataccident or desperate emergency he had been called away. 

VIII

A GREAT CHANGE

Until the autumn of this year, life had seemed to flow in one steady, unchanging current. The thought had not entered little Nan Prince'shead that changes might be in store for her, for, ever since she couldremember, the events of life had followed each other quietly, andexcept for the differences in every-day work and play, caused by thesuccession of the seasons, she was not called upon to accommodateherself to new conditions. It was a gentle change at first: as thedays grew shorter and the house and cellar were being made ready forwinter, her grandmother seemed to have much more to do than usual, andNan must stay at home to help. She was growing older at any rate; sheknew how to help better than she used; she was anxious to show hergrandmother how well she could work, and as the river side and thewindy pastures grew less hospitable, she did not notice that she wasno longer encouraged to go out to play for hours together to amuseherself as best she might, and at any rate keep out of the way. Itseemed natural enough now that she should stay in the house, and beentrusted with some regular part of the business of keeping it. Forsome time Mrs. Thacher had kept but one cow, and early in November, after a good offer for old Brindle had been accepted, it was announcedto Nan's surprise that the young cow which was to be Brindle'ssuccessor need not be bought until spring; she would be a great carein winter time, and Nan was to bring a quart of milk a day from Jakeand Martin's. This did not seem an unpleasant duty while the mildweather lasted; if there came a rainy day, one of the kind neighborswould leave the little pail on his way to the village before the youngmessenger had started out. 

Nan could not exactly understand at last why Mrs. Jake and Mrs. Martinalways asked about her grandmother every morning with so much interestand curiosity, or why they came oftener and oftener to help with theheavy work. Mrs. Thacher had never before minded her occasionalillnesses so much, and some time passed before Nan's inexperiencedeyes and fearless young heart understood that the whole atmospherewhich overhung the landscape of her life had somehow changed, thatanother winter approached full of mystery and strangeness anddiscomfort of mind, and at last a great storm was almost ready tobreak into the shelter and comfort of her simple life. Poor Nan! Shecould not think what it all meant. She was asked many a distressingquestion, and openly pitied, and heard her future discussed, as if herworld might come to an end any day. The doctor had visited hergrandmother from time to time, but always while she was at school, until vacation came, and poor Mrs. Thacher grew too feeble to enterinto even a part of the usual business of the farmhouse. 

One morning, as Nan was coming back from the Dyer farm with the milk, she met Mrs. Meeker in the highway. This neighbor and our heroine wererarely on good terms with each other, since Nan had usually laidherself under some serious charge of wrong-doing, and had come tobelieve that she would be disapproved in any event, and so might enjoylife as she chose, and revel in harmless malice. 

The child could not have told why she shrank from meeting her enemy somuch more than usual, and tried to discover some refuge or chance forescape; but, as it was an open bit of the road, and a straight way tothe lane, she could have no excuse for scrambling over the stone walland cutting short the distance. However, her second thought scornedthe idea of running away in such cowardly fashion, and not having anyrecent misdemeanor on her conscience, she went forward unflinchingly. 

Mrs. Meeker's tone was not one of complaint, but of pity, andinsinuating friendliness. "How's your grandma to-day?" she asked, andNan, with an unsympathetic answer of "About the same, " stepped bravelyforward, resenting with all her young soul the discovery that Mrs. Meeker had turned and was walking alongside. 

"She's been a good, kind grandma to you, hain't she?" said thisunwelcome companion, and when Nan had returned a wondering but almostinaudible assent, she continued, "She'll be a great loss to you, I cantell you. You'll never find nobody to do for you like her. There, youwon't realize nothing about it till you've got older'n you be now;but the time'll come when"--and her sharp voice faltered; for Nan hadturned to look full in her face, had stopped still in the frozen road, dropped the pail unconsciously and given a little cry, and in anothermoment was running as a chased wild creature does toward the refuge ofits nest. The doctor's horse was fastened at the head of the lane, andNan knew at last, what any one in the neighborhood could have told hermany days before, that her grandmother was going to die. Mrs. Meekerstared after her with a grieved sense of the abrupt ending of thecoveted interview, then she recovered her self-possession, and, picking up the forsaken pail, stepped lightly over the ruts and frozenpuddles, following Nan eagerly in the hope of witnessing more of suchextraordinary behavior, and with the design of offering her servicesas watcher or nurse in these last hours. At any rate the pail and themilk, which had not been spilt, could not be left in the road. 

So the first chapter of the child's life was ended in the early winterweather. There was a new unsheltered grave on the slope above theriver, the farm-house door was shut and locked, and the light was outin the kitchen window. It had been a landmark to those who were usedto driving along the road by night, and there were sincere mournersfor the kindly woman who had kept a simple faith and uprightness allthrough her long life of trouble and disappointment. Nan and the cathad gone to live in the village, and both, being young, had taken thechange with serenity; though at first a piteous sorrow had been wakedin the child's heart, a keen and dreadful fear of the future. The pastseemed so secure and pleasant, as she looked back, and now she was inthe power of a fateful future which had begun with something like awhirlwind that had swept over her, leaving nothing unchanged. Itseemed to her that this was to be incessant, and that being grown upwas to be at the mercy of sorrow and uncertainty. She was pale andquiet during her last days in the old home, answering questions andobeying directions mechanically; but usually sitting in the leastvisited part of the kitchen, watching the neighbors as they examinedher grandmother's possessions, and properly disposed of the contentsof the house. Sometimes a spark flew from her sad and angry eyes, butshe made no trouble, and seemed dull and indifferent. Late in theevening Dr. Leslie carried her home with him through the first heavysnow-storm of the year, and between the excitement of being coveredfrom the fast-falling flakes, and so making a journey in the dark, andof keeping hold of the basket which contained the enraged kitten, thegrief at leaving home was not dwelt upon. 

When she had been unwound from one of the doctor's great cloaks, andher eyes had grown used to the bright light in the dining-room, andMarilla had said that supper had been waiting half an hour, and shedid not know how she should get along with a black cat, and thenbustled about talking much faster than usual, because the sight of thelonely child had made her ready to cry, Nan began to feel comforted. It seemed a great while ago that she had cried at her grandmother'sfuneral. If this were the future it was certainly very welcome andalready very dear, and the time of distress was like a night of baddreams between two pleasant days. 

It will easily be understood that no great change was made in Dr. Leslie's house. The doctor himself and Marilla were both well settledin their habits, and while they cordially made room for the littlegirl who was to be the third member of the household, her coming madelittle difference to either of her elders. There was a great deal ofillness that winter, and the doctor was more than commonly busy; Nanwas sent to school, and discovered the delight of reading one stormyday when her guardian had given her leave to stay at home, and she hadfound his own old copy of Robinson Crusoe looking most friendly andinviting in a corner of one of the study shelves. As for school, shehad never liked it, and the village school gave her far greater miserythan the weather-beaten building at the cross-roads ever had done. Shehad known many of the village children by sight, from seeing them inchurch, but she did not number many friends among them, even after thewinter was nearly gone and the days began to grow brighter and lesscold, and the out-of-door games were a source of great merriment inthe playground. Nan's ideas of life were quite unlike those held bythese new acquaintances, and she could not gain the least interest inmost of the other children, though she grew fond of one boy who was afamous rover and fisherman, and after one of the elder girls had reada composition which fired our heroine's imagination, she worshipedthis superior being from a suitable distance, and was her willingadorer and slave. The composition was upon The Moon, and when theauthor proclaimed the fact that this was the same moon which hadlooked down upon Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, little Nan's eyes hadopened wide with reverence and awe, and she opened the doors of herheart and soul to lofty thought and high imagination. The big girl, who sat in the back seat and glibly recited amazing lessons inhistory, and did sums which entirely covered the one small blackboard, was not unmindful of Nan's admiration, and stolidly accepted andmunched the offerings of cracked nuts, or of the treasured Englishapples which had been brought from the farm and kept like a squirrel'shoard in an archway of the cellar by themselves. Nan cherished an ideaof going back to the farm to live by herself as soon as she grew alittle older, and she indulged in pleasing day-dreams of a mostcharming life there, with frequent entertainments for her friends, atwhich the author of the information about the moon would be thefavored guest, and Nan herself, in a most childish and provincialfashion, the reigning queen. What did these new town-acquaintancesknow of the strawberries which grew in the bit of meadow, or the greathigh-bush blackberries by one of the pasture walls, and what wouldtheir pleasure be when they were taken down the river some moonlightnight and caught sight of a fire blazing on a distant bank, and wentnearer to find a sumptuous feast which Nan herself had arranged? Shehad been told that her aunt--that mysterious and beneficent aunt--hadalready sent her money which was lying idle in the bank until sheshould need to spend it, and her imaginary riches increased week byweek, while her horizon of future happiness constantly grew wider. 

The other children were not unwilling at first to enter upon aninquisitive friendship with the new-comer; but Marilla was souncongenial to the noisy visitors, and so fastidious in the matter ofsnowy and muddy shoes, that she was soon avoided. Nan herself was ateachable child and gave little trouble, and Marilla sometimescongratulated herself because she had reserved the violent objectionswhich had occurred to her mind when the doctor had announced, justbefore Mrs. Thacher's death, that his ward would henceforth find ahome in his house. 

Marilla usually sat in the dining-room in the evening, though she wasapt to visit the study occasionally, knitting in hand, to give heropinions, or to acquaint herself with various events of which shethought the doctor would be likely to have knowledge. Sometimes in thecolder winter nights, she drew a convenient light-stand close besidethe kitchen stove and refused to wander far from such comfortablewarmth. Now that she had Nan's busy feet to cover, there was lessdanger than ever that she should be left without knitting-work, andshe deeply enjoyed the child's company, since Nan could give innocentanswers to many questions which could never be put to elder members ofthe Dyer and Thacher neighborhood. Mrs. Meeker was apt to be discussedwith great freedom, and Nan told long stories about her own childishexperiences, which were listened to and encouraged, and matched withothers even longer and more circumstantial by Marilla. The doctor, whowas always reading when he could find a quiet hour for himself, oftensmiled as he heard the steady sound of voices from the wide kitchen, and he more than once took a few careful steps into the dining-room, and stood there shaking with laughter at the character of theconversation. Nan, though eager to learn, and curious about manythings in life and nature, at first found her school lessonsdifficult, and sometimes came appealingly to him for assistance, whencircumstances had made a temporary ending of her total indifference togetting the lessons at all. For this and other reasons she sometimessought the study, and drew a small chair beside the doctor's large onebefore the blazing fire of the black birch logs; and then Marilla inher turn would venture upon the neutral ground between study andkitchen, and smile with satisfaction at the cheerful companionship ofthe tired man and the idle little girl who had already found her wayto his lonely heart. Nan had come to another home; there was noquestion about what should be done with her and for her, but she wasmade free of the silent old house, and went on growing taller, andgrowing dearer, and growing happier day by day. Whatever the futuremight bring, she would be sure to look back with love and longing tothe first summer of her village life, when, seeing that she lookedpale and drooping, the doctor, to her intense gratification, took heraway from school. Presently, instead of having a ride out into thecountry as an occasional favor, she might be seen every day by thedoctor's side, as if he could not make his morning rounds without her;and in and out of the farm-houses she went, following him like alittle dog, or, as Marilla scornfully expressed it, a briar at hisheels; sitting soberly by when he dealt his medicines and gave advice, listening to his wise and merry talk with some, and his helpful adviceand consolation to others of the country people. Many of theseacquaintances treated Nan with great kindness; she half belonged tothem, and was deeply interesting for the sake of her other ties ofblood and bonds of fortune, while she took their courtesy withthankfulness, and their lack of notice with composure. If there were ashiny apple offered she was glad, but if not, she did not miss it, since her chief delight was in being the doctor's assistant andattendant, and her eyes were always watching for chances when shemight be of use. And one day, coming out from a bedroom, the doctordiscovered, to his amusement, that her quick and careful fingers hadfolded the papers of some powders which he had left unfolded on thetable. As they drove home together in the bright noon sunshine, hesaid, as if the question were asked for the sake of joking a little, "What are you going to do when you grow up, Nan?" to which sheanswered gravely, as if it were the one great question of her life, "Ishould like best to be a doctor. " Strangely enough there flittedthrough the doctor's mind a remembrance of the day when he had talkedwith Mrs. Meeker, and had looked up the lane to see the unlucky turkeywhose leg had been put into splints. He had wished more than once thathe had taken pains to see how the child had managed it; but old Mrs. Thacher had reported the case to have been at least partiallysuccessful. 

Nan had stolen a look at her companion after the answer had beengiven, but had been pleased and comforted to find that he was notlaughing at her, and at once began a lively picture of becoming famousin her chosen profession, and the valued partner of Dr. Leslie, whoseskill everybody praised so heartily. He should not go out at night, and she would help him so much that he would wonder how he ever hadbeen able to manage his wide-spread practice alone. It was a matter ofno concern to her that Marilla had laughed when she had been told ofNan's intentions, and had spoken disrespectfully of women doctors; andthe child's heart was full of pride and hope. The doctor stopped hishorse suddenly to show Nan some flowers which grew at the roadside, some brilliant cardinals, and she climbed quickly down to gather them. There was an unwritten law that they should keep watch, one to theright hand, and the other to the left, and such treasures of blossomsor wild fruit seldom escaped Nan's vision. Now she felt as if she hadbeen wrong to let her thoughts go wandering, and her cheeks werealmost as bright as the scarlet flowers themselves, as she clamberedback to the wagon seat. But the doctor was in deep thought, and hadnothing more to say for the next mile or two. It had become like abad-case day suddenly and without apparent reason; but Nan had nosuspicion that she was the patient in charge whose welfare seemed tothe doctor to be dependent upon his own decisions. 

IX

AT DR. LESLIE'S

That evening Dr. Leslie made signs that he was not to be interrupted, and even shut the study doors, to which precaution he seldom resorted. He was evidently disturbed when an hour later a vigorous knocking washeard at the seldom-used front entrance, and Marilla ushered in withanything but triumph an elderly gentleman who had been his collegeclassmate. Marilla's countenance wore a forbidding expression, and asshe withdrew she took pains to shut the door between the hall anddining-room with considerable violence. It was almost never closedunder ordinary circumstances, but the faithful housekeeper wasimpelled to express her wrath in some way, and this was the firstthat offered itself. Nan was sitting peacefully in the kitchen playingwith her black cat and telling herself stories no doubt, and was quiteunprepared for Marilla's change of temper. The bell for the Fridayevening prayer-meeting was tolling its last strokes and it wasMarilla's habit to attend that service. She was apt to be kept closelyat home, it must be acknowledged, and this was one of her few socialindulgences. Since Nan had joined the family and proved that she couldbe trusted with a message, she had been left in charge of the houseduring this coveted hour on Friday evenings. 

Marilla had descended from her room arrayed for church going, but nowher bonnet was pulled off as if that were the prime offender, and whenthe child looked wonderingly around the kitchen, she saw the bread-boxbrought out from the closet and put down very hard on a table, whileMarilla began directly afterward to rattle at the stove. 

"I'd like to say to some folks that we don't keep hotel, " grumbled thegood woman, "I wish to my heart I'd stepped right out o' the frontdoor and gone straight to meetin' and left them there beholdin' of me. Course he hasn't had no supper, nor dinner neither like's not, and ifmen are ever going to drop down on a family unexpected it's alwaysFriday night when everything's eat up that ever was in the house. Is'pose, after I bake double quantities to-morrow mornin', he'll bedrivin' off before noon-time, and treasure it up that we never havenothin' decent to set before folks. Anna, you've got to stir yourselfand help, while I get the fire started up; lay one o' them big dinnernapkins over the red cloth, and set a plate an' a tea-cup, for as forlaying the whole table over again, I won't and I shan't. There's waterto cart upstairs and the bed-room to open, but Heaven be thanked I wasup there dustin' to-day, and if ever you set a mug of flowers into oneo' the spare-rooms again and leave it there a week or ten days tospile, I'll speak about it to the doctor. Now you step out o' my waylike a good girl. I don't know whether you or the cat's the worst forgettin' before me when I'm in a drive. I'll set him out somethin' toeat, and then I'm goin' to meetin' if the skies fall. "

Nan meekly obeyed directions, and with a sense of guilt concerning thedeserted posies went to hover about the study door after the plateswere arranged, instead of braving further the stormy atmosphere of thekitchen. Marilla's lamp had shone in so that there had been lightenough in the dining-room, but the study was quite dark except wherethere was one spark at the end of the doctor's half-finished cigar, which was alternately dim and bright like the revolving lantern of alighthouse. 

At that moment the smoker rose, and with his most considerate andconciliatory tone asked Marilla for the study lamp, but Nan heard, andran on tiptoe and presently brought it in from the kitchen, holding itcarefully with both hands and walking slowly. She apparently had nothought beyond her errand, but she was brimful of eagerness to see theunexpected guest; for guests were by no means frequent, and since shehad really become aware of a great outside world beyond the boundariesof Oldfields she welcomed the sight of any messengers. 

Dr. Leslie hastily pushed away some books from the lamp's place; andnoticing that his visitor looked at Nan with surprise, quicklyexplained that this little girl had come to take care of him, and badeNan speak to Dr. Ferris. Whereupon her bravery was sorely tried, butnot overcome, and afterward she sat down in her own little chair, quite prepared to be hospitable. As she heard a sound of water beingpoured into a pitcher in the best room upstairs, she was ready tolaugh if there had been anybody to laugh with, and presently Marillaappeared at the door with the announcement that there was some teawaiting in the dining-room, after which and before anybody had thoughtof moving, the side gate clacked resolutely, and Marilla, looking moreprim and unruffled than usual, sped forth to the enjoyment of herFriday evening privileges. 

Nan followed the gentlemen to the dining-room not knowing whether shewere wanted or not, but feeling quite assured when it was ascertainedthat neither sugar nor teaspoons had been provided. The little feastlooked somewhat meagre, and the doctor spoke irreverently of hishousekeeper and proceeded to abstract a jar of her best strawberry jamfrom the convenient store-closet, and to collect other articles offood which seemed to him to be inviting, however inappropriate to theoccasion. The guest would have none of the jam, but Dr. Leslie cut aslice of the loaf of bread for himself and one for Nan, though it hadalready waned beyond its last quarter, and nobody knew what wouldhappen if there were no toast at breakfast time. Marilla would neverknow what a waste of jam was spread upon these slices either, but shewas a miser only with the best preserves, and so our friends reveledin their stolen pleasure, and were as merry together as heart couldwish. 

Nan thought it very strange when she found that the doctor and hisguest had been at school together, for the stranger seemed so old andworn. They were talking about other classmates at first, and she satstill to listen, until the hour of Marilla's return drew near and Dr. Leslie prudently returned to his own uninvaded apartment. Nan wastold, to her sorrow, that it was past her bed-time and as she stoppedto say good-night, candle in hand, a few moments afterward, the doctorstooped to kiss her with unusual tenderness, and a little later, whenshe was safe in her small bedroom and under the coverlet which wasMarilla's glory, having been knit the winter before in an intricatepattern, she almost shook with fear at the sound of its maker'svengeful footsteps in the lower room. It is to be hoped that theinfluence of the meeting had been very good, and that one of itsattendants had come home equal to great demands upon her fortitude andpatience. Nan could not help wishing she had thought to put away thejam, and she wondered how Marilla would treat them all in the morning. But, to do that worthy woman justice, she was mild and considerate, and outdid herself in the breakfast that was set forth in the guest'shonor, and Dr. Ferris thought he could do no less than to add to hismorning greeting the question why she was not growing old like therest of them, which, though not answered, was pleasantly received. 

The host and guest talked very late the night before, and told eachother many things. Dr. Leslie had somewhat unwillingly undertaken thecountry practice which had grown dearer to him with every year, butthere were family reasons why he had decided to stay in Oldfields fora few months at least, and though it was not long before he was leftalone, not only by the father and mother whose only child he was, butby his wife and child, he felt less and less inclination to break theold ties and transplant himself to some more prominent position of themedical world. The leisure he often had at certain seasons of the yearwas spent in the studies which always delighted him, and little bylittle he gained great repute among his professional brethren. He wasa scholar and a thinker in other than medical philosophies, and mostpersons who knew anything of him thought it a pity that he should beburying himself alive, as they were pleased to term his devotion tohis provincial life. His rare excursions to the cities gave morepleasure to other men than to himself, however, in these later years, and he laughingly proclaimed himself to be growing rusty and behindthe times to Dr. Ferris, who smiled indulgently, and did not take thetrouble to contradict so untrue and preposterous an assertion. 

If one man had been a stayer at home; a vegetable nature, as Dr. Leslie had gone on to say, which has no power to change its localityor to better itself by choosing another and more adequate orstimulating soil; the other had developed the opposite extreme ofcharacter, being by nature a rover. From the medical school he hadentered at once upon the duties of a naval appointment, and after hehad become impatient of its routine of practice and its check upon hisfreedom, he had gone, always with some sufficient and useful object, to one far country after another. Lately he had spent an unusualnumber of consecutive months in Japan, which was still unfamiliar evento most professional travelers, and he had come back to Americaenthusiastic and full of plans for many enterprises which his shrewd, but not very persistent brain had conceived. The two old friends weredelighted to see each other, but they took this long-deferred meetingas calmly as if they were always next-door neighbors. It was a mostinteresting thing that while they led such different lives and tooksuch apparently antagonistic routes of progression, they were prettysure to arrive at the same conclusion, though it might appearotherwise to a listener who knew them both slightly. 

"And who is the little girl?" asked Dr. Ferris, who had refused hisentertainer's cigars and produced a pipe from one pocket, after havingdrawn a handful of curious small jade figures from another and pushedthem along the edge of the study table, without comment, for hisfriend to look at. Some of them were so finely carved that they lookedlike a heap of grotesque insects struggling together as they laythere, but though Dr. Leslie's eyes brightened as he glanced at them, he gave no other sign of interest at that time, and answered hisguest's question instead. 

"She is a ward of mine, " he said; "she was left quite alone by thedeath of her grandmother some months ago, and so I brought her here. "

"It isn't often that I forget a face, " said Dr. Ferris, "but I havebeen trying to think what association I can possibly have with thatchild. I remember at last; she looks like a young assistant surgeonwho was on the old frigate Fortune with me just before I left theservice. I don't think he was from this part of the country though; Inever heard what became of him. "

"I dare say it was her father; I believe he made a voyage or two, "said Dr. Leslie, much interested. "Do you know anything more abouthim? you always remember everything, Ferris. "

"Yes, " answered the guest, slowly puffing away at his pipe. "Yes, hewas a very bright fellow, with a great gift at doctoring, but he waswillful, full of queer twists and fancies, the marry in haste andrepent at his leisure sort of young man. "

"Exactly what he did, I suppose, " interrupted the host. "Only hisleisure was fortunately postponed to the next world, for the mostpart; he died very young. "

"I used to think it a great pity that he had not settled himselfashore in a good city practice, " continued Dr. Ferris. "He had a greatknack at pleasing people and making friends, and he was alwaysspoiling for want of work. I was ready enough to shirk my part ofthat, you may be sure, but if you start with a reasonably healthy setof men, crew and officers, and keep good discipline, and have noaccidents on the voyage, an old-fashioned ship-master's kit ofnumbered doses is as good as anything on board a man-of-war in time ofpeace. You have mild cases that result from over-heating orover-eating, and sometimes a damaged finger to dress, or a tooth topull. I used to tell young Prince that it was a pity one of the menwouldn't let himself be chopped to pieces and fitted together again togive us a little amusement. "

"That's the name, " announced Nan's guardian with great satisfaction. "This is a very small world; we are all within hail of each other. Idare say when we get to Heaven there will not be a stranger to makefriends with. "

"I could give you more wonderful proofs of that than you would belikely to believe, " responded the surgeon. "But tell me how youhappened to have anything to do with the child; did Prince wander intothis neighborhood?"

"Not exactly, but he fell in love with a young girl who was brought upon one of the farms just out of the village. She was a strangecharacter, a handsome creature, with a touch of foolish ambition, andsoon grew impatient of the routine of home life. I believe that shewent away at first to work in one of the factories in Lowell, andafterward she drifted to Dunport, where young Prince's people lived, and I dare say it was when he came home from that very voyage you knewof that he saw her and married her. She worked in a dressmaker's shop, and worked very well too, but she had offended his sister to beginwith, one day when she was finding fault with some work that had beendone for her, and so there was no end of trouble, and the young manhad a great battle at home, and the more he was fought the lessinclined he was to yield, and at last off he went to be married, andnever came home again until he died. It was a wretched story; he onlylived two years, and they went from one place to another, and finallythe end came in some Western town. He had not been happy with hiswife, and they quarreled from time to time, and he asked to be broughtback to Dunport and buried. This child was only a baby, and thePrinces begged her mother to give her up, and used every means to tryto make friends, and to do what was right. But I have always thoughtthere was blame on both sides. At any rate the wife was insolent andunruly, and went flinging out of the house as soon as the funeral wasover. I don't know what became of them for a while, but it alwaysseemed to me as if poor Adeline must have had a touch of insanity, which faded away as consumption developed itself. Her mother's peoplewere a fine, honest race, self-reliant and energetic, but there is avery bad streak on the other side. I have heard that she was seenbegging somewhere, but I am not sure that it is true; at any rate shewould neither come here to her own home nor listen to any plea fromher husband's family, and at last came back to the farm one night likea ghost, carrying the child in her arms across the fields; all in ragsand tatters, both of them. She confessed to me that she had meant todrown herself and little Nan together. I could never understand whyshe went down so fast. I know that she had been drinking. Some peoplemight say that it was the scorn of her husband's relatives, but thatis all nonsense, and I have no doubt she and the young man might havedone very well if this hadn't spoiled all their chances at the outset. She was quite unbalanced and a strange, wild creature, very handsomein her girlhood, but morally undeveloped. It was impossible not tohave a liking for her. I remember her when she was a baby. "

"And yet people talk about the prosaic New England life!" exclaimedDr. Ferris. "I wonder where I could match such a story as that, thoughI dare say that you know a dozen others. I tell you, Leslie, that forintense, self-centred, smouldering volcanoes of humanity, New Englandcannot be matched the world over. It's like the regions in Icelandthat are full of geysers. I don't know whether it is the inheritancefrom those people who broke away from the old countries, and who oughtto be matched to tremendous circumstances of life, but now and thenthere comes an amazingly explosive and uncontrollable temperament thatgoes all to pieces from its own conservation and accumulation offorce. By and by you will have all blown up, --you quiet descendants ofthe Pilgrims and Puritans, and have let off your superfluouswickedness like blizzards; and when the blizzards of each family havespent themselves you will grow dull and sober, and all on a level, andbe free from the troubles of a transition state. Now, you're neither anew country nor an old one. You ought to see something of the oldercivilizations to understand what peace of mind is. Unless someimportation of explosive material from the westward stirs them up, onecentury is made the pattern for the next. But it is perfectlywonderful what this climate does for people who come to it, --a southof Ireland fellow, for instance, who has let himself be rained on andthen waited for the sun to dry him again, and has grubbed a little ina bit of ground, just enough to hint to it that it had better bemaking a crop of potatoes for him. I always expect to see the gorseand daisies growing on the old people's heads to match the cabins. Butthey come over here and forget their idleness, and in a week or twothe east winds are making them work, and thrashing them if they areslow, worse than any slave-driver who ever cracked his whip-lash. Iwonder how you stand it; I do, indeed! I can't take an afternoon napor have my coffee in bed of a morning without thinking I must put intoport at the next church to be preached at. "

Dr. Leslie laughed a little and shook his head gently. "It's very wellfor you to talk, Ferris, " he said, "since you have done more work thanany man I know. And I find this neighborhood entirely placid; one bitof news will last us a fortnight. I dare say Marilla will leteverybody know that you have come to town, and have explained why shewas ten minutes late, even to the minister. "

"How about the little girl herself?" asked the guest presently; "sheseems well combined, and likely, as they used to say when I was aboy. "

Dr. Leslie resumed the subject willingly: "So far as I can see, shehas the good qualities of all her ancestors without the bad ones. Hermother's mother was an old fashioned country woman of the best stock. Of course she resented what she believed to be her daughter's wrongs, and refused to have anything to do with her son-in-law's family, andkept the child as carefully as possible from any knowledge of them. Little Nan was not strong at first, but I insisted that she should beallowed to run free out of doors. It seems to me that up to seven oreight years of age children are simply bundles of inheritances, and Ican see the traits of one ancestor after another; but a little laterthan the usual time she began to assert her own individuality, and hasgrown capitally well in mind and body ever since. There is an amusingtrace of the provincial self-reliance and self-respect and farmer-likedignity, added to a quick instinct, and tact and ready courtesy, whichmust have come from the other side of her ancestry. She is more achild of the soil than any country child I know, and yet she would notput a city household to shame. She has seen nothing of the world ofcourse, but you can see she isn't like the usual village school-girl. There is one thing quite remarkable. I believe she has grown up asnaturally as a plant grows, not having been clipped back or forced inany unnatural direction. If ever a human being were untrammeled andleft alone to see what will come of it, it is this child. And I willown I am very much interested to see what will appear later. "

The navy surgeon's eyes twinkled at this enthusiasm, but he askedsoberly what seemed to be our heroine's bent, so far as could bediscovered, and laughed outright when he was gravely told that it wasa medical bent; a surprising understanding of things pertaining tothat most delightful profession. 

"But you surely don't mean to let her risk her happiness in followingthat career?" Dr. Ferris inquired with feigned anxiety for his answer. "You surely aren't going to sacrifice that innocent creature to atheory! I know it's a theory; last time I was here, you could think ofnothing but hypnotism or else the action of belladonna in congestionand inflammation of the brain;" and he left his very comfortable chairsuddenly, with a burst of laughter, and began to walk up and down theroom. "She has no relatives to protect her, and I consider it ashocking case of a guardian's inhumanity. Grown up naturally indeed! Idon't doubt that you supplied her with Bell's 'Anatomy' for apicture-book and made her say over the names of the eight little bonesof her wrist, instead of 'This little pig went to market. '"

"I only hope that you'll live to grow up yourself, Ferris, " said hisentertainer, "you'll certainly be an ornament to your generation. Whata boy you are! I should think you would feel as old as Methuselah bythis time, after having rattled from one place to the next all theseyears. Don't you begin to get tired?"

"No, I don't believe I do, " replied Dr. Ferris, lending himself tothis new turn of the conversation, but not half satisfied with thenumber of his jokes. "I used to be afraid I should, and so I tried tosee everything I could of the world before my enthusiasm began tocool. And as for rattling to the next place, as you say, you showyourself to be no traveler by nature, or you wouldn't speak soslightingly. It is extremely dangerous to make long halts. I could crywith homesickness at the thought of the towns I have spent more than amonth in; they are like the people one knows; if you see them once, you go away satisfied, and you can bring them to mind afterward, andthink how they looked or just where it was you met them, --out of doorsor at the club. But if you live with those people, and get fond ofthem, and have a thousand things to remember, you get more pain thanpleasure out of it when you go away. And one can't be everywhere atonce, so if you're going to care for things tremendously, you hadbetter stay in one town altogether. No, give me a week or two, andthen I've something calling me to the next place; somebody to talkwith or a book to see, and off I go. Yet, I've done a good bit of workin my day after all. Did you see that paper of mine in the 'Lancet'about some experiments I made when I was last in India with thosetree-growing jugglers? and I worked out some curious things about themathematics of music on this last voyage home! Why, I thought it wouldtear my heart in two when I came away. I should have grown to looklike the people, and you might have happened to find a likeness of meon a tea plate after another year or two. I made all my plans one dayto stay another winter, and next day at eleven o'clock I was steamingdown the harbor. But there was a poor young lad I had taken a likingfor, an English boy, who was badly off after an accident and neededsomebody to look after him. I thought the best thing I could do was tobring him home. Are you going to fit your ward for general practiceor for a specialty?"

"I don't know; that'll be for the young person herself to decide, "said Dr. Leslie good-humoredly. "But she's showing a real talent formedical matters. It is quite unconscious for the most part, but I findthat she understands a good deal already, and she sat here all theafternoon last week with one of my old medical dictionaries. Icouldn't help looking over her shoulder as I went by, and she wasreading about fevers, if you please, as if it were a story-book. Ididn't think it was worth while to tell her we understood thingsbetter nowadays, and didn't think it best to bleed as much as old Dr. Rush recommended. "

"You're like a hen with one chicken, Leslie, " said the friend, stillpacing to and fro. "But seriously, I like your notion of her havingcome to this of her own accord. Most of us are grown in the shapesthat society and family preference and prejudice fasten us into, anddon't find out until we are well toward middle life that we shouldhave done a great deal better at something else. Our vocations arelikely enough to be illy chosen, since few persons are fit to choosethem for us, and we are at the most unreasonable stage of life when wechoose them for ourselves. And what the Lord made some people for, nobody ever can understand; some of us are for use and more are forwaste, like the flowers. I am in such a hurry to know what the nextworld is like that I can hardly wait to get to it. Good heavens! welive here in our familiar fashion, going at a jog-trot pace round ourlittle circles, with only a friend or two to speak with who understandus, and a pipe and a jack-knife and a few books and some old clothes, and please ourselves by thinking we know the universe! Not a soul ofus can tell what it is that sends word to our little fingers to movethemselves back and forward. "

"We're sure of two things at any rate, " said Dr. Leslie, "love to Godand love to man. And though I have lived here all my days, I havelearned some truths just as well as if I had gone about with you, oreven been to the next world and come back. I have seen too many livesgo to pieces, and too many dissatisfied faces, and I have heard toomany sorrowful confessions from these country death-beds I havewatched beside, one after another, for twenty or thirty years. And ifI can help one good child to work with nature and not against it, andto follow the lines marked out for her, and she turns out useful andintelligent, and keeps off the rocks of mistaking her duty, I shall bemore than glad. I don't care whether it's a man's work or a woman'swork; if it is hers I'm going to help her the very best way I can. Idon't talk to her of course; she's much too young; but I watch her andmean to put the things in her way that she seems to reach out for andtry to find. She is going to be very practical, for her hands canalmost always work out her ideas already. I like to see her take holdof things, and I like to see her walk and the way she lifts her feetand puts them down again. I must say, Ferris, there is a greatsatisfaction in finding a human being once in a while that has someuse of itself. "

"You're right!" said Dr. Ferris; "but don't be disappointed when she'sten years older if she picks out a handsome young man and thinks thereis nothing like housekeeping. Have you taken a look at my pocketful ofheathen idols there yet? I don't think you've ever seen their mates. "

The stayer at home smiled as if he understood his friend's quiet bitof pleasantry, and reached for one of the treasures, but folded it inhis hand without looking at it and seemed to be lost in meditation. The surgeon concluded that he had had enough exercise and laid himselfdown on the wide sofa at the end of the room, from whence he couldwatch his companion's face. He clasped his hands under his head andlooked eager and interested. He had grown to have something of theappearance of a foreigner, as people often do who have spent much timein eastern countries. The two friends were silent for some minutes, until an impatient voice roused Dr. Leslie from his reflections. 

"It always makes me covet my neighbor's wits when I see you!"announced the wanderer. "If I settled myself into a respectablepractice I should be obliged to march with the army of doctors whocarry a great array of small weapons, and who find out what is thematter with their patients after all sorts of experiment andpainstaking analysis, and comparing the results of their thermometersand microscopes with scientific books of reference. After I have doneall that, you know, if I have had good luck I shall come to exactlywhat you can say before you have been with a sick man five minutes. You have the true gift for doctoring, you need no medical dictator, and whatever you study and whatever comes to you in the way ofinstruction simply ministers to your intuition. It grows to be awonderful second-sight in such a man as you. I don't believe youinvestigate a case and treat it as a botanist does a strange flower, once a month. You know without telling yourself what the matter is, and what the special difference is, and the relative dangers of thiscase and one apparently just like it across the street, and you coulddo this before you were out of the hospitals. I remember you!" andafter a few vigorous puffs of smoke he went on; "It is all very wellfor the rest of the men to be proud of their book learning, but theydon't even try to follow nature, as Sydenham did, who followed no man. I believe such study takes one to more theory and scientific digestrather than to more skill. It is all very well to know how to drawmaps when one gets lost on a dark night, or even to begin withastronomical calculations and come down to a chemical analysis of themud you stand in, but hang me if I wouldn't rather have the instinctof a dog who can go straight home across a bit of strange country. Aman has no right to be a doctor if he doesn't simply make everythingbend to his work of getting sick people well, and of trying to remedythe failures of strength that come from misuse or inheritance orignorance. The anatomists and the pathologists have their place, butwe must look to the living to learn the laws of life, not to the dead. A wreck shows you where the reef is, perhaps, but not how to manage aship in the offing. The men who make it their business to write thebooks and the men who make it their business to follow them aren't theones for successful practice. "

Dr. Leslie smiled, and looked over his shoulder at his beloved libraryshelves, as if he wished to assure the useful volumes of his continuedaffection and respect, and said quietly, as if to beg the displeasedsurgeon's patience with his brethren: "They go on, poor fellows, studying the symptoms and never taking it in that the life power is atfault. I see more and more plainly that we ought to strengthen andbalance the whole system, and aid nature to make the sick man wellagain. It is nature that does it after all, and diseases are oftenereffects of illness than causes. But the young practitioners mustfollow the text-books a while until they have had enough experience toopen their eyes to observe and have learned to think for themselves. Idon't know which is worse; too much routine or no study at all. I wastrying the other day to count up the different treatments of pneumoniathat have been in fashion in our day; there must be seven or eight, and I am only afraid the next thing will be a sort of skepticism andcontempt of remedies. Dr. Johnson said long ago that physicians were aclass of men who put bodies of which they knew little into bodies ofwhich they knew less, but certainly this isn't the fault of themedicines altogether; you and I know well enough they are often moststupidly used. If we blindly follow the medical dictators, as you callthem, and spend our treatment on the effects instead of the causes, what success can we expect? We do want more suggestions from the menat work, but I suppose this is the same with every business. Thepractical medical men are the juries who settle all the theories ofthe hour, as they meet emergencies day after day. "

"The men who have the true gift for their work, " said Dr. Ferrisimpatiently. "I hadn't the conscience to go on myself, that's why Iresigned, you know. I can talk about it, but I am not a good workman. But if there are going to be doctors in the next world, I wish I mightbe lucky enough to be equal to such a heavenly business. You thought Ididn't care enough about the profession to go on, but it wasn't so. Dopush your little girl ahead if she has the real fitness. I suppose itis a part of your endowment that you can distinguish the capacitiesand tendencies of health as well as illness; and there's one thingcertain, the world cannot afford to do without the workmen who aremasters of their business by divine right. "

Dr. Leslie was looking at the jade-stone gods. "I suppose the poorfellows who chipped out these treasures of yours may have thought theywere really putting a visible piece of Heaven within their neighbors'reach, " he said. "We can't get used to the fact that whatever trulybelongs to the next world is not visible in this, and that there isidol-making and worshiping forever going on. When we let ourselvesforget to educate our faith and our spiritual intellects, and losesight of our relation and dependence upon the highest informingstrength, we are trying to move our machinery by some inferior motivepower. We worship our tools and beg success of them instead ofremembering that we are all apprentices to the great Master of our ownand every man's craft. It is the great ideas of our work that we need, and the laws of its truths. We shall be more intelligent by and byabout making the best of ourselves; our possibilities are infinitelybeyond what most people even dream. Spiritual laziness and physicallaziness together keep us just this side of sound sleep most of thetime. Perhaps you think it is a proper season for one at least?"

"Dear me, no!" said Dr. Ferris, who was evidently quite wide awake. "Do you remember how well Buckle says that the feminine intellect isthe higher, and that the great geniuses of the world have possessedit? The gift of intuition reaches directly towards the truth, and itis only reasoning by deduction that can take flight into the upper airof life and certainty. You remember what he says about that?"

"Yes, " said Dr. Leslie. "Yes, it isn't a thing one easily forgets. ButI have long believed that the powers of Christ were but the higherpowers of our common humanity. We recognize them dimly now and then, but few of us dare to say so yet. The world moves very slowly, doesn'tit? If Christ were perfect man, He could hardly tell us to follow Himand be like Him, and yet know all the while that it was quiteimpossible, because a difference in his gifts made his character anunapproachable one to ours. We don't amount to anything, simplybecause we won't understand that we must receive the strength ofHeaven into our souls; that it depends upon our degree of receptivity, and our using the added power that comes in that way; not in ourtaking our few tools, and our self-esteem and satisfaction withourselves, and doing our little tricks like dancing dogs; proudbecause the other dogs can do one less than we, or only bark and walkabout on their four legs. It is our souls that make our bodies worthanything, and the life of the soul doesn't come from its activity, orany performance of its own. Those things are only the results and thesigns of life, not the causes of it. "

"Christ in us, the hope of glory, " said the other doctor gravely, "andChrist's glory was his usefulness and gift for helping others; Ibelieve there's less quackery in our profession than any other, but itis amazing how we bungle at it. I wonder how you will get on with yourlittle girl? If people didn't have theories of life of their own, orwouldn't go exactly the wrong way, it would be easier to offerassistance; but where one person takes a right direction of his ownaccord, there are twenty who wander to and fro. "

"I may as well confess to you, " he continued presently, "that I havehad a _protégé_ myself, but I don't look for much future joy inwatching the development of my plots. He has taken affairs into hisown hands, and I dare say it is much better for him, for if I hadcaught him young enough, I should have wished him to run the gauntletof all the professions, not to speak of the arts and sciences. He wasa clever young fellow; I saw him married the day before I leftEngland. His wife was the daughter of a curate, and he the younger sonof a younger son, and it was a love affair worth two or threestory-books. It came to be a question of money alone. I had known theboy the year before in Bombay and chanced to find him one day in theMarine Hospital at Nagasaki. We had been up into the interiortogether. He was recommended to me as a sort of secretary andassistant and knew more than I did about most things. When he caughtsight of me he cried like a baby, and I sat down and heard what thetrouble was, for I had let him go off with somebody who could give hima good salary, --a government man of position, and I thought poor Bobwould be put in the way of something better. Dear me, the climate waskilling him before my eyes, and I took passage for both of us on thenext day's steamer. When I got him home I turned my bank account intoa cheque and tucked it into his pocket, and told him to marry his wifeand settle down and be respectable and forget such a wandering oldfellow as I. "

The listener made a little sound of mingled admiration and disgust. 

"So you're the same piece of improvidence as ever! I wonder if youworked your passage over to Boston, or came as a stowaway? Well, I'mglad to give you house-room, and, to tell the truth, I was wonderinghow I should get on to-morrow without somebody to help me in a pieceof surgery. My neighbors are not very skillful, but they're good menevery one of them, unless it's old Jackson, who knows no more aboutthe practice of medicine than a turtle knows about the nearest fixedstar. Ferris! I don't wonder at your giving away the last cent you hadin the world, I only wonder that you had a cent to give. I hope theyoung man was grateful, that's all, only I'm not sure I like histaking it. "

"He thought I had enough more, I dare say. He said so much I couldn'tstand his nonsense. He'll use it better than I could, " said the guestbriefly. "As I said, I couldn't bring him up; in the first place Ihaven't the patience, and beside, it wouldn't be just to him. But youmust let me know how you get on with your project; I shall make you aday's visit once in six months. "

"That'll be good luck, " responded the cheerful host. "Now that I amgrowing old I find I wish for company oftener; just the right man, youknow, to come in for an hour or two late in the evening to have acigar, and not say a word if he doesn't feel like it. "

The two friends were very comfortable together; the successive cigarsburnt themselves out slowly, and the light of the great lamp wasbright in the room. Here and there a tinge of red shone out on thebacks of the books that stood close together in the high cases. Therewas an old engraving or two, and in one corner a solemn bronze figureof Dante, thin and angular, as if he had risen from his coffin to takea last look at this world. Marilla had often spoken of himdisrespectfully, and had suggested many other ornaments which might bebrought to take his place, but the doctor had never acted upon hersuggestions. From the corner of one book-case there hung a huge wasp'snest, and over the mantel-shelf, which was only wide enough for somecigar boxes and a little clock and a few vials of medicines, was arack where three or four riding whips and a curious silver bit andsome long-stemmed pipes found unmolested quarters; and in one cornerwere some walking sticks and a fishing rod or two which had a veryancient unused look. There was a portrait of Dr. Leslie's grandfatheropposite the fire-place; a good-humored looking old gentleman who hadbeen the most famous of the Oldfields ministers. The study-table waswide and long, but it was well covered with a miscellaneous array ofits owner's smaller possessions, and the quick-eyed visitor smiled ashe caught sight of Nan's new copy of Miss Edgeworth's "Parent'sAssistant" lying open and face downward on the top of an instrumentcase. 

Marilla did not hear the doctor and his guest tramp up to bed untilvery late at night, and though she had tried to keep awake she hadbeen obliged to take a nap first and then wake up again to get thebenefit of such an aggravating occasion. "I'm not going to fret myselftrying to make one of my baked omelets in the morning, " she assuredherself, "they'll keep breakfast waiting three quarters of an hour, and it would fall flat sure's the world, and the doctor's got to rideto all p'ints of the compass to-morrow, too. "

X

ACROSS THE STREET

It would be difficult to say why the village of Oldfields should havebeen placed in the least attractive part of the township, if one werenot somewhat familiar with the law of growth of country communities. The first settlers, being pious kindred of the Pilgrims, were mindfulof the necessity of a meeting-house, and the place for it was chosenwith reference to the convenience of most of the worshipers. Then theparson was given a parsonage and a tract of glebe land somewhere inthe vicinity of his pulpit, and since this was the centre of socialattraction, the blacksmith built his shop at the nearest cross-road. And when some enterprising citizen became possessed of an idea thatthere were traders enough toiling to and fro on the rough highways tothe nearest larger village to make it worth his while to be aninterceptor, the first step was taken toward a local centre ofcommerce, and the village was fairly begun. It had not yet reached aremarkable size, though there was a time-honored joke because anenthusiastic old woman had said once, when four or five houses and anew meeting-house were being built all in one summer, that sheexpected now that she might live to see Oldfields a seaport town. There had been a great excitement over the second meeting-house, towhich the conservative faction had strongly objected, but, after theradicals had once gained the day, other innovations passed withoutpublic challenge. The old First Parish Church was very white and heldaloft an imposing steeple, and strangers were always commiserated ifthey had to leave town without the opportunity of seeing its front bymoonlight. Behind this, and beyond a green which had been theplayground of many generations of boys and girls, was a long row ofhorse-sheds, where the farmers' horses enjoyed such part of theirSunday rest as was permitted them after bringing heavy loads of ruralparishioners to their public devotions. The Sunday church-going was byno means so carefully observed in these days as in former ones, whendisinclination was anything but a received excuse. In ParsonLeslie's--the doctor's grandfather's--day, it would have condemned aman or woman to the well-merited reproof of their acquaintances. Andindeed most parishioners felt deprived of a great pleasure when, aftera week of separation from society, of a routine of prosaic farm-work, they were prevented from seeing their friends parade into church, fromhearing the psalm-singing and the sermon, and listening to the newsafterward. It was like going to mass and going to the theatre and theopera, and making a round of short calls, and having an outing inone's own best clothes to see other people's, all rolled into one;beside which, there was (and is) a superstitious expectation of goodluck in the coming week if the religious obligations were carefullyfulfilled. So many of the old ideas of the efficacy of ecclesiasticismstill linger, most of them by no means unlawfully. The elder people ofNew England are as glad to have their clergyman visit them in theirlast days as if he granted them absolution and extreme unction. Theold traditions survive in our instincts, although our present opinionshave long since ticketed many thoughts and desires and customs as outof date and quite exploded. 

We go so far in our vigorous observance of the first commandment, andour fear of worshiping strange gods, that sometimes we are in dangerof forgetting that we must worship God himself. And worship issomething different from a certain sort of constant church-going, orfrom even trying to be conformers and to keep our own laws and ourneighbors'. 

Because an old-fashioned town like Oldfields grows so slowly and withsuch extreme deliberation, is the very reason it seems to have such adelightful completeness when it has entered fairly upon its maturity. It is possessed of kindred virtues to a winter pear, which may beunattractive during its preparatory stages, but which takes time togather from the ground and from the air a pleasant and rewardingindividuality and sweetness. The towns which are built in a hurry canbe left in a hurry without a bit of regret, and if it is the fate orfortune of the elder villages to find themselves the foundation uponwhich modern manufacturing communities rear their thinly built housesand workshops, and their quickly disintegrating communities of people, the weaknesses of these are more glaring and hopeless in the contrast. The hurry to make money and do much work, and the ambition to do goodwork, war with each other, but, as Longfellow has said, the lie is thehurrying second-hand of the clock, and the truth the slower hand thatwaits and marks the hour. The New England that built itself houses ahundred years ago was far less oppressed by competition and by otherquestions with which the enormous increase of population is worryingits younger citizens. And the overgrown Oldfields that increase now, street by street, were built then a single steady sound-timbered houseat a time, and all the neighbors watched them rise, and knew where theplanks were sawn, and where the chimney bricks were burnt. 

In these days when Anna Prince was young and had lately come to livein the doctor's square house, with the three peaked windows in theroof, and the tall box borders and lilac bushes in its neat frontyard, Oldfields was just beginning to wake from a fifty years'architectural sleep, and rub its eyes, and see what was thought abouta smart little house with a sharp gabled roof, and much scalloping ofits edges, which a new store-keeper had seen fit to build. There wasone long street which had plenty of room on either side for most ofthe houses, and where it divided, each side of the First ParishChurch, it became the East road and the West road, and the rest of thedwellings strayed off somewhat undecidedly toward the world beyond. There were a good many poplars in the front yards, though their formerproud ranks were broken in many places, so that surviving veteransstood on guard irregularly before the houses, where usually one or twomembers of the once busy households were also left alone. Many of thepeople who lived in the village had outlying land and were farmers ofit, but beside the doctor's there were some other households which theland supported indirectly, either through professions or because somekind ancestor had laid by enough money for his children andgrandchildren. The ministers were both excellent men; but Dr. Lesliewas the only man who looked far ahead or saw much or cared much fortrue success. In Titian's great Venetian picture of the Presentationof the Virgin, while the little maiden goes soberly up the steps ofthe temple, in the busy crowd beneath only one man is possessed by thethought that something wonderful is happening, and lifts his head, forgetting the buyers and sellers and gossipers, as his eyes followthe sacred sight. Life goes on everywhere like that fragment of it inthe picture, but while the man who knows more than his fellows can befound in every company, and sees the light which beckons him on to thehigher meanings and better gifts, his place in society is not alwayssuch a comfortable and honored one as Dr. Leslie's. What his friendswere apt to call his notions were not of such aggressive nature thathe was accused of outlawry, and he was apt to speak his minduncontradicted and undisturbed. He cared little for the friction andattrition, indeed for the inspiration, which one is sure to have wholives among many people, and which are so dear and so helpful to mostof us who fall into ruts if we are too much alone. He loved hisfriends and his books, though he understood both as few scholars can, and he cared little for social pleasure, though Oldfields was, likeall places of its size and dignity, an epitome of the world. One ortwo people of each class and rank are as good as fifty, and, to usethe saying of the doctor's friend, old Captain Finch: "Human nature isthe same the world over. "

Through the long years of his solitary life, and his busy days as acountry practitioner, he had become less and less inclined to takemuch part in what feeble efforts the rest of the townspeople made toentertain themselves. He was more apt to loiter along the street, stopping here and there to talk with his neighbors at their gates ortheir front-yard gardening, and not infrequently asked some one whostood in need of such friendliness to take a drive with him out intothe country. Nobody was grieved at remembering that he was arepository of many secrets; he was a friend who could be trustedalways, though he was one who had been by no means slow to anger orunwilling at times to administer rebuke. 

One Sunday afternoon, late in November, while the first snow-storm ofthe year was beginning, Dr. Leslie threw down a stout French medicalwork of high renown as if it had failed to fulfil its mission of beinginstructive first and interesting afterward. He rose from his chairand stood looking at the insulted volume as if he had a mind toapologize and try again, but kept his hands behind him after all. Itwas thinly dressed in fluttering paper covers, and was so thick and solightly bound that it had a tendency to divide its material substanceinto parts, like the seventhlies and eighthlies of an old-fashionedsermon. "Those fellows must be in league with the book-binders overhere, " grumbled the doctor. "I must send word to that man in New Yorkto have some sort of cover put on these things before they come down. "Then he lifted the book again and poised it on one hand, looking atits irregular edges, and reflecting at length that it would be in muchbetter condition if he had not given it a careless crushing in thecorner of his carriage the day before. It had been sunshiny, pleasantweather, and he had taken Nan for a long drive in the Saturdayhalf-holiday. He had decided, before starting, that she should managethe reins and he would think over one or two matters and read awhile; it had been a great convenience lately that Nan understood theresponsibility of a horse and carriage. He was finding her a more andmore useful little companion. However, his studies and reflections hadbeen postponed until some other time, for Nan had been very eager totalk about some of her lessons in which it seemed his duty to take aninterest. The child seemed stronger and better that autumn than he hadever known her, and her mind had suddenly fastened itself upon certainof her studies. She seemed very quick and very accurate, the doctorthought, and the two traits do not always associate themselves. 

He left the table and walked quickly to the west window, and, claspinghis hands behind him, stood looking out into the front yard and thestreet beyond. The ground was already white and he gave a little sigh, for winter weather is rarely a source of happiness to a doctor, although this member of the profession was not made altogethersorrowful by it. He sometimes keenly enjoyed a hard tramp of a mile ortwo when the roads were so blocked and the snow so blinding that heleft his horse in some sheltering barn on his way to an impatientsufferer. 

A little way down the street on the other side was a house much likehis own, with a row of tall hemlocks beside it, and a front fencehigher and more imposing than his, with great posts at the gateway, which held slender urns aloft with funereal solemnity. The doctor'seyesight was not far from perfect, and he looked earnestly at thewindows of one of the lower rooms and saw a familiar sight enough; hisneighbor Mrs. Graham's face in its accustomed quarter of the sash. Dr. Leslie half smiled as the thought struck him that she always sat soexactly in the same place that her white cap was to be seen throughthe same lower window-pane. "Most people would have moved their chairsabout until they wore holes in the floor, " he told himself, and thenremembered how many times he had gone to look over at his placidfriend, in her favorite afternoon post of observation. He was stronglyattached to her, and he reminded himself that she was growing old andthat he must try to see her oftener. He valued her companionship, morebecause he knew it was always ready for him, than because he alwaysavailed himself of it, but the sense of mutual dependence made themvery familiar to each other when they did meet and had time for a bitof quiet talk. 

Dr. Leslie suddenly turned; he had watched long enough to make surethat Mrs. Graham was alone; her head had not moved for many minutes;and at first he was going out of the front door, from some instinct hewould hardly have been willing to acknowledge, but he resolutelyturned and went out to the dining-room, to tell Marilla, after hisusual professional custom of giving notice of his whereabouts, that hewas going to Mrs. Graham's. A prompt inquiry came from the kitchen toknow if anything ailed her, to which the doctor returned a scornfulnegative and escaped through the side-door which gave entrance both tothe study and the dining-room. There was the usual service atMarilla's meeting-house, but she had not ventured out to attend it, giving the weather and a grumbling toothache for her reasons, thoughshe concealed the fact that the faithless town milliner haddisappointed her about finishing her winter bonnet. Marilla had begunlife with certain opinions which she had never changed, though timeand occasion had lessened the value of some of them. She liked tocount herself among those who are persecuted for conscience's sake, and was immensely fond of an argument and of having it known that shewas a dissenter from the First Parish Church. 

Mrs. Graham looked up with surprise from her book to see the doctorcoming in from the street, and, being helplessly lame, sat still, andput out her hand to greet him, with a very pleased look on her face. "Is there anything the matter with me?" she asked. "I have begun tothink you don't care to associate with well people; you don't usuallygo to church in the afternoon either, so you haven't taken refuge herebecause Mr. Talcot is ill. I must say that I missed hearing the bell;I shall lose myself altogether by the middle of the week. One musthave some landmarks. "

"Marilla complained yesterday that she was all at sea because herapple pies gave out a day too soon. She put the bread to rise thewrong night, and everything went wrong about the sweeping. It has beena week of great domestic calamity with us, but Nan confided to methis morning that there was some trouble with our bonnet into thebargain. I had forgotten it was time for that, " said the doctor, laughing. "We always have a season of great anxiety and disaster untilthe bonnet question is settled. I keep out of the way as much as Ican. Once I tried to be amusing, and said it was a pity the women didnot follow their grandmothers' fashion and make a good Leghornstructure last ten years and have no more trouble about it; but I wasassured that there wasn't a milliner now living who could set such anarrangement going. "

"Marilla's taste is not what one might call commonplace, " said Mrs. Graham, with a smile. "I think her summer head-covering was a littlethe most remarkable we have had yet. She dresses so decentlyotherwise, good soul!"

"It was astonishing, " said the doctor gravely, as he stood before thefire thinking how pleasant the room looked; almost as familiar as hisown study, with its heavy mahogany furniture and two old portraits andfew quaint ornaments. Mrs. Graham's geraniums were all flourishing andgreen and even in bloom, unlike most treasures of their kind. Therewas a modern element in the room also, --some pretty cushions and otherbits of embroidery; for Mrs. Graham had some grandchildren who werecity born and bred, and who made little offerings to her from time totime. On the table near her and between the front windows were manynew books and magazines, and though the two neighbors kept up aregular system of exchange, the doctor went nearer to see what mightbe found. There were a few minutes of silence, and he became consciousthat Mrs. Graham was making up her mind to say something, but when shespoke it was only to ask if there were anything serious the matterwith the minister. 

"Oh, no, " said the doctor, "he's a dyspeptic, nervous soul, tooconscientious! and when the time arrives for the sacrifice of pigs, and his whole admiring parish vie with each other to offer spare-ribson that shrine, it goes hard with the poor man. "

This was worth hearing, but Mrs. Graham was a little sorry that shehad let such a good chance go by for saying something that was nearher heart, so presently she added, "I am sorry that poor Marillahasn't a better gift at personal decoration. It seems a pity to lether disfigure that pretty child with such structures in the way ofhead-gear. I was so glad when that abominable great summer hat waslaid by for the season. "

"It was pretty bad, " the doctor agreed, in a provokingly indifferenttone, whereupon Mrs. Graham's interest was rekindled, and saying toherself that the poor man did not know the danger and foolishness ofsuch carelessness, she ventured another comment. 

"So much depends upon giving a child's taste the right direction. "

Dr. Leslie had taken up a magazine, and seemed to have found somethingthat pleased him, but he at once laid it down and glanced once ortwice at his hostess, as if he hoped for future instructions. "You seeI don't know anything about it, and Nan doesn't think of her clothesat all, so far as I can tell, and so poor Marilla has to do the bestshe can, " he said mildly. 

"Oh dear, yes, " answered Mrs. Graham, not without impatience. "But thechild's appearance is of some importance, and since a dollar or twodoesn't make any difference to you, she should be made to look likethe little lady that she is. Dear old Mrs. Thacher would turn in hergrave, for she certainly had a simple good taste that was better thanthis. Marilla became the easy prey of that foolish little woman whomakes bonnets on the East road. She has done more to deprave the ideasof our townspeople than one would believe, and they tell you with suchpleasure that she used to work in New York, as if that settled thequestion. It is a comfort to see old Sally Turner and Miss BetsyMilman go by in their decent dark silk bonnets that good Susan Martinmade for them. If I could go out to-morrow I believe I would ratherhunt for a very large velvet specimen of her work, which is somewhereupstairs in a big bandbox, than trust myself to these ignorant hands. It is a great misfortune to a town if it has been disappointed in itsmilliner. You are quite at her mercy, and, worse than all, liable toentire social misapprehension when you venture far from home. "

"So bonnets are not a question of free will and individualresponsibility?" asked the doctor soberly. "I must say that I havewondered sometimes if the women do not draw lots for them. But whatshall I do about the little girl? I am afraid I do her great injusticein trying to bring her up at all--it needs a woman's eye. "

"Your eye is just as good as anybody's, " responded Mrs. Grahamquickly, lest the doctor should drift into sad thought about his youngwife who had been so long dead and yet seemed always a nearer anddearer living presence to him. He was apt to say a word or two abouther and not answer the next question which was put to him, andpresently go silently away, --but to-day Mrs. Graham had importantbusiness in hand. 

"My daughter will be here next week, " she observed, presently, "andI'm sure that she will do any shopping for you in Boston with greatpleasure. We might forestall Marilla's plans. You could easily saywhen you go home that you have spoken to me about it. I think it wouldbe an excellent opportunity now, while the East Road establishment isin disfavor, " and when the doctor smiled and nodded, his friend andhostess settled herself comfortably in her chair, and felt that shehad gained a point. 

The sunshine itself could hardly have made that south parlor lookpleasanter. There was a log in the fire that was wet, and singinggently to itself, as if the sound of the summer rustlings andchirpings had somehow been stored away in its sap, and above it weresome pieces of drier white birch, which were sending up a yellowconflagration to keep the marauding snow-flakes from coming down thechimney. The geraniums looked brighter than by daylight, and seemed tohold their leaves toward the fireplace as if they were hands; and wereeven leaning out a little way themselves and lifting their blossomslike torches, as if they were a reserve force, a little garrison ofweaker soldiers who were also enemies of the cold. The gray twilightwas gathering out of doors; the trees looked naked and defenceless, asone saw them through the windows. Mrs. Graham tapped the arms of herchair gently with the tips of her fingers, and in a few minutes thedoctor closed the book he was looking over and announced that the dayswere growing very short. There was something singularly pleasant toboth the friends in their quiet Sunday afternoon companionship. 

"You used to pay me a Sunday visit every week, " said the old lady, pleased to find that her guest still lingered. "I don't know why, butI always have a hope that you will find time to run over for half anhour. I said to myself yesterday that a figure of me in wax would dojust as well as anything nowadays. I get up and dress myself, and makethe journey downstairs, and sit here at the window and have my dinnerand go through the same round day after day. If it weren't for acertain amount of expense it incurs, and occupation to other people, Ithink it would be of very little use. However, there are some peoplestill left who need me. Who is it says--Béranger perhaps--that to lovebenefits one's self, and to inspire love benefits others. I like tothink that the children and grandchildren have the old place to thinkof and come back to. I can see that it is a great bond between themall, and that is very good. I begin to feel like a very old woman; itwould be quite different, you know, if I were active and busy out ofdoors, and the bustling sort of person for which nature intended me. As it is, my mind is bustling enough for itself and its body both. "

"Well, " said the doctor, laughing a little, "what is it now?"

"The little girl, " answered Mrs. Graham, gravely. "I think it is quitetime she knew something of society. Don't tell yourself that I amnotional and frivolous; I know you have put a great deal of hope andfaith and affection into that child's career. It would disappoint youdreadfully if she were not interesting and harmonious to people ingeneral. It seems a familiar fact now that she should have come tolive with you, that she should be growing up in your house; but thefirst thing we know she will be a young lady instead of an amusingchild, and I think that you cannot help seeing that a great deal ofresponsibility belongs to you. She must be equipped and provisionedfor the voyage of life; she must have some resources. "

"But I think she has more than most children. "

"Yes, yes, I dare say. She is a bright little creature, but herbrightness begins to need new things to work upon. She does very wellat school now, I hear, and she minds very well and is much lesslawless than she used to be; but she is like a candle that refuses toburn, and is satisfied with admiring its candlestick. She is quite thequeen of the village children in one way, and in another she is quiteapart from them. I believe they envy her and look upon her as being ofanother sort, and yet count her out of half their plans and pleasures, and she runs home, not knowing whether to be pleased or hurt, andpulls down half a dozen of your books and sits proudly at the window. Her poor foolish mother had some gifts, but she went adrift very soon, and I should teach Nan her duty to her neighbor, and make her take inthe idea that she owes something to the world beside following out herown most satisfying plans. When I was a young woman it was a mostblessed discovery to me--though I was not any quicker at making itthan other people, perhaps, --that, beside being happy myself andvaluable to myself, I must fit myself into my place in society. We areseldom left to work alone, you know. No, not even you. I know too muchabout you to believe that. And it isn't enough that we are willing totalk about ourselves. We must learn to understand the subjects of theday that everybody talks about, and to make sure of a right to standupon the highest common ground wherever we are. Society is a sort ofclose corporation, and we must know its watchwords, and keep aninterest in its interests and affairs. I call a gentleman the man who, either by birth or by nature, belongs to the best society. There maybe bad gentlemen and good gentlemen, but one must feel instinctivelyat home with a certain class, representatives of which are likely tobe found everywhere. 

"And as for Nan, you will be disappointed if she does not understand alittle later your own way of looking at things. She mustn't grow upfull of whims and indifferences. I am too fond of you to look forwardcalmly to your being disappointed, and I do believe she will be a mostlovely, daughterly, friendly girl, who will keep you from being lonelyas you grow older, and be a great blessing in every way. Yet she has astrange history, and is in a strange position. I hope you will find agood school for her before very long. "

This was said after a moment's pause, and with considerablehesitation, and Mrs. Graham was grateful for the gathering darknesswhich sheltered her, and not a little surprised at the doctor'sanswer. 

"I have been thinking of that, " he said quickly, "but it is a greatpuzzle at present and I am thankful to say, I think it is quite safeto wait a year or two yet. You and I live so much apart from societythat we idealize it a good deal, though you are a stray-away bit ofit. We too seldom see the ideal gentleman or lady; we have to becontented with keeping the ideal in our minds, it seems to me, andsaying that this man is gentlemanly, and that woman ladylike. But I dobelieve in aiming at the best things, and turning this youngcreature's good instincts and uncommon powers into the proper channelsinstead of letting her become singular and self-centred because shedoes not know enough of people of her own sort. "

Mrs. Graham gave a little sound of approval that did not stand for anyword in particular: "I wonder if her father's people will ever makeany claim to her? She said something about her aunt one day; I thinkit was to hear whatever I might answer. It seemed to me that the poorchild had more pleasure in this unknown possession than was worthwhile; she appeared to think of her as a sort of fairy godmother whomight descend in Oldfields at any moment. "

"I did not know she thought of her at all, " announced the doctor, somewhat dismayed. "She never has talked about her aunt to me. I daresay that she has been entertained with the whole miserable story. "

"Oh, no, " answered Mrs. Graham, placidly. "I don't think that islikely, but it is quite reasonable that the child should be aware ofsome part of it by this time. The Dyer neighbors are far from beingreticent, good creatures, and they have little to remember thatapproaches the interest and excitement of that time. Do you knowanything about Miss Prince nowadays? I have not heard anything of herin a long while. "

"She still sends the yearly remittance, which I acknowledge and putinto the savings bank as I always have done. When Nan came to me Iadvised Miss Prince that I wished to assume all care of her and shouldbe glad if she would give me entire right to the child, but she tookno notice of the request. It really makes no practical difference. Only, " and the doctor became much embarrassed, "I must confess that Ihave a notion of letting her study medicine by and by if she shows afitness for it. "

"Dear, dear!" said the hostess, leaning forward so suddenly that sheknocked two or three books from the corner of the table, and feelingvery much excited. "John Leslie, I can't believe it! but my dear manused to say you thought twice for everybody else's once. What can havedecided you upon such a plan?"

"How happened the judge to say that?" asked the doctor, trying toscoff, but not a little pleased. "I'm sure I can't tell you, Mrs. Graham, only the idea has grown of itself in my mind, as all rightideas do, and everything that I can see seems to favor it. You maythink that it is too early to decide, but I see plainly that Nan isnot the sort of girl who will be likely to marry. When a man or womanhas that sort of self-dependence and unnatural self-reliance, it showsitself very early. I believe that it is a mistake for such a woman tomarry. Nan's feeling toward her boy-playmates is exactly the same astoward the girls she knows. You have only to look at the rest of thechildren together to see the difference; and if I make sure by and by, the law of her nature is that she must live alone and work alone, Ishall help her to keep it instead of break it, by providing somethingelse than the business of housekeeping and what is called a woman'snatural work, for her activity and capacity to spend itself upon. "

"But don't you think that a married life is happiest?" urged thelistener, a good deal shocked at such treason, yet somewhat persuadedby its truth. 

"Yes, " said Dr. Leslie, sadly. "Yes indeed, for most of us. We couldsay almost everything for that side, you and I; but a rule issometimes very cruel for its exceptions; and there is a life now andthen which is persuaded to put itself in irons by the force of customand circumstances, and from the lack of bringing reason to bear uponthe solving of the most important question of its existence. Of courseI don't feel sure yet that I am right about Nan, but looking at hersad inheritance from her mother, and her good inheritances from otherquarters, I cannot help feeling that she might be far more unhappythan to be made ready to take up my work here in Oldfields when I haveto lay it down. She will need a good anchor now and then. Only thissummer she had a bad day of it that made me feel at my wits' end. Shewas angry with one of the children at school, and afterward withMarilla because she scolded her for not keeping better account of thefamily times and seasons, and ran away in the afternoon, if youplease, and was not heard from until next morning at breakfast time. She went to the old place and wandered about the fields as she used, and crept into some shelter or other. I dare say that she climbed inat one of the windows of the house, though I could not make quite surewithout asking more questions than I thought worth while. She camestealing in early in the morning, looking a little pale and wild, butshe hasn't played such a prank since. I had a call to the next townand Marilla had evidently been awake all night. I got home early inthe morning myself, and was told that it was supposed I had picked upNan on the road and carried her with me, so the blame was all readyfor my shoulders unless we had both happened to see the young culpritstrolling in at the gate. I was glad she had punished herself, so thatthere was no need of my doing it, though I had a talk with her a dayor two afterward, when we were both in our right minds. She is a goodchild enough. "

"I dare say, " remarked Mrs. Graham drily, "but it seems to me thatneither of you took Marilla sufficiently into account. That must havebeen the evening that the poor soul went to nearly every house in townto ask if there were any stray company to tea. Some of us could nothelp wondering where the young person was finally discovered. She hasa great fancy for the society of Miss Betsy Milman and Sally Turner atpresent, and I quite sympathize with her. I often look over there andsee the end of their house with that one little square window in thevery peak of it spying up the street, and wish I could pay them avisit myself and hear a bit of their wise gossip. I quite envy Nan herchance of going in and being half forgotten as she sits in one oftheir short chairs listening and watching. They used to be greatfriends of her grandmother's. Oh no; if I could go to see them theywould insist upon my going into the best room, and we should all bequite uncomfortable. It is much better to sit here and think aboutthem and hear their flat-irons creak away over the little boys'jackets and trousers. "

"I must confess that I have my own clothes mended there to this day, "said the doctor. "Marilla says their mending is not what it used tobe, too, but it is quite good enough. As for that little window, Ihardly ever see it without remembering the day of your aunt Margaret'sfuneral. I was only a boy and not deeply afflicted, but of course Ihad my place in the procession and was counted among the mourners, andas we passed the Milman place I saw the old lady's face up there justfilling the four small panes. You know she was almost helpless, andhow she had got up into the little garret I cannot imagine, but shewas evidently determined to inspect the procession as it went down theburying-ground lane. It was a pity they did not cut the window beneathit in the lower room in her day. You know what an odd face she had; Isuppose it was distorted by disease and out of all shape it ever knew;but I can see it now, framed in with its cap border and the window asif there were no more of her. "

"She really was the most curious old creature; it more than accountsfor Mrs. Turner's and Miss Betsy's love for a piece of news, " saidMrs. Graham, who was much amused. "But I wish we understood the valueof these old news-loving people. So much local history and traditionmust die with every one of them if we take no pains to save it. I hopeyou are wise about getting hold of as much as possible. You doctorsought to be our historians, for you alone see the old country folksfamiliarly and can talk with them without restraint. "

"But we haven't time to do any writing, " the guest replied. "That iswhy our books amount to so little for the most part. The active men, who are really to be depended upon as practitioners, are kept so busythat they are too tired to use the separate gift for writing, even ifthey possess it, which many do not. And the literary doctors, themedical scholars, are a different class, who have not had theexperience which alone can make their advice reliable. I mean ofcourse in practical matters, not anatomy and physiology. But we haveto work our way and depend upon ourselves, we country doctors, to whoma consultation is more or less a downfall of pride. Whenever I hearthat an old doctor is dead I sigh to think what treasures of wisdomare lost instead of being added to the general fund. That was oneadvantage of putting the young men with the elder practitioners; manyvaluable suggestions were handed down in that way. "

"I am very well contented with my doctor, " said Mrs. Graham, withenthusiasm, at this first convenient opportunity. "And it is very wiseof you all to keep up our confidence in the face of such facts asthese. You can hardly have the heart to scold any more about themalpractice of patients when we believe in you so humbly and soignorantly. You are always safe though, for our consciences areusually smarting under the remembrance of some transgression whichmight have hindered you if it did not. Poor humanity, " she added in atone of compassion. "It has to grope its way through a deal ofdarkness. "

The doctor sighed, but he was uncommonly restful and comfortable inthe large arm-chair before the fender. It was quite dark out of doorsnow, and the fire gave all the light that was in the room. Presentlyhe roused himself a little to say "'Poor humanity, ' indeed! And Isuppose nobody sees the failures and miseries as members of myprofession do. There will be more and more sorrow and defeat as thepopulation increases and competition with it. It seems to me that toexcel in one's work becomes more and more a secondary motive; to do agreat deal and be well paid for it ranks first. One feels the injuryof such purposes even in Oldfields. "

"I cannot see that the world changes much. I often wish that I could, though surely not in this way, " said the lame woman from her seat bythe window, as the doctor rose to go away. "I find my days piteouslyalike, and you do not know what a pleasure this talk has been. Itsatisfies my hungry mind and gives me a great deal to think of; youwould not believe what an appetite I had. Oh, don't think I need anyexcuses, it is a great pleasure to see you drive in and out of thegate, and I like to see your lamp coming into the study, and to knowthat you are there and fond of me. But winter looked very long andlife very short before you came in this afternoon. I suppose you havehad enough of society for one day, so I shall not tell you what I meanto have for tea, but next Sunday night I shall expect you to come andbring your ward. Will you please ring, so that Martha will bring thelights? I should like to send Nan a nice letter to read which cameyesterday from my little grand-daughter in Rome. I shall be so gladwhen they are all at home again. She is about Nan's age, you know; Imust see to it that they make friends with each other. Don't put me ona dusty top shelf again and forget me for five or six weeks, " laughedthe hostess, as her guest protested and lingered a minute still beforehe opened the door. 

"You won't say anything of my confidences?" at which Mrs. Grahamshakes her head with satisfactory gravity, though if Doctor Leslie hadknown she was inwardly much amused, and assured herself directly thatshe hoped to hear no more of such plans; how could he tell that thegirl herself would agree to them, and whether Oldfields itself wouldfavor Nan as his own successor and its medical adviser? But JohnLeslie was a wise, far-seeing man, with a great power of holding tohis projects. He really must be kept to his promise of a weekly visit;she was of some use in the world after all, so long as theseunprotected neighbors were in it, and at any rate she had gained herpoint about the poor child's clothes. 

As for the doctor, he found the outer world much obscured by thestorm, and hoped that nobody would need his services that night, as hewent stumbling home though the damp and clogging snow underfoot. Hefelt a strange pleasure in the sight of a small, round head at thefront study window between the glass and the curtain, and Nan came toopen the door for him, while Marilla, whose unwonted Sunday afternoonleisure seemed to have been devoted to fragrant experiments incookery, called in pleased tones from the dining-room that she hadbegun to be afraid he was going to stay out to supper. It was somehowmuch more homelike than it used to be, the doctor told himself, as hepushed his feet into the slippers which had been waiting before thefire until they were in danger of being scorched. And before Marillahad announced with considerable ceremony that tea was upon the table, he had assured himself that it had been a very pleasant hour or two atMrs. Graham's, and it was the best thing in the world for both of themto see something of each other. For the little girl's sake he must tryto keep out of ruts, and must get hold of somebody outside his ownlittle world. 

But while he called himself an old fogy and other impolite names hewas conscious of a grave and sweet desire to make the child's life asuccessful one, --to bring out what was in her own mind and capacity, and so to wisely educate her, to give her a place to work in, andwisdom to work with, so far as he could; for he knew better than mostmen that it is the people who can do nothing who find nothing to do, and the secret of happiness in this world is not only to be useful, but to be forever elevating one's uses. Some one must be intelligentfor a child until it is ready to be intelligent for itself, and hetold himself with new decision that he must be wise in his laws forNan and make her keep them, else she never would be under the grace ofany of her own. 

XI

NEW OUTLOOKS

Dr. Leslie held too securely the affection of his townspeople to bein danger of losing their regard or respect, yet he would have beenhalf pained and half amused if he had known how foolishly his plans, which came in time to be his ward's also, were smiled and frowned uponin the Oldfields houses. Conformity is the inspiration of muchsecond-rate virtue. If we keep near a certain humble level of moralityand achievement, our neighbors are willing to let us slip through lifeunchallenged. Those who anticipate the opinions and decisions ofsociety must expect to be found guilty of many sins. 

There was not one of the young village people so well known as thedoctor's little girl, who drove with him day by day, and with whom hekept such delightful and trustful companionship. If she had been askedin later years what had decided her to study not only her profession, but any profession, it would have been hard for her to answer anythingbeside the truth that the belief in it had grown with herself. Therehad been many reasons why it seemed unnecessary. There was everyprospect that she would be rich enough to place her beyond thenecessity of self-support. She could have found occupation in simplykeeping the doctor's house and being a cordial hostess in that homeand a welcome guest in other people's. She was already welcomeeverywhere in Oldfields, but in spite of this, which would have seemedto fill the hearts and lives of other girls, it seemed to her like afragment of her life and duty; and when she had ordered herhousekeeping and her social duties, there was a restless readiness fora more absorbing duty and industry; and, as the years went by, all herdesire tended in one direction. The one thing she cared most to learnincreased its attraction continually, and though one might think thepurpose of her guardian had had its influence and moulded hercharacter by its persistence, the truth was that the wise doctorsimply followed as best he could the leadings of the young natureitself, and so the girl grew naturally year by year, reaching out halfunconsciously for what belonged to her life and growth; being taughtone thing more than all, that her duty must be followed eagerly andreverently in spite of the adverse reasons which tempted and sometimesbaffled her. As she grew older she was to understand more clearly thatindecision is but another name for cowardice and weakness; a habit ofmind that quickly increases its power of hindrance. She had the faultsthat belonged to her character, but these were the faults of haste andrashness rather than the more hopeless ones of obstinacy or a lack ofwill and purpose. 

The Sunday evening tea-drinking with Mrs. Graham, though somewhatformidable at first to our heroine, became quickly one of her dearestpleasures, and led to a fast friendship between the kind hostess andher young guest. Soon Nan gave herself eagerly to a plan of spendingtwo or three evenings a week across the way for the purpose of readingaloud, sometimes from books she did not understand, but oftener frombooks of her own choice. It was supposed to be wholly a kindness onthe young girl's part, and Mrs. Graham allowed the excuse of atemporary ailment of her own strong and useful eyes to serve untilneither she nor Nan had the least thought of giving up their pleasanthabit of reading together. And to this willing listener Nan came intime with her youthful dreams and visions of future prosperities inlife, so that presently Mrs. Graham knew many things which would havesurprised the doctor, who on the other hand was the keeper of equallyamazing and treasured confidences of another sort. It was a greatpleasure to both these friends, but most especially to the elderlywoman, that Nan seemed so entirely satisfied with their friendship. The busy doctor, who often had more than enough to think and worryabout, sometimes could spare but little time to Nan for days together, but her other companion was always waiting for her, and the smile wasalways ready by way of greeting when the child looked eagerly up atthe parlor window. What stories of past days and memories of youth andof long-dead friends belonging to the dear lady's own girlhood werepoured into Nan's delighted ears! She came in time to know Mrs. Graham's own immediate ancestors, and the various members of herfamily with their fates and fortunes, as if she were a contemporary, and was like another grandchild who was a neighbor and beloved crony, which real blessing none of the true grandchildren had ever been luckyenough to possess. She formed a welcome link with the outer world, didlittle Nan, and from being a cheerful errand-runner, came at last topaying friendly visits in the neighborhood to carry Mrs. Graham'smessages and assurances. And from all these daily suggestions ofcourtesy and of good taste and high breeding, and helpful fellowshipwith good books, and the characters in their stories which were oftenmore real and dear and treasured in her thoughts than her actualfellow townsfolk, Nan drew much pleasure and not a little wisdom; atany rate a direction for which she would all her life be thankful. Itwould have been surprising if her presence in the doctor's house hadnot after some time made changes in it, but there was no greatdifference outwardly except that she gathered some triflingpossessions which sometimes harmonized, and as often did not, with thehousehold gods of the doctor and Marilla. There was a shy sort ofintercourse between Nan and Mrs. Graham's grandchildren, but it wasnot very valuable to any of the young people at first, the countrychild being too old and full of experience to fellowship with theyoungest, and too unversed in the familiar machinery of their sociallife to feel much kinship with the eldest. 

It was during one of these early summer visits, and directly after atea-party which Marilla had proudly projected on Nan's account, thatDr. Leslie suddenly announced that he meant to go to Boston for a fewdays and should take Nan with him. This event had long been promised, but had seemed at length like the promise of happiness in a futureworld, reasonably certain, but a little vague and distant. It was amore important thing than anybody understood, for a dear and familiarchapter of life was ended when the expectant pair drove out of thevillage on their way to the far-off railway station, as another hadbeen closed when the door of the Thacher farm-house had been shut andpadlocked, and Nan had gone home one snowy night to live with thedoctor. The weather at any rate was different now, for it was earlyJune, the time when doctors can best give themselves a holiday; andthough Dr. Leslie assured himself that he had little wish to take thejourney, he felt it quite due to his ward that she should see a littlemore of the world, and happily due also to certain patients and hisbrother physicians that he should visit the instrument-makers' shops, and some bookstores; in fact there were a good many important errandsto which it was just as well to attend in person. But he watched Nan'swide-open, delighted eyes, and observed her lack of surprise atstrange sights, and her perfect readiness for the marvelous, withgreat amusement. He was touched and pleased because she cared most forwhat had concerned him; to be told where he lived and studied, and tosee the places he had known best, roused most enthusiasm. An afternoonin a corner of the reading-room at the Athenæum library, in which hehad spent delightful hours when he was a young man, seemed to pleasethe young girl more than anything else. As he sat beside the tablewhere he had gathered enough books and papers to last for many days, in his delight at taking up again his once familiar habit, Nan lookedon with sympathetic eyes, or watched the squirrels in the trees of thequiet Granary Burying Ground, which seemed to her like a bit ofcountry which the noisy city had caught and imprisoned. Now that shewas fairly out in the world she felt a new, strange interest in hermysterious aunt, for it was this hitherto unknown space outside theborders of Oldfields to which her father and his people belonged. Andas a charming old lady went by in a pretty carriage, the child's gazefollowed her wistfully as she and the doctor were walking along thestreet. With a sudden blaze of imagination she had wished thosepleasant eyes might have seen the likeness to her father, of which shehad been sometimes told, and that the carriage had been hurried back, so that the long estrangement might be ended. It was a strange thingthat, just afterward, Dr. Leslie had, with much dismay, caught sightof the true aunt; for Miss Anna Prince of Dunport had also seen fit tomake one of her rare visits to Boston. She looked dignified andstately, but a little severe, as she went down the side street awayfrom them. Nan's quick eyes had noticed already the difference betweenthe city people and the country folks, and would have even recognizeda certain provincialism in her father's sister. The doctor had onlyseen Miss Prince once many years before, but he had known her againwith instinctive certainty, and Nan did not guess, though she was mostgrateful for it, why he reached for her hand, and held it fast as theywalked together, just as he always used to do when she was a littlegirl. She was not yet fully grown, and she never suspected the suddenthrill of dread, and consciousness of the great battle of life whichshe must soon begin to fight, which all at once chilled the doctor'sheart. "It's a cold world, a cold world, " he had said to himself. "Only one thing will help her through safely, and that is herusefulness. She shall never be either a thief or a beggar of theworld's favor if I can have my wish. " And Nan, holding his hand withher warm, soft, childish one, looked up in his face, all unconsciousthat he thought with pity how unaware she was of the years to come, and of their difference to this sunshine holiday. "And yet I never wasso happy at her age as I am this summer, " the doctor told himself byway of cheer. 

They paid some visits together to Dr. Leslie's much-neglected friends, and it was interesting to see how, for the child's sake, he resumedhis place among these acquaintances to whom he had long been linkedeither personally in times past, or by family ties. He was sometimesreproached for his love of seclusion and cordially welcomed back tohis old relations, but as often found it impossible to restoreanything but a formal intercourse of a most temporary nature. Thepeople for whom he cared most, all seemed attracted to his young ward, and he noted this with pleasure, though he had not recognized the factthat he had been, for the moment, basely uncertain whether hisjudgment of her worth would be confirmed. He laughed at theinsinuation that he had made a hermit or an outlaw of himself; hewould have been still more amused to hear one of his old friends saythat this was the reason they had seen so little of him in late years, and that it was a shame that a man of his talent and many values tothe world should be hiding his light under the Oldfields bushel, andall for the sake of bringing up this child. As for Nan, she had littleto say, but kept her eyes and ears wide open, and behaved herselfdiscreetly. She had ceased to belong only to the village she had left;in these days she became a citizen of the world at large. Her horizonhad suddenly become larger, and she might have discovered more thanone range of mountains which must be crossed as the years led herforward steadily, one by one. 

There is nothing so interesting as to be able to watch the change andprogress of the mental and moral nature, provided it grows eagerlyand steadily. There must be periods of repose and hibernation like thewinter of a plant, and in its springtime the living soul will bothconsciously and unconsciously reach out for new strength and newlight. The leaves and flowers of action and achievement are only thesigns of the vitality that works within. 

XII

AGAINST THE WIND

During the next few years, while Nan was growing up, Oldfields itselfchanged less than many country towns of its size. Though some facesmight be missed or altered, Dr. Leslie's household seemed much thesame, and Mrs. Graham, a little thinner and older, but more patientand sweet and delightful than ever, sits at her parlor window andreads new books and old ones, and makes herself the centre of muchlove and happiness. She and the doctor have grown more and morefriendly, and they watch the young girl's development with greatpride: they look forward to her vacations more than they would care toconfess even to each other; and when she comes home eager and gay, shemakes both these dear friends feel young again. When Nan is not thereto keep him company, Dr. Leslie always drives, and has grown morecareful about the comfort of his carriages, though he tells himselfwith great pleasure that he is really much more youthful in hisfeelings than he was twenty years before, and does not hesitate to sayopenly that he should have been an old fogy by this time if it had notbeen for the blessing of young companionship. When Nan is pleased tocommand, he is always ready to take long rides and the two saddles arebrushed up, and they wonder why the bits are so tarnished, and sheholds his horse's bridle while he goes in to see his patients, and isready with merry talk or serious questions when he reappears. And onedark night she listens from her window to the demand of a messenger, and softly creeps down stairs and is ready to take her place by hisside, and drive him across the hills as if it were the best fun in theworld, with the frightened country-boy clattering behind on hisbare-backed steed. The moon rises late and they come home just beforedaybreak, and though the doctor tries to be stern as he says he cannothave such a piece of mischief happen again, he wonders how the girlknew that he had dreaded for once in his life the drive in the dark, and had felt a little less strong than usual. 

Marilla still reigns in noble state. She has some time ago accepted acolleague after a preliminary show of resentment, and Nan has littleby little infused a different spirit into the housekeeping; and whenher friends come to pay visits in the vacations they find the old homea very charming place, and fall quite in love with both the doctor andMrs. Graham before they go away. Marilla always kept the large eastparlor for a sacred shrine of society, to be visited chiefly byherself as guardian priestess; but Nan has made it a pleasanter roomthan anybody ever imagined possible, and uses it with a freedom whichappears to the old housekeeper to lack consideration and respect. Nanmakes the most of her vacations, while the neighbors are all glad tosee her come back, and some of them are much amused because in summershe still clings to her childish impatience at wearing any headcovering, and no matter how much Marilla admires the hat which isdecorously worn to church every Sunday morning, it is hardly seenagain, except by chance, during the week, and the brown hair is sureto be faded a little before the summer sunshine is past. Nan goesabout visiting when she feels inclined, and seems surprisinglyunchanged as she seats herself in one of the smoke-browned Dyerkitchens, and listens eagerly to whatever information is offered, oranswers cordially all sorts of questions, whether they concern her ownexperiences or the world's in general. She has never yet seen herfather's sister, though she still thinks of her, and sometimes with astrange longing for an evidence of kind feeling and kinship which hasnever been shown. This has been chief among the vague sorrows of hergirlhood. Yet once when her guardian had asked if she wished to makesome attempt at intercourse or conciliation, he had been answered, with a scorn and decision worthy of grandmother Thacher herself, thatit was for Miss Prince to make advances if she ever wished for eitherthe respect or affection of her niece. But the young girl has clungwith touching affection to the memory and association of herchildhood, and again and again sought in every season of the year theold playgrounds and familiar corners of the farm, which she has grownfonder of as the months go by. The inherited attachment of generationsseems to have been centred in her faithful heart. 

It must be confessed that the summer which followed the close of herschool-life was, for the most part, very unsatisfactory. Herschool-days had been more than usually pleasant and rewarding, inspite of the sorrows and disappointments and unsolvable puzzles whichare sure to trouble thoughtful girls of her age. But she had grown soused at last to living by rules and bells that she could not helpfeeling somewhat adrift without them. It had been so hard to putherself under restraint and discipline after her free life inOldfields that it was equally hard for a while to find herself atliberty; though, this being her natural state, she welcomed itheartily at first, and was very thankful to be at home. It did nottake long to discover that she had no longer the same desire for herchildish occupations and amusements; they were only incidental now andpertained to certain moods, and could not again be made the chiefpurposes of her life. She hardly knew what to do with herself, andsometimes wondered what would become of her, and why she was alive atall, as she longed for some sufficient motive of existence to catchher up into its whirlwind. She was filled with energy and a greatdesire for usefulness, but it was not with her, as with many of herfriends, that the natural instinct toward marriage, and the buildingand keeping of a sweet home-life, ruled all other plans andpossibilities. Her best wishes and hopes led her away from all this, and however tenderly she sympathized in other people's happiness, andrecognized its inevitableness, for herself she avoided unconsciouslyall approach or danger of it. She was trying to climb by the help ofsome other train of experiences to whatever satisfaction and successwere possible for her in this world. If she had been older and of adifferent nature, she might have been told that to climb up any otherway toward a shelter from the fear of worthlessness, and mistake, andreproach, would be to prove herself in most people's eyes a thief anda robber. But in these days she was not fit to reason much about herfate; she could only wait for the problems to make themselvesunderstood, and for the whole influence of her character and of thepreparatory years to shape and signify themselves into a simple chartand unmistakable command. And until the power was given to "see lifesteadily and see it whole, " she busied herself aimlessly with suchdetails as were evidently her duty, and sometimes following the rightroad and often wandering from it in willful impatience, she stumbledalong more or less unhappily. It seemed as if everybody had forgottenNan's gift and love for the great profession which was her childishdelight and ambition. To be sure she had studied anatomy andphysiology with eager devotion in the meagre text-books at school, though the other girls had grumbled angrily at the task. Long ago, when Nan had confided to her dearest cronies that she meant to be adoctor, they were hardly surprised that she should determine upon acareer which they would have rejected for themselves. She was not oftheir mind, and they believed her capable of doing anything sheundertook. Yet to most of them the possible and even probable marriagewhich was waiting somewhere in the future seemed to hover like acloudy barrier over the realization of any such unnatural plans. 

They assured themselves that their school-mate showed no sign of beingthe sort of girl who tried to be mannish and to forsake her naturalvocation for a profession. She did not look strong-minded; besides shehad no need to work for her living, this ward of a rich man, who wasaltogether the most brilliant and beautiful girl in school. Yeteverybody knew that she had a strange tenacity of purpose, and therewas a lack of pretension, and a simplicity that scorned the deceits ofschool-girl existence. Everybody knew too that she was not acommonplace girl, and her younger friends made her the heroine oftheir fondest anticipations and dreams. But after all, it seemed as ifeverybody, even the girl herself, had lost sight of the once familiaridea. It was a natural thing enough that she should have become expertin rendering various minor services to the patients in Dr. Leslie'sabsence, and sometimes assist him when no other person was at hand. Marilla became insensible at the sight of the least dangerous ofwounds, and could not be trusted to suggest the most familiarhousehold remedy, after all her years of association with thepractice of medicine, and it was considered lucky that Nan had someaptness for such services. In her childhood she had been nicknamed"the little doctor, " by the household and even a few familiar friends, but this was apparently outgrown, though her guardian had more thanonce announced in sudden outbursts of enthusiasm that she already knewmore than most of the people who tried to practice medicine. They oncein a while talked about some suggestion or discovery which wasattracting Dr. Leslie's attention, but the girl seemed hardly to havegained much interest even for this, and became a little shy of beingfound with one of the medical books in her hand, as she tried to fancyherself in sympathy with the conventional world of school and of theevery-day ideas of society. And yet her inward sympathy with adoctor's and a surgeon's work grew stronger and stronger, though shedismissed reluctantly the possibility of following her bent in anyformal way, since, after all, her world had seemed to forbid it. Asthe time drew near for her school-days to be ended, she tried tobelieve that she should be satisfied with her Oldfields life. She wasfond of reading, and she had never lacked employment, besides, shewished to prove herself an intelligent companion to Dr. Leslie, whomshe loved more and more dearly as the years went by. There had been along time of reserve between her childish freedom of intercourse withhim and the last year or two when they had begun to speak freely toeach other as friend to friend. It was a constant surprise andpleasure to the doctor when he discovered that his former playthingwas growing into a charming companion who often looked upon life fromthe same standpoint as himself, and who had her own outlooks upon theworld, from whence she was able to give him by no means worthlessintelligence; and after the school-days were over he was not amazed tofind how restless and dissatisfied the girl was; how impossible it wasfor her to content herself with following the round of householdduties which were supposed to content young women of her age andstation. Even if she tried to pay visits or receive them from herfriends, or to go on with her studies, or to review some text-book ofwhich she had been fond, there was no motive for it; it all led tonothing; it began for no reason and ended in no use, as she exclaimedone day most dramatically. Poor Nan hurried through her housebusiness, or neglected it, as the case might be, greatly to Manila'ssurprise and scorn, for the girl had always proved herself diligentand interested in the home affairs. More and more she puzzled herselfand everybody about her, and as the days went by she spent them out ofdoors at the old farm, or on the river, or in taking long rides on ayoung horse; a bargain the doctor had somewhat repented before hefound that Nan was helped through some of her troubled hours by thecreature's wildness and fleetness. It was very plain that his ward wasadrift, and at first the doctor suggested farther study of Latin orchemistry, but afterward philosophically resigned himself to patience, feeling certain that some indication of the right course would not belong withheld, and that a wind from the right quarter would presentlyfill the flapping sails of this idle young craft and send it on itsway. 

One afternoon Nan went hurrying out of the house just after dinner, and the doctor saw that her face was unusually troubled. He had askedher if she would like to drive with him to a farm just beyond theDyers' later in the day, but for a wonder she had refused. Dr. Lesliegave a little sigh as he left the table, and presently watched her godown the street as he stood by the window. It would be very sad if therestlessness and discord of her poor mother should begin to showthemselves again; he could not bear to think of such an inheritance. 

But Nan thought little of anybody else's discomforts as she hurriedalong the road; she only wished to get to the beloved farm, and to befree there from questions, and from the evidences of her unfitness forthe simple duties which life seemed offering her with heartless irony. She was not good for anything after all, it appeared, and she had beencheating herself. This was no life at all, this fretful idleness; ifonly she had been trained as boys are, to the work of their lives! Shehad hoped that Dr. Leslie would help her; he used to talk long agoabout her studying medicine, but he must have forgotten that, and thegirl savagely rebuked society in general for her unhappiness. Ofcourse she could keep the house, but it was kept already; any one withfive senses and good health like hers could prove herself able to doany of the ordinary work of existence. For her part it was not enoughto be waited upon and made comfortable, she wanted something more, tobe really of use in the world, and to do work which the world needed. 

Where the main road turned eastward up the hills, a footpath, alreadyfamiliar to the reader, shortened the distance to the farm, and theyoung girl quickly crossed the rude stile and disappeared among theunderbrush, walking bareheaded with the swift steps of a creaturewhose home was in some such place as this. Often the dry twigs, fallenfrom the gray lower branches of the pines, crackled and snapped underher feet, or the bushes rustled backed again to their places after shepushed against them in passing; she hurried faster and faster, goingfirst through the dense woods and then out into the sunlight. Once ortwice in the open ground she stopped and knelt quickly on the softturf or moss to look at a little plant, while the birds which shestartled came back to their places directly, as if they had been quickto feel that this was a friend and not an enemy, though disguised inhuman shape. At last Nan reached the moss-grown fence of the farm andleaped over it, and fairly ran to the river-shore, where she wentstraight to one of the low-growing cedars, and threw herself upon itas if it were a couch. While she sat there, breathing fast and glowingwith bright color, the river sent a fresh breeze by way of messenger, and the old cedar held its many branches above her and around her mostcomfortably, and sheltered her as it had done many times before. Itneed not have envied other trees the satisfaction of climbing straightupward in a single aspiration of growth. 

And presently Nan told herself that there was nothing like a good run. She looked to and fro along the river, and listened to the sheep-bellwhich tinkled lazily in the pasture behind her. She looked over hershoulder to see if a favorite young birch tree had suffered no harm, for it grew close by the straight-edged path in which the cattle camedown to drink. So she rested in the old playground, unconscious thatshe had been following her mother's footsteps, or that fate had againbrought her here for a great decision. Years before, the miserable, suffering woman, who had wearily come to this place to end theirlives, had turned away that the child might make her own choicebetween the good and evil things of life. Though Nan told herself thatshe must make it plain how she could spend her time in Oldfields togood purpose and be of most use at home, and must get a new strengthfor these duties, a decision suddenly presented itself to her with aforce of reason and necessity the old dream of it had never shown. Whyshould it not be a reality that she studied medicine?

The thought entirely possessed her, and the glow of excitement andenthusiasm made her spring from the cedar boughs and laugh aloud. Herwhole heart went out to this work, and she wondered why she had everlost sight of it. She was sure this was the way in which she couldfind most happiness. God had directed her at last, and though theopening of her sealed orders had been long delayed, the suspense hadonly made her surer that she must hold fast this unspeakably greatmotive: something to work for with all her might as long as she lived. People might laugh or object. Nothing should turn her aside, and a newaffection for kind and patient Dr. Leslie filled her mind. How eagerhe had been to help her in all her projects so far, and yet it wasasking a great deal that he should favor this; he had never seemed toshow any suspicion that she would not live on quietly at home likeother girls; but while Nan told herself that she would give up anyplan, even this, if he could convince her that it would be wrong, still her former existence seemed like a fog and uncertainty of death, from which she had turned away, this time of her own accord, toward agreat light of satisfaction and certain safety and helpfulness. Thedoctor would know how to help her; if she only could study with himthat would be enough; and away she went, hurrying down the river-shoreas if she were filled with a new life and happiness. 

She startled a brown rabbit from under a bush, and made him a gravesalutation when he stopped and lifted his head to look at her from aconvenient distance. Once she would have stopped and seated herself onthe grass to amaze him with courteous attempts at friendliness, butnow she only laughed again, and went quickly down the steep bankthrough the junipers and then hurried along the pebbly margin of thestream toward the village. She smiled to see lying side by side aflint arrowhead and a water-logged bobbin that had floated down fromone of the mills, and gave one a toss over the water, while she putthe other in her pocket. Her thoughts were busy enough, and thoughsome reasons against the carrying out of her plan ventured to assertthemselves, they had no hope of carrying the day, being in piteousminority, though she considered them one by one. By and by she cameinto the path again, and as she reached the stile she was at firstglad and then sorry to see the doctor coming along the high road fromthe Donnell farm. She was a little dismayed at herself because she hada sudden disinclination to tell this good friend her secret. 

But Dr. Leslie greeted her most cheerfully, giving her the reins whenshe had climbed into the wagon, and they talked of the weather and ofthe next day's plans as they drove home together. The girl felt asense of guilt and a shameful lack of courage, but she was needlesslyafraid that her happiness might be spoiled by a word from thatquarter. 

That very evening it was raining outside, and the doctor and Nan weresitting in the library opposite each other at the study-table, and asthey answered some letters in order to be ready for the early morningpost, they stole a look at each other now and then. The doctor laiddown his pen first, and presently, as Nan with a little sigh threwhers into the tray beside it, he reached forward to where there wasone of the few uncovered spaces of the dark wood of the table and drewhis finger across it. They both saw the shining surface much moreclearly, and as the dusty finger was held up and examined carefully byits owner, the girl tried to laugh, and then found her voice tremblingas she said: "I believe I haven't forgotten to put the table in orderbefore. I have tried to take care of the study at any rate. "

"Nan dear, it isn't the least matter in the world!" said Dr. Leslie. "I think we are a little chilly here this damp night; suppose youlight the fire? At any rate it will clear away all those envelopes andnewspaper wrappers, " and he turned his arm-chair so that it faced thefireplace, and watched the young girl as she moved about the room. Shelifted one of the large sticks and stood it on one end at the side ofthe hearth, and the doctor noticed that she did it less easily thanusual and without the old strength and alertness. He had sprung up tohelp her just too late, but she had indignantly refused any assistancewith a half pettishness that was not a common mood with her. 

"I don't see why Jane or Marilla, or whoever it was, put that heavylog on at this time of the year, " said Dr. Leslie, as if it were amatter of solemn consequence. By this time he had lighted a freshcigar, and Nan had brought her little wooden chair from some corner ofthe room where it had always lived since it came with her from thefarm. It was a dear old-fashioned little thing, but quite too smallfor its owner, who had grown up tall and straight, but who had felt asudden longing to be a child again, as she quietly took her placebefore the fire. 

"That log?" she said, "I wonder if you will never learn that we mustnot burn it? I saw Marilla myself when she climbed the highestwood-pile at the farther end of the wood-house for it. I suppose allthe time I have been away you have been remorselessly burning up theshow logs. I don't wonder at her telling me this very morning that shewas born to suffer, and suffer she supposed she must. We never used tobe allowed to put papers in the fireplace, but you have gained ever somany liberties. I wonder if Marilla really thinks she has had a hardlife?" the girl said, in a different tone. 

"I wonder if you think yours is hard too?" asked the doctor. 

And Nan did not know at first what to say. The bright light of theburning papers and the pine-cone kindlings suddenly faded out and thestudy seemed dark and strange by contrast; but the doctor did notspeak either; he only bent towards her presently, and put his hand onthe top of the girl's head and stroked the soft hair once or twice, and then gently turned it until he could see Nan's face. 

Her eyes met his frankly as ever, but they were full of tears. "Yes, "she said; "I wish you would talk to me. I wish you would give me agreat scolding. I never needed it so much in my life. I meant to comehome and be very good, and do everything I could to make you happy, but it all grows worse every day. I thought at first I was tired withthe last days of school, but it is something more than that. I don'twish in the least that I were back at school, but I can't understandanything; there is something in me that wants to be busy, and can'tfind anything to do. I don't mean to be discontented; I don't want tobe anywhere else in the world. "

"There is enough to do, " answered the doctor, as placidly as possible, for this was almost the first time he had noticed distinctly themother's nature in her daughter; a restless, impatient, miserable sortof longing for The Great Something Else, as Dr. Ferris had once calledit. "Don't fret yourself, Nan, yours is a short-lived sorrow; for ifyou have any conscience at all about doing your work you will be sureenough to find it. "

"I think I have found it at last, but I don't know whether any oneelse will agree with me, " half whispered poor Nan; while the doctor, in spite of himself, of his age, and experience, and sympathy, andself-control, could not resist a smile. "I hate to talk about myselfor to be sentimental, but I want to throw my whole love and life intowhatever there is waiting for me to do, and--I began to be afraid Ihad missed it somehow. Once I thought I should like to be a teacher, and come back here when I was through school and look after thevillage children. I had such splendid ideas about that, but they allfaded out. I went into the school-house one day, and I thought I wouldrather die than be shut up there from one week's end to another. "

"No, " said Dr. Leslie, with grave composure. "No, I don't feel surethat you would do well to make a teacher of yourself. "

"I wish that I had known when school was over that I must take care ofmyself, as one or two of the girls meant to do, and sometimes it seemsas if I ought, " said Nan, after a silence of a few minutes, and thistime it was very hard to speak. "You have been so kind, and have doneso much for me; I supposed at first there was money enough of my own, but I know now. "

"Dear child!" the doctor exclaimed, "you will never know, unless youare left alone as I was, what a blessing it is to have somebody totake care of and to love; I have put you in the place of my own littlechild, and have watched you grow up here, with more thankfulness everyyear. Don't ever say another word to me about the money part of it. What had I to spend money for? And now I hear you say all thesedespairing things; but I am an old man, and I take them for what theyare worth. You have a few hard months before you, perhaps, but beforeyou know it they will be over with. Don't worry yourself; look afterMarilla a little, and that new hand-maid, and drive about with me. To-morrow I must be on the road all day, and, to tell the truth, Imust think over one or two of my cases before I go to bed. Won't youhand me my old prescription book? I was trying to remember somethingas I came home. "

Nan, half-comforted, went to find the book, while Dr. Leslie, puffinghis cigar-smoke very fast, looked up through the cloud abstractedly ata new ornament which had been placed above the mantel shelf since wefirst knew the room. Old Captain Finch had solaced his weary andpainful last years by making a beautiful little model of a ship, andhad left it in his will to the doctor. There never was a more touchinggift, this present owner often thought, and he had put it in its placewith reverent hands. A comparison of the two lives came stealing intohis mind, and he held the worn prescription-book a minute before heopened it. The poor old captain waiting to be released, stranded onthe inhospitable shore of this world, and eager Nan, who wassorrowfully longing for the world's war to begin. "Two idle heroes, "thought Dr. Leslie, "and I neither wished to give one his dischargenor the other her commission;" but he said aloud, "Nan, we will take asix o'clock start in the morning, and go down through the sandy plainsbefore the heat begins. I am afraid it will be one of the worst of thedog-days. "

"Yes, " answered Nan eagerly, and then she came close to the doctor, and looked at him a moment before she spoke, while her face shone withdelight. "I am going to be a doctor, too! I have thought it would bethe best thing in the world ever since I can remember. The littleprescription-book was the match that lit the fire! but I have beenwishing to tell you all the evening. "

"We must ask Marilla, " the doctor began to say, and tried to add, "What _will_ she think?" but Nan hardly heard him, and did not laughat his jokes. For she saw by his face that there was no need ofteasing. And she assured herself that if he thought it was only afreak of which she would soon tire, she was quite willing to be put tothe proof. 

Next morning, for a wonder, Nan waked early, even before the birds hadquite done singing, and it seemed a little strange that the weathershould be clear and bright, and almost like June, since she was a gooddeal troubled. 

She felt at first as if there were some unwelcome duty in her day'swork, and then remembered the early drive with great pleasure, but thenext minute the great meaning and responsibility of the decision shehad announced the evening before burst upon her mind, and a flood ofreasons assailed her why she should not keep to so uncommon a purpose. It seemed to her as if the first volume of life was ended, and as ifit had been deceitfully easy, since she had been led straight-forwardto this point. It amazed her to find the certainty take possession ofher mind that her vocation had been made ready for her from thebeginning. She had the feeling of a reformer, a radical, and even of apolitical agitator, as she tried to face her stormy future in thatsummer morning loneliness. But by the time she had finished her earlybreakfast, and was driving out of the gate with the doctor, the dayseemed so much like other days that her trouble of mind almostdisappeared. Though she had known instinctively that all the earlypart of her life had favored this daring project, and the next fewyears would hinder it if they could, still there was something withinher stronger than any doubts that could possibly assail her. Andinstead of finding everything changed, as one always expects to dowhen a great change has happened to one's self, the road was sofamiliar, and the condition of the outer world so harmonious, that shehardly understood that she had opened a gate and shut it behind her, between that day and its yesterday. She held the reins, and the doctorwas apparently in a most commonplace frame of mind. She wished hewould say something about their talk of the night before, but he didnot. She seemed very old to herself, older than she ever would seemagain, perhaps, but the doctor had apparently relapsed into their oldrelations as guardian and child. Perhaps he thought she would forgether decision, and did not know how much it meant to her. He was quiteprovoking. He hurried the horse himself as they went up a somewhatsteep ascent, and as Nan touched the not very fleet steed with thewhip on the next level bit of road, she was reminded that it was avery hot morning and that they had a great way to drive. When sheasked what was the matter with the patient they were on their way tosee, she was answered abruptly that he suffered from a complication ofdisorders, which was the more aggravating because Nan had heard thisanswer laughed at as being much used by old Dr. Jackson, who wasusually unwilling or unable to commit himself to a definite opinion. Nan fancied herself at that minute already a member of the profession, and did not like to be joked with in such a fashion, but she tried tobe amused, which generosity was appreciated by her companion betterthan she knew. 

Dr. Leslie was not much of a singer, but he presently lifted whatlittle voice he had, and began to favor Nan with a not very successfulrendering of "Bonny Doon. " Every minute seemed more critical to thegirl beside him, and she thought of several good ways to enter upon adiscussion of her great subject, but with unusual restraint andreserve let the moments and the miles go by until the doctor hadquickly stepped down from the carriage and disappeared within hispatient's door. Nan's old custom of following him had been neglectedfor some time, since she had found that the appearance of a tall youngwoman had quite a different effect upon a household from that of alittle child. She had formed the habit of carrying a book with her onthe long drives, though she often left it untouched while she walkedup and down the country roads, or even ventured upon excursions as farafield as she dared, while the doctor made his visit, which was apt tobe a long one in the lonely country houses. This morning she hadpossessed herself of a square, thin volume which gave lists and platesof the nerve system of the human body. The doctor had nearly laughedaloud when he caught sight of it, and when Nan opened it with decisionand gravity and read the first page slowly, she was conscious of alack of interest in her subject. She had lost the great enthusiasm ofthe night before, and felt like the little heap of ashes which such aburning and heroic self might well have left. 

Presently she went strolling down the road, gathering some largeleaves on her way, and stopped at the brook, where she pulled up somebits of a strange water-weed, and made them into a damp, round bundlewith the leaves and a bit of string. This was a rare plant which theyhad both noticed the day before, and they had taken some specimensthen, Nan being at this time an ardent botanist, but these hadwithered and been lost, also, on the way home. 

Dr. Leslie was in even less of a hurry than usual, and when he cameout he looked very much pleased. "I never was more thankful in mylife, " he said eagerly, as soon as he was within convenient distance. "That poor fellow was at death's door yesterday, and when I saw hiswife and little children, and thought his life was all that stoodbetween them and miserable destitution, it seemed to me that I _must_save it! This morning he is as bright as a dollar, but I have beendreading to go into that house ever since I left it yesterday noon. They didn't in the least know how narrow a chance he had. And it isn'tthe first time I have been chief mourner. Poor souls! they don't dreadtheir troubles half so much as I do. He will have a good little farmhere in another year or two, it only needs draining to be excellentland, and he knows that. " The doctor turned and looked back over thefew acres with great pleasure. "Now we'll go and see about old Mrs. Willet, though I don't believe there's any great need of it. Shebelongs to one of two very bad classes of patients. It makes me soangry to hear her cough twice as much as need be. In your practice, "he continued soberly, "you must remember that there is danger ofgiving too strong doses to such a sufferer, and too light ones to thefriends who insist there is nothing the matter with them. I wouldn'tgive much for a doctor who can't see for himself in most cases, butnot always, --not always. "

The doctor was in such a hospitable frame of mind that nobody couldhave helped telling him anything, and happily he made an excellentintroduction for Nan's secret by inquiring how she had got on with herstudies, but she directed his attention to the wet plants in thebottom of the carriage, which were complimented before she said, aminute afterward, "Oh, I wonder if I shall make a mistake? I wasafraid you would laugh at me, and think it was all nonsense. "

"Dear me, no, " replied the doctor. "You will be the successor of Mrs. Martin Dyer, and the admiration of the neighborhood;" but changing histone quickly, he said: "I am going to teach you all I can, just aslong as you have any wish to learn. It has not done you a bit of harmto know something about medicine, and I believe in your studying itmore than you do yourself. I have always thought about it. But you arevery young; there's plenty of time, and I don't mean to be hurried;you must remember that, --though I see your fitness and peculiaradaptability a great deal better than you can these twenty years yet. You will be growing happier these next few years at any rate, howeverimpossible life has seemed to you lately. "

"I suppose there will be a great many obstacles, " reflected Nan, withan absence of her usual spirit. 

"Obstacles! Yes, " answered Dr. Leslie, vigorously. "Of course therewill be; it is climbing a long hill to try to study medicine or tostudy anything else. And if you are going to fear obstacles you willhave a poor chance at success. There are just as many reasons as youwill stop to count up why you should not do your plain duty, but ifyou are going to make anything of yourself you must go straight ahead, taking it for granted that there will be opposition enough, but doingwhat is right all the same. I suppose I have repeated to you fiftytimes what old Friend Meadows told me years ago; he was a greatsuccess at money-making, and once I asked him to give me some adviceabout a piece of property. 'Friend Leslie, ' says he, 'thy own opinionis the best for thee; if thee asks ten people what to do, they willtell thee ten things, and then thee doesn't know as much as when theeset out, '" and Dr. Leslie, growing very much in earnest, reachedforward for the whip. "I want you to be a good woman, and I want youto be all the use you can, " he said. "It seems to me like stealing, for men and women to live in the world and do nothing to make itbetter. You have thought a great deal about this, and so have I, andnow we will do the best we can at making a good doctor of you. I don'tcare whether people think it is a proper vocation for women or not. Itseems to me that it is more than proper for you, and God has given youa fitness for it which it is a shame to waste. And if you everhesitate and regret what you have said, you won't have done yourselfany harm by learning how to take care of your own health and otherpeople's. "

"But I shall never regret it, " said Nan stoutly. "I don't believe Ishould ever be fit for anything else, and you know as well as I that Imust have something to do. I used to wish over and over again that Iwas a boy, when I was a little thing down at the farm, and the onlyreason I had in the world was that I could be a doctor, like you. "

"Better than that, I hope, " said Dr. Leslie. "But you mustn't think itwill be a short piece of work; it will take more patience than you areready to give just now, and we will go on quietly and let it grow bythe way, like your water-weed here. If you don't drive a littlefaster, Sister Willet may be gathered before we get to her;" and thisbeing a somewhat unwise and hysterical patient, whose recovery was notin the least despaired of, Dr. Leslie and his young companion wereheartlessly merry over her case. 

The doctor had been unprepared for such an episode; outwardly, lifehad seemed to flow so easily from one set of circumstances to thenext, and the changes had been so gradual and so natural. He hadlooked forward with such certainty to Nan's future, that it seemedstrange that the formal acceptance of such an inevitable idea as herstudying medicine should have troubled her so much. 

Separated as he was from the groups of men and women who areresponsible for what we call the opinion of society, and independenthimself of any fettering conventionalities, he had grown careless ofwhat anybody might say. He only hoped, since his ward had found herproper work, that she would hold to it, and of this he had littledoubt. The girl herself quickly lost sight of the fancied difficultyof making the great decision, and, as is usually the case, saw all thefirst objections and hindrances fade away into a dim distance, andgrow less and less noticeable. And more than that, it seemed to her asif she had taken every step of her life straight toward this choice ofa profession. So many things she had never understood before, nowbecame perfectly clear and evident proofs that, outside her ownpreferences and choices, a wise purpose had been at work with her andfor her. So it all appeared more natural every day, and while she knewthat the excitement and formality of the first very uncomfortable dayor two had proved her freedom of choice, it seemed the more impossiblethat she should have shirked this great commission and trust for whichnature had fitted her. 

XIII

A STRAIGHT COURSE

The next year or two was spent in quiet life at home. It was madeevident that, beside her inclination and natural fitness for herchosen work, our student was also developing the other most importantrequisite, a capacity for hard study and patient continuance. Therehad been as little said as possible about the plan, but it was notlong before the propriety of it became a favorite subject ofdiscussion. It is quite unnecessary, perhaps, to state that everybodyhad his or her own opinion of the wisdom of such a course, and bothDr. Leslie and his ward suffered much reproach and questioning, as thecomments ranged from indignation to amusement. But it was as true ofNan's calling, as of all others, that it would be her own failure tomake it respected from which any just contempt might come, and she hadthrown herself into her chosen career with such zeal, and pride, andaffectionate desire to please her teacher, that the small public whohad at first jeered or condemned her came at last to accepting thething as inevitable and a matter of course, even if they did notactually approve. There was such a vigorous determination in the mindsof the doctor and his pupil that Nan should not only be a doctor but agood one, that anything less than a decided fitness for the professionwould have doomed them both to disappointment, even with suchunwearied effort and painstaking. In the earlier years of his practiceDr. Leslie had been much sought as an instructor, but he had longsince begun to deny the young men who had wished to be his students, though hardly one had ever gone from the neighborhood of Oldfields whodid not owe much to him for his wise suggestions and practical help. 

He patiently taught this eager young scholar day by day, and gave her, as fast as he could, the benefit of the wisdom which he had gainedthrough faithful devotion to his business and the persistent study ofmany years. Nan followed step by step, and, while becoming moreconscious of her own ignorance and of the uncertainties and the lawsof the practice of medicine with every week's study, knew better andbetter that it is resource, and bravery, and being able to think forone's self, that make a physician worth anything. There must be aninstinct that recognizes a disease and suggests its remedy, as much asan instinct that finds the right notes and harmonies for a composer ofmusic, or the colors for a true artist's picture, or the results offigures for a mathematician. Men and women may learn these callingsfrom others; may practice all the combinations until they can carrythem through with a greater or less degree of unconsciousness of brainand fingers; but there is something needed beside even drill andexperience; every student of medicine should be fitted by nature witha power of insight, a gift for his business, for knowing what is theright thing to do, and the right time and way to do it; must have thisGod-given power in his own nature of using and discovering theresources of medicine without constant reliance upon the books or thefashion. Some men use their ability for their own good and renown, andsome think first of the good of others, and as the great poet tellsthe truths of God, and makes other souls wiser and stronger and fitterfor action, so the great doctor works for the body's health, and triesto keep human beings free from the failures that come from neglect andignorance, and ready to be the soul's instrument of action and servicein this world. It is not to keep us from death, it is no superstitiousavoidance of the next life, that should call loudest for thephysician's skill; but the necessity of teaching and remedying theinferior bodies which have come to us through either our ancestors'foolishness or our own. So few people know even what true and completephysical life is, much less anything of the spiritual existence thatis already possible, and so few listen to what the best doctors aretrying their best to teach. While half-alive people think it no wrongto bring into the world human beings with even less vitality thanthemselves, and take no pains to keep the simplest laws of health, orto teach their children to do so, just so long there will be plenty ofsorrow of an avoidable kind, and thousands of shipwrecked, andfailing, and inadequate, and useless lives in the fullest sense of theword. How can those who preach to the soul hope to be heard by thosewho do not even make the best of their bodies? but alas, theconvenience and easiness, or pleasure, of the present moment isallowed to become the cause of an endless series of terrible effects, which go down into the distance of the future, multiplying themselvesa thousandfold. 

The doctor told Nan many curious things as they drove about together:certain traits of certain families, and how the Dyers were of strongconstitution, and lived to a great age in spite of severe illnessesand accidents and all manner of unfavorable conditions; while theDunnells, who looked a great deal stronger, were sensitive, anddeficient in vitality, so that an apparently slight attack of diseasequickly proved fatal. And so Nan knew that one thing to be consideredwas the family, and another the individual variation, and she beganto recognize the people who might be treated fearlessly, because theywere safe to form a league with against any ailment, being responsiveto medicines, and straightforward in their departure from or return toa state of health; others being treacherous and hard to control; fullof surprises, and baffling a doctor with their feints and follies ofsymptoms; while all the time Death himself was making ready for alast, fatal siege; these all being the representatives of types whichmight be found everywhere. Often Dr. Leslie would be found eagerlypraising some useful old-fashioned drugs which had been foolishlyneglected by those who liked to experiment with newer remedies and be"up with the times, " as they called their not very intelligentdependence upon the treatment in vogue at the moment among the youngermen of certain cliques, to some of whom the brilliant operation wasmore important than its damaging result. There was, even in thosedays, a haphazard way of doctoring, in which the health of the patientwas secondary to the promotion of new theories, and the young scholarwho could write a puzzlingly technical paper too often outranked theold practitioner who conquered some malignant disorder single-handed, where even the malpractice of the patient and his friends had stoodlike a lion in the way. 

But Dr. Leslie was always trying to get at the truth, and nobodyrecognized more clearly the service which the reverent and trulyprogressive younger men were rendering to the profession. He addedmany new publications to his subscription list, and gleaned here andthere those notes which he knew would be helpful, and which weresuited to the degree of knowledge which his apprentice had alreadygained. It is needless to say what pleasure it gave him, and whatevening talks they had together; what histories of former victoriesand defeats and curious discoveries were combined, like a bit ofnovel-reading, with Nan's diligent devotion to her course of study. And presently the girl would take a step or two alone, and even make avisit by herself to see if anything chanced to be needed when a casewas progressing favorably, and with the excuse of the doctor'sbusiness or over-fatigue. And the physicians of the neighboring towns, who came together occasionally for each other's assistance, most ofwhom had known Nan from her childhood, though at first they had shrunkfrom speaking of many details of their professional work in herhearing, and covered their meaning, like the ostriches' heads, in thesand of a Latin cognomen, were soon set at their ease by Nan'sunconsciousness of either shamefacedness or disgust, and one by onegrew interested in her career, and hopeful of her success. 

It is impossible to describe the importance of such experiences asthese in forming the character of the young girl's power of resource, and wealth of self-reliance and practical experience. Sometimes inhouses where she would have felt at least liberty to go only asspectator and scholar of medicine, Dr. Leslie insisted uponestablishing her for a few days as chief nurse and overseer, andbefore Nan had been at work many months her teacher found her of greatuse, and grew more proud and glad day by day as he watched herdetermination, her enthusiasm, and her excellent progress. Over andover again he said to himself, or to her, that she was doing the workfor which nature had meant her, and when the time came for her to goaway from Oldfields, it seemed more impossible than it ever had beforethat he should get on without her, at home, or as an independent humanbeing, who was following reverently in the path he had chosen so manyyears before. For her sake he had reached out again toward manyacquaintances from whom he had drifted away, and he made many shortjourneys to Boston or to New York, and was pleased at his heartywelcome back to the medical meetings he had hardly entered during somany years. He missed not a few old friends, but he quickly made newones. He was vastly pleased when the younger men seemed glad to hearhim speak, and it was often proved that either through study orexperience he had caught at some fresh knowledge of which hisassociates were still ignorant. He had laughingly accused himself ofbeing a rusty country doctor and old fogy who had not kept up with thetimes; but many a letter followed him home, with thanks for somehelpful suggestion or advice as to the management of a troublesomecase. He was too far away to give room for any danger of professionaljealousy, or for the infringement of that ever lengthening code ofetiquette so important to the sensitive medical mind. Therefore hehad only much pleasure and a fine tribute of recognition and honor, and he smiled more than once as he sat in the quiet Oldfields studybefore the fire, and looked up at Captain Finch's little ship, andtold Nan of his town experiences, not always omitting, thoughattempting to deprecate, the compliments, in some half-hour when theywere on peculiarly good terms with each other. And Nan believed therecould be no better doctor in the world, and stoutly told him so, andyet listened only half-convinced when he said that he had a great mindto go to town and open an office, and make a specialty of treatingdiseases of the heart, since everybody had a specialty nowadays. Henever felt so ready for practice as now, but Nan somehow could notbear the thought of his being anywhere but in his home. For herself, she would have been ready to venture anything if it would further herever-growing purpose; but that Dr. Leslie should begin a new career orcontest with the world seemed impossible. He was not so strong as heused to be, and he was already famous among his fellows. She wouldhelp him with his work by and by even more than now, and her ownchosen calling of a country doctor was the dearer to her, because hehad followed it so gallantly before her loving and admiring eyes. ButDr. Leslie built many a castle in the air, with himself and a greatcity practice for tenants, and said that it would be a capital thingfor Nan; she could go on with it alone by and by. It was astonishinghow little some of the city doctors knew: they relied upon each othertoo much; they should all be forced to drive over hill and dale, andbe knocked about in a hard country practice for eight or ten yearsbefore they went to town. "Plenty of time to read their books in Juneand January, " the doctor would grumble to himself, and turn to lookfondly at the long rows of his dear library acquaintances, hisBraithwaites and Lancets, and their younger brothers, beside the firstnew Sydenham Society's books, with their clumsy blot of gilding. Andhe would stand sometimes with his hands behind him and look at themany familiar rows of brown leather-covered volumes, most of themdelightfully worn with his own use and that of the other physicianswhose generous friend and constant instructor he had been throughyears of sometimes stormy but usually friendly intercourse andassociation. 

When people in general had grown tired of discussing this strangefreak and purpose of the doctor and his ward, and had become familiarwith Nan's persistent interest and occupation in her studies, therecame a time of great discontent to the two persons most concerned. Forit was impossible to disguise the fact that the time had again comefor the girl to go away from home. They had always looked forward tothis, and directed much thought and action toward it, and yet theydecided with great regret upon setting a new train of things inmotion. 

While it was well enough and useful enough that Nan should go on withher present mode of life, they both had a wider outlook, and thoughwith the excuse of her youthfulness they had put off her departure aslong as possible, still almost without any discussion it was decidedthat she must enter the medical school to go through with its courseof instruction formally, and receive its authority to practice herprofession. They both felt that this held a great many unpleasantnessesamong its store of benefits. Nan was no longer to be shielded andprotected and guided by some one whose wisdom she rarely questioned, but must make her own decisions instead, and give from her own bounty, and stand in her lot and place. Her later school-days were sure to bemore trying than her earlier ones, as they carried her into deeperwaters of scholarship, and were more important to her future positionbefore the public. 

If a young man plans the same course, everything conspires to help himand forward him, and the very fact of his having chosen one of thelearned professions gives him a certain social preëminence anddignity. But in the days of Nan's student life it was just thereverse. Though she had been directed toward such a purpose entirelyby her singular talent, instead of by the motives of expediency whichrule the decisions of a large proportion of the young men who studymedicine, she found little encouragement either from the quality ofthe school or the interest of society in general. There were timeswhen she actually resented the prospect of the many weeks which shemust spend in listening to inferior instruction before gaining adiploma, which was only a formal seal of disapproval in most persons'eyes. And yet, when she remembered her perfect certainty that she wasdoing the right thing, and remembered what renown some womenphysicians had won, and the avenues of usefulness which lay open toher on every side, there was no real drawing back, but rather a proudcertainty of her most womanly and respectable calling, and a reverentdesire to make the best use possible of the gifts God had certainlynot made a mistake in giving her. "If He meant I should be a doctor, "the girl told herself, "the best thing I can do is to try to be a goodone. "

So Nan packed her boxes and said good-by to Mrs. Graham, who lookedwistful and doubtful, but blessed her most heartily, saying she shouldmiss her sadly in the winter. And Marilla, who had unexpectedlyreserved her opinion of late, made believe that she was very busy inthe pantry, just as she had done when Nan was being launched forboarding-school. She shook her own floury hands vigorously, andoffered one at last, muffled in her apron, and wished our friend goodluck, with considerable friendliness, mentioning that she should beglad if Nan would say when she wrote home what shapes they seemed tobe wearing for bonnets in the city, though she supposed they would beflaunting for Oldfields anyway. The doctor was going too, and theystarted for the station much too early for the train, since Dr. Lesliealways suffered from a nervous dread of having an unavoidable summonsto a distant patient at the last moment. 

And when the examinations were over, and Nan had been matriculated, and the doctor had somewhat contemptuously overlooked the building andits capabilities, and had compared those students whom he saw with hisremembrance of his own class, and triumphantly picked out a face andfigure that looked hopeful here and there; he told himself that likeall new growths it was feeble yet, and needed girls like his Nan, withhigh moral purpose and excellent capacity, who would make the collegestrong and to be respected. Not such doctors as several of whom hereminded himself, who were disgracing their sex, but those whoselives were ruled by a pettiness of detail, a lack of power, and anabsence of high aim. Somehow both our friends lost much of the feelingthat Nan was doing a peculiar thing, when they saw so many othersfollowing the same path. And having seen Nan more than half-settled inher winter quarters, and knowing that one or two of her former schoolfriends had given her a delighted and most friendly welcome, andhaving made a few visits to the people whom he fancied would help herin one way or another, Dr. Leslie said good-by, and turned his facehomeward, feeling more lonely than he had felt in a great many yearsbefore. He thought about Nan a great deal on the journey, though hehad provided himself with some most desirable new books. He wasthankful he had been able to do a kind turn for one of the mostinfluential doctors, who had cheerfully promised to put some specialadvantages in Nan's way; but when he reached home the house seemedvery empty, and he missed his gay companion as he drove along thecountry roads. After the days began to grow longer, and the sunbrighter, such pleasant letters came from the absent scholar, that thedoctor took heart more and more, and went over to Mrs. Graham withalmost every fresh bit of news. She smiled, and listened, andapplauded, and one day said with delightful cordiality that she wishedthere were more girls who cared whether their lives really amounted toanything. But not every one had a talent which was such a stimulus asNan's. 

"Nothing succeeds like success, " rejoined the doctor cheerfully, "Ialways knew the child would do the best she could. "

XIV

MISS PRINCE OF DUNPORT

While all these years were passing, Miss Anna Prince the elder wasliving quietly in Dunport, and she had changed so little that herfriends frequently complimented her upon such continued youthfulness. She had by no means forgotten the two greatest among the many lossesand sorrows of her life, but the first sharp pain of them was longsince over with. The lover from whom she had parted for the sake of apetty misunderstanding had married afterward and died early; but hehad left a son of whom Miss Prince was very proud and fond; and shehad given him the place in her heart which should have belonged to herown niece. When she thought of the other trial, she believed herself, still, more sinned against than sinning, and gave herself frequentassurances that it had been impossible to act otherwise at the time ofher brother's death and his wife's strange behavior afterward. And shehad persuaded her conscience to be quiet, until at last, with theideal of a suspicious, uncongenial, disagreeable group of rustics inher mind, she thought it was well ordered by Heaven that she had beenspared any closer intercourse. 

Miss Prince was a proud and stately woman of the old New England type:more colonial than American perhaps, and quite provincial in hertraditions and prejudices. She was highly respected in her nativetown, where she was a prominent figure in society. Nobody was moregenerous and kind or public spirited, as her friends often said, andyoung George Gerry was well-rewarded, though he gave her greatpleasure by his evident affection and interest. He liked to payfrequent visits to his old friend, and to talk with her. She had beena very attractive girl long ago, and the best of her charms had notfaded yet; the young man was always welcomed warmly, and had more thanonce been helped in his projects. His mother was a feeble woman, whotook little interest in anything outside her own doors; and he likedhimself better as he sat in Miss Prince's parlor than anywhere else. We are always fond of the society of our best selves, and though hewas popular with the rest of his townspeople, he somehow could nothelp trying always to be especially agreeable to Miss Prince. 

Although she was apparently free from regrets, and very well satisfiedwith life, even her best friends did not know how lonely her life hadseemed to her, or how sadly hurt she had been by the shame and sorrowof her only brother's marriage. The thought of his child and of theimpossibility of taking her to her heart and home had been like anightmare at first, and yet Miss Prince lacked courage to break downthe barriers, and to at least know the worst. She kept the two ideasof the actual niece and the ideal one whom she might have loved somuch distinct and separate in her mind, and was divided between alonging to see the girl and a fierce dread of her sudden appearance. She had forbidden any allusion to the subject years and years before, and so had prevented herself from hearing good news as well as bad;though she had always been careful that the small yearly remittanceshould be promptly sent, and was impatient to receive the formalacknowledgment of it, which she instantly took pains to destroy. Shesometimes in these days thought about making her will; there was nohurry about it, but it would be only fair to provide for her nearestof kin, while she was always certain that she should not let all hermoney and the old house with its handsome furnishings go into suchunworthy hands. It was a very hard question to settle, and she thoughtof it as little as possible, and was sure there was nothing to preventher living a great many years yet. She loved her old home dearly, andwas even proud of it, and had always taken great care of the detailsof its government. She never had been foolish enough to make away withher handsome mahogany furniture, and to replace it with cheaper andless comfortable chairs and tables, as many of her neighbors had done, and had taken an obstinate satisfaction all through the years when itseemed quite out of date, in insisting upon the polishing of the finewood and the many brass handles, and of late she had been reaping areward for her constancy. It had been a marvel to certain progressivepeople that a person of her comfortable estate should be willing toreflect that there was not a marble-topped table in her house, untilit slowly dawned upon them at last that she was mistress of the finesthouse in town. Outwardly, it was painted white and stood close uponthe street, with a few steep front steps coming abruptly down into themiddle of the narrow sidewalk; its interior was spacious and veryimposing, not only for the time it was built in the last century, butfor any other time. Miss Prince's ancestors had belonged to some ofthe most distinguished among the colonial families, which fact sheneither appeared to remember nor consented to forget; and, as oftenhappened in the seaport towns of New England, there had been one ortwo men in every generation who had followed the sea. Her own fatherhad been among the number, and the closets of the old house were wellprovided with rare china and fine old English crockery that woulddrive an enthusiastic collector to distraction. The carved woodwork ofthe railings and wainscotings and cornices had been devised byingenious and patient craftsmen, and the same portraits and oldengravings hung upon the walls that had been there when its mistresscould first remember. She had always been so well suited with her homethat she had never desired to change it in any particular. Her maidswere well drilled to their duties, and Priscilla, who was chief of thestaff, had been in that dignified position for many years. If MissPrince's grandmother could return to Dunport from another world, shewould hardly believe that she had left her earthly home for a day, itpresented so nearly the same appearance. 

But however conscientiously the effort had been made to keep up theold reputation for hospitality, it had somehow been a failure, andMiss Prince had given fewer entertainments every year. Long ago, whileshe was still a young woman, she had begun to wear a certain quaintand elderly manner, which might have come from association with suchantiquated household gods and a desire to match well with her belovedsurroundings. A great many of her early friends had died, and she wasnot the sort of person who can easily form new ties of intimatefriendship. She was very loyal to those who were still left, and, ashas been said, her interest in George Gerry, who was his father'snamesake and likeness, was a very great pleasure to her. Some personsliked to whisper together now and then about the mysterious niece, whowas never mentioned otherwise. But though curiosity had led to apartial knowledge of our heroine's not unfavorable aspect andcircumstances, nobody ever dared to give such information to theperson who should have been most interested. 

This was one of the standard long stories of Dunport with which oldresidents liked to regale newcomers, and handsome Jack Prince was thehero of a most edifying romance, being represented as a victim of thePrince pride, as his sister had been before him. His life had beenruined, and he had begged his wretched wife at the last to bring himhome to Dunport, alive or dead. The woman had treated Miss Prince withshameful impudence and had disappeared afterward. The child had beenbrought up with her own people, and it was understood that MissPrince's efforts to have any connection with them were all thwarted. Lately it had become known that the girl's guardian was a very fineman and was taking a great interest in her. But the reader willimagine how this story grew and changed in different people's minds. Some persons insisted that Miss Prince had declined to see herbrother's child, and others that it was denied her. It was often saidin these days that Nan must be free to do as she chose, but it wasmore than likely that she had assumed the prejudices against her auntwith which she must have become most familiar. 

As for Miss Prince herself, she had long ago become convinced thatthere was nothing to be done in this matter. After one has followed acertain course for some time, everything seems to persuade one that noother is possible. Sometimes she feared that an excitement and dangerlurked in her future, but, after all, her days went by so calmly, andnearer things seemed so much more important than this vague sorrow anddread, that she went to and fro in the Dunport streets, and wascourteous and kind in her own house, and read a sensible book now andthen, and spent her time as benevolently and respectably as possible. She was indeed an admirable member of society, who had suffered verymuch in her youth, and those who knew her well could not be too gladthat her later years were passing far less unhappily than mostpeople's. 

In the days when her niece had lately finished her first winter at themedical school, Miss Prince had just freed herself from theresponsibility of some slight repairs which the house had needed. Shehad been in many ways much more occupied than usual, and had givenhardly a thought to more remote affairs. At last there had come anevening when she felt at leisure, and happily Miss Fraley, one of herearliest friends, had come to pay her a visit. The two ladies sat atthe front windows of the west parlor looking out upon the street, while the hostess expressed her gratitude that the overturning of herhousehold affairs was at an end, and that she was all in order forsummer. They talked about the damage and discomfort inflicted bymasons, and the general havoc which follows a small piece of fallenceiling. Miss Prince, having made a final round of inspection justafter tea, had ascertained that the last of the white dimity curtainsand coverings were in their places upstairs in the bedrooms, and herlove of order was satisfied. She had complimented Priscilla, and madeher and the maids the customary spring present, and had returned toher evening post of observation at the parlor window just as MissFraley came in. She was not in the mood for receiving guests, being atrifle tired, but Eunice Fraley was a mild little creature, with agentle, deprecatory manner which had always appealed to Miss Prince'smore chivalrous nature. Besides, she knew this to be a most true andaffectionate friend, who had also the gift of appearing wheneverything was ready for her, as the bluebirds come, and the robins, in the early days of spring. 

"I wish I could say that our house was all in order but one closet, "said the guest, in a more melancholy tone than usual. "I believe weare more behind-hand than ever this year. You know we have Susan'schildren with us for a fortnight while she goes away for a rest, andthey have been a good deal of care. I think mother is getting tired ofthem now, though she was very eager to have a visit from them atfirst. She said this morning that the little girl was worse than akitten in a fit, and she did hope that Susan wouldn't think it best topass another week away. "

Miss Prince laughed a little, and so did Miss Fraley after a moment'shesitation. She seemed to be in a somewhat sentimental andintrospective mood as she looked out of the window in the Maytwilight. 

"I so often feel as if I were not accomplishing anything, " she saidsadly. "It came over me to-day that here I am, really an old woman, and I am just about where I first started, --doing the same things overand over and no better than ever. I haven't the gift of style; anybodyelse might have done my work just as well, I am afraid; I am sure theworld would have got along just as well without me. Mother has beenso active, and has reached such a great age, that perhaps it hasn'tbeen much advantage to me. I have only learned to depend upon herinstead of myself. I begin to see that I should have amounted to agreat deal more if I had had a home of my own. I sometimes wish that Iwere as free to go and come as you are, Nancy. "

But Miss Prince's thoughts were pleased to take a severely practicalturn: "I'm not in the least free, " she answered cheerfully. "I believeyou need something to strengthen you, Eunice. I haven't seen you soout of spirits for a great while. Free! why I'm tied to this house asif I were the knocker on the front door; and I certainly have a greatdeal of care. I put the utmost confidence in Priscilla, but thosenieces of hers would be going wherever they chose, from garret tocellar, before I was ten miles away from Dunport. I have let the cookgo away for a week, and Phoebe and Priscilla are alone. Phoebe is agood little creature; I only hope she won't be married within sixmonths, for I don't know when I have liked a young girl so well. Priscilla was anxious I should take that black-eyed daughter of herbrother's, and was quite hurt because I refused. "

"I dare say you were right, " acknowledged Miss Fraley, though shecould not exactly see the obstacles to her friend's freedom in suchstrong light as was expected. 

"I know that it must be difficult for you sometimes, " resumed thehostess presently, in a more sympathetic tone. "Your mother naturallyfinds it hard to give up the rule. We can't expect her to look at lifeas younger persons do. "

"I don't expect it, " said poor Miss Fraley appealingly, "and I am sureI try to be considerate; but how would you like it, to be treated asif you were sixteen instead of nearly sixty? I know it says in theBible that children should obey their parents, but there is no suchcommandment, that I can see, to women who are old enough to begrandmothers themselves. It does make me perfectly miserable to haveeverything questioned and talked over that I do; but I know I oughtnot to say such things. I suppose I shall lie awake half the nightgrieving over it. You know I have the greatest respect for mother'sjudgment; I'm sure I don't know what in the world I should do withouther. "

"You are too yielding, Eunice, " said Miss Prince kindly. "You try toplease everybody, and that's your way of pleasing yourself; but, afterall, I believe we give everybody more satisfaction when we hold fastto our own ideas of right and wrong. There have been a great manyfriends who were more than willing to give me their advice in allthese years that I have been living alone; but I have always made upmy mind and gone straight ahead. I have no doubt I should be veryimpatient now of much comment and talking over; and yet there are somany times when I would give anything to see father or mother for alittle while. I haven't suffered from living alone as much as somepersons do, but I often feel very sad and lonely when I sit here andthink about the past. Dear me! here is Phoebe with the lights, and Idare say it is just as well. I am going to ask you to go up stairs andsee the fresh paint, and how ship-shape we are at last, as father usedto say. "

Miss Fraley rose at once, with an expression of pleasure, and the twofriends made a leisurely tour of the old house which seemed all readyfor a large family, and though its owner apparently enjoyed herfreedom and dominion, it all looked deserted and empty to her guest. They lingered together in the wide lower hall, and parted with unusualaffection. This was by no means the first hint that had been given ofa somewhat fettered and disappointing home life, though Miss Fraleywould have shuddered at the thought of any such report's being sentabroad. 

"Send the children round to see me, " said Miss Prince, by way ofparting benediction. "They can play in the garden an hour or two, andit will be a change for them and for you;" which invitation wasgratefully accepted, though Miss Eunice smiled at the idea of theirneeding a change, when they were sure to be on every wharf in town inthe course of the day, and already knew more people in Dunport thanshe did. 

The next morning Miss Prince's sense of general well-being seemed tohave deserted her altogether. She was overshadowed by a fear ofimpending disaster and felt strangely tired and dissatisfied. But shedid not believe in moping, and only assured herself that she must makethe day an easy one. So, being strong against tides, as some old poetsays of the whale, Miss Prince descended the stairs calmly, andadvised Priscilla to put off the special work that had been planneduntil still later in the week. "You had better ask your sister to comeand spend the day with you and have a good, quiet visit, " whichpermission Priscilla received without comment, being a person of fewwords; but she looked pleased, and while her mistress went down thegarden walk to breathe the fresh morning air, she concocted a smallomelet as an unexpected addition to the breakfast. Miss Prince wasvery fond of an omelet, but Priscilla, in spite of all her goodqualities, was liable to occasional fits of offishness and depression, and in those seasons kept her employer, in one way or another, onshort commons. 

The day began serenely. It was the morning for the Dunport weeklypaper, which Miss Prince sat down at once to read, making herinvariable reproachful remark that there was nothing in it, afterhaving devoted herself to this duty for an hour or more. Then shemounted to the upper floor of her house to put away a blanket whichhad been overlooked in the spring packing of the camphor-wood chestswhich stood in a solemn row in the north corner of the garret. Therewere three dormer windows in the front of the garret-roof, and one ofthese had been a favorite abiding-place in her youth. She had playedwith her prim Dutch dolls there in her childhood, and she couldremember spending hour after hour watching for her father's ship whenthe family had begun to expect him home at the end of a long voyage. She remembered with a smile how grieved she had been because once hecame into port late in the night and surprised them all early in themorning, but he had made amends by taking her back with him when hehurried on board again after a hasty greeting. Miss Prince lived thatmorning over again as she stood there, old and gray and alone in theworld. She could see again the great weather-beaten and tar-darkenedship, and even the wizened monkey which belonged to one of thesailors. She lingered at her father's side admiringly, and felt thetears come into her eyes once more when he gave her a taste of thefiery contents of his tumbler. They were all in his cabin; old CaptainDunn and Captain Denny and Captain Peterbeck were sitting round thelittle table, also provided with tumblers, as they listened eagerly tothe story of the voyage. The sailors came now and then for orders;Nancy thought her handsome father, with his bronzed cheeks and whiteforehead and curly hair, was every inch a king. He was her hero, andnothing could please her so much to the end of her days as to havesomebody announce, whether from actual knowledge or hearsay, thatCaptain Jack Prince was the best shipmaster that ever sailed out ofDunport. . . . She always was sure there were some presents stored awayfor herself and young Jack, her brother, in one of the lockers of thelittle cabin. Poor Jack! how he used to frighten her by climbing theshrouds and waving his cap from almost inaccessible heights. PoorJack! and Miss Prince climbed the step to look down the harbor again, as if the ship were more than thirty days out from Amsterdam, andmight be expected at any time if the voyage had been favorable. 

The house was at no great distance from the water side, though thecrowded buildings obscured the view from the lower stories. There wasnothing coming in from sea but a steam-tug, which did not harmonizewith these pleasant reminiscences, though as Miss Prince raised thewindow a fine salt breeze entered, well warmed with the May sunshine. It had the flavor of tar and the spirit of the high seas, and for awonder there could be heard the knocking of shipwrights' hammers, which in old times were never silent in the town. As she sat there fora few minutes in the window seat, there came to her otherrecollections of her later girlhood, when she had stolen to thiscorner for the sake of being alone with her pleasant thoughts, thoughshe had cried there many an hour after Jack's behavior had given themthe sorrow they hardly would own to each other. She remembered hearingher father's angry voice down stairs. No! she would not think of thatagain, why should she? and she shut the window and went back to besure that she had locked the camphor chest, and hung its key on theflat-headed rusty nail overhead. Miss Prince heard some one open andshut the front door as she went down, and in the small front room shefound Captain Walter Parish, who held a high place among her mostintimate friends. He was her cousin, and had become her generaladviser and counselor. He sometimes called himself laughingly theship's husband, for it was he who transacted most of Miss Prince'simportant business, and selected her paint and shingles and her gardenseeds beside, and made and mended her pens. He liked to be useful andagreeable, but he had not that satisfaction in his own home, for hiswife had been a most efficient person to begin with, and during hisabsences at sea in early life had grown entirely self-reliant. Thecaptain joked about it merrily, but he nevertheless liked to feel thathe was still important, and Miss Prince generously told him, from timeto time, that she did not know how she should get on without him, andconsiderately kept up the fiction of not wishing to take up his timewhen he must be busy with his own affairs. 

"How are you this fine morning, Cousin Nancy?" said the captaingallantly. "I called to say that Jerry Martin will be here to-morrowwithout fail. It seems he thought you would send him word when youwanted him next, and he has been working for himself. I don't thinkthe garden will suffer, we have had so much cold weather. And here isa letter I took from the office. " He handed it to Miss Prince with aquestioning look; he knew the handwriting of her few correspondentsalmost as well as she, and this was a stranger's. 

"Perhaps it is a receipt for my subscription to the"--But Miss Princenever finished the sentence, for when she had fairly taken the letterinto her hand, the very touch of it seemed to send a tinge of ashengray like some quick poison over her face. She stood still, looking atit, then flushed crimson, and sat down in the nearest chair, as if itwere impossible to hold herself upright. The captain was uncertainwhat he ought to do. 

"I hope you haven't heard bad news, " he said presently, for MissPrince had leaned back in the arm-chair and covered her eyes with onehand, while the letter was tightly held in the other. 

"It is from my niece, " she answered, slowly. 

"You don't mean it's from Jack's daughter?" inquired the captain, notwithout eagerness. He never had suspected such a thing; the onlyexplanation which had suggested itself to his mind was that MissPrince had been investing some of her money without his advice orknowledge, and he had gone so far as to tell himself that it was justlike a woman, and quite good enough for her if she had lost it. "Inever thought of its being from her, " he said, a little bewildered, for the captain was not a man of quick wit; his powers of reflectionserved him better. "Well, aren't you going to tell me what she has tosay for herself?"

"She proposes to make me a visit, " answered Miss Prince, trying tosmile as she handed him the little sheet of paper which she hadunconsciously crumpled together; but she did not give even one glanceat his face as he read it, though she thought it a distressingly longtime before he spoke. 

"I must say that this is a very good letter, very respectful andlady-like, " said the captain honestly, though he felt as if he hadbeen expected to condemn it, and proceeded to read it through again, this time aloud:--

 MY DEAR AUNT, --I cannot think it is right that we do not know each other. I should like to go to Dunport for a day some time next month; but if you do not wish to see me you have only to tell me so, and I will not trouble you. 

 Yours sincerely, ANNA PRINCE. 

"A very good handwriting, too, " the captain remarked, and thengathered courage to say that he supposed Miss Prince would give herniece the permission for which she asked. "I have been told that sheis a very fine girl, " he ventured, as if he were poor Nan'sambassador; and at this Miss Prince's patience gave way. 

"Yes, I shall ask her to come, but I do not wish anything said aboutit; it need not be made the talk of the town. " She answered her cousinangrily, and then felt as if she had been unjust. "Do not mind me, Walter, " she said; "it has been a terrible grief and trouble to me allthese years. Perhaps if I had gone to see those people, and told themall I felt, they would have pitied me, and not blamed me, and soeverything would have been better, but it is too late now. I don'tknow what sort of a person my own niece is, and I wish that I neednever find out, but I shall try to do my duty. "

The captain was tender-hearted, and seemed quite unmanned, but he gavehis eyes a sudden stroke with his hand and turned to go away. "Youwill command me, Nancy, if I can be of service to you?" he inquired, and his cousin bowed her head in assent. It was, indeed, a dismal hourof the family history. 

For some time Miss Prince did not move, except as she watched CaptainParish cross the street and take his leisurely way along the unevenpavement. She was almost tempted to call him back, and felt as if hewere the last friend she had in the world, and was leaving herforever. But after she had allowed the worst of the miserable shock tospend itself, she summoned the stern energy for which she was famous, and going with slower steps than usual to the next room, she unlockedthe desk of the ponderous secretary and seated herself to write. Before many minutes had passed the letter was folded, and sealed, andaddressed, and the next evening Nan was reading it at Oldfields. Shewas grateful for being asked to come on the 5th of June to Dunport, and to stay a few days if it were convenient, and yet her heart fellbecause there was not a sign of welcome or affection in the statelyfashioning of the note. It had been hardly wise to expect it under thecircumstances, the girl assured herself later, and at any rate it waskind in her aunt to answer her own short letter so soon. 

XV

HOSTESS AND GUEST

Nan had, indeed, resolved to take a most important step. She hadalways dismissed the idea of having any communication with her auntmost contemptuously when she had first understood their unhappyposition toward each other; but during the last year or two she hadbeen forced to look at the relationship from a wider point of view. Dr. Leslie protested that he had always treated Miss Prince in aperfectly fair and friendly manner, and that if she had chosen to showno interest in her only niece, nobody was to blame but herself. ButNan pleaded that her aunt was no longer young; that she might bewishing that a reconciliation could be brought about; the very fact ofher having constantly sent the yearly allowance in spite of Mrs. Thacher's and Dr. Leslie's unwillingness to receive it appealed to theyoung girl, who was glad to believe that her aunt had, after all, moreinterest in her than others cared to observe. She had no nearrelatives except Miss Prince. There were some cousins of old Mrs. Thacher's and their descendants settled in the vicinity of Oldfields;but Nan clung more eagerly to this one closer tie of kindred than shecared to confess even to her guardian. It was too late now for anyinterference in Dr. Leslie's plans, or usurping of his affectionaterelationship; so, after he found that Nan's loyal heart was bent uponmaking so kind a venture, he said one day, with a smile, that she hadbetter write a letter to her aunt, the immediate result of which wealready know. Nan had been studying too hard, and suffering not alittle from her long-continued city life, and though the doctor hadbeen making a most charming plan that later in the season they shouldtake a journey together to Canada, he said nothing about that, andtold himself with a sigh that this would be a more thorough change, and even urged Nan to stay as long as she pleased in Dunport, if shefound her aunt's house pleasant and everything went well. For whetherNan liked Miss Prince remained to be proved, though nobody in theirsenses could doubt that Miss Prince would be proud of her niece. 

It was not until after Nan had fairly started that she began to feelat all dismayed. Perhaps she had done a foolish thing after all;Marilla had not approved the adventure, while at the last minute Nanhad become suspicious that the doctor had made another plan, thoughshe contented herself with the remembrance of perfect freedom to gohome whenever she chose. She told herself grimly that if her aunt diedshe should be thankful that she had done this duty; yet when, after ajourney of several hours, she knew that Dunport was the next station, her heart began to beat in a ridiculous manner. It was unlike anyexperience that had ever come to her, and she felt strangely unequalto the occasion. Long ago she had laughed at her early romances of hergrand Dunport belongings, but the memory of them lingered still, inspite of this commonplace approach to their realities, and she lookedeagerly at the groups of people at the railway station with a greathope and almost certainty that she should find her aunt waiting tomeet her. There was no such good fortune, which was a chill at theoutset to the somewhat tired young traveler, but she beckoned a driverwhom she had just ignored, and presently was shut into a somewhatantiquated public carriage and on her way to Miss Prince's house. 

So this was Dunport, and in these very streets her father had played, and here her mother had become deeper and deeper involved in thesuffering and tragedy which had clouded the end of her short life. Itseemed to the young stranger as if she must shrink away from thecurious glances that stray passers-by sent into the old carriage; andthat she was going to be made very conspicuous by the newly-awakenedinterest in a sad story which surely could not have been forgotten. Poor Nan! she sent a swift thought homeward to the doctor's house andMrs. Graham's; even to the deserted little place which had shelteredher good old grandmother and herself in the first years she couldremember. And with strange irony came also a picture of the home ofone of her schoolmates, --where the father and mother and theirchildren lived together and loved each other. The tears started to hereyes until some good angel whispered the kind "Come back soon, Nandear, " with which Dr. Leslie had let her go away. 

The streets were narrow and roughly paved in the old provincialseaport town; the houses looked a good deal alike as they stood closeto the street, though here and there the tops of some fruit treesshowed themselves over a high garden fence. And presently before abroad-faced and gambrel-roofed house, the driver stopped his horses, and now only the front door with its bull's-eyed top-lights andshining knocker stood between Nan and her aunt. The coachman had givena resounding summons at this somewhat formidable entrance before heturned to open the carriage door, but Nan had already alighted, andstepped quickly into the hall. Priscilla directed her with someceremony to the south parlor, and a prim figure turned away from oneof the windows that overlooked the garden, and came forward a fewsteps. "I suppose this is Anna, " the not very cordial voice began, andfaltered; and then Miss Prince led her niece toward the window she hadleft, and without a thought of the reserve she had decided upon, pushed one of the blinds wide open, and looked again at Nan'sappealing face, half eager herself, and half afraid. Then she fumbledfor a handkerchief, and betook herself to the end of the sofa andbegan to cry: "You are so like my mother and Jack, " she said. "I didnot think I should be so glad to see you. "

The driver had deposited Nan's box, and now appeared at the door ofthe parlor with Priscilla (who had quite lost her wits withexcitement) looking over his shoulder. Nan sprang forward, glad ofsomething to do in the midst of her vague discomfort, and at thissight the hostess recovered herself, and, commanding Priscilla to showMiss Prince to her room, assumed the direction of business affairs. 

The best bedroom was very pleasant, though somewhat stiff and unused, and Nan was glad to close its door and find herself in such acomfortable haven of rest and refuge from the teasing details of thatstrange day. The wind had gone to the eastward, and the salt odor wasmost delightful to her. A vast inheritance of memories andassociations was dimly brought to mind by that breath of the sea andfreshness of the June day by the harbor side. Her heart leaped at thethought of the neighborhood of the wharves and shipping, and as shelooked out at the ancient street, she told herself with a sense ofgreat fun that if she had been a boy she would inevitably have been asurgeon in the navy. So this was the aunt whom Nan had thought aboutand dreamed about by day and by night, whose acquaintance had alwaysbeen a waiting pleasure, and the mere fact of whose existence hadalways given her niece something to look forward to. She had not knownuntil this moment what a reserved pleasure this meeting had been, andnow it was over with. Miss Prince was so much like other people, though why she should not have been it would be difficult to suggest, and Nan's taste had been so educated and instructed by her Oldfields'advantages, not to speak of her later social experiences, that shefelt at once that her aunt's world was smaller than her own. There wassomething very lovable about Miss Prince, in spite of the constraintof her greeting, and for the first time Nan understood that her auntalso had dreaded the meeting. Presently she came to the door, and thistime kissed Nan affectionately. "I don't know what to say to you, I amsure, " she told the girl, "only I am thankful to have you here. Youmust understand that it is a great event to me;" at which Nan laughedand spoke some cheerful words. Miss Prince seated herself by the otherfront window, and looked at her young guest with ever-growingsatisfaction. This was no copy of that insolent, ill-bred young womanwho had so beguiled and ruined poor Jack; she was a little lady, whodid honor to the good name of the Princes and Lesters, --a niece whomanybody might be proud to claim, and whom Miss Prince could cordiallyentreat to make herself quite at home, for she had only been too longin coming to her own. And presently, when tea was served, the carefulordering of it, which had been meant partly to mock and astonish thegirl who could not have been used to such ways of living, seemed onlya fitting entertainment for so distinguished a guest. "Blood willtell, " murmured Miss Prince to herself as she clinked the teacups andlooked at the welcome face the other side of the table. But when theytalked together in the evening, it was made certain that Nan wasneither ashamed of her mother's people nor afraid to say gravely toMiss Prince that she did not know how much injustice was done tograndmother Thacher, if she believed she were right in making acertain statement. Aunt Nancy smiled, and accepted her rebuff withoutany show of disapproval, and was glad that the next day was Sunday, so that she could take Nan to church for the admiration of allobservers. She was even sorry that she had not told young Gerry tocome and pay an evening visit to her niece, and spoke of him once ortwice. Her niece observed a slight self-consciousness at such times, and wondered a little who Mr. George Gerry might be. 

Nan thought of many things before she fell asleep that night. Herideas of her father had always been vague, and she had somehowassociated him with Dr. Leslie, who had shown her all the fatherlinessshe had ever known. As for the young man who had died so long ago, ifshe had said that he seemed to her like a younger brother of Dr. Leslie, it would have been nearest the truth, in spite of the detailsof the short and disappointed life which had come to her ears. Dr. Ferris had told her almost all she knew of him, but now that she wasin her own father's old home, among the very same sights he had knownbest, he suddenly appeared to her in a vision, as one might say, andinvested himself in a cloud of attractive romance. His daughter felt asudden blaze of delight at this first real consciousness of herkinship. Miss Prince had shown her brother's portrait early in theevening, and had even taken the trouble to light a candle and hold ithigh, so that Nan could see the handsome, boyish face, in which sherecognized quickly the likeness to her own. "He was only thirteenthen, " said Miss Prince, "but he looks several years older. We allthought that the artist had made a great mistake when it was painted, but poor Jack grew to look like it. Yes, you are wonderfully likehim, " and she held the light near Nan's face and studied it again asshe had just studied the picture. Nan's eyes filled with tears as shelooked up at her father's face. The other portraits in the room wereall of older people, her grandfather and grandmother and two or threeancestors, and Miss Prince repeated proudly some anecdotes of the mostdistinguished. "I suppose you never heard of them, " she added sadly atthe close, but Nan made no answer; it was certainly no fault of herown that she was ignorant of many things, and she would not confessthat during the last few years she had found out everything that waspossible about her father's people. She was so thankful to have grownup in Oldfields that she could not find it in her heart to rail at thefate that had kept her away from Dunport; but the years of silencehad been very unlovely in her aunt. 

She wondered, before she went to sleep that night, where her father'sroom had been, and thought she would ask Miss Prince in the morning. The windows were open, and the June air blew softly in, and sometimesswayed the curtains of the bed. There was a scent of the sea and ofroses, and presently up the quiet street came the sound of footstepsand young voices. Nan said to herself that some party had been late inbreaking up, and felt her heart thrill with sympathy. She had beendwelling altogether in the past that evening, and she liked to hearthe revelers go by. But as they came under the windows she heard onesay, "I should be afraid of ghosts in that best room of MissPrince's, " and then they suddenly became quiet, as if they had seenthat the windows were open, and Nan first felt like a stranger, butnext as if this were all part of the evening's strange experiences, and as if these might be her father's young companions, and she mustcall to them as they went by. 

The next morning both the hostess and her guest waked early, and wereeager for the time when they should see each other again. The beautyand quiet of the Sunday morning were very pleasant, and Nan stood forsome minutes at the dining-room windows, looking out on the smallpaved courtyard, and the flowers and green leaves beyond the gardengate. Miss Prince's was one of the fine old houses which kept itsgarden behind it, well-defended from the street, for the family's ownpleasure. 

"Those are the same old bushes and trees which we used to play among;I have hardly changed it at all, " said Miss Prince, as she came in. Itmust be confessed that she had lost the feeling of patroness withwhich she had approached her acquaintance with Nan. She was proud andgrateful now, and as she saw the girl in her pretty white dress, andfound her as simple and affectionate and eager to please as she hadthought her the night before, she owned to herself that she had notlooked for such happiness to fall into her life. And there wassomething about the younger Anna Prince which others had quicklyrecognized; a power of direction and of command. There are somenatures like the Prussian blue on a painter's palette, which rules allthe other colors it is mixed with; natures which quickly makethemselves felt in small or great companies. 

Nan discovered her father's silver mug beside her plate, and was firedwith a fiercer resentment than she had expected to feel again, at thesight of it. The thought of her childhood in good grandmotherThacher's farm-house came quickly to her mind, with the plain living, to her share of which she had been made a thousand times welcome;while by this richer house, of which she was also heir, such rightfultrinkets and treasures had been withheld. But at the next minute shecould meet Miss Prince's observant eyes without displeasure, andwisely remembered that she herself had not been responsible for thestate of affairs, and that possibly her aunt had been as wronged andinsulted and beaten back as she complained. So she pushed thenewly-brightened cup aside with an almost careless hand, as a sort ofcompromise with revenge, and Miss Prince at once caught sight of it. "Dear me, " she said, not without confusion, "Priscilla must havethought you would be pleased, " and then faltered, "I wish with all myheart you had always had it for your own, my dear. " And this was agreat deal for Miss Prince to say, as any of her acquaintances couldhave told her nearest relative, who sat, almost a stranger, at thebreakfast-table. 

The elder woman felt a little light-headed and unfamiliar to herselfas she went up the stairway to get ready for church. It seemed as ifshe had entered upon a new stage of existence, since for so many yearsshe had resented the existence of her brother's child, and had kept upan imaginary war, in which she ardently fought for her own rights. Shehad brought forward reason after reason why she must maintain herposition as representative of a respected family who had been shamedand disgraced and insulted by her brother's wife. Now all aggressorsof her peace, real and imaginary, were routed by the appearance ofthis young girl upon the field of battle, which she traversed withmost innocent and fearless footsteps, looking smilingly into heraunt's face, and behaving almost as if neither of them had beenconcerned in the family unhappiness. Beside, Nan had already added anew interest to Miss Prince's life, and as this defeated warrior tooka best dress from the closet without any of the usual reflection uponso important a step, she felt a great consciousness of having beenadded to and enriched, as the person might who had suddenly fallenheir to an unexpected property. From this first day she separatedherself as much as possible from any thought of guilt or complicity inthe long estrangement. She seemed to become used to her niece'spresence, and with the new relationship's growth there faded away thethought of the past times. If any one dared to hint that it was a pitythis visit had been so long delayed, Miss Prince grandly ignored allpersonality. 

Priscilla had come to the guest's room on some undeclared errand, forit had already been put in order, and she viewed with pleasure thesimple arrangements for dressing which were in one place and anotherabout the room. Priscilla had scorned the idea of putting this visitorinto the best bedroom, and had had secret expectations that MissPrince's niece would feel more at home with her than with hermistress. But Miss Anna was as much of a lady as Miss Prince, whichwas both pleasing and disappointing, as Priscilla hoped to solace somedisrespectful feelings of her own heart by taking down Miss Nancy'spride. However, her loyalty to the house was greater than her own verysmall grudges, and as she pretended to have some difficulty with thefastening of the blind, she said in a whisper, "Y'r aunt'll like tohave you make yourself look pretty, " which was such a reminder ofMarilla's affectionate worldliness that Nan had to laugh aloud. "I'mafraid I haven't anything grand enough, " she told the departinghousekeeper, whose pleasure it was not hard to discern. 

It was with a very gratified mind that Miss Prince walked down thestreet with her niece and bowed to one and another of heracquaintances. She was entirely careless of what any one should say, but she was brimful of excitement, and answered several of Nan'squestions entirely wrong. The old town was very pleasant that Sundaymorning. The lilacs were in full bloom, and other early summer flowersin the narrow strips of front-yards or the high-fenced gardens werein blossom too, and the air was full of sweetness and delight. Theancient seaport had gathered for itself quaint names and treasures; itwas pleased with its old fashions and noble memories; its ancientbells had not lost their sweet voices, and a flavor of the pastpervaded everything. The comfortable houses, the elderly citizens, thevery names on the shop signs, and the worn cobblestones of the streetsand flagstones of the pavements, delighted the young stranger, whofelt so unreasonably at home in Dunport. The many faces that had beencolored and fashioned by the sea were strangely different from thosewhich had known an inland life only, and she seemed to have come agreat deal nearer to foreign life and to the last century. Her heartsoftened as she wondered if her father knew that she was following hisboyish footsteps, for the first time in her life, on that Sundaymorning. She would have liked to wander away by herself and find herway about the town, but such a proposal was not to be thought of, andall at once Miss Nancy turned up a narrow side street toward ahigh-walled brick church, and presently they walked side by side upthe broad aisle so far that it seemed to Nan as if her aunt wereaiming for the chancel itself, and had some public ceremony in view, of a penitential nature. They were by no means early, and the girl wasdisagreeably aware of a little rustle of eagerness and curiosity asshe took her seat, and was glad to have fairly gained the shelter ofthe high-backed pew as she bent her head. But Miss Prince the seniorseemed calm; she said her prayer, settled herself as usual, puttingthe footstool in its right place and finding the psalms and thecollect. She then laid the prayer-book on the cushion beside her andfolded her hands in her lap, before she turned discreetly to saygood-morning to Miss Fraley, and exchange greetings until theclergyman made his appearance. Nan had taken the seat next the pewdoor, and was looking about her with great interest, forgettingherself and her aunt as she wondered that so dear and quaint a placeof worship should be still left in her iconoclastic native country. She had seen nothing even in Boston like this, there were so manyantique splendors about the chancel, and many mural tablets on thewalls, where she read with sudden delight her own family name and thelist of virtues which had belonged to some of her ancestors. The dearold place! there never had been and never could be any church likeit; it seemed to have been waiting all her life for her to come to sayher prayers where so many of her own people had brought their sins andsorrows in the long years that were gone. She only wished that thedoctor were with her, and the same feeling that used to make her watchfor him in her childhood until he smiled back again filled all herloving and grateful heart. She knew that he must be thinking of herthat morning; he was not in church himself, he had planned a longdrive to the next town but one, to see a dying man, who seemed to behelped only by this beloved physician's presence. There had been sometalk between Dr. Leslie and Nan about a medicine which might possiblybe of use, and she found herself thinking about that again and again. She had reminded the doctor of it and he had seemed very pleased. Itmust be longer ago than yesterday since she left Oldfields, it alreadycounted for half a lifetime. 

One listener at least was not resentful because the sermon was neitherwise nor great, for she had so many things to think of; but while shewas sometimes lost in her own thoughts, Nan stole a look at the thinlyfilled galleries now and then, and at one time was pleased with thesight of the red-cheeked cherubs which seemed to have been caught likeclumsy insects and pinned as a sort of tawdry decoration above thetablets where the Apostle's Creed and the Ten Commandments wereprinted in faded gilt letters. The letter s was made long in thesecopies and the capitals were of an almost forgotten pattern, and afterNan had discovered her grandfather's name in the prayer-book she held, and had tried again to listen to the discourse, she smiled at thediscovery of a familiar face in one of the wall pews. It somehow gaveher a feeling of security as being a link with her past experiences, and she looked eagerly again and again until this old acquaintance, who also was a stranger and a guest in Dunport, happened to direct acareless glance toward her, and a somewhat dull and gloomy expressionwas changed for surprised and curious recognition. When church wasover at last Miss Prince seemed to have a great deal to say to herneighbor in the next pew, and Nan stood in her place waiting until heraunt was ready. More than one person had lingered to make sure of adistinct impression of the interesting stranger who had made one ofthe morning congregation, and Nan smiled suddenly as she thought thatit might seem proper that she and her aunt should walk down the aisletogether as if they had been married, or as if the ceremony werefinished which she had anticipated as they came in. And Miss Princedid make an admirable exit from the church, mustering all herself-possession and taking stately steps at her niece's side, whileshe sometimes politely greeted her acquaintances. There wereflickering spots of color in her cheeks when they were again in thesun-shiny street. 

"It is really the first day this summer when I have needed myparasol, " said Aunt Nancy, as she unfurled the carefully preservedarticle of her wardrobe and held it primly aloft. "I am so sorry thatour rector was absent this morning. I suppose that you have attendedan Episcopal church sometimes; I am glad that you seem to be familiarwith the service;" to which Nancy replied that she had been confirmedwhile she was first at boarding-school, and this seemed to give heraunt great satisfaction. "Very natural and proper, my dear, " she said. "It is one thing I have always wished when I thought of you at seriousmoments. But I was persuaded that you were far from such influences, and that there would be nothing in your surroundings to encourage yourinherited love of the church. "

"I have always liked it best, " said Nan, who seemed all at once togrow taller. "But I think one should care more about being a goodwoman than a good Episcopalian, Aunt Nancy. "

"No doubt, " said the elder woman, a little confused and dismayed, though she presently rallied her forces and justly observed that therules of the church were a means to the end of good living, andhappily, before any existing differences of opinion could bediscovered, they were interrupted by a pleasant-faced young man, wholifted his hat and gracefully accepted his introduction to the youngerMiss Prince. 

"This is Mr. George Gerry, Anna, one of my young friends, " smiled AuntNancy, and saying, as she walked more slowly, "You must come to seeus soon, for I shall have to depend upon the younger people to make myniece's stay agreeable. "

"I was looking forward to my Sunday evening visit, " the wayfarer saidhesitatingly; "you have not told me yet that I must not come;" whichappeal was only answered by a little laugh from all three, as theyseparated. And Miss Prince had time to be quite eloquent in herfavorite's praise before they reached home. Nan thought her firstDunport acquaintance very pleasant, and frankly said so. This seemedto be very gratifying to her aunt, and they walked toward hometogether by a roundabout way and in excellent spirits. It seemed moreand more absurd to Nan that the long feud and almost tragic state offamily affairs should have come to so prosaic a conclusion, and thatshe who had been the skeleton of her aunt's ancestral closet shouldhave dared to emerge and to walk by her side through the town. Afterall, here was another proof of the wisdom of the old Spanish proverb, that it takes two to make a quarrel, but only one to end it. 

XVI

A JUNE SUNDAY

It was Miss Prince's custom to indulge herself by taking a long Sundayafternoon nap in summer, though on this occasion she spoke of it toher niece as only a short rest. She was glad to gain the shelter ofher own room, and as she brushed a little dust from her handsome silkgown before putting it away she held it at arm's length and shook italmost indignantly. Then she hesitated a moment and looked around thecomfortable apartment with a fierce disdain. "I wonder what gives mesuch a sense of importance, " she whispered. "I have been makingmistakes my whole life long, and giving excuses to myself for notdoing my duty. I wish I had made her a proper allowance, to say theleast. Everybody must be laughing at me!" and Miss Prince actuallystamped her foot. It had been difficult to keep up an appearance ofself-respect, but her pride had helped her in that laudable effort, and as she lay down on the couch she tried to satisfy herself with theassurance that her niece should have her rights now, and be treatedjustly at last. 

Miss Fraley had come in to pay a brief visit on her way toSunday-school just as they finished dinner, and had asked Nan to teathe following Wednesday, expressing also a hope that she would comesooner to call, quite without ceremony. Finding the state of affairsso pleasant, Miss Eunice ventured to say that Nan's father had been afavorite of her mother, who was now of uncommon age. Miss Princebecame suddenly stern, but it was only a passing cloud, whichdisturbed nobody. 

Nan had accepted willingly the offered apologies and gayly wished heraunt a pleasant dream, but being wide awake she gladly made use of thequiet time to send a letter home, and to stroll down the gardenafterward. It all seemed so unlike what she had expected, yet herformer thoughts about her aunt were much more difficult to recall asevery hour went by and made the impression of actual things moredistinct. Her fancied duty to a lonely old lady who mourned over a sadpast seemed quite quixotic when she watched this brisk woman come andgo without any hindrance of age, or, now that the first meeting wasover, any appearance of former melancholy. As our friend went down thegarden she told herself that she was glad to have come; it was quiteright, and it was very pleasant, though there was no particular use instaying there long, and after a few days she would go away. Somehowher life seemed a great deal larger for this new experience, and shewould try to repeat the visit occasionally. She wished to get Dunportitself by heart, but she had become so used to giving the best ofherself to her studies, that she was a little shy of the visiting andthe tea-parties and the apparently fruitless society life of which shehad already learned something. "I suppose the doctor would say it isgood for me, " said Nan, somewhat grimly, "but I think it is mostsatisfactory to be with the persons whose interests and purposes arethe same as one's own. " The feeling of a lack of connection with thepeople whom she had met made life appear somewhat blank. She hadalready gained a certain degree of affection for her aunt; to say theleast she was puzzled to account for such an implacable hostility ashad lasted for years in the breast of a person so apparently friendlyand cordial in her relations with her neighbors. Our heroine was slowto recognize in her relative the same strength of will and ofdetermination which made the framework of her own character, --aniron-like firmness of structure which could not be easily shaken bythe changes or opinions of other people. Miss Prince's acquaintancescalled her a very set person, and were shy of intruding into hersecret fastnesses. There were all the traits of character which arenecessary for the groundwork of an enterprising life, but Miss Princeseemed to have neither inherited nor acquired any high aims or anyespecial and fruitful single-heartedness, so her gifts of persistenceand self-confidence had ranked themselves for the defense of acomparatively unimportant and commonplace existence. As has been said, she forbade, years before, any mention of her family troubles, and hadlived on before the world as if they could be annihilated, and notonly were not observable, but never had been. In a more thoughtful andactive circle of social life the contrast between her rare capacityand her unnoticeable career would have been more striking. She stoodas a fine representative of the old school, but it could not be justlysaid that she was a forward scholar, since, however sure of some ofher early lessons, she was most dull and reluctant before new ones ofvarious enlightening and uplifting descriptions. 

Nan had observed that her aunt had looked very tired and spent as shewent up-stairs after dinner, and understood better than she had beforethat this visit was moving the waters of Miss Prince's soul moredeeply than had been suspected. She gained a new sympathy, and as thehours of the summer afternoon went by she thought of a great manythings which had not been quite plain to her, and strolled about thegarden until she knew that by heart, and had made friends with thedisorderly company of ladies-delights and periwinkles which hadcropped up everywhere, as if the earth were capable of turning itselfinto such small blossoms without anybody's help, after so many yearsof unvarying tuition. The cherry-trees and pear-trees had a mostvenerable look, and the plum-trees were in dismal mourning of blackknots. There was a damp and shady corner where Nan found a great manylilies of the valley still lingering, though they had some time agogone out of bloom in the more sunshiny garden at Oldfields. Sheremembered that there were no flowers in the house and gathered agreat handful at last of one sort and another to carry in. 

The dining-room was very dark, and Nan wished at first to throw openthe blinds which had been carefully closed. It seemed too early in thesummer to shut out the sunshine, but it seemed also a little too soonto interfere with the housekeeping, and so she brought two or threetall champagne glasses from a high shelf of the closet and filled themwith her posies, and after putting them in their places, went back tothe garden. There was a perfect silence in the house, except for thesound of the tall clock in the dining-room, and it seemed very lonely. She had taken another long look at her father's portrait, but as sheshut the rusty-hinged garden gate after her, she smiled at the thoughtof her unusual idleness, and wondered if it need last until Tuesday, which was the day she had fixed upon for her departure. Nan wishedthat she dared to go away for a long walk; it was a pity she had nottold her aunt of a wish to see something of the town and of theharbor-side that afternoon, but it would certainly be a little strangeif she were to disappear, and very likely the long nap would soon cometo an end. Being well taught in the details of gardening, she took aknife from her pocket and pruned and trained the shrubs and vines, andsang softly to herself as she thought about her next winter's studyand her plans for the rest of the summer, and also decided that shewould insist upon the doctor's going away with her for a journey whenshe reached home again. 

After a little while she heard her aunt open the blinds of the gardendoor and call her in most friendly tones, and when she reached thehouse Miss Prince was in the south parlor entertaining avisitor, --Captain Walter Parish, who had gladly availed himself ofsome trifling excuse of a business nature, which involved the signingand sending of a paper by the early post of next day. He was going tohis daughter's to tea, and it was quite a long drive to her house, sohe had not dared to put off his errand, he explained, lest he shouldbe detained in the evening. But he had been also longing to take alook at Miss Prince's guest. His wife went to another church and hedutifully accompanied her, though he had been brought up with MissPrince at old St. Ann's. 

"So this is my young cousin?" said the captain gallantly, and withgreat simplicity and tenderness held both Nan's hands and looked fullin her face a moment before he kissed her; then to Miss Prince's greatdiscomposure and embarrassment he turned to the window and looked outwithout saying a word, though he drew the back of his hand across hiseyes in sailor-fashion, as if he wished to make them clear while hesighted something on the horizon. Miss Prince thought it was allnonsense and would have liked to say so, though she trusted that hersilence was eloquent enough. 

"She brings back the past, " said Captain Walter as he returnedpresently and seated himself where he could look at Nan as much as heliked. "She brings back the past. "

"You were speaking of old Captain Slater, " reminded Miss Prince withsome dignity. 

"I just came from there, " said Captain Parish, with his eyes stillfixed on his young relative, though it was with such a friendly gazethat Nan was growing fonder of him every minute. "They told me he wasabout the same as yesterday. I offered to watch with him to-morrownight. And how do you like the looks of Dunport, my dear?"

Nan answered eagerly with brightening face, and added that she waslonging to see more of it; the old wharves especially. 

"Now that's good, " said the captain; "I wonder if you would careanything about taking a stroll with me in the morning. Your aunt hereis a famous housekeeper, and will be glad to get you off her hands, Idare say. "

Nan eagerly accepted, and though it was suggested that Miss Prince hada plan for showing the town in the afternoon, she was promptly toldthat there was nothing easier than taking both these pleasantopportunities. "You would lose yourself among the old storehouses, I'msure, Nancy, " laughed the old sailor, "and you must let me have myway. It's a chance one doesn't get every day, to tell the old Dunportstories to a new listener. "

Some one had opened the front door, and was heard coming along thehall. "This is very kind, George, " said Miss Prince, with muchpleasure, while the captain looked a little disconcerted at his youngrival; he assured himself that he would make a long morning's cruiseof it, next day, with this attractive sightseer, and for once theyoung beaux would be at a disadvantage; the girls of his own day usedto think him one of the best of their gallants, and at this thoughtthe captain was invincible. Mr. Gerry must take the second chance. 

The blinds were open now, and the old room seemed very pleasant. Nan'sbrown hair had been blown about not a little in the garden, and as shesat at the end of the long, brass-nailed sofa, a ray of sunshinetouched the glass of a picture behind her and flew forward again totangle itself in her stray locks, so that altogether there was a sortof golden halo about her pretty head. And young Gerry thought he hadnever seen anything so charming. The white frock was a welcomeaddition to the usually sombre room, and his eyes quickly saw theflowers on the table. He knew instantly that the bouquet was none ofMiss Prince's gathering. 

"I hope you won't think I mean to stay as much too late as I have cometoo early, " he laughed. "I must go away soon after tea, for I havepromised to talk with the captain of a schooner which is to sail inthe morning. Mr. Wills luckily found out that he could give someevidence in a case we are working up. "

"The collision?" asked Captain Parish, eagerly. "I was wonderingto-day when I saw the Highflyer's foremast between the buildings onFleet Street as I went to meeting, if they were going to let her liethere and dry-rot. I don't think she's being taken proper care of. Imust say I hate to see a good vessel go to ruin when there's no needof it. "

"The man in charge was recommended very highly, and everything seemedto be all right when I was on board one day this week, " said youngGerry, good-naturedly, and turned to explain to Nan that this vesselhad been damaged by collision with another, and the process ofsettling the matter by litigation had been provokingly slow. 

The captain listened with impatience. "I dare say she looked very wellto your eyes, but I'd rather have an old ship-master's word for itthan a young lawyer's. I haven't boarded her for some weeks; I daresay 'twas before the snow was gone; but she certainly needed attentionthen. I saw some bad-looking places in the sheathing and planking. There ought to be a coat of paint soon, and plenty of tar carriedaloft besides, or there'll be a long bill for somebody to pay beforeshe's seaworthy. "

"I wish you would make a careful inspection of her, " said the youngman, with gratifying deference. "I don't doubt that it is necessary; Iwill see that you are well satisfied for your services. Of course thecaptain himself should have stayed there and kept charge, but youremember he was sick and had to resign. He looks feeble yet. I hopenothing will happen to him before the matter is settled up, but we aresure of the trial in September. "

"She's going to be rigged with some of your red tape, I'm afraid, "said Captain Parish, with great friendliness. "I don't see any reasonwhy I can't look her over to-morrow morning, I'm obliged to you, or atleast make a beginning, " and he gave a most knowing nod at Nan, as ifthey would divide the pleasure. "I'll make the excuse of showing thisyoung lady the construction of a good-sized merchant vessel, and thenthe keeper can't feel affronted. She is going to take a stroll with mealong the wharves, " he concluded triumphantly. While Mr. Gerry lookedwistful for a moment, and Miss Prince quickly took advantage of apause in the conversation to ask if he knew whether anything pleasantwas going forward among the young people this week. She did not wishher niece to have too dull a visit. 

"Some of us are going up the river very soon, " said the young man, with eager pleasure, looking at Nan. "It would be so pleasant if MissPrince would join us. We think our Dunport supper parties of that sortwould be hard to match. "

"The young folks will all be flocking here by to-morrow, " said thecaptain; and Miss Prince answered "Surely, " in a tone of command, rather than entreaty. She knew very well how the news of Nan's comingmust be flying about the town, and she almost regretted the fact ofher own previous silence about this great event. In the mean time Nanwas talking to the two gentlemen as if she had already been to herroom to smooth her hair, which her aunt looked at reproachfully fromtime to time, though the sunshine had not wholly left it. The girl wasquite unconscious of herself, and glad to have the company andsympathy of these kind friends. She thought once that if she had abrother she would like him to be of young Mr. Gerry's fashion. He hadnone of the manner which constantly insisted upon her remembering thathe was a man and she a girl; she could be good friends with him in thesame way that she had been with some Oldfields schoolfellows, andafter the captain had reluctantly taken his leave, they had a pleasanttalk about out-of-door life and their rides and walks, and were soonexchanging experiences in a way that Miss Nancy smiled upon gladly. Itwas not to be wondered at that she could not get used to so great achange in her life. She could not feel sure yet that she no longer hada secret, and that this was the niece whom she had so many yearsdreaded and disclaimed. George Gerry had taken the niece's place inher affections, yet here was Anna, her own namesake, who showedplainly in so many ways the same descent as herself, being as much aPrince as herself in spite of her mother's low origin and worsepersonal traits, and the loutish companions to whom she had alwayspersuaded herself poor Nan was akin. And it was by no means sure thatthe last of the Princes was not the best of them; she was very proudof her brother's daughter, and was more at a loss to know how to makeexcuses for being shortsighted and neglectful. Miss Prince hated tothink that Nan had any but the pleasantest associations with hernearest relative; she must surely keep the girl's affection now. Shemeant to insist at any rate upon Dunport's being her niece's home forthe future, though undoubtedly it would be hard at first to break withthe many associations of Oldfields. She must write that very night toDr. Leslie to thank him for his care, and to again express her regretthat Anna's misguided young mother should have placed suchrestrictions upon the child's relations with her nearest of kin, andso have broken the natural ties of nature. And she would not stopthere; she would blame herself generously and say how sorry she wasthat she had been governed by her painful recollections of a time sheshould now strive to forget. Dr. Leslie must be asked to come and joinhis ward for a few days, and then they would settle her plans for thefuture. She should give her niece a handsome allowance at any rate, and then, as Miss Prince looked across the room and forgot her ownthoughts in listening to the young people's friendly talk, a suddenpurpose flashed through her mind. The dream of her heart began tounfold itself slowly: could anything be so suitable, so comforting toher own mind, as that they should marry each other?

Two days before, her pleasure and pride in the manly fellow, who wasalmost as dear to her as an own son could be, would have been greatlyshocked, but Miss Prince's heart began to beat quickly. It would besuch a blessed solution of all the puzzles and troubles of her life ifshe could have both the young people near her through the years thatremained, and when she died, or even before, they could live here inthe old house, and begin a new and better order of things in the placeof her own failures and shortcomings. It was all so distinct andpossible in Miss Prince's mind that only time seemed necessary, andeven the time could be made short. She would not put any hindrancesbetween them and their blessed decision. As she went by them to seekPriscilla, she smoothed the cushion which Nan had leaned upon beforeshe moved a little nearer George Gerry in some sudden excitement ofthe conversation, which had begun while the captain was still there, and there was a needless distance between them. Then Miss Prince lether hand rest for a minute on the girl's soft hair. "You must ask Mr. Gerry to excuse you for a few minutes, my dear, you have been quiteblown about in the garden. I meant to join you there. "

"It is a dear old garden, " said Nan. "I can't help being almost asfond of it already as I am of ours at home;" but though Aunt Nancy'sunwonted caress had been so unlike her conduct in general, thisreference to Oldfields called her to her senses, and she went quicklyaway. She did not like to hear Nan speak in such loving fashion of ahouse where she had no real right. 

But when Mr. George Gerry was left alone, he had pleasant thoughtscome flocking in to keep him company in the ladies' stead. He had notdreamed of such a pleasure as this; who could have? and what couldAunt Nancy think of herself!

"It is such a holiday, " said Nan, when tea was fairly begun, and hernew friend was acknowledging an uncommon attack of hunger, and theywere all merry in a sedate way to suit Miss Prince's ideas andpreferences. "I have been quite the drudge this winter over mystudies, and I feel young and idle again, now that I am making allthese pleasant plans. " For Mr. Gerry had been talking enthusiasticallyabout some excursions he should arrange to certain charming places inthe region of Dunport. Both he and Miss Prince smiled when Nanannounced that she was young and idle, and a moment afterward the auntasked doubtfully about her niece's studies; she supposed that Anna wasdone with schools. 

Nan stopped her hand as it reached for the cup which Miss Prince hadjust filled. "School; yes, " she answered, somewhat bewildered; "butyou know I am studying medicine. " This most important of all facts hadbeen so present to her own mind, even in the excitement and novelty ofher new surroundings, that she could not understand that her aunt wasstill entirely ignorant of the great purpose of her life. 

"What do you mean?" demanded Miss Prince, coldly, and quicklyexplained to their somewhat amused and astonished companion, "My niecehas been the ward of a distinguished physician, and it is quitenatural she should have become interested in his pursuits. "

"But I am really studying medicine; it is to be my profession, "persisted Nan fearlessly, though she was sorry that she had spoiledthe harmony of the little company. "And my whole heart is in it, AuntNancy. "

"Nonsense, my dear, " returned Miss Prince, who had recovered herself-possession partially. "Your father gave promise of attaininggreat eminence in a profession that was very proper for him, but Ithought better of Dr. Leslie than this. I cannot understand hisindulgence of such a silly notion. "

George Gerry felt very uncomfortable. He had been a good deal shocked, but he had a strong impulse to rush into the field as Nan's champion, though it were quite against his conscience. She had been too long ina humdrum country-town with no companion but an elderly medical man. And after a little pause he made a trifling joke about their makingthe best of the holiday, and the talk was changed to other subjects. The tide was strong against our heroine, but she had been assailedbefore, and had no idea of sorrowing yet over a lost cause. And foronce Miss Prince was in a hurry for Mr. Gerry to go away. 

XVII

BY THE RIVER

As Nan went down the street next morning with Captain Parish, who hadbeen most prompt in keeping his appointment, they were met by Mr. Gerry and a young girl who proved to be Captain Parish's niece and thebearer of a cordial invitation. It would be just the evening for aboat-party, and it was hoped that Miss Prince the younger would beready to go up the river at half-past five. 

"Dear me, yes, " said the captain; "your aunt will be pleased to haveyou go, I'm sure. These idle young folks mustn't expect us to turnback now, though, to have a visit from you. We have no end of businesson hand. "

"If Miss Prince will remember that I was really on my way to see her, "said Mary Parish pleasantly, while she looked with eager interest atthe stranger. The two girls were quite ready to be friends. "We willjust stop to tell your aunt, lest she should make some other plan foryou, " she added, giving Nan a nod that was almost affectionate. "Wehave hardly used the boats this year, it has been such a cold, latespring, and we hope for a very good evening. George and I will callfor you, " and George, who had been listening to a suggestion about theship business, smiled with pleasure as they separated. 

"Nice young people, " announced the captain, who was in a sympatheticmood. "There has been some reason for thinking that they meant to takeup with each other for good and all. I don't know that either of themcould do better, though I like the girl best; that's natural; she's mybrother's daughter, and I was her guardian; she only came of age lastyear. Her father and yours were boys together, younger than I am by adozen years, both gone before me too, " sighed the captain, and quicklychanged so sad a subject by directing his companion's attention to oneof the old houses, and telling the story of it as they walked along. Luckily they had the Highflyer all to themselves when they reached thewharf, for the keeper had gone up into the town, and his wife, who hadset up a frugal housekeeping in the captain's cabin, sat in the shadeof the house with her sewing, the Monday's washing having been earlyspread to the breeze in a corner of the main deck. She acceptedCaptain Parish's explanations of his presence with equanimity, andseemed surprised and amused at the young landswoman's curiosity andeagerness, for a ship was as commonplace to herself as any farm-houseashore. 

"Dear me! you wouldn't know it was the same place, " said the captain, in the course of his enumeration of the ropes and yards and othermysterious furnishings of the old craft. "With a good crew aboard, this deck is as busy as a town every day. I don't know how I'm goingbelow until the keeper gets back. I suppose you don't want me to showyou the road to the main-to'gallant cross-trees; once I knew it aswell as anybody, and I could make quicker time now than most of theyoungsters, " and the captain gave a knowing glance aloft, while atthis moment somebody crossed the gangway plank. It was a broken-downold sailor, who was a familiar sight in Dunport. 

"Mornin' to you, sir, " and the master of the Highflyer, for the timebeing, returned the salute with a mixture of dignity and friendliness. 

"Goin' to take command?" chuckled the bent old fellow. "I'd like toship under ye; 'twouldn't be the first time, " and he gave his hat anunsettling shake with one hand as he looked at Nan for some sign ofrecognition, which was quickly given. 

"You've shipped under better masters than I. Any man who followed thesea with Cap'n Jack Prince had more to teach than to learn. And here'shis grand-daughter before you, and does him credit too, " said CaptainWalter. "Anna, you won't find many of your grandfather's men about theold wharves, but here's one of the smartest that ever had hold of ahawser. "

"Goodsoe by name: I thank ye kindly, cap'n, but I ain't much accountnowadays, " said the pleased old man, trying to get the captain'sstartling announcement well settled in his mind. "Old Cap'n JackPrince's grand-darter? Why Miss Nancy's never been brought to changeher mind about nothing, has she?"

"It seems so, " answered Nan's escort, laughing as if this were a goodjoke; and Nan herself could not help smiling. 

"I don't believe if the old gentleman can look down at ye he begrudgesthe worst of his voyages nor the blackest night he ever spent on deck, if you're going to have the spending of the money. Not but what MissPrince has treated me handsome right straight along, " the old sailorexplained, while the inspector, thinking this not a safe subject tocontinue, spoke suddenly about some fault of the galley; and afterthis was discussed, the eyes of the two practiced men sought thedamaged mizzen mast, the rigging of which was hanging in snarled andbroken lengths. When Nan asked for some account of the accident, shewas told with great confidence that the Highflyer had been fouled, andthat it was the other vessel's fault; at which she was no wiser thanbefore, having known already that there had been a collision. Thereseemed to be room enough on the high seas, she ventured to say, ormight the mischief have been done in port?

"It does seem as if you ought to know the sense of sea talk withoutany learning, being Cap'n Jack Prince's grand-darter, " said oldGoodsoe; for Captain Parish had removed himself to a little distance, and was again investigating the condition of the ship's galley, whichone might suppose to have been neglected in some unforgivable way, judging from his indignant grumble. 

"Fouled, we say aboard ship, when two vessels lay near enough so thatthey drift alongside. You can see what havick 't would make, for tento one they don't part again till they have tore each other all toshoestrings; the yards will get locked together, and the same windthat starts one craft starts both, and first one and then t'otherlifts with a wave, don't ye see, and the rigging's spoilt in a littletime. I've sometimes called it to mind when I've known o' marriedcouples that wasn't getting on. 'T is easy to drift alongside, but nomatter if they was bound to the same port they'd 'a' done best alone;"and the old fellow shook his head solemnly, and was evidentlyselecting one of his numerous stories for Nan's edification, when hissuperior officer came bustling toward them. 

"You might as well step down here about four o'clock; I shall have thekeys then. I may want you to hold a lantern for me; I'm going into thelower hold and mean to do my work thoroughly, if I do it at all, " towhich Goodsoe responded "ay, ay, sir, " in most seamanlike fashion andhobbled off. 

"He'd have kept you there all day, " whispered Captain Walter. "Healways loved to talk, and now he has nothing else to do; but we areall friendly to Goodsoe. Some of us pay a little every year toward hissupport, but he has always made himself very useful about the wharvesuntil this last year or two; he thought everything of yourgrandfather, and I knew it would please him to speak to you. It seemsunfortunate that you should have grown up anywhere else than here; butI hope you'll stay now?"

"It is not very likely, " said Nan coldly. She wished that the captainwould go on with his stories of the former grandeur of Dunport, ratherthan show any desire to talk about personal matters. She had beenlittle troubled at first by her aunt's evident disapproval the eveningbefore of her plans for the future, for she was so intent uponcarrying them out and certain that no one had any right to interfere. Still it would have been better to have been violently opposed than tohave been treated like a child whose foolish whim would soon beforgotten when anything better offered itself. Nan felt much olderthan most girls of her years, and as if her decisions were quite asmuch to be respected as her aunt's. She had dealt already with graverquestions than most persons, and her responsibilities had by no meansbeen light ones. She felt sometimes as if she were separated by half alifetime from the narrow limits of school life. Yet there was anuncommon childlikeness about her which not only misled these newfriends, but many others who had known her longer. And when theselistened to accounts of her devotion to her present studies and hermarked proficiency, they shook their wise heads smilingly, as if theyknew that the girl was innocent of certain proper and insurmountableobstacles farther on. 

The air was fresh, and it was so pleasant on the wharf that thecaptain paced to and fro several times, while he pointed out differentobjects of interest along the harbor-side, and tapped the rusty anchorand the hawsers with his walking-stick as he went by. He had made somevery pointed statements to the keeper's wife about the propriety ofopening the hatches on such a morning as that, which she had receivedwithout comment, and wished her guests good-day with provokingequanimity. The captain did not like to have his authority ignored, but mentioned placidly that he supposed every idler along shore hadbeen giving advice; though he wondered what Nan's grandfather and oldCaptain Peterbeck would have said if any one had told them this wouldbe the only square-rigged vessel in Dunport harbor for weeks at atime. 

"Dear me!" he exclaimed again presently, "there's young Gerry hard atwork!" and he directed his companion's attention to one of the upperwindows of the buildings whose fronts had two stories on the mainstreet, while there were five or six on the rear, which faced theriver. Nan could see the diligent young man and thought it hard thatany one must be drudging within doors that beautiful morning. 

"He has always been a great favorite of your aunt's, " said CaptainParish, confidentially, after the law student had pretended tosuddenly catch sight of the saunterers, and waved a greeting which thecaptain exultantly returned. "We have always thought that she waslikely to make him her heir. She was very fond of his father, you see, and some trouble came between them. Nobody ever knew, because ifanybody ever had wit enough to keep her own counsel 'twas NancyPrince. I know as much about her affairs as anybody, and what I say toyou is between ourselves. I know just how far to sail with her andwhen to stop, if I don't want to get wrecked on a lee shore. Your aunthas known how to take care of what she had come to her, and I've donethe best I could to help her; it's a very handsome property, --veryhandsome indeed. She helped George Gerry to get his education, andthen he had some little money left him by his father's brother, --nogreat amount, but enough to give him a start; he's a very smart, upright fellow, and I am glad for whatever Nancy did for him; but itdidn't seem fair that he should be stepping into your rights. But Inever have dared to speak up for you since one day--she wouldn't heara word about it, that's all I have to remark, " the captain concludedin a hurry, for wisdom's sake, though he longed to say more. It seemedoutrageous to him at this moment that the girl at his side should havebeen left among strangers, and he was thankful that she seemed at lastto have a good chance of making sure of her rightful possessions. 

"But I haven't needed anything, " she said, giving Captain Walter agrateful glance for his championship. "And Mr. Gerry is very kind andattentive to my aunt, so I am glad she has been generous to him. Heseems a fine fellow, as you say, " and Nan thought suddenly that it wasvery hard for him to have had her appear on the scene by way of rival, if he had been led to suppose that he was her aunt's heir. There wereso many new things to think of, that Nan had a bewildering sense ofbeing a stranger and a foreigner in this curiously self-centredDunport, and a most disturbing element to its peace of mind. Shewondered if, since she had not grown up here, it would not have beenbetter to have stayed away altogether. Her own life had always beenquite unvexed by any sort of social complications, and she thought howgood it would be to leave this talkative and staring little world andgo back to Oldfields and its familiar interests and associations. ButDunport was a dear old place, and the warm-hearted captain a mostentertaining guide, and by the time their walk was over, the dayseemed a most prosperous and entertaining one. Aunt Nancy appeared tobe much pleased with the plan for the afternoon, and announced thatshe had asked some of the young people to come to drink tea the nextevening, while she greeted Nan so kindly that the home-coming wasparticularly pleasant. As for the captain, he was unmistakably happy, and went off down the street with a gentle, rolling gait, and a smileupon his face that fairly matched the June weather, though he was morethan an hour late for the little refreshment with which he and certaindignified associates commonly provided themselves at eleven o'clock inthe forenoon. Life was as regular ashore as on board ship with theseidle mariners of high degree. There was no definite business amongthem except that of occasionally settling an estate, and the formingof decided opinions upon important questions of the past and future. 

The shadows had begun to grow long when the merry company of youngpeople went up river with the tide, and Nan thought she had seldomknown such a pleasure away from her own home. She begged for theoars, and kept stroke with George Gerry, pulling so well that theyquickly passed the other boat. Mary Parish and the friend who made thefourth of that division of the party sat in the stern and steered withfine dexterity, and the two boats kept near each other, so that Nansoon lost all feeling of strangeness, and shared in the goodcomradeship to which she had been willingly admitted. It was some timesince she had been on the water before, and she thought more than onceof her paddling about the river in her childhood, and even regaled thecompany once with a most amusing mishap, at the remembrance of whichshe had been forced to laugh outright. The river was broad and brimfulof water; it seemed high tide already, and the boats pulled easily. The fields sloped down to the river-banks, shaded with elms and partedby hedgerows like a bit of English country. The freshest bloom of theJune greenness was in every blade of grass and every leaf. The birdswere beginning to sing the long day to a close, and the lowing ofcattle echoed from the pastures again and again across the water;while the country boats were going home from the town, sometimes witha crew of women, who seemed to have made this their regular conveyanceinstead of following the more roundabout highways ashore. Some ofthese navigators rowed with a cross-handed stroke that jerked theirboats along in a droll fashion, and some were propelled by one gropingoar, the sculler standing at the stern as if he were trying to pushhis craft out of water altogether and take to the air, toward whichthe lifted bow pointed. And in one of the river reaches half a mileahead, two heavy packet boats, with high-peaked lateen sails, like agreat bird's single wing, were making all the speed they could towardport before the tide should begin to fall two hours later. The youngguest of the party was very happy; she had spent so many of herchildish days out of doors that a return to such pleasures alwaysfilled her with strange delight. The color was bright in her cheeks, and her half-forgotten girlishness came back in the place of thegravity and dignity that had brought of late a sedate youngwomanliness to her manner. The two new friends in the stern of theboat were greatly attracted to her, and merry laughter rang out nowand then. Nan was so brave and handsome, so willing to be pleased, andso grateful to them for this little festivity, that they quicklybecame interested in each other, as girls will. The commander thoughthimself a fortunate fellow, and took every chance of turning his headto catch a glimpse of our heroine, though he always had a good excuseof taking his bearings or inspecting for himself some object afloat orashore which one of the boat's company had pointed out. And Nan mustbe told the names of the distant hills which stood out clear in theafternoon light, and to what towns up river the packet boats werebound, and so the time seemed short before the light dory was run inamong the coarse river grass and pulled up higher than seemednecessary upon the shore. 

Their companions had not chosen so fleet a craft, and were fiveinstead of four at any rate, but they were welcomed somewhatderisively, and all chattered together in a little crowd for a fewminutes before they started for a bit of woodland which overhung theriver on a high point. The wind rustled the oak leaves and roughenedthe surface of the water, which spread out into a wide inland bay. Theclouds began to gather in the west and to take on wonderful colors, asif such a day must be ended with a grand ceremony, and the sun go downthrough banners and gay parades of all the forces of the sky. Nan hadwatched such sunsets from her favorite playground at the farm, andsomehow the memory of those days touched her heart more tenderly thanthey had ever done before, and she wished for a moment that she couldget away from the noisy little flock who were busy getting the supperready, though they said eagerly what a beautiful evening it would beto go back to town, and that they must go far up the river first tomeet the moonlight. 

In a few minutes Nan heard some one say that water must be broughtfrom a farm-house not far away, and quickly insisted that she shouldmake one of the messengers, and after much discussion andremonstrance, she and young Gerry found themselves crossing the openfield together. The girl had left her hat swinging from one of the lowoak branches; she wondered why Mary Parish had looked at her first asif she were very fond of her, and then almost appealingly, until theremembrance of Captain Walter's bit of gossip came to mind too late tobe acted upon. Nan felt a sudden sympathy, and was sorry she had notthought to share with this favorite among her new friends, thecompanion whom she had joined so carelessly. George Gerry had somevery attractive ways. He did not trouble Nan with unnecessaryattentions, as some young men had, and she told herself again, howmuch she liked him. They walked fast, with free, light steps, andtalked as they went in a way that was very pleasant to both of them. Nan was wise to a marvel, the good fellow told himself, and yet suchan amusing person. He did not know when he had liked anybody so much;he was very glad to stand well in the sight of these sweet, cleareyes, and could not help telling their owner some of the things thatlay very near his heart. He had wished to get away from Dunport; hehad not room there; everybody knew him as well as they knew thecourthouse; he somehow wanted to get to deeper water, and out of hisdepth, and then swim for it with the rest. And Nan listened with deepsympathy, for she also had felt that a great engine of strength andambition was at work with her in her plans and studies. 

She waited until he should have finished his confidence, to say a wordfrom her own experience, but just then they reached the farm-house andstood together at the low door. There was a meagre show of flowers inthe little garden, which the dripping eaves had beaten and troubled inthe late rains, and one rosebush was loosely caught to the clapboardshere and there. 

There did not seem to be anybody in the kitchen, into which they couldlook through the open doorway, though they could hear steps and voicesfrom some part of the house beyond it; and it was not until they hadknocked again loudly that a woman came to answer them, looking worriedand pale. 

"I never was so glad to see folks, though I don't know who you be, "she said hurriedly. "I believe I shall have to ask you to go for help. My man's got hurt; he managed to get home, but he's broke hisshoulder, or any ways 'tis out o' place. He was to the pasture, andwe've got some young cattle, and somehow or 'nother one he'd caughtand was meaning to lead home give a jump, and John lost his balance;he says he can't see how 't should 'a' happened, but over he went andgot jammed against a rock before he could let go o' the rope he'd putround the critter's neck. He's in dreadful pain so 't I couldn't leavehim, and there's nobody but me an' the baby. You'll have to go to thenext house and ask them to send; Doctor Bent's always attended of us. "

"Let me see him, " said Nan with decision. "Wait a minute, Mr. Gerry, or perhaps you had better come in too, " and she led the way, while thesurprised young man and the mistress of the house followed her. Thepatient was a strong young fellow, who sat on the edge of the bed inthe little kitchen-bedroom, pale as ashes, and holding one elbow witha look of complete misery, though he stopped his groans as thestrangers came in. 

"Lord bless you, young man! don't wait here, " he said; "tell thedoctor it may only be out o' place, but I feel as if 'twas broke. "

But Nan had taken a pair of scissors from the high mantelpiece and wasmaking a cut in the coarse, white shirt, which was already torn andstained by its contact with the ground, and with quick fingers and alook of deep interest made herself sure what had happened, when shestood still for a minute and seemed a little anxious, and all at onceentirely determined. "Just lie down on the floor a minute, " she said, and the patient with some exclamations, but no objections, obeyed. 

Nan pushed the spectators into the doorway of the kitchen, and quicklystooped and unbuttoned her right boot, and then planted her foot onthe damaged shoulder and caught up the hand and gave a quick pull, thesecret of which nobody understood; but there was an unpleasant cluckas the bone went back into its socket, and a yell from the sufferer, who scrambled to his feet. 

"I'll be hanged if she ain't set it, " he said, looking quite weak andvery much astonished. "You're the smartest young woman I ever see. Ishall have to lay down just to pull my wits together. Marthy, a drinkof water, " and by the time this was brought the excitement seemed tobe at an end, though the patient was a little faint, and his wifelooked at Nan admiringly. Nan herself was fastening her boot againwith unwonted composure. George Gerry had not a word to say, andlistened to a simple direction of Nan's as if it were meant for him, and acceded to her remark that she was glad for the shoulder's sakethat it did not have to wait and grow worse and worse all the whilethe doctor was being brought from town. And after a few minutes, whenthe volley of thanks and compliments could be politely cut short, thetwo members of the picnic party set forth with their pail of water tojoin their companions. 

"Will you be so good as to tell me how you knew enough to do that?"asked Mr. Gerry humbly, and looking at his companion with admiration. "I should not have had the least idea. "

"I was very glad it turned out so well, " said Nan simply. "It was agreat pleasure to be of use, they were so frightened, poor things. Wewon't say anything about it, will we?"

But the young man did not like to think yet of the noise the returningbone had made. He was stout-hearted enough usually; as brave a fellowas one could wish to see; but he felt weak and womanish, and somehowwished it had been he who could play the doctor. Nan hurried backbareheaded to the oak grove as if nothing had happened, though, ifpossible, she looked gayer and brighter than ever. And when thewaiting party scolded a little at their slow pace, Miss Prince wasmuch amused and made two or three laughing apologies for theirlaziness, and even ventured to give the information that they had madea pleasant call at the farm-house. 

The clouds were fading fast and the twilight began to gather under thetrees before they were ready to go away, and then the high tide hadfloated off one of the boats, which must be chased and brought back. But presently the picnickers embarked, and, as the moon came up, andthe river ebbed, the boats went back to the town and overtook otherson the way, and then were pulled up stream again in the favoring eddyto make the evening's pleasure longer; at last Nan was left at herdoor. She had managed that George Gerry should give Mary Parish hisarm, and told them, as they came up the street with her from thewharf, that she had heard their voices Saturday night as they passedunder her window: it was Mary Parish herself who had talked about thebest room and its ghosts. 

XVIII

A SERIOUS TEA-DRINKING

It was very good for Nan to find herself cordially welcomed to acompany of young people who had little thought of anything butamusement in the pleasant summer weather. Other young guests came toDunport just then, and the hospitable town seemed to give itself up totheir entertainment. Picnics and tea-drinkings followed each other, and the pleasure boats went up river and down river, while there werewalks and rides and drives, and all manner of contrivances and excusesfor spending much time together on the part of the young men andmaidens. It was a good while since Nan had taken such a long holiday, though she had by no means been without the pleasures of society. Notonly had she made friends easily during her school-life and her laterstudies, but Oldfields itself, like all such good old nests, was aptto call back its wandering fledglings when the June weather came. Itdelighted her more and more to be in Dunport, and though she sometimesgrew impatient, wise Dr. Leslie insisted that she must not hurry home. The change was the very best thing in the world for her. Dr. Ferrishad alighted for a day or two in the course of one of his wanderingflights; and it seemed to the girl that since everything was gettingon so well without her in Oldfields, she had better, as the doctor hadalready expressed it, let her visit run its course like a fever. Atany rate she could not come again very soon, and since her aunt seemedso happy, it was a pity to hurry away and end these days sooner thanneed be. It had been a charming surprise to find herself such adesired companion, and again and again quite the queen of that littlecourt of frolickers, because lately she had felt like one who looks onat such things, and cannot make part of them. Yet all the time thatshe was playing she thought of her work with growing satisfaction. Byother people the knowledge of her having studied medicine was not verywell received. It was considered to have been the fault of MissPrince, who should not have allowed a whimsical country doctor to havebeguiled the girl into such silly notions, and many were the shaftssped toward so unwise an aunt for holding out against her niece somany years. To be sure the child had been placed under a mostrestricted guardianship; but years ago, it was thought, the mattermight have been rearranged, and Nan brought to Dunport. It certainlyhad been much better for her that she had grown up elsewhere; though, for whatever was amiss and willful in her ways, Oldfields was heldaccountable. It must be confessed that every one who had known herwell had discovered sooner or later the untamed wildnesses whichseemed like the tangles which one often sees in field-corners, thougha most orderly crop is taking up the best part of the room between thefences. Yet she was hard to find fault with, except by veryshortsighted persons who resented the least departure by others fromthe code they themselves had been pleased to authorize, and who couldnot understand that a nature like Nan's must and could make and keepcertain laws of its own. 

There seemed to be a sort of inevitableness about the visit; Nanherself hardly knew why she was drifting on day after day withoutreasonable excuse. Her time had been most carefully ordered and spentduring the last few years, and now she sometimes had an uneasy feelingand a lack of confidence in her own steadfastness. But everybody tookit for granted that the visit must not come to an end. The doctorshowed no sign of expecting her. Miss Prince would be sure to resenther going away, and the pleasure-makers marked one day after anotherfor their own. It seemed impossible, and perhaps unwise, to go on withthe reading she had planned, and, in fact, she had been urged toattend to her books rather by habit than natural inclination; and whenthe temptation to drift with the stream first made itself felt, thereasons for opposing it seemed to fade away. It was easier to rememberthat Dr. Leslie, and even those teachers who knew her best at themedical school, had advised a long vacation. 

The first formal visits and entertainments were over with for the mostpart, and many of the Dunport acquaintances began to seem like oldfriends. There had been a little joking about Nan's profession, andalso some serious remonstrance and unwise championship which did notreach this heroine's ears. It all seemed romantic and most unusualwhen anybody talked about her story at all, and the conclusion wassoon reached that all such whims and extravagances were merelyincident to the pre-Dunportian existence, and that now the young guesthad come to her own, the responsibilities and larger field of activitywould have their influence over her plan of life. The girl herself wasdisposed to talk very little about this singular fancy; it may havebeen thought that she had grown ashamed of it as seen by a brighterlight, but the truth was it kept a place too near her heart to allowher to gossip with people who had no real sympathy, and who would askquestions from curiosity alone. Miss Eunice Fraley had taken more thanone opportunity, however, to confess her interest, though she did thiswith the manner of one who dares to be a conspirator against publicopinion, and possibly the permanent welfare of society, and hadavowed, beside, her own horror of a doctor's simplest duties. But poorMiss Fraley looked at her young friend as a caged bird at a windowmight watch a lark's flight, and was strangely glad whenever there wasa chance to spend an hour in Nan's company. 

The first evening at Mrs. Fraley's had been a great success, and MissPrince had been vastly pleased because both the hostess and the guesthad received each other's commendation. Mrs. Fraley was, perhaps, theone person whom Miss Prince recognized as a superior officer, and sheobserved Nan's unconscious and suitable good behavior with greatpride. The hostess had formerly been an undisputed ruler of thehighest social circles of Dunport society, and now in her old age, when she could no longer be present at any public occasions, she wasstill the queen of a little court that assembled in her own house. Itwas true that the list of her subjects grew shorter year by year, butthe survivors remained loyal, and hardly expected, or even desired, that any of the newcomers to the town should recognize their ruler. Nan had been much interested in the old lady's stories, and had gladlyaccepted an invitation to come often to renew the first conversation. She was able to give Mrs. Fraley much welcome information of the waysand fashions of other centres of civilization, and it was a good thingto make the hours seem shorter. The poor old lady had fewalleviations; even religion had served her rather as a basis forargument than an accepted reliance and guide; and though she stillprided herself on her selection of words, those which she used informal conversations with the clergyman seemed more empty andmeaningless than most others. Mrs. Fraley was leaving this worldreluctantly; she had been well fitted by nature for socialpreeminence, and had never been half satisfied with the opportunitiesprovided for the exercise of her powers. It was only lately that shehad been forced to acknowledge that Time showed signs of defeating herin the projects of her life, and she had begun to give up the fightaltogether, and to mourn bitterly and aggressively to her anxious andresourceless daughter. It was plain enough that the dissatisfactionsand infirmities of age were more than usually great, and poor Eunicewas only too glad when the younger Miss Prince proved herself capableof interesting the old friend of her family, and Mrs. Fraley tookheart and suggested both informal visits and future entertainments. The prudent daughter was careful not to tell her mother of the guest'srevolutionary ideas, and for a time all went well, until some unwiseperson, unaware of Miss Fraley's warning gestures from the other sideof the sitting-room, proceeded to give a totally unnecessary opinionof the propriety of women's studying medicine. Poor Eunice expectedthat a sharp rebuke, followed by a day or two's disdain and generalunpleasantness, would descend upon her quaking shoulders; but, to hersurprise, nothing was said until the next morning, when she wasbidden, at much inconvenience to the household, to invite Miss Princeand her niece to come that afternoon to drink tea quite informally. 

There was a pathetic look in the messenger's faded face, --she feltunusually at odds with fortune as she glided along the street, sheltered by the narrow shadows of the high fences. Nan herself cameto the door, and when she threw back the closed blinds and discoveredthe visitor, she drew her in with most cordial welcome, and the twofriends entered the darkened south parlor, where it was cool, andsweet with the fragrance of some honeysuckle which Nan had brought inearly that morning from the garden. 

"Dear me, " said the little woman deprecatingly. "I don't know why Icame in at all. I can't stop to make a call. Mother was very desirousthat you and your aunt should come over to tea this evening. It seemsa good deal to ask in such hot weather, but she has so little to amuseher, and I really don't see that the weather makes much difference, she used to feel the heat very much years ago. " And Miss Eunice gave asigh, and fanned herself slowly, letting the fan which had been putinto her hand turn itself quite over on her lap before it came upagain. There was an air of antique elegance about this which amusedNan, who stood by the table wiping with her handkerchief some waterthat had dropped from the vase. A great many of the ladies in churchthe Sunday before had fanned themselves in this same littlelanguishing way; she remembered one or two funny old persons inOldfields who gave themselves airs after the same fashion. 

"I think we shall both be very pleased, " she answered directly, with abit of a smile; while Miss Fraley gazed at her admiringly, and thoughtshe had never seen the girl look so fresh and fair as she did in thisplain, cool little dress. There had been more water than was at firstsuspected; the handkerchief was a limp, white handful, and they bothlaughed as it was held up. Miss Fraley insisted that she could notstay. She must go to the shops to do some errands, and hoped to meetMiss Prince who had gone that way half an hour before. 

"Don't mind anything mother may say to you, " she entreated, afterlingering a minute, and looking imploringly in Nan's face. "You knowwe can't expect a person of her age to look at everything just as wedo. "

"Am I to be scolded?" asked Nan, serenely. "Do you know what it isabout?"

"Oh, perhaps nothing, " answered Miss Fraley, quickly. "I ought not tohave spoken, only I fancied she was a little distressed at the idea ofyour being interested in medicines. I don't know anything that is moreuseful myself. I am sure every family needs to have some one who hassome knowledge of such things; it saves calling a doctor. My sisterSusan knows more than any of us, and it has been very useful to herwith her large family. "

"But I shouldn't be afraid to come, I think, " said Nan, laughing. "Mrs. Fraley told me that she would finish that story of the diamondring, you know, and we shall get on capitally. Really I think herstories of old times are wonderfully interesting. I wish I had a giftfor writing them down whenever I am listening to her. "

Miss Eunice was much relieved, and felt sure that Nan was equal to anyemergency. The girl had put a strong young arm quickly round herguest's thin shoulders, and had kissed her affectionately, and thishad touched the lonely little woman's very heart. 

There were signs of storm in Madam Fraley's face that evening, buteverybody feigned not to observe them, and Nan behaved with perilousdisregard of a lack of encouragement, and made herself and the companyuncommonly merry. She described the bad effect her coming had had uponher aunt's orderly house. She confessed to having left her ownpossessions in such confusion the evening before when she dressedagain to go up the river, that Priscilla had called it a monkey'swedding, and had gone away after one scornful look inside the door. Miss Fraley dared to say that no one could mind seeing such prettythings, and even Miss Prince mentioned that her niece was not socareless as she would make them believe; while Nan begged to know ifanybody had ever heard of a monkey's wedding before, and seemed verymuch amused. 

"She called such a disarray in the kitchen one morning the monkey'swedding breakfast, " said Miss Prince, as if she never had thought itparticularly amusing until this minute. "Priscilla has always made useof a great many old-fashioned expressions. "

They had seated themselves at the tea-table; it was evident that MissFraley had found it a hard day, for she looked tired and worn. Themistress of the house was dressed in her best and most imposingclothes, and sat solemnly in her place. A careful observer might haveseen that the best blue teacups with their scalloped edges were notset forth. The occasion wore the air of a tribunal rather than that ofa festival, and it was impossible not to feel a difference between itand the former tea-party. 

Miss Prince was not particularly sensitive to moods and atmospheres;she happened to be in very good spirits, and talked for some timebefore she became entirely aware that something had gone wrong, butpresently faltered, and fell under the ban, looking questioninglytoward poor Eunice, who busied herself with the tea-tray. 

"Nancy, " said Mrs. Fraley impatiently, "I was amazed to find thatthere is a story going about town that your niece here is studying tobe a doctor. I hope that you don't countenance any such nonsense?"

Miss Prince looked helpless and confounded, and turned her eyes towardher niece. She could only hope at such a mortifying juncture that Nanwas ready to explain, or at least to shoulder the responsibility. 

"Indeed she doesn't give me any encouragement, Mrs. Fraley, " said Nan, fearlessly. "Only this morning she saw a work on ventilation in myroom and told me it wasn't proper reading for a young woman. "

"I really didn't look at the title, " said Miss Prince, smiling inspite of herself. 

"It doesn't seem to improve the health of you young folks because youthink it necessary to become familiar with such subjects, " announcedthe irate old lady. It was her habit to take a very slight refreshmentat the usual tea hour, and supplement it by a substantial lunch atbed-time, and so now she was not only at leisure herself, but demandedthe attention of her guests. She had evidently prepared an opinion, and was determined to give it. Miss Eunice grew smaller and thinnerthan ever, and fairly shivered with shame behind the tea-tray. Shelooked steadily at the big sugar-bowl, as if she were thinking whethershe might creep into it and pull something over her head. She neverliked an argument, even if it were a good-natured one, and always hada vague sense of personal guilt and danger. 

"In my time, " Mrs. Fraley continued, "it was thought proper for youngwomen to show an interest in household affairs. When I was married itwas not asked whether I was acquainted with dissecting-rooms. "

"But I don't think there is any need of that, " replied Nan. "I thinksuch things are the duty of professional men and women only. I am veryfar from believing that every girl ought to be a surgeon any more thanthat she ought to be an astronomer. And as for the younger people'sbeing less strong than the old, I am afraid it is their own fault, since we understand the laws of health better than we used. 'Whobreaks, pays, ' you know. "

It was evidently not expected that the young guest should venture todiscuss the question, but rather have accepted her rebuke meekly, andacknowledged herself in the wrong. But she had the courage of heropinions, and the eagerness of youth, and could hardly bear to be soeasily defeated. So when Mrs. Fraley, mistaking the moment's silencefor a final triumph, said again, that a woman's place was at home, andthat a strong-minded woman was out of place, and unwelcome everywhere, the girl's cheeks flushed suddenly. 

"I think it is a pity that we have fallen into a habit of usingstrong-mindedness as a term of rebuke, " she said. "I am willing toacknowledge that people who are eager for reforms are apt to developunpleasant traits, but it is only because they have to fight againstopposition and ignorance. When they are dead and the world is reapingthe reward of their bravery and constancy, it no longer laughs, butmakes statues of them, and praises diem, and thanks them in every wayit can. I think we ought to judge each other by the highest standards, Mrs. Fraley, and by whether we are doing good work. "

"My day is past, " said the hostess. "I do not belong to the present, and I suppose my judgment is worth nothing to you;" and Nan looked upquickly and affectionately. 

"I should like to have all my friends believe that I am doing right, "she said. "I do feel very certain that we must educate people properlyif we want them to be worth anything. It is no use to treat all theboys and girls as if nature had meant them for the same business andscholarship, and try to put them through the same drill, for that issure to mislead and confuse all those who are not perfectly sure ofwhat they want. There are plenty of people dragging themselvesmiserably through the world, because they are clogged and fetteredwith work for which they have no fitness. I know I haven't had theexperience that you have, Mrs. Fraley, but I can't help believing thatnothing is better than to find one's work early and hold fast to it, and put all one's heart into it. "

"I have done my best to serve God in the station to which it haspleased Him to call me, " said Mrs. Fraley, stiffly. "I believe that ayoung man's position is very different from a girl's. To be sure, Ican give my opinion that everything went better when the masterworkmen took apprentices to their trades, and there wasn't so muchschooling. But I warn you, my dear, that your notion about studying tobe a doctor has shocked me very much indeed. I could not believe myears, --a refined girl who bears an honorable and respected name tothink of being a woman doctor! If you were five years older you wouldnever have dreamed of such a thing. It lowers the pride of all whohave any affection for you. If it were not that your early life hadbeen somewhat peculiar and most unfortunate, I should blame you more;as it is, I can but wonder at the lack of judgment in others. I shalllook forward in spite of it all to seeing you happily married. " Towhich Miss Prince assented with several decided nods. 

"This is why I made up my mind to be a physician, " said the culprit;and though she had been looking down and growing more uncomfortableevery moment, she suddenly gave her head a quick upward movement andlooked at Mrs. Fraley frankly, with a beautiful light in her cleareyes. "I believe that God has given me a fitness for it, and that Inever could do anything else half so well. Nobody persuaded me intofollowing such a plan; I simply grew toward it. And I have everythingto learn, and a great many faults to overcome, but I am trying to geton as fast as may be. I can't be too glad that I have spent mychildhood in a way that has helped me to use my gift instead ofhindering it. But everything helps a young man to follow his bent; hehas an honored place in society, and just because he is a student ofone of the learned professions, he ranks above the men who followother pursuits. I don't see why it should be a shame and dishonor to agirl who is trying to do the same thing and to be of equal use in theworld. God would not give us the same talents if what were right formen were wrong for women. "

"My dear, it is quite unnatural you see, " said the antagonist, impatiently. "Here you are less than twenty-five years old, and Ishall hear of your being married next thing, --at least I hope Ishall, --and you will laugh at all this nonsense. A woman's place is athome. Of course I know that there have been some women physicians whohave attained eminence, and some artists, and all that. But I wouldrather see a daughter of mine take a more retired place. The bestservice to the public can be done by keeping one's own house in orderand one's husband comfortable, and by attending to those socialresponsibilities which come in our way. The mothers of the nation haverights enough and duties enough already, and need not look fartherthan their own firesides, or wish for the plaudits of an ignorantpublic. "

"But if I do not wish to be married, and do not think it right that Ishould be, " said poor Nan at last. "If I have good reasons against allthat, would you have me bury the talent God has given me, and chokedown the wish that makes itself a prayer every morning that I may dothis work lovingly and well? It is the best way I can see of makingmyself useful in the world. People must have good health or they willfail of reaching what success and happiness are possible for them; andso many persons might be better and stronger than they are now, whichwould make their lives very different. I do think if I can help myneighbors in this way it will be a great kindness. I won't attempt tosay that the study of medicine is a proper vocation for women, onlythat I believe more and more every year that it is the proper studyfor me. It certainly cannot be the proper vocation of all women tobring up children, so many of them are dead failures at it; and Idon't see why all girls should be thought failures who do not marry. Idon't believe that half those who do marry have any real right to it, at least until people use common sense as much in that most importantdecision as in lesser ones. Of course we can't expect to bring aboutan ideal state of society all at once; but just because we don'treally believe in having the best possible conditions, we make noeffort at all toward even better ones. People ought to work with thegreat laws of nature and not against them. "

"You don't know anything about it, " said Mrs. Fraley, who hardly knewwhat to think of this ready opposition. "You don't know what you aretalking about, Anna. You have neither age nor experience, and it iseasy to see you have been associating with very foolish people. I amthe last person to say that every marriage is a lucky one; but if youwere my daughter I should never consent to your injuring your chancesfor happiness in this way. "

Nan could not help stealing a glance at poor Miss Eunice, behind herfragile battlement of the tea-set, and was deeply touched at theglance of sympathy which dimly flickered in the lonely eyes. "I dothink, mother, that Anna is right about single women's having someoccupation, " was timidly suggested. "Of course, I mean those who haveno special home duties; I can see that life would not"--

"Now Eunice, " interrupted the commander in chief, "I do wish youcould keep an opinion of your own. You are the last person to take upwith such ideas. I have no patience with people who don't know theirown minds half an hour together. "

"There are plenty of foolish women who marry, I'll acknowledge, " saidMiss Prince, for the sake of coming to the rescue. "I was really angryyesterday, when Mrs. Gerry told me that everybody was so pleased tohear that Hattie Barlow was engaged, because she was incapable ofdoing anything to support herself. I couldn't help feeling that ifthere was so little power that it had never visibly turned itself inany practical direction, she wasn't likely to be a good housekeeper. Ithink that is a most responsible situation, myself. "

Nan looked up gratefully. "It isn't so much that people can't doanything, as that they try to do the wrong things, Aunt Nancy. We allare busy enough or ought to be; only the richest people have the mostcares and have to work hardest. I used to think that rich city peopledid nothing but amuse themselves, when I was a little girl; but Ioften wonder nowadays at the wisdom and talent that are needed to keepa high social position respected in the world's eyes. It must be anorderly and really strong-minded woman who can keep her business fromgetting into a most melancholy tangle. Yet nobody is afraid when themost foolish girls take such duties upon themselves, and all the worldcries out with fear of disaster, if once in a while one makes up hermind to some other plan of life. Of course I know being married isn'ta trade: it is a natural condition of life, which permits a man tofollow certain public careers, and forbids them to a woman. And sinceI have not wished to be married, and have wished to study medicine, Idon't see what act of Parliament can punish me. "

"Wait until Mr. Right comes along, " said Mrs. Fraley, who had pushedback her chair from the table and was beating her foot on the floor ina way that betokened great displeasure and impatience. "I am onlythankful I had my day when women were content to be stayers at home. Iam only speaking for your good, and you'll live to see the truth ofit, poor child!"

"I am sure she will get over this, " apologized Miss Prince, after theyhad reached the parlor, for she found that her niece had lingered withMiss Fraley in the dining-room. 

"Don't talk to me about the Princes changing their minds, " answeredthe scornful old hostess. "You ought to know them better than that bythis time. " But just at that moment young Gerry came tapping at thedoor, and the two ladies quickly softened their excited looks andwelcomed him as the most powerful argument for their side of thedebate. It seemed quite a thing of the past that he should havefancied Mary Parish, and more than one whisper had been listened tothat the young man was likely to have the Prince inheritance, afterall. He looked uncommonly well that evening, and the elder women couldnot imagine that any damsel of his own age would consider himslightingly. Nan had given a little shrug of impatience when she heardhis voice join the weaker ones in the parlor, and a sense ofdiscomfort that she never had felt before came over her suddenly. Shereminded herself that she must tell her aunt that very night that thevisit must come to an end. She had neglected her books and her driveswith the doctor altogether too long already. 

XIX

FRIEND AND LOVER

In these summer days the young lawyer's thoughts had often been busyelsewhere while he sat at the shaded office window and looked out uponthe river. The very housekeeping on the damaged ship became moreinteresting to him than his law books, and he watched the keeper'swife at her various employments on deck, or grew excited as hewitnessed the good woman's encounters with marauding small boys, whoprowled about hoping for chances of climbing the rigging or solvingthe mysteries of the hold. It had come to be an uncommon event that asquare-rigged vessel should make the harbor of Dunport, and the eldercitizens ignored the deserted wharves, and talked proudly of the daysof Dunport's prosperity, convicting the railroad of its decline asmuch as was consistent with their possession of profitable stock. Theyounger people took the empty warehouses for granted, and listened totheir grandparents' stories with interest, if they did not hear themtoo often; and the more enterprising among them spread their wings ofambition and flew away to the larger cities or to the westward. GeorgeGerry had stayed behind reluctantly. He had neither enough desire fora more active life, nor so high a purpose that he could disregardwhatever opposition lay in his way. Yet he was honestly dissatisfiedwith his surroundings, and thought himself hardly used by a hinderingfate. He believed himself to be most anxious to get away, yet he waslike a ship which will not be started out of port by anything lessthan a hurricane. There really were excuses for his staying at home, and since he had stopped to listen to them they beguiled him more andmore, and his friends one by one commended his devotion to his motherand sisters, and sometimes forgot to sympathize with him for hisdisappointments as they praised him for being such a dutiful son. Tobe sure, he might be a great lawyer in Dunport as well as anywhereelse; he would not be the first; but a more inspiring life might havemade him more enthusiastic and energetic, and if he could have beenwinning his way faster elsewhere, and sending home good accounts ofhimself, not to speak of substantial aid, there is no question whetherit would not have given his family greater happiness and done himselfmore good. He was not possessed of the stern determination which winsits way at all hazards, and so was dependent upon his surroundings foran occasional stimulus. 

But Dunport was very grateful to him because he had stayed at home, and he was altogether the most prominent young man in the town. It isso easy to be thankful that one's friends are no worse that onesometimes forgets to remember that they might be better; and it wouldhave been only natural if he thought of himself more highly than heought to think, since he had received a good deal of applause andadmiration. It is true that he had avoided vice more noticeably thanhe had pursued virtue; but the senior member of the firm, Mr. Sergeant, pronounced his young partner to have been a most excellentstudent, and not only showed the greatest possible confidence in him, but was transferring a good deal of the business to him already. MissPrince and her old lawyer had one secret which had never beensuspected, and the townspeople thought more than ever of young Mr. Gerry's ability when it was known that the most distinguished legalauthority of that region had given him a share of a long establishedbusiness. George Gerry had been led to think better of himself, thoughit had caused him no little wonder when the proposal had been made. Itwas possible that Mr. Sergeant feared that there might be somealliance offered by his rivals in Dunport. To be sure, the youngerfirm had been making a good deal of money, but it was less respectedby the leading business men. Mr. Sergeant had even conferred with hisyoung friend one morning upon the propriety of some new investments;but Mr. Gerry had never even suspected that they were the price of hisown new dignity and claim upon the public honor. Captain Walter Parishand Mr. Sergeant had both been aids and advisers of Miss Prince; butneither had ever known the condition of all her financial affairs, andshe had made the most of a comfortable sense of liberty. To do youngGerry justice, he had not hesitated to express his amazement; andamong his elders and betters, at any rate, he had laid his goodfortune at the door of Mr. Sergeant's generosity and kindness insteadof his own value. 

But at certain seasons of the year, like this, there was no excitementin the office, and after an attendance at court and the properadjustment, whether temporary or permanent, of the subsequentbusiness, the partners had returned to a humdrum fulfilling of theminor duties of their profession, and the younger man worked at hislaw books when there were no deeds or affidavits to engage hisattention. He thought of many things as he sat by his window; it was agreat relief to the tiresomeness of the dull rooms to look at theriver and at the shores and hills beyond; to notice carelessly whetherthe tide came in or went out. He was apt to feel a sense ofdissatisfaction in his leisure moments; and now a new current wasbringing all its force to bear upon him in his quiet anchorage. 

He had looked upon Miss Prince as a kind adviser; he was on moreintimate terms with her than with any woman he knew; and the finertraits in his character were always brought out by some compellingforce in her dignity and simple adherence to her somewhat narrow codeof morals and etiquette. He was grateful to her for many kindnesses;and as he had grown older and come to perceive the sentiment which hadbeen the first motive of her affection toward him, he hadinstinctively responded with a mingling of gallantry and sympathywhich made him, as has been already said, appear at his very best. Thegossips of Dunport had whispered that he knew that it was more thanworth his while to be polite to Miss Prince; but he was too manly afellow to allow any trace of subserviency to show itself in hisconduct. As often happens, he had come back to Dunport almost astranger after his years of college life were over, and he had amingled love and impatience for the old place. The last year had beenvery pleasant, however: there were a few young men whose good comradeand leader he was; his relations with his fellow-citizens were mostharmonious; and as for the girls of his own age and their youngersisters, who were just growing up, he was immensely popular andadmired by them. It had become a subject of much discussion whether heand Mary Parish would not presently decide upon becoming engaged toeach other, until Miss Prince's long-banished niece came to put a newsuspicion into everybody's mind. 

Many times when George Gerry had a new proof that he had somehowfallen into the habit of walking home with the pleasant girl who washis friend and neighbor, he had told himself abruptly that there wasno danger in it, and that they never could have any other feeling foreach other. But he had begun to think also that she belonged to him insome vague way, and sometimes acknowledged that it might be a thing toconsider more deeply by and by. He was only twenty-six, and the worldwas still before him, but he was not very sympathetic with otherpeople's enthusiasm over their love affairs, and wondered if it werenot largely a matter of temperament, though by and by he should liketo have a home of his own. 

He was somewhat attracted toward Miss Prince, the younger, for heraunt's sake, and had made up his mind that he would be very attentiveto her, no matter how displeasing and uninteresting she might be: itwas sure to be a time of trial to his old friend, and he would helpall he could to make the visit as bearable as possible. Everybody knewof the niece's existence who had known the Prince family at all, andthough Miss Prince had never mentioned the unhappy fact until the dayor two before her guest was expected, her young cavalier had behavedwith most excellent discretion, and feigning neither surprise nordismay, accepted the announcement in a way that had endeared him stillmore to his patroness. 

But on the first Sunday morning, when a most admirable young lady hadwalked up the broad aisle of St. Ann's church, and Mr. Gerry hadcaught a glimpse of her between the rows of heads which all lookedcommonplace by contrast, it seemed to begin a new era of things. Thiswas a welcome link with the busier world outside Dunport; this waswhat he had missed since he had ended his college days, a gleam ofcosmopolitan sunshine, which made the provincial fog less attractivethan ever. He was anxious to claim companionship with this faircitizen of a larger world, and to disclaim any idea of belonging tothe humdrum little circle which exaggerated its own importance. Hepersuaded himself that he must pay Miss Prince's guest an early visit. It was very exciting and interesting altogether; and as he watched theflicker of light in our heroine's hair as she sat on the straight sofain her aunt's parlor on the Sunday evening, a feeling of great delightstole over him. He had known many nice girls in his lifetime, butthere was something uncommonly interesting about Miss Anna Prince;besides, who could help being grateful to her for being so much nicerthan anybody had expected?

And so the days went by. Nobody thought there was any objection whenthe junior partner of the law firm took holiday after holiday, forthere was little business and Mr. Sergeant liked to keep on with hisfamiliar routine. His old friends came to call frequently, and theyhad their conferences in peace, and were not inclined to object if theyounger ears were being used elsewhere. Young people will be youngpeople, and June weather does not always last; and if George Gerrywere more devoted to social duties than to legal ones, it was quitenatural, and he had just acquitted himself most honorably at the Mayterm of court, and was his own master if he decided to take avacation. 

He had been amused when the announcement had been made so early intheir acquaintance that Nan meant to study medicine. He believed ifthere were any fault, it was Dr. Leslie's, and only thought it a pitythat her evident practical talents had not been under the guidance ofa more sensible director. The girl's impetuous defense of her choicewas very charming; he had often heard Mr. Sergeant speak of the rareinsight and understanding of legal matters which his favorite daughterhad possessed, and her early death had left a lonely place in the goodman's heart. Miss Prince's life at Oldfields must have been very dull, especially since her boarding-school days were over. For himself hehad a great prejudice against the usurpation of men's duties andprerogatives by women, and had spoken of all such assumptions withcontempt. It made a difference that this attractive young student hadspoken bravely on the wrong side; but if he had thought much about ithe would have made himself surer and surer that only time was neededto show her the mistake. If he had gone deeper into the subject hewould have said that he thought it all nonsense about women's havingthe worst of it in life; he had known more than one good fellow whohad begun to go down hill from the day he was married, and if girlswould only take the trouble to fit themselves for their indoorbusiness the world would be a vastly more comfortable place. And asfor their tinkering at the laws, such projects should be bitterlyresented. 

It only needed a few days to make it plain to this good fellow thatthe coming of one of the summer guests had made a great difference inhis life. It was easy to find a hundred excuses for going to MissPrince's, who smiled benignantly upon his evident interest in the fairstranger within her gates. The truth must be confessed, however, thatthe episode of the lamed shoulder at the picnic party had given Mr. George Gerry great unhappiness. There was something so high andserene in Anna Prince's simplicity and directness, and in the way inwhich she had proved herself adequate to so unusual an occasion, thathe could not help mingling a good deal of admiration with hisdissatisfaction. It is in human nature to respect power; but all hismanliness was at stake, and his natural rights would be degraded andlost, if he could not show his power to be greater than her own. Andas the days went by, every one made him more certain that he longed, more than he had ever longed for anything before, to win her love. Hisheart had never before been deeply touched, but life seemed now like aheap of dry wood, which had only waited for a live coal to make itflame and leap in mysterious light, and transfigure itself fromdullness into a bewildering and unaccountable glory. It was no wonderany longer that poets had sung best of love and its joys and sorrows, and that men and women, since the world began, had followed at itscall. All life and its history was explained anew, yet this eagerlover felt himself to be the first discoverer of the world's greatsecret. 

It was hard to wait and to lack assurance, but while the hours when hehad the ideal and the dream seemed to make him certain, he had only togo back to Miss Prince's to become doubtful and miserable again. Theworld did not consent to second his haste, and the persons mostconcerned in his affairs were stupidly slow at understanding the truestate of them. While every day made the prize look more desirable, every day seemed to put another barrier between himself and Nan; andwhen she spoke of her visit's end it was amazing to him that sheshould not understand his misery. He wondered at himself more and morebecause he seemed to have the power of behaving much as usual when hewas with his friends; it seemed impossible that he could always go onwithout betraying his thoughts. There was no question of any finalopposition to his suit, it seemed to him; he could not be more surethan he was already of Miss Prince's willingness to let him plead hiscause with her niece, so many vexed questions would be pleasantlyanswered; and he ventured to hope that the girl herself would be gladto spend her life in dear old Dunport, where her father's people hadbeen honored for so many years. The good Dr. Leslie must be fastgrowing old, and, though he would miss his adopted child, it wasreasonable that he should be glad to see her happily anchored in ahome of her own, before he died. If Nan were friendless and pennilessit would make no difference; but nevertheless, for her sake, it wasgood to remember that some one had said that Dr. Leslie, unlike mostphysicians, was a man of fortune. And nothing remained but to win anaffection which should match his own, and this impatient suitor walkedand drove and spent the fleeting hours in waiting for a chance to showhimself in the lists of love. It seemed years instead of weeks atlast, and yet as if he had only been truly alive and free since lovehad made him captive. He could not fasten himself down to his workwithout great difficulty, though he built many a castle in Spain withhis imagined wealth, and laid deep plans of study and acquirementwhich should be made evident as time went on. 

All things seemed within his reach in these first days of hisenlightenment: it had been like the rising of the sun which showed hima new world of which he was lawful master, but the minor events of hisblissful existence began to conspire against him in a provoking way, and presently it was sadly forced upon his understanding that AnnaPrince was either unconscious or disdainful of his affection. It couldhardly be the latter, for she was always friendly and hospitable, andtook his courtesies in such an unsuspecting and grateful way. Therewas something so self-reliant about her and so independent of anyone's protection, that this was the most discouraging thing of all, for his own instinct was that of standing between her and allharm, --of making himself responsible for her shelter and happiness. She seemed to get on capitally well without him, but after all hecould not help being conqueror in so just and inevitable a war. Theold proverb suddenly changed from a pebble to a diamond, and hethanked the philosopher more than once who had first reminded theworld that faint heart ne'er won fair lady; presently he grew sad, aslovers will, and became paler and less vigorous, and made his friendswonder a good deal, until they at last suspected his sweet sorrow, andranged themselves in eager ranks upon his side, with all history andtradition in their favor. 

Nan herself was not among the first to suspect that one of her newfriends had proved to be a lover; she had been turned away from suchsuspicions by her very nature; and when she had been forced to believein one or two other instances that she was unwillingly drawing toherself the devotion which most women unconsciously seek, she had beenmade most uncomfortable, and had repelled all possibility of itsfurther progress. She had believed herself proof against suchassailment, and so indeed she had been; but on the very evening of herbattle for her opinions at Mrs. Fraley's she had been suddenlyconfronted by a new enemy, a strange power, which seemed so dangerousthat she was at first overwhelmed by a sense of her owndefenselessness. 

She had waited with Miss Fraley, who was not quite ready to leave thedining-room with the rest, and had been much touched by herconfidence. Poor Eunice had been very fond of one of herschool-fellows, who had afterward entered the navy, and who had beenfond of her in return. But as everybody had opposed the match, for hersake, and had placed little reliance in the young man, she had meeklygiven up all hope of being his wife, and he had died of yellow feverat Key West soon after. "We were not even engaged you know, dear, "whispered the little lady, "but somehow I have always felt in my heartthat I belonged to him. Though I believe every word you said about agirl's having an independence of her own. It is a great blessing tohave always had such a person as my mother to lean upon, but I shouldbe quite helpless if she were taken away. . . . Of course I have had whatI needed and what we could afford, " she went on, after another pause, "but I never can get over hating to ask for money. I do sometimes envythe women who earn what they spend. "

Nan's eyes flashed. "I think it is only fair that even those who haveto spend their husband's or their father's money should be made tofeel it is their own. If one does absolutely nothing in one's home, and is not even able to give pleasure, then I think it is stealing. Ihave felt so strongly about that since I have grown up, for you knowDr. Leslie, my guardian, has done everything for me. Aunt Nancy gaveme money every year, but I never spent any of it until I went away toschool, and then I insisted upon taking that and what my grandmotherleft me. But my later studies have more than used it all. Dr. Leslieis so kind to me, like an own father, and I am looking forward to mylife with him most eagerly. After the next year or two I shall be athome all the time, and I am so glad to think I can really help him, and that we are interested in the same things. "

Miss Eunice was a little incredulous, though she did not dare to sayso. In the first place, she could not be persuaded that a woman couldpossibly know as much about diseases and their remedies as a man, andshe wondered if even the rural inhabitants of Oldfields wouldcheerfully accept the change from their trusted physician to his youngward, no matter what sails of diplomas she might spread to the breeze. But Nan's perfect faith and confidence were not to be lightlydisputed; and if the practice of medicine by women could be madehonorable, it certainly was in able hands here, as far as an admiringfriend could decide. Nan was anything but self-asserting, and she hadno noisy fashion of thrusting herself before the public gaze, buteverybody trusted her who knew her; she had the rare and noble facultyof inspiring confidence. 

There was no excuse for a longer absence from the parlor, where Mrs. Fraley was throned in state in her high-backed chair, and was alreadycalling the loiterers. She and Miss Prince were smiling indulgentlyupon the impatient young man, who was describing to them a meeting ofthe stockholders of the Turnpike Company, of which he had last yearbeen made secretary. A dividend had been declared, and it was largerthan had been expected, and the ladies were as grateful as if he hadfurnished the means from his own pocket. He looked very tall andhandsome and business-like as he rose to salute Miss Fraley and Nan, and presently told his real errand. He apologized for interfering withthe little festival, but two or three of the young people had suddenlymade a plan for going to see a play which was to be given that nightin the town hall by a traveling company. Would Miss Anna Prince careto go, and Miss Fraley?

Nan hardly knew why she at once refused, and was filled with regretwhen she saw a look of childish expectancy on Miss Eunice's facequickly change to disappointment. 

"It is too hot to shut one's self into that close place, I am afraid, "she said. "And I am enjoying myself very much here, Mr. Gerry. " Whichwas generous on Nan's part, if one considered the premeditated warwhich had been waged against her. Then the thought flashed through hermind that it might be a bit of good fun for her companion; and withoutwaiting for either approval or opposition from the elder women, shesaid, in a different tone, "However, if Miss Fraley will go too, Iwill accept with pleasure; I suppose it is quite time?" and beforethere could be a formal dissent she had hurried the pleased daughterof the house, who was not quick in her movements, to her room, and ina few minutes, after a good deal of laughter which the presence of theescort kept anybody from even wishing to silence, the three werefairly started down the street. It was of no avail that Mrs. Fraleycondemned her own judgment in not having advised Eunice to stay athome and leave the young people free, and that Miss Prince made afeeble protest for politeness' sake, --the pleasure-makers could not becalled back. 

Nan had really grown into a great liking for George Gerry. She oftenthought it would have been very good to have such a brother. But morethan one person in the audience thought they had never seen a braveryoung couple; and the few elderly persons of discretion who had goneto the play felt their hearts thrill with sudden sympathy as ourfriends went far down the room to their seats. Miss Fraley was almostgirlish herself, and looked so pleased and bright that everybody whocared anything about her smiled when they caught sight of her, she wasso prim and neat; it was impossible for her, under any circumstances, to look anything but discreet and quaint; but as for Nan, she wasbeautiful with youth and health; as simply dressed as Miss Eunice, butwith the gayety of a flower, --some slender, wild thing, that hassprung up fearlessly under the great sky, with only the sunshine andthe wind and summer rain to teach it, and help it fulfill itsdestiny, --a flower that has grown with no painful effort of its own, but because God made it and kept it; that has bloomed because it hascome in the course of its growth to the right time. And Miss Eunice, like a hindered little house-plant, took a long breath of delight asshe sat close by her kind young friend, and felt as if somebody hadset her roots free from their familiar prison. 

To let God make us, instead of painfully trying to make ourselves; tofollow the path that his love shows us, instead of through conceit orcowardice or mockery choosing another; to trust Him for our strengthand fitness as the flowers do, simply giving ourselves back to Him ingrateful service, --this is to keep the laws that give us the freedomof the city in which there is no longer any night of bewilderment orignorance or uncertainty. So the woman who had lived a life ofbondage, whose hardest task-master was herself, and the woman who hadbeen both taught and inspired to hold fast her freedom, sat side byside: the one life having been blighted because it lacked its mate, and was but half a life in itself; while the other, fearing to givehalf its royalty or to share its bounty, was being tempted to crippleitself, and to lose its strait and narrow way where God had left noroom for another. 

For as the play went on and the easily pleased audience laughed andclapped its hands, and the tired players bowed and smiled from behindthe flaring foot-lights, there was one spectator who was conscious ofa great crisis in her own life, which the mimicry of that eveningseemed to ridicule and counterfeit. And though Nan smiled with therest, and even talked with her neighbors while the tawdry curtain hadfallen, it seemed to her that the coming of Death at her life's endcould not be more strange and sudden than this great barrier which hadfallen between her and her girlhood, the dear old life which had kepther so unpuzzled and safe. So this was love at last, this fear, thischange, this strange relation to another soul. Who could stand now ather right hand and give her grace to hold fast the truth that her soulmust ever be her own?

The only desire that possessed her was to be alone again, to make Loveshow his face as well as make his mysterious presence felt. She wasthankful for the shelter of the crowd, and went on, wishing that theshort distance to her aunt's home could be made even shorter. She hadfelt this man's love for her only in a vague way before, and now, ashe turned to speak to her from time to time, she could not meet hiseyes. The groups of people bade each other good-night merrily, thoughthe entertainment had been a little tiresome to every one at the last, and it seemed the briefest space of time before Miss Fraley and Nanand their cavalier were left by themselves, and at last Nan and GeorgeGerry were alone together. 

For his part he had never been so happy as that night. It seemed tohim that his wish was coming true, and he spoke gently enough and ofthe same things they might have talked about the night before, but asplendid chorus of victory was sounding in his ears; and once, as theystopped for a moment to look between two of the old warehouses at theshining river and the masts and rigging of the ship against themoonlighted sky, he was just ready to speak to the girl at his side. But he looked at her first and then was silent. There was something inher face that forbade it, --a whiteness and a strange look in her eyes, that made him lose all feeling of comradeship or even acquaintance. "Iwonder if the old Highflyer will ever go out again?" she said slowly. "Captain Parish told me some time ago that he had found her more badlydamaged than he supposed. A vessel like that belongs to the high seas, and is like a prisoner when it touches shore. I believe that the straysouls that have no bodies must sometimes make a dwelling in inanimatethings and make us think they are alive. I am always sorry for thatship"--

"Its guardian angel must have been asleep the night of the collision, "laughed young Gerry, uneasily; he was displeased with himself themoment afterward, but Nan laughed too, and felt a sense of reprieve;and they went on again and said good night quietly on the steps of theold Prince house. It was very late for Dunport, and the door was shut, but through the bull's-eyed panes of glass overhead a faint light wasshining, though it could hardly assert itself against the moonlight. Miss Prince was still down-stairs, and her niece upbraided her, andthen began to give an account of the play, which was cut short by themistress of the house; for after one eager, long look at Nan, shebecame sleepy and disappointed, and they said good-night; but the girlfelt certain that her aunt was leagued against her, and grew sick atheart and tired as she climbed the stairs. There was a letter on thelong mahogany table in the hall, and Nan stopped and looked over therailing at it wearily. Miss Prince stopped too, and said she was sorryshe had forgotten, --it was from Oldfields, and in Dr. Leslie'swriting. But though Nan went back for it, and kissed it more than oncebefore she went to bed, and even put it under her pillow as a comfortand defense against she knew not what, for the first time in her lifeshe was afraid to open it and read the kind words. That night shewatched the moonlight creep along the floor, and heard the cocks crowat midnight and in the morning; the birds woke with the new day whileshe tried to understand the day that had gone, wondering what she mustdo and say when she faced the world again only a few hours later. 

Sometimes she felt herself carried along upon a rushing tide, and wasamazed that a hundred gifts and conditions to which she had scarcelygiven a thought seemed dear and necessary. Once she fancied herself ina quiet home; living there, perhaps, in that very house, and beingpleased with her ordering and care-taking. And her great professionwas all like a fading dream; it seemed now no matter whether she hadever loved the studies of it, or been glad to think that she had it inher power to make suffering less, or prevent it altogether. Her oldambitions were torn away from her one by one, and in their place camethe hardly-desired satisfactions of love and marriage, and home-makingand housekeeping, the dear, womanly, sheltered fashions of life, toward which she had been thankful to see her friends go hand in hand, making themselves a complete happiness which nothing else could match. But as the night waned, the certainty of her duty grew clearer andclearer. She had long ago made up her mind that she must not marry. She might be happy, it was true, and make other people so, but herduty was not this, and a certainty that satisfaction and the blessingof God would not follow her into these reverenced and honored limitscame to her distinctly. One by one the reasons for keeping on herchosen course grew more unanswerable than ever. She had not thoughtshe should be called to resist this temptation, but since it had comeshe was glad she was strong enough to meet it. It would be no reallove for another person, and no justice to herself, to give up herwork, even though holding it fast would bring weariness and pain andreproach, and the loss of many things that other women held dearestand best. 

In the morning Nan smiled when her aunt noticed her tired look, andsaid that the play had been a pursuit of pleasure under difficulties. And though Miss Prince looked up in dismay, and was full of objectionsand almost querulous reproaches because Nan said she must end hervisit within a day or two, she hoped that George Gerry would be, afterall, a reason for the girl's staying. Until Nan, who had been standingby the window, looking wistfully at the garden, suddenly turned andsaid, gently and solemnly, "Listen, Aunt Nancy! I must be about mybusiness; you do not know what it means to me, or what I hope to makeit mean to other people. " And then Miss Prince knew once for all, thatit was useless to hope or to plan any longer. But she would not letherself be vanquished so easily, and summoned to her mind manyassurances that girls would not be too easily won, and after a shortseason of disapproving silence, returned to her usual manner as ifthere had been neither difference nor dispute. 

XX

ASHORE AND AFLOAT

"Your cousin Walter Parish is coming to dine with us to-day, " saidMiss Prince, later that morning. "He came to the Fraleys just afteryou went out last evening, to speak with me about a business matter, and waited to walk home with me afterward. I have been meaning toinvite him here with his wife, but there doesn't seem to be muchprospect of her leaving her room for some time yet, and this morning Ihappened to find an uncommonly good pair of young ducks. Old Mr. Brownhas kept my liking for them in mind for a great many years. Yourgrandfather used to say that there was nothing like a duckling to histaste; he used to eat them in England, but people in this country letthem get too old. He was willing to pay a great price for ducklingsalways; but even Mr. Brown seems to think it is a great wrong not tolet them grow until Thanksgiving time, and makes a great manyapologies every year. It is from his farm that we always get the bestlamb too; they are very nice people, the Browns, but the poor old manseems very feeble this summer. Some day I should really like to take adrive out into the country to see them, you know so well how to managea horse. You can spare a day or two to give time for that, can't you?"

Nan was sorry to hear the pleading tone, it was so unlike her aunt'susually severe manner, and answered quickly that she should be veryglad to make the little excursion. Mr. Brown had asked her to come tothe farm one day near the beginning of her visit. 

"You must say this is home, if you can, " said Miss Prince, who was agood deal excited and shaken that morning, "and not think of yourselfas a visitor any more. There are a great many things I hope you canunderstand, even if I have left them unsaid. It has really seemed morelike home since you have been here, and less like a lodging. I wonderhow I--When did you see Mr. Brown? I did not know you had ever spokento him. "

"It was some time ago, " the girl answered. "I was in the kitchen, andhe came to the door. He seemed very glad to see me, " and Nan hesitateda moment. "He said I was like my father. "

"Yes, indeed, " responded Miss Prince, drearily; and the thought seizedher that it was very strange that the same mistaken persistency shouldshow itself in father and child in exactly opposite ways. If Nan wouldonly care as much for marrying George Gerry, as her father had formarrying his wretched wife! It seemed more and more impossible thatthis little lady should be the daughter of such a woman; how dismayedthe girl would be if she could be shown her mother's nature as MissPrince remembered it. Alas! this was already a sorrow which no visionof the reality could deepen, and the frank words of the Oldfieldscountry people about the bad Thachers had not been spoken fruitlesslyin the ears of their last descendant. 

"I am so glad the captain is coming, " Nan said presently, to break thepainful silence. "I do hope that he and Dr. Leslie will know eachother some time, they would be such capital friends. The doctor senthis kind regards to you in last night's letter, and asked me again tosay that he hoped that you would come to us before the summer is over. I should like so much to have you know what Oldfields is like. " It washard to save herself from saying "home" again, instead of Oldfields, but the change of words was made quickly. 

"He is very courteous and hospitable, but I never pay visitsnowadays, " said Miss Prince, and thought almost angrily that there wasno necessity for her making a target of herself for all those curiouscountry-people's eyes. And then they rose and separated for a time, each being burdened less by care than thought. 

The captain came early to dine, and brought with him his own and MissPrince's letters from the post-office, together with the morningpaper, which he proceeded to read. He also seemed to have a weightupon his mind, but by the time they were at table a mild cheerfulnessmade itself felt, and Nan summoned all her resources and was gayer andbrighter than usual. Miss Prince had gone down town early in the day, and her niece was perfectly sure that there had been a consultationwith Mr. Gerry. He had passed the house while Nan sat at her upperwindow writing, and had looked somewhat wistfully at the door as if hehad half a mind to enter it. He was like a great magnet: it seemedimpossible to resist looking after him, and indeed his ghost-likepresence would not forsake her mind, but seemed urging her toward hisvisible self. The thought of him was so powerful that the sight of theyoung man was less strange and compelling, and it was almost a reliefto have seen his familiar appearance, --the strong figure in itsevery-day clothes, his unstudent-like vigor, and easy step as he wentby. She liked him still, but she hated love, it was making her somiserable, --even when later she told Captain Parish some delightfulOldfields stories, of so humorous a kind that he laughed long andstruck the table more than once, which set the glasses jingling, andgave a splendid approval to the time-honored fun. The ducklings wereamazingly good; and when Captain Walter had tasted his wine and readthe silver label on the decanter, which as usual gave no evidence ofthe rank and dignity of the contents, his eyes sparkled withsatisfaction, and he turned to his cousin's daughter with impressivegravity. 

"You may never have tasted such wine as that, " he said. "Yourgrandfather, the luckiest captain who ever sailed out of Dunport, brought it home fifty years ago, and it was well ripened then. Ididn't know there was a bottle of it left, Nancy, " he laughed. "Mydear, your aunt has undertaken to pay one of us a handsomecompliment. "

"Your health, cousin Walter!" said the girl quickly, lifting her ownglass, and making him a little bow over the old Madeira. 

"Bless your dear heart!" responded the captain; "the same good wishesto you in return, and now you must join me in my respects to youraunt. Nancy! I beg you not to waste this in pudding-sauces; that's theway with you ladies. "

The toast-drinking had a good effect upon the little company, and itseemed as if the cloud which had hung over it at first had been blownaway. When there was no longer any excuse for lingering at the table, the guest seemed again a little ill at ease, and after a glance at hishostess, proposed to Nan that they should take a look at the garden. The old sailor had become in his later years a devoted tiller of thesoil, and pleaded a desire to see some late roses which were just nowin bloom. So he and Nan went down the walk together, and he fidgetedand hurried about for a few minutes before he could make up his mindto begin a speech which was weighing heavily on his conscience. 

Nan was sure that something unusual was perplexing him, and answeredhis unnecessary questions patiently, wondering what he was trying tosay. 

"Dear me!" he grumbled at last, "I shall have to steer a straightcourse. The truth is, Nancy has been telling me that I ought to advisewith you, and see that you understand what you are about with youngGerry. She has set her heart on your fancying him. I dare say you knowshe has treated him like a son all through his growing up; but nowthat you have come to your rightful place, she can't bear to haveanybody hint at your going back to the other people. 'Tis plain enoughwhat he thinks about it, and I must say I believe it would be for yourgood. Here you are with your father's family, what is left of it; andI take no liberty when I tell you that your aunt desires this to beyour home, and means to give you your father's share of the propertynow and the rest when she is done with it. It is no more than yourrights, and I know as much as anybody about it, and can tell you thatthere's a handsomer fortune than you may have suspected. Money growsfast if it is let alone; and though your aunt has done a good deal forothers, her expenses have been well held in hand. I must say I shouldlike to keep you here, child, " the captain faltered, "but I shall wantto do what's for your happiness. I couldn't feel more earnest aboutthat if I were your own father. You must think it over. I'm not goingto beseech you: I learned long ago that 'tis no use to drive aPrince. "

Nan had tried at first to look unconcerned and treat the matterlightly, but this straightforward talk appealed to her much more thanthe suggestion and general advice which Miss Prince had implored thecaptain to give the night before. And now her niece could only thankhim for his kindness, and tell him that by and by she would make himunderstand why she put aside these reasons, and went back to the lifeshe had known before. 

But a sudden inspiration made her resolution grow stronger, and shelooked at Captain Parish with a convincing bravery. 

"When you followed the sea, " she said quickly, "if you had a good shipwith a freight that you had gathered with great care and hopefulness, and had brought it almost to the market that it was suited for, wouldyou have been persuaded to turn about and take it to some place whereit would be next to useless?"

"No, " said Captain Parish, "no, I shouldn't, " and he half smiled atthis illustration. 

"I can't tell you all my reasons for not wishing to marry, " Nan wenton, growing very white and determined, "or all my reasons for wishingto go on with my plan of being a doctor; but I know I have no right tothe one way of life, and a perfect one, so far as I can see, to theother. And it seems to me that it would be as sensible to ask Mr. Gerry to be a minister since he has just finished his law studies, asto ask me to be a wife instead of a physician. But what I used todread without reason a few years ago, I must forbid myself now, because I know the wretched inheritance I might have had from my poormother's people. I can't speak of that to Aunt Nancy, but you musttell her not to try to make me change my mind. "

"Good God!" said the captain. "I dare say you have the right points ofit; but if I were a young man 't would go hard with me to let you takeyour life into your own hands. It's against nature. "

"No, " said Nan. "The law of right and wrong must rule even love, andwhatever comes to me, I must not forget that. Three years ago I hadnot thought about it so much, and I might not have been so sure; butnow I have been taught there is only one road to take. And you musttell Aunt Nancy this. "

But when they went back to the house, Miss Prince was not to be seen, and the captain hurried away lest she should make her appearance, forhe did not wish just then to talk about the matter any more. He toldhimself that young people were very different in these days; but whenhe thought of the words he had heard in the garden, and remembered thepale face and the steadfast, clear-toned voice, he brushed awaysomething like a tear. "If more people used judgment in this samedecision the world would be better off, " he said, and could not helpreminding himself that his own niece, little Mary Parish, who waswearing a wistful countenance in these days, might by and by be happyafter all. For Nan's part it was a great relief to have spoken to thekind old man; she felt more secure than before; but sometimes the fearassailed her that some unforeseen event or unreckoned influence mightgive her back to her indecisions, and that the battle of the nightbefore might after all prove not to be final. 

The afternoon wore away, and late in the day our heroine heard GeorgeGerry's step coming up the street. She listened as she sat by theupper window, and found that he was giving a message for her. It wasperfect weather to go up the river, he was saying; the tide servedjust right and would bring them home early; and Miss Prince, who wasalone in the parlor, answered with pleased assurance that she was sureher niece would like to go. "Yes, " said Nan, calling from the window, urged by a sudden impulse. "Yes indeed, I should like it above allthings; I will get ready at once; will you carry two pairs of oars?"

There was a ready assent, but the uncertainty of the tone of it struckAnna Prince's quick ear. She seemed to know that the young man and heraunt were exchanging looks of surprise, and that they felt insecureand uncertain. It was not the yielding maiden who had spoken to herlover, but the girl who was his good comrade and cordial friend. Theelder woman shook her head doubtfully; she knew well what thisforeboded, and was impatient at the overthrow of her plans; yet shehad full confidence in the power of Love. She had seen apparentself-reliance before, and she could not believe that her niece wasinvincible. At any rate nothing could be more persuasive than atwilight row upon the river, and for her part, she hoped more eagerlythan ever that Love would return chief in command of the boat's youngcrew; and when the young man flushed a little, and looked at herappealingly, as he turned to go down the street, his friend andcounselor could not resist giving him a hopeful nod. Nan wassingularly frank, and free from affectations, and she might havealready decided to lower her colors and yield the victory, and itseemed for a moment that it would be much more like her to do so, thanto invite further contest when she was already won. Miss Prince wasvery kind and sympathetic when this explanation had once forced itselfupon her mind; she gave the young girl a most affectionate kiss whenshe appeared, but at this unmistakable suggestion of pleasure andtreasured hopes, Nan turned back suddenly into the shaded parlor, though Mr. Gerry was waiting outside with his favorite oars, which hekept carefully in a corner of the office. 

"Dear Aunt Nancy, " said the girl, with evident effort, "I am so sorryto disappoint you. I wish for your sake that I had been another sortof woman; but I shall never marry. I know you think I am wrong, butthere is something which always tells me I am right, and I must followanother way. I should only wreck my life, and other people's. Mostgirls have an instinct towards marrying, but mine is all against it, and God knew best when He made me care more for another fashion oflife. Don't make me seem unkind! I dare say that I can put it all intowords better by and by, but I can never be more certain of it in myown heart than now. "

"Sit down a minute, " said Miss Prince, slowly. "George can wait. But, Anna, I believe that you are in love with him, and that you are doingwrong to the poor lad, and to yourself, and to me. I lost the besthappiness of my life for a whim, and you wish to throw away yours fora theory. I hope you will be guided by me. I have come to love youvery much, and it seems as if this would be so reasonable. "

"It does make a difference to me that he loves me, " confessed thegirl. "It is not easy to turn away from him, " she said, --stillstanding, and looking taller than ever, and even thin, with a curioustenseness of her whole being. "It is something that I have found ithard to fight against, but it is not my whole self longing for hislove and his companionship. If I heard he had gone to the other sideof the world for years and years, I should be glad now and not sorry. I know that all the world's sympathy and all tradition fight on hisside; but I can look forward and see something a thousand times betterthan being his wife, and living here in Dunport keeping his house, andtrying to forget all that nature fitted me to do. You don'tunderstand, Aunt Nancy. I wish you could! You see it all another way. "And the tears started to the eager young eyes. "Don't you know thatCousin Walter said this very day that the wind which sets one vesselon the right course may set another on the wrong?"

"Nonsense, my dear, " said the mistress of the house. "I don't thinkthis is the proper time for you to explain yourself at any rate. Idare say the fresh air will do you good and put everything right too. You have worked yourself into a great excitement over nothing. Don'tgo out looking so desperate to the poor fellow; he will thinkstrangely of it;" and the girl went out through the wide hall, andwished she were far away from all this trouble. 

Nan had felt a strange sense of weariness, which did not leave hereven when she was quieted by the fresh breeze of the river-shore, andwas contented to let her oars be stowed in the bottom of the boat, andto take the comfortable seat in the stern. She pulled the tiller ropesover her shoulders, and watched her lover's first strong strokes, which had quickly sent them out into the stream, beyond the course ofa larger craft which was coming toward the wharf. She wished presentlythat she had chosen to row, because they would not then be face toface; but, strange to say, since this new experience had come to her, she had not felt so sure of herself as now, and the fear of findingherself too weak to oppose the new tendency of her life had lessenedsince her first recognition of it the night before. But Nan had foughta hard fight, and had grown a great deal older in those hours of theday and night. She believed that time would make her even more certainthat she had done right than she could be now in the heat of thebattle, but she wished whatever George Gerry meant to say to her mightbe soon over with. 

They went slowly up the river, which was now quite familiar to thegirl who had come to it a stranger only a few weeks before. She likedout-of-door life so well that this countryside of Dunport was alreadymore dear to her than to many who had seen it bloom and fade everyyear since they could remember. At one moment it seemed but yesterdaythat she had come to the old town, and at the next she felt as if shehad spent half a lifetime there, and as if Oldfields might havechanged unbearably since she came away. 

Sometimes the young oarsman kept in the middle of the great stream, and sometimes it seemed pleasanter to be near the shore. The midsummerflowers were coming into blossom, and the grass and trees had longsince lost the brilliance of their greenness, and wore a look ofmaturity and completion, as if they had already finished their growth. There was a beautiful softness and harmony of color, a repose that onenever sees in a spring landscape. The tide was in, the sun was almostdown, and a great, cloudless, infinite sky arched itself from horizonto horizon. It had sent all its brilliance to shine backward from thesun, --the glowing sphere from which a single dazzling ray came acrossthe fields and the water to the boat. In a moment more it was gone, and a shadow quickly fell like that of a tropical twilight; but thewest grew golden, and one light cloud, like a floating red feather, faded away upward into the sky. A later bright glow touched some highhills in the east, then they grew purple and gray, and so the eveningcame that way slowly, and the ripple of the water plashed and sobbedagainst the boat's side; and presently in the midst of the river'sinland bay, after a few last eager strokes, the young man drew in hisoars, letting them drop with a noise which startled Nan, who hadhappened to be looking over her shoulder at the shore. 

She knew well enough that he meant to put a grave question to her now, and her heart beat faster and she twisted the tiller cords around herhands unconsciously. 

"I think I could break any bonds you might use to keep yourself awayfrom me, " he said hurriedly, as he watched her. "I am not fit for you, only that I love you. Somebody told me you meant to go away, and Icould not wait any longer before I asked you if you would giveyourself to me. "

"No, no!" cried Nan, "dear friend, I must not do it; it would all be amistake. You must not think of it any more. I am so sorry, I ought tohave understood what was coming to us, and have gone away long ago. "

"It would have made no difference, " said the young man, almostangrily. He could not bear delay enough even for speech at thatmoment; he watched her face desperately for a look of assurance; heleaned toward her and wondered why he had not risked everything, andspoken the evening before when they stood watching the ship's mast, and Nan's hands were close enough to be touched. But the miserableknowledge crept over him that she was a great deal farther away fromhim than half that small boat's length, and as she looked up at himagain, and shook her head gently, a great rage of love and shame athis repulse urged him to plead again. "You are spoiling my life, " hecried. "You do not care for that, but without you I shall not care foranything. "

"I would rather spoil your life in this way than in a far worsefashion, " said Nan sadly. "I will always be your friend, but if Imarried you I might seem by and by to be your enemy. Yes, you willlove somebody else some day, and be a great deal happier than I couldhave made you, and I shall be so glad. It does not belong to me. "

But this seemed too scornful and cold-hearted. "Oh, my love is onlyworth that to you, " the lover said. "You shall know better what itmeans. I don't want you for my friend, but for my own to keep and tohave. It makes me laugh to think of your being a doctor and going backto that country town to throw yourself away for the fancies and sillytheories of a man who has lived like a hermit. It means a true lifefor both of us if you will only say you love me, or even let me askyou again when you have thought of it more. Everybody will say I am inthe right. "

"Yes, there are reasons enough for it, but there is a better reasonagainst it. If you love me you must help me do what is best, " saidNan. "I shall miss you and think of you more than you know when I amaway. I never shall forget all these pleasant days we have beentogether. Oh George!" she cried, in a tone that thrilled him throughand through, "I hope you will be friends with me again by and by. Youwill know then I have done right because it is right and will proveitself. If it is wrong for me I couldn't really make you happy; andover all this and beyond it something promises me and calls me for alife that my marrying you would hinder and not help. It isn't that Ishouldn't be so happy that it is not easy to turn away even from thethought of it; but I know that the days would come when I should see, in a way that would make me long to die, that I had lost the truedirection of my life and had misled others beside myself. You don'tbelieve me, but I cannot break faith with my duty. There are manyreasons that have forbidden me to marry, and I have a certainty assure as the stars that the only right condition of life for me is tofollow the way that everything until now has pointed out. The greatgain and purpose of my being alive is there; and I must not mind theblessings that I shall have to do without. "

He made a gesture of impatience and tried to interrupt her, but shesaid quickly, as if to prevent his speaking: "Listen to me. I can'thelp speaking plainly. I would not have come with you this afternoon, only I wished to make you understand me entirely. I have never since Ican remember thought of myself and my life in any way butunmarried, --going on alone to the work I am fit to do. I do care foryou. I have been greatly surprised and shaken because I found howstrongly something in me has taken your part, and shown me thepossibility of happiness in a quiet life that should centre itself inone man's love, and within the walls of his home. But something tellsme all the time that I could not marry the whole of myself as mostwomen can; there is a great share of my life which could not have itsway, and could only hide itself and be sorry. I know better and betterthat most women are made for another sort of existence, but by and byI must do my part in my own way to make many homes happy instead ofone; to free them from pain, and teach grown people and littlechildren to keep their bodies free from weakness and deformities. Idon't know why God should have made me a doctor, so many other thingshave seemed fitter for women; but I see the blessedness of such auseful life more and more every year, and I am very thankful for sucha trust. It is a splendid thing to have the use of any gift of God. Itisn't for us to choose again, or wonder and dispute, but just work inour own places, and leave the rest to God. "

The boat was being carried downward by the ebbing tide, and GeorgeGerry took the oars again, and rowed quietly and in silence. He tookhis defeat unkindly and drearily; he was ashamed of himself once, because some evil spirit told him that he was losing much that wouldcontent him, in failing to gain this woman's love. It had all been sofair a prospect of worldly success, and she had been the queen of it. He thought of himself growing old in Mr. Sergeant's dusty office, andthat this was all that life could hold for him. Yet to be was betterthan to have. Alas! if he had been more earnest in his growth, itwould have been a power which this girl of high ideals could have beenheld and mastered by. No wonder that she would not give up her dreamsof duty and service, since she had found him less strong than suchideals. The fancied dissatisfaction and piteousness of failure whichshe would be sure to meet filled his heart with dismay; yet, at thatvery next moment, resent it as he might, the certainty of his ownpresent defeat and powerlessness could not be misunderstood. Perhaps, after all, she knew what was right; her face wore again the look hehad feared to disturb the night before, and his whole soul was filledwith homage in the midst of its sorrow, because this girl, who hadbeen his merry companion in the summer holidays, so sweet and familiarand unforgetable in the midst of the simple festivals, stood nearer toholier things than himself, and had listened to the call of God'smessengers to whom his own doors had been ignorantly shut. And Nanthat night was a soul's physician, though she had been made to sorelyhurt her patient before the new healthfulness could well begin. 

They floated down the river and tried to talk once or twice, but therewere many spaces of silence, and as they walked along the pavedstreets, they thought of many things. An east wind was blowing in fromthe sea, and the elm branches were moving restlessly overhead. "Itwill all be better to-morrow, " said Nan, as they stood on the steps atlast. "You must come to see Aunt Nancy very often after I have gone, for she will be lonely. And do come in the morning as if nothing hadbeen spoken. I am so sorry. Good-night, and God bless you, " shewhispered; and when she stood inside the wide doorway, in the dark, she listened to his footsteps as he went away down the street. Theywere slower than usual, but she did not call him back. 

XXI

AT HOME AGAIN

In Oldfields Dr. Leslie had outwardly lived the familiar life to whichhis friends and patients had long since accustomed themselves; he hadseemed a little preoccupied, perhaps, but if that were observed, itwas easily explained by his having one or two difficult cases to thinkabout. A few persons suspected that he missed Nan, and was, perhaps, alittle anxious lest her father's people in Dunport should claim heraltogether. Among those who knew best the doctor and his ward therehad been an ardent championship of Nan's rights and dignity, and agreat curiosity to know the success of the visit. Dr. Leslie hadanswered all questions with composure, and with a distressingmeagreness of details; but at length Mrs. Graham became sure that hewas not altogether free from anxiety, and set her own quick wits atwork to learn the cause. It seemed a time of great uncertainty, at anyrate. The doctor sometimes brought one of Nan's bright, affectionateletters for his neighbor to read, and they agreed that this holidaywas an excellent thing for her, but there was a silent recognition ofthe fact that this was a critical time in the young girl's history;that it either meant a new direction of her life or an increasedactivity in the old one. Mrs. Graham was less well than usual in thesedays, and the doctor found time to make more frequent visits thanever, telling himself that she missed Nan's pleasant companionship, but really wishing as much to receive sympathy as to give it. The dearold lady had laughingly disclaimed any desire to summon her childrenor grandchildren, saying that she was neither ill enough to need them, nor well enough to enjoy them; and so in the beautiful June weatherthe two old friends became strangely dear to each other, and had manya long talk which the cares of the world or their own reserve had madethem save until this favoring season. 

The doctor was acknowledged to be an old man at last, though everybodystill insisted that he looked younger than his age, and could notdoubt that he had half a lifetime of usefulness before him yet. But itmakes a great difference when one's ambitions are transferred fromone's own life to that of a younger person's; and while Dr. Lesliegrew less careful for himself, trusting to the unconscious certaintyof his practiced skill, he pondered eagerly over Nan's future, reminding himself of various hints and suggestions, which must beadded to her equipment. Sometimes he wished that she were beginning afew years later, when her position could be better recognized andrespected, and she would not have to fight against so much of theopposition and petty fault-finding that come from ignorance; andsometimes he rejoiced that his little girl, as he fondly called her, would be one of the earlier proofs and examples of a certain nobleadvance and new vantage-ground of civilization. This has beenanticipated through all ages by the women who, sometimes honored andsometimes persecuted, have been drawn away from home life by adevotion to public and social usefulness. It must be recognized thatcertain qualities are required for married, and even domestic life, which all women do not possess; but instead of attributing this to thedisintegration of society, it must be acknowledged to belong to itsprogress. 

So long as the visit in Dunport seemed to fulfill its anticipatedpurpose, and the happy guest was throwing aside her cares and enjoyingthe merry holiday and the excitement of new friendships and of heruncommon position, so long the doctor had been glad, and far fromimpatient to have the visit end. But when he read the later andshorter letters again and again in the vain hope of finding somethingin their wording which should explain the vague unhappiness which hadcome to him as he had read them first, he began to feel troubled anddismayed. There was something which Nan had not explained; somethingwas going wrong. He was sure that if it were anything he could setright, that she would have told him. She had always done so; but itbecame evident through the strange sympathy which made him consciousof the mood of others that she was bent upon fighting her way alone. 

It was a matter of surprise, and almost of dismay to him early onemorning, when he received a brief note from her which told him onlythat she should be at home late that afternoon. It seemed to the wiseold doctor a day of most distressing uncertainty. He tried to make uphis mind to accept with true philosophy whatever decision she wasbringing him. "Nan is a good girl, " he told himself over and overagain; "she will try to do right. " But she was so young and sogenerous, and whether she had been implored to break the old ties ofhome life and affection for her aunt's sake, or whether it was a newerand stronger influence still which had prevailed, waited forexplanation. Alas, as was written once, it is often the higher naturethat yields, because it is the most generous. The doctor knew wellenough the young girl's character. He knew what promises of growth anduncommon achievement were all ready to unfold themselves, --for whatgreat uses she was made. He could not bear the thought of her beinghandicapped in the race she had been set to run. Yet no one recognizedmore clearly than he the unseen, and too often unconsidered, factorwhich is peculiar to each soul, which prevents any other intelligencefrom putting itself exactly in that soul's place, so that ourdecisions and aids and suggestions are never wholly sufficient oravailable for those even whom we love most. He went over the questionagain and again; he followed Nan in his thoughts as she had grownup, --unprejudiced, unconstrained as is possible for any human being tobe. He remembered that her heroes were the great doctors, and that herwhole heart had been stirred and claimed by the noble duties and needsof the great profession. She had been careless of the sociallimitations, of the lack of sympathy, even of the ridicule of thepublic. She had behaved as a bird would behave if it were assured bybeasts and fishes that to walk and to swim were the only proper andrespectable means of getting from place to place. She had shown suchrare insight into the principles of things; she had even seemed tohim, as he watched her, to have anticipated experience, and he couldnot help believing that it was within her power to add much to the toosmall fund of certainty, by the sure instinct and aim of herexperiment. It counted nothing whether God had put this soul into aman's body or a woman's. He had known best, and He meant it to be theteller of new truth, a revealer of laws, and an influence for good inits capacity for teaching, as well as in its example of pure andreasonable life. 

But the old doctor sighed, and told himself that the girl was mosthuman, most affectionate; it was not impossible that, in spite of herapparent absence of certain domestic instincts, they had only laindormant and were now awake. He could not bear that she should lose anyhappiness which might be hers; and the tender memory of the blessedcompanionship which had been withdrawn from his mortal sight only tobe given back to him more fully as he had lived closer and nearer tospiritual things, made him shrink from forbidding the same sort offullness and completion of life to one so dear as Nan. He tried toassure himself that while a man's life is strengthened by his domestichappiness, a woman's must either surrender itself wholly, orrelinquish entirely the claims of such duties, if she would achievedistinction or satisfaction elsewhere. The two cannot be takentogether in a woman's life as in a man's. One must be made of lesserconsequence, though the very natures of both domestic and professionallife need all the strength which can be brought to them. The decisionbetween them he knew to be a most grave responsibility, and one to begoverned by the gravest moral obligations, and the unmistakableleadings of the personal instincts and ambitions. It was seldom, Dr. Leslie was aware, that so typical and evident an example as this couldoffer itself of the class of women who are a result of naturalprogression and variation, not for better work, but for differentwork, and who are designed for certain public and social duties. Buthe believed this class to be one that must inevitably increase withthe higher developments of civilization, and in later years, which hemight never see, the love for humanity would be recognized andemployed more intelligently; while now almost every popular prejudicewas against his ward, then she would need no vindication. The wielderof ideas has always a certain advantage over the depender upon facts;and though the two classes of minds by no means inevitably belong, theone to women, and the other to men, still women have not yet begun touse the best resources of their natures, having been later developed, and in many countries but recently freed from restraining andhindering influences. 

The preservation of the race is no longer the only important question;the welfare of the individual will be considered more and more. Thesimple fact that there is a majority of women in any centre ofcivilization means that some are set apart by nature for other usesand conditions than marriage. In ancient times men depended entirelyupon the women of their households to prepare their food andclothing, --and almost every man in ordinary circumstances of life wasforced to marry for this reason; but already there is a great change. The greater proportion of men and women everywhere will stillinstinctively and gladly accept the high duties and helps of marriedlife; but as society becomes more intelligent it will recognize thefitness of some persons, and the unfitness of others, making itimpossible for these to accept such responsibilities and obligations, and so dignify and elevate home life instead of degrading it. 

It had been one thing to act from conviction and from the promptingsof instinct while no obstacles opposed themselves to his decisions, and quite another thing to be brought face to face with such anemergency. Dr. Leslie wished first to be able to distinctly explain tohimself his reasons for the opinions he held; he knew that he mustjudge for Nan herself in some measure; she would surely appeal to him;she would bring this great question to him, and look for sympathy andrelief in the same way she had tearfully shown him a wounded finger inher childhood. He seemed to see again the entreating eyes, made largewith the pain which would not show itself in any other way, and hefelt the rare tears fill his own eyes at the thought. "Poor littleNan, " he said to himself, "she has been hurt in the great battle, butshe is no skulking soldier. " He would let her tell her story, and thengive her the best help he could; and so when the afternoon shadowswere very long across the country, and the hot summer day was almostdone, the doctor drove down the wide street and along East Road to therailroad station. As he passed a group of small houses he looked athis watch and found that there was more than time for a second visitto a sick child whose illness had been most serious and perplexing atfirst, though now she was fast recovering. The little thing smiled asher friend came in, and asked if the young lady were coming to-morrow, for Dr. Leslie had promised a visit and a picture-book from Nan, whomhe wished to see and understand the case. They had had a long talkupon such ailments as this just before she went away, and nothing hadseemed to rouse her ambition so greatly as her experiences at thechildren's hospitals the winter before. Now, this weak little creatureseemed to be pleading in the name of a great army of sick children, that Nan would not desert their cause; that she would go on, as shehad promised them, with her search for ways that should restore theirvigor and increase their fitness to take up the work of the world. Andyet, a home and children of one's very own, --the doctor, who had heldand lost this long ago, felt powerless to decide the future of theyoung heart which was so dear to him. 

Nan saw the familiar old horse and carriage waiting behind thestation, and did not fail to notice that the doctor had driven to meether himself. He almost always did, but her very anxiety to see himagain had made her doubtful. The train had hardly stopped before shewas standing on the platform and had hastily dropped her checks intothe hand of the nearest idle boy, who looked at them doubtfully, as ifhe hardly dared to hope that he had been mistaken for the hackman. Shecame quickly to the side of the carriage; the doctor could not look ather, for the horse had made believe that some excitement wasnecessary, and was making it difficult for the welcome passenger toput her foot on the step. It was all over in a minute. Nan sprang tothe doctor's side and away they went down the road. He had caught aglimpse of her shining eyes and eager face as she had hurried towardhim, and had said, "Well done!" in a most cheerful and every-dayfashion, and then for a minute there was silence. 

"Oh, it is so good to get home, " said the girl, and her companionturned toward her; he could not wait to hear her story. 

"Yes, " said Nan, "it is just as well to tell you now. Do you rememberyou used to say to me when I was a little girl, 'If you know yourduty, don't mind the best of reasons for not doing it'?" And thedoctor nodded. "I never thought that this reason would come to me fornot being a doctor, " she went on, "and at first I was afraid I shouldbe conquered, though it was myself who fought myself. But it came tome clearer than ever after a while. I think I could have been fonderof some one than most people are of those whom they marry, but themore I cared for him the less I could give him only part of myself; Iknew that was not right. Now that I can look back at it all I am soglad to have had those days; I shall work better all my life forhaving been able to make myself so perfectly sure that I know my way. "

The unconsidered factor had asserted itself in the doctor's favor. Hegave the reins to Nan and leaned back in the carriage, but as she bentforward to speak to a friend whom they passed she did not see the lookthat he gave her. 

"I am sure you knew what was right, " he said, hastily. "God bless you, dear child!"

Was this little Nan, who had been his play-thing? this brave youngcreature, to whose glorious future all his heart and hopes went out. In his evening it was her morning, and he prayed that God's angelsshould comfort and strengthen her and help her to carry the burden ofthe day. It is only those who can do nothing who find nothing to do, and Nan was no idler; she had come to her work as Christ came to his, not to be ministered unto but to minister. 

The months went by swiftly, and through hard work and much study, andmany sights of pain and sorrow, this young student of the business ofhealing made her way to the day when some of her companions announcedwith melancholy truth that they had finished their studies. They werepretty sure to be accused of having had no right to begin them, or totake such trusts and responsibilities into their hands. But Nan andmany of her friends had gladly climbed the hill so far, and with everyyear's ascent had been thankful for the wider horizon which was spreadfor their eyes to see. 

Dr. Leslie in his quiet study almost wished that he were beginninglife again, and sometimes in the twilight, or in long and lonelycountry drives, believed himself ready to go back twenty years so thathe could follow Nan into the future and watch her successes. But healways smiled afterward at such a thought. Twenty years would carryhim back to the time when his ward was a little child, not long beforeshe came to live with him. It was best as God had planned it. Nobodyhad watched the child's development as he had done, or her growth ofcharacter, of which all the performances of her later years would beto him only the unnecessary proofs and evidences. He knew that shewould be faithful in great things, because she had been faithful inlittle things, and he should be with her a long time yet, perhaps. Godonly knew. 

There was a great change in the village; there were more smallfactories now which employed large numbers of young women, and thougha new doctor had long ago come to Oldfields who had begun by trying tosupersede Dr. Leslie, he had ended by longing to show his gratitudesome day for so much help and kindness. More than one appointment hadbeen offered the heroine of this story in the city hospitals. Shewould have little trouble in making her way since she had therequisite qualities, natural and acquired, which secure success. Butshe decided for herself that she would neither do this, nor carry outyet the other plan of going on with her studies at some school acrossthe sea. Zurich held out a great temptation, but there was time enoughyet, and she would spend a year in Oldfields with the doctor, studyingagain with him, since she knew better than ever before that she couldfind no wiser teacher. And it was a great pleasure to belong to thedear old town, to come home to it with her new treasures, so muchricher than she had gone away that beside medicines and bandages andlessons in general hygiene for the physical ails of her patients, shecould often be a tonic to the mind and soul; and since she was tryingto be good, go about doing good in Christ's name to the halt andmaimed and blind in spiritual things. 

Nobody sees people as they are and finds the chance to help poorhumanity as a doctor does. The decorations and deceptions of charactermust fall away before the great realities of pain and death. Thesecrets of many hearts and homes must be told to this confessor, andsadder ailments than the text-books name are brought to be healed bythe beloved physicians. Teachers of truth and givers of the laws oflife, priests and ministers, --all these professions are joined in onewith the gift of healing, and are each part of the charge that a gooddoctor holds in his keeping. 

One day in the beginning of her year at Oldfields, Nan, who had beenvery busy, suddenly thought it would be well to give herself aholiday; and with a sudden return of her old sense of freedom wasgoing out at the door and down toward the gateway, which opened to apleasantly wide world beyond. Marilla had taken Nan's successes ratherreluctantly, and never hesitated to say that she only hoped to see herwell married and settled before she died; though she was always readyto defend her course with even virulence to those who would deprecateit. She now heard Nan shut the door, and called at once from an upperwindow to know if word had been left where she was going, and theyoung practitioner laughed aloud as she answered, and properlyacknowledged the fetter of her calling. 

The leaves were just beginning to fall, and she pushed them about withher feet, and sometimes walked and sometimes ran lightly along theroad toward the farm. But when she reached it, she passed the lane andwent on to the Dyer houses. Mrs. Jake was ailing as usual, and Nan hadtold the doctor before she came out that she would venture anotherprofessional visit in his stead. She was a great help to him in thisway, for his calls to distant towns had increased year by year, and heoften found it hard to keep his many patients well in hand. 

The old houses had not changed much since she first knew them, andneither they nor their inmates were in any danger of being forgottenby her; the old ties of affection and association grew strongerinstead of weaker every year. It pleased and amused the old people tobe reminded of the days when Nan was a child and lived among them, andit was a great joy to her to be able to make their pain and discomfortless, and be their interpreter of the outside world. 

It was a most lovely day of our heroine's favorite weather. It hasbeen said that November is an epitome of all the months of the year, but for all that, no other season can show anything so beautiful asthe best and brightest November days. Nan had spent her summer in agreat hospital, where she saw few flowers save human ones, and thewarmth and inspiration of this clear air seemed most delightful. Shehad been somewhat tempted by an offer of a fine position in Canada, and even Dr. Leslie had urged her acceptance, and thought it anuncommonly good chance to have the best hospital experience andresponsibility, but she had sent the letter of refusal only thatmorning. She could not tell yet what her later plans might be; butthere was no place like Oldfields, and she thought she had never lovedit so dearly as that afternoon. 

She looked in at Mrs. Martin's wide-open door first, but finding thekitchen empty, went quickly across to the other house, where Mrs. Jakewas propped up in her rocking-chair and began to groan loudly when shesaw Nan; but the tonic of so gratifying a presence soon had a mostfavorable effect. Benignant Mrs. Martin was knitting as usual, and thethree women sat together in a friendly group and Nan asked andanswered questions most cordially. 

"I declare I was sort of put out with the doctor for sending you downhere day before yesterday instead of coming himself, " stated Mrs. Jakeimmediately, "but I do' know's I ever had anything do me so much goodas that bottle you gave me. "

"Of course!" laughed Nan. "Dr. Leslie sent it to you himself. I toldyou when I gave it to you. "

"Well now, how you talk!" said Mrs. Jake, a little crestfallen. "Ibegin to find my hearing fails me by spells. But I was bound to giveyou the credit, for all I've stood out against your meddling with adoctor's business. "

Nan laughed merrily. "I am going to steal you for my patient, " sheanswered, "and try all the prescriptions on your case first. "

"Land, if you cured her up 'twould be like stopping the leaks in abasket, " announced Mrs. Martin with a beaming smile, and clicking herknitting-needles excitedly. "She can't hear of a complaint anywheresabout but she thinks she's got the mate to it. "

"I don't seem to have anything fevery about me, " said Mrs. Jake, withan air of patient self-denial; and though both her companions weremost compassionate at the thought of her real sufferings, they couldnot resist the least bit of a smile. "I declare you've done onefirst-rate thing, if you're never going to do any more, " said Mrs. Jake, presently. "'Liza here's been talking for some time past, aboutyour straightening up the little boy's back, --the one that lives downwhere Mis' Meeker used to live you know, --but I didn't seem to take itin till he come over here yisterday forenoon. Looks as likely as anychild, except it may be he's a little stunted. When I think how heused to creep about there, side of the road, like a hopper-toad, itdoes seem amazin'!"

Nan's eyes brightened. "I have been delighted about that. I saw himrunning with the other children as I came down the road. It was a longbit of work, though. The doctor did most of it; I didn't see the childfor months, you know. But he needs care yet; I'm going to stop andhave another talk with his mother as I go home. "

"She's a pore shiftless creature, " Mrs. Martin hastened to say. "There, I thought o' the doctor, how he'd laugh, the last time I wasin to see her; her baby was sick, and she sent up to know if I'd lendher a variety of herbs, and I didn't know but she might p'isen it, soI stepped down with something myself. She begun to flutter about likeshe always does, and I picked my way acrost the kitchen to the cradle. 'There, ' says she, 'I have been laying out all this week to go up tothe Corners and git me two new chairs. ' 'I should think you had plentyof chairs now, ' said I, and she looked at me sort of surprised, andsays she, 'There ain't a chair in this house but what's full. '"

And Nan laughed as heartily as could have been desired before sheasked Mrs. Jake a few more appreciative questions about her ailments, and then rose to go away. Mrs. Martin followed her out to the gate;she and Nan had always been very fond of each other, and the elderwoman pointed to a field not far away where the brothers were watchinga stubble-fire, which was sending up a thin blue thread of smoke intothe still air. "They were over in your north lot yisterday, " said Mrs. Martin. "They're fullest o' business nowadays when there's least todo. They took it pretty hard when they first had to come down tohiring help, but they kind of enjoy it now. We're all old folkstogether on the farm, and not good for much. It don't seem but a yearor two since your poor mother was playing about here, and then youcome along, and now you're the last o' your folks out of all thehouseful of 'em I knew. I'll own up sometimes I've thought strange ofyour fancy for doctoring, but I never said a word to nobody againstit, so I haven't got anything to take back as most folks have. Icouldn't help thinking when you come in this afternoon and sat therealong of us, that I'd give a good deal to have Mis' Thacher step inand see you and know what you've made o' yourself. She had it hard fora good many years, but I believe 't is all made up to her; I docertain. "

Nan meant to go back to the village by the shorter way of the littlefoot-path, but first she went up the grass-grown lane toward the oldfarm-house. She stood for a minute looking about her and across thewell-known fields, and then seated herself on the door-step, andstayed there for some time. There were two or three sheep near by, well covered and rounded by their soft new winter wool, and they allcame as close as they dared and looked at her wonderingly. The narrowpath that used to be worn to the door-step had been overgrown yearsago with the short grass, and in it there was a late little dandelionwith hardly any stem at all. The sunshine was warm, and all thecountry was wrapped in a thin, soft haze. 

She thought of her grandmother Thacher, and of the words that had justbeen said; it was beginning to seem a very great while since the daysof the old farm-life, and Nan smiled as she remembered with what tonesof despair the good old woman used to repeat the well-worn phrase, that her grandchild would make either something or nothing. It seemedto her that she had brought all the success of the past and her hopesfor the future to the dear old place that afternoon. Her early lifewas spreading itself out like a picture, and as she thought it overand looked back from year to year, she was more than ever beforesurprised to see the connection of one thing with another, and howsome slight acts had been the planting of seeds which had grown andflourished long afterward. And as she tried to follow herself backinto the cloudy days of her earliest spring, she rose without knowingwhy, and went down the pastures toward the river. She passed the oldEnglish apple-tree, which still held aloft a flourishing bough. Itsfruit had been gathered, but there were one or two stray apples left, and Nan skillfully threw a stick at these by way of summons. 

Along this path she had hurried or faltered many a time. Sheremembered her grandmother's funeral, and how she had walked, with anelderly cousin whom she did not know, at the head of the procession, and had seen Martin Dyer's small grandson peeping like a rabbit fromamong the underbrush near the shore. Poor little Nan! she was verylonely that day. She had been so glad when the doctor had wrapped herup and taken her home. 

She saw the neighborly old hawthorn-tree that grew by a cellar, andstopped to listen to its rustling and to lay her hand upon the roughbark. It had been a cause of wonder once, for she knew no other treeof the kind. It was like a snow-drift when it was in bloom, and in thegrass-grown cellar she had spent many an hour, for there was a goodshelter from the wind and an excellent hiding-place, though it seemedvery shallow now when she looked at it as she went by. 

The burying-place was shut in by a plain stone wall, which she hadlong ago asked the Dyers to build for her, and she leaned over it nowand looked at the smooth turf of the low graves. She had alwaysthought she would like to lie there too when her work was done. Therewere some of the graves which she did not know, but one was her pooryoung mother's, who had left her no inheritance except some traitsthat had won Nan many friends; all her evil gifts had been buried withher, the neighbors had said, when the girl was out of hearing, thatvery afternoon. 

There was a strange fascination about these river uplands; no placewas so dear to Nan, and yet she often thought with a shudder of thestory of those footprints which had sought the river's brink, and thenturned back. Perhaps, made pure and strong in a better world, in whichsome lingering love and faith had given her the true direction atlast, where even her love for her child had saved her, the mother hadbeen still taking care of little Nan and guiding her. Perhaps she hadhelped to make sure of the blessings her own life had lost, of truthand whiteness of soul and usefulness; and so had been still bringingher child in her arms toward the great shelter and home, as she hadtoiled in her fright and weakness that dark and miserable night towardthe house on the hill. 

And Nan stood on the shore while the warm wind that gently blew herhair felt almost like a hand, and presently she went closer to theriver, and looked far across it and beyond it to the hills. The eaglesswung to and fro above the water, but she looked beyond them into thesky. The soft air and the sunshine came close to her; the trees stoodabout and seemed to watch her; and suddenly she reached her handsupward in an ecstasy of life and strength and gladness. "O God, " shesaid, "I thank thee for my future. "

 * * * * *

SELECTED STORIES AND SKETCHES

by Sarah Orne Jewett

 * * * * *

CONTENTS

STORIES FROM _Strangers and Wayfarers_, Published 1890

 A WINTER COURTSHIP (_Atlantic Monthly_, Feb. , 1889)

 GOING TO SHREWSBURY (_Atlantic Monthly_, July, 1889)

 THE WHITE ROSE ROAD (_Atlantic Monthly_, Sept. , 1889)

 THE TOWN POOR (_Atlantic Monthly_, July, 1890)

STORIES FROM _A Native of Winby and Other Tales_, Published 1893

 A NATIVE OF WINBY (_Atlantic Monthly_, May, 1891)

LOOKING BACK ON GIRLHOOD, _Youth's Companion_, January 7, 1892

MORE STORIES FROM _A Native of Winby and Other Tales_, Published 1893

 THE PASSING OF SISTER BARSETT (_Cosmopolitan Magazine_, May, 1892)

 DECORATION DAY (_Harper's Magazine_, June, 1892)

 THE FLIGHT OF BETSEY LANE (_Scribner's Magazine_, Aug. 1893)

THE GRAY MILLS OF FARLEY, _Cosmopolitan Magazine_, June, 1898

 * * * * *

_A Winter Courtship_

The passenger and mail transportation between the towns of North Kilbyand Sanscrit Pond was carried on by Mr. Jefferson Briley, whosetwo-seated covered wagon was usually much too large for the demands ofbusiness. Both the Sanscrit Pond and North Kilby people werestayers-at-home, and Mr. Briley often made his seven-mile journey inentire solitude, except for the limp leather mail-bag, which he heldfirmly to the floor of the carriage with his heavily shod left foot. The mail-bag had almost a personality to him, born of longassociation. Mr. Briley was a meek and timid-looking body, but he helda warlike soul, and encouraged his fancies by reading awful tales ofbloodshed and lawlessness in the far West. Mindful of stage robberiesand train thieves, and of express messengers who died at their posts, he was prepared for anything; and although he had trusted to his ownstrength and bravery these many years, he carried a heavy pistol underhis front-seat cushion for better defense. This awful weapon wasfamiliar to all his regular passengers, and was usually shown tostrangers by the time two of the seven miles of Mr. Briley's route hadbeen passed. The pistol was not loaded. Nobody (at least not Mr. Briley himself) doubted that the mere sight of such a weapon wouldturn the boldest adventurer aside. 

Protected by such a man and such a piece of armament, one gray Fridaymorning in the edge of winter, Mrs. Fanny Tobin was traveling fromSanscrit Pond to North Kilby. She was an elderly and feeble-lookingwoman, but with a shrewd twinkle in her eyes, and she felt veryanxious about her numerous pieces of baggage and her own personalsafety. She was enveloped in many shawls and smaller wrappings, butthey were not securely fastened, and kept getting undone and flyingloose, so that the bitter December cold seemed to be picking a locknow and then, and creeping in to steal away the little warmth she had. Mr. Briley was cold, too, and could only cheer himself by rememberingthe valor of those pony-express drivers of the pre-railroad days, whohad to cross the Rocky Mountains on the great California route. Hespoke at length of their perils to the suffering passenger, who feltnone the warmer, and at last gave a groan of weariness. 

"How fur did you say 't was now?"

"I do' know's I said, Mis' Tobin, " answered the driver, with a frostylaugh. "You see them big pines, and the side of a barn just this way, with them yellow circus bills? That's my three-mile mark. "

"Be we got four more to make? Oh, my laws!" mourned Mrs. Tobin. "Urgethe beast, can't ye, Jeff'son? I ain't used to bein' out in such bleakweather. Seems if I couldn't git my breath. I'm all pinched up andwigglin' with shivers now. 'T ain't no use lettin' the hoss gostep-a-ty-step, this fashion. "

"Landy me!" exclaimed the affronted driver. "I don't see why folksexpects me to race with the cars. Everybody that gits in wants me torun the hoss to death on the road. I make a good everage o' time, andthat's all I _can_ do. Ef you was to go back an' forth every day butSabbath fur eighteen years, _you_'d want to ease it all you could, andlet those thrash the spokes out o' their wheels that wanted to. NorthKilby, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; Sanscrit Pond, Tuesdays, Thu'sdays, an' Saturdays. Me an' the beast's done it eighteen yearstogether, and the creatur' warn't, so to say, young when we begun it, nor I neither. I re'lly didn't know's she'd hold out till this time. There, git up, will ye, old mar'!" as the beast of burden stoppedshort in the road. 

There was a story that Jefferson gave this faithful creature a restthree times a mile, and took four hours for the journey by himself, and longer whenever he had a passenger. But in pleasant weather theroad was delightful, and full of people who drove their ownconveyances, and liked to stop and talk. There were not many farms, and the third growth of white pines made a pleasant shade, thoughJefferson liked to say that when he began to carry the mail his waylay through an open country of stumps and sparse underbrush, where thewhite pines nowadays completely arched the road. 

They had passed the barn with circus posters, and felt colder thanever when they caught sight of the weather-beaten acrobats in theirtights. 

"My gorry!" exclaimed Widow Tobin, "them pore creatur's looks ascheerless as little birch-trees in snow-time. I hope they dresses 'emwarmer this time o' year. Now, there! look at that one jumpin' throughthe little hoop, will ye?"

"He couldn't git himself through there with two pair o' pants on, "answered Mr. Briley. "I expect they must have to keep limber as eels. I used to think, when I was a boy, that 'twas the only thing I couldever be reconciled to do for a livin'. I set out to run away an'follow a rovin' showman once, but mother needed me to home. Therewarn't nobody but me an' the little gals. "

"You ain't the only one that's be'n disapp'inted o' their heart'sdesire, " said Mrs. Tobin sadly. "'T warn't so that I could be sparedfrom home to learn the dressmaker's trade. "

"'T would a come handy later on, I declare, " answered the sympatheticdriver, "bein' 's you went an' had such a passel o' gals to clothe an'feed. There, them that's livin' is all well off now, but it must ha'been some inconvenient for ye when they was small. "

"Yes, Mr. Briley, but then I've had my mercies, too, " said the widowsomewhat grudgingly. "I take it master hard now, though, havin' togive up my own home and live round from place to place, if they be myown child'en. There was Ad'line and Susan Ellen fussin' an' bickerin'yesterday about who'd got to have me next; and, Lord be thanked, theyboth wanted me right off but I hated to hear 'em talkin' of it over. I'd rather live to home, and do for myself. "

"I've got consider'ble used to boardin', " said Jefferson, "sence ma'amdied, but it made me ache 'long at the fust on 't, I tell ye. Bein' onthe road's I be, I couldn't do no ways at keepin' house. I should wantto keep right there and see to things. "

"Course you would, " replied Mrs. Tobin, with a sudden inspiration ofopportunity which sent a welcome glow all over her. "Course you would, Jeff'son, "--she leaned toward the front seat; "that is to say, onlessyou had jest the right one to do it for ye. "

And Jefferson felt a strange glow also, and a sense of unexpectedinterest and enjoyment. 

"See here, Sister Tobin, " he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "Why can't yetake the trouble to shift seats, and come front here long o' me? Wecould put one buff'lo top o' the other, --they're both wearin'thin, --and set close, and I do' know but we sh'd be more protectedag'inst the weather. "

"Well, I couldn't be no colder if I was froze to death, " answered thewidow, with an amiable simper. "Don't ye let me delay you, nor put youout, Mr. Briley. I don't know's I'd set forth to-day if I'd known 'twas so cold; but I had all my bundles done up, and I ain't one thatputs my hand to the plough an' looks back, 'cordin' to Scriptur'. "

"You wouldn't wanted me to ride all them seven miles alone?" asked thegallant Briley sentimentally, as he lifted her down, and helped her upagain to the front seat. She was a few years older than he, but theyhad been schoolmates, and Mrs. Tobin's youthful freshness was suddenlyrevived to his mind's eye. She had a little farm; there was nobodyleft at home now but herself, and so she had broken up housekeepingfor the winter. Jefferson himself had savings of no mean amount. 

They tucked themselves in, and felt better for the change, but therewas a sudden awkwardness between them; they had not had time toprepare for an unexpected crisis. 

"They say Elder Bickers, over to East Sanscrit, 's been and gotmarried again to a gal that's four year younger than his oldestdaughter, " proclaimed Mrs. Tobin presently. "Seems to me 't was fool'sbusiness. "

"I view it so, " said the stage-driver. "There's goin' to be a mildopen winter for that fam'ly. "

"What a joker you be for a man that's had so much responsibility!"smiled Mrs. Tobin, after they had done laughing. "Ain't you never'fraid, carryin' mail matter and such valuable stuff, that you'll beset on an' robbed, 'specially by night?"

Jefferson braced his feet against the dasher under the worn buffaloskin. "It is kind o' scary, or would be for some folks, but I'd liketo see anybody get the better o' me. I go armed, and I don't care whoknows it. Some o' them drover men that comes from Canady looks as ifthey didn't care what they did, but I look 'em right in the eye everytime. "

"Men folks is brave by natur', " said the widow admiringly. "You knowhow Tobin would let his fist right out at anybody that undertook tosass him. Town-meetin' days, if he got disappointed about the waythings went, he'd lay 'em out in win'rows; and ef he hadn't been achurch-member he'd been a real fightin' character. I was always 'fraidto have him roused, for all he was so willin' and meechin' to home, and set round clever as anybody. My Susan Ellen used to boss himsame's the kitten, when she was four year old. "

"I've got a kind of a sideways cant to my nose, that Tobin give mewhen we was to school. I don't know's you ever noticed it, " said Mr. Briley. "We was scufflin', as lads will. I never bore him no kind of agrudge. I pitied ye, when he was taken away. I re'lly did, now, Fanny. I liked Tobin first-rate, and I liked you. I used to say you was thehan'somest girl to school. "

"Lemme see your nose. 'Tis all straight, for what I know, " said thewidow gently, as with a trace of coyness she gave a hasty glance. "Idon't know but what 'tis warped a little, but nothin' to speak of. You've got real nice features, like your marm's folks. "

It was becoming a sentimental occasion, and Jefferson Briley felt thathe was in for something more than he had bargained. He hurried thefaltering sorrel horse, and began to talk of the weather. It certainlydid look like snow, and he was tired of bumping over the frozen road. 

"I shouldn't wonder if I hired a hand here another year, and went offout West myself to see the country. "

"Why, how you talk!" answered the widow. 

"Yes'm, " pursued Jefferson. "'Tis tamer here than I like, and I wastellin' 'em yesterday I've got to know this road most too well. I'dlike to go out an' ride in the mountains with some o' them greatclipper coaches, where the driver don't know one minute but he'll beshot dead the next. They carry an awful sight o' gold down from themines, I expect. "

"I should be scairt to death, " said Mrs. Tobin. "What creatur's menfolks be to like such things! Well, I do declare. "

"Yes, " explained the mild little man. "There's sights of desp'radoesmakes a han'some livin' out o' followin' them coaches, an' stoppin'an' robbin' 'em clean to the bone. Your money _or_ your life!" and heflourished his stub of a whip over the sorrel mare. 

"Landy me! you make me run all of a cold creep. Do tell somethin'heartenin', this cold day. I shall dream bad dreams all night. "

"They put on black crape over their heads, " said the drivermysteriously. "Nobody knows who most on 'em be, and like as not someo' them fellows come o' good families. They've got so they stop thecars, and go right through 'em bold as brass. I could make your hairstand on end, Mis' Tobin, --I could _so!_"

"I hope none on 'em'll git round our way, I'm sure, " said Fanny Tobin. "I don't want to see none on 'em in their crape bunnits comin' afterme. "

"I ain't goin' to let nobody touch a hair o' your head, " and Mr. Briley moved a little nearer, and tucked in the buffaloes again. 

"I feel considerable warm to what I did, " observed the widow by way ofreward. 

"There, I used to have my fears, " Mr. Briley resumed, with an inwardfeeling that he never would get to North Kilby depot a single man. "But you see I hadn't nobody but myself to think of. I've got cousins, as you know, but nothin' nearer, and what I've laid up would soon beparted out; and--well, I suppose some folks would think o' me ifanything was to happen. "

Mrs. Tobin was holding her cloud over her face, --the wind was sharp onthat bit of open road, --but she gave an encouraging sound, between agroan and a chirp. 

"'T wouldn't be like nothin' to me not to see you drivin' by, " shesaid, after a minute. "I shouldn't know the days o' the week. I saysto Susan Ellen last week I was sure 'twas Friday, and she said no, 'twas Thursday; but next minute you druv by and headin' toward NorthKilby, so we found I was right. "

"I've got to be a featur' of the landscape, " said Mr. Brileyplaintively. "This kind o' weather the old mare and me, we wish we wasdone with it, and could settle down kind o' comfortable. I've beenlookin' this good while, as I drove the road, and I've picked me out apiece o' land two or three times. But I can't abide the thought o'buildin', --'twould plague me to death; and both Sister Peak to NorthKilby and Mis' Deacon Ash to the Pond, they vie with one another to dowell by me, fear I'll like the other stoppin'-place best. "

"I shouldn't covet livin' long o' neither one o' them women, "responded the passenger with some spirit. "I see some o' Mis' Peak'scookin' to a farmers' supper once, when I was visitin' Susan Ellen'sfolks, an' I says 'Deliver me from sech pale-complected baked beans asthem!' and she give a kind of a quack. She was settin' jest at my lefthand, and couldn't help hearin' of me. I wouldn't have spoken if I hadknown, but she needn't have let on they was hers an' make everythingunpleasant. 'I guess them beans taste just as well as other folks', 'says she, and she wouldn't never speak to me afterward. "

"Do' know's I blame her, " ventured Mr. Briley. "Women folks isdreadful pudjicky about their cookin'. I've always heard you was oneo' the best o' cooks, Mis' Tobin. I know them doughnuts an' thingsyou've give me in times past, when I was drivin' by. Wish I had someon 'em now. I never let on, but Mis' Ash's cookin's the best by a longchalk. Mis' Peak's handy about some things, and looks after mendin' ofme up. "

"It doos seem as if a man o' your years and your quiet make ought tohave a home you could call your own, " suggested the passenger. "I kindof hate to think o' your bangein' here and boardin' there, and one oldwoman mendin', and the other settin' ye down to meals that like's notdon't agree with ye. "

"Lor', now, Mis' Tobin, le's not fuss round no longer, " said Mr. Briley impatiently. "You know you covet me same's I do you. "

"I don't nuther. Don't you go an' say fo'lish things you can't standto. "

"I've been tryin' to git a chance to put in a word with you eversence--Well, I expected you'd want to get your feelin's kind o'calloused after losin' Tobin. "

"There's nobody can fill his place, " said the widow. 

"I do' know but I can fight for ye town-meetin' days, on a pinch, "urged Jefferson boldly. 

"I never see the beat o' you men fur conceit, " and Mrs. Tobin laughed. "I ain't goin' to bother with ye, gone half the time as you be, an'carryin' on with your Mis' Peaks and Mis' Ashes. I dare say you'vepromised yourself to both on 'em twenty times. "

"I hope to gracious if I ever breathed a word to none on 'em!"protested the lover. "'T ain't for lack o' opportunities set afore me, nuther;" and then Mr. Briley craftily kept silence, as if he had madea fair proposal, and expected a definite reply. 

The lady of his choice was, as she might have expressed it, much beatabout. As she soberly thought, she was getting along in years, andmust put up with Jefferson all the rest of the time. It was not likelyshe would ever have the chance of choosing again, though she was onewho liked variety. 

Jefferson wasn't much to look at, but he was pleasant and appearedboyish and young-feeling. "I do' know's I should do better, " she saidunconsciously and half aloud. "Well, yes, Jefferson, seein' it's you. But we're both on us kind of old to change our situation. " Fanny Tobingave a gentle sigh. 

"Hooray!" said Jefferson. "I was scairt you meant to keep me sufferin'here a half an hour. I declare, I'm more pleased than I calc'lated on. An' I expected till lately to die a single man!"

"'Twould re'lly have been a shame; 'tain't natur', " said Mrs. Tobin, with confidence. "I don't see how you held out so long with bein'solitary. "

"I'll hire a hand to drive for me, and we'll have a good comfortablewinter, me an' you an' the old sorrel. I've been promisin' of her arest this good while. "

"Better keep her a steppin', " urged thrifty Mrs. Fanny. "She'llstiffen up master, an' disapp'int ye, come spring. "

"You'll have me, now, won't ye, sartin?" pleaded Jefferson, to makesure. "You ain't one o' them that plays with a man's feelin's. Sayright out you'll have me. "

"I s'pose I shall have to, " said Mrs. Tobin somewhat mournfully. "Ifeel for Mis' Peak an' Mis' Ash, pore creatur's. I expect they'll behardshipped. They've always been hard-worked, an' may have kind o'looked forward to a little ease. But one on 'em would be leftlamentin', anyhow, " and she gave a girlish laugh. An air of victoryanimated the frame of Mrs. Tobin. She felt but twenty-five years ofage. In that moment she made plans for cutting her Briley's hair, andmaking him look smartened-up and ambitious. Then she wished that sheknew for certain how much money he had in the bank; not that it wouldmake any difference now. "He needn't bluster none before me, " shethought gayly. "He's harmless as a fly. "

"Who'd have thought we'd done such a piece of engineerin', when westarted out?" inquired the dear one of Mr. Briley's heart, as hetenderly helped her to alight at Susan Ellen's door. 

"Both on us, jest the least grain, " answered the lover. "Gimme a goodsmack, now, you clever creatur';" and so they parted. Mr. Bailey hadbeen taken on the road in spite of his pistol. 

 * * * * *

_Going to Shrewsbury_

The train stopped at a way station with apparent unwillingness, andthere was barely time for one elderly passenger to be hurried on boardbefore a sudden jerk threw her almost off her unsteady old feet and wemoved on. At my first glance I saw only a perturbed old countrywoman, laden with a large basket and a heavy bundle tied up in anold-fashioned bundle-handkerchief; then I discovered that she was afriend of mine, Mrs. Peet, who lived on a small farm, several milesfrom the village. She used to be renowned for good butter and fresheggs and the earliest cowslip greens; in fact, she always made themost of her farm's slender resources; but it was some time since I hadseen her drive by from market in her ancient thorough-braced wagon. 

The brakeman followed her into the crowded car, also carrying a numberof packages. I leaned forward and asked Mrs. Peet to sit by me; it wasa great pleasure to see her again. The brakeman seemed relieved, andsmiled as he tried to put part of his burden into the rack overhead;but even the flowered carpet-bag was much too large, and he explainedthat he would take care of everything at the end of the car. Mrs. Peetwas not large herself, but with the big basket, and thebundle-handkerchief, and some possessions of my own we had very littlespare room. 

"So this 'ere is what you call ridin' in the cars! Well, I dodeclare!" said my friend, as soon as she had recovered herself alittle. She looked pale and as if she had been in tears, but there wasthe familiar gleam of good humor in her tired old eyes. 

"Where in the world are you going, Mrs. Peet?" I asked. 

"Can't be you ain't heared about me, dear?" said she. "Well, theworld's bigger than I used to think 't was. I've broke up, --'twas theonly thing _to_ do, --and I'm a-movin' to Shrewsbury. "

"To Shrewsbury? Have you sold the farm?" I exclaimed, with sorrow andsurprise. Mrs. Peet was too old and too characteristic to be suddenlytransplanted from her native soil. "'T wa'n't mine, the place wa'n't. "Her pleasant face hardened slightly. "He was coaxed an' over-persuadedinto signin' off before he was taken away. Is'iah, son of his sisterthat married old Josh Peet, come it over him about his bein' past workand how he'd do for him like an own son, an' we owed him a littlesomethin'. I'd paid off everythin' but that, an' was fool enough toleave it till the last, on account o' Is'iah's bein' a relation andnot needin' his pay much as some others did. It's hurt me to have theplace fall into other hands. Some wanted me to go right to law; but 'twouldn't be no use. Is'iah's smarter 'n I be about them matters. Yousee he's got my name on the paper, too; he said 't was somethin' 'boutbein' responsible for the taxes. We was scant o' money, an' I was woreout with watchin' an' being broke o' my rest. After my tryin' hard forrisin' forty-five year to provide for bein' past work, here I be, dear, here I be! I used to drive things smart, you remember. But wewas fools enough in '72 to put about everythin' we had safe in thebank into that spool factory that come to nothin'. But I tell ye Icould ha' kept myself long's I lived, if I could ha' held the place. I'd parted with most o' the woodland, if Is'iah'd coveted it. He waswelcome to that, 'cept what might keep me in oven-wood. I've alwaysdesired to travel an' see somethin' o' the world, but I've got thechance now when I don't value it no great. "

"Shrewsbury is a busy, pleasant place, " I ventured to say by way ofcomfort, though my heart was filled with rage at the trickery ofIsaiah Peet, who had always looked like a fox and behaved like one. 

"Shrewsbury's be'n held up consid'able for me to smile at, " said thepoor old soul, "but I tell ye, dear, it's hard to go an' livetwenty-two miles from where you've always had your home and friends. It may divert me, but it won't be home. You might as well set out oneo' my old apple-trees on the beach, so 't could see the waves comein, --there wouldn't be no please to it. "

"Where are you going to live in Shrewsbury?" I asked presently. 

"I don't expect to stop long, dear creatur'. I'm 'most seventy-sixyear old, " and Mrs. Peet turned to look at me with pathetic amusementin her honest wrinkled face. "I said right out to Is'iah, before aroomful o' the neighbors, that I expected it of him to git me home an'bury me when my time come, and do it respectable; but I wanted to airnmy livin', if 'twas so I could, till then. He'd made sly talk, yousee, about my electin' to leave the farm and go 'long some o' my ownfolks; but"--and she whispered this carefully--"he didn't give me nochance to stay there without hurtin' my pride and dependin' on him. Iain't said that to many folks, but all must have suspected. A goodsight on 'em's had money of Is'iah, though, and they don't like to donothin' but take his part an' be pretty soft spoken, fear it'll git tohis ears. Well, well, dear, we'll let it be bygones, and not think ofit no more;" but I saw the great tears roll slowly down her cheeks, and she pulled her bonnet forward impatiently, and looked the otherway. 

"There looks to be plenty o' good farmin' land in this part o' thecountry, " she said, a minute later. "Where be we now? See themhandsome farm buildin's; he must be a well-off man. " But I had totell my companion that we were still within the borders of the oldtown where we had both been born. Mrs. Peet gave a pleased littlelaugh, like a girl. "I'm expectin' Shrewsbury to pop up any minute. I'm feared to be kerried right by. I wa'n't never aboard of the carsbefore, but I've so often thought about 'em I don't know but it seemsnatural. Ain't it jest like flyin' through the air? I can't catch holtto see nothin'. Land! and here's my old cat goin' too, and nevermistrustin'. I ain't told you that I'd fetched her. "

"Is she in that basket?" I inquired with interest. 

"Yis, dear. Truth was, I calc'lated to have her put out o' the miseryo' movin', an spoke to one o' the Barnes boys, an' he promised me allfair; but he wa'n't there in season, an' I kind o' made excuse tomyself to fetch her along. She's an' old creatur', like me, an' I canmake shift to keep her some way or 'nuther; there's probably micewhere we're goin', an' she's a proper mouser that can about keepherself if there's any sort o' chance. 'T will be somethin' o' home tosee her goin' an' comin', but I expect we're both on us goin' to missour old haunts. I'd love to know what kind o' mousin' there's goin' tobe for me. "

"You mustn't worry, " I answered, with all the bravery and assurancethat I could muster. "Your niece will be thankful to have you withher. Is she one of Mrs. Winn's daughters?"

"Oh, no, they ain't able; it's Sister Wayland's darter Isabella, thatmarried the overseer of the gre't carriage-shop. I ain't seen hersince just after she was married; but I turned to her first because Iknew she was best able to have me, and then I can see just how theother girls is situated and make me some kind of a plot. I wrote toIsabella, though she _is_ ambitious, and said 'twas so I'd got to askto come an' make her a visit, an' she wrote back she would be glad tohave me; but she didn't write right off, and her letter was scented updreadful strong with some sort o' essence, and I don't feel heartenedabout no great of a welcome. But there, I've got eyes, an' I can see_ho_'t is when I git _where_'t is. Sister Winn's gals ain't married, an' they've always boarded, an' worked in the shop on trimmin's. Isabella's well off; she had some means from her father's sister. Ithought it all over by night an' day, an' I recalled that our folkskept Sister Wayland's folks all one winter, when he'd failed up andgot into trouble. I'm reckonin' on sendin' over to-night an' gittin'the Winn gals to come and see me and advise. Perhaps some on 'em mayknow of somebody that'll take me for what help I can give about house, or some clever folks that have been lookin' for a smart cat, any ways;no, I don't know's I could let her go to strangers. 

"There was two or three o' the folks round home that acted realwarm-hearted towards me, an' urged me to come an' winter with 'em, "continued the exile; "an' this mornin' I wished I'd agreed to, 'twasso hard to break away. But now it's done I feel more'n ever it's best. I couldn't bear to live right in sight o' the old place, and comespring I shouldn't 'prove of nothing Is'iah ondertakes to do with theland. Oh, dear sakes! now it comes hard with me not to have had nochild'n. When I was young an' workin' hard and into everything, I feltkind of free an' superior to them that was so blessed, an' theirhouses cluttered up from mornin' till night, but I tell ye it comeshome to me now. I'd be most willin' to own to even Is'iah, mean's heis; but I tell ye I'd took it out of him 'fore he was a grown man, ifthere'd be'n any virtue in cow-hidin' of him. Folks don't look likewild creatur's for nothin'. Is'iah's got fox blood in him, an'p'r'haps 't is his misfortune. His own mother always favored the looksof an old fox, true's the world; she was a poor tool, --a poor tool! Id'know's we ought to blame him same's we do. 

"I've always been a master proud woman, if I was riz among thepastures, " Mrs. Peet added, half to herself. There was no use insaying much to her; she was conscious of little beside her ownthoughts and the smouldering excitement caused by this great crisis inher simple existence. Yet the atmosphere of her loneliness, uncertainty, and sorrow was so touching that after scolding again ather nephew's treachery, and finding the tears come fast to my eyes asshe talked, I looked intently out of the car window, and tried tothink what could be done for the poor soul. She was one of theold-time people, and I hated to have her go away; but even if shecould keep her home she would soon be too feeble to live there alone, and some definite plan must be made for her comfort. Farms in thatneighborhood were not valuable. Perhaps through the agency of the lawand quite in secret, Isaiah Peet could be forced to give up hisunrighteous claim. Perhaps, too, the Winn girls, who were really nolonger young, might have saved something, and would come home again. But it was easy to make such pictures in one's mind, and I must dowhat I could through other people, for I was just leaving home for along time. I wondered sadly about Mrs. Peet's future, and theambitious Isabella, and the favorite Sister Winn's daughters, to whom, with all their kindliness of heart, the care of so old and perhaps sodependent an aunt might seem impossible. The truth about life inShrewsbury would soon be known; more than half the short journey wasalready past. 

To my great pleasure, my fellow-traveler now began to forget her owntroubles in looking about her. She was an alert, quickly interestedold soul, and this was a bit of neutral ground between the farm andShrewsbury, where she was unattached and irresponsible. She had livedthrough the last tragic moments of her old life, and felt a certainrelief, and Shrewsbury might be as far away as the other side of theRocky Mountains for all the consciousness she had of its realexistence. She was simply a traveler for the time being, and began tocomment, with delicious phrases and shrewd understanding of humannature, on two or three persons near us who attracted her attention. 

"Where do you s'pose they be all goin'?" she asked contemptuously. "There ain't none on 'em but what looks kind o' respectable. I'llwarrant they've left work to home they'd ought to be doin'. I knowed, if ever I stopped to think, that cars was hived full o' folks, an'wa'n't run to an' fro for nothin'; but these can't be quite up to theaverage, be they? Some on 'em's real thrif'less; guess they've be'nshoved out o' the last place, an' goin' to try the next one, --like me, I suppose you'll want to say! Jest see that flauntin' old creatur'that looks like a stopped clock. There! everybody can't be o' onegoodness, even preachers. "

I was glad to have Mrs. Peet amused, and we were as cheerful as wecould be for a few minutes. She said earnestly that she hoped to beforgiven for such talk, but there were some kinds of folks in the carsthat she never had seen before. But when the conductor came to takeher ticket she relapsed into her first state of mind, and was at aloss. 

"You'll have to look after me, dear, when we get to Shrewsbury, " shesaid, after we had spent some distracted moments in hunting for theticket, and the cat had almost escaped from the basket, and thebundle-handkerchief had become untied and all its miscellaneouscontents scattered about our laps and the floor. It was a touchingcollection of the last odds and ends of Mrs. Peet's housekeeping: somebattered books, and singed holders for flatirons, and the faded littleshoulder shawl that I had seen her wear many a day about her bentshoulders. There were her old tin match-box spilling all its matches, and a goose-wing for brushing up ashes, and her much-thumbed Leavitt'sAlmanac. It was most pathetic to see these poor trifles out of theirplaces. At last the ticket was found in her left-hand woolen glove, where her stiff, work-worn hand had grown used to the feeling of it. 

"I shouldn't wonder, now, if I come to like living over to Shrewsburyfirst-rate, " she insisted, turning to me with a hopeful, eager look tosee if I differed. "You see't won't be so tough for me as if I hadn'talways felt it lurking within me to go off some day or 'nother an' seehow other folks did things. I do' know but what the Winn gals havelaid up somethin' sufficient for us to take a house, with the littlemite I've got by me. I might keep house for us all, 'stead o' boardin'round in other folks' houses. That I ain't never been demeaned to, butI dare say I should find it pleasant in some ways. Town folks has gotthe upper hand o' country folks, but with all their work an' pridethey can't make a dandelion. I do' know the times when I've set out towash Monday mornin's, an' tied out the line betwixt the oldpucker-pear tree and the corner o' the barn, an' thought, 'Here I bewith the same kind o' week's work right over again. ' I'd wonder kindo' f'erce if I couldn't git out of it noways; an' now here I be outof it, and an uprooteder creatur' never stood on the airth. Just as Igot to feel I had somethin' ahead come that spool-factory business. There! you know he never was a forehanded man; his health was slim, and he got discouraged pretty nigh before ever he begun. I hope hedon't know I'm turned out o' the old place. 'Is'iah's well off; he'lldo the right thing by ye, ' says he. But my! I turned hot all over whenI found out what I'd put my name to, --me that had always be'n counteda smart woman! I did undertake to read it over, but I couldn't senseit. I've told all the folks so when they laid it off on to me some:but hand-writin' is awful tedious readin' and my head felt that day asif the works was gone. 

"I ain't goin' to sag on to nobody, " she assured me eagerly, as thetrain rushed along. "I've got more work in me now than folks expectsat my age. I may be consid'able use to Isabella. She's got a family, an' I'll take right holt in the kitchen or with the little gals. Shehad four on 'em, last I heared. Isabella was never one that likedhouse-work. Little gals! I do' know now but what they must be aboutgrown, time doos slip away so. I expect I shall look outlandish to'em. But there! everybody knows me to home, an' nobody knows me toShrewsbury; 'twon't make a mite o' difference, if I take holtwillin'. "

I hoped, as I looked at Mrs. Peet, that she would never be persuadedto cast off the gathered brown silk bonnet and the plain shawl thatshe had worn so many years; but Isabella might think it best to insistupon more modern fashions. Mrs. Peet suggested, as if it were a matterof little consequence, that she had kept it in mind to buy somemourning; but there were other things to be thought of first, and soshe had let it go until winter, any way, or until she should be fairlysettled in Shrewsbury. 

"Are your nieces expecting you by this train?" I was moved to ask, though with all the good soul's ready talk and appealing manner Icould hardly believe that she was going to Shrewsbury for more than avisit; it seemed as if she must return to the worn old farmhouse overby the sheep-lands. She answered that one of the Barnes boys hadwritten a letter for her the day before, and there was evidentlylittle uneasiness about her first reception. 

We drew near the junction where I must leave her within a mile of thetown. The cat was clawing indignantly at the basket, and her mistressgrew as impatient of the car. She began to look very old and pale, mypoor fellow-traveler, and said that she felt dizzy, going so fast. Presently the friendly red-cheeked young brakeman came along, bringingthe carpet-bag and other possessions, and insisted upon taking thealarmed cat beside, in spite of an aggressive paw that had worked itsway through the wicker prison. Mrs. Peet watched her goods disappearwith suspicious eyes, and clutched her bundle-handkerchief as if itmight be all that she could save. Then she anxiously got to her feet, much too soon, and when I said good-by to her at the car door she wasready to cry. I pointed to the car which she was to take next on thebranch line of railway, and I assured her that it was only a fewminutes' ride to Shrewsbury, and that I felt certain she would findsomebody waiting. The sight of that worn, thin figure adventuringalone across the platform gave my heart a sharp pang as the traincarried me away. 

Some of the passengers who sat near asked me about my old friend withgreat sympathy, after she had gone. There was a look of tragedy abouther, and indeed it had been impossible not to get a good deal of herhistory, as she talked straight on in the same tone, when we stoppedat a station, as if the train were going at full speed, and some ofher remarks caused pity and amusements by turns. At the last minuteshe said, with deep self-reproach, "Why, I haven't asked a word aboutyour folks; but you'd ought to excuse such an old stray hen as I be. "

In the spring I was driving by on what the old people of my nativetown call the sheep-lands road, and the sight of Mrs. Peet's formerhome brought our former journey freshly to my mind. I had last heardfrom her just after she got to Shrewsbury, when she had sent me amessage. 

"Have you ever heard how she got on?" I eagerly asked my companion. 

"Didn't I tell you that I met her in Shrewsbury High Street one day?"I was answered. "She seemed perfectly delighted with everything. Hernieces have laid up a good bit of money, and are soon to leave themill, and most thankful to have old Mrs. Peet with them. Somebody toldme that they wished to buy the farm here, and come back to live, butshe wouldn't hear of it, and thought they would miss too manyprivileges. She has been going to concerts and lectures this winter, and insists that Isaiah did her a good turn. "

We both laughed. My own heart was filled with joy, for the uncertain, lonely face of this homeless old woman had often haunted me. Therain-blackened little house did certainly look dreary, and a wholelifetime of patient toil had left few traces. The pucker-pear tree wasin full bloom, however, and gave a welcome gaiety to the deserteddoor-yard. 

A little way beyond we met Isaiah Peet, the prosperous money-lender, who had cheated the old woman of her own. I fancied that he lookedsomewhat ashamed, as he recognized us. To my surprise, he stopped hishorse in most social fashion. 

"Old Aunt Peet's passed away, " he informed me briskly. "She had ashock, and went right off sudden yisterday fore-noon. I'm about nowtendin' to the funeral 'rangements. She's be'n extry smart, they say, all winter, --out to meetin' last Sabbath; never enjoyed herself socomplete as she has this past month. She'd be'n a very hard-workin'woman. Her folks was glad to have her there, and give her everyattention. The place here never was good for nothin'. The oldgen'leman, --uncle, you know, --he wore hisself out tryin' to make alivin' off from it. "

There was an ostentatious sympathy and half-suppressed excitement frombad news which were quite lost upon us, and we did not linger to hearmuch more. It seemed to me as if I had known Mrs. Peet better than anyone else had known her. I had counted upon seeing her again, andhearing her own account of Shrewsbury life, its pleasures and itslimitations. I wondered what had become of the cat and the contents ofthe faded bundle-handkerchief. 

 * * * * *

_The White Rose Road_

Being a New Englander, it is natural that I should first speak aboutthe weather. Only the middle of June, the green fields, and blue sky, and bright sun, with a touch of northern mountain wind blowingstraight toward the sea, could make such a day, and that is all onecan say about it. We were driving seaward through a part of thecountry which has been least changed in the last thirty years, --amongfarms which have been won from swampy lowland, and rocky, stump-buttressed hillsides: where the forests wall in the fields, andsend their outposts year by year farther into the pastures. There is ayear or two in the history of these pastures before they have arrivedat the dignity of being called woodland, and yet are too much shadedand overgrown by young trees to give proper pasturage, when they madedelightful harbors for the small wild creatures which yet remain, andfor wild flowers and berries. Here you send an astonished rabbitscurrying to his burrow, and there you startle yourself with apartridge, who seems to get the best of the encounter. Sometimes yousee a hen partridge and her brood of chickens crossing your path withan air of comfortable door-yard security. As you drive along thenarrow, grassy road, you see many charming sights and delightful nookson either hand, where the young trees spring out of a close-croppedturf that carpets the ground like velvet. Toward the east and thequaint fishing village of Ogunquit, I find the most delightfulwoodland roads. There is little left of the large timber which oncefilled the region, but much young growth, and there are hundreds ofacres of cleared land and pasture-ground where the forests arespringing fast and covering the country once more, as if they had noidea of losing in their war with civilization and the intruding whitesettler. The pine woods and the Indians seem to be next of kin, andthe former owners of this corner of New England are the only properfigures to paint into such landscapes. The twilight under tall pinesseems to be untenanted and to lack something, at first sight, as ifone opened the door of an empty house. A farmer passing through withhis axe is but an intruder, and children straying home from schoolgive one a feeling of solicitude at their unprotectedness. The pinewoods are the red man's house, and it may be hazardous even yet forthe gray farmhouses to stand so near the eaves of the forest. I havenoticed a distrust of the deep woods, among elderly people, which wassomething more than a fear of losing their way. It was a feeling ofdefenselessness against some unrecognized but malicious influence. 

Driving through the long woodland way, shaded and chilly when you areout of the sun; across the Great Works River and its pretty elm-grownintervale; across the short bridges of brown brooks; delayed now andthen by the sight of ripe strawberries in sunny spots by the roadside, one comes to a higher open country, where farm joins farm, and thecleared fields lie all along the highway, while the woods are pushedback a good distance on either hand. The wooded hills, bleak here andthere with granite ledges, rise beyond. The houses are beside theroad, with green door-yards and large barns, almost empty now, andwith wide doors standing open, as if they were already expecting thehay crop to be brought in. The tall green grass is waving in thefields as the wind goes over, and there is a fragrance of whiteweedand ripe strawberries and clover blowing through the sunshiny barns, with their lean sides and their festoons of brown, dusty cobwebs;dull, comfortable creatures they appear to imaginative eyes, waitinghungrily for their yearly meal. The eave-swallows are teasing theirsleepy shapes, like the birds which flit about great beasts; gay, movable, irreverent, almost derisive, those barn swallows fly to andfro in the still, clear air. 

The noise of our wheels brings fewer faces to the windows than usual, and we lose the pleasure of seeing some of our friends who are apt tobe looking out, and to whom we like to say good-day. Some funeral mustbe taking place, or perhaps the women may have gone out into thefields. It is hoeing-time and strawberry-time, and already we haveseen some of the younger women at work among the corn and potatoes. One sight will be charming to remember. On a green hillside slopingto the west, near one of the houses, a thin little girl was workingaway lustily with a big hoe on a patch of land perhaps fifty feet bytwenty. There were all sorts of things growing there, as if a child'sfancy had made the choice, --straight rows of turnips and carrots andbeets, a little of everything, one might say; but the only touch ofcolor was from a long border of useful sage in full bloom of dullblue, on the upper side. I am sure this was called Katy's or Becky's_piece_ by the elder members of the family. One can imagine how theyoung creature had planned it in the spring, and persuaded the men toplough and harrow it, and since then had stoutly done all the workherself, and meant to send the harvest of the piece to market, andpocket her honest gains, as they came in, for some great end. She wasas thin as a grasshopper, this busy little gardener, and hardly turnedto give us a glance, as we drove slowly up the hill close by. The sunwill brown and dry her like a spear of grass on that hot slope, but aspark of fine spirit is in the small body, and I wish her a famouscrop. I hate to say that the piece looked backward, all except thesage, and that it was a heavy bit of land for the clumsy hoe to pickat. The only puzzle is, what she proposes to do with so long a row ofsage. Yet there may be a large family with a downfall of measles yetahead, and she does not mean to be caught without sage-tea. 

Along this road every one of the old farmhouses has at least one tallbush of white roses by the door, --a most lovely sight, with buds andblossoms, and unvexed green leaves. I wish that I knew the history ofthem, and whence the first bush was brought. Perhaps from Englanditself, like a red rose that I know in Kittery, and the new shootsfrom the root were given to one neighbor after another all through thedistrict. The bushes are slender, but they grow tall without climbingagainst the wall, and sway to and fro in the wind with a grace ofyouth and an inexpressible charm of beauty. How many lovers must havepicked them on Sunday evenings, in all the bygone years, and carriedthem along the roads or by the pasture footpaths, hiding them clumsilyunder their Sunday coats if they caught sight of any one coming. Here, too, where the sea wind nips many a young life before its prime, howoften the white roses have been put into paler hands, and witheredthere!

In spite of the serene and placid look of the old houses, one who hasalways known them cannot help thinking of the sorrows of these farmsand their almost undiverted toil. Near the little gardener's plot, weturned from the main road and drove through lately cleared woodland upto an old farmhouse, high on a ledgy hill, whence there is a fine viewof the country seaward and mountainward. There were few of the oncelarge household left there: only the old farmer, who was crippled bywar wounds, active, cheerful man that he was once, and two youngorphan children. There has been much hard work spent on the place. Every generation has toiled from youth to age without being able tomake much beyond a living. The dollars that can be saved are but few, and sickness and death have often brought their bitter cost. Themistress of the farm was helpless for many years; through all thesummers and winters she sat in her pillowed rocking-chair in the plainroom. She could watch the seldom-visited lane, and beyond it, a littleway across the fields, were the woods; besides these, only the cloudsin the sky. She could not lift her food to her mouth; she could not beher husband's working partner. She never went into another woman'shouse to see her works and ways, but sat there, aching and tired, vexed by flies and by heat, and isolated in long storms. Yet the wholecountryside neighbored her with true affection. Her spirit grewstronger as her body grew weaker, and the doctors, who grieved becausethey could do so little with their skill, were never confronted bythat malady of the spirit, a desire for ease and laziness, which makesthe soundest of bodies useless and complaining. The thought of herblooms in one's mind like the whitest of flowers; it makes one braverand more thankful to remember the simple faith and patience with whichshe bore her pain and trouble. How often she must have said, "I wish Icould do something for you in return, " when she was doing a thousandtimes more than if, like her neighbors, she followed the simple roundof daily life! She was doing constant kindness by her example; butnobody can tell the woe of her long days and nights, the solitude ofher spirit, as she was being lifted by such hard ways to the knowledgeof higher truth and experience. Think of her pain when, one afteranother, her children fell ill and died, and she could not tend them!And now, in the same worn chair where she lived and slept sat herhusband, helpless too, thinking of her, and missing her more than ifshe had been sometimes away from home, like other women. Even astranger would miss her in the house. 

There sat the old farmer looking down the lane in his turn, bearinghis afflictions with a patient sternness that may have been born ofwatching his wife's serenity. There was a half-withered rose lyingwithin his reach. Some days nobody came up the lane, and the wildbirds that ventured near the house and the clouds that blew over werehis only entertainment. He had a fine face, of the older New Englandtype, clean-shaven and strong-featured, --a type that is fast passingaway. He might have been a Cumberland dalesman, such were his dignity, and self-possession, and English soberness of manner. His large framewas built for hard work, for lifting great weights and pushing hisplough through new-cleared land. We felt at home together, and eachknew many things that the other did of earlier days, and of lossesthat had come with time. I remembered coming to the old house often inmy childhood; it was in this very farm lane that I first saw anemones, and learned what to call them. After we drove away, this crippled manmust have thought a long time about my elders and betters, as if hewere reading their story out of a book. I suppose he has hauled many astick of timber pine down for ship-yards, and gone through the villageso early in the winter morning that I, waking in my warm bed, onlyheard the sleds creak through the frozen snow as the slow oxen ploddedby. 

Near the house a trout brook comes plashing over the ledges. At oneplace there is a most exquisite waterfall, to which neither painter'sbrush nor writer's pen can do justice. The sunlight falls throughflickering leaves into the deep glen, and makes the foam whiter andthe brook more golden-brown. You can hear the merry noise of it allnight, all day, in the house. A little way above the farmstead itcomes through marshy ground, which I fear has been the cause of muchillness and sorrow to the poor, troubled family. I had a thrill ofpain, as it seemed to me that the brook was mocking at all thattrouble with all its wild carelessness and loud laughter, as ithurried away down the glen. 

When we had said good-by and were turning the horses away, theresuddenly appeared in a footpath that led down from one of the greenhills the young grandchild, just coming home from school. She was asquick as a bird, and as shy in her little pink gown, and balancedherself on one foot, like a flower. The brother was the elder of thetwo orphans; he was the old man's delight and dependence by day, whilehis hired man was afield. The sober country boy had learned to waitand tend, and the young people were indeed a joy in that lonelyhousehold. There was no sign that they ever played like otherchildren, --no truckle-cart in the yard, no doll, no bits of brokencrockery in order on a rock. They had learned a fashion of life fromtheir elders, and already could lift and carry their share of theburdens of life. 

It was a country of wild flowers; the last of the columbines wereclinging to the hillsides; down in the small, fenced meadows belongingto the farm were meadow rue just coming in flower, and red and whiteclover; the golden buttercups were thicker than the grass, while manymulleins were standing straight and slender among the pine stumps, with their first blossoms atop. Rudbeckias had found their way in, andappeared more than ever like bold foreigners. Their names should betranslated into country speech, and the children ought to call them"rude-beckies, " by way of relating them to bouncing-bets andsweet-williams. The pasture grass was green and thick after theplentiful rains, and the busy cattle took little notice of us as theybrowsed steadily and tinkled their pleasant bells. Looking off, thesmooth, round back of Great Hill caught the sunlight with its fieldsof young grain, and all the long, wooded slopes and valleys were freshand fair in the June weather, away toward the blue New Hampshire hillson the northern horizon. Seaward stood Agamenticus, dark with itspitch pines, and the far sea itself, blue and calm, ruled the unevencountry with its unchangeable line. 

Out on the white rose road again, we saw more of the rose-trees thanever, and now and then a carefully tended flower garden, alwaysdelightful to see and think about. These are not made by merelylooking through a florist's catalogue, and ordering this or that newseedling and a proper selection of bulbs or shrubs; everything in acountry garden has its history and personal association. The oldbushes, the perennials, are apt to have most tender relationship withthe hands that planted them long ago. There is a constant exchange ofsuch treasures between the neighbors, and in the spring, slips andcuttings may be seen rooting on the window ledges, while the houseplants give endless work all winter long, since they need carefulprotection against frost in long nights of the severe weather. Aflower-loving woman brings back from every one of her infrequentjourneys some treasure of flower-seeds or a huge miscellaneousnosegay. Time to work in the little plot of pleasure-ground is hardlywon by the busy mistress of the farmhouse. The most appealingcollection of flowering plants and vines that I ever saw was inVirginia, once, above the exquisite valley spanned by the NaturalBridge, a valley far too little known or praised. I had noticed an oldlog house, as I learned to know the outlook from the picturesquehotel, and was sure that it must give a charming view from its perchon the summit of a hill. 

One day I went there, --one April day, when the whole landscape wasfull of color from the budding trees, --and before I could look at theview, I caught sight of some rare vines, already in leaf, about thedilapidated walls of the cabin. Then across the low paling I saw thebrilliant colors of tulips and daffodils. There were many rose-bushes;in fact, the whole top of the hill was a flower garden, once wellcared for and carefully ordered. It was all the work of an old womanof Scotch-Irish descent, who had been busy with the cares of life, anda very hard worker; yet I was told that to gratify her love forflowers she would often go afoot many miles over those rough Virginiaroads, with a root or cutting from her own garden, to barter for a newrose or a brighter blossom of some sort, with which she would returnin triumph. I fancied that sometimes she had to go by night on thesecharming quests. I could see her business-like, small figure settingforth down the steep path, when she had a good conscience toward herhousekeeping and the children were in order to be left. I am surethat her friends thought of her when they were away from home andcould bring her an offering of something rare. Alas, she had grown tooold and feeble to care for her dear blossoms any longer, and had beenforced to go to live with a married son. I dare say that she wasthinking of her garden that very day, and wondering if this plant orthat were not in bloom, and perhaps had a heartache at the thoughtthat her tenants, the careless colored children, might tread the youngshoots of peony and rose, and make havoc in the herb-bed. It was anuncommon collection, made by years of patient toil and self-sacrifice. 

I thought of that deserted Southern garden as I followed my own NewEngland road. The flower-plots were in gay bloom all along the way;almost every house had some flowers before it, sometimes carefullyfenced about by stakes and barrel staves from the miscreant hens andchickens which lurked everywhere, and liked a good scratch andfluffing in soft earth this year as well as any other. The worldseemed full of young life. There were calves tethered in pleasantshady spots, and puppies and kittens adventuring from the doorways. The trees were full of birds: bobolinks, and cat-birds, andyellow-hammers, and golden robins, and sometimes a thrush, for theafternoon was wearing late. We passed the spring which once marked theboundary where three towns met, --Berwick, York, and Wells, --a famousspot in the early settlement of the country, but many of its oldtraditions are now forgotten. One of the omnipresent regicides ofCharles the First is believed to have hidden himself for a long timeunder a great rock close by. The story runs that he made his miserablehome in this den for several years, but I believe that there is norecord that more than three of the regicides escaped to this country, and their wanderings are otherwise accounted for. There is a firmbelief that one of them came to York, and was the ancestor of manypersons now living there, but I do not know whether he can have beenthe hero of the Baker's Spring hermitage beside. We stopped to drinksome of the delicious water, which never fails to flow cold and clearunder the shade of a great oak, and were amused with the sight of aflock of gay little country children who passed by in deepconversation. What could such atoms of humanity be talking about?"Old times, " said John, the master of horse, with instant decision. 

We met now and then a man or woman, who stopped to give us hospitablegreeting; but there was no staying for visits, lest the daylight mightfail us. It was delightful to find this old-established neighborhoodso thriving and populous, for a few days before I had driven overthree miles of road, and passed only one house that was tenanted, andsix cellars or crumbling chimneys where good farmhouses had been, thelilacs blooming in solitude, and the fields, cleared with so muchdifficulty a century or two ago, all going back to the originalwoodland from which they were won. What would the old farmers say tosee the fate of their worthy bequest to the younger generation? Theywould wag their heads sorrowfully, with sad foreboding. 

After we had passed more woodland and a well-known quarry, where, fora wonder, the derrick was not creaking and not a single hammer wasclinking at the stone wedges, we did not see any one hoeing in thefields, as we had seen so many on the white rose road, the other sideof the hills. Presently we met two or three people walking sedately, clad in their best clothes. There was a subdued air of publicexcitement and concern, and one of us remembered that there had been adeath in the neighborhood; this was the day of the funeral. The manhad been known to us in former years. We had an instinct to hide ourunsympathetic pleasuring, but there was nothing to be done except tofollow our homeward road straight by the house. 

The occasion was nearly ended by this time: the borrowed chairs werebeing set out in the yard in little groups; even the funeral supperhad been eaten, and the brothers and sisters and near relatives of thedeparted man were just going home. The new grave showed plainly out inthe green field near by. He had belonged to one of the ancientfamilies of the region, long settled on this old farm by the narrowriver; they had given their name to a bridge, and the bridge hadchristened the meeting-house which stood close by. We were much struckby the solemn figure of the mother, a very old woman, as she walkedtoward her old home with some of her remaining children. I had notthought to see her again, knowing her great age and infirmity. She waslike a presence out of the last century, tall and still erect, dark-eyed and of striking features, and a firm look not modern, but asif her mind were still set upon an earlier and simpler scheme of life. An air of dominion cloaked her finely. She had long been queen of hersurroundings and law-giver to her great family. Royalty is a quality, one of Nature's gifts, and there one might behold it as truly as ifVictoria Regina Imperatrix had passed by. The natural instincts commonto humanity were there undisguised, unconcealed, simply accepted. Wehad seen a royal progress; she was the central figure of that ruralsociety; as you looked at the little group, you could see her only. Now that she came abroad so rarely, her presence was not without deepsignificance, and so she took her homeward way with a primitive kindof majesty. 

It was evident that the neighborhood was in great excitement and quitethrown out of its usual placidity. An acquaintance came from a smallhouse farther down the road, and we stopped for a word with him. Wespoke of the funeral, and were told something of the man who had died. "Yes, and there's a man layin' very sick here, " said our friend in anexcited whisper. "_He_ won't last but a day or two. There's anotherman buried yesterday that was struck by lightnin', comin' acrost afield when that great shower begun. The lightnin' stove through hishat and run down all over him, and ploughed a spot in the ground. "There was a knot of people about the door; the minister of thatscattered parish stood among them, and they all looked at us eagerly, as if we too might be carrying news of a fresh disaster through thecountryside. 

Somehow the melancholy tales did not touch our sympathies as theyought, and we could not see the pathetic side of them as at anothertime, the day was so full of cheer and the sky and earth so glorious. The very fields looked busy with their early summer growth, the horsesbegan to think of the clack of the oat-bin cover, and we were hurriedalong between the silvery willows and the rustling alders, taking timeto gather a handful of stray-away conserve roses by the roadside; andwhere the highway made a long bend eastward among the farms, two of usleft the carriage, and followed a footpath along the green river bankand through the pastures, coming out to the road again only a minutelater than the horses. I believe that it is an old Indian trailfollowed from the salmon falls farther down the river, where theup-country Indians came to dry the plentiful fish for their wintersupplies. I have traced the greater part of this deep-worn footpath, which goes straight as an arrow across the country, the first day'strail being from the falls (where Mason's settlers came in 1627, andbuilt their Great Works of a saw-mill with a gang of saws, andpresently a grist mill beside) to Emery's Bridge. I should like tofollow the old footpath still farther. I found part of it by accidenta long time ago. Once, as you came close to the river, you were sureto find fishermen scattered along, --sometimes I myself have beendiscovered; but it is not much use to go fishing any more. If somepublic-spirited person would kindly be the Frank Buckland of NewEngland, and try to have the laws enforced that protect the inlandfisheries, he would do his country great service. Years ago, therewere so many salmon that, as an enthusiastic old friend once assuredme, "you could walk across on them below the falls;" but now they areunknown, simply because certain substances which would enrich thefarms are thrown from factories and tanneries into our clear NewEngland streams. Good river fish are growing very scarce. The smelts, and bass, and shad have all left this upper branch of the Piscataqua, as the salmon left it long ago, and the supply of one necessary sortof good cheap food is lost to a growing community, for the lack of alittle thought and care in the factory companies and saw-mills, andthe building in some cases of fish-ways over the dams. I think thatthe need of preaching against this bad economy is very great. Thesight of a proud lad with a string of undersized trout will scatterhalf the idlers in town into the pastures next day, but everybodypatiently accepts the depopulation of a fine clear river, where thetide comes fresh from the sea to be tainted by the spoiled stream, which started from its mountain sources as pure as heart could wish. Man has done his best to ruin the world he lives in, one is tempted tosay at impulsive first thought; but after all, as I mounted the lasthill before reaching the village, the houses took on a new look ofcomfort and pleasantness; the fields that I knew so well were afresher green than before, the sun was down, and the provocations ofthe day seemed very slight compared to the satisfaction. I believedthat with a little more time we should grow wiser about our fish andother things beside. 

It will be good to remember the white rose road and its quietness inmany a busy town day to come. As I think of these slight sketches, Iwonder if they will have to others a tinge of sadness; but I haveseldom spent an afternoon so full of pleasure and fresh and delightedconsciousness of the possibilities of rural life. 

 * * * * *

_The Town Poor_

Mrs. William Trimble and Miss Rebecca Wright were driving alongHampden east road, one afternoon in early spring. Their progress wasslow. Mrs. Trimble's sorrel horse was old and stiff, and the wheelswere clogged by clay mud. The frost was not yet out of the ground, although the snow was nearly gone, except in a few places on the northside of the woods, or where it had drifted all winter against a lengthof fence. 

"There must be a good deal o' snow to the nor'ard of us yet, " saidweather-wise Mrs. Trimble. "I feel it in the air; 'tis more than theground-damp. We ain't goin' to have real nice weather till theup-country snow's all gone. "

"I heard say yesterday that there was good sleddin' yet, all upthrough Parsley, " responded Miss Wright. "I shouldn't like to live inthem northern places. My cousin Ellen's husband was a Parsley man, an'he was obliged, as you may have heard, to go up north to his father'ssecond wife's funeral; got back day before yesterday. 'T was abouttwenty-one miles, an' they started on wheels; but when they'd gonenine or ten miles, they found 't was no sort o' use, an' left theirwagon an' took a sleigh. The man that owned it charged 'em four an'six, too. I shouldn't have thought he would; they told him they wasgoin' to a funeral; an' they had their own buffaloes an' everything. "

"Well, I expect it's a good deal harder scratchin', up that way; theyhave to git money where they can; the farms is very poor as you gonorth, " suggested Mrs. Trimble kindly. "'T ain't none too rich acountry where we be, but I've always been grateful I wa'n't born up toParsley. "

The old horse plodded along, and the sun, coming out from the heavyspring clouds, sent a sudden shine of light along the muddy road. Sister Wright drew her large veil forward over the high brim of herbonnet. She was not used to driving, or to being much in the open air;but Mrs. Trimble was an active business woman, and looked after herown affairs herself, in all weathers. The late Mr. Trimble had lefther a good farm, but not much ready money, and it was often said thatshe was better off in the end than if he had lived. She regretted hisloss deeply, however; it was impossible for her to speak of him, evento intimate friends, without emotion, and nobody had ever hinted thatthis emotion was insincere. She was most warm-hearted and generous, and in her limited way played the part of Lady Bountiful in the townof Hampden. 

"Why, there's where the Bray girls lives, ain't it?" she exclaimed, as, beyond a thicket of witch-hazel and scrub-oak, they came in sightof a weather-beaten, solitary farmhouse. The barn was too far away forthrift or comfort, and they could see long lines of light between theshrunken boards as they came nearer. The fields looked both stony andsodden. Somehow, even Parsley itself could be hardly more forlorn. 

"Yes'm, " said Miss Wright, "that's where they live now, poor things. Iknow the place, though I ain't been up here for years. You don'tsuppose, Mis' Trimble--I ain't seen the girls out to meetin' allwinter. I've re'lly been covetin'"--

"Why, yes, Rebecca, of course we could stop, " answered Mrs. Trimbleheartily. "The exercises was over earlier 'n I expected, an' you'regoin' to remain over night long o' me, you know. There won't be no teatill we git there, so we can't be late. I'm in the habit o' sendin' abasket to the Bray girls when any o' our folks is comin' this way, butI ain't been to see 'em since they moved up here. Why, it must be agood deal over a year ago. I know 't was in the late winter they hadto make the move. 'T was cruel hard, I must say, an' if I hadn't beendown with my pleurisy fever I'd have stirred round an' done somethin'about it. There was a good deal o' sickness at the time, an'--well, 'twas kind o' rushed through, breakin' of 'em up, an' lots o' folksblamed the selec'_men_; but when 't was done, 't was done, an' nobodytook holt to undo it. Ann an' Mandy looked same's ever when they cometo meetin', 'long in the summer, --kind o' wishful, perhaps. They'vealways sent me word they was gittin' on pretty comfortable. "

"That would be their way, " said Rebecca Wright. "They never was anyhand to complain, though Mandy's less cheerful than Ann. If Mandy 'dbeen spared such poor eyesight, an' Ann hadn't got her lame wrist thatwa'n't set right, they'd kep' off the town fast enough. They both shedtears when they talked to me about havin' to break up, when I went tosee 'em before I went over to brother Asa's. You see we was brought upneighbors, an' we went to school together, the Brays an' me. 'T was aspecial Providence brought us home this road, I've been so covetin' achance to git to see 'em. My lameness hampers me. "

"I'm glad we come this way, myself, " said Mrs. Trimble. 

"I'd like to see just how they fare, " Miss Rebecca Wright continued. "They give their consent to goin' on the town because they knew they'dgot to be dependent, an' so they felt 't would come easier for allthan for a few to help 'em. They acted real dignified an'right-minded, contrary to what most do in such cases, but they wasdreadful anxious to see who would bid 'em off, town-meeting day; theydid so hope 't would be somebody right in the village. I just sat downan' cried good when I found Abel Janes's folks had got hold of 'em. They always had the name of bein' slack an' poor-spirited, an' theydid it just for what they got out o' the town. The selectmen thislast year ain't what we have had. I hope they've been considerateabout the Bray girls. "

"I should have be'n more considerate about fetchin' of you over, "apologized Mrs. Trimble. "I've got my horse, an' you're lame-footed;'tis too far for you to come. But time does slip away with busy folks, an' I forgit a good deal I ought to remember. "

"There's nobody more considerate than you be, " protested Miss RebeccaWright. 

Mrs. Trimble made no answer, but took out her whip and gently touchedthe sorrel horse, who walked considerably faster, but did not think itworth while to trot. It was a long, round-about way to the house, farther down the road and up a lane. 

"I never had any opinion of the Bray girls' father, leavin' 'em as hedid, " said Mrs. Trimble. 

"He was much praised in his time, though there was always some saidhis early life hadn't been up to the mark, " explained her companion. "He was a great favorite of our then preacher, the Reverend DanielLongbrother. They did a good deal for the parish, but they did ittheir own way. Deacon Bray was one that did his part in the repairswithout urging. You know 't was in his time the first repairs wasmade, when they got out the old soundin'-board an' them handsomesquare pews. It cost an awful sight o' money, too. They hadn't donepayin' up that debt when they set to alter it again an' git the wallsfrescoed. My grandmother was one that always spoke her mind right out, an' she was dreadful opposed to breakin' up the square pews where she'dalways set. They was countin' up what 't would cost in parish meetin', an' she riz right up an' said 't wouldn't cost nothin' to let 'emstay, an' there wa'n't a house carpenter left in the parish that coulddo such nice work, an' time would come when the great-grandchildrenwould give their eye-teeth to have the old meetin'-house look just asit did then. But haul the inside to pieces they would and did. "

"There come to be a real fight over it, didn't there?" agreed Mrs. Trimble soothingly. "Well, 't wa'n't good taste. I remember the oldhouse well. I come here as a child to visit a cousin o' mother's, an'Mr. Trimble's folks was neighbors, an' we was drawed to each otherthen, young's we was. Mr. Trimble spoke of it many's the time, --thatfirst time he ever see me, in a leghorn hat with a feather; 't was onethat mother had, an' pressed over. "

"When I think of them old sermons that used to be preached in that oldmeetin'-house of all, I'm glad it's altered over, so's not to remindfolks, " said Miss Rebecca Wright, after a suitable pause. "Them oldbrimstone discourses, you know, Mis' Trimble. Preachers is far morereasonable, nowadays. Why, I set an' thought, last Sabbath, as Ilistened, that if old Mr. Longbrother an' Deacon Bray could hear thedifference they'd crack the ground over 'em like pole beans, an' comeright up 'long side their headstones. "

Mrs. Trimble laughed heartily, and shook the reins three or four timesby way of emphasis. "There's no gitting round you, " she said, muchpleased. "I should think Deacon Bray would want to rise, any way, if't was so he could, an' knew how his poor girls was farin'. A manought to provide for his folks he's got to leave behind him, speciallyif they're women. To be sure, they had their little home; but we'veseen how, with all their industrious ways, they hadn't means to keepit. I s'pose he thought he'd got time enough to lay by, when he giveso generous in collections; but he didn't lay by, an' there they be. He might have took lessons from the squirrels: even them little wildcreatur's makes them their winter hoards, an' men-folks ought to knowenough if squirrels does. 'Be just before you are generous:' that'swhat was always set for the B's in the copy-books, when I was toschool, and it often runs through my mind. "

"'As for man, his days are as grass, '--that was for A; the two go welltogether, " added Miss Rebecca Wright soberly. "My good gracious, ain'tthis a starved-lookin' place? It makes me ache to think them nice Braygirls has to brook it here. "

The sorrel horse, though somewhat puzzled by an unexpected deviationfrom his homeward way, willingly came to a stand by the gnawed cornerof the door-yard fence, which evidently served as hitching-place. Twoor three ragged old hens were picking about the yard, and at last aface appeared at the kitchen window, tied up in a handkerchief, as ifit were a case of toothache. By the time our friends reached the sidedoor next this window, Mrs. Janes came disconsolately to open it forthem, shutting it again as soon as possible, though the air felt morechilly inside the house. 

"Take seats, " said Mrs. Janes briefly. "You'll have to see me just asI be. I have been suffering these four days with the ague, andeverything to do. Mr. Janes is to court, on the jury. 'T wasinconvenient to spare him. I should be pleased to have you lay offyour things. "

Comfortable Mrs. Trimble looked about the cheerless kitchen, and couldnot think of anything to say; so she smiled blandly and shook her headin answer to the invitation. "We'll just set a few minutes with you, to pass the time o' day, an' then we must go in an' have a word withthe Miss Brays, bein' old acquaintance. It ain't been so we could gitto call on 'em before. I don't know's you're acquainted with MissR'becca Wright. She's been out of town a good deal. "

"I heard she was stopping over to Plainfields with her brother'sfolks, " replied Mrs. Janes, rocking herself with irregular motion, asshe sat close to the stove. "Got back some time in the fall, Ibelieve?"

"Yes'm, " said Miss Rebecca, with an undue sense of guilt andconviction. "We've been to the installation over to the East Parish, an' thought we'd stop in; we took this road home to see if 't was anybetter. How is the Miss Brays gettin' on?"

"They're well's common, " answered Mrs. Janes grudgingly. "I was putout with Mr. Janes for fetchin' of 'em here, with all I've got to do, an' I own I was kind o' surly to 'em 'long to the first of it. He gitsthe money from the town, an' it helps him out; but he bid 'em off forfive dollars a month, an' we can't do much for 'em at no such price asthat. I went an' dealt with the selec'men, an' made 'em promise tofind their firewood an' some other things extra. They was glad to getrid o' the matter the fourth time I went, an' would ha' promised 'mostanything. But Mr. Janes don't keep me half the time in oven-wood, he'soff so much, an' we was cramped o' room, any way. I have to storethings up garrit a good deal, an' that keeps me trampin' right throughtheir room. I do the best for 'em I can, Mis' Trimble, but 't ain't soeasy for me as 't is for you, with all your means to do with. "

The poor woman looked pinched and miserable herself, though it wasevident that she had no gift at house or home keeping. Mrs. Trimble'sheart was wrung with pain, as she thought of the unwelcome inmates ofsuch a place; but she held her peace bravely, while Miss Rebecca againgave some brief information in regard to the installation. 

"You go right up them back stairs, " the hostess directed at last. "I'mglad some o' you church folks has seen fit to come an' visit 'em. There ain't been nobody here this long spell, an' they've aged a sightsince they come. They always send down a taste out of your baskets, Mis' Trimble, an' I relish it, I tell you. I'll shut the door afteryou, if you don't object. I feel every draught o' cold air. "

"I've always heard she was a great hand to make a poor mouth. Wa'n'tshe from somewheres up Parsley way?" whispered Miss Rebecca, as theystumbled in the half-light. 

"Poor meechin' body, wherever she come from, " replied Mrs. Trimble, asshe knocked at the door. 

There was silence for a moment after this unusual sound; then one ofthe Bray sisters opened the door. The eager guests stared into asmall, low room, brown with age, and gray, too, as if former dust andcobwebs could not be made wholly to disappear. The two elderly womenwho stood there looked like captives. Their withered faces wore a lookof apprehension, and the room itself was more bare and plain than wasfitting to their evident refinement of character and self-respect. There was an uncovered small table in the middle of the floor, withsome crackers on a plate; and, for some reason or other, this added agreat deal to the general desolation. 

But Miss Ann Bray, the elder sister, who carried her right arm in asling, with piteously drooping fingers, gazed at the visitors withradiant joy. She had not seen them arrive. 

The one window gave only the view at the back of the house, across thefields, and their coming was indeed a surprise. The next minute shewas laughing and crying together. "Oh, sister!" she said, "if hereain't our dear Mis' Trimble!--an' my heart o' goodness, 'tis 'BeccaWright, too! What dear good creatur's you be! I've felt all day as ifsomething good was goin' to happen, an' was just sayin' to myself'twas most sundown now, but I wouldn't let on to Mandany I'd give uphope quite yet. You see, the scissors stuck in the floor this verymornin' an' it's always a reliable sign. There, I've got to kiss yeboth again!"

"I don't know where we can all set, " lamented sister Mandana. "Thereain't but the one chair an' the bed; t'other chair's too rickety; an'we've been promised another these ten days; but first they've forgotit, an' next Mis' Janes can't spare it, --one excuse an' another. I amgoin' to git a stump o' wood an' nail a board on to it, when I can gitoutdoor again, " said Mandana, in a plaintive voice. "There, I ain'tgoin' to complain o' nothin', now you've come, " she added; and theguests sat down, Mrs. Trimble, as was proper, in the one chair. 

"We've sat on the bed many's the time with you, 'Becca, an' talkedover our girl nonsense, ain't we? You know where 'twas--in the littleback bedroom we had when we was girls, an' used to peek out at ourbeaux through the strings o' mornin'-glories, " laughed Ann Braydelightedly, her thin face shining more and more with joy. "I broughtsome o' them mornin'-glory seeds along when we come away, we'd raised'em so many years; an' we got 'em started all right, but the hensfound 'em out. I declare I chased them poor hens, foolish as 'twas;but the mornin'-glories I'd counted on a sight to remind me o' home. You see, our debts was so large, after my long sickness an' all, thatwe didn't feel 'twas right to keep back anything we could help fromthe auction. "

It was impossible for any one to speak for a moment or two; thesisters felt their own uprooted condition afresh, and their guests forthe first time really comprehended the piteous contrast between thatneat little village house, which now seemed a palace of comfort, andthis cold, unpainted upper room in the remote Janes farmhouse. It wasan unwelcome thought to Mrs. Trimble that the well-to-do town ofHampden could provide no better for its poor than this, and her roundface flushed with resentment and the shame of personal responsibility. "The girls shall be well settled in the village before another winter, if I pay their board myself, " she made an inward resolution, and tookanother almost tearful look at the broken stove, the miserable bed, and the sisters' one hair-covered trunk, on which Mandana was sittingBut the poor place was filled with a golden spirit of hospitality. 

Rebecca was again discoursing eloquently of the installation; it wasso much easier to speak of general subjects, and the sisters hadevidently been longing to hear some news. Since the late summer theyhad not been to church, and presently Mrs. Trimble asked the reason. 

"Now, don't you go to pouring out our woes, Mandy!" begged little oldAnn, looking shy and almost girlish, and as if she insisted uponplaying that life was still all before them and all pleasure. "Don'tyou go to spoilin' their visit with our complaints! They know well'swe do that changes must come, an' we'd been so wonted to our homethings that this come hard at first; but then they felt for us, I knowjust as well's can be. 'Twill soon be summer again, an' 'tis realpleasant right out in the fields here, when there ain't too hot aspell. I've got to know a sight o' singin' birds since we come. "

"Give me the folks I've always known, " sighed the younger sister, wholooked older than Miss Ann, and less even-tempered. "You may have yourbirds, if you want 'em. I do re'lly long to go to meetin' an' seefolks go by up the aisle. Now, I will speak of it, Ann, whatever yousay. We need, each of us, a pair o' good stout shoes an'rubbers, --ours are all wore out; an' we've asked an' asked, an' theynever think to bring 'em, an'"--

Poor old Mandana, on the trunk, covered her face with her arms andsobbed aloud. The elder sister stood over her, and patted her on thethin shoulder like a child, and tried to comfort her. It crossed Mrs. Trimble's mind that it was not the first time one had wept and theother had comforted. The sad scene must have been repeated many timesin that long, drear winter. She would see them forever after in hermind as fixed as a picture, and her own tears fell fast. 

"You didn't see Mis' Janes's cunning little boy, the next one to thebaby, did you?" asked Ann Bray, turning round quickly at last, andgoing cheerfully on with the conversation. "Now, hush, Mandy, dear;they'll think you're childish! He's a dear, friendly little creatur', an' likes to stay with us a good deal, though we feel's if it 't wastoo cold for him, now we are waitin' to get us more wood. "

"When I think of the acres o' woodland in this town!" groaned RebeccaWright. "I believe I'm goin' to preach next Sunday, 'stead o' theminister, an' I'll make the sparks fly. I've always heard the saying, 'What's everybody's business is nobody's business, ' an' I've come tobelieve it. "

"Now, don't you, 'Becca. You've happened on a kind of a poor time withus, but we've got more belongings than you see here, an' a good largecluset, where we can store those things there ain't room to haveabout. You an' Miss Trimble have happened on a kind of poor day, youknow. Soon's I git me some stout shoes an' rubbers, as Mandy says, Ican fetch home plenty o' little dry boughs o' pine; you remember I wasalways a great hand to roam in the woods? If we could only have afront room, so 't we could look out on the road an' see passin', an'was shod for meetin', I don' know's we should complain. Now we're justgoin' to give you what we've got, an' make out with a good welcome. Wemake more tea 'n we want in the mornin', an' then let the fire godown, since 't has been so mild. We've got a _good_ cluset"(disappearing as she spoke), "an' I know this to be good tea, 'causeit's some o' yourn, Mis' Trimble. An' here's our sprigged chiny cupsthat R'becca knows by sight, if Mis' Trimble don't. We kep' out fourof 'em, an' put the even half dozen with the rest of the auctionstuff. I've often wondered who'd got 'em, but I never asked, for fear't would be somebody that would distress us. They was mother's, youknow. "

The four cups were poured, and the little table pushed to the bed, where Rebecca Wright still sat, and Mandana, wiping her eyes, came andjoined her. Mrs. Trimble sat in her chair at the end, and Ann trottedabout the room in pleased content for a while, and in and out of thecloset, as if she still had much to do; then she came and stoodopposite Mrs. Trimble. She was very short and small, and there was nopainful sense of her being obliged to stand. The four cups were notquite full of cold tea, but there was a clean old tablecloth foldeddouble, and a plate with three pairs of crackers neatly piled, and asmall--it must be owned, a very small--piece of hard white cheese. Then, for a treat, in a glass dish, there was a little preservedpeach, the last--Miss Rebecca knew it instinctively--of the householdstores brought from their old home. It was very sugary, this bit ofpeach; and as she helped her guests and sister Mandy, Miss Ann Braysaid, half unconsciously, as she often had said with less reason inthe old days, "Our preserves ain't so good as usual this year; this isbeginning to candy. " Both the guests protested, while Rebecca addedthat the taste of it carried her back, and made her feel young again. The Brays had always managed to keep one or two peach-trees alive intheir corner of a garden. "I've been keeping this preserve for atreat, " said her friend. "I'm glad to have you eat some, 'Becca. Lastsummer I often wished you was home an' could come an' see us, 'steado' being away off to Plainfields. "

The crackers did not taste too dry. Miss Ann took the last of thepeach on her own cracker; there could not have been quite a smallspoonful, after the others were helped, but she asked them first ifthey would not have some more. Then there was a silence, and in thesilence a wave of tender feeling rose high in the hearts of the fourelderly women. At this moment the setting sun flooded the poor plainroom with light; the unpainted wood was all of a golden-brown, and AnnBray, with her gray hair and aged face, stood at the head of the tablein a kind of aureole. Mrs. Trimble's face was all aquiver as shelooked at her; she thought of the text about two or three beinggathered together, and was half afraid. 

"I believe we ought to've asked Mis' Janes if she wouldn't come up, "said Ann. "She's real good feelin', but she's had it very hard, an'gits discouraged. I can't find that she's ever had anything realpleasant to look back to, as we have. There, next time we'll make agood heartenin' time for her too. "

The sorrel horse had taken a long nap by the gnawed fence-rail, andthe cool air after sundown made him impatient to be gone. The twofriends jolted homeward in the gathering darkness, through thestiffening mud, and neither Mrs. Trimble nor Rebecca Wright said aword until they were out of sight as well as out of sound of the Janeshouse. Time must elapse before they could reach a more familiar partof the road and resume conversation on its natural level. 

"I consider myself to blame, " insisted Mrs. Trimble at last. "Ihaven't no words of accusation for nobody else, an' I ain't one totake comfort in calling names to the board o' selec'_men_. I make noreproaches, an' I take it all on my own shoulders; but I'm goin' tostir about me, I tell you! I shall begin early to-morrow. They'regoin' back to their own house, --it's been standin' empty allwinter, --an' the town's goin' to give 'em the rent an' what firewoodthey need; it won't come to more than the board's payin' out now. An'you an' me'll take this same horse an' wagon, an' ride an' go afoot byturns, an' git means enough together to buy back their furniture an'whatever was sold at that plaguey auction; an' then we'll put it allback, an' tell 'em they've got to move to a new place, an' just carry'em right back again where they come from. An' don't you never tell, R'becca, but here I be a widow woman, layin' up what I make from myfarm for nobody knows who, an' I'm goin' to do for them Bray girlsall I'm a mind to. I should be sca't to wake up in heaven, an' hearanybody there ask how the Bray girls was. Don't talk to me about thetown o' Hampden, an' don't ever let me hear the name o' town poor! I'mashamed to go home an' see what's set out for supper. I wish I'dbrought 'em right along. "

"I was goin' to ask if we couldn't git the new doctor to go up an' dosomethin' for poor Ann's arm, " said Miss Rebecca. "They say he's verysmart. If she could get so's to braid straw or hook rugs again, she'dsoon be earnin' a little somethin'. An' may be he could do somethin'for Mandy's eyes. They did use to live so neat an' ladylike. Somehow Icouldn't speak to tell 'em there that 'twas I bought them six bestcups an' saucers, time of the auction; they went very low, aseverything else did, an' I thought I could save it some other way. They shall have 'em back an' welcome. You're real whole-hearted, Mis'Trimble. I expect Ann'll be sayin' that her father's child'n wa'n'tgoin' to be left desolate, an' that all the bread he cast on thewater's comin' back through you. "

"I don't care what she says, dear creatur'!" exclaimed Mrs. Trimble. "I'm full o' regrets I took time for that installation, an' set thereseepin' in a lot o' talk this whole day long, except for its kind ofbringin' us to the Bray girls. I wish to my heart 't was to-morrowmornin' a'ready, an' I a-startin' for the selec'_men_. "

 * * * * *

A Native of Winby

I. 

On the teacher's desk, in the little roadside school-house, there wasa bunch of Mayflowers, beside a dented and bent brass bell, a smallWorcester's Dictionary without any cover, and a worn morocco-coveredBible. These were placed in an orderly row, and behind them was asmall wooden box which held some broken pieces of blackboard crayon. The teacher, whom no timid new scholar could look at boldly, wore heraccustomed air of authority and importance. She might have beennineteen years old, --not more, --but for the time being she scorned thefrivolities of youth. 

The hot May sun was shining in at the smoky small-paned windows;sometimes an outside shutter swung to with a creak, and eclipsed theglare. The narrow door stood wide open, to the left as you faced thedesk, and an old spotted dog lay asleep on the step, and looked wiseand old enough to have gone to school with several generations ofchildren. It was half past three o'clock in the afternoon, and theprimer class, settled into the apathy of after-recess fatigue, presented a straggling front, as they stood listlessly on the floor. As for the big boys and girls, they also were longing to be atliberty, but the pretty teacher, Miss Marilla Hender, seemed quite asenergetic as when school was begun in the morning. 

The spring breeze blew in at the open door, and even fluttered theprimer leaves, but the back of the room felt hot and close, as if itwere midsummer. The children in the class read their lessons in thosehigh-keyed, droning voices which older teachers learn to associatewith faint powers of perception. Only one or two of them had anawakened human look in their eyes, such as Matthew Arnold delightedhimself in finding so often in the school-children of France. Most ofthese poor little students were as inadequate, at that weary moment, to the pursuit of letters as if they had been woolly spring lambs on asunny hillside. The teacher corrected and admonished with greatpatience, glancing now and then toward points of danger andinsurrection, whence came a suspicious buzz of whispering from behinda desk-lid or a pair of widespread large geographies. Now and then atoiling child would rise and come down the aisle, with his forefingerfirm upon a puzzling word as if it were an unclassified insect. It wasa lovely beckoning day out-of-doors. The children felt like captives;there was something that provoked rebellion in the droning voices, thebuzzing of an early wild bee against the sunlit pane, and even in thestuffy familiar odor of the place, --the odor of apples and crumbs ofdoughnuts and gingerbread in the dinner pails on the high entry nails, and of all the little gowns and trousers that had brushed throughjunipers and young pines on their way to school. 

The bee left his prisoning pane at last, and came over to theMayflowers, which were in full bloom, although the season was verylate, and deep in the woods there were still some graybackedsnowdrifts, speckled with bits of bark and moss from the trees above. 

"Come, come, Ezra!" urged the young teacher, rapping her desk sharply. "Stop watchin' that common bee! You know well enough what thoseletters spell. You won't learn to read at this rate until you are agrown man. Mind your book, now; you ought to remember who went to thisschool when he was a little boy. You've heard folks tell about theHonorable Joseph K. Laneway? He used to be in primer just as you arenow, and 't wasn't long before he was out of it, either, and wascalled the smartest boy in school. He's got to be a general and aSenator, and one of the richest men out West. You don't seem to havethe least mite of ambition to-day, any of you!"

The exhortation, entirely personal in the beginning, had swiftlypassed to a general rebuke. Ezra looked relieved, and the otherchildren brightened up as they recognized a tale familiar to theirears. Anything was better than trying to study in that dull last hourof afternoon school. 

"Yes, " continued Miss Hender, pleased that she had at last rousedsomething like proper attention, "you all ought to be proud that youare schoolmates of District Number Four, and can remember that thecelebrated General Laneway had the same early advantages as you, andthink what he has made of himself by perseverance and ambition. "

The pupils were familiar enough with the illustrious history of theirnoble predecessor. They were sure to be told, in lawless moments, thatif Mr. Laneway were to come in and see them he would be mortified todeath; and the members of the school committee always referred to him, and said that he had been a poor boy, and was now a self-mademan, --as if every man were not self-made as to his character andreputation!

At this point, young Johnny Spencer showed his next neighbor, in theback of his Colburn's Arithmetic, an imaginary portrait of theirdistrict hero, which caused them both to chuckle derisively. TheHonorable Mr. Laneway figured on the flyleaf as an extremelycross-eyed person, with strangely crooked legs and arms and a terrificexpression. He was outlined with red and blue pencils as to coat andtrousers, and held a reddened scalp in one hand and a blue tomahawk inthe other; being closely associated in the artist's mind with theearly settlements of the far West. 

There was a noise of wheels in the road near by, and, though MissHender had much more to say, everybody ceased to listen to her, andturned toward the windows, leaning far forward over their desks to seewho might be passing. They caught a glimpse of a shiny carriage; theold dog bounded out, barking, but nothing passed the open door. Thecarriage had stopped; some one was coming to the school; somebody wasgoing to be called out! It could not be the committee, whose pompousand uninspiring spring visit had taken place only the week before. 

Presently a well-dressed elderly man, with an expectant, masterfullook, stood on the doorstep, glanced in with a smile, and knocked. Miss Marilla Hender blushed, smoothed her pretty hair anxiously withboth hands, and stepped down from her little platform to answer thesummons. There was hardly a shut mouth in the primer class. 

"Would it be convenient for you to receive a visitor to the school?"the stranger asked politely, with a fine bow of deference to MissHender. He looked much pleased and a little excited, and the teachersaid, --

"Certainly; step right in, won't you, sir?" in quite another tone fromthat in which she had just addressed the school. 

The boys and girls were sitting straight and silent in their places, in something like a fit of apprehension and unpreparedness at such agreat emergency. The guest represented a type of person previouslyunknown in District Number Four. Everything about him spoke of wealthand authority. The old dog returned to the doorstep, and after acareful look at the invader approached him, with a funny doggish grinand a desperate wag of the tail, to beg for recognition. 

The teacher gave her chair on the platform to the guest, and stoodbeside him with very red cheeks, smoothing her hair again once ortwice, and keeping the hard-wood ruler fast in hand, like a badge ofoffice. "Primer class may now retire!" she said firmly, although thelesson was not more than half through; and the class promptly escapedto their seats, waddling and stumbling, until they all came up behindtheir desks, face foremost, and added themselves to the number ofstaring young countenances. After this there was a silence, which grewmore and more embarrassing. 

"Perhaps you would be pleased to hear our first class in geography, sir?" asked the fair Marilla, recovering her presence of mind; and theguest kindly assented. 

The young teacher was by no means willing to give up a certainty foran uncertainty. Yesterday's lesson had been well learned; she turnedback to the questions about the State of Kansota, and at the firstsentence the mysterious visitor's dignity melted into an unconscioussmile. He listened intently for a minute, and then seemed to reoccupyhimself with his own thoughts and purposes, looking eagerly about theold school-house, and sometimes gazing steadily at the children. Thelesson went on finely, and when it was finished Miss Hender asked thegirl at the head of the class to name the States and Territories, which she instantly did, mispronouncing nearly all the names of thelatter; then others stated boundaries and capitals, and the resourcesof the New England States, passing on finally to the names of thePresidents. Miss Hender glowed with pride; she had worked hard overthe geography class in the winter term, and it did not fail her onthis great occasion. When she turned bravely to see if the gentlemanwould like to ask any questions, she found that he was apparentlylost in a deep reverie, so she repeated her own question moredistinctly. 

"They have done very well, --very well indeed, " he answered kindly; andthen, to every one's surprise, he rose, went up the aisle, pushedJohnny Spencer gently along his bench, and sat down beside him. Thespace was cramped, and the stranger looked huge and uncomfortable, sothat everybody laughed, except one of the big girls, who turned palewith fright, and thought he must be crazy. When this girl gave a faintsqueak Miss Hender recovered herself, and rapped twice with the rulerto restore order; then became entirely tranquil. There had been talkof replacing the hacked and worn old school-desks with patent desksand chairs; this was probably an agent connected with that business. At once she was resolute and self-reliant, and said, "No whispering!"in a firm tone that showed she did not mean to be trifled with. Thegeography class was dismissed, but the elderly gentleman, in hishandsome overcoat, still sat there wedged in at Johnny Spencer's side. 

"I presume, sir, that you are canvassing for new desks, " said MissHender, with dignity. "You will have to see the supervisor and theselectmen. " There did not seem to be any need of his lingering, butshe had an ardent desire to be pleasing to a person of such evidentdistinction. "We always tell strangers--I thought, sir, you might begratified to know--that this is the school-house where the HonorableJoseph K. Laneway first attended school. All do not know that he wasborn in this town, and went West very young; it is only about a milefrom here where his folks used to live. "

At this moment the visitor's eyes fell. He did not look at prettyMarilla any more, but opened Johnny Spencer's arithmetic, and, seeingthe imaginary portrait of the great General Laneway, laughed alittle, --a very deep-down comfortable laugh it was, --while Johnnyhimself turned cold with alarm, he could not have told why. 

It was very still in the school-room; the bee was buzzing and bumpingat the pane again; the moment was one of intense expectation. 

The stranger looked at the children right and left. "The fact isthis, young people, " said he, in a tone that was half pride and halfapology, "I am Joseph K. Laneway myself. "

He tried to extricate himself from the narrow quarters of the desk, but for an embarrassing moment found that he was stuck fast. JohnnySpencer instinctively gave him an assisting push, and once free thegreat soldier, statesman, and millionaire took a few steps forward tothe open floor; then, after hesitating a moment, he mounted the littleplatform and stood in the teacher's place. Marilla Hender was as paleas ashes. 

"I have thought many times, " the great guest began, "that some day Ishould come back to visit this place, which is so closely interwovenwith the memories of my childhood. In my counting-room, on the fieldsof war, in the halls of Congress, and most of all in my Western home, my thoughts have flown back to the hills and brooks of Winby and tothis little old school-house. I could shut my eyes and call back thebuzz of voices, and fear my teacher's frown, and feel my boyishambitions waking and stirring in my breast. On that bench where I justsat I saw some notches that I cut with my first jackknife fifty-eightyears ago this very spring. I remember the faces of the boys and girlswho went to school with me, and I see their grandchildren before me. Iknow that one is a Goodsoe and another a Winn by the old family look. One generation goes, and another comes. 

"There are many things that I might say to you. I meant, even in thoseearly restricted days, to make my name known, and I dare say that youtoo have ambition. Be careful what you wish for in this world, for ifyou wish hard enough you are sure to get it. I once heard a very wiseman say this, and the longer I live the more firmly I believe it to betrue. But wishing hard means working hard for what you want, and theworld's prizes wait for the men and women who are ready to take painsto win them. Be careful and set your minds on the best things. I meantto be a rich man when I was a boy here, and I stand before you a richman, knowing the care and anxiety and responsibility of wealth. Imeant to go to Congress, and I am one of the Senators from Kansota. Isay this as humbly as I say it proudly. I used to read of the valorand patriotism of the old Greeks and Romans with my youthful bloodleaping along my veins, and it came to pass that my own country was indanger, and that I could help to fight her battles. Perhaps some oneof these little lads has before him a more eventful life than I havelived, and is looking forward to activity and honor and the pride offame. I wish him all the joy that I have had, all the toil that I havehad, and all the bitter disappointments even; for adversity leads aman to depend upon that which is above him, and the path of glory is alonely path, beset by temptations and a bitter sense of the weaknessand imperfection of man. I see my life spread out like a greatpicture, as I stand here in my boyhood's place. I regret my failures. I thank God for what in his kind providence has been honest and right. I am glad to come back, but I feel, as I look in your young faces, that I am an old man, while your lives are just beginning. When youremember, in years to come, that I came here to see the oldschool-house, remember that I said: Wish for the best things, and workhard to win them; try to be good men and women, for the honor of theschool and the town, and the noble young country that gave you birth;be kind at home and generous abroad. Remember that I, an old man whohad seen much of life, begged you to be brave and good. "

The Honorable Mr. Laneway had rarely felt himself so moved in any ofhis public speeches, but he was obliged to notice that for once hecould not hold his audience. The primer class especially had begun toflag in attention, but one or two faces among the elder scholarsfairly shone with vital sympathy and a lovely prescience of theirfuture. Their eyes met his as if they struck a flash of light. Therewas a sturdy boy who half rose in his place unconsciously, the colorcoming and going in his cheeks; something in Mr. Laneway's words litthe altar flame in his reverent heart. 

Marilla Hender was pleased and a little dazed; she could not haverepeated what her illustrious visitor had said, but she longed to telleverybody the news that he was in town, and had come to school to makean address. She had never seen a great man before, and really neededtime to reflect upon him and to consider what she ought to say. Shewas just quivering with the attempt to make a proper reply and thankMr. Laneway for the honor of his visit to the school, when he askedher which of the boys could be trusted to drive back his hired horseto the Four Corners. Eight boys, large and small, nearly every boy inthe school, rose at once and snapped insistent fingers; but JohnnySpencer alone was desirous not to attract attention to himself. TheColburn's Intellectual Arithmetic with the portrait had been wellsecreted between his tight jacket and his shirt. Miss Hender selecteda trustworthy freckled person in long trousers, who was half way tothe door in an instant, and was heard almost immediately to shoutloudly at the quiet horse. 

Then the Hero of District Number Four made his acknowledgments to theteacher. "I fear that I have interrupted you too long, " he said, withpleasing deference. 

Marilla replied that it was of no consequence; she hoped he would callagain. She may have spoken primly, but her pretty eyes said everythingthat her lips forgot. "My grandmother will want to see you, sir, " sheventured to say. "I guess you will remember her, --Mis' Hender, shethat was Abby Harran. She has often told me how you used to get yourlessons out o' the same book. "

"Abby Harran's granddaughter?" Mr. Laneway looked at her again withfresh interest. "Yes, I wish to see her more than any one else. Tellher that I am coming to see her before I go away, and give her mylove. Thank you, my dear, " as Marilla offered his missing hat. "Good-by, boys and girls. " He stopped and looked at them once morefrom the boys' entry, and turned again to look back from the verydoorstep. 

"Good-by, sir, --good-by, " piped two or three of the young voices; butmost of the children only stared, and neither spoke nor moved. 

"We will omit the class in Fourth Reader this afternoon. The class ingrammar may recite, " said Miss Hender in her most contained andofficial manner. 

The grammar class sighed like a single pupil, and obeyed. She was verystern with the grammar class, but every one in school had an innersense that it was a great day in the history of District Number Four. 

II. 

The Honorable Mr. Laneway found the outdoor air very fresh and sweetafter the closeness of the school-house. It had just that same odor inhis boyhood, and as he escaped he had a delightful sense of playingtruant or of having an unexpected holiday. It was easier to think ofhimself as a boy, and to slip back into boyish thoughts, than to bearthe familiar burden of his manhood. He climbed the tumble-down stonewall across the road, and went along a narrow path to the spring thatbubbled up clear and cold under a great red oak. How many times he hadlonged for a drink of that water, and now here it was, and the thirstof that warm spring day was hard to quench! Again and again he stoppedto fill the birchbark dipper which the school-children had made, justas his own comrades made theirs years before. The oak-tree was dyingat the top. The pine woods beyond had been cut and had grown againsince his boyhood, and looked much as he remembered them. Beyond thespring and away from the woods the path led across overgrown pasturesto another road, perhaps three quarters of a mile away, and near thisroad was the small farm which had been his former home. As he walkedslowly along, he was met again and again by some reminder of hisyouthful days. He had always liked to refer to his early life in NewEngland in his political addresses, and had spoken more than once ofgoing to find the cows at nightfall in the autumn evenings, and beingglad to warm his bare feet in the places where the sleepy beasts hadlain, before he followed their slow steps homeward through bush andbrier. The Honorable Mr. Laneway had a touch of true sentiment whichadded much to his really stirring and effective campaign speeches. Hehad often been called the "king of the platform" in his adopted State. He had long ago grown used to saying "Go" to one man, and "Come" toanother, like the ruler of old; but all his natural power ofleadership and habit of authority disappeared at once as he trod thepasture slopes, calling back the remembrance of his childhood. Herewas the place where two lads, older than himself, had killed aterrible woodchuck at bay in the angle of a great rock; and justbeyond was the sunny spot where he had picked a bunch of pink andwhite anemones under a prickly barberry thicket, to give to AbbyHarran in morning school. She had put them into her desk, and let themwilt there, but she was pleased when she took them. Abby Harran, thelittle teacher's grandmother, was a year older than he, and hadwakened the earliest thought of love in his youthful breast. 

It was almost time to catch the first sight of his birthplace. Fromthe knoll just ahead he had often seen the light of his mother's lamp, as he came home from school on winter afternoons; but when he reachedthe knoll the old house was gone, and so was the great walnut-treethat grew beside it, and a pang of disappointment shot through thisdevout pilgrim's heart. He never had doubted that the old farm wassomebody's home still, and had counted upon the pleasure of spending anight there, and sleeping again in that room under the roof, where therain sounded loud, and the walnut branches brushed to and fro when thewind blew, as if they were the claws of tigers. He hurried across theworn-out fields, long ago turned into sheep pastures, where the lastyear's tall grass and golden-rod stood gray and winter-killed; tracingthe old walls and fences, and astonished to see how small the fieldshad been. The prosperous owner of Western farming lands could not helpremembering those widespread luxuriant acres, and the broad outlooksof his Western home. 

It was difficult at first to find exactly where the house had stood;even the foundations had disappeared. At last in the long, faded grasshe discovered the doorstep, and near by was a little mound where thegreat walnut-tree stump had been. The cellar was a mere dent in thesloping ground; it had been filled in by the growing grass and slowprocesses of summer and winter weather. But just at the pilgrim'sright were some thorny twigs of an old rosebush. A sudden brighteningof memory brought to mind the love that his mother--dead since hisfifteenth year--had kept for this sweetbrier. How often she had wishedthat she had brought it to her new home! So much had changed in theworld, so many had gone into the world of light, and here the faithfulblooming thing was yet alive! There was one slender branch where greenbuds were starting, and getting ready to flower in the new year. 

The afternoon wore late, and still the gray-haired man lingered. Hemight have laughed at some one else who gave himself up to sadthoughts, and found fault with himself, with no defendant to plead hiscause at the bar of conscience. It was an altogether lonely hour. Hehad dreamed all his life, in a sentimental, self-satisfied fashion, ofthis return to Winby. It had always appeared to be a grand affair, butso far he was himself the only interested spectator at his pooroccasion. There was even a dismal consciousness that he had beenundignified, perhaps even a little consequential and silly, in the oldschool-house. The picture of himself on the war-path, in JohnnySpencer's arithmetic, was the only tribute that this longed-for dayhad held, but he laughed aloud delightedly at the remembrance andreally liked that solemn little boy who sat at his own old desk. Therewas another older lad, who sat at the back of the room, who remindedMr. Laneway of himself in his eager youth. There was a spark of lightin that fellow's eyes. Once or twice in the earlier afternoon, as hedrove along, he had asked people in the road if there were a Lanewayfamily in that neighborhood, but everybody had said no in indifferentfashion. Somehow he had been expecting that every one would know himand greet him, and give him credit for what he had tried to do, butold Winby had her own affairs to look after, and did very well withoutany of his help. 

Mr. Laneway acknowledged to himself at this point that he was weak andunmanly. There must be some old friends who would remember him, andgive him as hearty a welcome as the greeting he had brought for them. So he rose and went his way westward toward the sunset. The air wasgrowing damp and cold, and it was time to make sure of shelter. Thiswas hardly like the visit he had meant to pay to his birthplace. Hewished with all his heart that he had never come back. But he walkedbriskly away, intent upon wider thoughts as the fresh evening breezequickened his steps. He did not consider where he was going, but wasfor a time the busy man of affairs, stimulated by the unconsciousinfluence of his surroundings. The slender gray birches and pitchpines of that neglected pasture had never before seen a hat and coatexactly in the fashion. They may have been abashed by the presence ofa United States Senator and Western millionaire, though a piece of NewEngland ground that had often felt the tread of his bare feet was notlikely to quake because a pair of smart shoes stepped hastily alongthe school-house path. 

III. 

There was an imperative knock at the side door of the Henderfarmhouse, just after dark. The young school-mistress had come homelate, because she had stopped all the way along to give people thenews of her afternoon's experience. Marilla was not coy and speechlessany longer, but sat by the kitchen stove telling her eager grandmothereverything she could remember or could imagine. 

"Who's that knocking at the door?" interrupted Mrs. Hender. "No, I'llgo myself; I'm nearest. "

The man outside was cold and foot-weary. He was not used to spending awhole day unrecognized, and, after being first amused, and evenenjoying a sense of freedom at escaping his just dues of considerationand respect, he had begun to feel as if he were old and forgotten, andwas hardly sure of a friend in the world. 

Old Mrs. Hender came to the door, with her eyes shining with delight, in great haste to dismiss whoever had knocked, so that she might hearthe rest of Marilla's story. She opened the door wide to whoever mighthave come on some country errand, and looked the tired andfaint-hearted Mr. Laneway full in the face. 

"Dear heart, come in!" she exclaimed, reaching out and taking him bythe shoulder, as he stood humbly on a lower step. "Come right in, Joe. Why, I should know you anywhere! Why, Joe Laneway, _you same boy_!"

In they went to the warm, bright, country kitchen. The delight andkindness of an old friend's welcome and her instant sympathy seemedthe loveliest thing in the world. They sat down in two oldstraight-backed kitchen chairs. They still held each other by thehand, and looked in each other's face. The plain old room was aglowwith heat and cheerfulness; the tea-kettle was singing; a drowsy catsat on the wood-box with her paws tucked in; and the house dog cameforward in a friendly way, wagging his tail, and laid his head ontheir clasped hands. 

"And to think I haven't seen you since your folks moved out West, thenext spring after you were thirteen in the winter, " said the goodwoman. "But I s'pose there ain't been anybody that has followed yourcareer closer than I have, accordin' to their opportunities. You'vedone a great work for your country, Joe. I'm proud of you cleanthrough. Sometimes folks has said, 'There, there, Mis' Hender, what beyou goin' to say now?' but I've always told 'em to wait. I knew yousaw your reasons. You was always an honest boy. " The tears started andshone in her kind eyes. Her face showed that she had waged a bitterwar with poverty and sorrow, but the look of affection that it wore, and the warm touch of her hard hand, misshapen and worn with toil, touched her old friend in his inmost heart, and for a minute neithercould speak. 

"They do say that women folks have got no natural head for politics, but I always could seem to sense what was goin' on in Washington, ifthere was any sense to it, " said grandmother Hender at last. 

"Nobody could puzzle you at school, I remember, " answered Mr. Laneway, and they both laughed heartily. "But surely this granddaughter doesnot make your household? You have sons?"

"Two beside her father. He died; but they're both away, up towardCanada, buying cattle. We are getting along considerable well theselast few years, since they got a mite o' capital together; but the oldfarm wasn't really able to maintain us, with the heavy expenses thatfell on us unexpected year by year. I've seen a great sight oftrouble, Joe. My boy John, Marilla's father, and his nice wife, --Ilost 'em both early, when Marilla was but a child. John was the flowero' my family. He would have made a name for himself. You would havetaken to John. "

"I was sorry to hear of your loss, " said Mr. Laneway. "He was a braveman. I know what he did at Fredericksburg. You remember that I lost mywife and my only son?"

There was a silence between the friends, who had no need for wordsnow; they understood each other's heart only too well. Marilla, whosat near them, rose and went out of the room. 

"Yes, yes, daughter, " said Mrs. Hender, calling her back, "we ought tobe thinkin' about supper. "

"I was going to light a little fire in the parlor, " explained Marilla, with a slight tone of rebuke in her clear girlish voice. 

"Oh, no, you ain't, --not now, at least, " protested the elder womandecidedly. "Now, Joseph, what should you like to have for supper? Iwish to my heart I had some fried turnovers, like those you used tocome after when you was a boy. I can make 'em just about the same asmother did. I'll be bound you've thought of some old-fashioned dishthat you'd relish for your supper. "

"Rye drop-cakes, then, if they wouldn't give you too much trouble, "answered the Honorable Joseph, with prompt seriousness, "and don'tforget some cheese. " He looked up at his old playfellow as she stoodbeside him, eager with affectionate hospitality. 

"You've no idea what a comfort Marilla's been, " she stopped towhisper. "Always took right hold and helped me when she was a baby. She's as good as made up already to me for my having no daughter. Iwant you to get acquainted with Marilla. "

The granddaughter was still awed and anxious about the entertainmentof so distinguished a guest when her grandmother appeared at last inthe pantry. 

"I ain't goin' to let you do no such a thing, darlin', " said AbbyHender, when Marilla spoke of making something that she called "fairygems" for tea, after a new and essentially feminine recipe. "You justlet me get supper to-night. The Gen'ral has enough kickshaws to eat;he wants a good, hearty, old-fashioned supper, --the same countrycooking he remembers when he was a boy. He went so far himself as tospeak of rye drop-cakes, an' there ain't one in a hundred, nowadays, knows how to make the kind he means. You go an' lay the table just aswe always have it, except you can get out them old big sprigged cupso' my mother's. Don't put on none o' the parlor cluset things. "

Marilla went off crestfallen and demurring. She had a noble desire toshow Mr. Laneway that they knew how to have things as well asanybody, and was sure that he would consider it more polite to beasked into the best room, and to sit there alone until tea was ready;but the illustrious Mr. Laneway was allowed to stay in the kitchen, inapparent happiness, and to watch the proceedings from beginning toend. The two old friends talked industriously, but he saw his ryedrop-cakes go into the oven and come out, and his tea made, and hispiece of salt fish broiled and buttered, a broad piece of honeycombset on to match some delightful thick slices of brown-crusted loafbread, and all the simple feast prepared. There was a sufficient pieceof Abby Hender's best cheese; it must be confessed that there werealso some baked beans, and, as one thing after another appeared, theHonorable Joseph K. Laneway grew hungrier and hungrier, until hefairly looked pale with anticipation and delay, and was bidden at thatvery moment to draw up his chair and make himself a supper if hecould. What cups of tea, what uncounted rye drop-cakes, went to themaking of that successful supper! How gay the two old friends became, and of what old stories they reminded each other, and how late thedark spring evening grew, before the feast was over and thestraight-backed chairs were set against the kitchen wall!

Marilla listened for a time with more or less interest, but at lastshe took one of her school-books, with slight ostentation, and wentover to study by the lamp. Mrs. Hender had brought her knitting-work, a blue woolen stocking, out of a drawer, and sat down serene andunruffled, prepared to keep awake as late as possible. She was a womanwho had kept her youthful looks through the difficulties of farm lifeas few women can, and this added to her guest's sense of homelikenessand pleasure. There was something that he felt to be sisterly andcomfortable in her strong figure; he even noticed the little plaidwoolen shawl that she wore about her shoulders. Dear, uncomplainingheart of Abby Hender! The appealing friendliness of the good womanmade no demands except to be allowed to help and to serve everybodywho came in her way. 

Now began in good earnest the talk of old times, and what had becomeof this and that old schoolmate; how one family had come to want andanother to wealth. The changes and losses and windfalls of goodfortune in that rural neighborhood were made tragedy and comedy byturns in Abby Hender's dramatic speech. She grew younger and moreentertaining hour by hour, and beguiled the grave Senator intoconfidential talk of national affairs. He had much to say, to whichshe listened with rare sympathy and intelligence. She astonished himby her comprehension of difficult questions of the day, and by hersimple good sense. Marilla grew hopelessly sleepy, and departed, butneither of them turned to notice her as she lingered a moment at thedoor to say good-night. When the immediate subjects of conversationwere fully discussed, however, there was an unexpected interval ofsilence, and, after making sure that her knitting stitches countedexactly right, Abby Hender cast a questioning glance at the Senator tosee if he had it in mind to go to bed. She was reluctant to end herevening so soon, but determined to act the part of consideratehostess. The guest was as wide awake as ever: eleven o'clock was thebest part of his evening. 

"Cider?" he suggested, with an expectant smile, and Abby Hender was onher feet in a moment. When she had brought a pitcher from the pantry, he took a candle from the high shelf and led the way. 

"To think of your remembering our old cellar candlestick all theseyears!" laughed the pleased woman, as she followed him down the steepstairway, and then laughed still more at his delight in the familiarlook of the place. 

"Unchanged as the pyramids!" he said. "I suppose those pound sweetingsthat used to be in that farthest bin were eaten up months ago?"

It was plain to see that the household stores were waning low, asbefitted the time of year, but there was still enough in the oldcellar. Care and thrift and gratitude made the poor farmhouse a richplace. This woman of real ability had spent her strength from youth toage, and had lavished as much industry and power of organization inher narrow sphere as would have made her famous in a wider one. JosephLaneway could not help sighing as he thought of it. How many thingsthis good friend had missed, and yet how much she had been able to winthat makes everywhere the very best of life! Poor and early widowed, there must have been a constant battle with poverty on that stonyHarran farm, whose owners had been pitied even in his early boyhood, when the best of farming life was none too easy. But Abby Hender hadalways been one of the leaders of the town. 

"Now, before we sit down again, I want you to step into my best room. Perhaps you won't have time in the morning, and I've got something toshow you, " she said persuasively. 

It was a plain, old-fashioned best room, with a look of pleasantnessin spite of the spring chill and the stiffness of the best chairs. They lingered before the picture of Mrs. Hender's soldier son, a poorwork of a poorer artist in crayons, but the spirit of the young faceshone out appealingly. Then they crossed the room and stood beforesome bookshelves, and Abby Hender's face brightened into a beamingsmile of triumph. 

"You didn't expect we should have all those books, now, did you, JoeLaneway?" she asked. 

He shook his head soberly, and leaned forward to read the titles. There were no very new ones, as if times had been hard of late; almostevery volume was either history, or biography, or travel. Their ownerhad reached out of her own narrow boundaries into other lives and intofar countries. He recognized with gratitude two or three congressionalbooks that he had sent her when he first went to Washington, and therewas a life of himself, written from a partisan point of view, andissued in one of his most exciting campaigns; the sight of it touchedhim to the heart, and then she opened it, and showed him the three orfour letters that he had written her, --one, in boyish handwriting, describing his adventures on his first Western journey. 

"There are a hundred and six volumes now, " announced the proud ownerof such a library. "I lend 'em all I can, or most of them would lookbetter. I have had to wait a good while for some, and some weren'twhat I expected 'em to be, but most of 'em's as good books as there isin the world. I've never been so situated that it seemed best for meto indulge in a daily paper, and I don't know but it's just as well;but stories were never any great of a temptation. I know pretty wellwhat's goin' on about me, and I can make that do. Real life'sinterestin' enough for me. "

Mr. Laneway was still looking over the books. His heart smote him fornot being thoughtful; he knew well enough that the overflow of his ownlibrary would have been delightful to this self-denying, eager-mindedsoul. "I've been a very busy man all my life, Abby, " he saidimpulsively, as if she waited for some apology for his forgetfulness, "but I'll see to it now that you have what you want to read. I don'tmean to lose hold of your advice on state matters. " They both laughed, and he added, "I've always thought of you, if I haven't shown it. "

"There's more time to read than there used to be; I've had what wasbest for me, " answered the woman gently, with a grateful look on herface, as she turned to glance at her old friend. "Marilla takes holdwonderfully and helps me with the work. In the long winter eveningsyou can't think what a treat a new book is. I wouldn't change placeswith the queen. "

They had come back to the kitchen, and she stood before the cupboard, reaching high for two old gayly striped crockery mugs. There were somedoughnuts and cheese at hand; their early supper seemed quiteforgotten. The kitchen was warm, and they had talked themselvesthirsty and hungry; but with what an unexpected tang the ciderfreshened their throats! Mrs. Hender had picked the apples herselfthat went to the press; they were all chosen from the old russet treeand the gnarly, red-cheeked, ungrafted fruit that grew along the lane. The flavor made one think of frosty autumn mornings on high hillsides, of north winds and sunny skies. "It 'livens one to the heart, " as Mrs. Hender remarked proudly, when the Senator tried to praise it as muchas it deserved, and finally gave a cheerful laugh, such as he had notlaughed for many a day. 

"Why, it seems like drinking the month of October, " he told her; andat this the hostess reached over, protesting that the striped mug wastoo narrow to hold what it ought, and filled it up again. 

"Oh, Joe Laneway, to think that I see you at last, after all theseyears!" she said. "How rich I shall feel with this evening to liveover! I've always wanted to see somebody that I'd read about, and nowI've got that to remember; but I've always known I should see youagain, and I believe 't was the Lord's will. "

Early the next morning they said good-by. The early breakfast had tobe hurried, and Marilla was to drive Mr. Laneway to the station, three miles away. It was Saturday morning, and she was free fromschool. 

Mr. Laneway strolled down the lane before breakfast was ready, andcame back with a little bunch of pink anemones in his hand. Marillathought that he meant to give them to her, but he laid them beside hergrandmother's plate. "You mustn't put those in your desk, " he saidwith a smile, and Abby Hender blushed like a girl. 

"I've got those others now, dried and put away somewhere in one of mybooks, " she said quietly, and Marilla wondered what they meant. 

The two old friends shook hands warmly at parting. "I wish you couldhave stayed another day, so I could have had the minister come and seeyou, " urged Mrs. Hender regretfully. 

"You couldn't have done any more for me. I have had the best visit inthe world, " he answered, a little shaken, and holding her hand amoment longer, while Marilla sat, young and impatient, in the highwagon. "You're a dear good woman, Abby. Sometimes when things havegone wrong I've been sorry that I ever had to leave Winby. "

The woman's clear eyes looked straight into his; then fell. "Youwouldn't have done everything you have for the country, " she said. 

"Give me a kiss; we're getting to be old folks now, " said the General;and they kissed each other gravely. 

A moment later Abby Hender stood alone in her dooryard, watching andwaving her hand again and again, while the wagon rattled away down thelane and turned into the high-road. 

Two hours after Marilla returned from the station, and rushed into thekitchen. 

"Grandma!" she exclaimed, "you never did see such a crowd in Winby asthere was at the depot! Everybody in town had got word about GeneralLaneway, and they were pushing up to shake hands, and cheering sameas at election, and the cars waited much as ten minutes, and all thefolks was lookin' out of the windows, and came out on the platformswhen they heard who it was. Folks say that he'd been to see theselectmen yesterday before he came to school, and he's goin' to buildan elegant town hall, and have the names put up in it of all the Winbymen that went to the war. " Marilla sank into a chair, flushed withexcitement. "Everybody was asking me about his being here last nightand what he said to the school. I wished that you'd gone down to thedepot instead of me. "

"I had the best part of anybody, " said Mrs. Hender, smiling and goingon with her Saturday morning work. "I'm real glad they showed himproper respect, " she added a moment afterward, but her voice faltered. 

"Why, you ain't been cryin', grandma?" asked the girl. "I guess you'retired. You had a real good time, now, didn't you?"

"Yes, dear heart!" said Abby Hender. "'T ain't pleasant to be growin'old, that's all. I couldn't help noticin' his age as he rode away. I've always been lookin' forward to seein' him again, an' now it's allover. "

 * * * * *

_Looking Back on Girlhood_

In giving this brief account of my childhood, or, to speak exactly, ofthe surroundings which have affected the course of my work as awriter, my first thought flies back to those who taught me to observe, and to know the deep pleasures of simple things, and to be interestedin the lives of people about me. 

With its high hills and pine forests, and all its ponds and brooks anddistant mountain views, there are few such delightful country towns inNew England as the one where I was born. Being one of the oldestcolonial settlements, it is full of interesting traditions and relicsof the early inhabitants, both Indians and Englishmen. Two largerivers join just below the village at the head of tide-water, andthese, with the great inflow from the sea, make a magnificent stream, bordered on its seaward course now by high-wooded banks of dark pinesand hemlocks, and again by lovely green fields that slope gently tolong lines of willows at the water's edge. 

There is never-ending pleasure in making one's self familiar with sucha region. One may travel at home in a most literal sense, and bealways learning history, geography, botany, or biography--whatever onechooses. 

I have had a good deal of journeying in my life, and taken greatdelight in it, but I have never taken greater delight than in my ridesand drives and tramps and voyages within the borders of my nativetown. There is always something fresh, something to be traced ordiscovered, something particularly to be remembered. One grows rich inmemories and associations. 

I believe that we should know our native towns much better than mostof us do, and never let ourselves be strangers at home. Particularlywhen one's native place is so really interesting as my own!

Above tide-water the two rivers are barred by successive falls. Youhear the noise of them by night in the village like the sound of thesea, and this fine water power so near the coast, beside a greatsalmon fishery famous among the Indians, brought the first Englishsettlers to the town in 1627. I know some families who still live uponthe lands which their ancestors bought from the Indians, and theirsingle deed bears the queer barbaric signatures. 

There are many things to remind one of these early settlers beside theold farms upon which they and their descendants have lived for six orseven generations. One is a quaint fashion of speech which survivesamong the long-established neighborhoods, in words and phrases commonin England in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. 

One curious thing is the pronunciation of the name of the town:Berwick by the elder people has always been called _Barvik_, after thefashion of Danes and Northmen; never _Berrik_, as the word has so longbeen pronounced in modern England. 

The descendants of the first comers to the town have often beendistinguished in the affairs of their time. No village of its size inNew England could boast, particularly in the early part of the presentcentury, of a larger number of men and women who kept themselves moreclosely in touch with "the best that has been thought and said in theworld. "

As I write this, I keep in mind the truth that I have no inheritancefrom the ancient worth and dignity of Berwick--or what is now NorthBerwick--in Maine. My own people are comparatively late comers. I wasborn in a pleasant old colonial house built near 1750, and bought bymy grandfather sixty or seventy years ago, when he brought hishousehold up the river to Berwick from Portsmouth. 

He was a sea-captain, and had run away to sea in his boyhood and led amost adventurous life, but was quite ready to forsake seafaring in hisearly manhood, and at last joined a group of acquaintances who wereengaged in the flourishing West India trade of that time. 

For many years he kept and extended his interests in shipping, building ships and buying large quantities of timber from thenorthward and eastward, and sending it down the river and so to sea. 

This business was still in existence in my early childhood, and themanner of its conduct was primitive enough, the barter system stillprevailing by force of necessity. Those who brought the huge sticks ofoak and pine timber for masts and planks were rarely paid in money, which was of comparatively little use in remote and sparsely settleddistricts. When the sleds and long trains of yoked oxen returned fromthe river wharves to the stores, they took a lighter load in exchangeof flour and rice and barrels of molasses, of sugar and salt andcotton cloth and raisins and spices and tea and coffee; in fact, allthe household necessities and luxuries that the northern farms couldnot supply. 

They liked to have a little money with which to pay their taxes andtheir parish dues, if they were so fortunate as to be parishioners, but they needed very little money besides. 

So I came in contact with the up-country people as well as with thesailors and shipmasters of the other side of the business. I used tolinger about the busy country stores, and listen to the graphiccountry talk. I heard the greetings of old friends, and their minutedetails of neighborhood affairs, their delightful jokes andMunchausen-like reports of tracts of timber-pines ever so many feetthrough at the butt. 

When the great teams came in sight at the head of the village street, I ran to meet them over the creaking snow, if possible to mount andride into town in triumph; but it was not many years before I began tofeel sorry at the sight of every huge lopped stem of oak or pine thatcame trailing along after the slow-stepping, frosted oxen. Such treesare unreplaceable. I only know of one small group now in all this partof the country of those great timber pines. 

My young ears were quick to hear the news of a ship's having come intoport, and I delighted in the elderly captains, with their sea-tannedfaces, who came to report upon their voyages, dining cheerfully andheartily with my grandfather, who listened eagerly to their excitingtales of great storms on the Atlantic, and winds that blew themnorth-about, and good bargains in Havana, or Barbadoes, or Havre. 

I listened as eagerly as any one; this is the charming way in which Iwas taught something of a fashion of life already on the wane, and ofthat subsistence upon sea and forest bounties which is now almost aforgotten thing in my part of New England. 

Much freight still came and went by the river gundelows and packetslong after the railroad had made such changes, and every village alongits line lost its old feeling of self-sufficiency. 

In my home the greater part of the minor furnishings had come over inthe ships from Bristol and Havre. My grandfather seemed to be acitizen of the whole geography. I was always listening to stories ofthree wars from older people--the siege of Louisburg, the Revolution, in which my father's ancestors had been honest but mistaken Tories, and in which my mother's, the Gilmans of Exeter, had taken a noblerpart. 

As for the War of 1812, "the last war, " as everybody called it, it wasa thing of yesterday in the town. One of the famous privateer crewswas gathered along our own river shore, and one member of the crew, inhis old age, had been my father's patient. 

The Berwick people were great patriots, and were naturally proud ofthe famous Sullivans, who were born in the upper part of the town, andcame to be governors and judge and general. 

I often heard about Lafayette, who had made an ever-to-be-rememberedvisit in order to see again some old friends who lived in the town. The name of a famous Colonel Hamilton, the leader in the last centuryof the West India trade, and the histories of the old Berwick housesof Chadbourn and Lord were delightfully familiar, and one of thetraditions of the latter family is more than good enough to be toldagain. 

There was a Berwick lad who went out on one of the privateers thatsailed from Portsmouth in the Revolution. The vessel was taken by aBritish frigate, and the crew put in irons. One day one of the Englishmidshipmen stood near these prisoners as they took their airing ondeck, and spoke contemptuously about "the rebels. "

Young Lord heard what he said, and turned himself about to say boldly, "If it were not for your rank, sir, I would make you take that back!"

"No matter about my rank, " said the gallant middy. "If you can whipme, you are welcome to. "

So they had a "capital good fight, " standing over a tea-chest, asproud tradition tells, and the Berwick sailor was the better fighterof the two, and won. 

The Englishman shook hands, and asked his name and promised not toforget him--which was certainly most handsome behavior. 

When they reached an English port all the prisoners but one were sentaway under guard to join the other American prisoners of war; but theadmiral sent for a young man named Nathan Lord, and told him that hisGrace the Duke of Clarence, son of his Majesty the King, begged forhis pardon, and had left a five-pound note at his disposal. 

This was not the first or last Berwick lad who proved himself of goodcourage in a fight, but there never was another to whip a future Kingof England, and moreover to be liked the better for it by that finegentleman. 

My grandfather died in my eleventh year, and presently the Civil Warbegan. 

From that time the simple village life was at an end. Its provincialcharacter was fading out; shipping was at a disadvantage, and therewere no more bronzed sea-captains coming to dine and talk about theirvoyages, no more bags of filberts or oranges for the children, orgreat red jars of olives; but in these childish years I had come incontact with many delightful men and women of real individuality andbreadth of character, who had fought the battle of life to goodadvantage, and sometimes against great odds. 

In these days I was given to long, childish illnesses, and it must behonestly confessed, to instant drooping if ever I were shut up inschool. I had apparently not the slightest desire for learning, but myfather was always ready to let me be his companion in long drivesabout the country. 

In my grandfather's business household, my father, unconscious oftonnage and timber measurement, of the markets of the WindwardIslands or the Mediterranean ports, had taken to his book, as oldpeople said, and gone to college and begun that devotion to the studyof medicine which only ended with his life. 

I have tried already to give some idea of my father's character in mystory of "The Country Doctor, " but all that is inadequate to the giftsand character of the man himself. He gave me my first and bestknowledge of books by his own delight and dependence upon them, andruled my early attempts at writing by the severity and simplicity ofhis own good taste. 

"Don't try to write _about_ people and things, tell them just as theyare!"

How often my young ears heard these words without comprehending them!But while I was too young and thoughtless to share in an enthusiasmfor Sterne or Fielding, and Smollett or Don Quixote, my mother andgrandmother were leading me into the pleasant ways of "Pride andPrejudice, " and "The Scenes of Clerical Life, " and the delightfulstories of Mrs. Oliphant. 

The old house was well provided with leather-bound books of a deeplyserious nature, but in my youthful appetite for knowledge, I couldeven in the driest find something vital, and in the more entertainingI was completely lost. 

My father had inherited from his father an amazing knowledge of humannature, and from his mother's French ancestry, that peculiarly Frenchtrait, called _gaieté de coeur_. Through all the heavy responsibilitiesand anxieties of his busy professional life, this kept him young atheart and cheerful. His visits to his patients were often madeperfectly delightful and refreshing to them by his kind heart, and thecharm of his personality. 

I knew many of the patients whom he used to visit in lonely inlandfarms, or on the seacoast in York and Wells. I used to follow himabout silently, like an undemanding little dog, content to follow athis heels. 

I had no consciousness of watching or listening, or indeed of anyspecial interest in the country interiors. In fact, when the time camethat my own world of imaginations was more real to me than any other, I was sometimes perplexed at my father's directing my attention tocertain points of interest in the character or surroundings of ouracquaintances. 

I cannot help believing that he recognized, long before I did myself, in what direction the current of purpose in my life was setting. Now, as I write my sketches of country life, I remember again and again thewise things he said, and the sights he made me see. He was onlyimpatient with affectation and insincerity. 

I may have inherited something of my father's and grandfather'sknowledge of human nature, but my father never lost a chance of tryingto teach me to observe. I owe a great deal to his patience with aheedless little girl given far more to dreams than to accuracy, andwith perhaps too little natural sympathy for the dreams of others. 

The quiet village life, the dull routine of farming or mill life, early became interesting to me. I was taught to find everything thatan imaginative child could ask, in the simple scenes close at hand. 

I say these things eagerly, because I long to impress upon every boyand girl this truth: that it is not one's surroundings that can helpor hinder--it is having a growing purpose in one's life to make themost of whatever is in one's reach. 

If you have but a few good books, learn those to the very heart ofthem. Don't for one moment believe that if you had differentsurroundings and opportunities you would find the upward path anyeasier to climb. One condition is like another, if you have not thedetermination and the power to grow in yourself. 

I was still a child when I began to write down the things I wasthinking about, but at first I always made rhymes and found prose sodifficult that a school composition was a terror to me, and I do notremember ever writing one that was worth anything. But in course oftime rhymes themselves became difficult and prose more and moreenticing, and I began my work in life, most happy in finding that Iwas to write of those country characters and rural landscapes to whichI myself belonged, and which I had been taught to love with all myheart. 

I was between nineteen and twenty when my first sketch was accepted byMr. Howells for the _Atlantic_. I already counted myself as by nomeans a new contributor to one or two other magazines--_Young Folks_and _The Riverside_--but I had no literary friends "at court. "

I was very shy about speaking of my work at home, and even sent it tothe magazine under an assumed name, and then was timid about askingthe post-mistress for those mysterious and exciting editorial letterswhich she announced upon the post-office list as if I were a strangerin the town. 

 * * * * *

_The Passing of Sister Barsett_

Mrs. Mercy Crane was of such firm persuasion that a house is meant tobe lived in, that during many years she was never known to leave herown neat two-storied dwelling-place on the Ridge road. Yet being veryfond of company, in pleasant weather she often sat in the side doorwaylooking out on her green yard, where the grass grew short and thickand was undisfigured even by a path toward the steps. All her fadedgreen blinds were securely tied together and knotted on the inside bypieces of white tape; but now and then, when the sun was not too hotfor her carpets, she opened one window at a time for a few hours, having pronounced views upon the necessity of light and air. AlthoughMrs. Crane was acknowledged by her best friends to be a peculiarperson and very set in her ways, she was much respected, and oneacquaintance vied with another in making up for her melancholyseclusion by bringing her all the news they could gather. She had beenleft alone many years before by the sudden death of her husband fromsunstroke, and though she was by no means poor, she had, as some onesaid, "such a pretty way of taking a little present that you couldn'thelp being pleased when you gave her anything. "

For a lover of society, such a life must have had its difficulties attimes, except that the Ridge road was more traveled than any other inthe township, and Mrs. Crane had invented a system of signals, towhich she always resorted in case of wishing to speak to some one ofher neighbors. 

The afternoon was wearing late, one day toward the end of summer, andMercy Crane sat in her doorway dressed in a favorite old-fashionedlight calico and a small shoulder shawl figured with large palmleaves. She was making some tatting of a somewhat intricate pattern;she believed it to be the prettiest and most durable of trimmings, andhaving decorated her own wardrobe in the course of unlimited leisure, she was now making a few yards apiece for each of her more intimatefriends, so that they might have something to remember her by. Shekept glancing up the road as if she expected some one, but the timewent slowly by, until at last a woman appeared to view, walking fast, and carrying a large bundle in a checked handkerchief. 

Then Mercy Crane worked steadily for a short time without looking up, until the desired friend was crossing the grass between the dusty roadand the steps. The visitor was out of breath, and did not respond tothe polite greeting of her hostess until she had recovered herself toher satisfaction. Mrs. Crane made her the kind offer of a glass ofwater or a few peppermints, but was answered only by a shake of thehead, so she resumed her work for a time until the silence should bebroken. 

"I have come from the house of mourning, " said Sarah Ellen Dow atlast, unexpectedly. 

"You don't tell me that Sister Barsett"--

"She's left us this time, she's really gone, " and the excitednews-bringer burst into tears. The poor soul was completelyoverwrought; she looked tired and wan, as if she had spent her forcesin sympathy as well as hard work. She felt in her great bundle for apocket handkerchief, but was not successful in the search, and finallyproduced a faded gingham apron with long, narrow strings, with whichshe hastily dried her tears. The sad news appealed also to MercyCrane, who looked across to the apple-trees, and could not see themfor a dazzle of tears in her own eyes. The spectacle of Sarah EllenDow going home with her humble workaday possessions, from the housewhere she had gone in haste only a few days before to care for a sickperson well known to them both, was a very sad sight. 

"You sent word yesterday that you should be returnin' early thisafternoon, and would stop. I presume I received the message as yougave it?" asked Mrs. Crane, who was tenacious in such matters; "but Ido declare I never looked to hear she was gone. "

"She's been failin' right along sence yisterday about this time, " saidthe nurse. "She's taken no notice to speak of, an' been eatin' thevally o' nothin', I may say, sence I went there a-Tuesday. Her sistersboth come back yisterday, an' of course I was expected to give upcharge to them. They're used to sickness, an' both havin' such a namefor bein' great housekeepers!"

Sarah Ellen spoke with bitterness, but Mrs. Crane was remindedinstantly of her own affairs. "I feel condemned that I ain't begun myown fall cleanin' yet, " she said, with an ostentatious sigh. 

"Plenty o' time to worry about that, " her friend hastened to consoleher. 

"I do desire to have everything decent about my house, " resumed Mrs. Crane. "There's nobody to do anything but me. If I was to be takenaway sudden myself, I shouldn't want to have it said afterwards thatthere was wisps under my sofy or--There! I can't dwell on my owntroubles with Sister Barsett's loss right before me. I can't seem tobelieve she's really passed away; she always was saying she should goin some o' these spells, but I deemed her to be troubled with narves. "

Sarah Ellen Dow shook her head. "I'm all nerved up myself, " she saidbrokenly. "I made light of her sickness when I went there first, I'dseen her what she called dreadful low so many times; but I saw herlooks this morning, an' I begun to believe her at last. Them sisterso' hers is the master for unfeelin' hearts. Sister Barsett wasa-layin' there yisterday, an' one of 'em was a-settin' right by hertellin' how difficult 't was for her to leave home, her niece wasgoin' to graduate to the high school, an' they was goin' to have atime in the evening, an' all the exercises promised to be extryinteresting. Poor Sister Barsett knew what she said an' looked at herwith contempt, an' then she give a glance at me an' closed up her eyesas if 't was for the last time. I know she felt it. "

Sarah Ellen Dow was more and more excited by a sense of bittergrievance. Her rule of the afflicted household had evidently beeninterfered with; she was not accustomed to be ignored and set aside atsuch times. Her simple nature and uncommon ability found satisfactionin the exercise of authority, but she had now left her post feelinghurt and wronged, besides knowing something of the pain of honestaffliction. 

"If it hadn't been for esteemin' Sister Barsett as I always have done, I should have told 'em no, an' held to it, when they asked me to comeback an' watch to-night. 'T ain't for none o' their sakes, but SisterBarsett was a good friend to me in her way. " Sarah Ellen broke downonce more, and felt in her bundle again hastily, but the handkerchiefwas again elusive, while a small object fell out upon the doorstepwith a bounce. 

"'T ain't nothin' but a little taste-cake I spared out o' the loaf Ibaked this mornin', " she explained, with a blush. "I was so shoved outthat I seemed to want to turn my hand to somethin' useful an' feel Iwas still doin' for Sister Barsett. Try a little piece, won't you, Mis' Crane? I thought it seemed light an' good. "

They shared the taste-cake with serious enjoyment, and pronounced itvery good indeed when they had finished and shaken the crumbs out oftheir laps. "There's nobody but you shall come an' do for me at thelast, if I can have my way about things, " said Mercy Craneimpulsively. She meant it for a tribute to Miss Dow's character andgeneral ability, and as such it was meekly accepted. 

"You're a younger person than I be, an' less wore, " said Sarah Ellen, but she felt better now that she had rested, and her conversationalpowers seemed to be refreshed by her share of the little cake. "DoctorBangs has behaved real pretty, I can say that, " she continuedpresently in a mournful tone. 

"Heretofore, in the sickness of Sister Barsett, I have always felt tohope certain that she would survive; she's recovered from a sight o'things in her day. She has been the first to have all the new diseasesthat's visited this region. I know she had the spinal mergeetis monthsbefore there was any other case about, " observed Mrs. Crane withsatisfaction. 

"An' the new throat troubles, all of 'em, " agreed Sarah Ellen; "an'has made trial of all the best patent medicines, an' could tell youtheir merits as no one else could in this vicinity. She never was onethat depended on herbs alone, though she considered 'em extremelyuseful in some cases. Everybody has their herb, as we know, but I'mfree to say that Sister Barsett sometimes done everything she could tokill herself with such rovin' ways o' dosin'. She must see it nowshe's gone an' can't stuff down no more invigorators. " Sarah Ellen Dowburst out suddenly with this, as if she could no longer contain herhonest opinion. 

"There, there! you're all worked up, " answered placid Mercy Crane, looking more interested than ever. 

"An' she was dreadful handy to talk religion to other folks, but I'vecome to a realizin' sense that religion is somethin' besides opinions. She an' Elder French has been mostly of one mind, but I don't know'sthey've got hold of all the religion there is. "

"Why, why, Sarah Ellen!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane, but there was stillsomething in her tone that urged the speaker to further expression ofher feelings. The good creature was much excited, her face was cloudedwith disapproval. 

"I ain't forgettin' nothin' about their good points either, " she wenton in a more subdued tone, and suddenly stopped. 

"Preachin' 'll be done away with soon or late, --preachin' o' ElderFrench's kind, " announced Mercy Crane, after waiting to see if herguest did not mean to say anything more. "I should like to read 'emout that verse another fashion: 'Be ye doers o' the word, notpreachers only, ' would hit it about right; but there, it's easy forall of us to talk. In my early days I used to like to get out tomeetin' regular, because sure as I didn't I had bad luck all the week. I didn't feel pacified 'less I'd been half a day, but I was out allday the Sabbath before Mr. Barlow died as he did. So you mean to saythat Sister Barsett's really gone?"

Mrs. Crane's tone changed to one of real concern, and her mannerindicated that she had put the preceding conversation behind her withdecision. 

"She was herself to the last, " instantly responded Miss Dow. "I seeher put out a thumb an' finger from under the spread an' pinch up afold of her sister Deckett's dress, to try an' see if 'twas all wool. I thought 'twa'n't all wool, myself, an' I know it now by the way shelooked. She was a very knowin' person about materials; we shall misspoor Mis' Barsett in many ways, she was always the one to consult withabout matters o' dress. "

"She passed away easy at the last, I hope?" asked Mrs. Crane withinterest. 

"Why, I wa'n't there, if you'll believe it!" exclaimed Sarah Ellen, flushing, and looking at her friend for sympathy. "Sister Barsettrevived up the first o' the afternoon, an' they sent for Elder French. She took notice of him, and he exhorted quite a spell, an' then hespoke o' there being need of air in the room, Mis' Deckett havin'closed every window, an' she asked me of all folks if I hadn't betterstep out; but Elder French come too, an' he was very reasonable, an'had a word with me about Mis' Deckett an' Mis' Peak an' the way theywas workin' things. I told him right out how they never come near whenthe rest of us was havin' it so hard with her along in the spring, butnow they thought she was re'lly goin' to die, they come settlin' downlike a pair o' old crows in a field to pick for what they could get. Ijust made up my mind they should have all the care if they wanted it. It didn't seem as if there was anything more I could do for SisterBarsett, an' I set there in the kitchen within call an' waited, an'when I heard 'em sayin', 'There, she's gone, she's gone!' and Mis'Deckett a-weepin', I put on my bunnit and stepped myself out into theroad. I felt to repent after I had gone but a rod, but I was so workedup, an' I thought they'd call me back, an' then I was put out becausethey didn't, an' so here I be. I can't help it now. " Sarah Ellen wascrying again; she and Mrs. Crane could not look at each other. 

"Well, you set an' rest, " said Mrs. Crane kindly, and with the merestshadow of disapproval. "You set an' rest, an' by an' by, if you'd feelbetter, you could go back an' just make a little stop an' inquireabout the arrangements. I wouldn't harbor no feelin's, if they beinconsiderate folks. Sister Barsett has often deplored their actionsin my hearing an' wished she had sisters like other folks. With allher faults she was a useful person an' a good neighbor, " mourned MercyCrane sincerely. "She was one that always had somethin' interestin' totell, an' if it wa'n't for her dyin' spells an' all that sort o'nonsense, she'd make a figger in the world, she would so. She walkedwith an air always, Mis' Barsett did; you'd ask who she was if youhadn't known, as she passed you by. How quick we forget the outs aboutanybody that's gone! But I always feel grateful to anybody that'sfriendly, situated as I be. I shall miss her runnin' over. I can seemto see her now, coming over the rise in the road. But don't you get ina way of takin' things too hard, Sarah Ellen! You've worked yourselfall to pieces since I saw you last; you're gettin' to be as lean as ameetin'-house fly. Now, you're comin' in to have a cup o' tea with me, an' then you'll feel better. I've got some new molasses gingerbreadthat I baked this mornin'. "

"I do feel beat out, Mis' Crane, " acknowledged the poor little soul, glad of a chance to speak, but touched by this unexpected mark ofconsideration. "If I could ha' done as I wanted to I should be feelin'well enough, but to be set aside an' ordered about, where I'd takenthe lead in sickness so much, an' knew how to deal with Sister Barsettso well! She might be livin' now, perhaps"--

"Come; we'd better go in, 'tis gettin' damp, " and the mistress of thehouse rose so hurriedly as to seem bustling. "Don't dwell on SisterBarsett an' her foolish folks no more; I wouldn't, if I was you. "

They went into the front room, which was dim with the twilight of thehalf-closed blinds and two great syringa bushes that grew againstthem. Sarah Ellen put down her bundle and bestowed herself in thelarge, cane-seated rocking-chair. Mrs. Crane directed her to staythere awhile and rest, and then come out into the kitchen when she gotready. 

A cheerful clatter of dishes was heard at once upon Mrs. Crane'sdisappearance. "I hope she's goin' to make one o' her niceshort-cakes, but I don't know's she'll think it quite worth while, "thought the guest humbly. She desired to go out into the kitchen, butit was proper behavior to wait until she should be called. Mercy Cranewas not a person with whom one could venture to take liberties. Presently Sarah Ellen began to feel better. She did not often findsuch a quiet place, or the quarter of an hour of idleness in which toenjoy it, and was glad to make the most of this opportunity. Just nowshe felt tired and lonely. She was a busy, unselfish, eager-mindedcreature by nature, but now, while grief was sometimes uppermost inher mind and sometimes a sense of wrong, every moment found her morepeaceful, and the great excitement little by little faded away. 

"What a person poor Sister Barsett was to dread growing old so shecouldn't get about. I'm sure I shall miss her as much as anybody, "said Mrs. Crane, suddenly opening the kitchen door, and letting in anunmistakable and delicious odor of short-cake that revived still morethe drooping spirits of her guest. "An' a good deal of knowledge hasdied with her, " she added, coming into the room and seeming to make itlighter. 

"There, she knew a good deal, but she didn't know all, especially o'doctorin', " insisted Sarah Ellen from the rocking-chair, with anunexpected little laugh. "She used to lay down the law to me as if Ihad neither sense nor experience, but when it came to her bad spellsshe'd always send for me. It takes everybody to know everything, butSister Barsett was of an opinion that her information was sufficientfor the town. She was tellin' me the day I went there how she dislikedto have old Mis' Doubleday come an' visit with her, an' remarked thatshe called Mis' Doubleday very officious. 'Went right down on herknees an' prayed, ' says she. 'Anybody would have thought I was aheathen!' But I kind of pacified her feelin's, an' told her I supposedthe old lady meant well. "

"Did she give away any of her things?--Mis' Barsett, I mean, " inquiredMrs. Crane. 

"Not in my hearin', " replied Sarah Ellen Dow. "Except one day, thefirst of the week, she told her oldest sister, Mis' Deckett, --'twasthat first day she rode over--that she might have her green quiltedpetticoat; you see it was a rainy day, an' Mis' Deckett had complainedo' feelin' thin. She went right up an' got it, and put it on an' woreit off, an' I'm sure I thought no more about it, until I heard SisterBarsett groanin' dreadful in the night. I got right up to see what thematter was, an' what do you think but she was wantin' that petticoatback, and not thinking any too well o' Nancy Deckett for takin' itwhen 'twas offered. 'Nancy never showed no sense o' propriety, ' saysSister Barsett; I just wish you'd heard her go on!

"If she had felt to remember me, " continued Sarah Ellen, after theyhad laughed a little, "I'd full as soon have some of her nicecrockery-ware. She told me once, years ago, when I was stoppin' to teawith her an' we were havin' it real friendly, that she should leave meher Britannia tea-set, but I ain't got it in writin', and I can't sayshe's ever referred to the matter since. It ain't as if I had a homeo' my own to keep it in, but I should have thought a great deal of itfor her sake, " and the speaker's voice faltered. "I must say that withall her virtues she never was a first-class housekeeper, but Iwouldn't say it to any but a friend. You never eat no preserves o'hers that wa'n't commencin' to work, an' you know as well as I howlittle forethought she had about putting away her woolens. I satbehind her once in meetin' when I was stoppin' with the Tremletts andso occupied a seat in their pew, an' I see between ten an' a dozenmoth millers come workin' out o' her fitch-fur tippet. They wasflutterin' round her bonnet same's 'twas a lamp. I should be mortifiedto death to have such a thing happen to me. "

"Every housekeeper has her weak point; I've got mine as much asanybody else, " acknowledged Mercy Crane with spirit, "but you neversee no moth millers come workin' out o' me in a public place. "

"Ain't your oven beginning to get overhet?" anxiously inquired SarahEllen Dow, who was sitting more in the draught, and could not bear tohave any accident happen to the supper. Mrs. Crane flew to ashort-cake's rescue, and presently called her guest to the table. 

The two women sat down to deep and brimming cups of tea. Sarah Ellennoticed with great gratification that her hostess had put on two ofthe best tea-cups and some citron-melon preserves. It was not anevery-day supper. She was used to hard fare, poor, hard-working SarahEllen, and this handsome social attention did her good. Sister Cranerarely entertained a friend, and it would be a pleasure to speak ofthe tea-drinking for weeks to come. 

"You've put yourself out quite a consid'able for me, " sheacknowledged. "How pretty these cups is! You oughtn't to use 'em socommon as for me. I wish I had a home I could really call my own toask you to, but 't ain't never been so I could. Sometimes I wonderwhat's goin' to become o' me when I get so I'm past work. Takin' careo' sick folks an' bein' in houses where there's a sight goin' on an'everybody in a hurry kind of wears on me now I'm most a-gittin' inyears. I was wishin' the other day that I could get with somecomfortable kind of a sick person, where I could live right alongquiet as other folks do, but folks never sends for me 'less they'redrove to it. I ain't laid up anything to really depend upon. "

The situation appealed to Mercy Crane, well to do as she was and notburdened with responsibilities. She stirred uneasily in her chair, butcould not bring herself to the point of offering Sarah Ellen the homeshe coveted. 

"Have some hot tea, " she insisted, in a matter of fact tone, and SarahEllen's face, which had been lighted by a sudden eager hopefulness, grew dull and narrow again. 

"Plenty, plenty, Mis' Crane, " she said sadly, "'tis beautifultea, --you always have good tea;" but she could not turn her thoughtsfrom her own uncertain future. "None of our folks has ever lived to bea burden, " she said presently, in a pathetic tone, putting down hercup. "My mother was thought to be doing well until four o'clock an'was dead at ten. My Aunt Nancy came to our house well at twelveo'clock an' died that afternoon; my father was sick but ten days. There was dear sister Betsy, she did go in consumption, but 'twa'n'tan expensive sickness. "

"I've thought sometimes about you, how you'd get past rovin' fromhouse to house one o' these days. I guess your friends will stand byyou. " Mrs. Crane spoke with unwonted sympathy, and Sarah Ellen's heartleaped with joy. 

"You're real kind, " she said simply. "There's nobody I set so much by. But I shall miss Sister Barsett, when all's said an' done. She's askedme many a time to stop with her when I wasn't doin' nothin'. We allhave our failin's, but she was a friendly creatur'. I sha'n't want tosee her laid away. "

"Yes, I was thinkin' a few minutes ago that I shouldn't want to lookout an' see the funeral go by. She's one o' the old neighbors. Is'pose I shall have to look, or I shouldn't feel right afterward, "said Mrs. Crane mournfully. "If I hadn't got so kind of housebound, "she added with touching frankness, "I'd just as soon go over with youan' offer to watch this night. "

"'T would astonish Sister Barsett so I don't know but she'd return. "Sarah Ellen's eyes danced with amusement; she could not resist her ownjoke, and Mercy Crane herself had to smile. 

"Now I must be goin', or 'twill be dark, " said the guest, rising andsighing after she had eaten her last crumb of gingerbread. "Yes, thankye, you're real good, I will come back if I find I ain't wanted. Lookwhat a pretty sky there is!" and the two friends went to the side doorand stood together in a moment of affectionate silence, looking outtoward the sunset across the wide fields. The country was still withthat deep rural stillness which seems to mean the absence of humanity. Only the thrushes were singing far away in the walnut woods beyond theorchard, and some crows were flying over and cawed once loudly, as ifthey were speaking to the women at the door. 

Just as the friends were parting, after most grateful acknowledgmentsfrom Sarah Ellen Dow, some one came driving along the road in a hurryand stopped. 

"Who's that with you, Mis' Crane?" called one of their near neighbors. 

"It's Sarah Ellen Dow, " answered Mrs. Crane. "What's the matter?"

"I thought so, but I couldn't rightly see. Come, they are in a peck o'trouble up to Sister Barsett's, wonderin' where you be, " grumbled theman. "They can't do nothin' with her; she's drove off everybody an'keeps a-screechin' for you. Come, step along, Sarah Ellen, do!"

"Sister Barsett!" exclaimed both the women. Mercy Crane sank down uponthe doorstep, but Sarah Ellen stepped out upon the grass all of atremble, and went toward the wagon. "They said this afternoon thatSister Barsett was gone, " she managed to say. "What did they mean?"

"Gone where?" asked the impatient neighbor. "I expect 'twas one of herspells. She's come to; they say she wants somethin' hearty for hertea. Nobody can't take one step till you get there, neither. "

Sarah Ellen was still dazed; she returned to the doorway, where MercyCrane sat shaking with laughter. "I don't know but we might as welllaugh as cry, " she said in an aimless sort of way. "I know you toowell to think you're going to repeat a single word. Well, I'll get mybonnet an' start; I expect I've got considerable to cope with, but I'mwell rested. Good-night, Mis' Crane, I certain did have a beautifultea, whatever the future may have in store. "

She wore a solemn expression as she mounted into the wagon in hasteand departed, but she was far out of sight when Mercy Crane stoppedlaughing and went into the house. 

 * * * * *

Decoration Day

I. 

A week before the thirtieth of May, three friends--John Stover andHenry Merrill and Asa Brown--happened to meet on Saturday evening atBarton's store at the Plains. They were ready to enjoy this idle hourafter a busy week. After long easterly rains, the sun had at last comeout bright and clear, and all the Barlow farmers had been planting. There was even a good deal of ploughing left to be done, the seasonwas so backward. 

The three middle-aged men were old friends. They had beenschool-fellows, and when they were hardly out of their boyhood the warcame on, and they enlisted in the same company, on the same day, andhappened to march away elbow to elbow. Then came the great experienceof a great war, and the years that followed their return from theSouth had come to each almost alike. These men might have been membersof the same rustic household, they knew each other's history so well. 

They were sitting on a low wooden bench at the left of the store dooras you went in. People were coming and going on their Saturday nighterrands, --the post-office was in Barton's store, --but the friendstalked on eagerly, without being interrupted, except by an occasionalnod of recognition. They appeared to take no notice at all of theneighbors whom they saw oftenest. It was a most beautiful evening; thetwo great elms were almost half in leaf over the blacksmith's shopwhich stood across the wide road. Farther along were two smallold-fashioned houses and the old white church, with its pretty belfryof four arched sides and a tiny dome at the top. The large cockerel onthe vane was pointing a little south of west, and there was stilllight enough to make it shine bravely against the deep blue easternsky. On the western side of the road, near the store, were theparsonage and the storekeeper's modern house, which had a French roofand some attempt at decoration, which the long-established Barlowpeople called gingerbread-work, and regarded with mingled pride anddisdain. These buildings made the tiny village called Barlow Plains. They stood in the middle of a long narrow strip of level ground. Theywere islanded by green fields and pastures. There were hills beyond;the mountains themselves seemed very near. Scattered about on the hillslopes were farmhouses, which stood so far apart, with their clustersof out-buildings, that each looked lonely, and the pine woods aboveseemed to besiege them all. It was lighter on the uplands than it wasin the valley, where the three men sat on their bench, with theirbacks to the store and the western sky. 

"Well, here we be 'most into June, an' I 'ain't got a bush-bean aboveground, " lamented Henry Merrill. 

"Your land's always late, ain't it? But you always catch up with therest on us, " Asa Brown consoled him. "I've often observed that yourland, though early planted, was late to sprout. I view it there's agood week's difference betwixt me an' Stover an' your folks, but comefirst o' July we all even up. "

"'Tis just so, " said John Stover, taking his pipe out of his mouth, asif he had a good deal more to say, and then replacing it, as if he hadchanged his mind. 

"Made it extry hard having that long wet spell. Can't none on us takeno day off this season, " said Asa Brown; but nobody thought it worthhis while to respond to such evident truth. 

"Next Saturday'll be the thirtieth o' May--that's Decoration Day, ain't it?--come round again. Lord! how the years slip by after you gitto be forty-five an' along there!" said Asa again. "I s'pose some o'our folks'll go over to Alton to see the procession, same's usual. I've got to git one o' them small flags to stick on our Joel's grave, an' Mis' Dexter always counts on havin' some for Harrison's lot. Icalculate to get 'em somehow. I must make time to ride over, but Idon't know where the time's comin' from out o' next week. I wish thewomen folks would tend to them things. There's the spot where EbMunson an' John Tighe lays in the poor-farm lot, an' I did meancertain to buy flags for 'em last year an' year before, but I went an'forgot it. I'd like to have folks that rode by notice 'em for once, ifthey was town paupers. Eb Munson was as darin' a man as ever steppedout to tuck o' drum. "

"So he was, " said John Stover, taking his pipe with decision andknocking out the ashes. "Drink was his ruin; but I wan't one thatcould be harsh with Eb, no matter what he done. He worked hard long'she could, too; but he wan't like a sound man, an' I think he tooksomethin' first not so much 'cause he loved it, but to kind of keephis strength up so's he could work, an' then, all of a sudden, rumclinched with him an' threw him. Eb was talkin' 'long o' me one daywhen he was about half full, an' says he, right out, 'I wouldn't havefell to this state, ' says he, 'if I'd had me a home an' a littlefam'ly; but it don't make no difference to nobody, and it's the bestcomfort I seem to have, an' I ain't goin' to do without it. I'm ailin'all the time, ' says he, 'an' if I keep middlin' full, I make out tohold my own an' to keep along o' my work. ' I pitied Eb. I says to him, 'You ain't goin' to bring no disgrace on us old army boys, be you, Eb?' an' he says no, he wan't. I think if he'd lived to get one o'them big fat pensions, he'd had it easier. Eight dollars a month paidhis board, while he'd pick up what cheap work he could, an' then hegot so that decent folks didn't seem to want the bother of him, an' sohe come on the town. "

"There was somethin' else to it, " said Henry Merrill soberly. "Drinkcome natural to him, 'twas born in him, I expect, an' there wan'tnobody that could turn the divil out same's they did in Scriptur'. Hisfather an' his gran'father was drinkin' men; but they was kind-heartedan' good neighbors, an' never set out to wrong nobody. 'Twas thecustom to drink in their day; folks was colder an' lived poorer inearly times, an' that's how most of 'em kept a-goin'. But what stoveEb all up was his disapp'intment with Marthy Peck--her forsakin' ofhim an' marryin' old John Down whilst Eb was off to war. I've alwayslaid it up ag'inst her. "

"So've I, " said Asa Brown. "She didn't use the poor fellow right. Iguess she was full as well off, but it's one thing to show judgment, an' another thing to have heart. "

There was a long pause; the subject was too familiar to need furthercomment. 

"There ain't no public sperit here in Barlow, " announced Asa Brown, with decision. "I don't s'pose we could ever get up anything forDecoration Day. I've felt kind of 'shamed, but it always comes in abusy time; 'twan't no time to have it, anyway, right in lateplantin'. "

"'Tain't no use to look for public sperit 'less you've got someyourself, " observed John Stover soberly; but something had pleased himin the discouraged suggestion. "Perhaps we could mark the day thisyear. It comes on a Saturday; that ain't nigh so bad as bein' in themiddle of the week. "

Nobody made any answer, and presently he went on, --

"There was a time along back when folks was too nigh the war-time togive much thought to the bigness of it. The best fellows was them thathad stayed to home an' worked their trades an' laid up money; but Idon't know's it's so now. "

"Yes, the fellows that stayed at home got all the fat places, an' whenwe come back we felt dreadful behind the times, " grumbled Asa Brown. "I remember how 'twas. "

"They begun to call us heroes an' old stick-in-the-mud just about thesame time, " resumed Stover, with a chuckle. "We wa'n't no hand forstrippin' woodland nor even tradin' hosses them first few years. Idon' know why 'twas we were so beat out. The best most on us could dowas to sag right on to the old folks. Father he never wanted me to goto the war, --'twas partly his Quaker breed, --an' he used to bedreadful mortified with the way I hung round down here to the storean' loafed round a-talkin' about when I was out South, an' arguin'with folks that didn't know nothin', about what the generals done. There! I see me now just as he see me then; but after I had myboy-strut out, I took holt o' the old farm 'long o' father, an' I'vemade it bounce. Look at them old meadows an' see the herd's grass thatcome off of 'em last year! I ain't ashamed o' my place now, if I didgo to the war. "

"It all looks a sight bigger to me now than it did then, " said HenryMerrill. "Our goin' to the war, I refer to. We didn't sense it no morethan other folks did. I used to be sick o' hearin' their stuff aboutpatriotism and lovin' your country, an' them pieces o' poetry womenfolks wrote for the papers on the old flag, an' our fallen heroes, an'them things; they didn't seem to strike me in the right place; but Itell ye it kind o' starts me now every time I come on the flagsudden, --it does so. A spell ago--'long in the fall, I guess it was--Iwas over to Alton, an' there was a fire company paradin'. They'd gotthe prize at a fair, an' had just come home on the cars, an' I heardthe band; so I stepped to the front o' the store where me an' my womanwas tradin', an' the company felt well, an' was comin' along thestreet 'most as good as troops. I see the old flag a-comin', kind ofblowin' back, an' it went all over me. Somethin' worked round in mythroat; I vow I come near cryin'. I was glad nobody see me. "

"I'd go to war again in a minute, " declared Stover, after anexpressive pause; "but I expect we should know better what we wasabout. I don' know but we've got too many rooted opinions now to makeus the best o' soldiers. "

"Martin Tighe an' John Tighe was considerable older than the rest, andthey done well, " answered Henry Merrill quickly. "We three was theyoungest of any, but we did think at the time we knew the most. "

"Well, whatever you may say, that war give the country a great start, "said Asa Brown. "I tell ye we just begin to see the scope on't. Therewas my cousin, you know, Dan'l Evins, that stopped with us lastwinter; he was tellin' me that one o' his coastin' trips he was intothe port o' Beaufort lo'din' with yaller-pine lumber, an' he rovedinto an old buryin'-ground there is there, an' he see a stone that hadon it some young Southern fellow's name that was killed in the war, an' under it was, 'He died for his country. ' Dan'l knowed how I usedto feel about them South Car'lina goings on, an' I did feel kind o'red an' ugly for a minute, an' then somethin' come over me, an' Isays, 'Well, I don' know but what the poor chap did, Dan Evins, whenyou come to view it all round. '"

The other men made no answer. 

"Le's see what we can do this year. I don't care if we be a poorhan'ful, " urged Henry Merrill. "The young folks ought to have thegood of it; I'd like to have my boys see somethin' different. Le's gettogether what men there is. How many's left, anyhow? I know there wasthirty-seven went from old Barlow, three-months' men an' all. "

"There can't be over eight now, countin' out Martin Tighe; he can'tmarch, " said Stover. "No, 'tain't worth while. " But the others did notnotice his disapproval. 

"There's nine in all, " announced Asa Brown, after pondering andcounting two or three times on his fingers. "I can't make us no more. I never could carry figur's in my head. "

"I make nine, " said Merrill. "We'll have Martin ride, an' Jesse Deantoo, if he will. He's awful lively on them canes o' his. An' there'sJo Wade with his crutch; he's amazin' spry for a short distance. Butwe can't let 'em go far afoot; they're decripped men. We'll make 'emall put on what they've got left o' their uniforms, an' we'll scratchround an' have us a fife an' drum, an' make the best show we can. "

"Why, Martin Tighe's boy, the next to the oldest, is an excellent handto play the fife!" said John Stover, suddenly growing enthusiastic. "If you two are set on it, let's have a word with the ministerto-morrow, an' see what he says. Perhaps he'll give out some kind of anotice. You have to have a good many bunches o' flowers. I guess we'dbetter call a meetin', some few on us, an' talk it over first o' theweek. 'Twouldn't be no great of a range for us to take to march fromthe old buryin'-ground at the meetin'-house here up to the poor-farman' round by Deacon Elwell's lane, so's to notice them two stones heset up for his boys that was sunk on the man-o'-war. I expect theynotice stones same's if the folks laid there, don't they?"

He spoke wistfully. The others knew that Stover was thinking of thestone he had set up to the memory of his only brother, whose namelessgrave had been made somewhere in the Wilderness. 

"I don't know but what they'll be mad if we don't go by every house intown, " he added anxiously, as they rose to go home. "'Tis a terriblescattered population in Barlow to favor with a procession. "

It was a mild starlit night. The three friends took their separateways presently, leaving the Plains road and crossing the fields byfoot-paths toward their farms. 

II. 

The week went by, and the next Saturday morning brought fair weather. It was a busy morning on the farms--like any other; but long beforenoon the teams of horses and oxen were seen going home from work inthe fields, and everybody got ready in haste for the great event ofthe afternoon. It was so seldom that any occasion roused publicinterest in Barlow that there was an unexpected response, and thegreen before the old white meeting-house was covered with countrywagons and groups of people, whole families together, who had come onfoot. The old soldiers were to meet in the church; at half past onethe procession was to start, and on its return the minister was tomake an address in the old burying-ground. John Stover had been firstlieutenant in the war, so he was made captain of the day. A man fromthe next town had offered to drum for them, and Martin Tighe's proudboy was present with his fife. He had a great longing--strange enoughin that peaceful, sheep-raising neighborhood--to go into the army; buthe and his elder brother were the mainstay of their crippled father, and he could not be spared from the large household until a youngerbrother could take his place; so that all his fire and military zealwent for the present into martial tunes, and the fife was asafety-valve for his enthusiasm. 

The army men were used to seeing each other; everybody knew everybodyin the little country town of Barlow; but when one comrade afteranother appeared in what remained of his accoutrements, they felt theday to be greater than they had planned, and the simple ceremonyproved more solemn than any one expected. They could make no use oftheir every-day jokes and friendly greetings. Their old blue coatsand tarnished army caps looked faded and antiquated enough. One ofthe men had nothing left but his rusty canteen and rifle; but these hecarried like sacred emblems. He had worn out all his army clothes longago, because he was too poor when he was discharged to buy any others. 

When the door of the church opened, the veterans were not abashed bythe size and silence of the crowd. They came walking two by two downthe steps, and took their places in line as if there were nobodylooking on. Their brief evolutions were like a mystic rite. The twolame men refused to do anything but march as best they could; but poorMartin Tighe, more disabled than they, was brought out and lifted intoHenry Merrill's best wagon, where he sat up, straight and soldierly, with his boy for driver. There was a little flag in the whip-socketbefore him, which flapped gayly in the breeze. It was such a long timesince he had been seen out-of-doors that everybody found him a greatobject of interest, and paid him much attention. Even those who weretired of being asked to contribute to his support, who resented thefact of his having a helpless wife and great family; who alwaysinsisted that with his little pension and hopeless lameness, hisfingerless left hand and failing sight, he could support himself andhis household if he chose, --even those persons came forward now togreet him handsomely and with large approval. To be sure, he enjoyedthe conversation of idlers, and his wife had a complaining way thatwas the same as begging, especially since her boys began to grow upand be of some use; and there were one or two near neighbors who neverlet them really want; so other people, who had cares enough of theirown, could excuse themselves for forgetting him the year round, andeven call him shiftless. But there were none to look askance at MartinTighe on Decoration Day, as he sat in the wagon, with his bleachedface like a captive's, and his thin, afflicted body. He stretched outhis whole hand impartially to those who had remembered and those whohad forgotten both his courage at Fredericksburg and his sorry need inBarlow. 

Henry Merrill had secured the engine company's large flag in Alton, and now carried it proudly. There were eight men in line, two by two, and marching a good bit apart, to make their line the longer. The fifeand drum struck up gallantly together, and the little procession movedaway slowly along the country road. It gave an unwonted touch of colorto the landscape, --the scarlet, the blue, between the new-ploughedfields and budding roadside thickets, between the wide dim ranges ofthe mountains, under the great white clouds of the spring sky. Suchprocessions grow more pathetic year by year; it will not be so longnow before wondering children will have seen the last. The aging facesof the men, the renewed comradeship, the quick beat of the hearts thatremember, the tenderness of those who think upon old sorrows, --allthese make the day a lovelier and a sadder festival. So men's heartswere stirred, they knew not why, when they heard the shrill fife andthe incessant drum along the quiet Barlow road, and saw the handful ofold soldiers marching by. Nobody thought of them as familiar men andneighbors alone, --they were a part of that army which had saved itscountry. They had taken their lives in their hands and gone out tofight for their country, plain John Stover and Jesse Dean and therest. No matter if every other day in the year they counted for littleor much, whether they were lame-footed and lagging, whether theirfarms were of poor soil or rich. 

The little troop went in slender line along the road; the crowdedcountry wagons and all the people who went afoot followed MartinTighe's wagon as if it were a great gathering at a country funeral. The route was short, and the long, straggling line marched slowly; itcould go no faster than the lame men could walk. 

In one of the houses by the roadside an old woman sat by a window, inan old-fashioned black gown, and clean white cap with a prim borderwhich bound her thin, sharp features closely. She had been for a longtime looking out eagerly over the snowberry and cinnamon-rose bushes;her face was pressed close to the pane, and presently she caught sightof the great flag as it came down the road. 

"Let me see 'em! I've got to see 'em go by!" she pleaded, trying torise from her chair alone when she heard the fife, and the womenhelped her to the door, and held her so that she could stand and wait. She had been an old woman when the war began; she had sent sons andgrandsons to the field; they were all gone now. As the men came by, she straightened her bent figure with all the vigor of youth. The fifeand drum stopped suddenly; the colors lowered. She did not heed that, but her old eyes flashed and then filled with tears to see the flaggoing to salute the soldiers' graves. "Thank ye, boys; thank ye!" shecried, in her quavering voice, and they all cheered her. The cheerwent back along the straggling line for old Grandmother Dexter, standing there in her front door between the lilacs. It was one of thegreat moments of the day. 

The few old people at the poor-house, too, were waiting to see theshow. The keeper's young son, knowing that it was a day of festivity, and not understanding exactly why, had put his toy flag out of thegable window, and there it showed against the gray clapboards like agay flower. It was the only bit of decoration along the veterans' way, and they stopped and saluted it before they broke ranks and went outto the field corner beyond the poor-farm barn to the bit of groundthat held the paupers' unmarked graves. There was a solemn silencewhile Asa Brown went to the back of Tighe's wagon, where such lightfreight was carried, and brought two flags, and he and John Stoverplanted them straight in the green sod. They knew well enough wherethe right graves were, for these had been made in a corner bythemselves, with unwonted sentiment. And so Eben Munson and John Tighewere honored like the rest, both by their flags and by great andunexpected nosegays of spring flowers, daffies and flowering currantand red tulips, which lay on the graves already. John Stover and hiscomrade glanced at each other curiously while they stood singing, andthen laid their own bunches of lilacs down and came away. 

Then something happened that almost none of the people in the wagonsunderstood. Martin Tighe's boy, who played the fife, had studied wellhis part, and on his poor short-winded instrument now sounded taps aswell as he could. He had heard it done once in Alton at a soldier'sfuneral. The plaintive notes called sadly over the fields, and echoedback from the hills. The few veterans could not look at each other;their eyes brimmed up with tears; they could not have spoken. Nothingcalled back old army days like that. They had a sudden vision of theVirginian camp, the hillside dotted white with tents, the twinklinglights in other camps, and far away the glow of smouldering fires. They heard the bugle call from post to post; they remembered thechilly winter night, the wind in the pines, the laughter of the men. Lights out! Martin Tighe's boy sounded it again sharply. It seemed asif poor Eb Munson and John Tighe must hear it too in their narrowgraves. 

The procession went on, and stopped here and there at the littlegraveyards on the farms, leaving their bright flags to flutter throughsummer and winter rains and snows, and to bleach in the wind andsunshine. When they returned to the church, the minister made anaddress about the war, and every one listened with new ears. Most ofwhat he said was familiar enough to his listeners; they were used toreading those phrases about the results of the war, the gloriousfuture of the South, in their weekly newspapers; but there never hadbeen such a spirit of patriotism and loyalty waked in Barlow as waswaked that day by the poor parade of the remnant of the Barlowsoldiers. They sent flags to all the distant graves, and proud werethose households who claimed kinship with valor, and could drive orwalk away with their flags held up so that others could see that they, too, were of the elect. 

III. 

It is well that the days are long in the last of May, but John Stoverhad to hurry more than usual with his evening work, and then, havingthe longest distance to walk, he was much the latest comer to thePlains store, where his two triumphant friends were waiting for himimpatiently on the bench. They also had made excuse of going to thepost-office and doing an unnecessary errand for their wives, and weretalking together so busily that they had gathered a group about thembefore the store. When they saw Stover coming, they rose hastily andcrossed the road to meet him, as if they were a committee in specialsession. They leaned against the post-and-board fence, after they hadshaken hands with each other solemnly. 

"Well, we've had a great day, ain't we, John?" asked Henry Merrill. "You did lead off splendid. We've done a grand thing, now, I tell you. All the folks say we've got to keep it up every year. Everybody had tohave a talk about it as I went home. They say they had no idea weshould make such a show. Lord! I wish we'd begun while there was moreof us!"

"That han'some flag was the great feature, " said Asa Brown generously. "I want to pay my part for hirin' it. An' then folks was glad to seepoor old Martin made o' some consequence. "

"There was half a dozen said to me that another year they was goin' tohave flags out, and trim up their places somehow or 'nother. Folks hasfeelin' enough, but you've got to rouse it, " said Merrill. 

"I have thought o' joinin' the Grand Army over to Alton time an'again, but it's a good ways to go, an' then the expense has been o'some consideration, " Asa continued. "I don't know but two or threeover there. You know, most o' the Alton men nat'rally went out in therigiments t' other side o' the State line, an' they was in otherbattles, an' never camped nowheres nigh us. Seems to me we ought tohave home feelin' enough to do what we can right here. "

"The minister says to me this afternoon that he was goin' to arrangean' have some talks in the meetin'-house next winter, an' have some ofus tell where we was in the South; an' one night 'twill be about camplife, an' one about the long marches, an' then about thebattles, --that would take some time, --an' tell all we could about theboys that was killed, an' their record, so they wouldn't be forgot. Hesaid some of the folks must have the letters we wrote home from thefront, an' we could make out quite a history of us. I call ElderDallas a very smart man; he'd planned it all out a'ready, for thebenefit o' the young folks, he said, " announced Henry Merrill, in atone of approval. 

"I s'pose there ain't none of us but could add a little somethin', "answered John Stover modestly. "'Twould re'lly learn the young folksa good deal. I should be scared numb to try an' speak from the pulpit. That ain't what the Elder means, is it? Now I was one that had a goodchance to see somethin' o' Washin'ton. I shook hands with PresidentLincoln, an' I always think I'm worth lookin' at for that, if I ain'tfor nothin' else. 'Twas that time I was just out o' hospit'l, an' ableto crawl about some. I've often told you how 'twas I met him, an' hestopped an' shook hands an' asked where I'd been at the front an' howI was gettin' along with my hurts. Well, we'll see how 'tis whenwinter comes. I never thought I had no gift for public speakin', 'less'twas for drivin' cattle or pollin' the house town-meetin' days. Here!I've got somethin' in mind. You needn't speak about it if I tell it toye, " he added suddenly. "You know all them han'some flowers that waslaid on to Eb Munson's grave an' Tighe's? I mistrusted you thought thesame thing I did by the way you looked. They come from Marthy Down'sfront yard. My woman told me when we got home that she knew 'em in aminute; there wa'n't nobody in town had that kind o' red flowers buther. She must ha' kind o' harked back to the days when she was MarthyPeck. She must have come over with 'em after dark, or else dreadfulearly in the mornin'. "

Henry Merrill cleared his throat. "There ain't nothin' half-way 'boutMis' Down, " he said. "I wouldn't ha' spoken 'bout this 'less you hadled right on to it; but I overtook her when I was gittin' towards homethis afternoon, an' I see by her looks she was worked up a good deal;but we talked about how well things had gone off, an' she wanted toknow what expenses we'd been put to, an' I told her; and she saidshe'd give five dollars any day I'd stop in for it. An' then she spokeright out. 'I'm alone in the world, ' says she, 'and I've got somethin'to do with, an' I'd like to have a plain stone put up to Eb Munson'sgrave, with the number of his rigiment on it, an' I'll pay the bill. 'Tain't out o' Mr. Down's money, ' she says; ''tis mine, an' I want youto see to it. ' I said I would, but we'd made a plot to git some o'them soldiers' headstones that's provided by the government. 'Twas ashame it had been overlooked so long. 'No, ' says she; 'I'm goin' topay for Eb's myself. ' An' I told her there wouldn't be no objection. Don't ary one o' you speak about it. 'Twouldn't be fair. She was realwell-appearin'. I never felt to respect Marthy so before. "

"We was kind o' hard on her sometimes, but folks couldn't help it. I've seen her pass Eb right by in the road an' never look at him whenhe first come home, " said John Stover. 

"If she hadn't felt bad, she wouldn't have cared one way or t'other, "insisted Henry Merrill. "'Tain't for us to judge. Sometimes folks hasto get along in years before they see things fair. Come; I must begoin' home. I'm tired as an old dog. "

"It seemed kind o' natural to be steppin' out together again. Strangewe three got through with so little damage, an' so many dropped roundus, " said Asa Brown. "I've never been one mite sorry I went out in oldA Company. I was thinkin' when I was marchin' to-day, though, that weshould all have to take to the wagons before long an' do our marchin'on wheels, so many of us felt kind o' stiff. There's one thing, --folkswon't never say again that we can't show no public sperit here in oldBarlow. "

 * * * * *

The Flight of Betsey Lane

I. 

One windy morning in May, three old women sat together near an openwindow in the shed chamber of Byfleet Poor-house. The wind was fromthe northwest, but their window faced the southeast, and they wereonly visited by an occasional pleasant waft of fresh air. They wereclose together, knee to knee, picking over a bushel of beans, andcommanding a view of the dandelion-starred, green yard below, and ofthe winding, sandy road that led to the village, two miles away. Somecaptive bees were scolding among the cobwebs of the rafters overhead, or thumping against the upper panes of glass; two calves were bawlingfrom the barnyard, where some of the men were at work loading adump-cart and shouting as if every one were deaf. There was acheerful feeling of activity, and even an air of comfort, about theByfleet Poor-house. Almost every one was possessed of a mostinteresting past, though there was less to be said about the future. The inmates were by no means distressed or unhappy; many of themretired to this shelter only for the winter season, and would go outpresently, some to begin such work as they could still do, others tolive in their own small houses; old age had impoverished most of themby limiting their power of endurance; but far from lamenting the factthat they were town charges, they rather liked the change andexcitement of a winter residence on the poor-farm. There was asharp-faced, hard-worked young widow with seven children, who was anexception to the general level of society, because she deplored thechange in her fortunes. The older women regarded her with suspicion, and were apt to talk about her in moments like this, when theyhappened to sit together at their work. 

The three bean-pickers were dressed alike in stout brown ginghams, checked by a white line, and all wore great faded aprons of bluedrilling, with sufficient pockets convenient to the right hand. MissPeggy Bond was a very small, belligerent-looking person, who wore ahuge pair of steel-bowed spectacles, holding her sharp chin well up inair, as if to supplement an inadequate nose. She was more than halfblind, but the spectacles seemed to face upward instead of squareahead, as if their wearer were always on the sharp lookout for birds. Miss Bond had suffered much personal damage from time to time, becauseshe never took heed where she planted her feet, and so was alwaystripping and stubbing her bruised way through the world. She hadfallen down hatchways and cellarways, and stepped composedly into deepditches and pasture brooks; but she was proud of stating that she wasupsighted, and so was her father before her. At the poor-house, wherean unusual malady was considered a distinction, upsightedness waslooked upon as a most honorable infirmity. Plain rheumatism, such asafflicted Aunt Lavina Dow, whose twisted hands found even this lightwork difficult and tiresome, --plain rheumatism was something ofevery-day occurrence, and nobody cared to hear about it. Poor Peggywas a meek and friendly soul, who never put herself forward; she wasjust like other folks, as she always loved to say, but Mrs. Lavina Dowwas a different sort of person altogether, of great dignity and, occasionally, almost aggressive behavior. The time had been when shecould do a good day's work with anybody: but for many years now shehad not left the town-farm, being too badly crippled to work; she hadno relations or friends to visit, but from an innate love of authorityshe could not submit to being one of those who are forgotten by theworld. Mrs. Dow was the hostess and social lawgiver here, where sheremembered every inmate and every item of interest for nearly fortyyears, besides an immense amount of town history and biography forthree or four generations back. 

She was the dear friend of the third woman, Betsey Lane; together theyled thought and opinion--chiefly opinion--and held sway, not only overByfleet Poor-farm, but also the selectmen and all others in authority. Betsey Lane had spent most of her life as aid-in-general to therespected household of old General Thornton. She had been much trustedand valued, and, at the breaking up of that once large and flourishingfamily, she had been left in good circumstances, what with legaciesand her own comfortable savings; but by sad misfortune and lavishgenerosity everything had been scattered, and after much illness, which ended in a stiffened arm and more uncertainty, the good soul hadsensibly decided that it was easier for the whole town to support herthan for a part of it. She had always hoped to see something of theworld before she died; she came of an adventurous, seafaring stock, but had never made a longer journey than to the towns of Danby andNorthville, thirty miles away. 

They were all old women; but Betsey Lane, who was sixty-nine, andlooked much older, was the youngest. Peggy Bond was far on in theseventies, and Mrs. Dow was at least ten years older. She made a greatsecret of her years; and as she sometimes spoke of events prior to theRevolution with the assertion of having been an eye-witness, shenaturally wore an air of vast antiquity. Her tales were aninexpressible delight to Betsey Lane, who felt younger by twenty yearsbecause her friend and comrade was so unconscious of chronologicallimitations. 

The bushel basket of cranberry beans was within easy reach, and eachof the pickers had filled her lap from it again and again. The shedchamber was not an unpleasant place in which to sit at work, with itstraces of seed corn hanging from the brown cross-beams, its sparechurns, and dusty loom, and rickety wool-wheels, and a few bits of oldfurniture. In one far corner was a wide board of dismal use andsuggestion, and close beside it an old cradle. There was a batteredchest of drawers where the keeper of the poor-house kept hisgarden-seeds, with the withered remains of three seed cucumbersornamenting the top. Nothing beautiful could be discovered, nothinginteresting, but there was something usable and homely about theplace. It was the favorite and untroubled bower of the bean-pickers, to which they might retreat unmolested from the public apartments ofthis rustic institution. 

Betsey Lane blew away the chaff from her handful of beans. The springbreeze blew the chaff back again, and sifted it over her face andshoulders. She rubbed it out of her eyes impatiently, and happened tonotice old Peggy holding her own handful high, as if it were anoblation, and turning her queer, up-tilted head this way and that, tolook at the beans sharply, as if she were first cousin to a hen. 

"There, Miss Bond, 'tis kind of botherin' work for you, ain't it?"Betsey inquired compassionately. 

"I feel to enjoy it, anything that I can do my own way so, " respondedPeggy. "I like to do my part. Ain't that old Mis' Fales comin' up theroad? It sounds like her step. "

The others looked, but they were not far-sighted, and for a momentPeggy had the advantage. Mrs. Fales was not a favorite. 

"I hope she ain't comin' here to put up this spring. I guess she won'tnow, it's gettin' so late, " said Betsey Lane. "She likes to go rovin'soon as the roads is settled. "

"'Tis Mis' Fales!" said Peggy Bond, listening with solemn anxiety. "There, do let's pray her by!"

"I guess she's headin' for her cousin's folks up Beech Hill way, " saidBetsey presently. "If she'd left her daughter's this mornin', she'dhave got just about as far as this. I kind o' wish she had stepped injust to pass the time o' day, long's she wa'n't going to make nostop. "

There was a silence as to further speech in the shed chamber; and eventhe calves were quiet in the barnyard. The men had all gone away tothe field where corn-planting was going on. The beans clicked steadilyinto the wooden measure at the pickers' feet. Betsey Lane began tosing a hymn, and the others joined in as best they might, likeautumnal crickets; their voices were sharp and cracked, with now andthen a few low notes of plaintive tone. Betsey herself could singpretty well, but the others could only make a kind of accompaniment. Their voices ceased altogether at the higher notes. 

"Oh my! I wish I had the means to go to the Centennial, " mournedBetsey Lane, stopping so suddenly that the others had to go oncroaking and shrilling without her for a moment before they couldstop. "It seems to me as if I can't die happy 'less I do, " she added;"I ain't never seen nothin' of the world, an' here I be. "

"What if you was as old as I be?" suggested Mrs. Dow pompously. "You've got time enough yet, Betsey; don't you go an' despair. Iknowed of a woman that went clean round the world four times when shewas past eighty, an' enjoyed herself real well. Her folks followed thesea; she had three sons an' a daughter married, --all shipmasters, andshe'd been with her own husband when they was young. She was left awidder early, and fetched up her family herself, --a real stirrin', smart woman. After they'd got married off, an' settled, an' was doingwell, she come to be lonesome; and first she tried to stick it outalone, but she wa'n't one that could; an' she got a notion she hadn'tnothin' before her but her last sickness, and she wa'n't a personthat enjoyed havin' other folks do for her. So one on her boys--Iguess 'twas the oldest--said he was going to take her to sea; therewas ample room, an' he was sailin' a good time o' year for the Cape o'Good Hope an' way up to some o' them tea-ports in the Chiny Seas. Shewas all high to go, but it made a sight o' talk at her age; an' theminister made it a subject o' prayer the last Sunday, and all thefolks took a last leave; but she said to some she'd fetch 'em homesomething real pritty, and so did. An' then they come home t'otherway, round the Horn, an' she done so well, an' was such a sight o'company, the other child'n was jealous, an' she promised she'd go av'y'ge long o' each on 'em. She was as sprightly a person as ever Isee; an' could speak well o' what she'd seen. "

"Did she die to sea?" asked Peggy, with interest. 

"No, she died to home between v'y'ges, or she'd gone to sea again. Iwas to her funeral. She liked her son George's ship the best; 'twasthe one she was going on to Callao. They said the men aboard allcalled her 'gran'ma'am, ' an' she kep' 'em mended up, an' would gobelow and tend to 'em if they was sick. She might 'a' been alive an'enjoyin' of herself a good many years but for the kick of a cow; 'twasa new cow out of a drove, a dreadful unruly beast. "

Mrs. Dow stopped for breath, and reached down for a new supply ofbeans; her empty apron was gray with soft chaff. Betsey Lane, stillpondering on the Centennial, began to sing another verse of her hymn, and again the old women joined her. At this moment some strangers camedriving round into the yard from the front of the house. The turf wassoft, and our friends did not hear the horses' steps. Their voicescracked and quavered; it was a funny little concert, and a lady in anopen carriage just below listened with sympathy and amusement. 

II. 

"Betsey! Betsey! Miss Lane!" a voice called eagerly at the foot of thestairs that led up from the shed. "Betsey! There's a lady here wantsto see you right away. "

Betsey was dazed with excitement, like a country child who knows therare pleasure of being called out of school. "Lor', I ain't fit to godown, be I?" she faltered, looking anxiously at her friends; but Peggywas gazing even nearer to the zenith than usual, in her excited effortto see down into the yard, and Mrs. Dow only nodded somewhatjealously, and said that she guessed 'twas nobody would do her anyharm. She rose ponderously, while Betsey hesitated, being, as theywould have said, all of a twitter. "It is a lady, certain, " Mrs. Dowassured her; "'tain't often there's a lady comes here. "

"While there was any of Mis' Gen'ral Thornton's folks left, I wa'n'twithout visits from the gentry, " said Betsey Lane, turning backproudly at the head of the stairs, with a touch of old-world pride andsense of high station. Then she disappeared, and closed the doorbehind her at the stair-foot with a decision quite unwelcome to thefriends above. 

"She needn't 'a' been so dreadful 'fraid anybody was goin' to listen. I guess we've got folks to ride an' see us, or had once, if we hain'tnow, " said Miss Peggy Bond, plaintively. 

"I expect 't was only the wind shoved it to, " said Aunt Lavina. "Betsey is one that gits flustered easier than some. I wish 'twassomebody to take her off an' give her a kind of a good time; she'syoung to settle down 'long of old folks like us. Betsey's got a notiono' rovin' such as ain't my natur', but I should like to see hersatisfied. She'd been a very understandin' person, if she had theadvantages that some does. "

"'Tis so, " said Peggy Bond, tilting her chin high. "I suppose youcan't hear nothin' they're saying? I feel my hearin' ain't up to wharit was. I can hear things close to me well as ever; but there, hearin'ain't everything; 'tain't as if we lived where there was more goin' onto hear. Seems to me them folks is stoppin' a good while. "

"They surely be, " agreed Lavina Dow. 

"I expect it's somethin' particular. There ain't none of the Thorntonfolks left, except one o' the gran'darters, an' I've often heardBetsey remark that she should never see her more, for she lives toLondon. Strange how folks feels contented in them strayaway places offto the ends of the airth. "

The flies and bees were buzzing against the hot windowpanes; thehandfuls of beans were clicking into the brown wooden measure. A birdcame and perched on the windowsill, and then flitted away toward theblue sky. Below, in the yard, Betsey Lane stood talking with the lady. She had put her blue drilling apron over her head, and her face wasshining with delight. 

"Lor', dear, " she said, for at least the third time, "I remember yewhen I first see ye; an awful pritty baby you was, an' they all saidyou looked just like the old gen'ral. Be you goin' back to foreignparts right away?"

"Yes, I'm going back; you know that all my children are there. I wishI could take you with me for a visit, " said the charming young guest. "I'm going to carry over some of the pictures and furniture from theold house; I didn't care half so much for them when I was younger as Ido now. Perhaps next summer we shall all come over for a while. Ishould like to see my girls and boys playing under the pines. "

"I wish you re'lly was livin' to the old place, " said Betsey Lane. Herimagination was not swift; she needed time to think over all that wasbeing told her, and she could not fancy the two strange houses acrossthe sea. The old Thornton house was to her mind the most delightfuland elegant in the world. 

"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked Mrs. Straffordkindly, --"anything that I can do for you myself, before I go away? Ishall be writing to you, and sending some pictures of the children, and you must let me know how you are getting on. "

"Yes, there is one thing, darlin'. If you could stop in the villagean' pick me out a pritty, little, small lookin'-glass, that I can keepfor my own an' have to remember you by. 'Tain't that I want to set meabove the rest o' the folks, but I was always used to havin' my ownwhen I was to your grandma's. There's very nice folks here, some on'em, and I'm better off than if I was able to keep house; but senceyou ask me, that's the only thing I feel cropin' about. What be yougoin' right back for? ain't you goin' to see the great fair toPheladelphy, that everybody talks about?"

"No, " said Mrs. Strafford, laughing at this eager and almostconvicting question. "No; I'm going back next week. If I were, Ibelieve that I should take you with me. Good-by, dear old Betsey; youmake me feel as if I were a little girl again; you look just thesame. "

For full five minutes the old woman stood out in the sunshine, dazedwith delight, and majestic with a sense of her own consequence. Sheheld something tight in her hand, without thinking what it might be;but just as the friendly mistress of the poor-farm came out to hearthe news, she tucked the roll of money into the bosom of her browngingham dress. "'Twas my dear Mis' Katy Strafford, " she turned to sayproudly. "She come way over from London; she's been sick; they thoughtthe voyage would do her good. She said most the first thing she had onher mind was to come an' find me, and see how I was, an' if I wascomfortable; an' now she's goin' right back. She's got two splendidhouses; an' said how she wished I was there to look after things, --sheremembered I was always her gran'ma's right hand. Oh, it does so carryme back, to see her! Seems if all the rest on 'em must be theretogether to the old house. There, I must go right up an' tell Mis' Dowan' Peggy. "

"Dinner's all ready; I was just goin' to blow the horn for themen-folks, " said the keeper's wife. "They'll be right down. I expectyou've got along smart with them beans, --all three of you together;"but Betsey's mind roved so high and so far at that moment that noachievements of bean-picking could lure it back. 

III. 

The long table in the great kitchen soon gathered its company of waifsand strays, --creatures of improvidence and misfortune, and theirreparable victims of old age. The dinner was satisfactory, and therewas not much delay for conversation. Peggy Bond and Mrs. Dow andBetsey Lane always sat together at one end, with an air of putting therest of the company below the salt. Betsey was still flushed withexcitement; in fact, she could not eat as much as usual, and shelooked up from time to time expectantly, as if she were likely to beasked to speak of her guest; but everybody was hungry, and even Mrs. Dow broke in upon some attempted confidences by asking inopportunelyfor a second potato. There were nearly twenty at the table, countingthe keeper and his wife and two children, noisy little persons who hadcome from school with the small flock belonging to the poor widow, whosat just opposite our friends. She finished her dinner before any oneelse, and pushed her chair back; she always helped with thehousework, --a thin, sorry, bad-tempered-looking poor soul, whom griefhad sharpened instead of softening. "I expect you feel too fine to setwith common folks, " she said enviously to Betsey. 

"Here I be a-settin', " responded Betsey calmly. "I don' know's Ibehave more unbecomin' than usual. " Betsey prided herself upon hergood and proper manners; but the rest of the company, who would haveliked to hear the bit of morning news, were now defrauded of thatpleasure. The wrong note had been struck; there was a silence afterthe clatter of knives and plates, and one by one the cheerful towncharges disappeared. The bean-picking had been finished, and there wasa call for any of the women who felt like planting corn; so PeggyBond, who could follow the line of hills pretty fairly, and Betseyherself, who was still equal to anybody at that work, and Mrs. Dow, all went out to the field together. Aunt Lavina labored slowly up theyard, carrying a light splint-bottomed kitchen chair and herknitting-work, and sat near the stone wall on a gentle rise, where shecould see the pond and the green country, and exchange a word with herfriends as they came and went up and down the rows. Betsey vouchsafeda word now and then about Mrs. Strafford, but you would have thoughtthat she had been suddenly elevated to Mrs. Strafford's own cares andthe responsibilities attending them, and had little in common with herold associates. Mrs. Dow and Peggy knew well that these high-feelingtimes never lasted long, and so they waited with as much patience asthey could muster. They were by no means without that true tact whichis only another word for unselfish sympathy. 

The strip of corn land ran along the side of a great field; at theupper end of it was a field-corner thicket of young maples and walnutsaplings, the children of a great nut-tree that marked the boundary. Once, when Betsey Lane found herself alone near this shelter at theend of her row, the other planters having lagged behind beyond therising ground, she looked stealthily about, and then put her handinside her gown, and for the first time took out the money that Mrs. Strafford had given her. She turned it over and over with anastonished look: there were new bank-bills for a hundred dollars. Betsey gave a funny little shrug of her shoulders, came out of thebushes, and took a step or two on the narrow edge of turf, as if shewere going to dance; then she hastily tucked away her treasure, andstepped discreetly down into the soft harrowed and hoed land, andbegan to drop corn again, five kernels to a hill. She had seen the topof Peggy Bond's head over the knoll, and now Peggy herself cameentirely into view, gazing upward to the skies, and stumbling more orless, but counting the corn by touch and twisting her head aboutanxiously to gain advantage over her uncertain vision. Betsey made afriendly, inarticulate little sound as they passed; she was thinkingthat somebody said once that Peggy's eyesight might be remedied if shecould go to Boston to the hospital; but that was so remote andimpossible an undertaking that no one had ever taken the first step. Betsey Lane's brown old face suddenly worked with excitement, but in amoment more she regained her usual firm expression, and spokecarelessly to Peggy as she turned and came alongside. 

The high spring wind of the morning had quite fallen; it was a lovelyMay afternoon. The woods about the field to the northward were full ofbirds, and the young leaves scarcely hid the solemn shapes of acompany of crows that patiently attended the corn-planting. Two of themen had finished their hoeing, and were busy with the construction ofa scarecrow; they knelt in the furrows, chuckling, and looking oversome forlorn, discarded garments. It was a time-honored custom to makethe scarecrow resemble one of the poor-house family; and this yearthey intended to have Mrs. Lavina Dow protect the field in effigy;last year it was the counterfeit of Betsey Lane who stood on guard, with an easily recognized quilted hood and the remains of a valuedshawl that one of the calves had found airing on a fence and chewed topieces. Behind the men was the foundation for this rustic attempt atstatuary, --an upright stake and bar in the form of a cross. This stoodon the highest part of the field; and as the men knelt near it, andthe quaint figures of the corn-planters went and came, the scene gavea curious suggestion of foreign life. It was not like New England; thepresence of the rude cross appealed strangely to the imagination. 

IV. 

Life flowed so smoothly, for the most part, at the Byfleet Boor-farm, that nobody knew what to make, later in the summer, of a strangedisappearance. All the elder inmates were familiar with illness anddeath, and the poor pomp of a town-pauper's funeral. The comings andgoings and the various misfortunes of those who composed this strangefamily, related only through its disasters, hardly served for theexcitement and talk of a single day. Now that the June days were attheir longest, the old people were sure to wake earlier than ever; butone morning, to the astonishment of every one, Betsey Lane's bed wasempty; the sheets and blankets, which were her own, and guarded withjealous care, were carefully folded and placed on a chair not too nearthe window, and Betsey had flown. Nobody had heard her go down thecreaking stairs. The kitchen door was unlocked, and the old watchdoglay on the step outside in the early sunshine, wagging his tail andlooking wise, as if he were left on guard and meant to keep thefugitive's secret. 

"Never knowed her to do nothin' afore 'thout talking it over afortnight, and paradin' off when we could all see her, " ventured aspiteful voice. "Guess we can wait till night to hear 'bout it. "

Mrs. Dow looked sorrowful and shook her head. "Betsey had an aunt onher mother's side that went and drownded of herself; she was apritty-appearing woman as ever you see. "

"Perhaps she's gone to spend the day with Decker's folks, " suggestedPeggy Bond. "She always takes an extra early start; she was speakin'lately o' going up their way;" but Mrs. Dow shook her head with a mostmelancholy look. "I'm impressed that something's befell her, " sheinsisted. "I heard her a-groanin' in her sleep. I was wakeful theforepart o' the night, --'tis very unusual with me, too. "

"'Twa'n't like Betsey not to leave us any word, " said the other oldfriend, with more resentment than melancholy. They sat together almostin silence that morning in the shed chamber. Mrs. Dow was sorting andcutting rags, and Peggy braided them into long ropes, to be made intomats at a later date. If they had only known where Betsey Lane hadgone, they might have talked about it until dinner-time at noon; butfailing this new subject, they could take no interest in any of theirold ones. Out in the field the corn was well up, and the men werehoeing. It was a hot morning in the shed chamber, and the woolen ragswere dusty and hot to handle. 

V. 

Byfleet people knew each other well, and when this mysteriously absentperson did not return to the town-farm at the end of a week, publicinterest became much excited; and presently it was ascertained thatBetsey Lane was neither making a visit to her friends the Deckers onBirch Hill, nor to any nearer acquaintances; in fact, she haddisappeared altogether from her wonted haunts. Nobody remembered tohave seen her pass, hers had been such an early flitting; and whensomebody thought of her having gone away by train, he was laughed atfor forgetting that the earliest morning train from South Byfleet, thenearest station, did not start until long after eight o'clock; and ifBetsey had designed to be one of the passengers, she would havestarted along the road at seven, and been seen and known of all women. There was not a kitchen in that part of Byfleet that did not havewindows toward the road. Conversation rarely left the level of theneighborhood gossip: to see Betsey Lane, in her best clothes, at thathour in the morning, would have been the signal for much exercise ofimagination; but as day after day went by without news, the curiosityof those who knew her best turned slowly into fear, and at last PeggyBond again gave utterance to the belief that Betsey had either goneout in the early morning and put an end to her life, or that she hadgone to the Centennial. Some of the people at table were moved to loudlaughter, --it was at supper-time on a Sunday night, --but otherslistened with great interest. 

"She never'd put on her good clothes to drownd herself, " said thewidow. "She might have thought 'twas good as takin' 'em with her, though. Old folks has wandered off an' got lost in the woods aforenow. "

Mrs. Dow and Peggy resented this impertinent remark, but deigned totake no notice of the speaker. "She wouldn't have wore her bestclothes to the Centennial, would she?" mildly inquired Peggy, bobbingher head toward the ceiling. "'Twould be a shame to spoil your bestthings in such a place. An' I don't know of her havin' any money;there's the end o' that. "

"You're bad as old Mis' Bland, that used to live neighbor to ourfolks, " said one of the old men. "She was dreadful precise; an' she sobegretched to wear a good alapaca dress that was left to her, that ithung in a press forty year, an' baited the moths at last. "

"I often seen Mis' Bland a-goin' in to meetin' when I was a younggirl, " said Peggy Bond approvingly. "She was a good-appearin' woman, an' she left property. "

"Wish she'd left it to me, then, " said the poor soul opposite, glancing at her pathetic row of children: but it was not good mannersat the farm to deplore one's situation, and Mrs. Dow and Peggy onlyfrowned. "Where do you suppose Betsey can be?" said Mrs. Dow, for thetwentieth time. "She didn't have no money. I know she ain't gone far, if it's so that she's yet alive. She's b'en real pinched all thespring. "

"Perhaps that lady that come one day give her some, " the keeper's wifesuggested mildly. 

"Then Betsey would have told me, " said Mrs. Dow, with injured dignity. 

VI. 

On the morning of her disappearance, Betsey rose even before the peweeand the English sparrow, and dressed herself quietly, though withtrembling hands, and stole out of the kitchen door like a plunderlessthief. The old dog licked her hand and looked at her anxiously; thetortoise-shell cat rubbed against her best gown, and trotted away upthe yard, then she turned anxiously and came after the old woman, following faithfully until she had to be driven back. Betsey was usedto long country excursions afoot. She dearly loved the early morning;and finding that there was no dew to trouble her, she began to followpasture paths and short cuts across the fields, surprising here andthere a flock of sleepy sheep, or a startled calf that rustled outfrom the bushes. The birds were pecking their breakfast from bush andturf; and hardly any of the wild inhabitants of that rural world wereenough alarmed by her presence to do more than flutter away if theychanced to be in her path. She stepped along, light-footed and eageras a girl, dressed in her neat old straw bonnet and black gown, andcarrying a few belongings in her best bundle-handkerchief, one thather only brother had brought home from the East Indies fifty yearsbefore. There was an old crow perched as sentinel on a small, deadpine-tree, where he could warn friends who were pulling up thesprouted corn in a field close by; but he only gave a contemptuous cawas the adventurer appeared, and she shook her bundle at him inrevenge, and laughed to see him so clumsy as he tried to keep hisfooting on the twigs. 

"Yes, I be, " she assured him. "I'm a-goin' to Pheladelphy, to theCentennial, same's other folks. I'd jest as soon tell ye's not, oldcrow;" and Betsey laughed aloud in pleased content with herself andher daring, as she walked along. She had only two miles to go to thestation at South Byfleet, and she felt for the money now and then, andfound it safe enough. She took great pride in the success of herescape, and especially in the long concealment of her wealth. Not anight had passed since Mrs. Strafford's visit that she had not sleptwith the roll of money under her pillow by night, and buttoned safeinside her dress by day. She knew that everybody would offer adviceand even commands about the spending or saving of it; and she brookedno interference. 

The last mile of the foot-path to South Byfleet was along the railwaytrack; and Betsey began to feel in haste, though it was still nearlytwo hours to train time. She looked anxiously forward and back alongthe rails every few minutes, for fear of being run over; and at lastshe caught sight of an engine that was apparently coming toward her, and took flight into the woods before she could gather courage tofollow the path again. The freight train proved to be at a standstill, waiting at a turnout; and some of the men were straying about, eatingtheir early breakfast comfortably in this time of leisure. As the oldwoman came up to them, she stopped too, for a moment of rest andconversation. 

"Where be ye goin'?" she asked pleasantly; and they told her. It wasto the town where she had to change cars and take the great throughtrain; a point of geography which she had learned from evening talksbetween the men at the farm. 

"What'll ye carry me there for?"

"We don't run no passenger cars, " said one of the young fellows, laughing. "What makes you in such a hurry?"

"I'm startin' for Pheladelphy, an' it's a gre't ways to go. "

"So't is; but you're consid'able early, if you're makin' for theeight-forty train. See here! you haven't got a needle an' thread 'longof you in that bundle, have you? If you'll sew me on a couple o'buttons, I'll give ye a free ride. I'm in a sight o' distress, an'none o' the fellows is provided with as much as a bent pin. "

"You poor boy! I'll have you seen to, in half a minute. I'm troubledwith a stiff arm, but I'll do the best I can. "

The obliging Betsey seated herself stiffly on the slope of theembankment, and found her thread and needle with utmost haste. Two ofthe train-men stood by and watched the careful stitches, and evenoffered her a place as spare brakeman, so that they might keep hernear; and Betsey took the offer with considerable seriousness, onlythinking it necessary to assure them that she was getting most too oldto be out in all weathers. An express went by like an earthquake, andshe was presently hoisted on board an empty box-car by two of her newand flattering acquaintances, and found herself before noon at the endof the first stage of her journey, without having spent a cent, andfurnished with any amount of thrifty advice. One of the young men, being compassionate of her unprotected state as a traveler, advisedher to find out the widow of an uncle of his in Philadelphia, sayingdespairingly that he couldn't tell her just how to find the house; butMiss Betsey Lane said that she had an English tongue in her head, andshould be sure to find whatever she was looking for. This unexpectedincident of the freight train was the reason why everybody about theSouth Byfleet station insisted that no such person had taken passageby the regular train that same morning, and why there were those whopersuaded themselves that Miss Betsey Lane was probably lying at thebottom of the poor-farm pond. 

VII. 

"Land sakes!" said Miss Betsey Lane, as she watched a Turkish personparading by in his red fez, "I call the Centennial somethin' like theday o' judgment! I wish I was goin' to stop a month, but I dare say'twould be the death o' my poor old bones. "

She was leaning against the barrier of a patent pop-cornestablishment, which had given her a sudden reminder of home, and ofthe winter nights when the sharp-kerneled little red and yellow earswere brought out, and Old Uncle Eph Flanders sat by the kitchen stove, and solemnly filled a great wooden chopping-tray for the refreshmentof the company. She had wandered and loitered and looked until hereyes and head had grown numb and unreceptive; but it is onlyunimaginative persons who can be really astonished. The imaginationcan always outrun the possible and actual sights and sounds of theworld; and this plain old body from Byfleet rarely found anything richand splendid enough to surprise her. She saw the wonders of the Westand the splendors of the East with equal calmness and satisfaction;she had always known that there was an amazing world outside theboundaries of Byfleet. There was a piece of paper in her pocket onwhich was marked, in her clumsy handwriting, "If Betsey Lane shouldmeet with accident, notify the selectmen of Byfleet;" but having madethis slight provision for the future, she had thrown herself boldlyinto the sea of strangers, and then had made the joyful discovery thatfriends were to be found at every turn. 

There was something delightfully companionable about Betsey; she had away of suddenly looking up over her big spectacles with a reassuringand expectant smile, as if you were going to speak to her, and yougenerally did. She must have found out where hundreds of people camefrom, and whom they had left at home, and what they thought of thegreat show, as she sat on a bench to rest, or leaned over the railingswhere free luncheons were afforded by the makers of hot waffles andmolasses candy and fried potatoes; and there was not a night when shedid not return to her lodgings with a pocket crammed with samples ofspool cotton and nobody knows what. She had already collected smallpresents for almost everybody she knew at home, and she was such apleasant, beaming old country body, so unmistakably appreciative andinterested, that nobody ever thought of wishing that she would moveon. Nearly all the busy people of the Exhibition called her eitherAunty or Grandma at once, and made little pleasures for her as bestthey could. She was a delightful contrast to the indifferent, stupidcrowd that drifted along, with eyes fixed at the same level, andseeing, even on that level, nothing for fifty feet at a time. "What beyou making here, dear?" Betsey Lane would ask joyfully, and the mostperfunctory guardian hastened to explain. She squandered money as shehad never had the pleasure of doing before, and this hastened the daywhen she must return to Byfleet. She was always inquiring if therewere any spectacle-sellers at hand, and received occasionaldirections; but it was a difficult place for her to find her way aboutin, and the very last day of her stay arrived before she found anexhibitor of the desired sort, an oculist and instrument-maker. 

"I called to get some specs for a friend that's upsighted, " shegravely informed the salesman, to his extreme amusement. "She'sdreadful troubled, and jerks her head up like a hen a-drinkin'. She'sgot a blur a-growin' an' spreadin', an' sometimes she can see out toone side on't, and more times she can't. "

"Cataracts, " said a middle-aged gentleman at her side; and Betsey Laneturned to regard him with approval and curiosity. 

"'Tis Miss Peggy Bond I was mentioning, of Byfleet Poor-farm, " sheexplained. "I count on gettin' some glasses to relieve her trouble, ifthere's any to be found. "

"Glasses won't do her any good, " said the stranger. "Suppose you comeand sit down on this bench, and tell me all about it. First, where isByfleet?" and Betsey gave the directions at length. 

"I thought so, " said the surgeon. "How old is this friend of yours?"

Betsey cleared her throat decisively, and smoothed her gown over herknees as if it were an apron; then she turned to take a good look ather new acquaintance as they sat on the rustic bench together. "Who beyou, sir, I should like to know?" she asked, in a friendly tone. 

"My name's Dunster. "

"I take it you're a doctor, " continued Betsey, as if they hadovertaken each other walking from Byfleet to South Byfleet on a summermorning. 

"I'm a doctor; part of one at least, " said he. "I know more or lessabout eyes; and I spend my summers down on the shore at the mouth ofyour river; some day I'll come up and look at this person. How old isshe?"

"Peggy Bond is one that never tells her age; 'tain't come quite up towhere she'll begin to brag of it, you see, " explained Betseyreluctantly; "but I know her to be nigh to seventy-six, one way ort'other. Her an' Mrs. Mary Ann Chick was same year's child'n, andPeggy knows I know it, an' two or three times when we've be'n in theburyin'-ground where Mary Ann lays an' has her dates right on herheadstone, I couldn't bring Peggy to take no sort o' notice. I willsay she makes, at times, a convenience of being upsighted. But there, I feel for her, --everybody does; it keeps her stubbin' an' trippin'against everything, beakin' and gazin' up the way she has to. "

"Yes, yes, " said the doctor, whose eyes were twinkling. "I'll come andlook after her, with your town doctor, this summer, --some time in thelast of July or first of August. "

"You'll find occupation, " said Betsey, not without an air ofpatronage. "Most of us to the Byfleet Farm has got our ails, now Itell ye. You ain't got no bitters that'll take a dozen years right offan ol' lady's shoulders?"

The busy man smiled pleasantly, and shook his head as he went away. "Dunster, " said Betsey to herself, soberly committing the new name toher sound memory. "Yes, I mustn't forget to speak of him to thedoctor, as he directed. I do' know now as Peggy would vally herselfquite so much accordin' to, if she had her eyes fixed same as otherfolks. I expect there wouldn't been a smarter woman in town, though, if she'd had a proper chance. Now I've done what I set to do for her, I do believe, an' 'twa'n't glasses, neither. I'll git her a prittylittle shawl with that money I laid aside. Peggy Bond ain't got apritty shawl. I always wanted to have a real good time, an' now I'mhavin' it. "

VIII. 

Two or three days later, two pathetic figures might have been seencrossing the slopes of the poor-farm field, toward the low shores ofByfield pond. It was early in the morning, and the stubble of thelately mown grass was wet with rain and hindering to old feet. PeggyBond was more blundering and liable to stray in the wrong directionthan usual; it was one of the days when she could hardly see at all. Aunt Lavina Dow was unusually clumsy of movement, and stiff in thejoints; she had not been so far from the house for three years. Themorning breeze filled the gathers of her wide gingham skirt, andaggravated the size of her unwieldy figure. She supported herself witha stick, and trusted beside to the fragile support of Peggy's arm. They were talking together in whispers. 

"Oh, my sakes!" exclaimed Peggy, moving her small head from side toside. "Hear you wheeze, Mis' Dow! This may be the death o' you; there, do go slow! You set here on the sidehill, an' le' me go try if I cansee. "

"It needs more eyesight than you've got, " said Mrs. Dow, pantingbetween the words. "Oh! to think how spry I was in my young days, an'here I be now, the full of a door, an' all my complaints so aggravatedby my size. 'T is hard! 'tis hard! but I'm a-doin' of all this forpore Betsey's sake. I know they've all laughed, but I look to see herris' to the top o' the pond this day, --'tis just nine days since shedeparted; an' say what they may, I know she hove herself in. It run inher family; Betsey had an aunt that done just so, an' she ain't be'nlike herself, a-broodin' an' hivin' away alone, an' nothin' to say toyou an' me that was always sich good company all together. Somethin'sprung her mind, now I tell ye, Mis' Bond. "

"I feel to hope we sha'n't find her, I must say, " faltered Peggy. Itwas plain that Mrs. Dow was the captain of this doleful expedition. "Iguess she ain't never thought o' drowndin' of herself, Mis' Dow; she'sgone off a-visitin' way over to the other side o' South Byfleet; somethinks she's gone to the Centennial even now!"

"She hadn't no proper means, I tell ye, " wheezed Mrs. Dow indignantly;"an' if you prefer that others should find her floatin' to the topthis day, instid of us that's her best friends, you can step back tothe house. "

They walked on in aggrieved silence. Peggy Bond trembled withexcitement, but her companion's firm grasp never wavered, and so theycame to the narrow, gravelly margin and stood still. Peggy tried invain to see the glittering water and the pond-lilies that starred it;she knew that they must be there; once, years ago, she had caughtfleeting glimpses of them, and she never forgot what she had onceseen. The clear blue sky overhead, the dark pine-woods beyond thepond, were all clearly pictured in her mind. "Can't you see nothin'?"she faltered; "I believe I'm wuss'n upsighted this day. I'm going tobe blind. "

"No, " said Lavina Dow solemnly; "no, there ain't nothin' whatever, Peggy. I hope to mercy she ain't"--

"Why, whoever'd expected to find you 'way out here!" exclaimed a briskand cheerful voice. There stood Betsey Lane herself, close behindthem, having just emerged from a thicket of alders that grew close by. She was following the short way homeward from the railroad. 

"Why, what's the matter, Mis' Dow? You ain't overdoin', be ye? an'Peggy's all of a flutter. What in the name o' natur' ails ye?"

"There ain't nothin' the matter, as I knows on, " responded the leaderof this fruitless expedition. "We only thought we'd take a stroll thispleasant mornin', " she added, with sublime self-possession. "Where'veyou be'n, Betsey Lane?"

"To Pheladelphy, ma'am, " said Betsey, looking quite young and gay, andwearing a townish and unfamiliar air that upheld her words. "All oughtto go that can; why, you feel's if you'd be'n all round the world. Iguess I've got enough to think of and tell ye for the rest o' my days. I've always wanted to go somewheres. I wish you'd be'n there, I do so. I've talked with folks from Chiny an' the back o' Pennsylvany; and Isee folks way from Australy that 'peared as well as anybody; an' I seehow they made spool cotton, an' sights o' other things; an' I spokewith a doctor that lives down to the beach in the summer, an' heoffered to come up 'long in the first of August, an' see what he cando for Peggy's eyesight. There was di'monds there as big as pigeon'seggs; an' I met with Mis' Abby Fletcher from South Byfleet depot; an'there was hogs there that weighed risin' thirteen hunderd"--

"I want to know, " said Mrs. Lavina Dow and Peggy Bond, together. 

"Well, 'twas a great exper'ence for a person, " added Lavina, turningponderously, in spite of herself, to give a last wistful look at thesmiling waters of the pond. 

"I don't know how soon I be goin' to settle down, " proclaimed therustic sister of Sindbad. "What's for the good o' one's for the goodof all. You just wait till we're setting together up in the old shedchamber! You know, my dear Mis' Katy Strafford give me a han'somepresent o' money that day she come to see me; and I'd be'n a-dreamin'by night an' day o' seein' that Centennial; and when I come to thinkon't I felt sure somebody ought to go from this neighborhood, if 'twasonly for the good o' the rest; and I thought I'd better be the one. Iwa'n't goin' to ask the selec'men neither. I've come back withone-thirty-five in money, and I see everything there, an' I fetched yeall a little somethin'; but I'm full o' dust now, an' pretty nigh beatout. I never see a place more friendly than Pheladelphy; but 't ain'tnatural to a Byfleet person to be always walkin' on a level. There, now, Peggy, you take my bundle-handkercher and the basket, and letMis' Dow sag on to me. I 'll git her along twice as easy. "

With this the small elderly company set forth triumphant toward thepoor-house, across the wide green field. 

 * * * * *

_The Gray Mills of Farley_

The mills of Farley were close together by the river, and the grayhouses that belonged to them stood, tall and bare, alongside. They hadno room for gardens or even for little green side-yards where onemight spend a summer evening. The Corporation, as this compact villagewas called by those who lived in it, was small but solid; you fanciedyourself in the heart of a large town when you stood mid-way of one ofits short streets, but from the street's end you faced a wide greenfarming country. On spring and summer Sundays, groups of the youngfolks of the Corporation would stray out along the country roads, butit was very seldom that any of the older people went. On the whole, itseemed as if the closer you lived to the mill-yard gate, the better. You had more time to loiter on a summer morning, and there was lessdistance to plod through the winter snows and rains. The last strokeof the bell saw almost everybody within the mill doors. 

There were always fluffs of cotton in the air like great white beesdrifting down out of the picker chimney. They lodged in the crampedand dingy elms and horse-chestnuts which a former agent had plantedalong the streets, and the English sparrows squabbled over them ineaves-corners and made warm, untidy great nests that would havecontented an Arctic explorer. Somehow the Corporation homes lookedlike make-believe houses or huge stage-properties, they had so littleindividuality or likeness to the old-fashioned buildings that madehomes for people out on the farms. There was more homelikeness in thesparrows' nests, or even the toylike railroad station at the end ofthe main street, for that was warmed by steam, and the station-master'swife, thriftily taking advantage of the steady heat, brought herhouse-plants there and kept them all winter on the broad window-sills. 

The Corporation had followed the usual fortunes of New Englandmanufacturing villages. Its operatives were at first eager young menand women from the farms near by, these being joined quickly by paleEnglish weavers and spinners, with their hearty-looking wives and rosychildren; then came the flock of Irish families, poorer and simplerthan the others but learning the work sooner, and gayer-hearted; nowthe Canadian-French contingent furnished all the new help, and stoodin long rows before the noisy looms and chattered in their odd, excited fashion. They were quicker-fingered, and were willing to workcheaper than any other workpeople yet. 

There were remnants of each of these human tides to be found as onelooked about the mills. Old Henry Dow, the overseer of the cloth-hall, was a Lancashire man and some of his grandchildren had risen to wealthand prominence in another part of the country, while he kept steadilyon with his familiar work and authority. A good many elderly Irishmenand women still kept their places; everybody knew the two oldsweepers, Mary Cassidy and Mrs. Kilpatrick, who were looked upon aspillars of the Corporation. They and their compatriots always heldloyally together and openly resented the incoming of so many French. 

You would never have thought that the French were for a momentconscious of being in the least unwelcome. They came gayly into churchand crowded the old parishioners of St. Michael's out of their pews, as on week-days they took their places at the looms. Hardly one of theold parishioners had not taken occasion to speak of such aggressionsto Father Daley, the priest, but Father Daley continued to look uponthem all as souls to be saved and took continual pains to rub up therusty French which he had nearly forgotten, in order to preach aspecial sermon every other Sunday. This caused old Mary Cassidy toshake her head gravely. 

"Mis' Kilpatrick, ma'am, " she said one morning. "Faix, they ain'tfolks at all, 'tis but a pack of images they do be, with all theirchatter like birds in a hedge. "

"Sure then, the holy Saint Francis himself was after saying that thelittle birds was his sisters, " answered Mrs. Kilpatrick, a godly oldwoman who made the stations every morning, and was often seen readinga much-handled book of devotion. She was moreover always ready with afriendly joke. 

"They ain't the same at all was in them innocent times, when there wasplenty saints living in the world, " insisted Mary Cassidy. "Look atthem thrash, now!"

The old sweeping-women were going downstairs with their brooms. It wasalmost twelve o'clock, and like the old dray-horses in the mill yardthey slackened work in good season for the noonday bell. Three gayyoung French girls ran downstairs past them; they were let out for theafternoon and were hurrying home to dress and catch the 12:40 train tothe next large town. 

"That little one is Meshell's daughter; she's a nice child too, veryquiet, and has got more Christian tark than most, " said Mrs. Kilpatrick. "They live overhead o' me. There's nine o' themselves inthe two rooms; two does be boarders. "

"Those upper rooms bees very large entirely at Fitzgibbon's, " saidMary Cassidy with unusual indulgence. 

"'Tis all the company cares about is to get a good rent out of thepay. They're asked every little while by honest folks 'on't they builda trifle o' small houses beyond the church up there, but no, they'drather the money and kape us like bees in them old hives. Sure inwinter we're better for having the more fires, but summer is thepinance!"

"They all says 'why don't folks build their own houses'; they doesalways be talking about Mike Callahan and how well he saved up andowns a pritty place for himself convanient to his work. You might tellthem he'd money left him by a brother in California till you'd beblack in the face, they'd stick to it 'twas in the picker he earnt itfrom themselves, " grumbled Mary Cassidy. 

"Them French spinds all their money on their backs, don't they?"suggested Mrs. Kilpatrick, as if to divert the conversation fromdangerous channels. "Look at them three girls now, off to Spincer withtheir fortnight's pay in their pocket!"

"A couple o' onions and a bag o' crackers is all they want and a pincho' lard to their butter, " pronounced Mary Cassidy with scorn. "Thewhole town of 'em 'on't be the worse of a dollar for steak the weekround. They all go back and buy land in Canada, they spend no moneyhere. See how well they forget their pocketbooks every Sunday for thecollection. They do be very light too, they've more laugh thanourselves. 'Tis myself's getting old anyway, I don't laugh much now. "

"I like to see a pritty girl look fine, " said Mrs. Kilpatrick. "No, they don't be young but once--"

The mill bell rang, and there was a moment's hush of the jarring, racketing machinery and a sudden noise of many feet trampling acrossthe dry, hard pine floors. First came an early flight of boys burstingout of the different doors, and chasing one another down the windingstairs two steps at a time. The old sweepers, who had not quitereached the bottom, stood back against the wall for safety's sakeuntil all these had passed, then they kept on their careful way, thecrowd passing them by as if they were caught in an eddy of the stream. Last of all they kept sober company with two or three lame persons anda cheerful delayed little group of new doffers, the children whominded bobbins in the weave-room and who were young enough to be tiredand even timid. One of these doffers, a pale, pleasant-looking child, was all fluffy with cotton that had clung to her little dark plaiddress. When Mrs. Kilpatrick spoke to her she answered in a hoarsevoice that appealed to one's sympathy. You felt that the hot room anddry cotton were to blame for such hoarseness; it had nothing to dowith the weather. 

"Where are you living now, Maggie, dear?" the old woman asked. 

"I'm in Callahan's yet, but they won't keep me after to-day, " said thechild. "There's a man wants to get board there, they're changing roundin the rooms and they've no place for me. Mis' Callahan couldn't keepme 'less I'd get my pay raised. "

Mrs. Kilpatrick gave a quick glance at Mary Cassidy. "Come home withme then, till yez get a bite o' dinner, and we'll talk about it, " shesaid kindly to the child. "I'd a wish for company the day. "

The two old companions had locked their brooms into a three-corneredcloset at the stair-foot and were crossing the mill yard together. They were so much slower than the rest that they could only see thevery last of the crowd of mill people disappearing along the streetsand into the boarding-house doors. It was late autumn, the elms werebare, one could see the whole village of Farley, all its poverty andlack of beauty, at one glance. The large houses looked as if theybelonged to a toy village, and had been carefully put in rows by achildish hand; it was easy to lose all sense of size in looking atthem. A cold wind was blowing bits of waste and paper high into theair; now and then a snowflake went swiftly by like a courier ofwinter. Mary Cassidy and Mrs. Kilpatrick hugged their old woolenshawls closer about their round shoulders, and the little girlfollowed with short steps alongside. 

II. 

The agent of the mills was a single man, keen and business-like, butquietly kind to the people under his charge. Sometimes, in times ofpeace, when one looks among one's neighbors wondering who would makethe great soldiers and leaders if there came a sudden call to war, oneknows with a flash of recognition the presence of military genius insuch a man as he. The agent spent his days in following what seemedto many observers to be only a dull routine, but all his steadiness ofpurpose, all his simple intentness, all his gifts of strategy andpowers of foresight, and of turning an interruption into anopportunity, were brought to bear upon this dull routine with a keenpleasure. A man in his place must know not only how to lead men, buthow to make the combination of their force with the machinery take itsplace as a factor in the business of manufacturing. To master workmenand keep the mills in running order and to sell the goods successfullyin open market is as easy to do badly as it is difficult to do well. 

The agent's father and mother, young people who lived for a short timein the village, had both died when he was only three years old, andbetween that time and his ninth year he had learned almost everythingthat poverty could teach, being left like little Maggie to the mercyof his neighbors. He remembered with a grateful heart those who weregood to him, and told him of his mother, who had married for love butunwisely. Mrs. Kilpatrick was one of these old friends, who said thathis mother was a lady, but even Mrs. Kilpatrick, who was a walkinghistory of the Corporation, had never known his mother's maiden name, much less the place of her birth. The first great revelation of lifehad come when the nine-years-old boy had money in his hand to pay hisboard. He was conscious of being looked at with a difference; the verywoman who had been hardest to him and let him mind her babies all themorning when he, careful little soul, was hardly more than a babyhimself, and then pushed him out into the hungry street at dinnertime, was the first one who beckoned him now, willing to make the mostof his dollar and a quarter a week. It seemed easy enough to rise fromuttermost poverty and dependence to where one could set his mind uponthe highest honor in sight, that of being agent of the mills, or towork one's way steadily to where such an honor was grasped atthirty-two. Every year the horizon had set its bounds wider and wider, until the mills of Farley held but a small place in the manufacturingworld. There were offers enough of more salary and higher positionfrom those who came to know the agent, but he was part of Farleyitself, and had come to care deeply about his neighbors, while alarger mill and salary were not exactly the things that could tempthis ambition. It was but a lonely life for a man in the old agent'squarters where one of the widows of the Corporation, a woman who hadbeen brought up in a gentleman's house in the old country, kept housefor him with a certain show of propriety. Ever since he was a boy hisroom was never without its late evening light, and books and hardstudy made his chief companionship. 

As Mrs. Kilpatrick went home holding little Maggie by the hand thatwindy noon, the agent was sitting in the company's counting-room withone of the directors and largest stockholders, and they were justending a long talk about the mill affairs. The agent was about fortyyears old now and looked fifty. He had a pleasant smile, but one sawit rarely enough, and just now he looked more serious than usual. 

"I am very glad to have had this long talk with you, " said the olddirector. "You do not think of any other recommendations to be made atthe meeting next week?"

The agent grew a trifle paler and glanced behind him to be sure thatthe clerks had gone to dinner. 

"Not in regard to details, " he answered gravely. "There is one thingwhich I see to be very important. You have seen the books, and areclear that nine per cent. Dividend can easily be declared?"

"Very creditable, very creditable, " agreed the director; he hadrecognized the agent's ability from the first and always upheld himgenerously. "I mean to propose a special vote of thanks for yourmanagement. There isn't a minor corporation in New England that standsso well to-day. "

The agent listened. "We had some advantages, partly by accident andpartly by lucky foresight, " he acknowledged. "I am going to ask yourbacking in something that seems to me not only just but important. Ihope that you will not declare above a six per cent. Dividend at thatdirectors' meeting; at the most, seven per cent. , " he said. 

"What, what!" exclaimed the listener. "No, sir!"

The agent left his desk-chair and stood before the old director as ifhe were pleading for himself. A look of protest and disappointmentchanged the elder man's face and hardened it a little, and the agentsaw it. 

"You know the general condition of the people here, " he explainedhumbly. "I have taken great pains to keep hold of the best that havecome here; we can depend upon them now and upon the quality of theirwork. They made no resistance when we had to cut down wages two yearsago; on the contrary, they were surprisingly reasonable, and you knowthat we shut down for several weeks at the time of the alterations. Wehave never put their wages back as we might easily have done, and Ihappen to know that a good many families have been able to save littleor nothing. Some of them have been working here for three generations. They know as well as you and I and the books do when the mills aremaking money. Now I wish that we could give them the ten per cent. Back again, but in view of the general depression perhaps we can't dothat except in the way I mean. I think that next year we're going tohave a very hard pull to get along, but if we can keep back three percent. , or even two, of this dividend we can not only manage to get onwithout a shut-down or touching our surplus, which is quite smallenough, but I can have some painting and repairing done in thetenements. They've needed it for a long time--"

The old director sprang to his feet. "Aren't the stockholders going tohave any rights then?" he demanded. "Within fifteen years we have hadthree years when we have passed our dividends, but the operativesnever can lose a single day's pay!"

"That was before my time, " said the agent, quietly. "We have averagednearly six and a half per cent. A year taking the last twenty yearstogether, and if you go back farther the average is even larger. Thishas always been a paying property; we've got our new machinery now, and everything in the mills themselves is just where we want it. Ilook for far better times after this next year, but the market isglutted with goods of our kind, and nothing is going to be gained bycut-downs and forcing lower-cost goods into it. Still, I can keepthings going one way and another, making yarn and so on, " he saidpleadingly. "I should like to feel that we had this extra surplus. Ibelieve that we owe it to our operatives. "

The director had walked heavily to the window and put his hands deepinto his side-pockets. He had an angry sense that the agent's handswere in his pockets too. 

"I've got some pride about that nine per cent. , sir, " he said loftilyto the agent. 

"So have I, " said the agent, and the two men looked each other in theface. 

"I acknowledge my duty to the stockholders, " said the younger manpresently. "I have tried to remember that duty ever since I took themills eight years ago, but we've got an excellent body of operatives, and we ought to keep them. I want to show them this next year that wevalue their help. If times aren't as bad as we fear we shall stillhave the money--"

"Nonsense. They think they own the mills now, " said the director, buthe was uncomfortable, in spite of believing he was right. "Where's myhat? I must have my luncheon now, and afterward there'll hardly betime to go down and look at the new power-house with you--I must beoff on the quarter-to-two train. "

The agent sighed and led the way. There was no use in saying anythingmore and he knew it. As they walked along they met old Mrs. Kilpatrickreturning from her brief noonday meal with little Maggie, whosechildish face was radiant. The old woman recognized one of thedirectors and dropped him a decent curtsey as she had been taught tosalute the gentry sixty years before. 

The director returned the salutation with much politeness. This wasreally a pleasant incident, and he took a silver half dollar from hispocket and gave it to the little girl before he went on. 

"Kape it safe, darlin', " said the old woman; "you'll need it yet. Don't be spending all your money in sweeties; 'tis a very cold worldto them that haves no pince in their pocket. "

The child looked up at Mrs. Kilpatrick apprehensively; then thesunshine of hope broke out again through the cloud. 

"I am going to save fine till I buy a house, and you and me'll livethere together, Mrs. Kilpatrick, and have a lovely coal fire all thetime. "

"Faix, Maggie, I have always thought some day I'd kape a pig and livepritty in me own house, " said Mrs. Kilpatrick. "But I'm the oldsweeper yet in Number Two. 'Tis a worrld where some has and morewants, " she added with a sigh. "I got the manes for a good buryin', the Lord be praised, and a bitteen more beside. I wouldn't have thatif Father Daley was as croping as some. "

"Mis' Mullin does always be scolding 'bout Father Daley having all thecollections, " ventured Maggie, somewhat adrift in so great a subject. 

"She's no right then!" exclaimed the old woman angrily; "she'll get noluck to be grudging her pince that way. 'Tis hard work anny priestwould have to kape the likes of hersilf from being haythensaltogether. "

There was a nine per cent. Annual dividend declared at the directors'meeting the next week, with considerable applause from the board andsincere congratulations to the agent. He looked thinner and more soberthan usual, and several persons present, whose aid he had asked inprivate, knew very well the reason. After the meeting was over thesenior director, and largest stockholder, shook hands with him warmly. 

"About that matter you suggested to me the other day, " he said, andthe agent looked up eagerly. "I consulted several of our board inregard to the propriety of it before we came down, but they all agreedwith me that it was no use to cross a bridge until you come to it. Times look a little better, and the operatives will share in theaccession of credit to a mill that declares nine per cent. This year. I hope that we shall be able to run the mills with at worst only amoderate cut-down, and they may think themselves very fortunate whenso many hands are being turned off everywhere. "

The agent's face grew dark. "I hope that times will take a betterturn, " he managed to say. 

"Yes, yes, " answered the director. "Good-bye to you, Mr. Agent! I amnot sure of seeing you again for some time, " he added with unusualkindliness. "I am an old man now to be hurrying round to boardmeetings and having anything to do with responsibilities like these. My sons must take their turn. "

There was an eager protest from the listeners, and presently the busygroup of men disappeared on their way to the train. A nine per cent. Dividend naturally made the Farley Manufacturing Company's stock go upa good many points, and word came presently that the largeststockholder and one or two other men had sold out. Then the stockceased to rise, and winter came on apace, and the hard times which theagent had foreseen came also. 

III. 

One noon in early March there were groups of men and women gatheringin the Farley streets. For a wonder, nobody was hurrying toward homeand dinner was growing cold on some of the long boarding-house tables. 

"They might have carried us through the cold weather; there's but amonth more of it, " said one middle-aged man sorrowfully. 

"They'll be talking to us about economy now, some o' them bigthinkers; they'll say we ought to learn how to save; they always beginabout that quick as the work stops, " said a youngish woman angrily. She was better dressed than most of the group about her and had thekeen, impatient look of a leader. "They'll say that manufacturing isgoing to the dogs, and capital's in worse distress than labor--"

"How is it those big railroads get along? They can't shut down, there's none o' them stops; they cut down sometimes when they have to, but they don't turn off their help this way, " complained somebodyelse. 

"Faith then! they don't know what justice is. They talk about theirjustice all so fine, " said a pale-faced young Irishman--"justice isnine per cent. Last year for the men that had the money and no rise atall for the men that did the work. "

"They say the shut-down's going to last all summer anyway. I'm goingto pack my kit to-night, " said a young fellow who had just married andundertaken with unusual pride and ambition to keep house. "The likesof me can't be idle. But where to look for any work for a mulespinner, the Lord only knows!"

Even the French were sobered for once and talked eagerly amongthemselves. Halfway down the street, in front of the French grocery, aman was haranguing his compatriots from the top of a packing-box. Everybody was anxious and excited by the sudden news. No work after aweek from to-morrow until times were better. There had already been acut-down, the mills had not been earning anything all winter. Theagent had hoped to keep on for at least two months longer, and then tomake some scheme about running at half time in the summer, settingaside the present work for simple yarn-making. He knew well enoughthat the large families were scattered through the mill rooms and thatany pay would be a help. Some of the young men could be put to otherwork for the company; there was a huge tract of woodland farther backamong the hills where some timber could be got ready for shipping. Hismind was full of plans and anxieties and the telegram that morningstruck him like a blow. He had asked that he might keep the card-roomprices up to where the best men could make at least six dollars and ahalf a week and was hoping for a straight answer, but the words on theyellow paper seemed to dance about and make him dizzy. "Shut downSaturday 9th until times are better!" he repeated to himself. "Shutdown until times are worse here in Farley!"

The agent stood at the counting-room window looking out at thepiteous, defenseless groups that passed by. He wished bitterly thathis own pay stopped with the rest; it did not seem fair that he wasnot thrown out upon the world too. 

"I don't know what they're going to do. They shall have the last centI've saved before anybody suffers, " he said in his heart. But therewere tears in his eyes when he saw Mrs. Kilpatrick go limping out ofthe gate. She waited a moment for her constant companion, poor littleMaggie the doffer, and they went away up the street toward their poorlodging holding each other fast by the hand. Maggie's father andgrandfather and great-grandfather had all worked in the Farley mills;they had left no heritage but work behind them for this orphan child;they had never been able to save so much that a long illness, aprolonged old age, could not waste their slender hoards away. 

IV. 

It would have been difficult for an outsider to understand the suddenplunge from decent comfort to actual poverty in this small mill town. Strange to say, it was upon the smaller families that the strain fellthe worst in Farley, and upon men and women who had nobody to look tobut themselves. Where a man had a large household of children andseveral of these were old enough to be at work, and to put aside theirwages or pay for their board; where such a man was of a thrifty andsaving turn and a ruler of his household like old James Dow in thecloth-hall, he might feel sure of a comfortable hoard and be fearlessof a rainy day. But with a young man who worked single-handed for hiswife and a little flock, or one who had an invalid to work for, thatheaviest of burdens to the poor, the door seemed to be shut and barredagainst prosperity, and life became a test of one's power ofendurance. 

The agent went home late that noon from the counting-room. The streetwas nearly empty, but he had no friendly look or word for anyone whomhe passed. Those who knew him well only pitied him, but it seemed tothe tired man as if every eye must look at him with reproach. The longmill buildings of gray stone with their rows of deep-set windows worea repellent look of strength and solidity. More than one man feltbitterly his own personal weakness as he turned to look at them. Theocean of fate seemed to be dashing him against their gray walls--whatuse was it to fight against the Corporation? Two great forces were inopposition now, and happiness could come only from their serving eachother in harmony. 

The stronger force of capital had withdrawn from the league; theweaker one, labor, was turned into an utter helplessness of idleness. There was nothing to be done; you cannot rebel against a shut-down, you can only submit. 

A week later the great wheel stopped early on the last day of work. Almost everyone left his special charge of machinery in good order, oiled and cleaned and slackened with a kind of affectionate lingeringcare, for one person loves his machine as another loves his horse. Even little Maggie pushed her bobbin-box into a safe place near theoverseer's desk and tipped it up and dusted it out with a handful ofwaste. At the foot of the long winding stairs Mrs. Kilpatrick wasputting away her broom, and she sighed as she locked the closet door;she had known hard times before. "They'll be wanting me with odd jobs;we'll be after getting along some way, " she said with satisfaction. 

"March is a long month, so it is--there'll be plinty time for changebefore the ind of it, " said Mary Cassidy hopefully. "The agent will bethinking whatever can he do; sure he's very ingenious. Look at him howwell he persuaded the directors to l'ave off wit' making cotton clothlike everybody else, and catch a chance wit' all these new linings andthings! He's done very well, too. There bees no sinse in a shut-downanny way, the looms and cards all suffers and the bands all slacks ifthey don't get stiff. I'd sooner pay folks to tind their work whateverit cost. "

"'Tis true for you, " agreed Mrs. Kilpatrick. 

"What'll ye do wit' the shild, now she's no chance of pay, any more?"asked Mary relentlessly, and poor Maggie's eyes grew dark with frightas the conversation abruptly pointed her way. She sometimes waked upin misery in Mrs. Kilpatrick's warm bed, crying for fear that she wasgoing to be sent back to the poorhouse. 

"Maggie an' me's going to kape together awhile yet, " said the good oldwoman fondly. "She's very handy for me, so she is. We 'on't part with'ach other whativer befalls, so we 'on't, " and Maggie looked up with awistful smile, only half reassured. To her the shut-down seemed likethe end of the world. 

Some of the French people took time by the forelock and boarded themidnight train that very Saturday with all their possessions. A littlelater two or three families departed by the same train, under cover ofthe darkness between two days, without stopping to pay even theirhouse rent. These mysterious flittings, like that of the famous Tartartribe, roused a suspicion against their fellow countrymen, but after asuccession of such departures almost everybody else thought it farcheaper to stay among friends. It seemed as if at any moment the greatmill wheels might begin to turn, and the bell begin to ring, but dayafter day the little town was still and the bell tolled the hours oneafter another as if it were Sunday. The mild spring weather came onand the women sat mending or knitting on the doorsteps. More peoplemoved away; there were but few men and girls left now in the quietboarding-houses, and the spare tables were stacked one upon another atthe end of the rooms. When planting-time came, word was passed aboutthe Corporation that the agent was going to portion out a field thatbelonged to him a little way out of town on the South road, and letevery man who had a family take a good-sized piece to plant. He alsooffered seed potatoes and garden seeds free to anyone who would comeand ask for them at his house. The poor are very generous to eachother, as a rule, and there was much borrowing and lending from houseto house, and it was wonderful how long the people seemed to continuetheir usual fashions of life without distress. Almost everybody hadsaved a little bit of money and some had saved more; if one could nolonger buy beefsteak he could still buy flour and potatoes, and a bitof pork lent a pleasing flavor, to content an idle man who had nothingto do but to stroll about town. 

V. 

One night the agent was sitting alone in his large, half-furnishedhouse. Mary Moynahan, his housekeeper, had gone up to the church. There was a timid knock at the door. 

There were two persons waiting, a short, thick-set man and a palewoman with dark, bright eyes who was nearly a head taller than hercompanion. 

"Come in, Ellen; I'm glad to see you, " said the agent. "Have you gotyour wheel-barrow, Mike?" Almost all the would-be planters of thefield had come under cover of darkness and contrived if possible toavoid each other. 

"'Tisn't the potatoes we're after asking, sir, " said Ellen. She wasalways spokeswoman, for Mike had an impediment in his speech. "Thechildher come up yisterday and got them while you'd be down at thecounting-room. 'Twas Mary Moynahan saw to them. We do be very thankfulto you, sir, for your kindness. "

"Come in, " said the agent, seeing there was something of consequenceto be said. Ellen Carroll and he had worked side by side many a longday when they were young. She had been a noble wife to Mike, whosepoor fortunes she had gladly shared for sake of his good heart, thoughMike now and then paid too much respect to his often infirmities. There was a slight flavor of whisky now on the evening air, but it wasa serious thing to put on your Sunday coat and go up with your wife tosee the agent. 

"We've come wanting to talk about any chances there might be with themill, " ventured Ellen timidly, as she stood in the lighted room; thenshe looked at Mike for reassurance. "We're very bad off, you see, " shewent on. "Yes, sir, I got them potaties, but I had to bake a little ofthem for supper and more again the day, for our breakfast. I don'tknow whatever we'll do whin they're gone. The poor children does beentreating me for them, Dan!"

The mother's eyes were full of tears. It was very seldom now thatanybody called the agent by his Christian name; there was a naturalreserve and dignity about him, and there had come a definiteseparation between him and most of his old friends in the two yearswhile he had managed to go to the School of Technology in Boston. 

"Why didn't you let me know it was bad as that?" he asked. "I don'tmean that anybody here should suffer while I've got a cent. "

"The folks don't like to be begging, sir, " said Ellen sorrowfully, "but there's lots of them does be in trouble. They'd ought to go awaywhen the mills shut down, but for nobody knows where to go. Farleyain't like them big towns where a man'd pick up something else to do. I says to Mike: 'Come, Mike, let's go up after dark and tark to Dan;he'll help us out if he can, ' says I--"

"Sit down, Ellen, " said the agent kindly, as the poor woman began tocry. He made her take the armchair which the weave-room girls hadgiven him at Christmas two years before. She sat there covering herface with her hands, and trying to keep back her sobs and go quietlyon with what she had to say. Mike was sitting across the room with hisback to the wall anxiously twirling his hat round and round. "Yis, we're very bad off, " he contrived to say after much futile stammering. "All the folks in the Corporation, but Mr. Dow, has got great billsrun up now at the stores, and thim that had money saved has lint tothim that hadn't--'twill be long enough before anybody's free. Whinthe mills starts up we'll have to spind for everything at once. Thechildren is very hard on their clothes and they're all dropping topieces. I thought I'd have everything new for them this spring, theydo be growing so. I minds them and patches them the best I can. " Andagain Ellen was overcome by tears. "Mike an' me's always beenconthrivin' how would we get something laid up, so if anny one woulddie or be long sick we'd be equal to it, but we've had great pride tosee the little gerrls go looking as well as anny, and we've workedvery steady, but there's so manny of us we've had to pay rint for alarge tenement and we'd only seventeen dollars and a little more whenthe shut-down was. Sure the likes of us has a right to earn more thanour living, ourselves being so willing-hearted. 'Tis a long time nowthat Mike's been steady. We always had the pride to hope we'd own ahouse ourselves, and a pieceen o' land, but I'm thankful now--'tis aswell for us; we've no chances to pay taxes now. "

Mike made a desperate effort to speak as his wife faltered and beganto cry again, and seeing his distress forgot her own, and supplied thehalting words. "He wants to know if there's army work he could get, some place else than Farley. Himself's been sixteen years now in thepicker, first he was one of six and now he is one of the four sinceyou got the new machines, yourself knows it well. "

The agent knew about Mike; he looked compassionate as he shook hishead. "Stay where you are, for a while at any rate. Things may look alittle better, it seems to me. We will start up as soon as anyonedoes. I'll allow you twenty dollars a month after this; here are tento start with. No, no, I've got no one depending on me and my pay isgoing on. I'm glad to share it with my friends. Tell the folks to comeup and see me, Ahern and Sullivan and Michel and your brother Con;tell anybody you know who is really in distress. You've all stood byme!"

"'Tis all the lazy ones 'ould be coming if we told on the poor boy, "said Ellen gratefully, as they hurried home. "Ain't he got the goodheart? We'd ought to be very discrate, Mike!" and Mike agreed by amost impatient gesture, but by the time summer had begun to wane theagent was a far poorer man than when it had begun. Mike and EllenCarroll were only the leaders of a sorrowful procession that soughthis door evening after evening. Some asked for help who might havedone without it, but others were saved from actual want. There were afew men who got work among the farms, but there was little steadywork. The agent made the most of odd jobs about the mill yards andcontrived somehow or other to give almost every household a lift. Thevillage looked more and more dull and forlorn, but in August, when atraveling show ventured to give a performance in Farley, theCorporation hall was filled as it seldom was filled in prosperoustimes. This made the agent wonder, until he followed the crowd ofworkless, sadly idle men and women into the place of entertainment andlooked at them with a sudden comprehension that they were spendingtheir last cent for a little cheerfulness. 

VI. 

The agent was going into the counting-room one day when he met oldFather Daley and they stopped for a bit of friendly talk. 

"Could you come in for a few minutes, sir?" asked the younger man. "There's nobody in the counting-room. "

The busy priest looked up at the weather-beaten clock in the milltower. 

"I can, " he said. "'Tis not so late as I thought. We'll soon be havingthe mail. "

The agent led the way and brought one of the directors' comfortablechairs from their committee-room. Then he spun his own chairface-about from before his desk and they sat down. It was a warm dayin the middle of September. The windows were wide open on the sidetoward the river and there was a flicker of light on the ceiling fromthe sunny water. The noise of the fall was loud and incessant in theroom. Somehow one never noticed it very much when the mills wererunning. 

"How are the Duffys?" asked the agent. 

"Very bad, " answered the old priest gravely. "The doctor sent forme--he couldn't get them to take any medicine. He says that it isn'ttyphoid; only a low fever among them from bad food and want of care. That tenement is very old and bad, the drains from the upper tenementhave leaked and spoiled the whole west side of the building. I supposethey never told you of it?"

"I did the best I could about it last spring, " said the agent. "Theywere afraid of being turned out and they hid it for that reason. Thecompany allowed me something for repairs as usual and I tried to getmore; you see I spent it all before I knew what a summer was beforeus. Whatever I have done since I have paid for, except what they calllegitimate work and care of property. Last year I put all Maple Streetinto first-rate order--and meant to go right through the Corporation. I've done the best I could, " he protested with a bright spot of colorin his cheeks. "Some of the men have tinkered up their tenements and Ihave counted it toward the rent, but they don't all know how to drivea nail. "

"'Tis true for you; you have done the best you could, " said the priestheartily, and both the men were silent, while the river, which wasolder than they and had seen a whole race of men disappear before theycame--the river took this opportunity to speak louder than ever. 

"I think that manufacturing prospects look a little brighter, " saidthe agent, wishing to be cheerful. "There are some good orders out, but of course the buyers can take advantage of our condition. Thetreasurer writes me that we must be firm about not starting up untilwe are sure of business on a good paying margin. "

"Like last year's?" asked the priest, who was resting himself in thearmchair. There was a friendly twinkle in his eyes. 

"Like last year's, " answered the agent. "I worked like two men, and Ipushed the mills hard to make that large profit. I saw there wastrouble coming, and I told the directors and asked for a specialsurplus, but I had no idea of anything like this. "

"Nine per cent. In these times was too good a prize, " said FatherDaley, but the twinkle in his eyes had suddenly disappeared. 

"You won't get your new church for a long time yet, " said the agent. 

"No, no, " said the old man impatiently. "I have kept the foundationsgoing as well as I could, and the talk, for their own sakes. It givesthem something to think about. I took the money they gave me incollections and let them have it back again for work. 'Tis well tolead their minds, " and he gave a quick glance at the agent. "'Tis nopride of mine for church-building and no good credit with the bishopI'm after. Young men can be satisfied with those things, not an oldpriest like me that prays to be a father to his people. "

Father Daley spoke as man speaks to man, straight out of an honestheart. 

"I see many things now that I used to be blind about long ago, " hesaid. "You may take a man who comes over, him and his wife. They fallupon good wages and their heads are turned with joy. They've beenhungry for generations back and they've always seen those above themwho dressed fine and lived soft, and they want a taste of luxury too;they're bound to satisfy themselves. So they'll spend and spend andhave beefsteak for dinner every day just because they never had enoughbefore, but they'd turn into wild beasts of selfishness, most of 'em, if they had no check. 'Tis there the church steps in. 'Remember yourMaker and do Him honor in His house of prayer, ' says she. 'Beself-denying, be thinking of eternity and of what's sure to come!' Andyou will join with me in believing that it's never those who havegiven most to the church who come first to the ground in a hard timelike this. Show me a good church and I'll show you a thrifty people. "Father Daley looked eagerly at the agent for sympathy. 

"You speak the truth, sir, " said the agent. "Those that give most arealways the last to hold out with honest independence and the first todo for others. "

"Some priests may have plundered their parishes for pride's sake;there's no saying what is in poor human nature, " repeated Father Daleyearnestly. "God forgive us all for unprofitable servants of Him andHis church. I believe in saying more about prayer and right living, and less about collections, in God's house, but it's the giving handthat's the rich hand all the world over. "

"I don't think Ireland has ever sent us over many misers; SaintPatrick must have banished them all with the snakes, " suggested theagent with a grim smile. The priest shook his head and laughed alittle and then both men were silent again in the counting-room. 

The mail train whistled noisily up the road and came into the stationat the end of the empty street, then it rang its loud bell and puffedand whistled away again. 

"I'll bring your mail over, sir, " said the agent, presently. "Sit hereand rest yourself until I come back and we'll walk home together. "

The leather mail-bag looked thin and flat and the leisurely postmasterhad nearly distributed its contents by the time the agent had crossedthe street and reached the office. His clerks were both off on a longholiday; they were brothers and were glad of the chance to take theirvacations together. They had been on lower pay; there was little todo in the counting-room--hardly anybody's time to keep or even aletter to write. 

Two or three loiterers stopped the agent to ask him the usual questionif there were any signs of starting up; an old farmer who sat in hislong wagon before the post-office asked for news too, and touched hishat with an awkward sort of military salute. 

"Come out to our place and stop a few days, " he said kindly. "You lookkind of pinched up and bleached out, Mr. Agent; you can't be neededmuch here. "

"I wish I could come, " said the agent, stopping again and looking upat the old man with a boyish, expectant face. Nobody had happened tothink about him in just that way, and he was far from thinking abouthimself. "I've got to keep an eye on the people that are left here;you see they've had a pretty hard summer. "

"Not so hard as you have!" said the old man, as the agent went alongthe street. "You've never had a day of rest more than once or twicesince you were born!"

There were two letters and a pamphlet for Father Daley and a thinhandful of circulars for the company. In busy times there was oftenall the mail matter that a clerk could bring. The agent sat down athis desk in the counting-room and the priest opened a thick foreignletter with evident pleasure. "'Tis from an old friend of mine; he'sin a monastery in France, " he said. "I only hear from him once ayear, " and Father Daley settled himself in his armchair to read theclose-written pages. As for the agent of the mills, he had quicklyopened a letter from the treasurer and was not listening to anythingthat was said. 

Suddenly he whirled round in his desk chair and held out the letter tothe priest. His hand shook and his face was as pale as ashes. 

"What is it? What's the matter?" cried the startled old man, who hadhardly followed the first pious salutations of his own letter to theirend. "Read it to me yourself, Dan; is there any trouble?"

"Orders--I've got orders to start up; we're going to start--I wrotethem last week--"

But the agent had to spring up from his chair and go to the windownext the river before he could steady his voice to speak. He thoughtit was the look of the moving water that made him dizzy. "We're goingto start up the mills as soon as I can get things ready. " He turned tolook up at the thermometer as if it were the most important thing inthe world; then the color rushed to his face and he leaned a momentagainst the wall. 

"Thank God!" said the old priest devoutly. "Here, come and sit down, my boy. Faith, but it's good news, and I'm the first to get it fromyou. "

They shook hands and were cheerful together; the foreign letter wascrammed into Father Daley's pocket, and he reached for his big cane. 

"Tell everybody as you go up the street, sir, " said Dan. "I've got ahurricane of things to see to; I must go the other way down to thestorehouses. Tell them to pass the good news about town as fast asthey can; 'twill hearten up the women. " All the anxious look had goneas if by magic from the agent's face. 

Two weeks from that time the old mill bell stopped tolling for theslow hours of idleness and rang out loud and clear for thehousekeepers to get up, and rang for breakfast, and later still forall the people to go in to work. Some of the old hands were gone forgood and new ones must be broken in in their places, but there weremany familiar faces to pass the counting-room windows into the millyard. There were French families which had reappeared with surprisingpromptness, Michel and his pretty daughter were there, and a householdof cousins who had come to the next tenement. The agent stood with hishands in his pockets and nodded soberly to one group after another. Itseemed to him that he had never felt so happy in his life. 

"Jolly-looking set this morning, " said one of the clerks whose deskwas close beside the window; he was a son of one of the directors, whohad sent him to the agent to learn something about manufacturing. 

"They've had a bitter hard summer that you know nothing about, " saidthe agent slowly. 

Just then Mrs. Kilpatrick and old Mary Cassidy came along, and littleMaggie was with them. She had got back her old chance at doffing andthe hard times were over. They all smiled with such blissfulsatisfaction that the agent smiled too, and even waved his hand. 

 Transcriber's Note: This e-book was excerpted from a modern reprint of works. The table of contents for "Selected Stories and Sketches" has been editted to identify the source of each story in the source work.